by Amanda Milo
Prow shakes a cup of iiwykia and peers into it like he’s looking for the butter-covered popcorn kernels—but I’m onto him. He’s trying to entice me. “Just like they’ve all loved you. No need to fret. Get over here, narra.”
He means closer to the viewscreen.
When I’d declared that I felt up to taking a shower, the guys had excitedly asked if I would feel up to being showed off after.
I should have asked for specifics.
We’re all gathered in the bridge, and we’re meeting the parents. We’re meeting allllll the parents.
I was so shocked that at first, my case of nerves didn’t completely send me running, and each mom—or, ‘spawner,’ rather—has been welcoming and wonderful. Giddy, actually, and each parent crew has kept our introductions and visit brief for my sake because every crew knows we’re making the rounds with all the other crews too.
It was a good thing Prow’s was first. Loud, cheerful, playful—his spawner and seven koundreth’s were so welcoming.
(SEVEN!!)
Tiernan’s was next, and they were terrifying. Not because they were mean—although the men sure looked it. Tiernan has three koundreths, all bigger and scowlier than him. Before I’d met him, just the sight of these guys would have sent me into hyperventilation, and not for the fun reason. But then his spawner—a tiny, one-boobed thing, just like Prow’s mom, had smiled. The effect was like a light prism reflecting in the sun—she turned them all radiant.
And when I was introduced, Tiernan’s three koundreths shouted wild greetings louder than Prow’s seven dads combined.
It was a surprisingly heartwarming welcome. They were so genuinely thrilled to meet Annalise and me.
Then, they proceeded to lovingly lecture Tiernan for keeping my existence a secret from them for months. Their affection for him (not to mention their unreserved warmth towards me) thawed some of my nerves.
My hands have mostly stopped shaking. It’s only two more sets of polyandrous parent units to meet and greet: no biggie!
It’s Oquilion’s mom and dad’s turn, and I’m not sure what to expect.
When their holographic projections appear, they’re sitting in a control room much like ours, with one woman in the center and five men surrounding her.
The moment Ekan gets a look at Oquilion’s mom, he whistles and catcalls, “Your spawner is HOT!”
Oquilion’s lips peel back from his sharp teeth, and he snarls at him in a clear I-will-kill-you-dead warning that Ekan doesn’t heed—but Oquilion’s family is laughing uproariously.
Tiernan clears his throat, and Ekan’s shoulders tense—but when there’s no blow, he tosses Tiernan a curious, questioning glance.
Tiernan tips his head to me. “Slavering over another female in front of your mate. Well done.”
Ekan’s jaw drops and so do his shoulders. “Wait!”
“Don’t let him steal the show, Oquilion,” says Oquilion’s mom, looking ready to burst with anticipation. “Who is that beautiful creature at your side?”
I feel a blush hit me from my roots to my décolletage.
Oquilion squeezes me tight and hauls me with him, closer to the holograph, his voice holding barely constrained excitement. “I’ve found my Treasure,” he announces—and I love him so much for being proud of me. “Spawner? Koundreths?” he says, beaming, “This is my Beth.”
His spawner and koundreths lean forward like this will make us come more into focus. And what do I really know about holographs? Maybe it will.
The man in the group who resembles an older version of Oquilion, with hair gone attractively silver, looks to Qolt, who’s snuggling Annalise. His eyes flick to his son approvingly. “Looks like your Treasure multiplies.” He winks at me before grinning at the pirate he raised. “Good on you, son.”
“I’m Cateran,” gushes his mom. “I’m so happy to meet you!”
“Nice to meet you too, ma’am,” I say, still unsure exactly how formalities are used when being introduced to your alien in-laws, but just like the other families, this one is quick to tell me I’m family now, and I’m to call them by their names or spawner or koundreth.
I have family.
I now have a lot of family.
Oquilion half-turns and whispers to me, “See my koundreth sitting with my spawner?”
It’s hard to miss him. He’s practically wrapped around Oquilion’s mom, his expression slightly unfocused as he nuzzles her hair. “Yes,” I whisper back.
