by Ruby Dixon
Plus, I'm addicted to the way his eye crinkles up on one side of his face when he smiles at me. I live for that small movement.
The alien behind the counter looks up as we enter and promptly fumbles with the data pad in his hands. "Oh. You brought the human," he blurts. "I didn't think…" He trails off, letting his statement fall into silence.
If Zakoar notices how flustered his employee is, he doesn't say anything. He puts a possessive hand to the small of my back and leads me to the door. "Is my client here?"
"Inside," the big alien agrees, his gaze flicking from me to Zakoar. "In your office. Do you need anything from me?"
"The roasting skewers smell good," Zakoar says. "When you pause to eat, get enough for myself and Tessa." He thinks for a moment, and then adds, "And something sweet for her."
"Of course," the male says, and he sounds completely baffled.
Zakoar leans close to me. "Come. I'll show you where you'll sit while I work." He pushes the door open to his office and ushers me inside. It's crowded in here, too, but not because of parts. It's just a small office with a few chairs, a large desk covered with light-sources to brighten the otherwise dark room, and a big, scarred mesakkah with a shock of white hair sitting in a chair across from the desk. He wears a big visor over his eyes and his tail flicks back and forth, his head lifting as we enter. "You my client?" Zakoar asks him.
"I am." The elderly alien man turns his head toward us, but by the way his gaze roams right past us, I get the sense that he can't quite see where we're at.
"I brought my female with me," Zakoar says, his tone hard and blunt. "You touch her and I'll keffing kill you."
I blink in surprise at that fierce statement, letting Zakoar shepherd me toward a chair behind the desk. But the client only chuckles. "She must be very pretty then for you to warn me like that."
"Beautiful," Zakoar admits, and his hand smooths over my hair. "Wait here."
I'm not sure if that command is for me or the client, but neither of us moves. Zakoar heads to the wall behind me, pushes a secret panel open, and then puts his hand on a pad. He types something in and then the entire wall slides backward, revealing what looks like a med-lab setup and a wall covered with prosthetic limbs neatly organized in cubbyholes. I watch as Zakoar moves to the med-lab and powers it up, the machines humming to life. A long tube extends out of the wall slowly, reminding me of CAT scan machines back on Earth.
"Eyes, right?" Zakoar asks.
I glance over at the elder mesakkah with the visor on his face. He isn't watching Zakoar, his gaze still on nothing at all. "Don't you want to know my name?"
"No," Zakoar says bluntly. "The less I know about you, the better it is for both of us."
"Ah." The alien man smiles. "Eyes, yes. Visor doesn't work like it used to. Thought I'd like to see again and heard you were the one to talk to."
Zakoar taps a few more buttons and then glances over at me, as if reassuring himself that I'm all right. I give him a faint smile of encouragement and sit back in the chair, indicating that I'm settling in. He relaxes at that, then crosses the room over to the older man. "Can I see your visor?"
"Of course." The man reaches up and takes it off, and underneath, his eyes are nothing but scars. I shouldn't be surprised, but the sheer brutality of this universe never fails to startle me.
Zakoar studies the visor, then makes a noise of assent. "Not a bad model, but outdated. I can fix this up for you if you'd rather. It'd be cheaper than prosthetic eyes. Less dangerous, too."
The older man immediately shakes his head, big horns drawing my eye. "No, I want the eyes," he says. "I've had that visor for near thirty years now and it's caused me nothing but problems. I think I'd like to spend the last part of my life seeing everything."
"Tikosa told you the price?"
"He did."
Zakoar grunts. "If you're pleased with my work afterward, we can talk about how much you want for the visor. I'll buy it off of you." When the man nods, Zakoar taps his shoulder. "Give me five minutes to get everything ready."
I watch as Zakoar heads back into the med-lab section and touches the wall. Immediately, the room I'm in is closed off, a glass partition unfolding and separating the two of us. He bends over his work, completely focused on the machines. I'm smiling to myself as I watch from this side of the glass, because I see that same focused intensity on his face right now as I do when we're in bed together.
"Has he worked on you before?" The voice is soft, a little wobbly.
I glance over in surprise at the elderly mesakkah. "M-me?"
The man nods, gesturing at his scarred eye-sockets. "I can't see anything. Even with the visor, it'd just tell me where you're at, not what you look like. Do you have prosthetics, too?"
"No," I admit. "But he's the best at what he does." I don't know that for certain, but I can guess, based on how big his apartment is and how well-respected Zakoar is on the station. Everyone speaks of him with pride and a hint of reverence. "You're in good hands."
The older man smiles faintly. "Doesn't mean I'm not scared." He chuckles. "It's been a long time since I've been under the knife, and the last one didn't go well at all." His tail moves in restless flicks behind him. "I heard he has to go into your brain, wire everything up…" He swallows hard. "I know the risks. Told myself I'm okay with them, but now that I'm sitting here, I'm wondering if I'm an old fool."
