by Bex McLynn
Her. Seph.
When Zver had speculated that Rannik attempted to bring an Athelasan sexbot aboard, his mind had conjured the image of a first or second gen model with rubbery skin and garish synthetic hair. Something a curious youth would retrofit with a crude but serviceable synthetic cunt, and then rut himself raw.
The second Grondin had removed the lid, Zver's eyes had snapped to her. A riot of brown curls had fanned out behind her head and cascaded over her shoulders. Dark eyes, pulsing with warmth, had blinked determinedly as she tried to focus on Grondin. Fine-haired brows—a delicate feature only Teras women possessed—had arched in confusion. He had watched her draw breath, huffing with smooth, praal-free cheeks. She was utterly unreal.
Her attack had astounded him. Her slight build. Her clumsy strike. Her surprising ferocity.
"Other than she claims to be an alien? Not much." Lekar gestured to the MediCune screen as a new record posted. Her record. "She wasn't bleeding. Nothing was broken. I offered her the sani-stall before poking and prodding her further. Seemed like the polite thing to do."
"She's Human." Rannik carefully pronounced the unknown word. It sounded husky, like a huff swallowed by a hum.
Human.
The word meant nothing to him. She was not Teras. He held her in his arms, and no way was she an Apinazeru, no matter what Grondin spat. Nor was she Gwyretti, or Kraai, or any of the other Tendex World species he'd encountered. She wasn't a harmless Lassie, either. He detected zero tech coming from her and no AthID implant.
"She was stolen, Thane," Rannik said, voice raw with emotion. "Taken from her world. Woke up on Radost."
Thane. Rannik had called him by his title. A wistful part of him bristled at the formality. One year into Academe, he’d now become 'Thane,' no longer 'Da.' Perhaps that proved best, considering what his son had done.
"You swore yourself to her. You're clutch."
Frustration swelled inside. Rannik was too young to join any woman's clutch, especially this particular woman. His son just spent a horrid week on Prykimis, had been dragged to Radost, and attacked by a member of House Jahat. Yet in the end, Zver had failed to protect Rannik from his own sense of honor.
"Aye," Rannik said, standing taller, puffing his chest out.
Godsdamned honorable child. Where others would have been more cautious, Rannik hadn't hesitated to offer aid. Zver had done this: raised his son to do the right thing. But Rannik, still so young that his praal lines just budded, he lacked the experience to recognize a scam. Zver didn't know whether to strut with pride or kick himself for making Rannik so vulnerable. So easily manipulated.
But it was done. Nothing to do but lessen the repercussions.
"Tell me about your uncle." Zver leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Therion took you to the Gwyretti trader's stall?"
"Yeah. To get replacement parts."
"Replacement parts for the Lassie already aboard Prykimis?" Distaste rolled through Zver. He, personally, would never touch a sexbot.
"For the Closet Lassie. They keep it in general berthing." Rannik's cheeks blued with embarrassment as he spoke.
"You saw Seph at the stall?"
"Aye."
Like hell his son just saw her. Even in the maintenance jumper with grease smudged on her face, she had struck Zver like lightning, blindingly bright and crackling with energy. "Your uncle didn't point her out?"
"No. Uncle Therion went straight to the salvage bins, for the parts."
His son, however, went to gape at the full service models. Fine, he understood what drew him, especially if Seph's hair had been uncovered. Teras hair was thick, bone straight. Boringly black. Seph's multifaceted hair coiled down her back and about her shoulders.
He struggled with the fact that Seph went from the trader's stall to Prykimis as his son's property. "But you showed her to Therion?"
Rannik still paced, yet kept flicking his gaze to Zver, probably to gauge his reaction. "Yeah. I mean, I wanted to know what he thought of her."
This would be enlightening. "And?"
Rannik shrugged. "He said her legs were too short."
Thank the gods that his brother and the Gwyretti trader were both idiots who couldn't tell their anus from their eyeballs. When the Gwyretti looked at Seph, he probably saw an Athelasan android that deviated from the typical Teras design. Something substandard and difficult to sell, rather than something custom and exotic.
"What did you think of her?" He kept his voice steady. Neutral.
