by Delia Roan
“There you are.” Mara turned to see Gymari waddling toward her.
“Hi, Gymari,” Mara said.
The supervisor stopped in front of Mara, and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked Mara up and down. Over her shoulder, Junior popped his head out.
“Hi, Junior,” Mara said. When Gymari shooed her son away, she frowned. “Is something wrong, Gymari?”
“What are the rules of Haven?” Gymari’s tone was brusque. The aliens in front and behind Mara in line tilted their heads, listening to the conversation while pretending to ignore Gymari. One murmured to a friend, and was shushed.
Mara blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“The rules. I told you them your first day here.”
Mara flushed, thinking about Syrek’s mouth on her body. “Er, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered out. How did Gymari find out? Did someone see me leave Syrek’s room?
“You can go put that tray back,” Gymari said. “You won’t be eating lunch today. Maybe not dinner, either.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“First rule, you work, you eat.”
Mara clutched the tray to her chest. “I-I…”
“This morning, you worked a couple of hours. Enough to get you breakfast. Then you ran, leaving your team short-handed by two.” Gymari clucked. “I could expect such flakiness from Clez, but from you, Mara? I thought you knew better. The team is behind because of you. We will all have to work extra hard during the afternoon shift to make up the delay.”
“S-sorry.” Mara dropped her head and studied her feet. “I-I’ll put in the effort. I swear. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry won’t get us caught up on quota,” Gymari said. “Only hard work will. Now, get your lazy ass out of this galley. Food is for workers.”
If the floor had opened up and swallowed her, Mara would have been thankful. Around her, the aliens whispered and tittered. With red cheeks, Mara returned the tray to the pile. To her dismay, she had to walk all the way to the front of the room, and toward the door to exit. The door her friends sat beside.
The friends she had disappointed.
As she approached the table, the others returned to their conversations. Only Luall blinked her wide eyes and tilted her head at Mara. She mouthed a word, which the translator didn’t pick up, but from the sympathetic expression on her face, it was probably a word of encouragement.
Mara paused at the table. “I-I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have run off like that.”
Only Luall smiled back at her, but didn’t say anything. The rest kept their attention on their food. Mara couldn’t blame them. She had let her new alien friends down in order to try and save her old human friends.
As she trudged her way back to the barracks, Mara consoled herself with one thought. At least Clez wasn’t there to witness my humiliation.
She walked into the barracks and groaned. Speak of the devil… Clez lay sprawled on her bed, chewing on a ration bar. Mara pursed her lips and kept walking to her bed.
“No food for you, too, huh?” Clez said. She waved the dried bar in her hand at Mara. “If only you had one of these, fresh meat.”
Mara’s stomach grumbled, but she flopped onto her bed, burying her face into her pillow.
She heard Clez shift on her bed, and the groan of the frame as Clez stood.
“Well, well.” Clez’s voice was right by her ear, and Mara jumped. When she turned, Clez stood over her bed, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed. “It seems like you’ve been a busy girl.”
“Not now, Clez,” Mara mumbled. “I just want to rest before this afternoon.”
“I don’t think I will,” Clez said, her voice low. “It seems like you’ve broken more than one rule today, garbage.”
The ice in her tone made Mara roll over. She glared up at the other woman. “What are you talking about?”
Clez’s eyes narrowed even further. She leaned forward until her face was inches from Mara. Mara recoiled. She’s so creepy! Clez studied her for a moment, then her wide nostrils flared. Her eyes flashed as she straightened.
“You slut,” she hissed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mara said. She swallowed back the lump of fear in her throat. “Go away, Clez.”
“Don’t play innocent,” Clez snapped. “I know you’re lying!”
Mara rolled off the far side of the bed and stood. She tried to keep her face and voice calm. “This conversation is done, Clez.” She turned to walk away. Even if it was embarrassing, waiting by the galley for Luall would beat sitting here alone with Clez.
“I can smell him on you!” Clez yelled at her back. “I can smell him all over you, you cheap slut!”
She should have kept walking, but Mara spun around. “Stop calling me that!”
Clez’s thin lips broke into a cruel smile. “Slut,” she whispered, her head bobbing from side to side. “Slut, slut, slutty slut.”
With a wordless shout of anger, Mara launched herself across the bed and grabbed for Clez. Clez darted back, her wide feet splayed for stability. Mara windmilled her hands for balance, but tumbled onto the bed.
In an instant, Clez straddled her, pinning Mara’s arms to the bed. “Syrek is mine, do you understand?”
Mara grunted. She dug her heels into the bed and arched her back. Clez’s bird-like body wasn’t heavy enough to keep Mara pinned. Clez launched over Mara and slammed into the floor. Mara rolled off the bed, and on top of Clez, knocking the wind out of her.
Grabbing a handful of the fine feathers haloing Clez’s face, Mara pulled. The feathers popped out without resistance, and Clez howled. With her hand still clenched in a fist, Mara swung back down at Clez’s face.
She’d never punched anyone before, and her technique sucked, but Mara was fueled by rage. Her knuckles connected with the side of Clez’s head. Clez’s secondary arms darted out and found Mara’s thigh. The strong fingers dug into Mara’s muscle, and she yelled, shifting her weight away.
