by K Webster
Her chest rises and falls, drawing my eyes to her breasts as she catches her breath.
“We’re going to need a lot of this for what I have planned,” I tell her. “It’s going to take several trips.”
“I can do this,” she assures me, her blue eyes glinting with determination.
“I have no doubt.”
It takes eleven trips before I’m satisfied with the heaping pile of haxagranules on the side of the underground wells. They glitter brilliantly. Both Quinn and I are spent from the strenuous activity.
“What are you going to do with all of that?” she asks, waving at the pile.
“I’m going to melt it down and create a conductor big enough to harness the power of the sun’s rays so I can redirect it to the enemy.” I make an exploding impression with my hands, complete with sound effects.
“That’s clever,” she praises. “I’m no scientist, but I’ve read books on this idea. It’s worth a try.”
To me, it’s not science, but logic. It makes sense in my nog, and I’m eager to implement it.
“It will work,” I assure her. “You’ll see.”
She smiles at me, her blue eyes squinting as if she’s trying to see me. I slide closer to her until our thighs touch. I lean in, pressing my nog against hers so that our eyes are close.
“Better?”
“Yes. I can see you now.”
I like her this close because I can smell her. The water did nothing to cleanse away her sweet scent. My mouth waters to taste her. Her lips parts, and I don’t think I mistake the unspoken request for a kiss. I know all about the kisses these humans are so fond of. I’m about to gift her this kiss when I hear it.
Clitter-clitter-clitter.
Legaloct.
“Stay here,” I command, sliding out of the water as though I’m on a hunt for a sabrevipe. Stealthy. Quiet. Swift. I snag up her zuta-metal tool she used to tie her hair up, pleased to see the bladed tip, and prowl toward the beast.
I mimic the clittering sound it makes, hoping to lure it out into the open. When I see a flash of yellow, I stalk after it. The water splashes behind me and then soft footsteps approach.
“What is it?”
“A legaloct. Good eating. Shhh.”
Gentle fingertips brush down my spine, distracting me from the hunt. “Don’t kill it, Oz.”
And just like that, she’s spared the useless creature’s life.
“It’s damaged anyway,” I utter, noticing one of its spindly legs is missing. “Probably tastes like rogshite.”
“Is it harmful?”
“No.”
“Can I hold it?”
I’d rather eat it, but she seems so hopeful and happy. The same expression Molly gets when she looks at her rekking rogcow. As though it’s a “pet.” Humans have the strangest customs. Keeping food as company and calling it a pet is one of them.
“Let’s put on our suits and then you can help me catch it.”
3
Quinn
Twelve Solars Left
“Crap on a cracker, darlin’, what in the Sam hell is that?” Molly screeches the next morning as I enter the cafeteria intent on breakfast. I’d been so overwhelmed the day before that I hadn’t had much of a stomach to eat anything after the caves.
I dip my chin down to glance at the creature sitting contentedly on my shoulder. He isn’t very pretty, but we’ve gotten to know each other over the past twelve hours and already I feel better about my decision to take this new turn in my life with a positive attitude.
“His name is Legolas. He’s like an alien spider, except he only has seven legs. Isn’t he adorable?” I take my tray of food and, walking slowly as not to bump into anything, sit next to the girls, determined to get to know them and better understand my new circumstances.
“Adorable isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” says the woman to Molly’s side. Emery, I think her name is. She’s mated to the one they call Calix. Ozias explained it all to me yesterday, but it was an information overload, even for me.
As the girls chat about Legolas between themselves, I try to remember what Oz told me about the facility’s inhabitants. Their commander, sort of like their leader, is the biggest mort of them all and his name is Breccan. He’s a little intimidating, nothing like my mischievous Oz. His mate is Aria. She’s sort of the female version of a leader. Her I do remember from Earth II. She was famous before she was shipped off to the prison. Her face used to be plastered on TVs and billboards. It had been a heck of a shock to wake up to find her here. They even have a little baby boy, a half human half alien named Sokko. He is about the age where he’s trying to put everything into his mouth. Not quite crawling, but soon. Apparently alien babies grow quickly.
