by Calista Skye
Back in the Pyramid, I find a seat right next to Xan'tor's sleeping form, while Emma takes my old place on top of the tall crate. The guys have snapped off the stupid collar around her neck.
They give us food and cans of mead, and I start telling them everything that happened since I saw them last.
By the end, they're all angry and relieved and stunned and happy that it all turned out fine. At least, that's what I choose to think. It's not easy reading the emotions of males. And these are all aliens, too.
“Remarkable,” Beloron marvels. “Xan'tor challenged Baron Pantoflir and all his bodyguards. He must have known it was suicide, even in Combat form.”
“They have some nasty weapons,” Prash agrees. “So nasty they're outlawed almost everywhere. They're quite dishonorable. Xan'tor clearly never expected to survive. Maybe that's something you should know, Mila.”
“I never had Xan'tor figured for a romantic,” Renerak rumbles. “But here he is, having tried his best to die for his woman. He has hidden depths. He may have declined the Bululg mission and turned them into enemies for all of us, but I have never liked him more than right now. He's not all duty to his clan.”
“Indeed he is remarkable,” Frox says. “Not only an admired general, but the most honorable man I've met. Truly a rare breed.”
They're all so charmingly clumsy about it I have to laugh. “Guys, don't worry! I know what he did for me. And I'm way ahead of you about how great he is. I like him so much I'm going to marry him!”
“Congratulations!” Frox says. “I suspected, of course. Do we all know what marriage is?”
Beloron clears his voice. “I know what it is, of course. But I don't remember the details. Remind me, Frox? Something about breeding, yes?”
“Marriage,” Frox says solemnly, gesturing with his tentacles. “is when a male and a female or any other gender you might have in your species decide to spend the rest of their life together. In a partnership, of sorts? It's like a business. Some things are shared, others are kept strictly separate. Something about laying eggs together? There is a great deal of secrecy around it. At the end of their life cycles, the two or three or however many there are ram special daggers into each other's main arteries and so leave the plane of existence together in great pain, which is considered the height of love. And there's a lot of breeding. Right, Mila?”
Emma is about to fall off her crate from laughter, but she manages to keep it down.
I bite my lip. “Hmm. I guess different societies have different rules about it…”
“Truly, because that is very different from how we do it,” Prash says. “There's hardly any talk of special daggers when we get married. But yes, much secrecy. Isn't there a ceremony of some kind?”
“Of course there is,” Renerak says. “That's very important. Do you know how it will be done, Mila? There is often some kind of clergyman present, but I imagine that Xan'tor would prefer to have his clan involved.”
“I don't know any clergymen,” I ponder. “Or someone who could officiate at all.”
“Then I will do it,” Renerak concludes. “I am a priest on my home world. Ordained and everything. I can't imagine the ceremonies can be that different.”
“You're certainly full of surprises!” Frox exclaims. “Now you're a priest? Why haven't you told us before?”
“It's never been relevant,” Renerak rumbles. “And the multiple gods know I would never want to convert any of you heathens to the one true faith, so what would be the point? I worship in my cabin like a normal person. When do you want this done, Mila?”
“Tomorrow!” grunts a deep voice next to me. Xan'tor opens his eyes and reaches out to me. I put my hand in his and feel him squeeze it. “I'm feeling much better now. And this I want done right away.”
“I guess tomorrow,” I agree, happy that he's finally awake. “But that doesn't leave me much time to find a wedding dress.” I glance up at Emma. “Actually, I think that's not the bride's responsibility, but the maid of honor's?”
“Sure,” my little sister says, so fast she's clearly being sarcastic. “All white, right? Finest silk? Perfect fit? Some flowers? Nice lingerie? I mean, considering how hungry aliens are for Earth chicks, there must be a Brides-R-Us franchise somewhere around here.”
39
- Xan'tor -
“Nice to meet you. I mean, formally.” Emma puts her hand out, like Mila did the first time I met her.
“Nice indeed,” I nod.