Rannik pressed his lips into a tight line and gazed at his feet. Finally he said, "Thought she was unique. Different. Unlike the other Lassies there."
Zver replayed his son's reply, turned it over for more meaning. "You weren't fooled, were you?"
"Yes." Rannik scrunched his eyes shut. "I mean, she just looked so different from the others."
"Yes, she fooled you?"
Though he doubted that she so thoroughly deceived Rannik, yet having seen her himself, he could understand why his son had purchased her. She looked like a sefura, a folkloric being made popular in tales and CuneGames. Even her name—Seph—evoked the enchanting image of a sefura.
"No." Rannik stood still, looked him in the eye. "I knew she was something else. Just thought maybe she was more than a base model, is all. Maybe have original Athelasan logic gates." With a heavy sigh, he resumed his fidgety gait, arms straight at his side, hands balled into fists.
Zver tried to envision Seph idling in an enclosure, surrounded by stiffly articulated androids. She would have stood out as a luxury model with lab-grown skin and silky hair, manufactured with a sefura appearance. Like a CuneGamer’s dream come to life.
What the hell had the woman been thinking? Masquerading as a Lassie on Radost, of all places? If anyone other than Rannik had purchased her—gods, the things that would have been done to her.
"Therion haggled for her?" he asked, his voice gone gruff. Hell, he probably would have paid the asking price outright.
"Yeah." Rannik frowned. "Got a hell of a price. Gwyretti called it a frequency discount."
Of course his brother frequented a Lassie stall. Fucking Therion.
Zver couldn't suppress signs of his own aggravation. He ran his hand over his mouth and tugged at his bottom lip before speaking. "So, your uncle helped you smuggle Seph on board Prykimis?"
"We hid her in the cargo hold."
He cringed internally, but had to ask, "Did your uncle ever try to—"
"No." Rannik jolted, his eyes so wide he exposed his black sclera. "Never. We never used Seph like that."
He staved off his feelings of relief. "And Prykimis's crew? Did they?"
Rannik shook his head. "Crew had no clue she was on board. Honest. They never found her."
Now Zver let relief flood his system, hoping it was not temporary. Hoping that Lekar wouldn't find something untoward during Seph's exam, any indication that she may have suffered.
"Thane," Rannik said, and something in his voice made Zver alert, wary. "Seph's lost. She was taken from her home. Woke up some place strange. We need to help her."
Gods, this all mashed into a fucking mess, but he knew what he had to say. "You did well."
Another cool blush rushed Rannik's face, and a glint of pleasure lit his eyes. Rannik nodded and exhaled. Zver watched as anxiety—probably pent up for days—flowed from his son's body.
"Seph," Zver said as he held Rannik at arm's length. "If her story is true, if she is genuine, we'll help her, Rannik, as best we can." Rannik opened his mouth to speak, but Zver held up a hand. "At this time, we can only promise shelter and safety."
Rannik's face fell. "But what about getting her home?"
"No promises until we know what is possible. Lekar and I have traveled all over the Tendex Worlds. We've never encountered anyone like her before." Never anyone who resembled a sefura from folklore.
Rannik looked down and away from him. Shit.
"You already promised to deliver her home, didn't you?" Z
ver said.
"Aye," Rannik said sullenly. "I promised."
"House Borac will carry your promise." Zver again held his hand to silence his son. "You promised her the safety of your house until you saw her home, did you not?"
Rannik sighed. "Aye, Thane."
"Then House Borac will see it done. But for now, it would be cruel to give her false hope until we know more. We need time to speak with her. Gather information. These things take time. Require patience."
"Aye, Thane."
"Our house must first attend to our duty." Zver paused, waiting for Rannik to supply the answer. Rannik needed to acknowledge the priorities.
"The Fleet inspection of Prykimis," Rannik dutifully said.
"Aye. Deleo is committed here until our job is completed."
"Aye, Thane."
But he could tell his son still had something to say. So he simply stood, arms crossed, and waited.
"Just one more thing, Thane." Rannik shuffled his feet, uncertain. "Seph doesn't know I'm your son."
