“Your ears are as bad as yours eyes now? I am not surprised.” Vox strolled into the flight deck, all amiable smiles as he carried his infant son, Valle.
“My female! What are you doing?” Vox shoved the infant into Rohn’s arms before rushing to the ship.
The infant slept, unaware of his father’s distress.
“I’m working,” Carrie said.
“Come down. It is unsafe.”
“That’s what I said,” Rohn said.
“It’s safe,” Carrie said.
Vox put his foot on the lowest rung of the ladder.
“No! Don’t come up here. I don’t think this can support both our weight,” Carrie said quickly.
Vox paused, frowning, then he tossed an angry glare at Rohn. “You allowed this. You let my mate climb up there and now she can fall.”
“Cheese and crackers, you guys. Stop. At most, it’s a three-foot drop. My butt would get bruised. Big deal.”
“Your butt is perfect, and I prefer you unbruised,” Vox said. “You should not be working now. Our son is only a few weeks old.”
Carrie sighed and scooted to the edge of the wing, her legs dangling over. “We going to do this now? Fine, Vox. I’ve been cooped up in our apartment for weeks. I need to do something other than sleep and nurse.”
“You are a new mother. Your health is too fragile—”
“Do. Not,” she said, voice low with warning. “I just want to feel like myself again, like I’m more than a dairy cow.”
Rohn turned his attention from the squabbling parents to their son, Valle. Favoring his Terran mother, he had a cap of red fuzzy hair and a beige complexion. No horns, no tail, no scales, nothing interesting other than the promise of fiery red hair.
Valle cracked open an eye, as if he could sense being judged, and yawned.
“You cannot be as handsome as your Uncle Rohn,” he told the child, using the honorific Carrie granted him. “And you have the disadvantage of your father’s nose. Perhaps you will develop the freckles, like your mother. That will make your appearance distinctive.”
Valle gave Rohn a sleepy smile and his heart melted. He would move the stars for this child, even if Vox was his sire.
“Besides, Rohn does all the heavy lifting,” Carrie said, the use of his name snagging Rohn’s attention.
“He’s good for something after all,” Vox said. “But you must consider your incision site. It can easily be ruptured if you move incorrectly.”
“Nurse Meridan said I was fine to do normal, non-intensive exercise.”
“You must rest.”
“I was literally lying down,” she said.
They continued to bicker, eyes flashing and smiling all the while. Rohn knew they enjoyed the argument too much to arrive at a speedy resolution. Vox would always be overprotective, and Carrie would always chafe at restrictions.
Rohn was thankful he did not need to worry about pleasing a mate. When he joined the Judgment, the clan was strictly male only. The previous warlord lost his mate and could not bear the sight of any female aboard the battlecruiser. Mated males and their families were transferred away, and entire levels of the Judgment emptied and fell into disrepair. Eventually only single males were left, and that suited Rohn just fine.
He knew in his heart that he was unable to protect or care for a mate properly. He had failed a female once and another male paid the price. If he ever forgot that, he just needed to run his hand along his shattered horn to remind himself. The pliable metal bound the fragments together and filled the hairline cracks. Despite the difference in color, he knew that the surface had the same texture as the rest of his horn. Warmed from his body temperature, he should not have been able to feel the difference, but he did. He could feel the alloy holding together his horn and it ached. Even if he did not suffer diminished vision in one eye, atmospheric forces on his weakened horn would shatter it. Unfit to fly, his heart still longed for the empty black of deep space and for the pulse-pounding thrill of a fight.
Rohn understood Carrie’s words about needing to be useful. Rohn had a useful and necessary place on the battlecruiser. The warlord relied on him to maintain a fleet of ships, ranging from dull transport shuttles to cutting edge fighters. His pilots relied on him to bring them back safely from their missions. If he had retired to his parent’s home on Sangrin, to do nothing but sit in chairs and grow old, he’d have gone out of his mind with boredom.
