Beth's Stable

by Amanda Milo

  I smirk at him. “Take a guess, Romeo.”

  He eyes me like he’s not sure what to make of my reply, or the nickname. “I gather that’s a ‘not right now.’” He motions for me to follow him. “You have to relieve yourself?”

  I really do. We head for the bathroom, and he proceeds to follow me inside again. I don’t waste time arguing with him about it. I glare at him as I fix the seat, drop to the toilet, and groan in scratchy-throated relief. “Remember that topic we covered—the one about privacy?” I call to him.

  Ekan, who’s standing in front of the mirror, gazing at his reflection—ha! Go figure, his hands on his hips, sends a mild look vaguely in my direction. “You said you didn’t want me to look. I won’t.” He shoves his pants to the floor.

  His bare ass says aliens go commando.

  “Ahhh—!” my voice gives out, too strained to actually manage a scream or do much more than wheeze-squeak. “What are you doing?”

  He looks back at me as if I might be the crazy one. “I told you last rotation. Your actions have consequences—and someone destroyed all of my clean pants.”

  I squeak again. “Oh.” I behaved myself every time I got a peek yesterday. I didn’t glance below his belly-buttonless stomach, and I’m behaving myself now too—and I want to keep it that way. “Can you cover yourself up in something?”

  “You mean if I had anything to change into?” He yawns and stretches, and when I see something swing by his leg, I race to cover my eyes.

  Ekan has an evil laugh.

  I glower at him through my hands. “I strenuously object.”

  Ekan’s fancy spaceship washer and dryer machines take like five minutes to run, so if he wanted clean clothes bad enough, he could just toss in the outfit he wore last night. But this alien is loving my discomfort. Of course he has no plans to end it anytime soon.

  I however, am motivated to fix this. Averting my eyes, I call out, “I’m volunteering to wash your outfit. Just let me get through my morning needs in peace first, please.”

  Ekan adopts a mock-severe expression. “I’m trusting you not to shrink the last of my clothes to something that wouldn’t fit my di—”

  I cover my ears. “I won’t, this time, I promise, I won’t!”

  “...dimples,” he finishes with a grin as equally evil as his laughter.

  ***

  Once I wash Ekan’s only outfit, thereby ruining all of his fun so that he no longer has an excuse to parade around buck ass naked just to watch me blush (and I really don’t doubt for a second that that’s exactly why he’s doing it), we head down to what he tells me is one of two kitchens on this ship, or in spaceship-speak: galleys.

  I take a seat at the lowest chair the kitchen offers and Ekan feeds me the foods I managed to pick out as good-tasting yesterday. Yet nothing tastes very good today. “It happens when humans get sick,” I explain. “Taste buds are off, I guess.”

  Ekan peers at me like I might be ready to croak on him. He runs a hand through his hair, looking strained. “I’ve got a few tasks I should really complete before the doors of opportunity get barred—but I don’t want to leave you alone and sickening.”

  I wave him off. “Take me back to the room, I’ll be fine. Being sick is going to wipe me out.” When I see his confusion, I clarify, “Make me tired. So it’s best if I just rest. Sleep this crud off.”

  He doesn’t look convinced. “Anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

  Touched he’d ask, I’m silent a beat, thinking. “Uh, tea is nice,” I decide.

  “Tea?” He frowns at a point beyond me. “I’ll ask Tiernan what plants we grow that’ll be suitable.”

  I rasp a “Thanks,” and try to run a hand through my own hair, fighting against matted tangles. “I could use a shower.”

  “And something for your mane,” Ekan says, his fingers joining mine to comb out my locks. “I’d almost consider looking into the possibility of obtaining a hob.”

  “Is that an outerspace brush?”

  Ekan leans back in his seat, grinning at me. “They can certainly wield a brush. Hobs are males who have been trained in the needs of their Gryfala princesses.”

  “There’s that Gryfala name again.”

  He scratches his chest as he bumps his big toe along my foot, just a casual-friendly hello there between our bodies. “Anything else I can get you before I leave you shut up in the room?”

  “Wait, you’re not going to lock me in, are you?” I ask in horror.