Zver couldn't help but smile, because he knew Rannik never traded his station for favors. Zver imagined that Rannik had offered the protection of House Borac because he truly saw his house as noble, confident that his kin and clade would naturally rally to Seph's plight, not because he commanded it as the thane's son.
Knowing his son, he carefully chose his words. "Do you plan to tell her?"
Rannik flinched, taken aback. "No."
"Then neither will anyone else," Zver said, mentally Cuning a command to his officers.
Perfect. He didn't want her to know that she had the thane's son in her pocket. Until Zver knew more about her, he wanted to contain her influence.
She may have captivated him with her smooth skin and fierce character, but he was a man, not a boy. He knew how to play the game. He could seize Prykimis with one hand and hold Seph close with the other. After all, she was just a tiny thing. Easily handled.
Chapter Three
Seph leaned into the hot spray of the shower and rested her forehead against the stall. The sani-stall interior wasn't tile, but a sleek surface that felt like plastic, with a metallic sheen. So alien. Thankfully, the utility of the small room was obvious. A toilet was a toilet, no matter where you were in the universe. The shower tripped her up, just a bit, but when hot water finally hit her skin, she gave herself over to the shower gods. Lather, rinse, repeat. Pure heaven.
The Gwyretti trader didn't think to bathe her. Hell, he didn't even think to feed her. She had to raid his kitchen during the night. Lost a good fifteen pounds in the process. Once Rannik took her to Prykimis, she did her best to wash in a utility sink. But this shower, so wonderfully steamy, would have her feeling human again.
Human. She almost laughed. Almost cracked wide open at the word, but she crushed the urge. If she cracked, she'd break. She’d become Humpty Dumpty, teetering on a wall.
Choking back a sob, she wished Rannik was with her. Not in the shower. Never. But standing by her. Keeping her steady.
No. She shouldn't want that, not anymore. Rannik was an adolescent, not an adult in this society. She shouldn't lean on him, shouldn't seek shelter behind him, or take advantage of his good nature. Her adolescence had been cut short when she became responsible for another person. She couldn't do such a thing to Rannik.
But should she ally with the thane? The Teras version of the Incredible Hulk?
Christ, Rannik had been right. She never wanted to make the thane angry. And that other Teras, the one who pulled her hair and got up close and personal, had pissed the thane off when he grabbed Rannik. The thane's rage frightened her, but it proved to her that he protected his house fiercely. That is, if he would honor Rannik's offer to protect her.
She hoped he would. She was not prepared, at all, to walk among the Teras—who made her feel so minuscule—without protection. The Teras were bipedal giants, with icy turquoise veins covering skin too golden to be a suntan. Their eyes swirled like a cat's eye marble. Their ears lay flat, attached to their skull. Broad noses flared, as if constantly scenting the air around them. Their hair was matte black, and all of the thane's crew wore it buzzed, like a crew cut. Combined, those features became exotically inhuman, yet still translated emotions. The Teras blushed, laughed, and scowled, just like humans.
"[Priority Alert: Athela detected. Priority Alert: Athela detected.]"
Seph startled, then went rigid. Despite the steamy water, an icy shiver moved through her body. The voice in her head wasn't TAI. TAI sounded annoyingly bright because it assumed it was being unobtrusive and helpful. This voice sounded flat. Cold. Artificial.
"What's an Athela?" she asked aloud. But just like TAI, this new voice didn't answer direct questions.
Hard raps echoed in the sani-stall. Someone pounded on the door panel.
"All right!" Seph called out, exhaustion causing her voice to crack. She cleared her throat, hoping she sounded firmer. "Gimme a second. Almost done."
"Need you out here. Now."
She knew that hard, thunderous voice. The thane was thaning.
She shook her head and muttered, "Priority alert, my ass."
She should have expected more problems. There had been nothing but endless problems since she woke in the cryo-bin.
With a heavy sigh, she shut off the water.
Zver braced a fist on the sani-stall door panel. That woman hadn't even been aboard Deleo for a godsdamn hour, and now this. He glanced at Lekar, taking in the man's rigid stance and flaring nostrils. Gods, he felt the same wariness riding him hard.
