Under Different Stars

by Amy A. Bartol

  I feel Trey take my hand as he raises it to his lips, kissing my fingers gently.

  “Do ya have a sister?” the soldier with the fiery-red hair near Wayra asks, getting nudges and laughs from his friends around him. I shake my head, feeling a blush stain my cheeks right before the entire compartment lurches upward like an insane carnival ride, making me feel like my stomach dropped to my feet.

  “Ugh,” I groan, closing my eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Gideon asks with concern.

  “Nothing, I just hate that part,” I reply, trying to make it sound like I’ve done this before. Then, the compartment walls begin contorting, caving in on us like a garbage compactor. My heart lurches into my throat, feeling my seat move forward toward Wayra and Gideon, like some ugly, funhouse ride. It stops a short distance in front of Wayra’s seat. He winks at me and my eyes shoot from his as a rumble, like thunder, shakes the craft. I pull my hand from Trey’s, gripping the straps of the belts crisscrossing my body.

  When the noise dissipates, Trey whispers in my ear, “This is normal.”

  “For who?”

  Hearing his deep laugh, I clench my teeth. As I glare up at him, he’s watching me with a sexy glint in his eyes that I haven’t seen there before. My body reacts to his sultry stare, as a heightening awareness of him makes my skin feel electric.

  Feeling the craft rocket forward, it’s only a few minutes before the ALV begins a rapid descent. Like an elevator whose cable had been cut, we plummet toward the ground; the vehicle trembles and shutters from the velocity and force being exerted upon it. Squeezing my eyes shut, Trey rests his enormous hand on my thigh, distracting me momentarily from the fact that we’re going to be flattened when we hit the ground. Peeking at Trey, I try to pry his hand from my leg, but he’s not letting me.

  The craft distorts again, widening and taking me back away from Wayra, who winks at me again as the wall and seats straighten out to their original positions. As we touch down, I notice that I have a death grip on Trey’s finger, one of the ones resting on my thigh. Easing my hand away, I say quietly in Trey’s ear, “Do you mind?”

  “Do I mind, what?”

  “Your hand is on my thigh. You’re touching me. Isn’t touching bad?” I ask, remembering his etiquette lesson.

  “You’re my consort. I’m supposed to touch you,” he replies in a low tone, his cheek brushing mine. Heat flushes through me at the caress.

  Glancing at the soldiers around me, they’re all watching us like cats watch a birdcage. “You don’t have to oversell it.”

  “Hmm?” Trey smiles at me as the cargo door opens, releasing air and pressure from the interior of the craft.

  “Shh,” I hush him, holding my breath in anticipation of the first sight of my new civilization.

  CHAPTER 11

  COMANTRE CROSSES

  As the ramp deploys from the ALV, I scan the exterior, seeing that we’re in some sort of military compound. The first thing I notice, stepping out of the transport, is that the air is cooler. The sticky, tropical atmosphere that I’ve grown accustomed to in the last few days has lost the sweltering edge. It’s like this area is climate controlled, not too hot or too cold or too humid.

  Although the weather is temperate, the very air is electric with activity as soldiers file here and there on their way to whatever duty they have to fulfill. Enormous vehicles with long claw-like, robotic arms are off-loading cargo from airships in the same area where we are debarking. Facing the gaping, retractable door to the fortress, a small shiver escapes me. It’s sleek and high-tech, modern architecture with old world accents. It’s like space station meets medieval gothic fortress. Windows, like arrow slits, line the exterior walls, forming crosses in the perfectly mortared, metallic gray façade. Defensible parapets tower above our heads, patrolled by more well-armed Comantre Syndics.

  Pressing nearer to Trey’s side, I walk with him through the bay doors and into a military checkpoint. Mounted guns on the walls raise threateningly the instant I approach the threshold to the interior. Blue pinpoints of light dot me again while flashing lights begin to whirl around as loud, terrifying sirens blare throughout the area. I freeze as an automated voice rises above the din, saying: “Unauthorized personnel present in bay Acrom, Peston, Florna-Zero, Nine, Nine, Hertza.” Trey steps in front of the blue dots, shielding me from them.

