Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars

by Melisse Aires

  Yeah, she remembered the tree.

  But she didn’t remember a cave.

  Her head didn’t seem to like all the remembering. She touched the complaining spot, finding something that felt like a bandage at the apex of the pain.

  Okay, didn’t remember that either.

  She tried moving various body parts. Everything was a bit banged up, but still worked, which was good. And she knew it would get better. It always did. Her zoombag had been loosened and her gloves were gone. Add that to the list of things she couldn’t remember, with an asterisk for slightly creepy. As the rest of her senses began to come back on line she inhaled a warm, metallic scent that seemed to be emanating from a circle of rocks, the source of the orange glow. It was mixed with a warm, earthy smell and some scents she couldn’t begin to identify. There was a bit of a nip in the air, the edge taken off by the…fire? Was it a fire? It didn’t flicker like a fire.

  It was deeply quiet in the cave, quiet enough to hear her own breathing. And someone else’s. An icy trickle made its way down her back. Who, or what, was sharing this cave with her? Sara sat up, stifling a groan when various bruises and bangs registered formal protests to her brain housing group. She’d planned to stand up next, but something stirred across from her. Who—or what—ever it was rose, throwing an ill-formed and very large shadow against the wall and roof of the cave. Maybe it was the bad light, but the outline was very Sasquatch-ish—shaggy and kind of ominous. The icy trickle turned to a rushing stream. It moved toward her, passing into the half light cast by the sort of fire. Not Sasquatch, though he could have been a second cousin. He had a head full of dreads, he bristled with armament, and he bulged with muscles wrapped in what appeared to be tight fitting leather. It was hard to find features—his face was darkened by dirt or camo, or both—but his eyes were deeply, sharply green.

  And he was really, really tall. Sara had to tip her head way back to look up at him. He didn’t speak, which upped the eerie factor a few more degrees. She somehow managed to get her legs under her and stand. She was a tall girl—Tall Girl was actually her call sign—but the top of her head didn’t reach his chin. He’d have to be around seven feet to top her by that much. He looked like a ragged cave man, but there was a sharp intelligence in his eyes. And he’d managed to get her clear of her bird. Not exactly cro-mag man skills.

  She wanted to say something, but all she could think of was, crap.

  Not particularly useful.

  After a moment, she realized he was holding something out to her. A wooden-ish…thing. She took it, since he seemed to expect it.

  “Thanks.” Her voice sounded a bit loud, and a bit too bright, breaking the deep silence.

  He blinked, just the once, the green of his eyes disappearing, then slowly reappearing. It was very Cheshire Cat—one channeling Tim Burton.

  Not a good combo.

  Sara looked down at the bowl. The assortment of dingy pieces in the curved center could have been fruit—fruit having a really bad day. She picked out a piece. It felt slimy and a bit gritty, but she’d eaten worse than that in survival training.

  She hoped.

  She sniffed it. The pungent aroma made her eyes water. She slid it between reluctant lips and chewed. Okay, this was worse than anything she’d eaten anywhere. Her eyes watered some more. When she swallowed, nasty lingered like thick oil in her mouth. She looked up, blinking and wincing, and said, her voice a thin croak, “It’s... good.”

  Not her most convincing performance.

  Was that a spark of humor in his eyes? It was gone so quickly, she couldn’t be sure.

  She felt the pocket of her jacket for a packet of water, but it seemed he’d picked her pockets.

  “I had some water?” She patted her pocket again, not sure she needed to play charades. He seemed to understand her just fine.

  He shifted slightly and she saw her stuff in a pile a few feet away. She edged past him, found the water and drank it down. It helped. A little.

  Her head throbbed a reminder that her mouth wasn’t the only miserable body part. She lightly touched the bandage.

  “Did you do the patch job?”

  Another slow blink.

  Okay.