Then there’s Emery and Calix. They’re very sweet-natured compared to Breccan and Aria. Calix studies diseases and Emery helps with the greenhouses. Their son is Hophalix. “Like hope,” Emery had explained. “Because it’s the most important thing to have these days.”
The scariest of all the morts is the scarred hulking Draven, Breccan’s lieutenant. I don’t understand how he’s mated to a woman as sweet and bubbly as Molly, but it’s only been a day. I haven’t even begun to understand the idiosyncrasies of such a diverse group. Molly doesn’t seem like the type of woman who would let anyone push her around—even a beast like Draven. She looks like she’s about to pop with their own little mortling, I think they call them.
Even more curious is Grace and her…two mates. She’s currently huddled across the cafeteria with them and their young baby named Sareth. I’d seen them when I first walked into the cafeteria. Sayer is the communications and linguistics specialist and Jareth is Oz’s best friend. He works with metal, building things, I think. Probably why he and Oz get along so well. I wonder how it works having two morts in a relationship with one woman…
The unmated morts here are Galen and Oz. There are three other morts at the prison, Theron, Hadrian, and Avrell. But I haven’t got to know them as well. Not to mention all the women they’d found at the prison.
Like I said, it’s overwhelming.
“Are you sure it’s safe to keep that thing as a pet?” Molly asks, scooting a few inches away when Legolas twitches and begins rubbing his legs together on my shoulder.
Emery snorts as she checks on her baby, who is napping in what I think is a Moses basket, but made out of metal instead of the traditional material. I’d need to get a closer look, though, to know for sure. “Who are you to talk? You have a pet cow!”
“You have a pet cow?” I ask with interest. I wonder what an alien cow would look like. Then I wonder if they can eat them, but I don’t voice that thought out loud. If Molly keeps one for a pet, she’s probably not keen on turning them into alien hamburgers.
“She calls it Eileen. They’re called rogcows here, but they don’t look anything like the ones back home. These have eight legs, two tails, and one big ole eye,” Emery tells me like she’s relating a secret. She shudders a bit in mock horror. “You get used to it after a while. Although if you keep spiders for pets, the rogcows may not freak you out as much.”
“Legolas won’t hurt you any more than Eileen would. I spent most of the night observing his behavior and it’s remarkably the same as our arachnids. The only difference aside from his physical appearance, which is to be expected considering the radiation that caused the mutations in the morts and animals, is how he traps his prey. A traditional spider would trap his prey in a web. Legolas does build a web, but he uses it mostly for housing than attack. When his prey gets close to his web, he attacks them by spitting out a string of web to ensnare his victim and pulling it back to the web, kind of like a frog would. It’s fascinating.”
Emery and Molly make sounds of disgust, but I don’t take offense. Not everyone can see the beauty in these creatures. Aria moves from the distribution line of food to our table. “Hey, guys,” she says. “What are we talking about? Oh my God, is that what I think it is?” she asks when she
sees Legolas on my shoulder. Her son Sokko gurgles happily from inside a sling of fabric around her shoulders and chest.
“He won’t hurt you,” I reiterate.
“As long as he doesn’t crawl on me, I think he’s kinda cute,” Aria offers, and I beam at her as she spoons up something green and foreign looking. I squint to see if I can tell what it is, but it doesn’t help. I make a mental note to have Emery show me around the greenhouses. The plant life here must be fascinating.
Which reminds me… “Do you guys have a library?”
“I wish,” Molly says and rubs at her bulging belly with a twinge of discomfort. “I could use something to keep me busy. Draven hovers when I attempt to get out of bed and there’s only so much sleeping a body can do. A book to read would be just the thing.”
“From what Sayer says, they were able to recover some literature from ancient computer systems before The Rades…well, you know.”
