Alien, Awakening

by Sandra Harris

  “Does it hurt?”

  Her soft breath feathered against his chest. Her musky, spiced-sugar scent enchanted him.

  “T’Hargen?”

  Mmmm? Oh.

  “No. No, indeed not, it is exceptionally pleasurable, and the first time I have experienced it.”

  Her head popped up from his chest, her eyes round, delight and pride warming her features.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  He rattled his restraints. “I would very much like to hold you, Kathryn. Please release me.”

  Her mouth curved in a sultry, possessive smile.

  “I like you being my captive.”

  And who am I to deny my woman?

  She settled her head to his shoulder again. Her finger drew a line down to his stomach then gently caressed his abdominal muscles. They tightened in a flash of delight. His need to know her more burned through him.

  “What urged you to become a psych analyst?”

  “Growing up I became . . . sensitive to gender and race apartheid.” She doodled a circle around his lower torso. “Physical abuse is atrocious, though the body heals. Mental abuse is more insidious. Sometimes those suffering from it don’t even realise they are. It’s such a horrible thing, leeches the spirit right out of a person’s soul.”

  “Your culture has been brushed by Trog’s sacs.”

  Her body jerked exquisitely against his as she huffed a sardonic half-chuckle.

  “That translated really weirdly, but I get your meaning. Besides, it’s not my culture anymore. Women especially aren’t always treated well there. At the time I was taken by the Bluthen, the statistics for my country alone were that in excess of one woman a week was murdered in a domestic violence event. Anyway it got me wondering if Bluthen women are oppressed—”

  What?

  Laughter burst from his lungs at the unexpected and absurd comment. Kathryn lifted herself from his chest, an affronted scowl darkened her features.

  “I don’t appreciate being laughed at, T’Hargen, especially when I’m sharing something I consider important with someone I consider important.”

  A profound error.

  “I wasn’t laughing at you, Kathryn, I was laughing at the idea.”

  “T’Hargen, my ideas are part of me.”

  He pulled in a deep breath, lifting her further into view.

  “Very well, I apologise, but the concept is absurd.”

  “Why? How many Bluthen women do you know?”

  None, with no wish to. I know the entire race is malevolent.

  “My personal knowledge is of no consequence. The idea is simply folly, Kathryn.”

  “Why? There are no in-depth reports on lay Bluthen society. Nothing to substantiate the idea that all Bluthen are malevolent. Is my idea folly because you think a mere psyche analyst couldn’t possibly discover something that all your hatred may have blinded you to?”

  He pressed his lips to his teeth.

  How can I make her understand?

  “It is folly because no Bluthen has ever taken action to halt their war upon us.”

  “Have you considered that the general society may not be in a position to do so?”

  He gave her an extremely doubtful look, but refrained from saying anything.

  She rested her forearms across his chest and lifted herself further to stare down at him. Her breasts teased across his skin.

  “T’Hargen, you know I love you.”

  His heart leaped and he opened his mouth to respond. She placed a finger to his lips and forestalled him.

  “But I have needs.”

  He grinned at her. “I can satisfy all your needs, Kathryn.”

  A look of wry reproof flitted across her beautiful features and she removed her finger. “One of those needs is not to be laughed at by my partner.”

  Partner.

  His heart did another boxing spiral around his chest cavity. How he loved hearing her say it.

  “I’m doing an investigation into Bluthen society and if I find something that suggests my theory of female subjugation is correct then I’m going to ask General Mhartak that I be assigned to speak, face-to-face, to any Bluthen women we can communicate with.”

  His soaring heart plummeted. He planted his elbows on the mattress then gripped the lines of the restraints and hauled himself semi-upright.

  Go into enemy territory?

  “No!”

  Sandrea had nearly been gutted by a feral laraxdon on a rescue mission.

  Kathryn quirked an eyebrow at him.

  He fisted the cable within his grasp. “You should leave that to the Alliance psyche analysts. They have the training to enter unstable regions.”

  “And how much experience do they have dealing with women abused by their own society?”

  Disgust blazed through him. “None!”

  “I rest my case.”

  “No. As your partner I forbid it.”

  Her lips pressed together, but the corners of her mouth curved. A challenging sparkle lit her eyes.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think going into enemy territory is dangerous, and I know you’re right. You’ve got the experience to prove it. But are you forbidding me to go because you think it’s not just dangerous, but that you consider the cause to be futile?”

  “Kathryn, I love you. I would do anything for you, including pointing out when you are making a mistake.”

  Her head bent, she pressed a kiss to the centre line of his chest plates then looked him in the eyes. A sombre cloud overshadowed the ebbing elation of her expression.

  “T’Hargen, I am overjoyed you return my feelings, but you’ve just laughed at a theory I proposed in all seriousness then acted as though I’d just waltz into a hazardous situation without taking precautions, without thinking it through. So when you say you’ll do anything for me, you seem to be saying you’d do anything for me, as long as it’s something you want to do for me.”

  “Then what is it you want from me? Name it, I will deliver it.”

