by Renee Rose
“Yes. The Zandian sperm affected the developing fetus and contributed genetic material to the child.”
“So they really are her fathers, too. Both of them?” I breathe out, entranced.
The baby opens her eyes and smiles, grasps my finger with her tight fist.
“I’ll have to redo a full genetic mapping, but I believe she is definitely part Zandian now.” The doctor’s voice is professional but cool. I sense that he’s not pleased with this situation.
“Right now you need to rest.” Bayla soothes me and strokes my shoulder. “You and the baby, both.”
I look to the doorway, alerted by a shuffling sound, but nobody's there. My heart falls.
“Did anyone notify…” I bite my lip.
Bayla looks away. “Just rest,” she says softly, patting my hand. “We’ll talk more later about what to do next.”
Gorde
There’s nothing like a mission to distract a warrior from his pain. His heartache. It’s better than punching dents into the metal support beams of our dome, which Benn and I have been doing since we found out about Danica’s deception.
I can’t shake the nausea, the low-grade queasiness that follows me around. The whispers, how will you live without her?
But it doesn’t matter. She’s not who we thought she was. And if she deceived us about one thing, who’s to say she won’t do it again?
“Benn and I are going.” I don’t shout, but my voice holds so much power and conviction that every being in the chamber turns to gawk. “The mission is ours. We took Taxx originally, and we’ll bring him back.” I clench a fist. “Any arguments?”
Master Seke folds his arms over his massive chest, unimpressed with my bluster.
“Gorde, I think we should disc—”
I cut off my partner. “I didn’t think so. Let’s go.”
I gesture to Taxx, barely restraining myself from ripping his vecking head from his neck. Then I remember that I’m just as angry at Danica. And at myself, for trusting her. Falling for her. Stupid.
“You’ll sit quietly beside me and Benn and you won’t lift a finger to touch the craft,” I snap at Taxx, as we stride up the steps. “Because you’ll be in cuffs. Stealing a craft isn’t nearly the same thing as training for many solar cycles to pilot one. Don’t do anything stupid, or we will eject you into space and watch you suffocate.”
“Understood.” His voice is quiet but firm.
“And when we get to the planet, you’re going out first, as we discussed.”
“Gladly.” His voice is stronger now, and holds a hint of excitement.
“You know you’re probably going to die, doing this.” I don’t sugar-coat the words.
“Yes.” His answer is simple and quick.
“And yet you’re not backing out?” I stop to stare into his face.
He looks back at me, evenly, not flinching. “I’d die for her. For them.” He sticks up his chin. “I’m sorry for threatening your mate. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He looks away, then meets my gaze again. His mouth twists. “This time I’m doing what’s right.”
My jaw tightens, but I nod. We board the craft and take our places. Benn cuffs Taxx near the console, and the Zandian sits quietly, although an unmistakable energy radiates from him.
As we speed forward into the inky black, punctuated by far-flung stars, twinkles and dust, I need to ask, “Why didn’t you tell us?” It seems to be a common question, lately.
Taxx thinks for a minute, staring out at the universe streaming past us. “They told me that if I alerted you while you came to rescue me, they’d kill all of us. And that if I came back with reinforcements, they’d kill her and the young immediately. But that if I came back with something of value to barter for their lives, they’d consider it. I had to take that chance.”
“But you know you’d be walking straight into a trap.” I’m frustrated beyond belief. “Let’s say you achieved your goal and stole Danica and the craft. Gave them both over. They’d kill you at that point and still sell your human mate and young into slavery. Or hold them ransom.” I blow out my breath.
He shrugs. “I had to try. I made the wrong choice. I’m sorry I betrayed Zandia and you. I won’t do that again. There are ways to honor the past and the future at the same time. I wasn’t clever enough then, to see it. I’m wiser now.”
Benn snorts. “Sitting in prison on Zandia made you into a sage?” He scoffs.
