by Celia Kyle
There’s an established hierarchy on the Ancestral Queen, and it doesn’t include me in any leadership capacity. I’m just one more “rescued woman,” and that’s a pretty disempowered place to be. The last thing in the universe I want to be is just another victim waiting to be saved by the “big strong alien.” I’m more than that.
I don’t hear Solair tromping along behind me and, for whatever reason, I can’t bring myself to look back. It’s hard to say why. Maybe I would be comforted by the sight of that broad-shouldered man lumbering after me. Maybe a tiny part of me cherishes the sensation of being saved.
Chapter Ten
Solair
My boots clank loudly on the deck plating as I exit the cargo hold, my stride as swift as it is stiff. Before the Queen ran into the Frontier’s floating bulk in the abyss of space, I could count the number of times I was frustrated on zero fingers.
That’s not exactly true, but I’d become so accustomed to the cadence and flow of life aboard a privateer ship, I guess I learned to take everything in stride. We don’t have enough fuel to make it to the edge of the Badlands? No problem, I can work with that. The client is refusing to pay our full commission because of some asinine reason? I can deal with that, too.
I can even handle my crew’s constantly shifting demands, usually for more money or a bigger take. It’s a common fallacy that the captain is unquestionably in command with no oversight from his crew. That only happens on military ships. On a privateer ship like the Ancestral Queen, I only command so long as my crew allows.
Sure, I could kick them off my ship, but I can’t hope to work a vessel this size by myself. So even though I have that option on paper, I don’t really have that possibility.
But I can deal with all their various anxieties and personal melodramas. It’s part of being a captain. It’s not all dashing and daring do. A whole lot of the job entails making people feel better, both about themselves and the mission.
Someone would think with all of that experience, I could deal with one, admittedly combative human female. But this has proven to be one of the most daunting challenges I’ve ever engaged.
Maybe if I had it to do over again, I would just turn around and leave the Frontier to rot. But even as I think it, I realize that, too, is not an option. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I’d condemned so many women to a slow, agonizing death.
So, the survivors from the Frontier have now been added to the stack of burdens on my shoulders. And I could probably manage that a lot better if not for their fiery tempered de facto leader, Varia.
Her face when she realized I wasn’t going to help her move all the cargo out of the way so she could have her exercise room… If looks could kill, I would be a dead male. But from my perspective, I’m already bending over backward to accommodate the survivors. Does she have any idea the chaos caused by the mere presence of females on a Kilgari ship? No one knows quite how to act. We’re all used to taking orders from women, so our default has been to give them pretty much whatever they desire if it’s within reason.
Though to be honest… the Kilgari matriarchal tradition isn’t really what has me tense and confused about Varia. Not at all. The first time I laid eyes upon her, I was struck with both her strength and her beauty. Here was a woman with next to no resources and still she managed to save dozens of lives.
Of course I noticed her physical attractiveness right away. But then she opened her mouth and snapped out icy daggers of demanding words, which had been tipped with acid. I find she’s perhaps the single most infuriating being in the galaxy.
It’s as if she was schooled on how to annoy me, and not only did she have perfect attendance but blew the grade curve. Or perhaps she can psionically see into my mind and pick out the best ways to drive me absolutely crazy?
When I was a child, and this ship belonged to my father, he told me of how Kilgari males innately sensed their mates. He claimed I would know the truth of it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He also said that my mate would complement me perfectly.
These teachings were written in the Elder Scrolls of our people, transcribed from the lessons of the Precursors who gave life to the Kilgar and visited their earliest creations from time to time.
Imagine my surprise when the I first laid eyes upon Varia, breathed her scent, and felt as if she were destined to be my mate. A human woman would seem utterly absurd as my ideal mate, but here we are.
But as I mentioned before, she started talking, and to say that she does not complement me at all is an understatement. Quite the opposite, it’s as if she’s constantly firing the starboard engines while I insist on using the port side. I’m going around in circles, and I don’t like the feeling one bit.
In our society today, it’s almost unheard of for a Kilgari to find their destined mate. With so few females to go around, it comes down to personal choice and a willingness to be the fifth or sixth husband to one of the matriarchs.
So really, I have no frame of reference to know if what I feel is the certainty of destiny. I can only guess and assume. But I will say that even if she is utterly infuriating, I can’t get Varia out of my mind.
This makes me wonder if maybe she really is my destined mate. If so, it muddles things more than ever before because it’s not panning out the way my father said it would. Not one bit. There’s currently no indication that Varia and I will evolve into a harmonious dynamic, other than my gut instinct.
But over the years of commanding the Ancestral Queen, I’ve learned to trust my gut as much, or even more than, my sensor array. Sure, the console on the bridge can tell me the ship’s speed, possible crew complement and active weapons arrays, but only my gut gives me any inkling if they’re friend or foe.
My gut is telling me that mine and Varia’s destinies are intertwined, tangled like forest vines so badly it’s hard to tell where she ends and I begin. But what will all of this even mean to her if I’m right?