Clez heaved Mara off, and her head struck the leg of the bed. For a second, Mara curled into a ball, clutching a hand to her head. She expected her fingers to come away bloody, but they were clean when she peered at them.
The distraction cost her.
Clez’s clawed foot slammed into her belly, making Mara grunt. Pain flared through her guts. Even through the thick fabric of the overalls, the sharp talons gouged her abdomen. Clez grabbed her hair and yanked her head back.
“You should not be messing with me, little girl,” Clez hissed. “You will lose, every time.”
Tears flowed from Mara’s eyes, but she sneered at Clez. “I won, because I got him.”
With a roar, Clez slammed Mara’s head into the bed frame. This time, the skin along her scalp split open, and blood poured across her face and into her eyes. The pain made her dizzy.
“He’s not yours,” Clez hissed. “He will never be yours. Say it!”
“Go die,” Mara said. A knife pricked the skin of Mara’s neck, and she froze in terror, her eyes wide.
“Oh, I’m not the one who will die, worm-food.” The flat side of the knife slid along Mara’s neck as Clez pondered. “Now I don’t know much about human anatomy, but if you take a creature’s head off, it usually stays dead.”
Mara clenched her eyes closed. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“Say he’s mine,” hissed Clez. “Say you’ll never go near him again.”
“He’s yours,” Mara sobbed. “I’ll never go near him again.”
“Good.” Clez slammed her head into the floor once more, before releasing her. The alien woman stood, and slipped the knife back into its sheath around her waist. “Remember that if you go near him again, I’ll know about it. I’ll find you. And I’ll make you pay with a world’s worth of hurt.”
Mara curled up into a ball, letting the ache in her body subside. She heard Clez strut away, and she finally let the tears flow. She la
y on the floor, broken and weak, wanting to go home.
No, it was better that she stayed well away from Syrek.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SYREK
Even after a few days, Syrek found his thoughts still caught on Mara. Like a fish in a net, he struggled, trying to escape them. They kept him awake at night, and kept him distracted during the day. The more he fought his desires, the tighter they wrapped around him, until he felt he might drown in an ocean of need.
As much as he had tried to find her, to spend time with her, she was a ghost. Before she had clearly avoided him, but the past few days, he had gone out of his way to find her, and still hadn’t managed to run into her. She wasn’t just deliberately avoiding him; she was avoiding any possibility of their paths crossing.
“Syrek?”
He snapped out of his daydreams of Mara and stared at Ancain. From the look on his second-in-command’s face, he’d called Syrek’s name a few times before he realized it.
Syrek blinked at the group of mercenaries in front of him. They watched him with expectant eyes, their hands clasped behind their backs, and their backs straight. Daves, one of the mercenaries who had helped on the Sykorian mission coughed.
What were we discussing?
“Er, yes.” Syrek cleared his throat. “Ancain, I believe you know my thoughts on this matter.”
To his relief, Ancain merely nodded. “Of course.” He turned to address the Daves. “Keep it quick, Daves. It’s just a package delivery, but it sounds like there will be trouble along the way. Heads up, and work fast. Dismissed.”
“Yessir,” Daves replied. “Move out, team!”
As the team thumped their chests and ran toward their ship, Syrek found his mind wandering again. Ancain punched him in the shoulder, lightly enough to be kidding, but hard enough to bring Syrek back to the present.
“Pay attention, Syrek.” Ancain smiled to take the sting out of the words. “I know setting routine missions can get boring, but the livelihood of Haven is on the line.”
Syrek frowned. “My apologies, Ancain. I will try and remain in the moment.”
The men walked, and, despite his words, Syrek’s thoughts returned to Mara. Accursed woman! Her rejection stung, as rejection would sting any man with an ounce of self-confidence. More than that, however, he began to see how his treatment of her earlier might have hurt her.
He’d been kissing her, and then just as coldly, he had sent her away. Just as she’d been moaning his name, and then had dispassionately strolled out the door.
Accursed woman.
Is this what it feels like to care what another thinks of you?
“Syrek?”
He started again, and found Ancain’s many eyes staring up at him. Looking around, he realized he had walked all the way from the ship docks back to his rooms, rather than to the bridge, as he had intended.
“Syrek, are you unwell?”
“Ancain, I am fine. It is nothing. A headache clouds my mind.”
“You have been suffering for a while. Have you spoken with medical?”
He waved a hand. “It is nothing. Let’s proceed to the bridge.” He took a few steps before realizing Ancain remained by his door.
The same door I pressed Mara against.
Syrek scowled. “I have said I am fine, Ancain.”
Ancain sighed. “Well, I am not.”
That brought Syrek to a stop. He studied his friend’s face, taking in the sunken eyes, the slumped shoulders and the patchiness in his usually glossy fur.
“Is there anything you wish to discuss?” Syrek said.
“Can we discuss it inside?” Ancain rubbed his face. “Too many ears out here.”
“Of course.”