  Gideon immediately barks out, “Authorize visitor.” Looking at my ashen face as the sirens cease and the guns idle again, he says, “I apologize. I should’ve alerted them to you prior to landing.”

  Smiling grimly, I try to pull off a casual shrug. “I get that a lot.”

  “I would wager that you do,” Gideon replies, grinning.

  Frowning, Trey asks, “Are you okay?” When I nod, straightening my shoulders, he reaches out, taking my hand and holding it tight.

  Ushering us through the main gate, Gideon leads us down wide hallways with illuminated floors and ceilings. Passing by bustling soldiers, I’m beginning to feel uncomfortably like a carnival sideshow freak. Everyone is giving me a second look, even the super tall, willowy females who are nearly as statuesque as their male counterparts.

  Pausing at an administration desk and glancing around, I see that everything is big, not just the people. Chairs are taller and wider, tables are higher, and door latches are mounted so that I’d have to reach up to open them. Listening absently, Trey begins answering a barrage of questions put to him by the Comantre soldier in charge, as Jax stands by us filling in when asked a direct question. Wayra is lingering on my other side, staring down anyone who ventures too close to me.

  Seeing that my job here is to keep my mouth shut, I study the females milling around. They look like tall, exotic birds; their limbs are exaggerated and lithe. Some have long, rust-colored hair, like Gideon, but others have hair of varying shades between light brown and tawny. No one has platinum hair like mine. Neither do they have dark hair like Wayra, Jax, and Trey. Eye color is different, too. Comantres that I can see have varying shades of green and blue eyes. No violet eyes, like us. I’m realizing that I’m like a genetic anomaly here. I’m short, blond, and violet eyed: freakish.

  “Wayra…am I a freak?” I ask him softly, seeing soldiers by the far door eyeing me.

  “Yes,” he answers honestly.

  “What makes me a freak?” I see him smile.

  “You’re different. You look like the enemy, Alameeda, but…”

  “But, what?” I look up at his face.

  “But, any male soldier here would have a pin-up of you in his footlocker, if he could,” he says with a cheeky grin.

  “What? Why?” I feel my face go red at the thought of them hanging a picture of me in their lockers.

  “You don’t know?” Wayra asks, his eyes going wide along with his grin.

  “No!”

  “You have dangerous curves—you are very female in all the right places, more hips, more glutes, breasts,” he rattles off, breaking down my physical attributes and making me grit my teeth. “You have a beautiful face, too. And the way you move—stealthy, like a saer, is so very polar.”

  “You like my swagger?”

  “You have presence—magnetism,” he looks me over from head to foot. “And that part you said on the transport…about worshipping your mate with your body…I doubt that there was a male there not jealous of Trey in that moment.”

  Seeing a Comantre soldier slow down, staring at me as he’s moving past, Wayra says, “Keep walking.”

  Feeling a hand on my elbow, Trey says, “We’re being detained, Kitten, until we can arrange for your identification. They’ve offered to give us space to rest and clean up.”

  “Oh,” I see soldiers collecting in front of us. “That’s kind of them. I need a sho…to clean up.” I stop myself before I say, “shower” because I have no idea what cleaning up here entails.

  We’re led down a labyrinth of hallways until we finally make it to a room. “This room is for the committed couple. Your men c
an lodge across the hall,” a soldier says, ushering Trey and me into the room. “The doors will be locked for security purposes. If you need anything, there is a com link by the door.”

  “Thank you for the accommodations,” Trey replies graciously. “As soon as I can arrange for identification for my consort, I will notify you.”

  “Do you need a communicator?”

  “No, I have my own with me,” Trey says with a smile. The soldier nods, gesturing to Jax and Wayra to enter their room before allowing a door to drop from the ceiling, locking us in. Studying the room, it contains a bay of bunk beds that are built into the wall on one side and a small commissary and dining area is on the other side. The far wall has a window like the crossed arrow slits that I’d seen earlier.

  Walking to the window, I gaze around at the world outside, feeling my heart beat wildly in my chest. We’re in a city, but it’s like no city I’ve seen on Earth. There are streets of green, made of well-manicured grass. Vehicles like hover crafts speed along the thoroughfares near the ground; some look like elongated hover cars and some look like small versions of Stealth Fighters. Glorified one-passenger vehicles that resemble motorcycles are speeding by faster than any vehicles I’m accustomed to.