I find that I’ve wandered up to the bridge. Due to the informality of my ship, no one leaps up to snap off a crisp salute. My yeoman does mutter out a halfhearted “captain on the bridge” for the unwary, but by and large everyone knows their jobs and I don’t see a need to meddle.
Stepping up to my command console, I sit and punch a few keys. The first thing I want to check on is the progress of stripping the IHC Frontier ship. From the looks of my monitor, it’s going quite well, but at the moment Kintar and the human woman Marion are engaged in a heated argument. I dial up the volume so I can hear them speak.
“…for the last time, we only have enough sanitation tissue to provide one roll per quarters. You’ll just have to ration them.” Kintar’s tone is patient, but I can see the way a big vein in his temple twitches, just below his sawed-off horns.
“Ration toilet paper?” Marion sighs, and puts her arms akimbo as she glares up at my quartermaster. “You do realize that women need to use it for more than one place, yes?”
Kintar is a seasoned warrior, though he’s given up that path, and he doesn’t shake easily. But I can’t stop a smile from stretching over my lips at the sight of him feeling so uncomfortable.
“Well, perhaps… perhaps I can spare a few more.”
“Now you’re speaking my language, big guy.”
I’ve heard enough. I turn off the monitor and lean back in my chair, rubbing the base of my horns. While the salvage operation seems to be going well, any fool can see that sooner or later we’re going to have to find more space for our new—what should I call them? Guests? Refugees? Certainly, they aren’t crew, but then again given the way so many of them try to just take over, I might want to rethink that notion.
I go over a few ideas in my head, but I know better than to implement any of them without Varia’s consent and tacit approval. I might be dense at times, but I eventually learn.
So, I rise from my command chair and head off the bridge, my head full of troubles. Despite what may or may not be going on between me and Varia, she is her people
’s leader. I’ll need her involvement if I’m to locate more suitable space for them.
I just hope we can come to an agreement without shouting at each other.
Chapter Eleven
Varia
The walls of our makeshift bunk space curve upward toward the ceiling, the burnished copper color a less than ideal but functional mirror reflecting the images of myself, Thrase, and Lamira as we play a few hands of Twonk on my bunk.
My best friend’s wide mouth stretches in a grin, and she lays down her hand on the rumpled blanket. “Three Commanders, two Priestesses. Read it and weep.”
Thrase pushes her glasses up further on her nose and peers intently at the cards. “Why did you call the Companion a Priestess?”
I chuckle and arrange the cards in my hand. “Because Lamira learned to play Twonk with Solaris refugees from the Ataxian Coalition. The Ataxians replace the Companion card with a Priestess.”
“Hmph.” Thrase straightens her posture and looks at the cards in her hand with disgust. “Figures the Flame Lickers would obfuscate even card games.”
“According to the Ataxians, they invented Twonk and the Trident Alliance copied it.”
Thrase’s brows raise on her forehead as she arranges her cards. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone else took credit for another’s accomplishments. Did I ever tell you about the time that my professor…”
“Stole your research and then claimed you were obsessed with him romantically?” I chuckle. “Only about a dozen times since we woke on the Frontier.”
“Well, it still stings.” Thrase slaps her cards down on the bed and throws up her hands. “I don’t know why I keep arranging my cards when they’re going to suck no matter what.”
Their gazes snap over to me in unison.
“It’s time to put up or shut up, missy.” Lamira’s eyes gleam with lust. In lieu of creds, we’re betting the thin, crispy dessert rounds that Jax baked in droves. Most of the women from the Frontier are already fighting over them, but this way seemed more egalitarian.
“If you insist…” I lay my cards down, revealing that I have four Lieutenants, one from each suit. “Four of a kind trumps three of a kind.”
“Oh, get stuffed.” Lamira’s grin belies her harsh words. “Probably cheating.”
Thrase purses her lips and considers the pile of cookies. “I don’t know, I think it may have been sheer skill…”
I gather up my cookies protectively in my embrace and glare at them in mock avarice. “Stop sucking up. You’re not getting any.”
Despite my words, I wind up doling out some of the crisps to my roommates. Sighing, I reach up and vigorously scratch my scalp. I swear it feels like I dipped my head in a vat of engine grease.
“Still waiting on your turn for a shower?”
I glance over at Lamira and nod. “Solair’s people have been very accommodating, but there was still a waiting list a mile long.”
“And being the selfless leader you are, you put yourself at the bottom.” Lamira shakes her head, letting her dark hair fall out over her slender shoulders. “But selfish little me has already had a shower, and let me tell you, it was glorious.”
“Ha ha ha. Laugh it up, bestie. See if you get any more of my cookies.”
Thrase swings her legs over the edge of the bed and kicks her bare feet almost like a child. “Varia, the other women have been talking, and the general consensus is that we all want to return to IHC space.”
I purse my lips and frown at this tidbit of information. Considering many of the women who were on the Frontier are criminals, I’m surprised they want to do any such thing. Then again, there is something to the old adage of the devil you know…
“I still can’t fathom why I ended up being arrested in the first place.” Thrase shakes her head. “All the research I was doing was completely legal. I don’t even cheat on my IHC tax forms.”
