A Song for the Galaxy: JEGRA, #6

By Tristan Vick

THE BARDS WILL SING SONGS ABOUT HER... THE WOMAN WHO SAVED THE GALAXY.

The enemy forces are defeated, but in the aftermath of the war a zealot and madman rises to power. Although her war may be over, Jegra must face one final challenge in order to secure galactic peace once and for all. 

Peace is a fragile thing. As the empire is in mourning for their great loss, Jegra finally decides to put down her battle-axe. But as soon as she begins to focus on rebuilding, the evil terrorist Demeris Ferrison steals a neutron bomb and threatens to destroy an already crippled world and blame it on Jegra's incompetence.

Now, Jegra must race against a ticking clock (literally a time-bomb) and stop Demeris Ferrison's evil plot to disrupt galactic peace. If she fails, the entire galaxy will fall into civil war and disarray. If she can stop it in time, however, she will have secured galactic peace.

With her trusted friends by her side, Raven, Danica, Brei, Lycia, and Raphine including a host of Grendok's--they will all have one last great adventure in saving the galaxy!

What they don't suspect, however, is that Demeris Ferrison has enlisted the help of Hela and her band of rogue Lycia clones who are ready for a guerrilla war against Jegra and everything she's worked for.

Will Jegra and her crew find and disarm the bomb in time? Will they be able to defeat this new army of super-clones? And will Jegra finally get the lasting peace she's been fighting so hard to secure, or will the fanatic Demeris Ferrison destroy her dreams of a peaceful and united galaxy?

Find out in the exciting final installment of The Chronicles of Jegra: Gladiatrix of the Galaxy -- A Song for the Galaxy.

Fans of Star Wars, John Carter of Mars, and Red Sonja will be thrilled to the heavens with JEGRA: GLADIATRIX OF THE GALAXY where a woman made a slave discovers a greater destiny waiting for her in the stars.

Coming soon to audio-book.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tristan Vick
• Release date: May 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393900139

Book preview

1

The UCC Titania hung languorously against the black backdrop of a star speckled expanse like a bloated caterpillar. It wasn’t a pretty ship, but most large fighter carriers were simply overstuffed cargo vessels housing state of the art warships.

Inside her main hangar bay, there was a row of Warhawk stealth fighters parked along the back wall. They were painted in non-reflective matte-black, which allowed them to disappear into the darkness of space.

At the end of the row sat a new prototype ship, but unlike the others, it was twice as long and had a cherry red paint job with yellow warning stickers that gave it a hot-rod appeal. On the side was painted Warhawk WX-9.

The WX-9 was an FTL capable fighter. The first of its kind in the United Cosmic Commonwealth fleet. Although the Nyctans had Faster-than-Light capable fighters, a technology they’d acquired through their allegiance with the Nephilim, they were now a defeated people and what little remained of their armada was stationed to protect their homeworld and surrounding moons.

Captain Simon Calvec leaned back in his ready room chair and sipped a cup of steaming Belizean honey tea as he studied a 3D holographic display of the ship deployments for the sector. Right now, he was shuttling supplies between Nyctan and the Seyferrian Republic. The two satyr worlds, Qu’Mar and Veridion, also had provided additional medicine and aid to help with Nyctan’s gradual recovery and eventual reformation.

Although the Dagon Empress, Jegra Alakandra, had called it vital aid work necessary to rebuild the Nyctan’s homeworld, beneath all the pretense it was just another occupation. Albeit, a very subtle and polite occupation.

Still, Calvec felt it was the best course of action. If they sat back and did nothing, the Nyctan interim government would destabilize and fall apart. Millions of people would die from famine and starvation. And, as with any great culture ravished by war, the entire civilization would take two steps back while the rest of the star systems marched on without them.

Without an official ruler to take the throne, the Nyctan Dynasty was no more. All they could hope to become is a pale imitation of their once illustrious selves. But with the United Cosmic Commonwealth Alliance’s help, Nyctan could rebuild, regain economic independence, and maybe one day join the United Cosmic Commonwealth Alliance, UCCA.

