Embrace the Romance

by S. E. Smith

  Bethnee took the bag. “The weather AI doesn’t think so.” She angled her hip so she didn’t stress her bad leg, then reached high to pour the bag’s contents into the hopper.

  “The yaks say otherwise.” Nuñez took the empty bag. “They’re huddling in the corner of the pen near the barn. Weather AI says it’ll be a bad winter.” She gave Bethnee a meaningful look. “You could move back to the clinic.”

  “We’ve been…” Bethnee began, then sighed. “I’m fine where I am. It suits me.”

  Nuñez continued as if she hadn’t heard. “Still plenty of room in the clinic. You could live next door, because the obnoxious Raloff family abandoned the property to move deeper into the mountains.” She headed for the sink to wash her hands. “If we shared the clinic again, you could actually leave town for more than a few hours and know your animals were safe, and maybe have your leg fixed. You’re too young to be a hermit. You’re homesteaded now, and the town would be happy to have you.”

  “No, they wouldn’t.” Bethnee followed Nuñez to the sink. “Too many people considered my animals a nuisance.” She pointed her chin toward the big cage. “The first goat or child that went missing, they’d accuse the dire wolf. Or Jynx.” Unusual snow leopards, no matter how well behaved, scared people who didn’t know them.

  As Bethnee washed her hands, Nuñez turned on the mini-solardry. “It was only the Raloffs and Administrator Pranteaux who complained, and he complains about everything.” They both rubbed their hands vigorously in the warm, forced air. “Come on. Let’s take care of your new wolf.”

  Bethnee was grateful that her friend hadn’t gotten into the real reasons Bethnee couldn’t move back. A lot of frontier settlers like the Raloffs had moved away from the Central Galactic Concordance member planets to get away from minders, and everyone knew she was one, because she used her talents as well as her training to treat pets. Word got around.

  More importantly, even though she’d escaped her former life in the pet trade three years ago, she still couldn’t get within five meters of men without taking the chance she’d be shaking like a leaf from mind-numbing fear. When she’d first arrived, she couldn’t even be in the same building. She’d gotten better with time, but it was bad for business when she couldn’t deal with nearly half the population of customers.

  Nuñez claimed it was post-trauma stress, and could be treated, too, just like her leg. Even if that were true, it would cost hard credit, and she needed every decimal she had to provide for her animal family. They didn’t care that she was too scared and too damaged to live among humans.

  Chapter Two

  GDAT 3241.155

  Axur Tragon fought the rising wind to land the old runabout as gently as he could on the Tanimai community airpad. He retracted the canopy and climbed out, then stepped around back to open the hatch and untie the two covered carriers. “Almost there,” he crooned.

  He slung the straps on each of his shoulders, then walked to Tanimai’s vetmed clinic. His cybernetic legs weren’t pretty, but they gave him a long, smooth gait, even when carrying a thirty-kilo load.

  He’d only been in town a dozen times since he’d landed three hundred local days ago on the frontier planet of Del’Arche. Crashed, really, but his former Jumper Corps flight instructor said as long as the pilot and passengers crawled away, it counted as a landing.

  He hoped the veterinary medic wouldn’t turn him away. Between his intimidating height, his long, shaggy hair, and his bizarre and heavy metallic poncho, he looked like a disaster refugee with mental issues. Throw in the scars and the visible cybernetics, and he probably scared birds from the sky.

  The shallow lobby was open, but deserted. He stepped up to the wallcomp. “Hello?”

  An older woman’s face appeared on the display. “Be there in a minute. Set the carriers on the table.”

  Moments later, the interior sliding doors opened and revealed the woman he’d spoken to. She had black hair streaked with silver, and a pleasant smile. “I’m Aniashalaman Nuñez, the VMD. Call me Nuñez.” She looked up at him from her considerably shorter height. “You must be the ex-Jumper, Axur Tragon. You’re as tall as everyone says.” Despite her Islander complexion and facial features, her accent was pure Standard English.

  He returned her smile. “I’m actually short, for a Jumper.”

  Nuñez laughed and shaded her eyes as she looked up. “From down here, you all look like trees to me.” She tilted her head toward the table. “What can I help you with?”

