by Bex McLynn
She smiled, bright blunt-edge teeth flashing at Lekar. "Thanks, doc."
Doc. Obviously a Human word, and spoken with genuine gratitude.
He didn't need her smiles. He needed to fully vet her, understand who she was and where she came from, all in the little time they had remaining. Already Deleo's log had captured data, time-stamping reports, passively documenting this fuck all event. He should have contacted the Athela Trine, but Zver wanted more time with her before things got even more complicated.
A submedic arrived with a bundle. With his jaw slackened, the submedic's eyes roved over Seph. He handed her the drab robe and soft foot peds with exaggerated movements, as if to stretch out the encounter. By Unholde, Zver knew what that enamored grunt saw. Diminutive stature lusciously curved. Unblemished skin radiating warmth. Where the Teras ran cold, touching her would be like sinking your hands into sun-heated sand.
"That will be all, medic," he said, dismissing the crew member while interrupting Seph's politely uttered thank you.
Hugging the items to her chest, she gave Zver a hard look. "I'll be right out."
She disappeared back into the sani-stall.
Lekar rounded on him, words rushed. "By Direis, Zver. She won't have an Athelline."
He already knew this. She wasn't Teras, so she was not a member of any house, thus no established lineage. She was Unsworn.
"Our house needs her," Lekar whispered while intently scanning Zver's face.
But Lekar was wrong. House Borac didn't need her. He didn't need an Athela.
"The plan was to retrieve Rannik and salvage Prykimis."
"Well, the plan needs to change," Lekar scoffed, as if he couldn't believe he needed to say such a thing. "This is unprecedented."
Not entirely true. Athela—technopathic women—had been found in lesser houses, even amongst the Unsworn Teras. He could already predict how the Athela Trine would respond. How the grasping Great Houses on Teras Ero would respond. They all would scheme and conspire to claim this woman—Seph—for their own.
Her worth boiled down to a single question. He crowded close to Lekar, head bent for privacy, and asked, "How strong are her Athelasan genetics?" Meaning, could she bear a technopathic Teras child?
Lekar gaped, then said with a disgruntled head shake, "I don't have the resources to determine that. The Trine will examine her more thoroughly."
The sani-stall door swung open, and she shuffled out, her body enveloped in a robe that would come to his knees. The foot peds flopped on her feet. Unholde take him, each time he looked at her, he had to readjust his perception, had to convince himself that she was real. That she was truly there.
"All right." She sighed. "Lead the way, Thane."
Chapter Four
"[Teras Class Destroyer: Deleo. Access Denied,]" the lifeless voice said directly into Seph's mind.
Seph took a fortifying breath. She hadn't tried to access shit. This new voice in her head was being a dick.
She rubbed her forehead as she erupted in another unchecked yawn. At least the thane had been true to his word.
She shuffled sleepily along the empty corridor. Not a soul in sight.
Seph couldn't help but compare this new ship to her previous accommodations. The air smelled and tasted just like she thought recycled air should—slightly chilled with a hint of industrial sanitizer. Also, the engine thrummed nonstop, like the ever-present deep droning of an airplane engine. Even a space-faring novice like her could tell this ship received better maintenance. Someone cared about it.
"[Teras Class Destroyer: Deleo. Access Denied.]"
"Shut it," Seph said under her breath.
She felt the thane's eyes shift from the path ahead onto her. Lovely.
"Nice ship. You live here?"
After spending days in the stinky cargo hold, she would be delighted to spend hours lounging in the hallway of this new ship.
His reply came as a low rumble. "No."
All righty, then. She thought she had a pretty good beat on the thane. If he were just a human man, she'd say he was striking, blunt, and succinct. But as a stout Teras, she felt the terms towering, gruff, and authoritative fit him far better. Not to mention unnerving. He looked at her with such intensity that she wanted to fidget. Check her teeth. Smooth her hair. But since she was a stubborn idiot, she fought those impulses.