And while the UCCA managed public and diplomatic affairs, the military branch of the alliance, known simply as the UCC, handled the more demanding chore of policing the newly formed cosmic alliance. A cosmic alliance that integrated all the peoples of all eight major star systems and three empires into one united allegiance. It was, without a doubt, more fragile than an Oszarkian egg.

Holding his mug in both hands, he took one more sip and then set it down on his desk. He reached up to touch the hologram, and, using small pinches and rotations of his fingers, he rotated the image and then zoomed in on the Outer Rim territories. Much of the fleet had been sent to protect the trade routes from marauder attacks.

In the aftermath of the war, several new factions of space pirates had sprung up, and there were raids on cargo ships daily. Something he hoped to remedy once the prototype ship of his was cleared for mass production. In another month, he’d have an entire fleet of new Warhawks to take the fight to the space pirates.

Just then his door chimed and, taking a deep breath, he swiped the holovid projection away and looked up from his desk. Enter.

The doors parted with a pneumatic hiss and his chief of security, a beautiful Seyfferian officer by the name of Daz Ryley Ta’miel, entered.

She was stout, but as solid as a brick, and sported platinum blonde hair that complimented her dark copper skin rather nicely. Her chest was overly large for her petite size and seemed to fill her uniform—if not pushing it to its bursting point.

Regardless of her looks, it was her training and modifications that made her a real contender. With her nanite and genetic enhancements, she could pick up a Spartan tank and toss it across an entire battlefield, if she wanted to.

Lieutenant Commander Daz, how may I help you? he asked, the steam from his mug rising in front of his gaze as he stared at her with his amber, Dagoni gaze.

She blinked at him with her sky-blue eyes, which she could change at will, thanks to her enhancements. Captain, as chief of security, it’s my duty to inform you that a mutiny is currently underway aboard this ship. For your safety, I have to ask you to come with me.

Calvec laughed. A mutiny? And I’m just hearing about this now? He gave her a disbelieving look.

Sir, this is no joking matter. I’m afraid that some of our crew have locked themselves in the hangar bay and are making demands. Worse, she added, her posture stiffening as she locked her hands behind her back in a formal manner, they’ve made threats against the safety of the ship and her crew.

This caught Calvec’s attention and any doubt he’d had about the nature of the news quickly turned serious. What kind of demands? he asked, rising from his chair.

Daz glanced down at his blue hands, which now formed two balled-up fists. They demand you turn over control of the ship to them, or they’re going to detonate the neutron bomb that’s on one of the heavy raiders.

Calvec huffed in anger then folded his arms across his chest as his strategic mind began to run through all the possible scenarios that could play out.

It didn’t seem right to him that they only wanted control of the ship. They wouldn’t even be able to man the controls, let alone fly it. At least, not without a much bigger number of mutineers. No, he was certain they were interested in something else. This was just a backdoor approach to getting what they wanted.

It doesn’t seem likely that they’re after control of the ship. I’ll bet credits to creylons they want access to the departure codes so they can take a ship of their own. Without clearance to disembark, the Titania’s automated turrets would make short work of them before they could get away.

Do you think they’re after the prototype, sir?

It’s possible. Do you know who’s calling the shots down there?

Lieutenant Afriel, sir. I think he’s the highest-ranking personnel on the hangar deck.

Afriel? repeated Calvec, stroking his chin.

What is it, sir? asked Daz, seeing that the captain had fallen into deep contemplation.

It’s probably nothing. But if I remember correctly, Afriel was one of the orphans that grew up in the massive complex for those who’d lost parents in the war and had nobody to care for them. It was called ‘the Compound.’

I remember that place, Daz said. It’s where they inculcated strict discipline, duty and honor into the kids at an extremely young age. An ultra-nationalist program to ensure the children wouldn’t grow up to be recidivist delinquents once they left the Compound.

Yes. And a lot of those orphans ended up joining the military right out of school, the captain continued. Others opted to join fringe groups, which promised to fill the hole left by a life chock full of abandonment issues. Of those fringe groups though, one in particular springs to mind. The one that drew in the largest numbers of children...the Harbingers of Purity and Light.

The Harbingers? Daz asked, speaking out loud. Isn’t that the radical extremist Demeris Ferrison’s organization?

