by Jen Greyson
She described the blue leaves and silver buds, their spicy fragrance winding around us and tickling my nose. I inhaled until my belly strained against the sash. “The pond is full of Titan fish today, their bodies sparkle like moonlight beneath the rippling surface.” Leading me to the transporter room, she filled my mind with the meditation and my soul with everything we’d ever been to each other.
CHAPTER 8
IN THE CONTROL room, M stood at the panel. “Last one, Beauty.” His voice warbled and we all blinked away tears. He’d anchored our ship amid the sparkling clusters of diamond asteroids stretching beyond the edges of his monitor. I’d voiced my opinion on several occasions about the location and safety of this galaxy's space station. Holding presentations here spoke to more tradition and the danger was worth the nod to the past.
They could have built a new replica with updated systems and features and functions; this one had hosted the first presentation of the first union more than a millennia ago. Back then, this had been a state-of-the art outpost, bustling with life and activity, set at the intersection to the newest galaxies. And, as tends to happen, we’d outgrown it. Flight speeds increased, black holes sprang up, trade routes expanded, turning this into a obsolete stop on the proverbial Route 66.
One upside to the location and aging outpost was its old-world feel, a sanctimoniousness and antiquity I adored. Some days I’d emerge after a long session in the data archives, steeped in nostalgia for galaxies extinguished before I’d visited, longing for a simple life before space travel and universe-sized expectations. Then I’d stumble across a piece of data documenting a transformational decision that had impacted millions of galaxies and my determination to be the pearl would be renewed. My position was a gift and for all that nostalgia looked wonderful with a backward glance through the lens of knowledge, living it was quite a different thing. A thousand years from now another pearl would think the same of my life, and a thousand years after her another would think the same…on and on into perpetuity. Life was what we made it in this moment and no feeling of fullness ever came from wishing for a past we couldn’t have or a future we couldn’t see.
I breathed deep, inhaling the peace that surrounded the moments before the presentation started. Fransín and I paused at the transporter dais and she tucked a wisp of hair into my crown. Her body stiffened and she leaned away from me, frowning and intent on something showing on the monitor above my head. “That’s not a Samarian fleet ship.”
M leaned closer and his fingers flew across the controls as he zoomed in on the image of an old freight ship docked at a buoy on the field's edge. His body pulsed with light like a Foley star shower. I’d never seen him this excited. Not even the night he’d watched Fransin navigate through an ice storm. “Is that—holy shit. That’s Dirk Battleship!”
My jaw dropped. No way was the universe’s most notorious mechanic infiltrating my final presentation. “It can’t be. You’re mistaken.” Never mind that the monstrosity parked in front of us was so far from a Samarian fleet ship that I couldn’t ignore the obvious, much as I wanted to.
“Yeah. Yeah! It is him! Look!” Fransín pointed. “That’s his ship number.”
If she swooned, I’d smack her. I’d seen her datamags detailing his exploits and photoshoots. Dirk wasn’t just a mechanic, he was a species all his own. M grinned and steered closer, circling our ship behind the rusted rear fender.
Fransín hurried over for a closer look. I followed, hoping to see him backing off the buoy.
“See there?” M said, his voice higher than normal. “Dirk stole the wing from a Crown Felder, bolted it on to replace parts he’d needed for a 350Z.” M sighed. “Quite an impressive decision. His mechanical skills are legendary.” M sighed, like this had been some world-changing operation.
Dirk Battleship was legendary, all right. As far as I was concerned, he was the scourge of the universe and I’d instantly regretted wasting data minutes looking him up years before I’d become the pearl. From what I’d found, he’d forsaken all his schooling—something unheard of since the galactic decree that all members attend ten years of post-elementary education. Not only had he skipped critical schooling that could have trained him for no less than a dozen critical galactic positions, but then he’d skipped three generations in hyperspace while apprenticing to be a mechanic. He'd also slept with females from too many planets to count; I was surprised he didn't have all his conquests listed on his bumper.
