by Cynthia Sax
He removed the auger and leaned it carefully against the rock to clean later. “Let this work,” he murmured. Bocc fed the wire-wrapped metal bar down the hole deeper and deeper until it hit bottom.
He turned to his machine, took a deep breath and pressed the activation button. The engine hummed, converting the planet’s natural source of energy. The mortar vibrated and Bocc held on to the pieced-together metal, steadying it. A boom sounded. Around him, birds squawked and leaves rustled as wild animals fled. Sparks flew, illuminating the machine even more, and the water-filled canister launched into the sky, flying toward one of the moons.
It didn’t fly high enough, arching over a nearby tree. Baktot’s balls. Bocc scowled as he pressed the button, stopping the engine. More drilling. He pulled the metal bar up by the wire.
“Bocc. Bocc.” The thunder of booted feet on grass-packed ground announced his older brother’s arrival.
“You’re late.” Bocc straightened, wiping his dirty hands on his thighs with jerky motions, irritated at his failure.
“You live too far from the village,” Tukbar grumbled, his face lit by the torches circling them. “The old crone is dead. Father has forgotten. There’s no need for you to live here.”
The chief has not forgotten. He’ll never forget. “That wonderful woman you call an old crone raised me, teaching me everything I know.” Bocc glanced at the stars his foreign adoptive mother had once traveled among, picturing the fantastic cities and the wonderful machinery she had woven into his childhood stories. “And the distance from my hut to the village hasn’t changed from your last visit.”
“I know.” His brother kicked a scrap of twisted metal. Bocc grimaced as it ricocheted off the water pump. “I’m late because I wished to bring you your share of the kill.” Tukbar’s lips turned downward, his silver eyes stormy. The indigo antlers of the fallen baktot were plaited into his long black braid.
“The chief denied me,” Bocc concluded, his voice devoid of the disappointment he felt. “As was his right, Tukbar. I’m an outcast.” And I always will be. He extracted his sword from the leather sheath.
“You were a member of our hunting party and it was your spear that downed the baktot.” Tukbar waved his own sword, the finely honed blade crafted by Bocc as a birthday gift.
Bocc shook his head, unwilling to revisit a lifelong argument. “I only wounded the animal. You killed it.” He juggled his weapon from his right hand to his weaker left as he circled Tukbar, the brother who even as a boy had defied their father, the chief, to befriend him. “You’ll be our future chief.”
“If the gods are willing.” Tukbar pivoted on his heels, keeping Bocc in sight. “And you’ll be?”
A Federation operative and Lokan’s best hope of survival. Bocc bent his knees, lowering his torso. “The warrior who defeated our future chief.”
He sprang, slicing downward with his sword. Metal clanged against metal as the blades met. Tukbar groaned, his bulging biceps quivering under the strain of blocking the blow. Bocc bounced backward.
He shook his left arm, his muscles aching. Still too weak. Bocc flattened his lips, disgusted at his vulnerability. And only two days left.
“Again.” Bocc pressed forward, swinging his sword toward his brother’s heaving chest. Sparks flew as the blade was caught once more, both of Tukbar’s hands clasping the obstructing sword’s hilt.
Bocc leaned into the connection, leveraging his body weight. His left wrist burned. His scarred knuckles whitened. Perspiration streamed over his eyebrows, dripping into his eyes, the salt stinging him.
Too weak. He twisted away, turning, his sword slicing through the cool night air.
“These last days, we’ve fought. We’ve hunted. We’ve fought some more.” Tukbar fell to his knees upon the grass-packed ground. “Have mercy on me, brother.”
“You wish to be chief,” Bocc pointed out as he flexed his wrist.
“That’s what I fight for.” His brother nodded. “And you? Why do you push yourself?”
Bocc glanced upward. The stars sparkled in the black sky. She is among them, the female the Federation future-benders predict I will love for all time.
“You train for your sky mate?” Tukbar snorted, stabbing the soil with his sword. “You build a weapon to fight an enemy we’ve never seen and you train to win a female you don’t know exists.” He shook his head, the antlers rattling in his long braid. “And they say you are the clever one.”