"Are you certain?" he asked Lekar as Deleo streamed the Athela priority alert directly into his mind. Even the Cuneiform display on the sani-stall flashed, the filters on its drain analyzing her genetic material and confirming Lekar's findings.
Lekar clipped his MediCune tablet to his belt and nodded decisively. "Positive." But his face remained grim. An unsettling mix of confidence and uncertainty.
Zver understood. It was like having a majoris feline trapped in your tent: it was undeniably there, but you had no idea what to do about it.
An Athela. From an unknown species. Godsdammit.
"[Priority Alert: Athela detected. Priority Alert: Athela detected.]"
The alert strobed before his eyes and pounded in his head. The water had cut off, but Seph still hadn't emerged. Mentally he acknowledged the alert, terminating its endless looping.
"Out." He pounded on the stall again. "Now."
Inside, the woman squeaked.
"I'm almost finished," she called out.
He sensed movement behind him. Zver snapped his head around, saw his own security team, and bit back his growl. Gods, he had snapped like an overprotective mongrel. He should have expected the team. Responding to the Athela alert followed standard operating procedure. With a hard look and flick of his head, he ordered the security team to pull back.
Still, he waited.
"Seph," he said in warning.
A thick silence settled, yet with each chuff of his breath, he felt it drawing thinner.
"I need clothes," she said.
Right. Clothes.
He snagged the towel off the nearby hook. With his head turned, he opened the door, and chucked the towel inside.
"Hey! Now it's all wet. And I already have a towel." Then she whispered, though not quietly enough because he clearly heard her. "Ass."
Lekar adjusted his stance, tilting his head. "Ass?" he mouthed silently.
Zver just shook his head, dismissing the insult. "Easily remedied once you're out."
She sighed, her resignation nothing more than an airy puff. A soft sound, perfectly suited to her. "Fine. I'm coming."
When the first toe peeked around the stall door, he floundered, becoming lost. Completely lost to the smooth, lithe limbs of unmarred flesh that stepped through the steam. It was as if she had just sprung to life, her body new and fresh.
Her tan skin glowed like smoldering embers. Only her hands, contracted into
tiny fists to secure the towel, had the faintest hint of praal running from her knuckles to wrist. The damp towel, tucked between the valley of round breasts, clung to her, defining her waist and the flare of her hips. Soaked tendrils of hair plastered against her neck and back, and water droplets skimmed down the slope of her shoulders. Sparse praal lined her neck, yet her cheeks were smooth. The delicate shells of her ears flared like butterfly wings. Her plump lips parted, revealing blunt teeth.
She was ethereal and not of this world.
Her eyes, a rare deep brown the color of hrast wood, flicked between him and Lekar. Her brows arched, and she even cocked her head, tilting her ear toward them. He collated her subtle movements. Ah, she appeared expectant, yet impatient.
"You need me for something?" Her tone sounded even, neither amenable nor perturbed.
He caught Lekar's reaction from the corner of his eye. You need me for something. He knew his medicmaster's thoughts. An Athela was always needed. And he saw Lekar's mouth press into a thin line as he clamped down on whatever he wanted to say. Good. Lekar knew his place.
Zver did not need anything from her. Nor from any other Athela, Teras or otherwise.
He extended his arm, firmly beckoning with his hand. "Come with me."
She took a step back. "I'd like clothes first."
And he wanted simplicity. Her request wasn't unreasonable, just not quickly fulfilled. "Our cachemaster is manufacturing something for you." Gods know, Fleet never stocked uniforms of such a small size. "It will be brought to you."
"Well, that doesn't help me now, does it?" Only one of her eyebrows arched. How odd. Teras women could never look so scathing. "I'm not walking around in a towel."
"It's a short distance." Zver mentally sent out an order to the security chief's WristCune. "I've cleared the corridor for you."
He watched her shoulders curl forward, as if conceding, before she snapped them square again. Her grip tightened on the towel. "I'm not trying to be unreasonable. Please understand, Thane."
Lekar had turned slightly away, speaking lowly into his C-Cune. Now he raised his hand, palm open. "If I may, Thane? I have a patient robe coming."