  Ekan freezes and appears a little guilty. “It crossed my mind.”

  “Well uncross it! What if I want out?”

  “The others…” he starts.

  I stop glaring at him and start worrying. “Is it not safe?”

  Ekan’s expression morphs to a pained grimace. “No, you’ve nothing to fret over. In fact,” he sighs as he stands. “Let me take you right to Tiernan. He can get you your tea, and then you’ll have had a chance to stretch your legs before you rest.”

  ***

  I’m nervous that we’re going to Tiernan’s domain; I think I’d rather be locked up in Ekan’s room than left with the Na’rith giant I met yesterday. What is he, seven feet of terrifying? But it didn’t seem like Ekan was keen on me visiting with any of the others, so I keep my preference to myself. I figure I’ll inform him of my choice only if he really does intend to leave me alone with the intimidating alien.

  I’m relieved that Tiernan invited me yesterday, because by the time we arrive, Oquilion’s joined us and is trailing us—okay: me—intently, and when we all barge through the doorway into the tranquil, humid room full of plants, Tiernan looks seriously annoyed.

  Until he spies me with the guys.

  Tiernan is crafty; he doesn’t shoo the other two away or order them to leave—he takes full advantage of their appearance by putting them to work. Hard work. In no time, he has Oquilion and Ekan both helping him drag potted trees to different spots; dirt spilling, Tiernan barking orders—the guys straining, grunting, sweating.

  I sip my tea. Tiernan took a break to steep it for me, and by the time it was ready, he’d taken his shirt off and slung it over something that looks like a terrain cart of some sort.

  Muscles upon muscles upon muscles. Tiernan—not the terrain cart. Keep up.

  Was I nervous about coming here? Fanning myself (it’s the humidity), I prop my feet on an overturned planter and observe the men with rapt appreciation.

  Before I can pour myself a second cup though, Oquilion and Ekan beg off and start to make their escape. I’m stunned that Ekan will leave me—he looks torn, but he keeps checking an electronic device: it seems he doesn’t always play, and duty calls.

  I take a moment to eye Tiernan, who—despite his size—is carefully deadheading little blooms from pepper-looking plants.

  Biting my lower lip, I nod to Ekan, and add a wave goodbye for both him and Oquilion.

  The guys wave back but they make all haste for the door, like they’re afraid if they linger, they’ll find themselves carting potted fruit trees from one side of the room to the other. Again.

  Tiernan sets his trimmers down, and spares a glance at his retreating crewmates. “Should have timed that,” he chuckles to himself before he turns his gaze on me. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” I’m happy to report, meaning the words. But I can’t quite meet his eyes.

  Tiernan takes up his trimmers again, the soft snip-snip almost hypnotic in its steady rhythm as he moves from little plant to little plant. “I’m intimidating you, aren’t I?”

  My eyes snap up from his hands, but he’s looking at his plants, not me, so my shoulders lose their instant hunch. “Your stature is just a tiny bit intimidating to a normal-sized mortal like myself,” I try to admit in a teasing tone.

  I miss.

  My admission makes Tiernan’s brow frown harder than his mouth.

  “It’s not you,” I quickly try to assure him, but my voice weakens—due to my throat thing, not from
fear—but Tiernan starts hard, like he can’t tell the difference. His clippers catch a pepper stem by mistake, and the budding pepper plops to the floor.

  “It’s me,” I assure him. “I’ll be fine, I’m just like this with big men.”

  Tiernan hesitates. It’s so short, and his voice comes out so devoid of inflection, I’d almost miss his anger if not for seeing the tension steal across his huge shoulders. “Was it a big man who hurt you?”

  I push myself to my feet. “I’ve got to pee—is there a bathroom here, or should I go back to Ekan’s—”

  Tiernan slowly pans his gaze, catching my eyes in a gently chiding way that lets me know my deflection is not fooling him.

  I really do have to pee though.

  “Follow me, please.”

  Silently, he leads me to the bathroom, and to my intense relief, he does not try to horn in and follow me in like some aliens.

  When I emerge, he’s looking over a pair of gloves, seemingly content to wait for me. The patient way he does everything is so different from Ekan. It’s a relaxing change.