  Seems his mother hadn’t taught him it wasn’t polite to stare. If he thought he could intimidate her, well, he could, but she didn’t have to show it. She lifted her chin and her lips thinned. Her eyes narrowed, too—a warning sign her temper was in danger of launching, her various principals could have told him, if they’d been there, which they weren’t. Lucky them.

  “I’m Captain Sara Donovan, United States Air Force.” She thought about holding out her hand, but wasn’t sure he’d take it. Wasn’t sure she wanted him to take it. “And you are....?”

  He blinked again. Punk. He understood her, all right. His face didn’t change, but his eyes gave him away.

  “...shy, I guess.” She looked around. “I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s very retro.”

  So retro, it probably didn’t have a bathroom. Now that she’d thought about it, she needed one. Great. Nothing like baring your butt in the bushes on an alien planet. She tried to think of an alternative, but she hadn’t seen any gas stations when she was coming in.

  “I need to step out.” She pointed in the direction she thought the entrance was, though it was hard to tell. There wasn’t an exit sign. He didn’t move or speak. Just blinked again. Maybe he didn’t have bodily functions. She took a step toward the entrance and he shifted to block her. She felt color flood her face.

  “I really need to visit the head…make a pit stop? Powder my nose? Empty the radiator? Visit the little girls’ room?” She was running out of euphemisms. “Pee?” She gave him a get-a-clue look and after a long pause, saw his eyes widen. This time she was sure it was humor passing through the old eyeballs. He pointed in the other direction, a very pitch black direction. “Right.”

  She bent and snagged her flashlight and a bum wipe packet. She flipped the light around, so it pointed down, and turned it on, flinching from the light stabbing into wide open pupils. When she could see again, she looked back, avoiding looking directly at him. “Excuse me.”

  The surface of the floor was surprisingly smooth, but she kept the light trained on it, as she paced forward, wondering just where he expected her to—

  A sort of crevasse opened to one side. Great, a pit toilet for her pit stop. She shone the light back the way she’d come, but he hadn’t followed her.

  Smart man.

  When she finished, she picked up her zoombag and headed back, noting he’d retreated to his spot on the other side of—Sara could see it now—a pile of glowing rocks. Yet another clue she wasn’t in Kansas, in case she had any doubts left. Sara stopped by her stuff, dropped her zoombag and picked out her bottle of waterless soap, so she could clean her hands. She could feel him watching everything she did. Didn’t take long to figure out her side arm, knife and P-90 were not among the jumble of her stuff.

  Very smart man.

  Back on earth, she wouldn’t have had a P-90 or the ABU’s—the pixilated camo uniform—under her zoombag, but she’d received a lot of specialized training and been given a lot more gear prior to the mission. Lucky for her, all he’d done was take it. Be a real bummer if he used it against her. And embarrassing.

  Not that he needed her stuff to kick her ass.

  Though she was careful not to turn the light on him, in the reflected glow she could see him a bit better. He was younger than she’d first thought, probably close to her own age. He was also very nicely built, thanks to the generosity of all the leather, and her impression that he was well armed was confirmed. He had side arms of some sort on both hips, a sword looking thing strapped to his back and at least three knife sheaths that she could see. Probably more she couldn’t see. On his wrists she could see spikes sticking out in a deadly fan.

  Dang. Must be a rough neighborhood.

  What was he doing here?

  And where was
here?

  She turned off the flashlight and dropped it back on the pile, then returned to her seat, a pile of dried stuff. She looked around. It seemed to be the only pile of stuff. His bed? That was kind of disturbing. On the other hand, he was keeping his distance. She knew she was no beauty queen. There were no cushy love lies in foster care. She was too tall, too thin, her hair was too red and her eyes were too big for her face. That said, as far as she could tell, she was the last woman on this earth and there he sat.

  On his side of the cave.

  Not that she wanted to get hit on by a caveman. She was just curious. How desperate did a guy have to get to hit on her?