Calvec shook his head in a displeased fashion and grunted in the affirmative. It sure is, he replied. Although, by his tone, Daz could tell he wasn’t too thrilled about it.

Walking around his desk, he motioned for Daz to join him as he headed toward the exit.

The doors swished open in front of them and they promptly stepped out onto the bridge. As they entered, he snapped his fingers several times, drawing the attention of the surrounding officers.

Sub Commander T’Vok, you have the bridge, Calvec informed his XO. Keep things locked down here and keep communications open. Turning to the two security officers stationed at the door, he addressed them with a nod and said, You two, you’re with me.

Calvec, Daz, and the added company of the security detail all piled into the lift and the doors hissed shut behind them.

A minute and a half later the lift doors parted and all four stepped onto deck fourteen, the same deck as the main hangar bay. They strolled down a long corridor which gradually curved to the left, until they came upon the main hangar doors

Another four security officers met them at the hangar bay doors. When they saw the captain and the chief of security, they all stepped into line and saluted.

At ease, Calvec said. Then, turning toward the door, which was rigged with explosives, he said, Update.

At least five personnel have locked themselves inside the hangar bay, the security team leader relayed. Lieutenant Afriel seems to be calling the shots in there. If you want, I can patch you through to him now. He handed the captain a two-way receiver that was plugged into the wall panel and then, tapping on his holovid display, activated the comlink. With a nod, he signaled the captain that he was live.

This is Simon Calvec, your captain, speaking. I would ask you all to surrender and come out peacefully, but I have a feeling you want to make a statement with this little mutiny of yours. So, let’s skip the formalities and get to brass tacks, shall we? What are your demands?

Afriel’s voice came back over the comlink in that unique manner of talking that all those from the Compound had. It was almost like a southern dialect, except more punctuated with ominous pauses strewn about. It reminded him of how someone might speak to you as a friend but with hidden resentment.

Ah, yes, Captain my Captain. I just want you to know we don’t wish to bring harm to anyone. We’re still loyal Dagon citizens, after all, even if we do get court-martialed for our divergent political beliefs. Please, believe me when I say, Captain, all we want is to be granted safe passage off of this ship.

Is that all? Calvec asked in a somewhat sarcastic tone. No other demands? There were always more demands. No criminal worth his weight in korridium ever asked for only one thing.

Ah, Captain, I can hear the frustration in your voice as you fish for clues. But you won’t find any here. As I said, we don’t want to harm anyone. But we will if you push us to it.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I assume you’re after the Warhawk prototype?

It appears you can read minds, Captain, Afriel laughed. Very good. But this is just one of the items we’ll be taking. It’s my birthday today, and I think I’ll just help myself to whatever tickles my fancy.

Out of curiosity, Lieutenant, what makes you think you will get away with this? I’m two seconds from blowing these doors and storming the hangar with a fully armed security detail.

You want leverage, do you, Captain? How very by-the-book of you. Alright, if you promise not to blow those doors, then I promise not to detonate this neutron bomb aboard your ship.

Calvec laughed loud enough for everyone to hear.

You’d need the activation codes before you could do that, he said. He looked over at Daz and shook his head confidently. There was no way Afriel had the codes. After pausing for dramatic effect, he spoke into the receiver, calmly and coolly. I think it’s time to face the music, Lieutenant. Surrender yourselves and you might get lucky and avoid the gallows.

"A life in prison, then? As kind of an offer as that is, I think I’ll pass, Captain. Also, I think there’s something you need to hear. Echo, Echo, Tango, Infinity, Alpha, Omega, Echo," Afriel said, reciting the neutron bomb activation codes verbatim.

How in the bloody galaxy did he get those? Daz asked in complete bewilderment.

Only she and the captain had clearance to access those codes, and neither of them had granted any such authorization. She shot the captain a startled look when he turned to her to confirm it was what they both feared. Those were, in fact, the authentic activation codes.

Without warning, the ship’s automated voice interrupted the intense silence and spoke in its mellifluous manner, <>

Graddak! Calvec cursed under his breath. Then, bringing the receiver to his mouth, he growled, Fine. We’ll permit you to disembark.