Forced herself to remain cool under pressure
"How's Rannik? He's not in trouble or anything for trying to bring me onto your ship, is he?"
"Cadet Rannik is fine," he said.
Well, that was uninformative. Although, way better than something sinister like 'Cadet Rannik is no concern of yours.'
"Good. Because he was only trying to help me." She didn't want him punished for being a good kid.
"I am aware."
"So he's fine?"
"As I already said, he's fine."
They walked in silence. Seph clopped alongside his long strides.
Strides? No, his hips rolled with sinewy grace. The man prowled next to her.
She made one too many side-eyed glances at him, and her feet tripped over themselves. The thane stopped walking and stared down at her feet. The same feet that just executed the most ungainly skip-stumble-skip.
"Human," the thane said from beside her. The word huffed like a deep exhale. "Is that how you say it? Human?"
"That's correct."
"Seph. That is your name. Cadet Rannik didn't give it to you." His voice rumbled forth, and she couldn't tell if he asked her questions or stated observations.
"Josephine is my given name." She saw no reason to lie to him. "Seph is my nickname."
He made a sound, like a grunting hum. In her own mind, Seph heard a dry 'indeed.' He resumed walking. Thankfully, at a much slower prowl than before.
Eyes straight ahead, she said to him, "I'm not a Lassie."
That notion, and all its preconceived assumptions and comparisons, needed to be erased. Seph wanted zero association with sex. She’d become an explorer by dire circumstances, not because she was curious about the final frontier.
"That has already been established." But she heard the retort in his tone. So what's your point?
Ah, yes. Her point. So glad he asked, but at the same time, didn't ask. Ass.
But the ass who would hopefully see her home.
"I'm just wondering what comes next." She would bet good money the thane yanking her from her shower was directly connected to this new AI voice invading her thoughts.
The thane wordlessly stopped at a door panel and opened it by touching a glowing pad on the wall. He didn't do or say anything else. He didn't need to. He obviously wanted her to enter the room.
She assessed the room as she approached. A bunk was mounted on the right wall. A desk and chair were straight ahead. Two slim panel doors, side-by-side, were on the left wall. Warm light glowed from both the ceiling and the floor.
It didn't look like a cell.
But really, what were her options? The thane could easily snag her by her scruff and toss her inside. So, she walked right on in, hoping he wouldn't lock the door from the outside.
He followed her inside, and although he didn't crowd her back, she still felt crammed into the room. God, the man somehow sucked up volume in any given space. His unofficial title, Thanemonger, was spot on.
Seph put the desk at her back and faced him. He stood with his back to the door, his legs braced apart with his large hands clasped before him. He probably stood in the Teras version of 'at-ease,' but the thane's coiled vibe made it hard to believe that the man simply rested on his feet.
"Have a seat," he said.
"I'd rather stand," Seph shot back.
He dipped his chin. "You're tired."
She stood taller, widening her stance. "Nope. I'm good."
"[Teras Class Destroyer: Deleo. Access Denied.]"
Her eye twitched, and the thane's gaze locked onto that minute tell with laser point precision.
He to
ok one step, and just like that, crossed the distance from the door to the bunk. He sank down to the mattress, hands perched on his meaty thighs. "I have questions. This could take some time."
She thought about brazening it out by standing, but screw it. She was dead on her feet.
The chair had been bolted to the floor, but swiveled, so she sat facing him. She felt like Goldilocks sitting in Momma Bear’s chair. The chair was big, but not ridiculously big. That calmed her a bit, knowing she fit the parameters of a normal-sized Teras, even if it meant she landed on the short end of the range.
"All right, then," she said, prompting him to begin.
"Tell me how you came to be here."
Damn, that question socked her like a punch to the gut, because the answer sucked. Her reply came dry and flat. "I assume you mean, how did I get to a place in the universe where interplanetary travel exists but no one has seen a human before?"
He gave her measured nod. "Precisely."
Well, here came her balls-kicking answer. "I have no idea."