The Rades, as I’ve been told, is a deadly disease that killed off most of the morts. They were on the verge of extinction when they happened upon the ship carrying the five of us bound for the prison. That’s why Avrell, Theron, and Hadrian are at the prison, helping to treat the women there affected by The Rades and attempting to discover a cure once and for all.
“Well, where the heck is he hiding it then?” Molly asks with barely disguised interest.
“If I remember correctly, Uvie stores it in her mainframe. Maybe he and Oz could rig up some sort of tablets with the books on them?” Aria asks.
Thrilled by the idea, I surge to my feet. Legolas twitters at my side, twitching his legs with a clicking sound to signify his irritation at my quick movement. “I’m going to see Oz now. I’ll ask him and let you know.”
I can’t be sure because, duh, no glasses, but I think they all share a look. I don’t blush because, well, of course I’m also going to see him because it’s been nearly a day since we were in the caves. I’ve spent most of the time on this planet so far near him and it feels strange not to have him close by.
Navigating my way through the facility is tedious and time-consuming as I take a wrong turn going from the Nutrition Bay to the Mechanical Bay where Oz’s labs are. He’s supposed to be there spending most of the day working on the weapon for the invasion, but I’ll bet my life he hasn’t taken a break to eat, so I snagged a plate of whatever it was we were eating to take to him. While he eats, I can bring up my glasses and the tablet, but only if he has time. The weapon is much, much more important.
The sound helps me find the rest of the way to Oz’s workshop. I can hear him banging and clanging away from all the way down the hall. It’d be hard to miss it. Some sort of music is playing at full blast and I wonder if they have those files stored on the same mainframe as the books. It would be a fun way to pass the time to sort through everything they have from before the end of the world to see if we could come up with our own kind of library.
Already I’m thinking of this place in terms of ‘our’ and ‘my.’
This alien planet feels more like home than Earth II ever did.
I knock on the door out of habit, but he doesn’t hear me, so I let myself inside. It’s strange walking in when all I can see are blurs of color. There’s a flash of movement where Oz is working at the far side of the room. I move as carefully as I can in his direction with my hands outstretched to keep me from bashing into anything important. Maneuvering around tables and machinery, I manage to get within a few feet of him. The clanging sounds have stopped, so he must be taking a break.
With one hand I reach for him and then freeze as it makes contact with his shoulder. His bare shoulder. His sweaty bare shoulder. I gulp, finding it hard to swallow. My skin prickles at the heat coming off him. Or is that me? My working senses are heightened to compensate for my lack of sight. The music stops abruptly, filling my ears with the sound of my own heartbeat. I don’t remove my hand. Partially because I’m afraid if I do, I may stumble, and partially because he feels so good, I don’t want to stop touching him.
Ever.
“Whisper,” he says. Just the name he has for me. I feel it everywhere. I wish I could see him more clearly to know what my name looks like on his lips.
I pull my hand away reluctantly. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I thought you might be hungry.” Holding out the tray of food, I try to remember why else I came.
“Thank you, I’m starving. Been working on this rekking thing all morning.”
I pause, confused. “What does rekking mean? Before I thought it was the name you had for yourselves, but you also use it as an adjective. The other women call you morts.”
The sound of Oz’s laughter is muffled, but I can’t tell why. “Sweet Whisper. Rekk is, according to Aria, like your alien word fuck.”
Now I blush, hearing such filth on his tongue. His voice is deep and dark and delicious. Like carnal things and secrets. I wonder what I’d have to do to have him say more filthy words like that.
Rekk, fuck. Rekking, fucking. Mortarekker, motherfucker.
How many times had I called them mortarekkers? I don’t want to know.
“How is the weapon building going?” I ask to cover my embarrassment.
“It isn’t,” he says, his voice muffled by food. “But that’s the way of it. It’ll be rogshite until I can get the prototype to work.”
“You’ll get it,” I say confidently.