“He’s the koundreth of mine who was injured all those solars ago.” He raises his voice, announcing the male’s name for everyone to hear. “This is Picaroon. To his left is Empyrean, behind him is Roversky, to the right is Erialwulf—” He goes on introducing the men who raised him, and no one bats an eye about the way Picaroon is cuddling Cateran—and none of my guys find this display to be out of the ordinary, I guess, because no one’s reacting. Picaroon’s just soaking up Cateran’s nearness. It’s a little uncomfortable to see, but it’s sweet.
Although, when Erialwulf reaches for a lock of Cateran’s hair to play with it, Picaroon’s unfocused gaze snaps to the connection. He frowns before he hauls Cateran into a more encompassing hug, clearly trying to be possessive. Oquilion’s mom ruins his effort though by reaching out for Erialwulf, and kissing his hand—then keeping it against her boob. Erialwulf is smiling, so he seems to be fine with this concession.
Cateran’s eyes sparkle with growing excitement as she takes me in. She looks as if she’s about to say something, when there’s a loud ping.
“They’re back,” Roversky says. His gaze moves to the right and he calls to the ship, “Entry granted.”
Cateran gazes at all of us, and in the background, we hear the familiar slide of an automatic door. “Guess who we bumped into in all the vastness of the black?” she says brightly.
“Who?” asks Oquilion.
Into the frame pops a man with seal-grey eyes. “SURPRISE!”
Ekan and Qolt jump. “Koundreth!”
“Two Na’rith crews visiting together?” Tiernan asks in a strained voice.
“Oh, Tiernan, stop worrying,” Cateran laughs.
But Qolt and Ekan’s spawner (I presume) bounces onto the screen and corrects, “Yeah, Tiernan, quit worrying! We’ll release the smaller marks back into the sky for you to snap up. We’ve already hit three ships and it’s been so fu—WHAT ARE YOU HOLDING, Qolt? Is that my grandspawn?!”
It’s a wild visit from there.
Ekan and Qolt’s spawner, Darla, is a vivacious, ebullient creature, and suddenly Ekan’s personality makes a lot more sense.
When things settle down enough that we begin talking amongst ourselves a little, Oquilion glances at his damaged father, and sees he’s distracted. He’s speaking gently to Annalise, who Qolt’s brought closer to the holoscreen. To his other koundreths, Oquilion shares low, “Qolt took a weapon hit to the head, and he suddenly wasn’t acting the same. It reminded us of Picaroon.”
Oquilion’s family shares instant murmurs of regret at this news.
We stop them. Oquilion assures them that Qolt’s just fine. “He was playing everyone, the machaaii! He must have figured the opportunity would buy him lots of leeway where mate-sharing privileges were concerned.”
“Sneaky bastard,” Roversky comments, laughing.
That’s when Picaroon, positioned just behind him now, looks straight at us—and winks.
Everyone on our side gasps.
Before we get more of a chance to react, Cateran leaves her seat in order to get closer to Annalise and tweak her holographic cheeks.
That’s when Darla shows us where Qolt gets his deviousness from.
With no change in expression, Darla reaches into her jacket, and removes a canister with a red funnel on the face of it. Deftly, she shoves it under Cateran’s chair, securing it so fast, if you didn’t have the view we do, you’d think she’d only bent to tie her boots.
Ekan’s hand is suddenly against my mouth, just as Qolt’s ha
nds close over my ears.
Cateran crosses back to her seat, and when she glances at us, she sees me in the speak-no-evil, hear-no-evil—but it’s too late.
She’s already sinking down in her chair.
The shriek of compressed air being blown out of a can is startlingly loud, and Cateran jumps just like I do—and I was expecting it.
Every bursts into laughter—Cateran included.
Annalise makes a baby burbling noise, but that’s the extent of her reaction. Clearly she heard too many Na’rith pranks in the womb if she’s this unaffected.
Panting with amused shock, Cateran’s eyes slice right to Darla.
Darla’s giggling into her mates’ wide shoulders. “Sorry narra! Needed a new target.”
One of Cateran’s brows hikes in dangerous-looking challenge. “Did you?” she asks silkely.
“Oh Nebula,” Tiernan mutters. “They’re going to destroy each other.”