  “Would you rather wait in Ekan’s room for the day?” Tiernan asks, his face an unreadable mask.

  Being given an honest choice is a change too. A nice one. And I’m surprised that… now I sort of want to stay. “I won’t say no to the company if I won’t be in your way.”

  No hesitation, Tiernan’s eyes meet mine. “You won’t.”

  “I don’t want to keep you from whatever you need to do—and I don’t want to get you sick either.”

  His lips twitch at the corners, sort of like he’s trying to smile but his mouth doesn’t do it often enough for the muscles to easily cooperate. “You won’t.” He indicates I should join him. I move about an arm’s reach away and we begin to head back in the direction of the pepper plants. “Na’riths are travelers,” Tiernan says. “We aren’t ailed by much and we inoculate against everything that’s a bother. I doubt your kind has something we haven’t seen before.”

  “You hadn’t seen me before yesterday,” I point out, and again, Tiernan’s lips try to twitch up.

  “Fair point,” he concedes. “We could quarantine you.” He draws his wide, blunt nails over his square, thick thumb, as if he’s considering it. “That’s recommended with plants, when you introduce alien species. But you know what I’ve found?”

  I step around a spill of blue-colored mulch, making a wordless sound to encourage him to tell me.

  He catches my gaze and holds it meaningfully. “I’ve found there are flowers that thrive best if you drop them right into an established plot.”

  I smile. “If you knew the paces Ekan put me through yesterday, I think you’d agree I’ve been dropped all right.” Breaking our eye contact, I search the vast room around us, greenery hanging, sprouting, growing, and crammed amongst one another for as far as the eye can see. “So this is your job here—you grow the food?” And some excellent tea. It’s even better than the loose-leaf, specialty stuff you can only find in tiny Canadian and upper New York tea boutiques. Put it this way: if he grows chocolate mint leaf anything, I’ll be his forever.

  “I suppose it might be considered more of a hobby. The bulk of our meals are comprised of your standard ration kits. But fresh food is appreciated when we don’t have time to make port stops, and I find the activity of a grower to be soothing. Technically though, my job is to take my part in missions.”

  “Pirate missions,” I muse. “I don’t think I want to know.”

  A rumble makes me glance sideways, and I realize the sound is Tiernan’s low, low chuckle.

  I shake my head to clear away the National Geographic-type factoid narration playing between my ears. Elephants emit low frequency sounds that can travel for kilometers… “What do the other guys do when they’re not doing pirate things? How many guys are there?”

  Tiernan’s corded neck cranes back as he gazes at the ceiling above our heads. “Let’s see…” We’ve arrived back at the table and chairs. “Ekan tests weapons—”

  “He what? You trust Ekan to—”

  Tiernan indicates I should sit. We both do, but his chair groans so piteously that I eye it, expecting it to snap under his big frame. “Who better? There isn’t a weapon that will harm him.”

  “Oh,” I say, realizing how damn handy a naturally lucky person must be. “That’s… useful.”

  “He has his moments,” Tiernan agrees. Then he scowls just a little. “Have you met Prow?”

  I’m about to say no—but that’s when I become aware of a presence beside me. My spine stiffens, and my hand shakes a little as I return my teacup to its chipped saucer—the only cup and saucer on the ship, Oquilion had informed me when Tiernan had him fetch it like he was preparing to serve tea to the queen.

  (He stirred my tea with a stick though, because, I learned, they don’t have any spoons. It’s not a necessary utensil to the Na’rith crew, therefore, they don’t use them. They do have a type of stirrer stick and that was interesting; edible once steeped, with a slightly sweet, almost buttery flavor.)

  “Didn’t mean to startle you,” an unfamiliar voice offers. He holds out his fingertips. “I’m Prow.”

  Glancing up at the owner of the blunt, large fingers, and big hand in front of me, I see a square jaw carved out of a strong face, and a serious widow’s peak up top with a dark blond head of hair. I’ve never seen sideburns that I could like, but Prow’s left strips that trace and accentuate the shape of his face; the effect has me rethinking my ban on the whole style. He’s got a maze of crows feet at the corners of his blue eyes, and the way he’s smiling, it’s pretty telling that he’s earned every one of them. His eyes are playful as I weakly take his hand—but I pull away just as quickly. “N-nice to meet you,” I manage. I’m not scared, but his abrupt appearance did throw me off enough to unnerve me.