The thane's reaction was—nothing. His nostrils flared as his eyes continued their nonstop assessment of her person. The marbled irises shimmered, like sunlight on water, constantly surveilling.
Seph interlaced her fingers. "Earth is my planet. Looks blue. Lots of water. Have you heard of it?"
"No." He didn't even pretend to ruminate, just shot back a firm reply.
"Then I'm not sure where to begin." God, she wanted to crumble, not sit up straight and remain strong. She swallowed. "I remember waking up. I was in a pod, a tube of some kind. I was in the Lassie salvage shop. The trader there thought I was one of them, so I just played along."
"How long were you there, on Radost?"
"About two weeks." Eleven days on that planet, watching men purchase and mount Lassies right outside the stall.
"You have an accent."
Seph laughed. She couldn't help it. It was a dry, crackling bark that lacked mirth. He had asked about her accent; meanwhile, she had spent her first few days out of the cryo-bin locked in mind-blowing terror because she understood alien languages. And she could only imagine what had been done to her to enable such a thing. Alien laboratories. Surgeries. Experiments.
"I think it's anatomical," she said with a shrug. "There are just certain low pitches I can't quite reach."
His marbled eyes focused on her mouth. "You speak intelligibly. No need to damage yourself."
She acknowledged with a nod. Fine by her. No more Darth Vader impersonations.
"I'm not gifted with languages," she said, dropping her raspiness. "Never have been. I know I'm not speaking my own language."
The thane's eyes flashed and he stiffened, his lips slashing down into a frown. She must sound awful if that was his reaction.
"You're speaking Tender," he finally said. "A trade language. You're proficient, like any trader or marketer, but not as accomplished as an academic. Acquiring working knowledge of the other languages spoken throughout the Tendex Worlds would not be difficult for you."
"Good to know," she said, not sure if she should be put off by his compliment. "But I don't know how I'm speaking Tender or why I understand Terish." Part of her didn't want to know, because she imagined that the answer involved aliens mucking around inside her brain while she lay unconscious.
He pressed his lips together, eyes still assessing her with micro-movements. She knew what he saw. Her tired eyes. Her clenched fists. Her jerking leg. Crap, her foot thumped like a jackrabbit. She forced her leg to stop moving, although she now sat rigidly. Tension—from her own body, from the thane's intense stare—crowded the room.
Hold steady. Hold steady.
The thane heaved a sigh. Clasping his hands between his legs, he leaned forward. They both sat, yet he somehow managed to loom his massive body over her. She fought her trembling and ignored her fluttering belly.
"You're a technopath," he rumbled.
"[Teras Class Destroyer: Deleo. Access Denied.]"
Seph jerked her head, like she had tried to avoid a dive-bombing bee. "A what?"
His eyes tracked her every movement. The way he looked at her... Like he knew Dickhead mucked about in her head.
"You hear it, too?" she whispered as she pointed shakily toward the ceiling.
"You've been trying to access the ship's AthNet for the past half-hour."
Bullcrap. She had spent the last thirty minutes trying to get Dickhead to shut the hell up and leave her alone.
Seph shook her head. She wasn't a techno anything.
"Impossible. Humans can't do anything like this."
"You are not an Athelasan android," he said, his deep voice rattling her to her core, "but you may still be an Athelasan.”
Zver's eyes raked over Seph as she warily rose to her feet. He gripped the sides of the bunk, determined to remain seated. Direis keep him, he'd practically melted off the edge of the mattress when he heard her voice. Her true voice, not the lower pitches she had tried to sustain. Her soothing timbre hardened and liquefied him all at once. Waves. Her voice rolled over him like surf breaking against a smooth, sandy beach, and dragged him out to sea.
She kicked off the foot peds and began pacing in the small space. Two steps carried her to berth's private sani-stall door, and then she gracefully pivoted on dainty toes. Her hips swayed side-to-side, like a pendulum. So unlike the rolling stride of a Teras, yet hypnotically drawing his eye.