  She noticed the glowing dial of her watch. One thing he hadn’t taken. If she didn’t count her virginity. But she was moving on from that. The time meant nothing, since she hadn’t been in position to look at her watch before the crash. The alarm had sounded at twelve-hundred. The dog fight, well it seemed long, but it probably wasn’t. According to her watch it was either 0500 or 1700.

  She rubbed her aching head.

  “I don’t suppose you’d tell me how long I was out?” She looked up suddenly and saw the green glow of his eyes. “I know you understand me. I can see it in your eyes.”

  The eyes abruptly turned away. Sara smiled to herself. She picked up the bowl of food, took another piece and examined it, then absently popped it in her mouth. Okay, that was worse than the last one. She spit it out in her hand and looked at him. He still wasn’t looking, so she dumped it back in the wooden thing, and set it aside. She leaned back against the wall, shifting until she found a semi-comfortable position, then pulled her legs in until her knees were against her chest and rested her arms on them, watching her host.

  After a time, she saw his gaze turn toward her again.

  Oddly enough, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Sara didn’t have a problem with not talking. She’d spent a lot of her life not talking. The problem with this silence, it allowed worry to creep in. When her Dauntless got hit, the Doolittle had been engaged in a battle with an unknown, alien force. Had it survived? Did anyone see her get hit or where she went? How far from her ship had he taken her? Was any of it still intact? And all questions led back to, why had he taken her? What did he want? Who was he? Why was he here, apparently all alone?

  When she was fourteen, she’d thought the worst thing that could happen to her was foster care. What a difference thirteen years—and another galaxy—made.

  As always, when she was nervous, she began to tap out a song against the sides of her arms.

  The song got slower…

  Sara’s chin sank down to rest on her arms, then her lashes drifted down....

  * * * * *

  Captain Sara Donovan. Sara. Fyn tried the name out in his head. He didn’t know what a Captain was, but he liked Sara. It suited her.

  No surprise she’d been uneasy when she came to, but she hid it quickly and hid it deep. Her chin had lifted slowly until he was looking down into cool, wary gray pools. She’d stood, her gaze never leaving his. He should have said something then, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Asleep she was lovely to examine, but awake—

  The gods had been unexpectedly kind.

  There was strength and character in her cleanly fashioned face. Her eyes were wide and tipped up at the edges, like a smile. Her chin was slightly pointed, but determined. Even her hair seemed more alive when she was awake. He had to stop himself from touching it, from touching her.

  Now he smiled, thinking of the color running into her face when she’d tried to tell him she needed to relieve herself. And the look on her face when she’d eaten the food.

  Without her outer gear, she was long and lean and graceful and he couldn’t believe she’d been at the controls of that ship. Her voice was as cool as her eyes and the soft curve of her mouth reminded him that men could do things besides fight, even though she’d made no attempt to use the fact that she was female to try and manipulate him. Quite the contrary.

  He remembered how women acted when they knew they were beautiful. She didn’t act that way.

  He stared toward her, wondering if she’d really fallen asleep and if she had, how could she, curled up like that? Had she pulled herself in like that because she was afraid of him? What had put the tiny frown between her brows? What had she heard when she swayed like that? There’d been a pattern to the way her fingers tapped against her arms. He’d been alone a long time and away from women for longer than that and he couldn’t say he’d understood women then.

  It wasn’t long before first light that she stirred again, stretching her cramped muscles before rising. Her chin tilted defensively, she made another trip to the rear of the cave. He watched with interest as she washed her hands again, then took out another of the little packets and cleaned her face.

  She dug around in the stuff, until she found small, white pellets, tossed them in her mouth and drank from a larger packet. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then looked at him, biting her lower lip, an almost brooding expression in her gray eyes.

  “Look,” she said, breaking the long silence, “I appreciate the hospitality, and as charming as this place is—” Her gaze swept the area as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing— “I need to get back to my bird. My people will look for me there.”