Perhaps retirement to a quiet life would have been preferable to the changes in the clan. More females arrived on the Judgment daily. The public and relaxation areas of the massive ship filled with females, their chatter and swelling bellies. The eldest children, the warlord’s own twin sons, were a little less than a year old, but they were the first of many. Soon the corridors would be overrun with young males, eager to play and always underfoot.
Rohn had no doubt that Valle would be a shadow to either his mother or his father. Whichever parents he followed, he would be on Rohn’s flight deck, touching Rohn’s ship, climbing under wheels and gears—
His grip tightened on the infant.
The flight deck was too dangerous for a child. He would not allow Valle to visit. His parents might be cavalier about their son’s safety, so Rohn would have to make sure that Valle managed to mature without being crushed under a ship or accidentally sent out an airlock.
He certainly was not jealous of Vox and his growing family. A part of him admired the way the flippant pilot who never took anything seriously rose to the occasion for his family. Carrie and Valle might be the only things in the universe that Vox took seriously, and that made an impression on Rohn.
But it wasn’t jealousy. What would he do with a mate, anyway? He practically breathed his job. He already slept more nights on a cot on the flight deck than in his own cabin. Pilots may have a lot of downtime, but the flight deck manager had to be ready to scramble at a moment's notice. Everything had to be operational and ready to deploy with little warning. He knew trouble brewed with the new warlord. Now was not the time for a mate.
New warlord.
Paax had challenged the previous warlord, Omas, slightly more than two years ago and Rohn still thought of him as new. He was not the only one, which was the problem. Paax was as different a warlord from the last as night and day. The clan continued to change under the new warlord’s leadership, but not everyone agreed with the change, and ambitious warlords of smaller clans saw the Judgment as a prize.
Despite the uncertain climate, males continued to welcome new mates and start families. The reckless, short-sighted behavior of his clan brothers baffled Rohn.
Valle kicked a leg in his sleep, snagging Rohn’s attention. He cradled Valle so the infant’s head rested just under his chin. He breathed in the unique baby scent of powder, soured milk, and—
“Vox, your son requires you,” Rohn said, thrusting the infant back to his father.
The male took his son, instantly discerning in the issue. A lopsided smile broke over his face. “Afraid of a dirty diaper?”
Vox changed the diaper with startling efficiency. By the time he finished, Valle woke and cried.
“Sounds like someone is ready for their lunch,” Carrie said, as she climbed down the ladder. The front of her shirt had two circular damp patches. Rohn tried to avert his eyes but Carrie furrowed her brow in confusion, before looking down. She snorted. “Oh, don’t be so embarrassed. It’s not a big deal. I leak every time he cries.”
Vox gathered up his family. When they left, the flight deck felt empty despite the noise and activity. Rohn turned back to his work. A pilot on patrol would be returning soon and the ship would need to go through the usual cycle of maintenance. He had too much to do to worry about mates and babies.
“Kheon, bring me a coffee,” he snapped at a nearby pilot. The young male jumped to his feet. Rohn narrowed his eyes, displeased to see his pilots spending time lounging in chairs when there was work to do. “Merrek! Bring me the flight roster. We’re increasing t
raining hours. I’m sick of looking at these lazy males cluttering up my flight deck.”
He grinned, pleased to see his crew scrambling. The fools needed him to keep them alert and in top form, and that required a continuous effort on his part.
Yes, it was for the best that he did not have a mate.
* * *
Nakia
* * *
There was controlling, and then there was Darlene Turner levels of controlling. Intense did not begin to describe Nakia’s boss.
Nakia ignored the incoming call and checked her hemline in the mirror. Princess, her cat, brushed herself against Nakia’s artificial leg, the sensors lighting up in a soft hum of static.