“So what you do is you take her hand, like this,” Mila says and grabs my hand, touching it to Emma's.
“Ah. An alien greeting ritual,” I note and lightly grip the little hand. “With physical contact, even. Very rare.” I'm finally up from the stretcher, feeling weak, but otherwise good. Extremely good, in fact.
Everyone is sitting around in the Pyramid, chatting and relaxing and drinking mead from cans. The shock of Crirux being a traitor has passed, and now we're all just contemptuous of him.
“Don't you like physical contact with aliens?” Mila asks, very seriously, but there is a glint of mirth in her eyes.
“That depends almost entirely on the alien. How about you?”
“Yeah, it depends on the alien for me, too. And what I think he wants.”
I look her up and down. “What do you think this alien wants?”
Mila shrugs. “Oh, just the usual. Duty, honor. Mead. Guns. Hot Earth females to breed with.”
“I do like my guns,” I agree. “Okay, my turn. I think you like duty and honor, too. Almost a little too much sometimes. Not sure if you like the mead that much, but it'll grow on you. You seem to prefer bombs to guns. And certainly you enjoy breeding almost more than I do.”
Mila tilts her head. “Oh, is that what you think? Yeah, maybe. Bombs are more versatile.”
“Umm, guys…”
“Oh, sorry, Emma. Xan'tor, you can let go of her now. The greeting ritual is complete.”
I let go of Emma's little hand.
“Thanks,” she says, shaking it as if hurt. “You have a firm grip there, Xan'tor. Almost too firm for a greeting ritual. I like that in a brother-in-law.”
“He's pretty strong,” Mila says. “Just look at him, walking around, just hours after he was almost killed by that baron. It can't be natural.”
“The diagnostic kit made the whole difference,” I remind her. “If I hadn't gotten treatment right then, I would not have made it, Frox says. I have you to thank for it.”
“And I have both of you to thank for rescuing me,” Emma says. “So thank you. I know it cost you a lot, Xan'tor.”
I shrug. “In terms of money, perhaps. But I regained my honor. All things considered, I think I came out way ahead.”
Emma nods thoughtfully. “Getting someone as hard to please as Mila to agree to marry you is the ultimate reward.”
Mila slaps her shoulder playfully. “Hey, I'm not that hard to please. Give me a blue alien with his own robe and a spaceship and I go all gooey, it turns out.”
I steel myself for what has to come now. “Mila. Before you actually marry me, you should probably know what it was I was planning. The mission, I mean.”
“To crush the Earth Resistance,” she says easily. “I know. They told me when you were sleeping.”
“And you're still here,” I carefully point out. So it's all right with you?”
“It's all right with me as long as you didn't actually do it. You take your duty seriously. If it took you few weeks to come around to the right decision, then okay. That was a big change for you. No harm done. If you had gone through with it, it would be a different story.”
I smile, so relieved I could just float in the air. “As it should.”
“You went straight from not doing the mission to rescuing me instead, even if you had no idea Mila was there,” Emma says. “And even if you knew she was mad at you. You had no reason to expect anything good to come from that for you. I think that was a pretty cool thing to do.”
“I
t was the right thing to do,” I explain. “It suddenly became clear to me.”
“Everyone is trying to explain to me how great you are!” Mila wails. “As if I didn't already know.”
Emma shrugs. “Hey, just making sure you really get it. He sacrificed a lot for both of us.”
Mila's sister is a lot like her, with the same roundness and the same warm glow to her skin. But she's less serious and has a sharper tongue. I can see why the baron was willing to pay so much for her.
And yet, I much prefer Mila. She has that quiet thoughtfulness and a willingness to do anything for what she believes in. She understands duty and honor because she lives it.
Emma yawns. “Sorry, I'm not bored. It's just been a long day. Can I use your bed, Mila?”
“Of course. It's really Xan'tor's cabin, though. Is it okay, Xan'tor?”
I nod. “That cabin now belongs to Emma. Or both of you. Or any way you want to do it. I'll clear the rest of the weapons out of there later.”