“What is he doing here?” I crossed my arms and glared through the monitor. No one was allowed on the space station during the presentation except me and the candidate.
“I am unsure. Would you like me to hail him? I can signal him on the communicator. It would please me to discover his reasoning.” M was exuberant like Dirk was a Hemperklu Nobelauriate.
My jaw dropped. His unadulterated glee for my surprise guest was almost troubling. M was the one who never overreacted, never showed much emotion beyond an occasional comment; he was my steady and I’d come to rely on that more than I’d anticipated.
Fransín touched my chin, pressing it closed. “Manners, Darling.”
I rolled my eyes then looked at M. “Do not hail him. Get me on the station. I’ll get to the bottom of what’s going on and if he thinks this is a convenient service station to fix his ship, I’ll tell him to take his rusted bucket of bolts elsewhere for repairs.”
“Extend my invitation for him to dock it here. I am pleased to assist. I have all the tools and—” He clamped his lips and looked away, the light pulses quieting to a low flutter. “Apologies.”
“Dock… The… Ship.” I bit out the words through clenched teeth. Dirk was an unneeded complication and I was barely keeping my emotions in check as it was. All I’d wanted was a simple presentation with a lovely Samarian. My nerves were shot.
“You are the pearl.” He said it angrily, upset I didn’t share his enthusiasm for the celebrity mechanic. Yes, as the pearl it was my duty and obligation to treat all beings as equals, but Dirk had chosen to be different beyond species related uniqueness. He’d gone out of his way to thumb his nose at all the beauty of knowledge and millennia of propriety. There weren’t two beings more different than we were and the sooner I got rid of him, the sooner I could get on to things that really mattered.
“Ready?” Fransín asked, slipping her fingers around her elbow and tugging me away from the monitor and picture of Dirk’s offending ship.
I drew a calming breath and turned my thoughts inward. They’d been so scattered today and I needed to pull myself together. Pearl I might be, but I needed to conduct my own stellar performance tonight. The last presentation was a huge celebration, almost bigger than the union that would seal me to the Hemperklu and join us as rulers forever more. All eyes would be on both events, but this one held a buzzing expectation. Around the universe, work of all kinds was suspended so no one missed it.
Maybe that was what had me such a mess, but deep down I knew there was more to my emotional wreckage. Thankfully, I’d have the Samarian as backup when they arrived to help me with Dirk if things got complicated.
Fransín held her arms out, directing me onto the dark red disk that would jettison me inside the space station. “Remember, for all his faults, Dirk is one of your subjects, one of the many you’ve vowed to protect, to care for, to lift to new heights and expectations.”
She was right and the vehemence I’d had toward him had been both unnerving and uncalled for. At least this was abnormal and not my usual reaction to unexpected change and visitors—I’d make the worst pearl in the history of the UN if this was my norm. For all I knew, I’d read but a brief history on Dirk, only finding the worst of him. Surely there was as much, if not more, atolling his virtues. I tried to shake the vast array of emotions, but they clung to me like Zixxbys.
She reached over and squeezed my fingers. “He’ll be gone before you know it and he won’t ruin tonight for you. Nothing could ruin tonight. Stay calm, be the pearl.”
> I nodded my thanks, my throat too tight and constricted for much more. Stepping onto the dais, my stomach roiled and bubbled with nervousness. At least my anger at Dirk had given me a focus beyond the day’s emotions. For that I could thank him, but she’d been right, whoever he was, whatever he’d done, he was one of mine and maybe I could look at him as a fragile Tipper instead of the unschooled mechanic I thought I knew.
Fransín fluffed and straightened the train on my jūnihitoe, fussing with nonexistent details. “You look stunning.”
“Thanks to you.” We leaned close and kissed the air beside our cheeks, careful not to smudge her hours of work. “Happy thoughts,” I whispered, more to myself than to her.
She nodded and choked back the tears, then moved beside M and clutched him. He slid a single arm around her waist and worked the controls, readying our ship and the station to receive me.
