Chapter 7: Birds of a Feather
Taylor ordered his brothers to remain vigilant: no sleeping in assigned rooms. Instead, they were to gather and alternate watch shifts.
He was planning to join the enemy leader's lair—straight into the tiger's den.
Ignoring the murderous glares from the two women in his squad, Taylor strode briskly upstairs.
In his unique brand of bad luck with love, he muttered under his breath, "Look at me—how lucky can one man be? A woman who wants me dead throws herself into my arms just because I knocked on her door?"
"Tell me, Taylor, what magic power do you wield to earn a kiss like that? If I die tomorrow because of this, was it worth it?"
Though he quarreled endlessly, deep inside Taylor reckoned it was worth the trouble. He was a worldly man.
Bravely, he climbed to the second floor, relying on his knowledge and experience to solve problems—despite some guards having no real combat savvy.
Many had wives, so Taylor reckoned his "score" to be a modest 600 out of 1000.
Yet, when the lady opened the door in a thin lace dress, his mind raced with wild thoughts.
Taylor offered a charming smile, confidence in his manhood—though modest.
The lady teased, "Look who I missed the most."
Taylor caught a faint aroma—reminiscent of incense used by Anglican or machine priests.
He recalled a recipe: fish oil, fennel, mandrake root, and whole black peppercorns, crushed and blended.
Materials varied by star zone, but the smell was enough to make some cry blasphemy—especially one Chaos Cultist who used it as room deodorizer.
Taylor sniffed. "Unique scent."
She smiled, "My father loved this when alive. He never told me its meaning—until I pursued answers among the stars."
"To do this, I sold my land, lost noble status—but I don't regret it."
She embraced him, arm around his shoulder as Taylor sank onto a soft bed.
Small decorative furniture and window reliefs made the room comfortable.
She spun her tale—truth or lie, Taylor couldn't say.
He listened, moving from disbelief to suspicion, yet sensed something genuine in her.
Taylor knew the ending: she searched the stars for resolution.
Slowly, she undressed him until spotting his concealed weapon.
She smiled faintly. "Can't wait?"
Her voice was playful.
"No, tell me your story," Taylor said. "I'm all ears."
Breathing softly on him, she whispered words that drained his strength.
"The answer is clear: I have found my true faith and purpose—and you will be my partner."
Taylor's body resisted motion—not paralyzed, but heavy. His head nearly dipped into the bed.
He could only watch as she touched him.
Gratefully, he drew his lasgun.
The woman murmured, "An Imperial officer will carry me far. You seem impatient. My allure remains strong."
Taylor shivered. "How old are you?"
She paused, surprised he wasn't more distraught.
She assumed her toxins would make him a puppet.
But when she felt something hard pressed into her back, she realized a man's warmth.
Taylor said, weakly, "Ma'am, you miscalculated."
Slowly rising, he aimed his laser pistol, supporting her in an ambiguous stance.
"I hope your poisons won't kill."
She smiled, "You'd think so, but the Empire's tech detoxes most toxins."
Taylor pressed the gun to her temple. "I'm ready."
"Relax. I'll be fine in a few hours," she said coolly.
Leading her downstairs, Taylor found his brothers fully armed, battling cultists in black robes.
"Your servants?" he asked, eyes narrowing at shadowy figures with daggers.
"They belong to me," she said. "We can leave anytime. Let's call this a dream and part ways."
Taylor spat curses. "You nearly killed my brothers and me—threatened the Empire! Think I trust a damned cultist?"
"Also, you underestimated them."
As he spoke, the cultists cheered seeing their boss alive.
"Boss Taylor's blessed with long life!"
"What stakes? I never doubted his return!"
The woman laughed coldly. "You call that underestimating? A pack of wild beasts."
"Rules don't equal combat effectiveness. They're dependable," Taylor retorted.
The fight erupted—Roland unleashed heavy bombs at enemies outside the window, while Katie and Lightling sniped cultists.
Others held a tight position, using tables, chairs, and benches shielded with bulletproof armor as cover.
The woman's face darkened—her plan failed.
Taylor said, "Give up your beliefs and maybe we could be friends."
"Friends?"
She smiled, chanting strange ancient words.
Taylor realized instantly—she was a psychic.
In a flash, she became a swirling ball of smoke and vanished.
Exhausted, Taylor collapsed.
Outside, cultists scattered, leaving the farm devastated and littered with corpses.
Taylor stared pale-faced at the shattered nest and whispered, "What sins did I commit in my previous life...?"