  “Your belief in me. What will it take for you to believe in me? To believe in me as a person who is not foolish and that as a psyche analyst I know my profession, even if my theories clash with your beliefs. From the beginning, you’ve made your reservations about my vocation very clear. What do I have to do?”

  One of her fingertips ran back and forth along a slashing scar across his chest. Her gaze followed her movement and a contemplative stare tinged with sadness settled on her face.

  Regret that he’d caused it squeezed his heart so hard he thought it might burst like a ripe malaple in a juicing vise. He’d been right, he couldn’t bear to cause her pain. Her gaze lifted and she stared into his eyes, her head tilted in solemn contemplation.

  “How do you want to be loved, T’Hargen? Unconditionally? Or at least unguardedly? I know I do. I hate the idea of you going off on missions.” She tapped the scar. “I see these on your body and . . .” Her eyelids lowered. He watched a tear slide over her lower lash and drop onto the smooth beauty of her cheek. It may as well have been acid seeping into his heart. “Everything in me urges me to demand you give it up. I don’t know how I’ll deal with it.” She lifted her lids and gazed at him with defiant determination. “But I will, even if I have to seek counsel with another psyche analyst. I know it’s part of who you are and I’m willing to accept that, because all of you is what I want.”

  Love, confusion, and, yes, irritation slammed together and jumbled words on his tongue. He scrambled to organise his thoughts, but too many swirled in his mind, fighting each other for his attention. He wanted to promise her anything, to put that delighted smile back on her face. Honesty forced him to mind hi
s words, to not utter a promise he could not keep.

  Kathryn slid from him and stood beside the couch. His body rioted at the loss of her warmth and intimate nearness. She stared at him for a moment, her amber eyes grave, then she slipped on her underwear and jumpsuit.

  “When the world is against me, T’Hargen, I need to know you’re on my side, whether you think I’m right or not.”

  She leaned over him then pressed a tender, soulful kiss to his lips. The warmth of her hand on his chest opened and something small and cold settled on his skin. “On that note, I’ll leave you to think about it.”

  She turned and walked out. He opened his mouth to call her back, but she was right, he needed to get this straight in his own mind before offering assurances. Or suggesting compromises.

  Compromises. Him.

  Who’d have thought it?

  He gazed down at the commpod nestled between his pectoral plates then flicked a glance at the restraints. A wry grin kicked up the corner of his mouth.

  Well, it won’t be the worst situation from which my brother’s retrieved me.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kat’s chest ached as though bruised. T’Hargen’s scorn had caught her off guard. She’d opened herself to him, let down all her defences, and he’d belittled her. Struck right at the heart of her. This wasn’t just some pet project. This was her. Helping people was inherent for her. An integral part of herself. Investigating the possible plight of Bluthen women wasn’t just an idea she’d plucked from thin air. She’d put thought into it. Dammit! It’d been years since she’d allowed someone’s ridicule to hurt her.

  She stared at the shuttle nestled in the yellow grass of the meadow.

  Can’t be around him right now. Call TL and leave, or walk it off?

  She gazed at the mountains. The nearby woods offered shade from the bright sunlight. The calm serenity of the little valley flowing away to her right called to the downcast and disappointed need for tranquillity curled in her chest.

  Walk it off.

  She hadn’t expected, nor would she tolerate, derision from T’Hargen. She loathed being the target of contemptuous wit, had had to endure it her entire life—at least the life she’d had on Earth—because her cognitive processes differed to most others. How many times had she proposed a course of action, even as a child, to be laughed into silence? Only for others to belatedly realise she’d arrived at an efficient solution to a problem simply because she thought outside the box, or could project consequences far enough to surmise results.

  Not that most people had ever apologised for mocking her. If anything, they’d relegated her to the ‘doesn’t exist’ dimension. If she didn’t exist, they didn’t have to face the fact they’d been wrong. Or perhaps if they considered her of no worth that meant their conscience couldn’t berate them for their treatment of her, and that made it acceptable.

  She’d eventually concluded she didn’t play well with others. Turned out she did, just not with those who would deride another on the sole basis they were different, whatever that difference was. She ground her teeth together. Even when she was wrong, did people have to be so derogatory and snide when pointing it out?

  She’d never been able to figure out if it was her skin colour or her gender that some people considered precluded her having any sense at all or a reasonable IQ, certainly not one greater than theirs. Prejudiced people were the bane of everyone’s existence. No wonder she’d become a psychologist. A sad smile shouldered through her solemnity. Her plan to fix the world.

  On this side of the Galaxy, people accepted her for herself. T’Hargen’s lack of faith in her had blindsided her. And it hurt. Moisture plucked her eyes. She wanted more from him, wanted to be more with him, but his bitter hatred of the Bluthen ran deep. Would he be able to overcome that and at least accept she might have a valid point to pursue, simply because she thought so? To at least ask her to present her case before offering arguments against it.

  She sighed. He had a right to his opinion, but he didn’t have the right to express himself disdainfully. Especially to her.