  When I squirm in the uncomfortable silence that follows, and finally face forward, I see Tiernan is glowering at him.

  “Hey,” I say. “Don’t blame him for my reaction. It’s not his fault.” My cheeks heat, because I’m aware the problem is in my head. I didn’t used to be like this. I take it as good news though that Ekan’s over-handling of me yesterday seemed to tone down the edges on my twitchiness—and he managed it in just a few boot camp-like hours of Ekanness. There’s hope for me yet. “So, Prow,” I manage through a strangled throat that has nothing to do with fear this time and really does have everything to do with whatever bug I’ve caught. “Let me catch you up to speed. I’m Beth—”

  “Oh, I’ve heard about you,” Prow assures with a full smile and in warm tones that make my toes curl.

  Stomping my feet to the floor, I try to clear my scratchy throat. “Good things, I hope…”

  Prow grins. “Great things. I heard that Oquilion was shoved right out of Ekan’s room and Tiernan here almost lost his kneecap when he tried to lure you away for some innocent playtime. Seems you’ve got Ekan turned upside down,” he says, and his tone is gleeful, like a brother watching a sibling getting a satisfying comeuppance.

  Or so I’ve seen on TV. I’ve never had siblings of my own to know.

  Prow drags out a chair and spins it around, sitting on it backwards and ignoring the glower Tiernan’s aiming at him even though it’s strong enough it should be turning him into stone. “And with you coming from lock up with a mess of other females and catching something from someone who was a little diseased and infectious, Ekan’s worrying himself like mad, trying to get information on healing Gryfala. He’s hoping your kind is similar enough,” Prow offers congenially.

  Referring to my sale pen as ‘lock up’ makes it sound like I’m the criminal. “Ekan’s worried?”

  Prow grins. “I didn’t know he could be either. It’s awesome.” Looking like he intends to remove the empty seat next to me, so that we have nothing between us as an obstruction, Prow’s hand curls over the back of the chair—and Tiernan’s lip curls up in an unmistakable snarl.

  I stare at Tiernan, alarm
ed—but Prow? Prow laughs. And laughs.

  Undeterred, he drops the chair with a loud thunk and looks at me like he’s a very happy man. “You’re turning everyone inside out. I can’t wait until you meet Qolt. Ekan’s forbid it for now—do you know if your species coaxes out mate bondings? I’ve heard that sharing is something Na’rith males eventually get used to once they settle into harem life with their mate, but he sure seems to be struggling.” He shares this so gleefully.

  “Woah,” I hold up my hands. “Hang on. Go back,” my voice squeaks the word, “Mates—bonding—harem life?!””

  “We’re nothing like Rakhii,” Prow says with a rolling-shrug, “We won’t kill each other over our mate, but Na’riths feel a particularly strong attachement. Tricky to work around with so many males. Keeps mated life interesting.” He looks me over with critical interest. “What of your kind? Do you keep harems?”

  I wheeze the word on repeat. “Harems? Harems?”

  “Guess that’s a no,” Prow says with a delighted curve of his lips and an ever-deepening crinkle around his eyes.

  Who is Qolt? There’s another pirate? And Ekan doesn’t want me to meet this one?

  HAREMS?

  “Shh, have some more tea,” Tiernan rumbles, his words coming fast enough they’d almost sound panicked at my reaction if it weren’t for the measured speed of his movements as he pours me a refill and presses my cup into my flapping hands.

  Prow pulls a brush out of his pocket. “By the by—this is for your mane,” he says, and sets it on the table. “Thought you might like one.”

  “Thank you,” I say automatically, on some sort of robotic autopilot while the word HAREMS! bounces around my brain, and visions of Tiernan, Ekan, Oquilion and Prow crowd around Ekan’s spartan little one-pillow cubby, with me in the center of the bed. A shadowy fifth figure hangs back in the doorway—Qolt, since I’m having trouble imagining him.