by Viola Grace
But then maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she’d been just as much a prisoner as Verda. And Brock.
The ships were moving out of the hangar in slipshod fashion. The first to take to the air bobbled and dipped, and she wondered where they’d eventually land. There was no knowing the damage across the planet. Not yet. Another took off, and another. Within fifteen minutes, they were alone in the hangar.
“It’s time.” Verda began the sequence to power up the North Wind, using an old, brittle checklist to remind her of all the steps. To her surprise, she recalled the entire process.
“What do you need me to do?” Brock asked.
She looked at him and smiled, her vision misty with tears. “Just be here. Be safe.” She turned back to her panel and gingerly levitated the massive ship. Unlike the others, it didn’t roll or slide to the pad. They wouldn’t launch out over the cliffs and climb to the sky. Instead, they hovered, inching forward till they were clear of the rock walls.
“Here we go,” she whispered, and manually launched the ship into a vertical takeoff, straight up into the sky, piercing heavy, wet clouds, and out into the brilliance of a sky lit by the sun, and by a great White Star that shone with brilliant, colorful light. Polarium.
She didn’t look back. There was nothing to see but clouds.
Chapter Eight
They lay together in a hired room, knowing their time together was almost at a close. Brock sipped a cup of red tea. The sweet-bitter liquid washed through him, and he knew this would be his last drink of the herb. It had kept him awake and stimulated for far too long. He hadn’t had a chance to pack any, and that was just as well.
His heart was breaking.
Verda was healing. Her bruises were fading, and her wounds were closed. They’d visited a healer after landing at a small station several days from Attigua. They’d moved on quickly, getting lost in the rush of rescuers and refugees from the devastated planet.
It was as bad as Verda had feared. The cities were crushed, hundreds of thousands known dead, and as many more missing. Evacuations were being organized by the new ruler, Janine. She’d dropped her title and declared herself Chief Councilor rather than queen. At her side... Peri Stroop. Apparently, his injuries weren’t as severe as they’d seemed. Brock suspected he’d faked his end of the fight. The Peri he’d known wouldn’t have fought Verda.
Verda’s hand rested on the table, and he settled his own over hers, marveling at the difference in sizes. They’d never had a courtship or a flirtation. They’d slept together a few times, fought for their lives together, feared for one another. Yet he loved her as deeply as if they were long-time spouses.
“Come with me, Verda,” he said softly, knowing even as the words left his lips, they were futile. She’d never adapt. Or perhaps she would, but she had her own quest.
“No. Take the North Wind and go to your home, Brock. Maybe when I’m healed—” She broke off, and they both knew the separation was coming. Forever. “We agreed, you’d buy the ship, and I’ll purchase fare to the Coalition. From there, I’ll find them.”
The Vash. Who turned out to be very real, though very elusive.
Her plan was good, the North Wind and her DV Drive were out of date. In her parent’s ship, the journey would take years. There were massive cruisers that moved through deep space, slipping into alternate dimensions to reach their destinations. Her journey would be long but wouldn’t take a lifetime. Brock sat up, set his cup on a table and turned back to Verda, leaning down to kiss her. It was a sweet kiss, she licked at the tea lingering on his lips, and cupped his jaw. She looked up into his face and studied his features, as he did hers.
“I will never forget the way you look right now.” Brock kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose and finally dipped to her mouth. He heard her swallow and tasted her tears. She gripped his hair and kissed him harder, her teeth drew blood. She cleaned him up with her tongue.
Never once, had she asked him to travel with her.
She’d sat with him in the station’s communications center and listened in as he spoke with his mother and father for the first time in seven years. She’d cried, though she tried to hide it. She’d kept out of sight of his parents, and they’d laughed, sobbed and berated him over the years he’d been gone. His brothers had found him on remote news channels and followed his career with increasing alarm.
They thought he’d died in the quakes.
They’d all cried at his story, hurt and angry and afraid, but ultimately forgiving of their wandering son. Brock had to go home. He could wait no longer. And Verda agreed. So, they’d written a contract, she’d sold her one item of value to Brock. She’d taught him to fly and pre-set the navigation for Brock to return home. Without his knowledge, she’d taken them off her course. The station they’d arrived at was just a short journey from his home. In two days, maybe three, Brock would be home, and Verda would be traveling to another planet. Another galaxy.
And Brock was dying inside.
“Perhaps there are healers closer... or surgeons. There are exceptional doctors—”
She smiled sadly and shook her head. They’d visited doctors on every station they’d visited on their flight from Attigua. They’d offered no hope.
“I’d marry you, Verda. Right here and now.”
She quirked a single brow. “Here?”
He gave a little laugh, though it hurt to do so. “I’ll drag you naked down to the Station Captain. This moment. Say yes.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she sat up and pushed him down to the pillows. They’d paid extra for the largest bed on the station, and it still wasn’t large enough. But it was a bed, and it was soft and clean. Brock lay back, grinning as Verda straddled his torso. She ran her nails softly over his chest, tracing the faint lines and swirls in his skin. She pinched his nipple, and he gasped, wrapping his hands around her slender waist.