“Wait a minute. I’ll feed you when I’m dressed,” she said, as if she could reason with a cat. The blue camellia-print skirt did not clash with her artificial leg as she feared but complemented the glossy white limb with glowing blue light at the seams. She reached for her favorite flats, broken into a perfect fit from use. She’d be on her feet a lot, which meant a greater chance of her leg malfunctioning, and she didn’t want to stumble or twist her ankle.
The artificial leg was pretty and had a load of high-end sensors, but it glitched too frequently. She missed her boring old black and chrome leg. It never froze up and left her waiting for hours for a technician. The new leg had a sensor plate that allowed her traverse uneven ground as surefooted as a mountain goat—maybe not the best comparison. It could detect temperature, humidity, and even touch along the nu-skin surface.
All that, and a high gloss finish.
Too bad the device couldn’t go two months without glitching. Of course, she never needed a service call after hours, when she was home and had the time to wait around. It always happened at work, when she was too busy to sit in one place.
Still, when the artificial leg worked, it was amazing. She could feel fabric brush against her prosthetic as she walked, for crying out loud. It felt like such a natural extension of herself that she could forget it was even there.
And that was the problem. When it seized up, her knee locked and she stumbled, and the reality of her partial leg amputation came crashing back. The prosthetic wasn’t her; it was defective equipment, and it made her feel defective by association.
No. Fuck that noise. Nakia wasn’t second best and she wouldn’t accept a faulty leg.
After today, she’d make an appointment to discuss downgrading to a less advanced and hopefully more stable model.
In the kitchen, she poured some kibble for the cat and started a pot of coffee. From her vantage point, she could see her game console and the comfortable nest she made in the living room. Her preferred method of coping with stress was to sit on her couch at the end of a long day and blast murderous robots in the game Murderbots. Look, it wasn’t highbrow—but it was fun. Screaming at the robot apocalypse happened to be a bit more socially acceptable than screaming at her co-workers, her boss or her ex-husband, Tim.
Yeah, if Darlene was outside the fort after a lockdown and the murderbot swarm was coming, Nakia wouldn’t open the door. Cold but true.
Sorry, not sorry. She had to think of humanity.
Tim, though, he wasn’t a bad guy. Not really. She knew the failure of her marriage rested on her shoulders as much as his. She worked long hours. He fucked his secretary.
Okay, maybe a little more rested on Tim’s shoulder’s than hers. The fact that she hadn’t been terribly upset with his secretary-banging and that neither of them felt the urge to fight to save their marriage was a bigger problem. She took responsibility for her part in that. They had always been friends—hell, she still felt friendly toward him now—but the passion was gone long before his dick went wandering.
Another call came in. Nakia sighed, knowing she had to answer, or Darlene would never stop calling and the murderbot swarm couldn’t save her today.
“I’m reviewing the agenda for today and I’m not happy,” Darlene said, her voice slightly distorted by the speaker.
“Good morning to you, too,” Nakia said. Every morning started this way, with her boss dictating the agenda via a phone call, usually while Nakia was on her way to the office. Today, however, was her birthday and her morning off. “You know, most women celebrate their birthdays,” she added.
Lots of bars gave out free drinks to the recently tested. She could take the entire day off and spend time with her friends, like an actual person, play a few matches in Murderbots and unlock the upgrade on her EMP blaster, or even visit her parents. Honestly, she’d rather do that. Then maybe her mother wouldn’t be on her case to relax and smell the roses.
But she was so close to that upgrade. Nakia worried at her bottom lip, torn between her hobby and being a dutiful daughter. Damn her job for making her choose. Maybe she should search for a less stressful job on her day off. At no point did she consider trying to meet someone, because her work hours would get in the way and prevent anything other than a hook-up, and she wasn’t interested in that.
Her job or hobbies. Or family. Or a romantic relationship. Choosing seemed unfair. She wanted it all, to have a full, well-rounded life.
"Don't be silly. You're far too busy for that,” Darlene said.
"I did request the day off.” She had to be tested for compatibility with a Mahdfel male and possibly matched, as per the Earth-Mahdfel Treaty. It was the law.