"I'm not Athelasan," she said. "I'm Human."
He shrugged. The evidence was irrefutable. "You are technopathic."
"Well, I wasn't technopathic—" she stumbled over the term, "when I was on Earth. I was normal."
"Dormant."
"What?" She paused her pacing, which disappointed him. He liked the way she moved.
"You were dormant. If there is no Athelasan technology on your world, your abilities would have been dormant."
She said nothing, just stared at him as if he spouted lunacy.
Her rich brown eyes flared with distrust. "Impossible."
It was pointless to argue facts, so he ignored her denial. Instead he told her, "You are both. Human and Athelasan. Just as I am Teras and Athelasan, thus a technopath."
She paced away from him. When she glanced at him over her shoulder, her hair spilled down her back. An unwelcome image, Grondin gripping her hair, flashed before him. Hell. He wanted to bury his hands into those shimmering curls, not to subdue her, but to tilt her face up. To provide access to her lips.
"So you hear all this, too?" She gestured toward the ceiling and wiggled her fingers. "The voices?"
"Of course not. I'm a man."
She jolted to a stop and huffed. "Did you just call me crazy because I'm a woman?"
Unholde take him.
"I receive direct data feeds from the AthNet and can transmit system commands. Some Athela, women, claim to hear voices. Men do not."
Some Athela even claimed to connect with the moya, the purported soul of Athelasan tech. He didn't subscribe to such a notion.
"Athela? That's what you call a technopathic woman?" She sounded skeptical.
"Yes."
"Does that make you an Athel?"
It did, but he said, "No."
He had always hated that term.
Her face scrunched in confusion. "That makes no sense."
He shrugged. "Only the women are treated with such diffidence."
"Freaking awesome."
But he doubted she believed so.
She resumed her pacing. He thought it best to let her wind down and hopefully come to terms with her new reality. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his thighs and settled in, prepared to wait her out.
"I'm confused." Her eyes flicked to him, briefly locking with his own gaze, then skittered away. "How are Athelasans and technopathy connected? I thought Athelasan was a Lassie model type."
"The Athelasans were an ancient race. We use the remnants of their technology: spaceships, androids."
&nb
sp; She nodded along to his explanation. "Prykimis, the other spaceship, is Athelasan. But not this ship."
"Correct." She impressed him.
Spirenought class battleships, like Prykimis, proved to be a blessing and a curse. The ancient battleships were structural marvels, remaining space-worthy centuries after the Athelasans themselves had died out. For generations, the Teras had been removing the Athelasan systems and installing—and in some cases crudely rigging—modern TerTac components. Instead of improving the existing Athelasan tech, TerTac placed a whole other ship inside, using the original as an outer casing.
"The two ships, their voices sound different from one another."
He'd have to take her word on that.
Again she stilled, her brow furrowing as she continued to process. She frowned and produced the softest grumble he'd ever heard. Nothing but a small sound that barely thrummed her throat. He sensed her pushing back, rejecting everything she had just heard.
"Everyone is very accepting of this," she said.
For some reason, because she struggled with acceptance, his chest tightened. He fought the urge to rub the discomfort. "Explain."
"Well, I'm not in a holding cell or being roughly interrogated." She shivered. "No one wants to dissect me for science."
Thoughts of tussling roughly with her came wildly fast. They had tussled while in Prykimis's hangar. Although she was small—gods, almost the size of a pre-praal youth—he had cradled womanly curves in his arms. His cock, that single-minded beast, stirred. He almost lurched to his feet, as if he could outrun arousal.
He shifted uncomfortably on the bunk. "We've already scanned you and sampled your genetics. What data could dissection possibly contribute?"
He wasn't certain, but he thought the color drained from her face. "When did you sample me?"
"The shower."
She fully concentrated on him, which he found immensely pleasing, until she broke into laughter. It started delightful, but within seconds he heard the edge to it. A crack in her composure.
"Routine screening," he said, wanting to reassure her. "Water is treated before returning to the main supply."