  If she let this go, would it set a precedent? Would she be constantly fighting to have her ideas and thoughts heard? Or would she have to swallow her self-respect and allow her wishes to be ignored if they opposed his? No, she wouldn’t accept being walked over. No way would she become a doormat. Yes, they were going to have disagreements, but he needed to listen to her side before arguing against it, just as she would do for him.

  And how well would their relationship flourish if she followed through with her investigation into Bluthen society? She could just imagine his cold refusal to discuss it. Yeah, that wasn’t going to fly.

  Were they doomed because he could not or would not meet her in the middle? Were they over just as they’d begun?

  Pain slashed through her, doubled her over.

  No, dammit! I’m not giving up without a fight, without seeing if we can’t work this out.

  Clenching her fists, she straightened and glared at the blue sky. No, she wasn’t about to give up on T’Hargen, not without giving their relationship a red-hot go, but neither was she ready to be around him just yet.

  She took a deep, calming breath, eased some of the tension out of her shoulders, and walked on until she came to the edge of terraced fields dropping down into the valley in a series of wide, cultivated steps. Short, slim, green stalks with orange heads stood in row upon row. She knelt for a closer look. Tiny cabbage-like nobs clustered along the crown of the upright stems.

  Like miniature search-and-rescue-orange brussels sprouts growing on an asparagus crown.

  Short, hopping movement accompanied a chirruping croak. An orange—hmm—frog flicked out a long, blue tongue and delicately plucked a bug from a plant. She dropped her head to one side and studied the pair of feet on either hind leg.

  Never hurts to have a spare, I suppose.

  She unwound and followed a built-up, hard-packed path through the fields. Sunlight glimmered on irrigation channels and warmed her back. Crisp, clean air and the gentle hush blanketing the land like a peaceful wrap leavened a little invigoration into her spirit. The track veered to fringe the crops then carved down between two moss-covered embankments. It forked at the edge of a wood, one track continued along beside the cultivation, and the other meandered off into the trees.

  She eyed her options.

  Sunshine or shadow?

  Something rustled on a branch above her head. She looked up. Bright black eyes peered back at her from a square, brown-feathered face. The ‘bird’ ruffled dark, leathery wings, coughed a barking caw then apparently decided she was no threat and tucked its head onto its belly. Mildly offended, she gazed back into the copse. Something large and white flitted through the trunks about fifty feet away. She tracked its furtive progress from tree to tree. Then the giant rabbit ducked down a hole.

  And now my fancy is running away with me again. Besides, no pocket-watch.

  She frowned, surfed back over the details of the creature’s course in her mind. Furtive. Check. Bipedal. Check. Frightened. Possibly. Humanoid. Again, possibly. The large, white coat billowing about its form concealed most of its shape. She patted a leg pocket for her—

  Damn, no scanner.

  Just her commpod. She ran through the list of dangerous animals T’Hargen had warned her to avoid. Not a rasque, wrong colour and too small. Definitely wrong temperament. Too big for a caped lizard. And that was it for the hazardous fauna—one of the reasons the settlers loved G’areen.

  So, avoid a possibly, though doubtful, harmful situation or . . . Her curiosity got the better of her. She stepped into the shade of the woods and carefully negotiated her way through short, leafy saplings to the last sighting of alleged Leporidae Giganticus.

  Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. Tangled vines knitted a green curtain over a
rock face embedded in a sharp rise. The faint rasp of rapid breathing from behind the thickly entwined tendrils pricked her compassion.

  The faint scent of Bluthen almost stopped her heart.

  Wood cracked a little distance away in the trees. She jerked, spun in that direction, all senses tuned in anxious alert. A desperate, terrified, half-smothered whimper drifted from ground level behind the sprawling creepers.

  What the hell’s going on?

  “Run,” a rasping whisper implored.

  That’s Bluthen! A shiver speared through her. Who is this?

  Off to her right several bodies crashed through the woods as though herding something. She dropped into a crouch, eyes scanned the dim woods.

  “She made the device work.”

  Bluthen. Male. Close. Dread lumbered across her nerves.

  “We need to alert command. We’ll receive a fucking ball-load for this breakthrough.”

  “Yeah, but we apparently need the little bitch to get back.”

  Little b— She? A female?

  She shoved the green curtain aside and dived into the hole with her frightened rabbit.

  ~ ~ ~

  T’Hargen waited with accepting impatience for his brother’s deep, rich laugh to silence. It was, after all, fitting penance. He gripped the restraint lines and tried not to glare.

  “What . . .?” A chuckle erupted from Eugen, halted in the couch-room doorway. Then he rubbed a hand over his mouth in a deplorably futile attempt to subdue his humour. “What did you do this time?”

  T’Hargen sent him a scowl. “Your courtship of Sandrea progress so smoothly?”

  “Well, no, but she never shackled me.”

  “Your loss.”

  An interested, assessing quality unfocused Eugen’s gazed for a moment. His eyes narrowed.