by Juno Wells
Sure, he and his friends had just killed a hundred and fifty space marines, so it would take a little more than that to get me to nominate him for any kind of peace award. But it's a start. I don't have to hate this guy too much.
How well can I walk in an alien desert? Underneath my battle suit I'm wearing – not a whole lot. Underwear and nothing else. The suit itself is a heavy pressure suit that's made for waging combat on airless planets and moons, and in a desert with what feels like normal gravity I don't need many of its features. There's air to breathe and I hope not to have to wage combat against anyone for a while. Until I get my weapons back, at least.
Or some weapons at all.
My skin tone has been described as 'caramel vanilla', but those suns are probably more than a match for me. I'll need to wear something to not get the sunburn of the century. And this suit is all I have.
The pirate comes in again, and this time he's not stopping at the door. He marches in, grabs my arm and then half drags, half carries me out onto the rocky sand. “Dehar nesenso hyatror doohvee lduh,” he says and puts me down.
I take a wild guess at what he's saying and hazard a reply. "Yeah, I don't watch that show."
Gah, the sunlight is strong out here and I reflexively want to turn the brightness down on the visor. But I'm not wearing the helmet, just carrying it along. I can't imagine how hot and clammy it would get inside that thing after ten minutes in this desert.
The outside of the spaceship tells me that it will never fly again. I'm kind of amazed that it has flown at all. It's just a metallic sphere the size of a house. It has no engines or landing gear or anything. But after the landing it has so many dents that it looks most of all like a golf ball. It's cracked, too.
“So what's the plan?” I say as I scan the horizon. There's nothing anywhere. No trees or houses or anything. Just a sandy plain that stretches in every direction as far as the eye can see. Heaps of fine sand everywhere. And heat.
The pirate ignores my question and just walks into the sand in what looks a lot like a random direction, and I can't even ask him what he's doing. Shit. This language problem is going to take its toll on our very fragile friendship. If that's what it is.
Hey, I'm willing to give it a shot if he is. Can never get enough friends. And anyway, he's the closest thing I have here. Beggars can't be choosers.
I walk after him and we leave deep footprints in the fine sand. He's got big boots, and I suddenly remember that he's injured. By me.
I run up to him and point to his toe. “You want me to take a look at that?”
He stops and glances down. His boot has a rift in it and the material is a little discolored. It's reddish, so maybe this alien pirate has red blood? Yeah, I'm taking nothing for granted here.
“Veehmo tadeh sehnereh,” he growls and gently pushes me ahead of him. It kind of feels like he's in a hurry, but I can't imagine why. Not like he's going to have any pressing business appointments or a bus to catch here in the desert.
We walk for a few minutes. The suns are beating down on me and I know I'm sweating profusely under the suit. The helmet has a supply of very nourishing gel, but that's for last ditch emergencies only. I'm starting to realize that I may have a problem finding water on this planet.
I become aware of a noise in the air. It's like a hum – or rather, like an infinitely long piece of paper being torn. It's not unlike the sound a jet fighter makes when it passes overhead back on Earth. But there's not a speck of anything in the sky.
“Seh.”
The pirate has stopped and is pointing back to where we came from. To the golf ball shaped spaceship, in other words. I squint, but there's nothing too interesti- “Oh my fucking stars!”
A dark shape is coming across the desert. At first it looks like the sail of a sailboat, except this one isn't white. It's moving at great speed down at sand level. This is not a flying thing. No, it looks more than anything like a huge shark's fin that sticks up from the sand. Something is coming. Underground.
The air is muddled over the fin, and I realize that it's giving off a huge amount of heat, even more than the suns. My jaw has dropped and I hurry to just clench it shut.
The fin grows larger and I can see that it has a pattern on it. A colorful pattern, all swirly and weird. It's a lot like ... I turn my head briefly to the side. Yes, the pirate has that same pattern. Very similar, at least. Is he from this planet, perhaps?
The tearing sound is now so loud that I'm unashamedly clamping my hands over my ears. The fin is getting much closer, and I itch to get out of the way. But the pirate isn't budging, and I'll be damned if I panic before he does. Anyway, the fin isn't headed right for us. It's headed for the crashed ship.
The sand seems to rise in a bulge ahead of the fin, like a whale slowly going up to the surface. Or a shark. Something very large is coming up.
“Oh fuck me,” I exclaim, because there's nothing else to say. The guy can't hear me anyway in this cacophony of noise. I see a sleek body about the size of a large airliner, covered with swirls and colors, and at the front there's a chaos of nightmarish teeth and tentacles and flames. The spaceship we just came out of disappears into it in an explosion of white and blue sparks, the sleek body goes back under the sand and the fin follows. The tearing sound just ends as if someone pressed a 'mute' button.
The sand looks peaceful and dull where the enormous creature just passed, and I just stare for a few seconds while my brain processes what just happened.
“Did that thing just eat the ship?”
“Gursh,” the pirate says solemnly, and from context I guess that that's the thing's name. Gursh.