  Pressing my hand against the window, I see clean sidewalks of cobblestone that are alive with moss, and small, white flowers like a sprinkling of confetti, paralleling the grassy streets. Brownstone-like residences line the sidewalks with slate steps that lead up to enormous double doors. These buildings are three and four stories high. But, this is just one level of the city. Another tier is over this one, like a graduated step; it rises above the street as aircraft zip past, adhering to traffic laws that are completely unfamiliar to me.

  This second level appears to be residences as well. Heliports line the front stoops of these residences. Rooftop gardens rise like lush oases on this tier, making them look enchanted and unreal. Mesh, metallic sidewalks, like catwalks, line this level and are equipped with intricate, wrought-iron railings to prevent someone from toppling over the edge accidentally.

  Looking up, there are at least four more graduated tiers of buildings and traffic towering over my head. Goose bumps rise on my arms at the unfamiliarity of it. I squeak as Trey’s arms wrap around my waist, pulling me against his chest. Leaning down, he nuzzles my ear while whispering in it, “We’re being monitored…you’re still my consort.”

  “Where?” I ask, while turning in his arms and wrapping my hands around the back of his neck seductively.

  Leaning closer to my face, his cheek brushes mine and my skin ignites. “Thermal detectors on the wall near the door.” His lips trail feather-light kisses over the column of my neck. “Audio in the vents…digital in the lights.”

  “Ohhh,” I breathe, but I’m not sure if it’s in response to his kisses or to what he just said. “What should we do?”

  “We might need to sell it a bit more. I think they’re having a problem believing our match…” he murmurs, between kisses as he’s working his way over the contour of my cheek.

  “Why?” I feel breathless.

  “I’m a Cavar and you’re…half Alameeda,” he replies, right before his lips meet mine for the first time. His kiss is soft and sweet at first, just a teasing of his lips, eliciting small shivers of desire from me. But, in a few moments, it changes, becoming heated and urgent. Responding instinctually to his touch, desire is rising fiercely within me and with it, a ripple of fear is running through me as well because I’ve never felt passion like this before. It’s burning me, consuming me, and leaving almost no room for thought.

  Picking me up off my feet, Trey’s lips find mine again as he carries me across the room to the attached bathroom. He shuts the door by pressing a button on the frame before he sets me on my feet, reaching into a glass enclosure and turning on the jets of water. Steam immediately pours from the enclosure while Trey unties my belt, letting the red scarf sink to the floor. Tugging the tunic over my head, I wait silently for him to kiss me again, but instead, he’s looking around at the ceiling and shoving me into the hot shower.

  Although getting pounded by jets of water feels pretty good right now, it’s not nearly as good as kissing Trey. Poking my head out of the shower and raising my eyebrow in question, he groans like he’s in pain, mumbling, “You’re so polar, Kitten…yes, do that—ahh, that’s so good.” Leaning against a small vanity, he crosses his arms over his chest, averting his eyes from me. He’s creating an audio picture for those who are monitoring us.

  My face turns several shades of red. I groan too, but mine is in embarrassment. He was only kissing you for the cameras, I think, feeling stupid and…disappointed.

  Biting my bottom lip, I close the door between us, letting the steam make it opaque. Then, I close my eyes, groaning louder than before as water cascades down my hair. “Ohhh, Trey…Trey!” I call out in a raspy tone, like I’ve heard Bridget do in the middle of the night when Eric sleeps over. Finding a dispenser of shampoo, I pour some in my hand, lathering it in my hair. Eliciting what I hope is a sensual sounding gasp, I let my voice strain as I murmur, “Ahhh…” Rinsing my hair, I try the other dispenser that smells like coconut. Hoping that it’s conditioner, I gasp a few times breathlessly. Taking off my undergarments and cleaning them with shampoo, I sling them over the top of the shower to dry off.

  Hearing Trey groan with desire, and then say, “Kricket,” a shiver of raw desire filters through me again harder, stunning me with its force and making me feel like he has touched me. My trembling fingers touch the glass between us. “Kricket,” he says my name again and it has an even more powerful affect on me.