  “I have some, uh, pets, and these are sick, I think.” He shoved his hands in his pockets under his heavy poncho. “To be honest, I kind of inherited them, and don’t know much about their care, except what I read in reference manuals. They all did okay in the spring and summer, but lately, these aren’t.”

  “How many pets do you have?” Nuñez crossed to the table and lifted the cover on the first cage. “Ah, birds of paradise. Three females and a male. Are they mated?”

  “No clue. To answer your first question, seven if you count species, and twelve animals total. I think they’re all designer, rather than domestic.” He tilted his head toward the second cage. “I don’t even know what some of them are.”

  Nuñez lifted the cover of the second carrier. “Great balls of chaos, what a...” Nuñez pulled the cover off completely. “...chimera.”

  Axur suspected she’d censored a less diplomatic description. He couldn’t blame her. Kivo was German shepherd-sized, but the resemblance ended there. He had black and brown stripes in his short, sleek fur, and six legs with clawed paws for running and catching. Gigantic, bat-style swivel ears sat on his broad, flat head. He had two tails with tufts of fur on the ends. He was a prime example of what the anti-pet-trade activists railed against: tinkering with Terran genetics to create whimsical animals that would have never survived in the wild, much less natural selection. Kivo might be a genetic mess, but he was also the sweetest, most laid-back beast Axur had ever met, and was patient with all the animals, even the miniature dinosaur that often mistook Kivo’s tails as something edible. “Kivo’s usually interested in everything, and eats anything, but not for the past week. The birds just huddle in the bottom of their cage and won’t go out.”

  Nuñez made a face. “I might be able to help with the birds, but Kivo is about as far off my chart as you can get. My patients are large herd animals and the occasional terrier or tabby. You need a specialist.” She glanced up at him and sighed. “As it happens, I know one of the best, but she’s not…”

  A cacophony of goose honking from somewhere in the building interrupted. Nuñez glanced toward the back and frowned. “Sit a minute.” She pointed to a lobby chair, then strode through the doors she’d come through and vanished. The doors slid quickly closed behind her.

  He dragged the chair closer to the table and sat, putting his face closer to Kivo’s cage. The chimera rolled back in the cage and exposed his striped stomach. “Sorry, buddy, no belly rubs until it’s safe to let you out.”

  Axur looked up when the clinic’s outside doors opened to admit a tall, willowy woman with shoulder-length, deep blue-black hair and Asian features. She carried several bags and a box, and walked with a pronounced limp. She glanced at him, startled. “Does Nuñez know…” She trailed off as her attention riveted on Kivo.

  After a long moment, Axur answered her unfinished question. “Nuñez asked me to wait here.”

  She darted a look to his face and awkwardly backed up several steps, dropping one of the bags. “Oh.”

  He started to stand and reach out to help her, but froze in mid-rise when her eyes widened in unmistakable fear. Her hand visibly trembled as she awkwardly scooped up the bag, then fled through the doors to the back.

  He sat down again with a sigh. It never paid to play the shoulda-coulda-woulda game, but starting a year ago, it was hard not to wish for a different star lane for his life. He’d never been nova-hot beautiful like some in his squad, but he’d never lacked for companionship and bed par
tners for his twelve years in the CPS Jumper Corps. Unbeknownst to him, he’d been secretly selected for a CPS “special project” that changed him forever, including adding valuable experimental tech to his cybernetics.

  Now he was an ugly mass of biometal and hardware that made him a walking, talking satellite uplink. Only the heavy poncho he’d kludged together from salvaged supplies kept him from constantly broadcasting his unique comm signature to the frontier planet’s various satellites, and from there to the Central Galactic Concordance’s intergalactic communications network. If he uncloaked, his days of freedom remaining would be measured by how fast a CPS ship could get to Del’Arche to hunt him down.

  Kivo whined. Axur stuck his fingers into the cage again and tried to shake off his melancholy. He’d lived, and so had Kivo and the others, and life was hope.