“She exists.” I must be ready for her arrival. Bocc shifted his sword to his rested right hand. “Are you here to fight or to natter on like an old female?” he taunted.
“We are to fight again? By the sky, you’re a baktot’s behind.” Tukbar rammed his sword tip into the ground and pushed his big body upright by the hilt.
Bocc grimaced, appalled by Tukbar’s harsh use of his weapon. “You’d fight better if your blade was sharp.”
His brother grinned at him, his round cheeks creasing. “I fight well enough to defeat you.”
While hindered. Bocc rotated his sword, the blade singing through the air.
Forward only. He charged. Their swords clashed, the noise ringing like thunder. Resisting the urge to bounce back, Bocc leveraged off his weapon, and with a roar of exertion, flipped himself into the air over Tukbar’s right shoulder. He landed with a thud on the ground, the impact jarring his knees.
“You jump around too much,” his brother complained, turning to face him. “You’re making me dizzy.”
“Ahhh…was that why you appeared so lightheaded last night?” Bocc laughed. “Because you jumped around the fire with sweet Minarb?”
“Were you lurking in the shadows again? I thought I smelled your stench.” Tukbar’s tanned face flushed a dark red. “And that was dancing, you fool. Minarb rewarded me with a roll on the furs.”
In two nights, I will roll on the furs with my Little Star. Bocc glanced toward the night sky. “Minarb’s too young to be rolling on the furs.” He sniffed the air and frowned, smelling the female on his brother’s skin. “You dishonor her by mating before claiming her.”
“She’s not so young, little brother.” Tukbar’s gaze slid from his. “She’ll be claiming age this rainy season and she wished for the rolling.”
Little Minarb is all grown up? “Her father should guard her closer.” I’ll guard my Little Star well. Bocc attacked. No males will touch her. Their swords sliced through the air, engaging and disengaging in a blur of motion. As Tukbar swung widely, Bocc ducked under his arm, racing forward. Success. “Careful, brother, or you’ll end up on the tip of a sword.”
“I’m the future chief.” Tukbar shrugged, turning. “And the best warrior. Her father wouldn’t dare.”
The second best warrior. “Future chief or not, I’ll slay you if you touch my mate,” Bocc warned his flirtatious brother. His fingers tightened on his sword hilt.
“You’d slay your only brother over your mythical sky mate?” Tukbar’s lips twitched. “Who would then help you fight your mythical enemy?”
“I’m serious, Tukbar.” Bocc approached him, determined to settle this before his mate’s arrival. “I won’t have you touching her.”
“I vow I won’t.” Tukbar dropped his sword and held up his hands, a silly grin plastered across his face. “I won’t touch your mythical sky mate.” He chuckled.
“Tukbar…”
“I vow.” He leaned over, bracing his hands on his thighs, and roared with laughter.
Bocc sheathed his sword. “Why do I tell you anything? You never listen.” He shook his head and grinned, unable to remain angry with his brother. “Come.” He held out his hand. Tukbar clasped it, tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks. “Let us quench our thirst before we fight some more.”
“Minarb’s father serves the best ale.” Tukbar’s eyes glimmered with mischief.
“You roll on the furs with his daughter and then drink his ale. You’re hopeless, my brother.” Bocc patted Tukbar’s back. “And you know I cannot ente
r his hut.”
His brother’s face darkened. “He’s willing to risk Father’s wrath.”
“I won’t extend my shame to your tribesmen.” Soon I’ll have my own tribe. Bocc glanced at the stars. I’ll no longer drink alone. “Besides, I need someone to share my Ungarian ale with me.”
“You have more of that vile liquid?” Tukbar wrinkled his nose. “Could you not trade your gadgets for meat? Or for swords? Or for anything else but Ungarian ale?”
Bocc laughed.
Chapter Two
“Farpus.” Captain Zeemus swore. “A Balazoid warship has entered the quadrant. Get that flat ass moving, Professor,” he bellowed.
“Yes. Yes.” Starla slid the last tube into Chrome’s chest rack and closed the cavity, the overlapping synthetic skin concealing the seam. “We’re done.” She wiped her fingers across her burning eyes, fighting exhaustion. “Chrome.”