“Thanks,” Emma says and stands up, putting her can on the crate. “Nah, just leave the weapons. I'm curious about them. Well, good night.”
Mila goes after her. “I'll walk you in there. Girl talk.” She sends me a quick look full of promise.
When she comes back, I take her hand and drag her off towards the hangar. “I think we need a little bit of time, just you and me.”
She comes along easily. “I think so, too, fiancè.”
“Is your sister okay in the cabin alone?”
“I think so. She fell asleep the moment her head touched the mattress. That mead can make you mighty drowsy. Xan'tor, will we be able to get back the two-seat spaceship?”
“I doubt any of us can go to the Bululg station again. But there are other ways. That ship is worthless, though. Don't you want a newer one?”
We enter the hangar and make for my ship.
“I kind of like that one. It reminds me of... something nice.”
“Your brother and the game you played with him,” I conclude and come to a halt right inside my ship, taking Mila's hand. “I'll see what I can do. Mila, I could say that I'm sorry about what happened to your brother. But it would be a meaningless thing to say. As if I was trying to undo something that can't be fixed, putting the burden on you to agree that it's behind us. Taking me off the hook too easily, so to speak. I fear it will always be something that lies between us. But I will say that I wish with some intensity that he was still alive. He was clearly a good brother. A true warrior, brave and honorable. I wish even more strongly that I had never taken on any mission at all for the Bululg. I can't tell you how relieved I am to be done with them.”
“Evan was great,” Mila says. “And I miss him. Still, I don't want his death to be an issue between you and me. He wouldn't want that. It's not like you set out to kill him. You did your duty as you saw it and he did his. It was war. If the outcome is that you will never again work for the Bululg, then I can live with that.”
“And your sister?”
Mila touches the spot on the floor that raises the couch and sits down. “She's still processing all this. She knows who you are. But I know her. She tends to look forwards, not back.”
“Yours is a warrior clan,” I state again, handing Mila a mug of a steaming brew. “And soon you'll be a part of mine.”
“And you a part of mine. How will your people feel about you quitting your job for the Bululg?”
I wince, just a little. “They will not like it. I have to go and see them. There's a chance I won't come back. Apparently there's a war brewing, and I may have to fight it.”
“A clan war? About who gets to have the king?”
I sit down beside her. “In essence. My clan might be attacked by another.”
She sighs. “I'm not thrilled about maybe losing my husband shortly after the wedding. But I've accepted that I'm marrying a warrior. You must do what your sense of duty tells you.”
“And so must you. You're every bit the warrior I am. In the beginning I doubted it because you are female. I doubt it no longer.” Stroking a lock of dark hair out of her face, I wonder why it took me so long to see the obvious path to take. She has her duty, and so do I. I almost lost her, more than once.
Mila puts the mug down and makes herself comfortable, lying down on the couch with her head in my lap. “Yeah. Okay, this mighty warrior will just take a little nap. Nothing to do with the mead! I just need some beauty sleep. Because it turns out I'm getting married tomorrow. Can you believe it?”
I stroke her hair and luxuriate in having her near. Her warmth, her scent, her calm breathing, the profile of her face, she roundness of her features. The weight of her head, the curve of her half-curled up legs and hips and behind. So alien, and yet so perfect.
And still she's less alien to me than anyone I've met.
40
- Mila -
“I do,” I state loudly.
My voice bounces back from the walls. Renerak found a short corridor that hasn't been in use, and he decorated it to look like a holy site from his planet. There's an altar and lots of images of what I think are gods, as well as an enormous lot of flickering candles.
The legality of this will be dubious, but right now I don't care. It will be totally valid to me and Xan'tor, and isn't that really what matters?
Renerak is dressed in a robe so black it's almost not there at all. He has to bend down a little to not hit his head on the ceiling. But he's doing a wonderful job officiating, so serious and solemn that no priest on Earth could do it better. His impossibly deep voice helps.