There now, I knew you’d come around to seeing it our way. And, Captain, just to be safe, we’ll be taking the neutron bomb with us. That way, if those automated turrets do decide to take us out prematurely, you’ll be coming along for the ride.

Before I grant you the access codes, Afriel, tell me one last thing. Why throw away your entire military career? What could entice you to risk a court-martial and death by hanging?

You, a proud Dagoni yourself, should know the answer to that. We have a mongrel ruling our great empire. Sullying it with her impure blood and her lack of cultural understanding. Dakroth married a common bitch and then died, leaving the large-chested cow in charge of the empire. Needless to say, there are those not happy with this turn of events. The articles of the empire are quite clear: a non-Dagoni can never inherit the throne. She is an unlawful ruler, and we want her ousted.

You must be aware that the articles of the empire also make exceptions for times of war and in case the emperor is unceremoniously lost in the line of duty. In this case, the empress meets both prerequisites.

Semantics, Captain, a technicality. In the end, the articles mean whatever you want them to mean as long as you have the power to bend the public’s perception to your will. With this neutron bomb, we now have that power.

To what end, Afriel? What’s the end game here?

We were once feared throughout all the Commonwealth. From one end of the galaxy to the next, they spoke of the mighty Dagon Empire. Now we’re nothing but a laughingstock. Instead of conquering worlds and entire star systems, we’re relegated to policing the intergalactic trade lanes and sniping at petty thieves and pirates. Meanwhile, that fat-assed Vek’miel sits on Dakroth’s throne, wearing his crown, and tarnishing it with her menstruating, impure, alien filth.

Those are bold words coming from someone of your station, crewman. The empress you dishonor with your slanderous tongue saved our world and countless others like it. She may not be pure in blood, but she’s sure as Helios pure in spirit. And if you utter one more libelous slander about our beloved empress, I’ll personally hunt you down to the ends of the galaxy and cut your tongue out myself.

Afriel balked and paused for the rest of his men to stop their snickering. If only I could take your threat seriously, Captain. But I’m afraid, like the rest of our military, you’ve let the Terran whore defang you and brainwash you with her feminine wiles. But that changes nothing. The Harbingers of Purity and Light have laid claim to the neutron weapon. And you will heed our message or face the consequences.

Calvec cut the comlink and turned to Daz. Get these assholes off my ship. That’s an order.

Yes, Captain, Daz answered. With pleasure. Taking the receiver from him, she put it to her lips and cleared her throat. Lieutenant Afriel, this is Lieutenant Commander Daz, chief of security. You’ve been granted clearance for departure from hangar bay A-7.

A flood of hoots and cheers came back over the comm before Daz cut off the link to the hangar. She looked over her shoulder at the captain, who just raised his hands and addressed the security detail with silent gestures.

The moment the ships were away, the security team breached the hangar bay doors. A loud explosion erupted in the hangar and the captain and his security team emerged from the smoke onto the main hangar deck, plasma rifles drawn.

They were too late, however, as they arrived just in time to see two Falcon heavy dropships and the prototype Warhawk passing through the blue negative-energy shields and into outer space.

Daz growled under her breath and let off several blasts of her plasma rifle. The blasts merely hit the energy barrier and dissipated. And she would have wasted a whole coolant cartridge, too, if it wasn’t for the captain gesturing with his hand for her to lower her weapon.

Stand down, Lieutenant Commander. They’re already gone.

A bunch of back-stabbing, traitorous, vek’miels...the whole lot of them! she snarled, releasing a flurry of obscenities.

Alright. Let’s find our calm and regroup. Lieutenant Commander, I need you to return to the bridge and get me a secure channel with UCC command. I need to warn them that the Demeris Ferrison has just acquired a neutron bomb.

Yes, sir. Right away, sir, Daz said, giving a salute. Then, swiveling on her heels, she slung her rifle across her back and urgently strode across the hangar deck toward the gaping hole in the corridor.

Looking back up at the parting ships, Calvec scowled. In all his years of service, he’d never once experienced anything as embarrassing or shameful as losing face to a bunch of traitorous turncoats. And although he knew there’d be hell to pay for his failure, he wasn’t going to stop hunting those deserters down until he’d rounded up every single last one and strung them up himself.