I feel like the sand under my feet is moving, but I'm probably imagining it. “So are there any more like that-”
The gursh isn't done. There's a bang like thunder as it breaks the surface again at the spot where the spaceship used to be. This time it's a thin, spiky thing that waves once in the air and then follows the rest of the gursh down into the sand. That must have been its tail, I realize. And that thing must be insanely long.
“This gursh of yours,” I ask, and I can hear that my voice is shaking, “is that a huge snake?”
The pirate looks at me and shrugs. “Gursh.” Then he walks on.
There's nothing else to do, so I follow meekly.
4
- Brenaxx -
We barely escaped that gursh. I wonder if she knows how close we got to being eaten. She tarried for a ridiculous amount of time inside the ship. It's like she's a child who must be taught the most elementary things. Like not to stay where something has just made a large noise in the desert, the way our crashing spaceship did. The gursh have good hearing, and there are very many of them under the sand.
My heart sinks in my chest. I have some idea of where we are. This is the Dry, the main desert that covers more than half the planet. It means that my village is at best many miles distant, at worst thousands of miles. On my own, I can probably make it. Keeping her alive at the same time is a very different story. She's wearing a space suit, for Spirit's sake.
If she's to survive, I have to be able to communicate with her. Luckily, there are ways. And now, finally, I have time to do it.
I take Hoyre, my right-hand sword, out of its scabbard at my back and unscrew the hilt. I shake the green crystal into my hand and replace Hoyre in her home. I do the same with Venstre, retrieving the red crystal from its keeping place in my left-hand sword. They're small crystals and they fit perfectly into my ears – red in the left ear, green in the right one. As long as I stay close to her, they will read her brainwaves and help me speak her language somewhat. If I don't concentrate. Concentration kills the effect.
It will take a while to work. But it makes me feel better. Sign language has its limitations.
I can hear her trundling along behind me. Each one of her steps in the sand is like music to my ears. She's so close! She's following me! Any time I want I can look at her face! Any time I want I can smell her! And
she's mine!
I've never lacked resources, but never before have I felt wealthy.
I take shorter steps than I otherwise would have to make it easier for her to use my footprints. The sand will be compressed in them and her foot won't sink down. Easier to walk that way. I must preserve her strength.
Her boots are small and I can barely imagine how tiny and delicate her feet must be. Her hands are slender and have fingers that move quickly, and so do her eyes. It brings me joy. She's intelligent. I always liked the brainy ones. They're more fun to conquer.
The mere thought of conquering her sends more heat to my manhood and it rises dangerously. The sunlight here on my own planet always made me frisky. Or maybe it's the spicy air here. When the night comes, perhaps something can be done about my urge.
I frown. When the night comes? Why not seduce her here and now, which I would do with any woman I'd want? Why is she special?
I don't know. But she is special. I feel it with every fiber of my body.
I absentmindedly kick a berik out of my path and its tail curves over its body and drips with venom. Immediately I panic and whip around. Does she have the sense not to go near it?
She just looks up at me quizzically and I relax. She's not trying to pick up the poisonous creature. She doesn't even see it. I worry again. She really should see things like that. Spirits, it's like taking a toddler into the desert.
5
- Dakota -
He turns around with a worried look in his alien eyes, then just gives me a little smile and turns his back again. Did something happen that I didn't notice?
I sure do notice that he's still turned on, though. That's hard to miss. The sight of the bulge in his kilt sends heat to my girly bits. I actually wouldn't mind at all to explore those possibilities further. He's clearly the hottest male I've ever laid eyes on, and even here in the desert he walks like he's making his way through a party at his own house. Like he owns this whole planet. Which I guess maybe he does. Totally within the realm of possibilities.
I try to remember what we've been told about these pirates. Not much, since no Earthling has ever laid eyes on one before. But the aliens that talked about them were afraid of them. They're called pirates because they'll attack planets and spaceships and bases, but they don't invade – they just take what they want and then leave. After they kill the defenders and ravish or kidnap their women.
No one's ever said it in plain terms, but the impression I always got was that it was the alien men that objected to that last part, not so much the alien women themselves. Apparently it wasn't so much ravishing as it was seduction. And now I kind of suspect that the alien females that were 'abducted' by the pirates weren't so much kidnapped as they came willingly. Because if this guy ahead of me is a typical example of an alien pirate, and I was an alien female living in some kind of oppressive society like most of them are, then I wouldn't mind testing the waters with a strong pirate rogue with a tent pole in his pants and a smirk on his face.
We could just do it real quick, I'd shimmy out of this stupid space suit and stick my ass up for him-
Yeah, it's been a while for me. I don't know what it is now – I should be worrying about getting off this planet and back to base, but my mind is mostly filled with erotic images and fantasies. Is it because of the sunlight? I know that back on Earth, I would usually get all lusty in the springtime after winter was over. That was because of the Sun, I'm sure. Probably the same thing is happening now, except there are three suns. So I get aroused three times as easily. Or three times as intensely. My mouth is dry, and it's not because of the desert.
I notice that he takes short steps and that I can easily use his footprints. It makes it easier for me to walk here. I appreciate his effort.