“I’m ready, Professor.” He fastened his medical suit, his movements unhampered by the additional weight of the tubes and his functions unaffected by the lack of sleep. The android handed her the smaller medical pack and swung the larger one onto his back.
“This is it.” Starla summoned up a weak smile. The medical pack’s straps dug into her shoulders, the contents including as many supplies as it would hold.
“We’re as prepared as we can be.” She placed her trembling hand in Chrome’s larger palm. Is my secondhand knowledge good enough? She took a ragged breath, fear coiling around her.
“I’ll protect you.” Chrome gripped her fingers tightly as they walked toward the shuttle bay.
“Run, Professor!” Captain Zeemus’ bearded face appeared in the corridor, poking through the doorway. “The Balazoid warship is in our solar system.”
The enemy. Starla propelled herself forward, forcing her weary legs to move. Chrome, with his longer limbs and unlimited energy, jogged easily beside her.
“Finally.” Zeemus cupped her ass and pushed her toward the body-sized circular opening. Starla bit back her revulsion as all four of his hands lingered on her curves.
“Don’t touch her.” Chrome shoved the smaller man away from her and the captain’s back smacked against the wall. Her android stalked after him, his big hands clenched into fists.
“Not now, Chrome.” Starla grabbed his arm. “There’s no time. The Balazoids are close and we have to get to the surface.”
Chrome stopped, glanced at her and then back at Zeemus. His forehead wrinkled.
“If I fall off the ladder, I’ll die,” she pointed out. “Keeping me safe is your first directive.”
“I’ll protect you.” He nodded curtly. “I’ll kill him when I return.”
“If you return…” The captain muttered.
Another threat. Sirens sounded and Starla forced her attention back to their disembarkation. “I’ll go first. Those were the instructions. The Lokans are less likely to attack a female.”
I’m babbling. An experienced professor wouldn’t babble. Starla clamped her mouth shut and peered into the gap. Sweet study. She couldn’t see anything, the rope ladder disappearing into the mist. She lowered her ass onto the floor and dangled her feet in the air, her stomach twisting with nerves. I can do this.
She grabbed the rail and swung her legs toward the ladder. Her feet slipped on the rungs, sliding off the narrow slats into nothing. “No.” She clung to the rope, her wrists burning with the strain, her knuckles aching. “Chrome.”
He encircled her wrists with his big hands, steadying her. “I have you,” Chrome rumbled.
Chrome has me. Starla’s heart beat wildly. She wrapped her shaking fingers around the braided strands and slid her heels against the rung.
“Stay close, Chrome.” She climbed down, finding solid purchase with one foot before moving the other. Sweat trickled along her spine. “Just as we practiced.”
“This descent is deviating from practice. The notification to the operative stated our arrival as tomorrow,” Chrome stated, placing his heels on the rung above her fingers.
I’ll be alone. “I can’t think about that now.” Starla concentrated on moving from rung to rung. No, not alone, never alone. Chrome swayed on the ladder above her, his proximity reassuring her.
Mist swirled around them, limiting their visibility. Creatures called around them, but she couldn’t see them. She couldn’t see anything other than Chrome’s legs and boots and the piece of ladder she gripped.
Wind whistled through feathers and a black form swooped closer. Starla cringed against the ladder. “Is that a bird of prey?”
“That’s a female mul-mul, guarding her nest.” Chrome eased her concerns.
“Mul-muls eat seeds and nuts,” she recited as she maneuvered down the rope ladder. “They’re huge but harmless.” An animal screeched, and leaves rustled. Harmless. Nothing to fear.
A thump echoed above her and the rope jerked. “What was that?” She glanced upward.
“The captain closed the hatch.” Chrome’s voice was flat.
Why would he close the hatch? Is he planning to—
The roar of spaceship engines thundered, deafening her. Wind whipped around them. “Move, Chrome.” She descended faster and faster, the big android keeping pace with her. They needed to—
A blast boomed, the sky lit up with a giant explosion, the heat and force dissipating the mist, and they fell, holding on to a ladder no longer attached to a ship. Debris hurtled by them.