2

Ahappy melody played in the distance, rising from the streets of Arena City like a sweet spring breeze. It filled the dusty nooks and crannies of the market place and wafted in and out of the open windows along with the sounds of the nightlife stirring as the desert sun gradually sank beyond the horizon and gave way to the purple majesty of the evening.

The song, to all within earshot, was played on an ancient lute, commiserating the trials and tribulations, losses and victories of the patron of Thessalonica, that famed warrior and gladiatrix, Jegra Alakandra.

The bard’s song told of how she had begun her harrowing journey as a slave and through great trials and tribulations became a champion of the arena. It spoke of how she went from famed champion to lover of the great Emperor Dakroth, may his soul forever rest in peace. It sang of their great love affair, and how Jegra had tamed the wild heart of the promiscuous emperor himself.

Do you ever tire of hearing that tune? asked Dani as she sidled up next to Jegra on the palace balcony that overlooked the warm glow of the city lights in the valley below.

She was dressed in her royal gown of white with gold embroidery, signifying she was Jegra’s queen. And Jegra, queen of queens, had on a tangerine-colored gossamer dress of numerous translucent layers that flowed on the breeze and gave the appearance of a chimera consisting of a grand lion’s mane and a jellyfish with countless flowing arms.

Never, Jegra replied. On most days I can’t get it out of my head. The melody is pretty catchy.

Danica smiled and held out a glass of Nova Centauri Red for Jegra. She took it and sipped lightly, raising an eyebrow as she took in the particularly fine vintage.

Is this...?

Yes, Danica said, It’s from Dakroth’s reserve.

Jegra nodded and looked at the cup as she cradled it in both hands.

Your Excellency, a demur voice called out and Jegra turned to find Raphine standing in the entrance of her chambers. When Jegra made eye contact with her, she said in a soft and solemn voice, It’s time.

Jegra let out a long sigh and reached out and took Dani’s hand. Will you stay by my side, wife?

Danica smiled. Always.

Together they followed Raphine out into the large hallway and down several flights of stairs before coming to the grand hall. There, friends and loved ones greeted them, including Raven and her crew, but Jegra didn’t have the luxury of time to chat. She merely nodded at all the faces and walked past them as they sent her sad glances.

As promised, Danica accompanied Jegra out onto the main courtyard and the long rectangular pool that stretched out to the end of the green grass of her palace lawn.

Their hands still clasped, they looked up at the evening sky and beheld Dagon Prime hanging there like a giant green and blue swirling marble. It was aglow with the setting sun, which was incrementally receding behind it.

A flurry of golden light came down on top of them and whisked them away, their light particles swirling into the sky as they beamed toward the capitol city of Primea—already lighting up the southern hemisphere.

When they rematerialized, they found themselves standing at the beginning of a very lengthy dock. It was decorated with thousands of ornate flowers, brought in from every region of the empire.

At the end of the dock was a boat, and lying on the boat was the body of Rhadamanthus Dakroth, dressed in his finest burgundy and gold embroidered robes.

Standing there waiting were Brei’Alas and Grendok and the newly elected high chancellor, Marchela Vanesquia.

Vanesquia bowed as Jegra approached and kept her eyes down until Jegra uttered the words, Rise.

As wife to the empress, Brei’Alas also held the title of queen, and so merely bowed her head most subtly.

Brei’Alas and Danica leaned into one another and gave a peck on each other’s lips. Then all four women turned to Grendok.

Grendok Baphomet, ruler of the tenth satyr dynasty, dressed in his royal attire, looked the part of a king.

I appreciate you doing this, Jegra said, smiling down at the five-foot-tall satyr. You honor us.

He smiled briefly and then picked up a torch, dipped it in oil, and then, striking a flint, lit it up. He used it to light several other torches. The end of the pier glowed as he handed the first torch over to Jegra in ceremonious fashion.

The honor is all mine, he said.

Thousands of Dagon and non-Dagon citizens alike lined the banks of the bay. Aliens from all parts of the system had come to pay their respects and light paper lanterns in memory of the emperor.

Dakroth may not have been the best ruler Dagon Prime has ever had, but he was the emperor they needed to get them through their darkest hour.