Once in a while he bends over and picks something up and tosses it away, or he kicks something. Probably he's amusing himself by examining the occasional pebble or rock in the sand. Seems kind of childish to me. But whatever.
The silence is getting a little oppressive.
“Hey!”
He turns, but keeps walking. He just raises his eyebrows. His straight, dark eyebrows that frame his luminous eyes perfectly.
“What's your name?” I try without hope. He has shown no sign of understanding a word I say, and I sure don't speak alienese. Well, he is a pirate. Should I add a 'yarrr' for good measure?
“Brenaxx,” he says and stops, looking around in every direction.
“What?” That does sound like a name, actually.
“Name Brenaxx,” he repeats and turns around. Then he points at me. “Name?”
“Dakota,” I say reflexively, stunned that he actually seems to understand. But I guess it was an obvious question to ask and he's no dummy.
He frowns. My name must sound very alien to him. “Ko da?”
“Da. Ko. Ta. Dakota.”
“Deh Ko Da.”
“Yes, but faster. Dakota.”
“Dekoda.”
I smile and give him a thumbs up, too late remembering that hand gestures are super dangerous when you deal with aliens and for all I know I could be telling him to go screw his grandmother with a rake.
He doesn't move to get his swords, so I guess I lucked out that time.
“Berenak?” I ask for clarification.
“Bre. Nax. X.” He's very calm.
“Brenaksfjch.” There's a weird alien sound at the end that I can't quite get my mouth to make, but he seems satisfied.
Then we just stand there for a few heartbeats while we gaze into each other's eyes like lovestruck teens. I mean, I'm not lovestruck. But he fascinates me and I can't take my eyes off him. He has that commanding presence that every male space marine tries to cultivate but none of them succeed with.
I give him a little smile to indicate that I don't hate him. He just stands there and runs his eyes up and down me like he's taking serious pleasure from it. It should feel invasive, but it totally doesn't. It could be because I'm still wearing this silly space suit, but all it makes me want to do is strip it off so he can see what's underneath. I'm not the skinniest girl in the world, or even in the space marines, but I have some parts of me that I'm kind of proud of.
“Pretty,” Brenaxx says, and even though he has an accent I really like it and I'm definitely blushing like a teen. Because he clearly really means it.
And because when he talks I can kind of see his tongue between his white teeth. It's a very alien tongue, and something about it makes me wonder very seriously what it would feel like if he were to swirl it around. Down there.
He sends me a little smile that makes my knees go weak, and then he turns around and walks on.
My heart feels much lighter than before. Something nice just happened, something that brought us closer and maybe made him less likely to murder me by vivisection.
Because I'm no dummy either: I'm totally at his mercy here.
We keep walking.
The heat is becoming a problem. My space suit is perfectly ventilated and air conditioned when it's in a vacuum, which is where it is designed to function. But on a desert planet with an atmosphere, it seems to break down and lose most of the qualities that I like. While it of course retains the bad qualities just fine. The weight, for one thing. It feels like walking inside a sleeping bag that's soaked in water.
Our shadows are getting longer, so I suppose the suns are setting. It would be pretty lucky if all three set at the same time and there were no sun in the night time. Because it's totally possible that there are more than three suns. I've been on planets that never had night because one sun would rise when the other one was setting.
I guess I'll find out. I'll be fine just as long as we don't stumble across that damn gursh again.
6
- Brenaxx -
We have to find another gursh. There's nothing out here, and even after hours of travel I can't see mountains in any direction. That's very bad news.
A gursh is bad news too, of course. But sometim
es they can be useful. My swords are long, and that's not just for show. We'll keep walking until night time, and then we'll try. It will be extremely dangerous whatever we do, but the desert is always extremely dangerous.
If I were alone, I could keep walking until I was out of the desert and safely back at my village. We Xar are extremely hardy, and our skin gives almost perfect protection against the suns. We can even go into space without space suits and with only small precautions and modifications. It's a great advantage.
I'm not immune to the other dangers out here, of course. A berik or an apog or a tyg is just as deadly to me as it would be to Dakota. And a gursh is deadly to everyone.
Dakota. I luxuriate in it. Such an alien name. It has both hard and soft sounds, whereas mine is only hard and has the special ending. It makes her just that much more intriguing.
A tyg lands on my wrist and I freeze, using my other hand to catch Dakota before she walks into me. If I move now, just a fraction of an inch, I'm dead. And so is she.
The tyg wanders around on my skin, taking its time. Its six black stingers rotate calmly in the air above it. If it decides to plunge them into me, I'll never know before it has deposited its tiny amount of venom and I'll be curling up on the ground. Then it will eat me, together with all the offspring it will get by laying eggs in me. Gradually, of course. This tyg is the size of the nail on my smallest finger and very spindly.
But it's not too smart. If it were, it would sting me without a second thought. It's now trying to find out if I'm a rock or a creature. It will only ever have one shot do to this. When its stingers have been fired, that's it. If it kills a creature, fine – it can lay its eggs in the carcass and then eat its fill before it dies. If it tries to sting a rock, it has wasted its one chance and it won't procreate. That's why I have to stay still. Rocks don't move.