  Ten minutes later, Nuñez strode back into the lobby, looking harried. “Thanks for waiting.” She put her fists on her hips. “I have an emergency, so I’ll cut to the chase. I can’t treat your pets, but Bethnee Bakonin can. She’s the woman who just came in. She’s already seen you, and that’s usually a deal-killer for her, but if you keep your distance and don’t make sudden movements, she’ll look at your animals.” Her chin jutted out pugnaciously. “She’s a pet-trade expert, but she’s also a pan-phyla animal-affinity talent, so if you dislike minders, you can jet right now, ’cause I’m one, too.”

  Axur put his hands flat on his thighs. “Minders are just people. I don’t care if she uses dark energy magic, if she can help Kivo and the birds.” He pointed a thumb toward the front doors. “I could wait outside.”

  Nuñez shook her head. “No, she’ll need information from you. Just move your chair away and stay seated.” She glanced at his stained pants and worn combat boots. “I’ll assume you’re not carrying hard credit. What are you trading?”

  “Fall harvest gourds, berries, and leafy greens. If it’s more than that, we can negotiate.” In the planet’s official financial transaction records, the town’s economy was barely a blip, but it did a thriving business in trade. From what he’d gathered, the settlement company took a percentage of all financial transactions, but hadn’t found a way to close the trading loophole, so they often conducted unannounced audits, trying to catch the town breaking the rules so they could levy fines.

  Nuñez nodded. “Fair enough.” She gave him a considering look. “Bakonin is like most high-level animal-affinity talents, better with animals than people, and like a lot of us here in Tanimai,”—she looked pointedly at the visible scars on his neck and jaw leading up to his disabled skulljack—“she’s had a hard life. Be nice, and she’ll do right by you and the animals. Scare her, and you’ll never see her again.”

  Axur didn’t miss the unspoken warning that he’d never trade in town again if he did anything to make Bakonin bolt. “Understood.”

  He carried the chair to the far corner and sat, then hunched over to rest his elbows on his knees. It was as short as he could make himself.

  Nuñez left. The doors stayed open long enough for Bakonin to limp in. She glanced at him briefly as she made her way to the table. Her shuttered expression changed to interest when she got to the birds.

  Axur watched as she opened the cage with the four birds and deftly pulled the brightly colored male out and turned him upside down to look at his chest and feet. “Yes, yes,” she said soothingly. Her voice had a warm, husky timbre. She did the same with the others, then closed the cage door.

  She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then turned to look at him. “Nuñez said you’ve only had the animals for about nine months, and that you’ve got more at home. Were they in your ship when you crashed?”

  Axur looked up at her, startled. “How did you know about the ship?”

  One corner of her mouth twitched. “Hard to miss a streaking fireball that left a kilometer-long gouge at the north end of Park Plateau. No one knew anyone had survived until you came into town two weeks later offering exotic trade goods. People talk. You’re lucky the weather satellites were malfing again, or the company auditors would have iced you for terraform destruction, then expatriated you to the nearest Concordance lockup for illegal trespass and occupation.”

  He ducked his head, embarrassed that it hadn’t occurred to him that others might have seen his ungraceful entry into Del’Arche’s atmosphere. “I didn’t know about the animals until the hard landing ripped open the freighter’s smuggling hold. I’ve tried to care for those that lived.”

  Bakonin nodded. “Pet-trade dealers often ship on the sly to get around inspections and quarantines, and to deter thieves. It’s a ruthless business.” She pointed to the cage. “Your birds are healthy, but cold intolerant. If you don’t give them a warm habitat and a diet of insects and fruit, they’ll die. They’re fertile, so if you do have a habitat, you’ll have fledglings by the spring.”

  “Okay.” He could work around the diet problem, but had no idea how he’d create a warm space out of the ship’s wreckage, miscellaneous cargo, and the deadfall trees he’d hauled in for building materials. The possibility of offspring hadn’t even crossed his mind. Like everyone else in the Concordance, he’d gotten a birth control implant at the first hint of puberty, so reproduction took a deliberate decision between two people.