My heart aches for the man. I notice now that he's sweating, and one of his big hands clenches and unclenches against his tunic, trembling ever so slightly. I move to his side and sit down in the empty chair next to him, then take his hand in mine. He squeezes it so tight I'm pretty sure I'll have bruises, but he calms at my touch. "I promise you that he's amazing. Zakoar can do anything. If there's someone in the galaxy you can trust to keep you safe, it's him."
The man's smile grows a little, though he doesn't ease his death grip on my fingers. "I won't know what to look at first. When I get my new eyes, that is."
"That's easy," I tease. "You can look at me. Remember? I'm beautiful, according to Zakoar, and we both know he's never wrong."
His smile grows broader. "I'd like that. You'll be there when I wake up?"
"Absolutely," I reassure him with another squeeze of his hand. "After all, you'll need something good to look at to ensure the eyes are working properly." I'm just teasing, but he seems utterly delighted—and at ease—with my bold statements. I glance over at Zakoar, and he's watching us, a hint of a smile on that hard, unique mouth of his.
16
ZAKOAR
True to her word, Tessa is quiet and unobtrusive as I work. Prosthetic eyes are a common enough implant, but one that requires a lot of concentration, and I'm focused far more on my work than on my female for a time. She remains out of the way, but whenever I pause to take a break, I notice a glass of water waiting for me, or a hot cup of tea, as if she's thinking about my comfort even as I work on my client.
I rather like her being around, which surprises me. I never let Tikosa in my office when I work, because I find his presence obtrusive. But Tessa doesn't interrupt me, doesn't pepper me with questions, and she doesn't try to “help” out and invariably slow me down. She's just a quiet, easy presence who gives me an encouraging smile when I push the release on the med-tube and start to shut things down. I'm tired, my head aching from the intense focus of the last few hours. I want to take a hot shower and mate with Tessa…or simply curl up on the bed and watch a vid with her tucked against my side. I want to ask her what she thought of my work, and to see if she's bored. I want to know if she's interested in learning about how to do what I do—
Oh, who am I keffing kidding? I don't care about any of that. I just want to pull her close and talk to her. I'm addicted to her, and it feels as if it's been days since we've touched. I want to haul her against me and see if she'll kiss my ugly mouth again, because I'm a keffing greedy fool when it comes to her.
To my surprise, she jumps to her feet the moment I release the
med-tube and moves toward it. She watches as the sleeping agent drains away from my patient, an intent expression on her face. "I promised him I'd be the first thing he saw with his new eyes," she tells me, an impish look on her face. "He was a little nervous."
She has a kind heart, this human. I nod, and when she takes the male's hand, I try not to get jealous. She looks upon him like she would a grandparent, not a lover. And I'm not…keeping her. I'm not.
The male on the table stirs, the restraints retracting back with a slithering sound. I move next to him, peeling the last of the healing bandages off of his eyes. They've been covered for the last hour, accelerating the rejuvenation process, and now's the time to see if my handiwork will pay off. It will. It always does. I just like seeing the customer pleased with my work. I like seeing that first spark of hope in someone's gaze when they realize what I've done for them. That they're no longer constrained by limits imposed on their bodies by something that wasn't working as it should.
I know how invigorating that feels. How it seems as if suddenly, anything is possible. Maybe that's why I like this moment in the process best. It's not the credit (though that certainly is welcome). It's seeing that restored light in someone's eyes. "Tell me what you see," I say calmly as the male stirs. "And if there's any pain."
"We're right here with you," Tessa says in a gentle, caring voice. She squeezes the male's hand and I realize he's holding tightly to hers. "Take as long as you need to open your eyes. We don't want you to feel uncomfortable."
I glance over at her, amused that she's contradicting me. I'm not normally gentle with my clients. I don't want their names. I don't want them lingering. I just want to do what they've asked and send them on their way. But as the elderly male holds onto Tessa's hand tightly, I can see the advantages of having a caring, gentle assistant at my side to provide the warmth that I don't.
Not that she's staying, of course. She's going to Risda.
He opens his eyes, and his blink is slow, as if he's forgotten how to do so. Probably has; it's been so long since he's had actual eyeballs that his body has forgotten how to handle such things. The scar tissue around his eyes has been softened, too, and while he won't ever be a raving beauty, the prosthetic eyes should be able to give him perfect vision.
"What do you see?" Tessa asks, an encouraging smile on her face.
The male's eyes focus and he looks over at her. His mouth trembles as if he's going to weep, but no tears come out. He's got no tear ducts left. "I see the prettiest female in the galaxy," he whispers.
She just beams at him, and I'm…oddly pleased. About all of it.
The male lingers for a while longer, adjusting his eyesight as Tessa dotes over him and serves him tea. I count his credits and make notes in my files to re-order more parts, but I watch her just as much as I pretend to look busy. When the male finally leaves, his silvery eyes open wide with wonder as he wanders out of my shop, she finally comes to my desk and hops up on the corner, plopping her backside on a stack of inventory sheets.
"You made him so happy," she tells me, beaming. "Is that why you do this?"
"Credits," I say in a gruff voice. She already knows me too well if she's asking that. "Just for credits."
"Mmmhmm." She reaches over and snags the visor out of my hands. It's grossly out of date, and I paid the male far too much for it, but he was elderly…and deserved good eyes. I made the money back on the operation, anyhow. I watch her as she toys with the visor, peering at it. "Just credits. Say…are you hungry?"