I pressed my arms into my sides. “Ready.”
CHAPTER 9
I STOOD STILL in the space station’s transporter room and focused on the room’s contents to make my nausea cease. An older version of M’s control panel and chair undulated like the monitor and door, growing and shrinking abnormally. I snapped my eyes closed, picturing the room without the wacky effects. I breathed in the sting of cleaning solution and hint of Samarian roses, mentally walking the layout from the oversized door to the low ceiling and tall, narrow windows.
My stomach lurched again and I gripped the satin edges of my sleeves. There’d been a glitch the last time I’d used this station, like the machinery had a lag in the delivery of all my bits and parts. I was surprised it hadn’t been fixed.
This time, it took a full minute for my stomach to settle. The delay had requiring more time with each use this year, and I’d forgotten to mention it. Sensors picked up my vitals and I waited for the air mixture shift and forceful rush of oxygen into the room. Other than the belly flutters, I didn’t feel the typical light-headedness of arriving. Maybe they’d done some repairs since my last visit to this side of the universe, and hadn’t known to fix the transporter.
“Transport successful.” M’s voice reverberated off the walls. I relayed the lag.
“I’ll report the bug. Not sure who’s in charge of—”
“That’d be me,” a deep voice interrupted from behind the console off to my left. I strained to catch a glimpse of him but a silver metal wall blocked my field of vision. Against the wall, holos of a flight crew stood awaiting any instructions I might have. I’d forgotten about this feature, so revolutionary back when they’d built this and now a useless outdated feature. I studied the captain and his crew as they flickered in their faux attentiveness, wondering if I could ask them to escort Dirk off the station.
I sighed, knowing I was my own solution. Once my intestines felt normal, I stepped off the transporter, dragging the heavy train of silks behind me. “Excuse me?”
“I’m in charge of upkeep,” the voice said again, then he appeared—the one and only Dirk Battleship. I’d spent too much time with Fransín’s dancers last night; he mimicked them and their humanoid features. In my research, I hadn't bothered with where Dirk had originated from, probably crawled from a hole on Tipper and insinuated himself neatly into the colonies before becoming a galactic mechanic and personal whore to females everywhere.
Every detail about Dirk was unappealing. From his reputation to his broad shoulders that were too wide to fit in a controller chair, eyes so pale blue Mercev’s seven suns would have scalded them within seconds, a square jaw that would have dislodged a Twilip headdress, long muscular legs that would have cramped on a Bevi hike. Dressed in a thickly padded mechanic’s jumpsuit, he was about my height, which made his thickly muscled arms ridiculously out of proportion; whatever his species, it was a bizarrely functional one. The sleeves of his jumpsuit strained with the pressure of his body beneath—the orange material matched the color of my third robe, yet clashed ridiculously with the shade of his skin, the bronzed brown of a Foley sunrise. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, which made me uneasy. Between the transport and my lingering emotions, I had enough to worry about.
“Great.” I smiled politely and stepped around him, giving him a wide berth. “Will you be long? I’m meeting someone.” I swallowed and clutched my fingers together at my belly, wanting him to take the hint and hightail it to his ship. “It’s a private function.”
He smirked and raked his gaze down my dress, then back up, taking his sweet time appraising my features and the embroidery. I would have expected it from the Samarian—it had been done the same way by every other representative—but from him it was so… callous. Disrespect clung to his appraisal, like he was imagining me naked beneath for all the wrong reasons. Which was weird because there were no wrong reasons for naked. Still, his attention made me squirm... and not in a desirable way. Whatever galaxy he hailed from, their physicality mismatched mine in a way that took normal reactions and twisted them unrecognizable. On top of that, my thoughts were a scattered mess. I didn’t like it.
“Yeah,” he said slowly, then held my gaze intently before glancing over his shoulder toward the dash and its blinking colored indicator switches. “When I got here, warning lights had the console lit up. I figured I had a few minutes before you got here, so I ran a few tests, fixed the oxygen sensors and the heater. Looked like a system update failed to reboot.”