Jegra looked down at her late husband’s handsome blue face one last time and, at that moment, she was taken back to when he’d first visited her in her chambers beneath the arena.

She’d just finished a match and was covered in blood, dirt, and sweat. And yet he came to her and made love to her there. And she remembered thinking to herself, if he loved me as a dirty slave, he’d loved me all the same as his wife.

She never thought in a million years this handsome, elfin lover of hers would propose. But then he did, and the rest is, as they say, history. A colorful, trouble-filled, and not always perfect history—but it was her history.

Smiling, a sparkling tear balancing on the edge of her eyelid like a morning dewdrop, she playfully whispered, "Bastard," and then tossed the torch onto the funeral boat.

The oil-soaked wood and body of the emperor went up in a blaze, and, using long poles, Jegra, Danica, and Brei’Alas pushed the boat out to sea.

At the same time, the funeral attendees—the sons and daughters of Dagon, those who felt the loss of the larger than life personality of Rhadamanthus Dakroth—including anyone who’d ever crossed paths with the enigmatic and quite eccentric ruler and came out of it unfettered by his ill-tempered bullheadedness—lined the shores by the thousands to honor his memory.

Men and women and aliens of all gender and species walked barefoot upon the white sands of the Primean shoreline, their white funeral robes fluttering in the evening breeze. Together, they lit the candles of their paper lanterns, each lantern a personal message giving their condolences and well-wishes written in beautiful golden ink, and sent them into the sky.

The dreamy orange glow of paper lanterns gradually filled the air and wafted about in the evening sky like fireflies helping to guide the emperor’s soul to the afterlife.

Jegra and her two wives, Danica and Brei’Alas, lit their lanterns and together, they let them float off the open palms of their hands to join the great migration in the sky.

The tear balancing on Jegra’s eyelid finally rolled down her cheek and she brushed it away with a gentle touch of her thumb.

By her decree, the funeral ceremony was not being televised. All televid drones and recording devices were banned, all except for the official historical biographer and his photographer, who captured the moments in full, high definition virtual imaging.

Jegra watched until the flames had consumed both her husband and the boat. She watched the flaming debris sink into the ocean where it was swallowed up. Only a small smattering of flaming oil remained, but the minuscule amounts quickly burned up, dissipating on the watery grave.

The people, in their mourning, slowly turned back to the mainland and made the sad march back to the palace gardens where they would place flowers at the steps of the great staircase and say their prayers.

Jegra wanted to be the first to place her flowers at the steps and so teleported there with Danica and Brei’Alas.

It’s sad, Brei said.

What is? Jegra asked, giving her a peculiar look.

That I didn’t get to know him better.

Believe me, wife, Danica said, you would not have enjoyed that. He was not...a pleasant man.

Still, Brei, replied, he was a big part of both your lives. I just feel like I’m missing out on knowing you both as well as I could have, you know, if I’d known him better.

Oh, sweetie, Jegra said, giving Brei a side hug, we will have a lifetime to get to know one another. This is but the close of one chapter. The next begins from this moment onward.

I suppose, Brei said, resting her head against Jegra’s bosom. Danica sidled up to Brei’s other side and sandwiched her in the middle. They all linked arms in a loving embrace and then gently set their flowers down onto the steps.

Now what? Brei asked.

That’s it, Danica said. Now we go about our lives.

Jegra tapped her pendant, and three golden beams of light came down and fetched the trio. Their particles danced about in a swirl of energy and were whisked away, back to Thessalonica.

All three materialized in the hallway leading into the grand hall where Jegra was hosting a reception for her closest friends. An informal dinner celebration to end the evening on a high note, rather than the glum, emotionally drained evening that so often follows a funereal ritual.

You girls go on ahead, Jegra said to Dani and Brei. I’m going to freshen up.

They nodded and turned to enter the large doors. Brei looked back and smiled and waved at her. Jegra smiled and waved in return.

And the very moment they passed through the threshold of the doors, Jegra clutched her stomach and raced to the nearest restroom.

She burst through the doors and immediately shuffled over to the first stall. When she pushed the door open it hit someone, and an angry voice called back, It’s occupied!

Raven? Jegra asked, recognizing her voice.

The door slowly swung open and Raven was standing there, clutching her stomach, too.