“Chrome!” Starla screamed, flailing her arms and legs, trying to grasp on to something, anything to stop her freefall toward the ground. Too far. Too far to fall.
Strong, sure arms wrapped around her. Chrome. He rounded his shoulders, folding her into his body, created a cage of protective flesh around her.
He has me. A calmness settled upon Starla. I won’t die alone. Tree limbs battered Chrome’s manufactured form, jarring their bodies. The scent of crushed leaves and spiced bark filled her nostrils. She rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, Chrome’s artificial body heat soothing her, his comforting presence allowing her to meet death with dignity.
A pain sliced through her skull, bright colors exploded on her eyelids and her world went black.
* * * * *
Bocc ran into the village, his heart pounding, his body covered with perspiration. The explosion had been seen clear across the valley. A starship. Not hers. It can’t be hers. It’s a day early. It can’t be.
“Were there any survivors?” he asked, not expecting a response from the Lokans milling around him. Although the males resembled him with their blue-black hair tied back in braids, their faces tanned from years spent in the sun and their eyes an identical silver, they belonged to the tribe and he didn’t.
“One survivor.” Minarb braved the chief’s disapproval by answering him. The young woman stood in the concealing shadows of her family’s stone hut, her high forehead furrowed with lines and her eyes dark with emotion. She plucked at the bodice of her white leather dress.
“A female.” She carelessly offered him, the outcast, more information. “We thought there were two, but the other is a machine and he is broken. They’re gathering the parts for you.”
A female. My female. “Where is she?” Bocc glanced around them, eager to finally meet his mate. Minarb stared back at him, her pretty face blank. “Where is the female?” he clarified.
“She’s in the claiming ring.” The young woman crossed her arms, the action lifting the large breasts Tukbar found so appealing. “All of the unmated males will fight for her, including your brother.” She scowled.
The claiming ring. Bocc placed a hand on his sword as he strode toward the center of the village, the flattened stone path crowded with people.
“I wish you well,” Minarb recklessly called after him. “If you mean to fight, I hope you’re the one to win her.”
I will be the one to win her. “Let me through.” Bocc pushed past the rowdy mated males and the cheering youngsters. The ale flowed freely, every
raised hand carrying a tankard, and bets were called out, his brother Tukbar’s name mentioned frequently as the favorite.
This is one contest I won’t allow him to win. Bocc hopped over the wooden barrier separating the spectators from the contestants.
His gaze was immediately drawn to the far end of the ring. By the gods. Bocc stared. Starla was restrained to the claiming pole, her hands drawn behind her dainty physique and attached to the intricately carved wood, the restrictive position thrusting her small chest upward.
I will feast on those breasts tonight. Savage desire slammed into Bocc and his body hardened. She appeared fit and healthy and mercifully unharmed by her ordeal. An animal skin clung to his mate’s lithe form, dirt and grease smeared across the leather in a pattern as exotic as she was. Brown curls tumbled over her slight shoulders, sunrays tipping the tendrils with fire.
Needing to feel her heat, Bocc moved closer. His brother’s tribesmen, not daring to publicly acknowledge their private friendship, turned their backs as he passed. Bocc ignored their snubs, strengthened by the knowledge that he was no longer alone.
Starla raised her head, met his gaze, and Bocc’s breath caught. The Federation had sent him images of her as an incentive to work harder and to sacrifice more and those images hadn’t lied. Her brown eyes were as rich and dark as newly tilled soil.
She was worth every sacrifice. “Mine.” Bocc threw back his head and roared his ownership to the morning sky. Other males dared to echo his claim and he growled with anger. She’s mine.
“Bocc, what are you doing here?” Tukbar slapped his shoulder, his demeanor aggravatingly carefree. “I thought you were playing with that big toy of yours.”
“Are you referring to the weapon I’m building to protect our planet? That big toy?” Bocc didn’t turn his head, his attention fixed on his mate. “I’ve come to collect my mate.”
“Your mate?” Tukbar’s voice raised with surprise. “She, the brown-haired gift of the gods, is your sky mate?” There was a long pause. “I’m sorry, my brother.” He sounded sincerely contrite. “I would give her to you if I could, but the rules don’t allow it.”