Settling his friend into a chair, Syrek poured them both a drink and sat on the edge of the bed. Now that Ancain faced no public audience, he seemed to sink further into himself. Syrek sipped from his cup, letting Ancain relax. Instead of enjoying the moment, Ancain stared blankly into his cup.
“That’s jukkad brandy in front of you,” Syrek said. “It would be a sin not to taste it.”
Ancain dutifully raised the cup to his lips, but halfway to his mouth, he lowered the cup without drinking. “What is the point, Syrek?”
“The point of a good brandy is to savor it.”
“Of life,” Ancain said, emphasizing the second word.
“To become rich,” Syrek answered. “To be so powerful nobody can take anything from you. Not your balls, not your woman, and not your freedom.”
Ancain laughed, a dry, brittle sound. “Those are your father’s words. Do you really believe them?”
Syrek shrugged. “His methods might have been dubious, but the words carry truth. Nobody wants to lose what they have, and everybody wants more than they have.”
“I wonder sometimes,” Ancain said. He swirled the liquid in his cup, watching the deep amber liquid slosh from side to side. “I wonder sometimes if I am meant to live this mercenary life. I have not always been a war dog, like you. I wonder if there is more.”
“What’s bothering you, Ancain. Spit it out.”
“You won’t like it,” Ancain warned. “In fact, I think you might lose respect for me.”
“Let me decide that. You speak.”
“I’ve become… involved… with a crew mate.”
“You know the rules, Ancain.”
“I always thought they were more like a guideline, to be honest,” Ancain replied.
“Anyone I know?”
“Luall.”
Syrek’s eyebrows rose. “Luall. And… you?”
Ancain nodded. “Trust me, I am just as surprised.”
“And the relationship has soured, and now you are in the difficult position of being coworkers with an ex-lover?”
“The situation is even more dire,” Ancain said. “We have fallen in love and are planning a future together.”
“Ah.” Syrek sipped. “You are miserable?”
“I cannot eat, nor sleep,” Ancain said, a dreamy smile playing across his lips. “All I think about is her.”
“You love her.” It wasn’t a question. Syrek could tell from his friend’s face.
“Deeply.”
“Ah, I begin to see the problem.” Syrek found his cup empty. When he offered Ancain a refill, his second-in-command shook his head. Syrek poured himself a second drink and reclaimed his seat.
“That is not all,” Ancain said, leaning forward. “Luall and I are expecting.”
“Expecting what?”
“A child.”
Syrek’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “My condolences.”
“Hah!” Ancain threw back his head and laughed.
“How long before Luall gives birth and your life officially ends?”
Ancain hesitated. “Actually, it is my species who carry the young.”
That was enough to make Syrek pause. He had known Ancain for decades, but this was the first he had ever heard of Rynangian males bearing the pregnancy. He drank slowly, taking time to process. “So, you are still male?”
“That much hasn’t changed, at least,” Ancain replied. “And I hope this news has not changed our friendship, either.”
Syrek sighed. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for far too long. I cannot rid myself of you. Whether you have broken a cardinal rule of Haven, or whether you are going to get fat and broody, I seem to be stuck with you.”
“As long as you realize my worth,” Ancain said. But his smile held relief.
“Why is this enough to give you a face like a man who farted on a spacewalk?”
Ancain tilted his head back, his many eyes blinking. “I look around at these metal walls and wonder if this is the right environment in which to raise a child.”
Syrek shrugged, but he felt his back stiffen. “There are worse places.” There is no better place than Haven.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Ancain said. His
eyes grew distant. “I grew up on Rynange. I was so young when I was taken from my planet. However, I remember it. Snippets of it. The way the sun warmed my fur. The grass grew tall and lush, waving in the breezes. The smell of it. A boy could run for hours without meeting another soul.”
“It sounds like a good place to grow up.”
Ancain tipped his head. “Did you ever visit Rynange?”
Syrek drank. “Once.”
All he could remember of Rynange was the smell of searing flesh as the villages ignited. The screams of the innocent. The cracking of bones. And his father’s laughter, always his father’s laughter. Syrek’s fingers wrapped around his cup.
“When was that?” Ancain’s voice was low, as if reading the shift in his friend’s mood. His fingers played over the scars on his neck, stroking the twisted skin where his shock collar once sat.
“When I was last at Rynange,” Syrek said slowly, “I was with my father. It burned.”
“Every planet your father visited burned,” Ancain replied, but his voice held no malice.
“True. Were you there?”
“No,” Ancain replied. He dropped his hand back into his lap. “I was taken from Rynange several years before you were born.”
Ancain had served as a slave on Haven, until Zathlassan Ar’Zathris’s death, when Syrek took control of Haven. His first order of business had been to free the slaves. Ancain had chosen to stay.
Or maybe he had nowhere else to go.
“What does Luall say?”
“She grew up on ships of one kind or another,” Ancain said. “To her, ship life is not a concern.”
“You disagree?”
“She grew up on trade ships. Never a mercenary ship.” Ancain hesitated. “When I think of children who grew up on mercenary ships, I think of you. And I think of Clez.”
“Neither one of us is an exemplary model of stability,” Syrek said.
“You know I mean no offense.”