I frowned, still unsure about his presence. At least he’d been productive during his sightseeing. “What manuals did you use?” Not a single training aide lay on the floor, making me question his story.
He laughed and wiped the handle of his wrench on the leg of his stained overalls. “Manuals… Good one.”
“I—” I snapped my mouth shut. I’d been serious about the manuals. I didn’t want him tampering with the ship with his careless mechanicking. Specific ways existed for fixing things and those details were in manuals. No point in wasting time explaining either. I wanted him gone. Hopefully he hadn’t messed up anything that would misfire during the presentation.
I glanced at the dais, wishfully picturing the Samarian's arrival. They were startlingly punctual and typically early, so it should be any minute now. Maybe Dirk would get the hint once she showed up. I should hail M to find out if they’d called or sent word about a delay. “I need to make a call.”
He blinked. “Go ahead.” He pointed his wrench at the console. “I didn’t mess with any of that. Works fine.”
“A private call.” Thankfully, this wasn’t the only intercommunicator on the ship.
“No problem. I’ll escort you and find the bar. I wouldn’t mind a drink.”
I looked away and rolled my eyes. Figured that he wasn’t listening. He incited my humanness, which made me frustrated, heightening my anger in a violent cycle. It annoyed me. “No need for you to stay. I’m fine. Thanks for fixing the controls.” No way was he hanging around and drinking while I found out how long I’d be alone.
“Hold on.” He opened a small drawer and set the wrench inside, then grabbed the top of his zipper and pulled it down.
I jumped back, the train of the dress tangling around my legs. I didn’t need to see anything on the other side of that zipper. Plenty of other females in the galaxy had checked out his junk. “You should go.” I hated that I’d compared the magnificence of the male body to castoff trash; he’d managed to strip me of years of training within two minutes of meeting him.
He didn’t bother to respond, but unzipped his overalls and stepped out of them, a crisp navy suit beneath, an oddly vintage getup with its gray shirt and navy necktie. How weird. There was no explaining mechanics.
Glad I’d never need to, I walked out, leaving him to whatever prep he completed before departing and hoping he'd be gone by the time I finished and had the Samarian’s ETA. Outside the transporter, I took a left toward the dining area, eyes peeled for an intercommunicator. Too bad these older ships didn’t have the all-ship access to hail M from comm sensors in the hallway an
d I needed an actual unit.
The hall dumped into a glass-walled round room with a matching circular table in the center, remodeled and perfectly designed to accommodate all the candidates from the large Hemperklu to the delicate Pia. Tonight’s chairs stood at one end, high-backed replicas of the Mother Divine’s throne. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, replicas of Foley sea creatures. Crystalline tentacles trailed from the central orb, its red body filled with sparkling gems. I searched the windows for the Samarian’s approaching ship, seeing nothing but asteroids. A heaviness filled my stomach. Where was she?
I sighed and stepped into the room, spotting a unit blinking in the wall separating the bar from the dining area. I wasn't excited about the bar being down here if Dirk was still intent on coming to find one.
I hurriedly hailed M, straining to hear him over a staticky connection. "Can you hear that on your end?"
"What?"
"Nothing." I wasn't wasting precious seconds on non-critical details. Acknowledging the intercommunicator issue meant I'd have to file a report and I dreaded having to wade through details of mechanical things I knew little about. I gave M the situation with Dirk and asked him to find out the deal with the missing Samarian.
“Would you like to standby while I check?” M asked. Dirk appeared in the doorway, paused, scanned the empty dining area and bar, then spotted me and came over. “No,” I said, in a rush to get off the call and pay attention before he unzipped anything else. “Find out and call me back. Thanks.” I disconnected and rubbed my sleeve, doing my best to act like the pearl and not fidget impatiently. I inhaled and concentrated on the silk wrapping me in a thick, comfortable layer like a never-ending hug that I fiercely needed.
