Wrage (Galaxy Gladiators #11) - Alana Khan Page 0,6

uncle. I sit in this office and read all day waiting until I’m old enough to collect my pension. There is no such thing as a Paragonian divorce.”

“No one on your planet gets divorced?” Elyse asks, dumbstruck.

“It’s not allowed. This position was created to give me a job.”

“Certainly, there must be a way.”

“It’s illegal. Who conducted your mating ceremony? Was that person not clear that we mate for life on this planet?”

“Yeah. He mentioned something like that. We have that back where I come from, too. You swear to that, but can get divorced when you start hating each other. Like now,” the female says, her eyes narrow to slits and flick in my direction.

“Not on Paragon.”

“You don’t understand,” she leans farther over the desk, “we need to get a divorce.”

“No, you don’t understand. There is no divorce. Did the branding ceremony not signify the permanence of the arrangement?”

Elyse sighs, takes another deep breath, then rises. “Come on, Blue. We’ll just have to arrange to go off planet to get one.”

“Uh, ma’am? I’m afraid that’s not possible either.”

“What do you mean not possible? You can’t legislate what’s outside your jurisdiction.” Her nostrils flare in anger.

“All planets in the galaxy have reciprocity. We acknowledge marriages from every other planet. By the same token, our rules must be followed. No divorce is allowed if you were married on planet Paragon.”

“Okaay,” she says, obviously all out of patience. “We’ll just go our separate ways without benefit of paperwork.” Once again she moves to leave.

“Uh, ma’am? I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

My gut clenches. This can’t be happening.

Elyse

I’m back in my chair, giving him my full attention. There was something about his tone of voice and the ultra-serious look on his face that makes a slice of fear jolt up my spine.

“Go on,” I say, leary.

“When your officiant branded you, he placed a tracking device under your skin during the procedure. Here.” He taps his keyboard furiously, then swings the screen around so Blue and I can see.

“See the two blinking purple dots? Those are you two. Our computers track all matings. Should you be apart for more than an annum—three-hundred-seventy days on our planet—we assign a peacekeeper to go get you and bring you back to Paragon for punishment.”

I’m quiet for a long moment. One thing you learn quickly when you’re enslaved is how to play every system. Right now my mind is flipping facts and information like a kid trying to solve a Rubick’s Cube. Aha! Got it.

“So as long as my . . . beloved and I are together one day out of every three-hundred-sixty-nine, then we stay within Paragon law?” I ask sweetly.

“Oh no, Ma’am. We have algorithms.” He nods his head proudly. “You can’t do that more than once unless one of you is in the military. If that occurs, we check with the branch you’re serving in to corroborate the evidence.”

Algorithms. Smug bastard! And he says it all in such a helpful tone of voice.

I glance over at Blue. He’ll be of no help. He looks as if someone struck him a hard blow to the head—more than once.

“Doesn’t it seem prudent that if two people hate each other they shouldn’t be forced to stay together?” Under my breath, I whisper, “This is bullshit.”

“What would be more prudent is for two people who hate each other not to mate in the first place,” he replies as if he just issued an obvious fact instead of a scolding.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Is there no way out, Analac?” I ask, my voice a dry whisper.

“You could try to make the best of it. Maybe become friends,” he says hopefully.

I take one look at Wrage, what a fitting name. Although now instead of his usual glower he looks near tears.

“Any other suggestions?” I ask through a frown.

“No.” He rises. “But I have to thank you. This is the most fun I’ve had on the job in a decade or more.”

Fucker.

“You’re welcome,” I say wryly.

Blue and I shuffle out of the office and wind up sitting on a nearby park bench.

“This is all your fault,” we both say at the same time.

“What part of ‘I was a slave’ do you fail to understand?”

“I didn’t want to be mated,” he moans. I hate to admit that his devastation gives me a moment of glee.

“So tell me your circumstances,” I say, still wondering if there’s a way out of this. I need more facts. “You obviously don’t live on this planet.”

“I was a gladiator-slave until about two