Prime Obsession:The Prime Chronicles 01(6)

By: Monette Michaels


“Thank you, Ambassador … I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name.” She smiled at the man who reminded her a lot of her scholarly father, only a lot bigger and assuredly more deadly. His eyes—while smiling at her—hid a stronger will behind them. He would not desist until she agreed to go to the hospital. Again, reminding him of her father.

“Ambassador Tor Maren.” He bowed his head to her, then gestured to the other two men with him. “Allow me to present Huw and Iolyn Caradoc, number two and three sons to the leader of the Prime, Ilar Caradoc.”

The two dark-haired males bowed their heads in greeting.

Caradoc? Rifling through her memory, she finally placed the name. Caradoc was the most prominent family on Cejuru Prime from a royal line that went back to the beginning of Prime history. Her mother and father, space archaeologists and historians who specialized in ancient Prime sites, would be thrilled to hear she’d met them. The Caradocs were featured prominently in most of the historical documents her parents had found and catalogued on their digs. She’d grown up on the dig sites and practically learned Prime as she learned English and her parents’ native Greek. She knew their planet’s history as well as or even better than Earth’s.

Mel tried to stand.

“No, Captain,” Huw said. “Please do not rise. We no longer are treated as royalty.

Now, our family is just part of the Prime leading council. We are mere politicians, here to help finalize the formal alignment of our planet with the Gallactic Alliance.”

“Why did you fight that man?” Iolyn asked, his brow creased in puzzlement. “You know we are warriors; we could have handled the situation.”

“I meant no insult to your fighting prowess. But Parker is—was—an Alliance military problem. If you had defended yourselves and killed him, then there would’ve been a political disaster.”

The three Prime nodded, acknowledging the truth of her conclusion.

Ambassador Maren said, “Ah, yes, a definite consideration. Thank you for aiding us in avoiding a diplomatic nightmare of universal proportions. We are in your debt. By the way, where did you learn your fighting techniques? You are quite effective for a female.” Mel gritted her teeth against a knee-jerk response to the man’s unabashed male chauvinism. Instead, she said, “My military training encompassed all sorts of hand-to-hand and street fighting techniques. You will find that all Alliance military personnel are proficient in some form of hand-to-hand combat.”

“But you used other, shall we say, more unusual techniques,” the Ambassador said.

“Oh, you mean the maneuver with the wrist? Caught that, did you?” She smiled, then grimaced as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Haltingly, she explained, “I found the technique on a very old data disk discovered in an underground Prime site on Obam IV.”

“Obam IV?” Huw asked.

“It was where I spent most of my childhood and where my parents still live,” she grasped the arm of the chair, but her surroundings continued to swirl. “Uh, they supervise a dig there. They are Prime site experts in the Alliance Space Archaeology Institute.”

“We must meet your parents some day,” the Ambassador said as he gently covered her hand with his. “They have raised a very strong and lovely daughter. May we escort you to the hospital? You are extremely white, and I sense your colleagues are very upset.”

“Thank you. I do feel a little shaky.” And sick to her stomach.

Nowicki snorted and mumbled “About damn time.”

Mel threw her second-in-command a nasty look, and regretted the quick movement almost as soon as she’d done it.

Using the chair arm and the Ambassdor’s strong hand, she levered herself into a standing position. As he assisted her toward the exit, the world began to reel. Hot and cold shivers raced over her body as white, yellow and red flashes and dots swept across her line of vision.

As she fainted into the arms of the Prime Ambassador, Nowicki swore colorfully in the background. She’d have to remember to cite him for language unbecoming an officer when she felt better.





* * * *





Maren stood outside the private hospital room he’d insisted upon for Melina Dmitros. He couldn’t call her by her military title, because she just didn’t seem like a military officer—despite the fact she’d single-handedly taken out a large Terran male while recovering from what her fellow officers had assured him had been a life-threatening laser blast.

“She is a Prime female. How did she end up on Obam IV and then in the Alliance military?” Huw asked. “She should be on the home planet, safe and protected as all our women are.”

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