"Ravenous," I admit.
"Your assistant kept the food hot. I asked him to. Saved my lunch so I could eat it with you and asked him to get extra because I thought you might be hungry."
She thought about me? Normally I scarf a cold meal between tasks, and the fact that she's looking after me sends a pang of guilty pleasure through my system.
Kef me, but I want to keep her. I imagine every day like this, having my female at my side, quietly taking care of me while I work on improving things that the military has carelessly patched together. I imagine returning home to my apartment with her lively smile in my mind, and her bright chatter. I imagine her sitting on my desk every day, teasing me boldly like she is right now.
I should have never promised to take her to Risda. No one would think twice if Zakoar of the Broken Back kept a slave. The only one that would feel betrayed is Tessa, and she has no power.
But I wouldn't do that to her. I like the sparkle in her eyes. I never want it to go out. "We'll take the food back to my apartment."
"Oh? Tikosa said you might have to do some more work, get the next prosthetic ready for tomorrow's client." She gestures at the door, to the crowded shop on the other side. "I don't mind waiting around—"
How long did she talk to Tikosa, I wonder with jealousy. Does he find her as entrancing as I do? I hate that I'm jealous of a boy—because that's what Tikosa is. He's barely into adulthood, and he's got a sweetheart on the far side of the station as it is. My jealousy is foolishness. It's just because I'm obsessed with her. "We're going home," I repeat firmly. "We're going to put the food back into the warmer, and I'm going to toss you down on my bed and take you so hard that your entire body shivers when I'm inside you."
Her eyes go wide, her pupils darkening. "I like that idea," she whispers. "How long will it take to get back to your apartment?"
Too long. But maybe if the elevator isn't too crowded, I can touch those tight nipples of hers that are already straining against the fabric of her dress. Get her wet for me before we even get to the door. Or…
I get up and close the door to my office, locking it. I turn back toward her, and she moans, arching her back as if she can read my mind, thrusting those pink-tipped breasts at me.
"Skirts up," I tell her, and she obeys instantly.
We don't leave my office for at least another hour.
17
TESSA
It's terrifying to be so happy.
As one day passes into another, and a week into two, then three, then four, Zakoar and I settle into a routine that seems as natural as breathing. We go into the shop together, and on days that he has clients, I make myself scarce, only popping up to tend to him or to a client that has questions or needs reassurance. Other times, I count inventory for him, ensuring that the pieces he has requested are all there. I make sure he eats lunch. I rub his shoulders when a long surgery ends up taking even longer. I'm fascinated by what he does, and I know it requires a lot of concentration and skill. All of the clients that come in are in awe of his work, and a little terrified of him. On the days he doesn't have clients, we have shorter days in the office, where he shows me the basics of what he does. I learn the tools he uses so I can hand them to him, and sterilize equipment. He teaches me some of the basic symbols of his written language. While I'm a long way from being proficient, I've learned to recognize “on” and “off” and “sterilize” and a few other functions.
I make him take breaks, too, because Zakoar will work himself for hours on end over a single project, and I know how much it can fatigue him. So I wear a slave circlet at my neck that has his name printed on it, and even if it's a collar, I know it's for my own safety. No one will dare touch me if I wear something proclaiming that I belong to Zakoar, and I make sure to keep that collar on display at all times, wearing my hair up to ensure my neck is clearly visible. Zakoar is highly respected in the station. I see dangerous-looking syndicate men—men who terrify me at the sight of them—nod in acknowledgement of Zakoar. They don't harass me, even though I recognize more than a few from my cantina days. It's like now that I'm with Zakoar, I'm absolutely off-limits. It doesn't matter that I'm human. I'm untouchable when I'm wearing his collar.
For someone like me, who's been groped far more times than I can possibly count, it's exhilarating. I’ve never felt safe on Three Nebulas Station before, but I absolutely feel safe now.
I’ve seen so much of the station in the last few weeks, too. Once Zakoar saw how m
uch I loved just visiting the bazaar, he’s made it his personal goal to drag me everywhere in the station to show me everything. I’ve watched enormous ships float feather-light through space onto the docks. I’ve seen museums and terrariums and there was even a food festival on the bazaar floor one day, and we tasted everything. I have so many dresses now that I won’t possibly be able to take them all with me to Risda when I go, but Zakoar always buys me more. He likes my smile, he tells me.
I’ve got a lot more reasons to smile now that I’m with him.
Even after a month of being with him, the sex is still incredible and as intense as the first day, I muse, as I take inventory of a box full of metallic bolts that look as if they’ve been recently pried from their homes. There’s supposed to be seven hundred and forty-two here, so I’m pulling each one out, examining it to make sure it isn’t stripped, and then adding it to the “good” pile. Zakoar’s in the med-bay, tuning up someone’s malfunctioning arm. Tikosa’s out front as he always is. I glance back through the glass over at Zakoar. I happen to pick the same moment he does to look over at me and he casts me a heated look that promises desk sex the moment the customer leaves.