  She turned to the chimera. Kivo exhibited intense curiosity, his leaf-shaped nose working and his ears swiveling forward. He stood, briefly, but his two back sets of legs shook, and he half sat. She opened the cage door. Kivo oozed out and crouched. She approached slowly, then gently ran her hands over his ribs, shoulder joints, and articulated spine. Kivo leaned into her as she crooned nonsense words while she examined his ears, eyes, and wicked-looking teeth. He was soon rolling onto his back, stretching his six legs out, begging for attention. She smiled and rubbed his belly, and even laughed when he sloppily licked her nose when she got close enough. “Does he have a name?”

  Axur was so mesmerized by her obvious skill and the glimpse of beauty in her smile that it took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. “Kivo.”

  She kept one hand on Kivo’s broad head and stroked his ear muscles with her thumb. “I’m guessing you fed him fresh meat and produce from your farm, which is the best thing you could have done, because it’s kept him alive. The dealer was probably returning him to the research company’s designers as a failure.” Sadness stole across her face. “Even if we eradicate the blood parasite and tailor some nutritional chems to counter the anemia it caused, which is his current issue, other problems are coming. He’s already got arthritis, especially in his flexible spine, and his fine-motor control is degrading.”

  It sounded like Kivo had the chimera equivalent of waster’s disease, a pernicious problem that plagued Jumper veterans across the galaxy. The CPS researchers conducting the “special project” claimed to have cured him of it as compensation for taking his arm. He hoped that wasn’t another one of their lies. His tried not to focus on his resentment and turned his attention back to Kivo. “Why did they create him at all?”

  She shrugged. “Pretend alien fauna for the wealthy, maybe? It’s a fad.” She stroked the large hump of Kivo’s middle shoulder joints. “The bio-engineers actually got the six legs to work, but the rest of him is a fantasy hodgepodge.” She snorted disdainfully. “Two tails.” She rested her hip against the table and eased the weight off her stiffer leg.

  “He follows me everywhere. He keeps the peace among the other animals, too.” He tilted his head. “Can animals be empaths? I think he tries to cheer me up sometimes.” It sounded daft after he said it out loud, so he was grateful she didn’t laugh.

  “Maybe? Medical scientists still don’t know what combination of DNA and subtrans amino arrays make the difference between human minders and non-minders, or even the gender expression continuum. Who’s to say that animals aren’t evolving along with us?”

  “Makes sense to me. What’s the treatment protocol for him?”

  “A parasite-tailored
antibiotic and immune boosters. If we can’t trade with the local chems and alterants shop, we might have to use hard credit at the human med clinic in Asgorth.”

  “I’ve got some reserve freighter stock to trade.” He sat up straight and immediately regretted it, because it caused Bakonin to catch her breath and step back. “Sorry.” He hunched over again.

  Bakonin’s lips thinned, and she shook her head. “I just hadn’t realized how tall you are. Ex-Jumper?”

  Axur gave her a humorless smile and held up his left hand, where exposed biometal gleamed at his knuckles. “My cybernetic arm and legs didn’t give it away?” Most people preferred flesh and bone.

  “Cybernetics are fine.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m phobic around men, sometimes, which is my problem, not yours.”

  Kivo’s ears swiveled toward the sliding doors, and he rolled to a sitting position. A moment later, Nuñez appeared, the front of her tunic covered in blood. “I need your help.”

  Chapter Three

  GDAT 3241.155

  After Bethnee hosed down the instruments of the large-animal surgical suite with steaming hot water, she stood next to the floor drain and turned the hose on her unlovely but waterproof, tear-resistant work tunic.

  Axur, as he’d asked them to call him, had proven to be more than just a pretty face. Nuñez dragooned him into helping extricate a buffalo cow from a tangled coil of spikewire. Nuñez used her minder talent to control the cow while Axur used the superior strength of his cybernetic hand to stop the wire from springing out when Bethnee cut it. As long as she stayed on the other side of the cow and focused on using her talent to heal the cow’s deepest lacerations, she’d managed to keep her mind clear and her stupid shaking to a minimum. Nevertheless, she felt like she’d hiked to the top of towering Mount Taruka and back.

  Axur hadn’t flinched at the blood or injuries. When Nuñez commented on it, he’d admitted he’d been a trained field medic in the Jumper Corps.