  I pull my fingers away from the glass like he has burned me as I bite my bottom lip again. “Trey,” I call out, letting my voice become hoarse and raspy as I lean back against the tile wall, “I need you...” I trail off because what I just said sounds too honest, even to my own ears. The water is the only sound that greets me as I listen for his response. Thinking that Trey might have left, I crack the door, allowing steam to pour out of the shower.

  Seeing Trey, he’s leaning against the wall of the bathroom looking like he’s in pain. Sweat has collected on his brow as he’s staring at me with dark eyes. “Can you hand me a towel?” I mouth with no sound so I won’t be overheard.

  Just staring at me, like he has no idea what I just asked him, his eyes dart to the wall of the shower. Glancing at myself, I see the outline of my body clearly through the glass. “Oh!” I say, pulling back and just reaching my hand out for a towel. Feeling the cloth touch my hand, I pull it in, wrapping it around myself before stepping out.

  Ignoring me, Trey steps into the shower before flinging his clothes over the door and turning the water to cold. The steam soon dissipates and I have to avert my eyes from him because the shower becomes completely transparent again.

  Finding a hairbrush on the shelf, I use it, pulling out all the snarls from days of being dragged through the Forest of Omnicron. I examine my reflection in the mirror for the first time in days. I can’t believe that I look almost the same. Apart from a tan, I can’t even tell that I’ve just been pulled through the universe to another one where I’m the enemy to just about everyone and the only three people I know just want to hand me over to someone else.

  I hear the water turn off before Trey steps out and takes a towel from the shelf behind me. Wrapping it around his hips, he touches the wall behind me. Air begins blowing at him from above, drying his hair. “How did you…” I begin to ask, but stop when he lifts my hand to touch the wall where he had; air begins blowing down on me from above. My eyes widen, looking at the point on the wall where all the magic happens and not seeing anything to indicate what it is.

  Trey’s arms go around me from behind. He nuzzles my neck near my ear and I melt against his chest. “I need to make a connection,” he whispers in my ear. “Do you think you can refrain from touching anything or look like you don’t know how anything here works?” His eyes scan my face.
>
  I stiffen in his arms, realizing he’s just acting. “I’ll try not to be a tourist,” I say, straightening and feeling insulted, not even sure what he means by “make a connection.”

  “Good, just…stay near me…don’t be like you usually are.”

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I whisper, “How am I usually?”

  “Unpredictable,” he replies, holding my hand and leading me out of the bathroom. He collects something that looks like a phone from his gear, before going to the bottom berth and lying on it, pulling me down next to him. As I snuggle against him and rest my head on his chest, he says in my ear, “I’m going to take your picture.”

  He holds the phone-like communicator away at arm’s length before he pushes a button to snap my picture. He brings the communicator back down and looks at the photo of the two of us. We look like lovers. “Send optical to seven Key Griffin Indie. Message: Trey Allairis requests identification for Kricket Allairis, travel tags for transport to Rafe—Isle of Skye to Violet Hill to the Valley of Thistle. Current position Comantre Base—Comantre Crosses.”

  Dropping his hand, he rests the communicator on his chest, rubbing his eyes with his other hand. “Are you hungry?” Trey asks me wearily.

  “No. I could use some clothes…and, maybe you can show me how to…I don’t know…there was no toilet in the bathroom,” I whisper in his ear.

  His arms wrap around me and pull me closer. He groans. “How are you going to survive, Kricket? You don’t even know the basics…any child knows more than you do!” he whispers harshly, like he’s angry about it.

  “I’m not a child,” I hiss in a whisper. “You only have to show me once and I’ll get it. You know what? Forget it. I’ll figure it out.”

  I pull away from him and rise from the bunk. I walk back to the bathroom, dropping the door shut by pressing a small button on the frame, like I had seen Trey do. “Okay, if I were a toilet, where would I hide?” I whisper to myself, while wondering why Trey is being a total knob knocker. Touching the wall, the hair dryer turns on again. Trying another spot, a heat lamp comes on, too. Touching the wall again as the need to find the right spot is becoming more and more of a priority, a compartment opens.