"And I overruled it."
Of course, she did. The world bent to Darlene Turner’s will. Nakia rolled her eyes, thankful the call was audio only and her boss couldn’t witness her little act of insubordination.
“Our meeting today is too important. We need this contract and I need you, as head of legal, here,” her boss added.
After the invasion, Darlene and her husband expanded his construction company to the largest in the state. The need to rebuild housing and infrastructure was almost endless, not to mention the highly lucrative contracts for military bases.
“Thomas is more than capable of handling the meeting today. I reviewed everything he needs to know,” Nakia said. She checked her suitcase—a Mahdfel Travel Mate in saffron—one last time and dragged it to the hall, before grabbing her coffee travel mug.
“But things run so much smoother with you here.”
True. Nakia had a talent for anticipating problems, legal and otherwise. Organizing a large-scale construction project required knowledge of all aspects of the project, from sourcing raw materials, to labor, dealing with architects and engineers, meeting code and contractual obligations, keeping the client happy, and somehow keeping the whole production on time and on budget. Nakia could spot an issue and solve it before it became an issue. That skill made her indispensable to the boss.
But the boss would have to learn to deal without her, at least for one morning.
“What if I'm matched?" Nakia asked. There was no going to work after that. Brides were teleported to their new Mahdfel husbands immediately. Darlene would be on her own, then.
"That's not going to happen," Darlene said, voice firm with the self-assured authority of a woman used to getting her way.
A knock sounded at the front door. Perfect timing as she just poured her coffee into a travel mug.
“My escort is here,” Nakia said. She opened the door to two soldiers in dress uniform.
“What? No! Don’t you dare do this,” her boss warned, voice rising in pitch.
“Miss Sykes?” the soldier asked.
“I’m ready.” She gathered her suitcase—just in case she was actually matched.
“If you do, don’t bother coming back to the office. You’re fired!”
“As your lawyer, I advise you not to do that,” she said and disconnected the call. Her boss made the same threat every year and hadn’t fired her yet, but this time felt different. Frantic. Nakia was very good at her job but not irreplaceable. Darlene’s threats were always more about exerting control.
She interned at Turner Construction in school and hadn’t left. Perhaps it was time to f
ind a new job, one that let her have a social life.
“She can’t do that, you know,” the soldier said. “Fire you. Time off for testing is protected. If she does, you can sue for unlawful termination.”
Nakia knew, not just because it was her job to know the law but because the government sent out a helpful pamphlet every year around her birthday, reminding her of her rights and responsibilities as a healthy, fertile human woman.
The soldier escorted her to a van. One other woman sat in the back.
“Happy birthday,” Nakia said, giving the woman a nod.
The woman rolled her eyes. “Yay me. My morning wasted and for what? I’m not going to be matched. I’m never matched. There should be a three-strike rule.”
“You never know. It could happen this year.”
The woman shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “God, I hope not.”
Nakia wouldn’t mind being matched but now that she was thirty-two, she suspected it would never happen. She had only been tested five times, thanks to a medical exemption due to her leg and then her marriage. Divorced at twenty-seven moved her back into the pool of eligible women for testing. If she had a match out there, it would have happened by now. Right?
“They’re not the monsters everyone claims,” Nakia said. The Mahdfel saved Earth. The price was steep—human brides—but without their intervention, humanity would not have been able to withstand the Suhlik invasion. Or survive.
She had a bit of a bias, though, as she had literally been pulled from the rubble by the bravest, most handsome Mahdfel—
Nakia took a sip of her coffee. She needed to leave those childish thoughts behind. Rohn made a dramatic impression on her sixteen-year-old mind, but time and faulty memories made him more heroic than possible. There was no way he was as handsome or kind or patient as she remembered. She built him up in her head. The smart thing would be to leave her crush in the past.
When she recalled their last encounter, where she awkwardly offered herself up as his teenage bride, mortification overcame her.
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