Taxx lifts one shoulder. “I had nothing to do but think.” He sighs. “And what I thought was that my mate would be horrified if I hurt another human to help her. She’d want me to do something honorable, even if it meant that I myself was in danger.” He swallows. “And so here we are.”
“Zandian honor,” I muse. “Legend of the galaxies.”
Taxx is still gazing out at the stars. “It’s one thing that always set us apart. Oh, we have the crystals. Our strength. Skills. But our moral code is well-known. A species who, in the end, does the right thing not just for themselves, but for the good of the galaxy.”
My gut twists. Have I been that kind of Zandian lately? But my situation is different. Surely that has nothing to do with honor. It’s all about passion, what’s right. What’s wrong.
Danica was wrong.
Where is she right now? I’m sure she’s safe. Bayla notified us that she was at the clinic, and once I knew that, I figured I could ignore her for a while. Maybe forever. Thinking of her makes me physically hurt in my chest, an actual piercing pain. I don’t need that vecking misery.
“We’re approaching Hectan-3.” Benn’s voice is taut. “Masked once again as a bounty hunter. Put on the new facial masks.”
The Ocretions were quick to brag about their deep IR facial recognition technology. Boastful idiots. Luckily, we have the human engineer Genevieve and her team, who quickly worked up full face masks that scramble our identities and make us look like Bensai, an even-tempered species who are generally left alone by most species, including the Ocretions.
“This is it,” Benn warns, and unsnaps Taxx’s cuff. The three of us put on the masks, adjusting them to fit. I’m amazed at how the the two Zandians transform in front of my eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d honestly not know they were my brethren—at least, not until they got closer and I felt the pull of their crystal energy on my own.
“They were being held in the smaller facility in back of the main prison,” Taxx says, although he told us this already, during the debrief. I can tell he’s nervous from the way he taps his foot, his hands. The quiver in his voice. “So nobody else would know and try to steal them from the captors.” He clenches his fists. “I don’t know how they’re doing.” Then he takes a deep breath. “How much time until the Ocretions realize we’re not Bensai bounty hunters?”
“No more than a minute after we approach the building, so we’ll have to move fast.” I open the cabinet and pull out weapons, distributing them to the two Zandians. “Every being know your plan?”
Benn nods. Taxx does too. He’s offered to take the martyr’s role: He’ll go in first; then—if he survives—he’ll stay back and ward off any pursuers, only coming back to the craft if it’s safe. Part of me is impressed with his dedication. Another part of me still wants to kill him myself.
The stench of Hectan-3 is just as foul as the first time we were here and my nostrils ache as we take our ground craft near the prison complex. This time we avoid the main gate, and follow Taxx’s directions to find the smaller out-building near the cluster of boulders and trash compactors. It’s quite far from the main prison, down a faint dusty trail of rocks, almost completely concealed by the abandoned machinery.
“We may be in luck.” I halt the craft behind a rusty earth-mover, its bucket locked up, frozen in place like some prehistoric behemoth on top of the cracked red earth.
“They hid it well.” Taxx’s voice shakes. “Humans and Zandian young are both very lucrative. The guard who has them kept it off the books and didn’t want other guards to
snag them away from him. They in-fight like vipers, the Ocretions. No trust among thieves.”
“Works in our favor.” Benn checks his weapon. “Ready?”
We all indicate yes.
Benn looks into my face, then Taxx’s. He lifts his arm at the traditional ninety degree angle. “Fight hard, brothers. For Zandia.”
“For Zandia,” we repeat, raising our arms.
Taxx looks at me for a long moment. “I’ll make it right,” he says. He turns on his heel and jumps lightly down from the ground craft, graceful and strong, and runs to the silver out-building, weapon raised. He’s fast and lithe, and we watch for a moment to see if he takes any shots before we follow.
Everything is silent near us, although we can hear the distant groans and explosions from the mining ops, and random bells from the prison. The only sound is our feet and our breathing, and when we reach the building, we press ourselves to it, on the shadowed side. Nightfall comes quickly on Hectan-3, and it’s nearly upon us.