“Of course I will, my Whisper. But I promised you some glasses. If you’ll sit with me, I’ll tinker with something.”
“I don’t want to interrupt your work,” I protest.
“You’re not. I need to step away for a while and do something else before I launch this catastrophe into outer space.” I hear him stand and place the tray on a countertop. He must be a quick eater, or he was hungrier than I thought. Silly Oz. He probably gets as distracted working on his projects as I do reading a book. Sometimes I can go whole days forgetting to eat when I’m reading something good.
“As long as I’m not disturbing you. My eyes are not nearly as important as what you’re doing.”
“You could never disturb me.”
4
Ozias
Twelve Solars Left
Quinn is a welcome distraction. I feel the pressure from Breccan to get something we can work with completed, but when she walks in the room, I can’t help but put all that on hold.
My focus is on her.
Her pretty blue eyes are unfocused, and she squints. It bothers me she can’t see anything, and I feel rekking terrible about not doing something about it already. The aliens are invading soon, and our entire faction is relying on me to build this weapon, yet I’m more worried over the fact Quinn can’t see where she’s going.
The weapon can wait.
“I made the lenses earlier, but I haven’t had a chance to make the frames yet,” I tell her, pulling the clear disks from a pouch. “Do these help?”
I hold them out in the palm of my hand, pleased when she reaches forward, her gentle fingers caressing my flesh. She holds one up to her left eye and peers through it.
“Oh,” she squeaks. “Ohhh. Oh my.” Legolas, her new pet, holds on to her curls when she starts bouncing in place. “Ohhhh.”
“What about the other one?” I ask, cocking my nog at her, trying to get a read on her.
She holds the other one up to her right eye and looks at me, a silly grin on her face. “Ohhhhhh.”
“That’s a lot of ohhs and not enough words,” I grunt. “Do I need to start over?”
Her blue eyes appear much bigger behind the lenses, showcasing darker lines of blue that makes them look like unique gems. “Rekk no,” she says and then giggles. “This is amazing. Oz…you’re….” She bites on her bottom lip.
“What?”
Her cheeks flood crimson. “Thank you.”
“I’m not done yet, Whisper.”
She relinquishes the lenses and I pull out a long zuta-metal band. With quick, practiced ease, I twist and fold the
zuta-metal to my liking. A few clips of stray, jagged pieces and then I have a pair of frames that are like Calix’s but smaller. I wedge the lenses into each hole and affix them with tiny dots of zuta-metal I melt with my evverburner. She’s quiet the entire time I work, an eager smile on her face. I blow on the hot zuta-metal until it cools.
“Ready?” I ask.
“More than ready.”
She leans forward, her face inches from mine. I could let her put them on her own nog, but I want to be the one to do it for her. Gently with my clawed fingertip, I brush an unruly curl away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her smile is so sweet it makes my heart stutter in my chest. Legolas makes a clittering sound, watching me with interest.
“We can adjust them, so let me know if anything pokes you,” I instruct as I slide them on her face. “What do you think?”
Her blue eyes pool with tears and one streaks down her pink cheek. “Oz…”
I cup her jaw, stroking my thumb along the wetness. “Hmm?”
“I can see. Perfectly.” She leans forward. “Thank you.” Her lips press to mine for a gentle kiss.
I’m stunned that she’s kissing me, but I’m not a mort to waste an opportunity. I slide my hand into her curls, nudging Legolas along the way, and pull her closer. Her lips part on a gasp. My mouth devours hers, eager to taste my little alien.
She tastes unlike anything I’ve ever consumed.
I’m addicted to it nonetheless. I want to draw her into my lap and spend the next twelve solars kissing her. We can kiss our way into The Eternals together. It’d be a lovely way to go.
Or, I could make this rekking weapon work, save Mortuus, and spend the rest of my existence kissing her.
I nip at her bottom lip before pulling away. Her lips are swollen and wet from our kiss. Still parted and needy. I’m hard in my minnasuit, eager to kiss her everywhere.