  Fyn stared at her, fascinated by the play of expression on her face and in her eyes. She stood up and put her hands on her hips.

  “If you could point me in the right the direction, I can take myself there. Though you’re welcome to join me.”

  Her booted foot began to tap the floor.

  “Or not.”

  She might have been gritting her teeth. Fyn got up and closed the small gap that divided them, forcing her to tip her head back to look at him. He’d thought someone would look for him once. If anyone came, it probably wouldn’t be her people, but the Dusan making sure they’d killed her. He was trying to decide how to tell her that, when little sparks shot out her eyes.

  “Fine.”

  She started to step around him. He didn’t know which of them was more surprised when he grabbed her arm. He could feel her tense at the sudden contact. Her lips thinned into a stubborn line and her chin lifted. Her gaze narrowed in warning.

  “It’s not safe.” He felt her jerk in surprise. The sound of his voice surprised him, too. “When it’s light, I’ll take you.”

  They were standing so close, he could smell the scent that had puzzled him as he carried her. She looked at him for a long moment, then the challenge in her eyes eased a bit.

  “Thank you.” There was still a chill in her voice.

  She looked in the direction of the entrance and he braced for a flood of questions, but she eased her arm from his hold, as if she thought he might not let go. Had he scared her? She tucked her hands into her under arms. Maybe she was just cold.

  “It’s warmer here,” he said, indicating the rocks he’d lit up.

  She knelt and held her hands over the glowing warmth. Lashes and chin lifted slowly. Wary and curious warred for dominance in her eyes.

  “You’re really tall.” An almost smile edged up the sides of her mouth. “I’m usually as tall or taller than most of the guys I know.”

  He crouched down across from her, hoping she would speak again. He liked the sound of her voice. It was soft and clear, with a slightly husky undertone.

  “You’ve been very kind but I have to tell you,” she sounded very serious, “You talk way too much.”

  What? He stared at her and suddenly she grinned at him. The movement sent warmth flooding into her face, like the sun topping the horizon.

  His mouth smiled back before he told it to.

  “So, you do have a sense of humor. That’s a relief. That brooding silence was beginning to freak me out.”

  “I’ve been alone a long time.” The words came a bit easier this time.

  “Really? I couldn’t tell.” Her brows arched and her mouth was prim,
but her eyes were bright with humor.

  He shouldn’t stare, but he couldn’t help it. She was different from any woman he’d met, anywhere. She was still wary, but she wasn’t afraid. She looked right at him and there was an air of confidence and yes, competence about her.

  She sat back, crossing her legs. She started tapping her fingers again.

  “So, you must have pulled me out of my bird?” She hesitated. “Was it trashed?”

  Her bird must be her ship. Trashed? That would be crashed, maybe? He looked at her, not sure how to tell her.

  “That bad? Tactically, the gomers sucked, but they were everywhere. It was a real furball and then I took a double hit to the six. Thought I was going to have to pull my loud handle—you know, punch out—but I didn’t want to lose my bird, or be hanging in space in a freaking pod with everyone bumping heads around me.” She sighed. “Man, Briggs is so going to bust my chops. He keeps telling me I fly like a girl. Now he’s got proof.”

  Fyn blinked a little at this, but managed to figure out the essential point.

  “You were attacked by the Dusan.” It wasn’t really a question.

  “The gomers didn’t stop to introduce themselves, just dived in and started shooting.”

  He noticed that she’d started to relax, now that they were talking. He should have remembered that about women. It hadn’t been that long.

  “Did they see you come here?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably. I think one of them started to follow me, but the colonel made him go away.”

  “The kernel?”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Carey, our squadron commander.”

  Worry danced across her face. “They’ll be worried about me.”

  “You think they will come?”

  Her chin lifted. “We don’t leave our people behind.”

  If they survived the attack.

  “The Dusan will probably come, too,” he said. “They don’t like to leave people alive.”