“The door to use is the left one. That’s the one they used when they…brought me to visit.” Taxx’s voice is rough. “It’s secured by a level three voice rec but they used overrides all the time. Lazy.”
I adjust my stunner to the level needed to destroy the electronic lock. “This’ll trip the alarms. Move fast.” I blow the door lock, the tiny explosion brilliant, almost blinding, as the metal melts, and the smell of fused steel hits the back of my nose.
“Go-go-go.” Benn’s voice is urgent, but Taxx is already in, his hand-light illuminating the area, as we rush through the anteroom into a main chamber.
“Mikala!” There’s a tone in his voice that slices into my chest, and then the cries of a human woman and two small children fill the room.
Taxx falls onto his knees next to a filthy cot. “Are you all right? Love, are you hurt? I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re going to be all right. I promise it.”
“You came for me. For us. You came. Taxx.” The human is curled up on the bed, weak, but her eyes glow in the light. “I love you. My love.” She reaches up to touch his face, wonder in her eyes. She’s like a skeleton: thin, undernourished.
The two babies huddled near her can’t be more than a few solar cycles old—they’re terrified; you can see it in their faces, and the way their horns flatten on their heads. When they see Taxx, they smile and scream, launching themselves at him, clinging to him, scrabbling with hands and feet to get close.
The human tries to stand, but can’t—I wince, seeing she’s injured. There’s blood, crusted, old. I don’t want to know what they’ve done to her. At least the young seem unharmed, if terrified.
“We need to go,” I snap, as an alarm pierces the air, splitting our eardrums, and lights flash in the near distance.
Taxx pushes the children towards Benn. “Go with him, sons. He’ll take care of you. He’ll keep you safe.”
Benn grabs them up. “Cover me,” he growls, and I lift my weapon. “Taxx, grab your mate.”
We’re nearly at the ground craft when I see them: Three Ocretions, armed with shock sticks and stunners, racing toward us.
“Faster,” I shout, and Benn dashes up the steps with the two young Zandians. There’s no time to look behind me, but I glance anyway. “Taxx, hurry with Mikala!” I shout. “We have fifteen seconds.”
As I speak, Mikala stumbles; in her weakened condition, with her leg mangled, she simply can’t move properly.
“Taxx!” She screams, looking at him, just him, the whole time. Her whole body radiating love, concern. “Taxx!”
There’s no time—I can see it, we can all see it.
“Take her,” Taxx shouts, his voice rough. “Take care of her for me, Gorde. Tell your mate I’m sorry.” He raises his weapon and stands between Mikala and the approaching Ocretions.
“Taxx, no!” Mikala’s voice is impassioned.
When I scoop her up in my arms, she weighs nothing. A feather.
I race to the craft, panting, and she twists in my arms. “Let me down!” she orders me.
“You can’t help him,” I snap. “Think of your children.”
“I am thinking of them!” Her voice is fierce. “To the left. Look.”
It’s then that I see it: Another Ocretion darts out from behind a vast, broken down shell of a digger. He’s almost at the door of our transport craft when the human in my arms does some kind of twist and is on her feet, waving her arms, getting his attention. “Over here!” she wails, hopping on her one good foot. “It’s me you want.”
He turns and fires at her, leaving enough time for Benn to shoot him in the head, and when he slides down into the blackness of the ground, she shudders and sways, too, gasping.
I hoist her up to Benn, and look back for Taxx. We can use a longer range weapon and snipe the Ocretions, swing by and grab him as we head back to our main craft.
But his body lies motionless on the ground, and I feel it: He’s gone. His mate knows it too, and she collapses into sobs, incoherent, inconsolable, as we fly back to the ship.
Benn
This trip is eerily similar to the last. This time, though, it’s Taxx’s two sons in the med pod. Having refused to lie down, wailing for their mother, they are now sitting up with the lid open, holding hands and glancing around them.
I’m no expert, but I figure the crystal energy will help, regardless of their position. At least they’re not screaming.