Picaroon chooses that moment to interrupt the contenders. His smile is vacant but kind as he shuffles over to Darla’s guys carrying a tray of fruit. “Fresh,” he tells them. “Iiwykia-coated cider fruit.”
Darla gasps. “That’s brilliant!”
I lean forward. “I need those!” I turn to my own guys. “I need that!”
Tiernan’s eyes are on his boots, his thumb brushing his brow. Prow’s both grimacing and grinning like he’s waiting for an explosion—and he’s looking forward to the results. Ekan and Qolt’s gaze is awed; they’re barely containing twin expressions of anticipation and glee as their spawner bites into my future carmel cider treats.
She spits it back out violently, just as her mates are biting into theirs.
Guffaws erupt around us, making Annalise twitch. Surprisingly (or not so surprisingly), she settles down quickly, again unworried.
“You wretch,” Darla sputters, hacking and spitting on their floor with no remorse. “Onion? You wasted perfectly good iiwykia to wrap it around an onion?”
(I’m still sort of amazed that aliens grow onions too. And yeah, they taste almost the exact same. How about that?)
Acting unaffected, Picaroon crunches into one as he wanders back to his seat.
“That,” Cateran crows, grinning at Darla as she throws her arms around her cheering mates, laughing with them at the success of their prank, “Was no waste! That was a riot!”
***
A few hours later, and Oquilion’s still struggling with the sneaky reveal. He’s in one of the captain’s chairs, but he’s not watching our course or keeping his hands hovered over controls. He’s reclined the seat all the way so that he’s stretched out on his back, staring at the ceiling like he’s wrestling his thoughts and childhood memories up there. Finally, he shouts, “Does my spawner know?!”
CHAPTER 57—ENDGAME—QOLT
QOLT
A bracket of rotations (months and months) later…
“You’re increasing at an incredible rate, little spawn,” I tell Annalise, nuzzling into her downy crown. “Soon we’ll be teaching you everything you need to know to run one hells of a ship. You’re going to need to learn your own cutthroat set of Na’rith skills, and regrettably—although your spawner is my delight—no one’s ever going to accuse her of being cutthroat.” I kiss her soft spot. “But I’ll help you, little one.”
Her tiny fists tighten in my shirt, and I feel my chest crack. I would never have claimed to be the nurturing kind, but these feelings were either lying dormant, or this tiny narra planted a seed in me that’s grown until I’m bursting with an alien tenderness every time she gets near.
It’s my allotted time to spend with her, and I’m soaking up every moment. To my infinite pride—to the infinite pride of all of us—humans, like Na’rith, learn their crew’s voices right through the walls of their spawner’s stomach.
Annalise showed recognition for our voices from the moment she was in open air. When the hobs and Rakhii we’d rescued had wanted to hold her, little newly spawned Annalise had fussed for them, but quieted upon return to us. Why such a thing should smack us in the heart strings, I can’t explain—but it made me feel about three of our ships tall when I took her back and she settled in to coo at me.
This little narra’s stolen my heart.
She’s stolen all our hearts.
Right away, to Beth’s great relief, we instigated our own rule: no jacklegging around to where Annalise could accidentally get harmed.
(Any foul play leading up to the theft and collection of an Annalise-wielding turn before either competitor is in the vicinity of Annalise, is however, fair game.)
It’s made for some interesting times and a couple of broken ribs since our small human princess joined us.
I reflect on everything that’s happened over the last bracket of rotations, what Beth still refers to as ‘human months.’
Most entertaining: Angie coined us Beth’s stable of studs, and we thoroughly enjoy our title. Especially for the way it makes Beth blush whenever one of her human friends uses it to refer to us.
The Gryfala—the aliens who bear similar features to humans—took an interest in Homo sapiens, and started collecting as many of them as they could. They’ve set up a preserve of sorts, and have offered their protection to keep their pod of humans from being poached. Quite a few of their planet’s hobs and Rakhii have fallen for the new species, and the Gryfala are fascinated.
