The doors parted swiftly, and T’reen wasted no time leading
the War Angel crew into the room. Sarah’s eyes darted around quickly, taking
inventory of where they were: the walls were a bright shade of white, and they
tapered to a point around twenty-five feet above their heads. At the far end of
the room was another door, barely perceptible in the wall. A long table
stretched down the middle of the room, covered in ornate fabrics and place
settings. She took note that each plate was accompanied by a knife that was
certainly sharp enough to be deadly to either species in the room, wondering
just how confident the Omegans were that the crew was of no threat or
consequence. There were nine chairs around the table, each with a high back and
thick padding. “Luxurious,” she thought. “Strangely so.” A chair sat at each
end of the table, and she realized that T’reen was going to be sticking around.
“Jack, you lucky bastard,” she thought, exhaling heavily.
T’reen waived the group to their seats, Jack going first and
taking one next to where he assumed M’isti would sit. Sarah sat across from him,
eyeing him carefully, and the rest fell in quickly: Kate and Gina, then Wilma
next to the empty chair, and Ben across from her. If the Omegans kept their end
of the bargain, Drake’s father would be joining them soon. But the main event
was the Supreme Commander, and he did not disappoint.
As the crew got comfortable, the other door opened and F’ath
M’isti strode into the room. M’aschi T’reen stood, and the War Angel crew
absently did the same, greeting the leader of the Omegan forces as he entered.
Seeing him up close for the first time, Jack had to admit to himself that he
was more than a little impressed. Much as he had ordered the War Angel crew to
wear dress uniforms, M’isti had gone all out, donning his own formal garb. The
purple-hued alien was wearing a combination of black pants and short black
boots, along with a dark red tunic that was bordered with black stripes and
symbols that Jack had never seen before. Draped off of his shoulders was a full
cape, reminiscent of leaders from mid-20th century Earthen lore. He
stood almost seven and a half feet tall, and as he walked to the table, he
seemed to just get bigger.
For the first time, Jack had serious doubts about his plan.
“I present F’ath M’isti, Supreme Commander of the Omegan
fleet!” T’reen bellowed, and then bowed to his commander. “Supreme Commander, I
present the crew of the War Angel.”
M’isti stood and looked around at the humans in his midst,
his face frozen in concentration. After the first few seconds, Gina felt a drop
of sweat trickle down her cheek, followed by another. She turned her gaze
slightly downward, suddenly wondering if they were allowed to actually look at
the man.
Jack merely smiled. “Nice cape, Supreme Commander.”
M’isti turned slowly on his heel, and cocked an eyebrow.
“I’d offer you one, but I doubt we have one in your size, Captain.” That burst
the dam, and Jack let out a belly laugh. M’isti joined him, stopping his laugh
to waive at the rest. “Please, sit. You’ve come a long way for dinner. And
dinner we shall have!” He snapped his fingers loudly, and two smaller Omegans
appeared from the door where the crew had entered.
The first Omegan, Kate noticed, was a woman, the first
female of the species she had seen. Though shorter in stature than either
T’reen or M’aschi, she was still an imposing figure. Given the chance, Kate was
certain that the Omegan was plenty strong enough to kill a human in unarmed
combat without working up a sweat. The
Omegan woman poured water into glasses around the table, and as she finished, a
male Omegan stepped in behind and placed covered dishes in front of each member
of the dining party. As they backed away, F’ath M’isti stood and placed his
hands on his hips.
“Captain Keys,” he said, nodding in Jack’s direction. “I see
you have treated this crew honorably. You won a great victory and rewarded them
properly with battlefield promotions.” Jack looked up at his Omegan counterpart
and gave a slight nod. “I see that you are now… Commander Matto, Lieutenant
Commander Stinson, Lieutenant Almond, and Lieutenant Drake.” He grabbed his
glass of water and raised it to the War Angel crew. “Impressive.”
Jack toasted him back. “Thank you, Supreme Commander.”
“Pity about your accident, though,” M’isti replied with a
slight snarl.
“Yes. Lieutenant
Commander Park
was a good man. He’ll be missed,” Jack said, cutting him off.
“Where is my father!?” Ben blurted, no longer able to
contain himself.
M’isti sat back down. “On his way, young Drake. Patience.
Now,” he said, his voice taking on a soothing tone, “you’re probably wondering
what we’re having this evening.” He lifted the cover off of his own dinner, and
on the plate was a hunk of some meat that none of the crew could immediately
recognize, accompanied by some leafy greens. “This is Idvall, and Omegan
delicacy. The human equivalent would be something like your beloved cow. I
believe you have a dish called prime rib?”
“I’m a fan,” Jack said with a smile.
“Then you should enjoy this very much. Idvall is a rarity
here of course; we had to bring a supply with us and it is difficult to keep
fresh.”
Sarah gave M’isti a gentle smile. “It is very generous of
you to share it, then. Thank you.” He seemed surprised by her speaking up, but
he caught himself and nodded in her direction.
“It is my pleasure.”
At that moment, the door opened again, and an Omegan warrior
stepped into the room. “The prisoner, Supreme Commander.” He stepped aside, and
Patrick Drake stepped into the room. The older man had been cleaned up, but it
was clear that he had many bruises and contusions, and he was having difficulty
walking on his own. He was staring at the ground, watching his feet move as he
walked, oblivious to what was going on or where he was, but that ended quickly
with a loud shout.
“Dad!”
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