We also have a human. Their mother, Mikala, is weak and ill, and despite the basic medical help we provided, she clearly needs more advanced medical attention. The blast she took from the Ocretion weakened her, and we need to get her back to Dr. Daneth as quickly as possible.
We’ve given her food and liquids, and used the best med supplies we have on hand, but once she saw that her young were safe, she sank down onto the sleepdisk, rocking and moaning to herself. Crooning the name of her dead mate. Taxx. Taxx.
As the adrenaline starts to fade, I get jittery with aftershocks and take several calming breaths. “Why can’t she settle down?” I gesture at Mikala.
Gorde grunts. “She’s overwhelmed. Human emotions.”
“Should we give her a sedative?”
“Dr. Daneth said no. I talked to him over the comms. He said if possible, if she doesn’t go ballistic, to wait until we land.”
I nod, but I’m feeling emotional, too. I had no great love for Taxx, but the way he sacrificed himself for his children and his mate, to give them a chance at life on Zandia? That was noble, and regardless of his past actions, I admire him for it.
I walk over and crouch down near Mikala on the sleeping platform. “You’re safe here,” I tell her, again.
She doesn’t respond, but at least she stops chanting. Her bare toes clench and curl.
“I’m sorry about your mate. Taxx—” I take a breath. “He died saving your life and your children. That’s a good legacy.”
She looks up now, and although her face is dirty and crusted, I can see her beauty. Not like Danica, but pretty in her own way. “It’s not fair.” Her voice wobbles. “He did everything right.”
I look away. Not everything. “He did his best. You’ll remember that about him, and teach your children. They’ll be safe on Zandia, and so will you.”
She nods, but her eyes are bleak.
“Nobody will hurt you there.”
“But my children.” She gestures. “They’re not—they won’t have a father. Will they still be welcome?”
“Of course.” I respond automatically. “All Zandians are welcome, and desired. Human females, too. Because…” Then I hesitate. It would be thoughtless to talk about another mate for her, when she just lost Taxx.
“Because we are compatible mates.” She looks down at her feet. “Taxx told me.” Her voice cracks and her small hand clenches on her dirty garment. “But what being would want a human mate who already has young from another male? I can never change that.”
Without thinking, I take her hand, not with passion, but
with compassion. “There are all kinds of families, Mikala. You may find the perfect mate who wants you and your young.” I squeeze her hand. “Because they like you just as you are. Without changes.”
Then I suck in my breath as a thought occurs to me.
She tilts her head, questioning. Even in the midst of her despair, she—like other humans, like my human—is quite perceptive.
I shake my head. “Why don’t you wash up, put on clean clothing? Eat? I can show you.” I make my voice coaxing and soft. “If you take care of yourself, you can take better care of your young. Right?”
She nods, finally. “Thank you. Yes.”
As she moves to take care of her own needs, and her young, I sit for a moment, lost in thought. Wondering what the veck I’m doing with my own life.
Danica
“The king will see you now.” Bayla smiles at me and touches my arm. “Don’t be worried,” she adds in an undertone. “Everything will be fine.”
No, it won’t. I don’t say it out loud because Bayla’s too sweet and I don’t want to disturb her. Everything is far from fine.
The young squirms in my arms. Calm, Mama.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, dropping a kiss on her soft forehead. She chortles and blinks her amethyst eyes—so like both her fathers’.
That thought gives me a pang in my chest, so painful I have to stop walking for a moment. I suck in a breath and push forward. The sooner I get this over with, the better. The anxiety of not knowing my future is killing me.
As I walk into the palace’s Great Hall to meet with the king, I hold my baby tightly and curtsy, dropping my eyes. “My lord.”
“Danica.” His voice doesn’t sound angry or aggressive. “You are well?”
I bounce the baby, even though she’s not fussy. “I’m feeling fine.” Nursing the baby gave me unexpected energy, and my wound seems to have healed ridiculously quickly. “Thank you for seeing me, my lord. It’s important I speak with you.”
He raises a finger and a hoverchair is placed in front of his throne by one of the elderly servants. “You may sit.”