Emma and I have made some suggestions about how to do this, and Renerak has changed his normal wedding procedure to something that both Xan'tor and I recognize. Turns out that weddings aren't that different in most alien cultures.
“I do!” Xan'tor says, his powerful voice echoing through the corridors behind us.
“Then by the Eye of Pleofor, the all-seeing, by the Ear of Rurti, the all-knowing and the Hand of Smung, the all-doing, I declare that you two are now married. May your shared lives be long and your offspring plentiful.” Renerak extends his massive arms to the sides and bows.
We both turn around and face the witnesses. There's not a lot of people here. Just Emma, Prash, Frox and Beloron. But it's enough. I'm married.
To Xan'tor.
Emma hugs me. “That dress is not too bad. Pink and charcoal are just the same as white when it comes to wedding dresses. Common knowledge. I'm so happy for you, Mila,” she sniffs.
I squeeze her a little more. “Thank you. It's wonderful. Totally space-y.”
“Uh-huh. So are you Mrs. Xan'tor now? Mrs. Tor? Mrs. Xan?”
“Didn't think about that part. How about I'm just plain old Mila Carver for now? I'll figure it out.”
“Be nice to our general,” Prash says and gives me a little congratulatory bow. “He's tough on the outside, less so on the inside.”
“I know,” I reply. “That's why I like him.”
Beloron hugs me, a little stiffly. “But he is still a general and we need him. Don't try to make him too soft.”
I laugh. “I doubt I could. He's his own man, you know that.”
Frox reaches one tentacle out to me. “Let's do your crazy alien greeting ritual.”
I carefully grab the tip of his tentacle and squeeze. It's warm and firm, not unlike a normal finger. “There. Isn't that nice?”
“Not bad. But it would be so dangerous for a first encounter protocol. So, you snagged my boss out from under me. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.”
“I didn't know you were romantically interested in him, Frox.”
“Nah, not really. Well, not anymore, I should say. In the beginning… well, have you met him?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. He has something special.”
“Him and me couldn't really work. Too different. I mean, the mechanics alone… Also, he thinks I'm a male and now it's to late to tell him I'm a girl. It would just be awkward.”
/>
I manage to not let my jaw hang open for too long. “You're a girl, Frox?”
She looks around with all her eyestalks. “Hey, keep it down! Nobody else knows. Yeah, so only someone from my own species could tell, and there aren't that many of us. Everyone else assumes I'm male. Could be the voice.”
I nod and grab her tentacle again, holding on to it. “Could be. But this is so cool! You want it to stay secret? Or shall I tell Xan'tor? You know, discreetly?”
“I don't know. It actually amuses me a little to pretend to be a guy. But with other girls here, it might be weird. And I won't be the only one anymore. Let me think about it, okay?”
“Of course. Can I tell Emma?”
“Sure, sure. I really like her. She's just like you, except… completely different.”
“That's what everyone says. This is so cool!” I squeeze her tentacle, giddy with happiness.
Xan'tor comes over and grabs my hand as if he will never let go of it.
He looks me in the eyes with his yellow suns. “I will never let go of this hand ever again.”
“You better not,” I agree. “Because I will hang onto you like grim death from now on.”
He nods. “Good. That's what marriage is, wife.”
“At least it will be for us, husband.”
He just takes me in. “You are the most wonderful thing in the universe.”
I scratch my chin. “Right now, I probably am. But I promise you that it won't last.”
“Of course not. I'll love you extra much on your non-wonderful days. It will be a pleasure.”
I hoot with laughter at his optimism. “Uh-huh. We'll just see, warrior. We'll just see. My non-wonderful days tend to be really non-wonderful.”
“Good. I like a challenge. My love, shall we leave these outlandish aliens behind and be on our own for a while?”
I squeeze his hand. “I was just going to suggest it. They can handle the mead-drinking and food-eating on their own. I'll just tell Emma.”
- - -
We sit down beside each other in the control room of Xan'tor's ship.