Unable to hold it back any longer, Jegra turned toward the sink and, barely making it in time, vomited into the sink pan. In turn, her gagging and spewing triggered Raven, who spun back around and vomited into the toilet.

After they’d thoroughly emptied all the contents of their stomachs and then some, Raven and Jegra turned to face one another.

Are you sick? Jegra asked.

Not exactly, Raven replied. I mean, it’s just a bit of nausea, that’s all.

You?

Just a bit of teleportation nausea. It’ll pass.

Raven gulped, choked down her gag reflex, then scurried back into the stall.

Jegra went over to her and rubbed her back as she sat, cradling the toilet seat in her arms. You sure you’re not sick?

After a long pause, Raven sighed, sat back on her knees, and then spilled the secret she’d been keeping for about a week now. I’m pregnant.

You’re what?! Jegra gasped.

It’s a long story. Raven pushed up and went over to the sink. She cupped her hands beneath the faucet and let the water flood over her hands then immediately took a drink.

"You have to...*urk*..." Jegra spun back around to vomit again, gripping the edge of the porcelain sink so fiercely it cracked under her relentless grip. But when nothing came, she took a deep breath to calm herself and then slowly exhaled.

False alarm, she informed Raven.

They looked at one another again and Raven squinted at Jegra’s face. Her skin was practically glowing it was so radiant, and she looked extremely youthful and full of vigor for a woman who’d just been through hell and back, lost a husband, and had the entire burden of ruling a Galactic Empire resting on her shoulders.

Raven’s left eye flashed hot pink and she rubbed her chin contemplatively as she studied Jegra’s vitals.

Did you just scan me?

Yes, Raven replied. The good news is that you don’t have a fever. But your standard heart rate is slightly increased. So, you may want to get that checked out at your next physical.

It’s probably nothing. I probably just caught something going around.

Unlikely. Your immune system is the most advanced I’ve ever encountered. Apart from an active nano-virus tailor-designed to kill you, there’s nothing I know of that could make you sick. Unless... Raven flipped her wrist over and opened her holovid scanner. Speaking aloud, she said, Ultrasound scan, and waved the glowing panel in front of Jegra’s abdomen.

Inside Jegra’s uterus, the faint pitter-patter of a small heartbeat could be heard.

Jegra looked down in utter shock.

By the looks of things, you’re pregnant too.

Jegra looked back up, touching her lower abdomen, her eyes closed in concentration.

Utterly and completely astonished, Jegra’s jaw fell open. Shaking her head with disbelief and a healthy side of denial, she said in a surprisingly uncertain voice for someone in her situation, But I haven’t...I mean...I haven’t...you know.

Had sex with anybody?

Not recently. I mean, just... she looked over at Raven her eyes slowly growing larger. Jegra meant herself—that is to say, Old Lady Jegra from a future timeline, whom she’d incidentally bumped into—and, well, the rest was history. She nodded with understanding.

"Okay. Anyone else other than her?"

"I don’t know... Jegra’s voice trailed off as she thought about it for a moment. Then, whispering, Impossible," she looked to Raven with sad eyes, simultaneously flooding with tears and reality-altering recollection.

What is it?

I mean, it was just the one time. It was strictly a spur of the moment thing. And, she wasn’t even supposed to be virile.

"Who’s she?" Raven pressed, eyeing Jegra suspiciously.

Callestra, Jegra confessed. She couldn’t help but blush, feeling slightly embarrassed. This was the first time she’d told anyone of her dalliance.

She took a deep breath, pausing long enough for Raven to shoot her an inquisitive glance which conveyed her keen interest in hearing the rest of this particular story. She obliged.

She came to me to ask for permission to marry Dakroth. Of course, I said yes. I’m not one to stand in the way of true love. And, well, I may have jokingly brought up invoking the right of prima nocta and, then, one thing led to another and...

You got yourself knocked up.

Completely unintentional, Jegra said, waving her hands defensively. I assure you.

I’m not judging, Raven said. She paused and then, a slow grin spreading across her lips, she stared long and hard at Jegra.

Unable to shake the unnerving feeling of Raven’s prying eyes, Jegra brushed a long tuft of