I nod and gesture toward my best friend. “Lamira never did anything wrong, either, but she was arrested just the same.”
“Yeah.” Lamira nods sagely. “You didn’t do anything wrong either. Did you, Varia?”
“Ah…” I don’t want to out and out lie to my best friend, but at the same time I’d hate to have her learn of my somewhat checkered past. I’m not saying I deserved to be shoved into a cryopod and shipped halfway across the galaxy, but I am saying my arrest didn’t come as much of a surprise. “I think the more important question is why we were all incarcerated and put on that ship, not how.”
Thrase nods, her eyes shining behind her spectacles. “It is a mystery. Isn’t it? I do love intrigue, whether I find it with a microscope or with my naked eyes.”
Our makeshift bunk house was never meant to function as quarters, so there’s no door chime. Instead someone pounds on the metal exit with their fist.
“Come in.”
A Kilgari pushes the door open, his eyes nervously avoiding all of our gazes. “I was directed to tell you the shower is ready for you, Varia.”
“Oh thank god. I’m about to scratch a hole in myself over here.” I rise from the bed and follow the Kilgari out of the room. At the door, I stop and turn to jab my finger accusingly at the two women. “Don’t touch my cookies.”
Jax is an excellent cook. I guess I had no idea how much a good meal would change my mood. If only the captain was as easy to get along with as the ship’s chef.
The Kilgari crewman leads me toward the aft deck, where the sonic showers are located. I step into the chamber and am struck immediately by the artistic flares. Each sonic emitter has been sculpted to resemble a piscine creature with its mouth open. They sort of look like dolphins from Earth, except for their razor-sharp teeth and frills around their necks. The tiles themselves are done in a crisscrossing blue and white pattern that reminds me of shallow tropical waters.
The Ancestral Queen is an old enough ship that such aesthetics were still considered integral to the overall design—as vital as life support. These days, both the Alliance and the IHC make boring boxy ships, with no thought to aesthetics at all. At least the Ataxians still like to get artistic with their designs.
But the Kilgari—they build not just ships, but works of art.
One advantage of a sonic shower is that if you hang your garments under the spigot you can give them a quick cleanup without having to wait hours for them to dry. I do just that before stepping under one of the free emitters and turning it on. There’s only the slightest buzz as the solid sound molecules gently scrub the detritus and grease from my skin. It’s not as nice as a water shower, but in space fresh water is too valuable a resource to waste it cleaning.
My clothes and skin are scrubbed, but my garments have that tinny sort of ozone smell that comes with sonic cleaning. Oh well, it’s better than putting dirty clothes onto my clean body.
When I exit the shower, I inform the Kilgari that I can make it back on my own, mostly because I want a little time to think. I find it hard to fathom why so many of the women want to return to the IHC when they’ll be facing criminal charges. I’m willing to return and face the music, so to speak, but my motivations are out of helping Lamira clear her name rather than fleeing toward something familiar.
I gently rap on the door to our chamber, but I hear no response. One press of the button later the door slides open with a soft hiss, and I look in on the darkened chamber. My roommates are already asleep.
Gratefully lying down into my first night of non-itchy rest in some time, my mind won’t let me find slumber easily. It whirls with the tumultuous events of the past few days, from our hardscrabble quest for survival to the unexpected rescue by Solair and his men.
And there’s still so much to take care of. We need to finish salvaging anything useful off the Frontier, not to mention carefully moving those cryopods still actively containing women.
There’s no way I can trust Big Gold to take care of it all himself. Not at this point in my life. I’ve lived too long and experienced too much incompetence to trus
t anyone else to handle matters of importance. Unless I think they can do a better job, which hasn’t happened yet.
It’s the last thing on my mind before I finally drift off to sleep.
Chapter Twelve
Solair
As we get to Delta shift, the normally busy bridge becomes a fortress of solitude for me. I’m glad for the solace and the silence because my mind whirls with problems and potential solutions.
First and foremost, I’ve decided beyond a shadow of a doubt that Varia and the other refugees we found on the Frontier need to go. Period. Is it nice having women around, especially for a Kilgari? Of course it is.
But at the same time, women on a Kilgari ship are nothing but disruptive. The refugees have proven this much already. And I can’t fault them one bit because our own nature is at the root of our problems.
Kilgari society honors and reveres females to the point of near total devotion. It’s just not in our nature to say no to a woman. With all of my men fighting their instincts to defer to the women—even to the point of contradicting their own captain’s orders—I can see nothing but trouble ahead for the Ancestral Queen.
So, for no fault of their own, and not even a fault of ours, we need to find a place to dump… that is, a place to relocate Varia and her fellow survivors. And I have more than just the obvious reasons for doing so.
When we came across the Frontier, I was more greedy than curious. After all, finding a derelict IHC ship in Kilgari territory is almost unheard of. But then we boarded the decrepit vessel and found all the crew dead. The only place with anyone living was the reinforced hold that Varia and her followers jury rigged into a life pod.
Which begs the question, who sent the distress call if all of the crew were dead? And we still haven’t solved the mystery of why one hundred and seven women were drifting in a decrepit hulk in the first place.