They’re essentially looking at Beth’s kind like a humanitarian project, and their most recent order of business has been to hire a human-friendly Na’rith crew to join their fleet of Gryfala ships bound for Earth—care of Gracie’s suggestion.
That’s right: Gracie, the abused, angry human we rescued alongside Pasutha.
She’s done well on herself. She’s recovering from her ordeal—she even chose a mate. She picked out Dohrein, the hob who attended during Beth’s delivery. As a way to pay us back for our help, she bent the ear of a Gryfala—Dohrein’s dam.
Now we’ve got legitimate work.
We’re their exclusive hire for shuttling goods from Earth to their planet. And because our ship is a big beast, and fast, it’s guaranteed that we won’t get robbed halfway through the process.
We’re Na’rith. We don’t get robbed.
Initially, when Ekan obtained Beth, he had grand plans to find her source planet, and reap as many counterfeit Gryfala as possible. But after housing the rescued brothel women, Ekan quickly decreed we needn’t rush into taking on masses of female passengers. Harvesting females from Earth for resale seems to have entirely lost its appeal. Harvesting other supplies however—now that’s a go.
Our ship will be able to fit a good deal of the supplies the Gryfala are seeking for their little colony of humans that they’re keeping. We’re slated to pack in everything from coffee beans to puppies—the last are Breslin’s surprise to Sanna.
The things a male will do for the female he wants to shower love on.
I look down at Annalise. To think that a day is coming not far enough in the future for our peace of mind when this little one will be attracting not one male, but a whole crew.
They’ll dote on her of course, but the idea of her running with any crew is cause for mild terror.
I mimic Tiernan’s voice when I tell her innocent little face, “Warning you now little-spawn; your crew is going to have to prove themselves before they’re allowed to take you from us.”
In Oquilion’s, I add, “But not until you’re thirty-five.”
Annalise kicks her feet and grins—she loves it when I talk to her in all her koundreth’s voices.
What’s that? Something niggling at the back of your mind? Are you wondering if I set Prow up using Vera’s voice commands?
You’re cog-damn right I did.
Still the funniest lark I’ve ever sprung.
I don’t believe anyone knows I have a little gift for mimicry. I can impersonate the voice of any of our crew. But don’t for a moment think I’m the only one keeping secrets. All Na’
riths have a surprise or two tucked away, because you never know when a little reveal will come in handy.
Surprises are great fun, and sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can impress one of your favorite narras using your hidden talents.
I smile down at Annalise and in Ekan’s voice, I assure her, “Someday, narra, you’ll learn—and do me a favor? Call Prow Koundy, all right? Koundy.” That’ll give him nightmares.
It’s going to be hilarious.
Like she knows it, I’d almost swear little Annalise grins up at me.
CHAPTER 58—ENDGAME—EKAN
EKAN
We’re Earth-bound and cannot wait to be turned loose on the little planet full of riches and untapped wonders. I’m particularly enthused to siphon every bit of Earth’s entertainment we can get our hands on. Beth says we’ll have fun trying to run devices without things called electrical sockets—but we’re Na’rith! No tech is safe from our reach. We’ll be playing movies in no time and it will be wondrous!
But am I dancing down the decks and shouting my excitement? No. I’m quietly going to work on correcting entries I’ve noticed are flaws in Beth’s translator program.
I’m also remote uploading the corrections so that we won’t have to physically remove her translator to perform the update.
Beth’s sitting next to me, technically unaware of how quiet and industriously I’m behaving.
Every time I tap the submit corrected entry icon, Beth’s fingers flick.
I move down the line of corrected entries, hitting the submit icon again. And again.
And again.
Beth lifts her twitching hand, staring at it with consternation. “Tiernan? Is there a tea for this?”
Tiernan looks over at her from his seat, frowns—and then as if he’s developed some instinct for this sort of mischief, he turns on me with all fierceness. “What the hells are you doing?” he roars.
I defend myself from where I’m reclining. “Playing with Beth.”
Beth’s eyes narrow, her hand still held aloft. “How?”
“Stop harassing the girl, you Krortuvian’s ass-crack,” Tiernan thunders before he moves to greedily (fine: protectively) grab up Beth and he takes her with him—and away from me—again.