“Take me, Verda.” What he wanted to say was “Take me with you,” but Brock was going home. There would be celebrations, friends and neighbors would come from all directions, abandoning the sky farms and fields to welcome Brock home.
She ran her hands up the ridges on his arms, they were almost flush to his skin now, the welts on his wrists nearly invisible. He cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples, grinning as she gasped. Her hair cascaded down over her shoulders, brushing like a curtain around his face as she bent down to kiss him again and again.
He was hard, nearly weeping with desire, and when she clasped his cock, he cried out at the pressure of her hand, the slick moisture of her body. And then he was inside, clasped tightly, and she rode him, tears running down her face, dripping onto his cheeks.
“I love you, Brock. I love you...” and she came, her body dropping over his, her hips slamming down on him, nearly drawing him into this own searing climax. He rolled her to her back, mounted her and moved in her slowly... so slowly that she groaned again, clearly not finished.
“Greedy,” he murmured. She was so small under him. He kept his weight on his arms, kept his tengs firmly sheathed so he didn’t accidentally injure her. He moved with care, supporting her legs, drawing them up gently till he was wrapped in her body. When she clasped his ass, driving her nails into his skin, he knew she was there, so he let loose his control. And the leap of faith he took with Verda was just as frightening as leaping from the upper deck of the highest farm level, with only his tengs to control his fall.
He would let her go, but in his heart, he’d never lose her.
When it was done, he curved his body around her, holding her to his heart. He looked into the darkness of the small bedroom and waited for her to drift off to sleep.
When she woke that morning, he would be gone.
* * * *
Her legs were more painful than usual. Of course, she’d been injured not so long ago, and the fight in the arena hadn’t done her any good. Still, they hurt bad enough that she’d acquired walking braces and hated them more than she hated her legs. But as she journeyed
down the sleek hall to the gateways, she was grudgingly grateful for their support. She could have taken a transport down, and was foolish not to, but the passage on the cruiser had been shockingly expensive. She hadn’t told Brock how much, because he’d have tried to transfer more credits to her account. As it was, she’d discovered he’d paid far more for the North Wind than it was worth. And yet the cruiser was worth far more than any sum of money. It was the sole remaining artifact of her parents and her life with them. Painful as it had been to sell the ship, she was glad it had gone to Brock.
Now he could find his adventures when the time was right.
He hadn’t offered to go with her. She hadn’t asked. All she’d needed to see was the man he’d been with his family. With them, he’d laughed and cried. He looked young and really, he was young. It would be heartless to ask him to journey with her because he would not refuse. And she could no longer bear the pain of her injuries. In his world, everyone worked, and Brock would soon be back up in the sky farms. It wasn’t a life for someone like her.
She glanced at the signs directing her way and groaned. She should have taken a transport. But, this was why she’d left an hour early. She’d packed the supplies she’d purchased into a rucksack that nestled in the small of her back. She wore clean, simple garments, loose trousers, a cinched tunic and a long, flowing vest. It was similar to the clothing she’d worn for years, but they were hers. Not the king’s. And they were colorful, blue and green and gold.
She stopped to rest and saw the sign for her shuttle not far ahead. She leaned against the wall, tamping down panic. This was insane. It was futile. How would she negotiate a journey to another galaxy, when she couldn’t even walk to the shuttle docks?
With a growl, she pushed herself upright and continued on. “I will throw these braces in the trash as soon as I find a can,” she mumbled. But—she was moving faster and steadier than normal. She was just frustrated and tired. Heartsick. Lonely. The two weeks since Brock left had dragged on endlessly.
She’d always been alone and lonely, that was nothing new. But now she’d known friendship and love and the camaraderie of a kindred soul. Now she truly knew the ache of loneliness.
“It wouldn’t have lasted anyway.” She sighed at her own lie. “It could have lasted forever.”
She reached the gate and hobbled forward, her brand new data unit gripped firmly in her hand. There was a crowd milling around, and she cursed under her breath. Boarding would be problematic at best, but there was a crowd of massive, huge... men. And women. All speaking in Braccin.
Her heart twisted, and Verda collapsed into a molded steel seat, dropping her head to her hands. She listened to the babble of their language. There was laughter, and there were tears. She didn’t understand the spoken language that well, but they were bidding farewell to someone. Their voices were gruff and warm, and she felt a stab of homesickness for a place she’d never been. Verda struggled to her feet and pushed into the crowd around the attendant who was checking passengers. She’d take a shuttle from the station, out to the distant moorings where the huge cruiser awaited. That would be her new home for far too long. She had no idea how she’d pass the time.
Would she see the Braccin who was traveling? Would they know Brock? She laughed at the idea. It was a massive planet with millions of residents. Of course they wouldn’t know Brock.
“Brock!” A woman’s voice called out just yards from her, and Verda looked up into the woman’s beautiful face. Like Brock, she was dark, with whorls and swirls etched into her skin. She blinked at the similarity.
“Brother, is this her?”
She stood up, dumbfounded. The crowd grew tight around her and Verda felt dizzy and unstable. If someone were to bump into her...
The wall of people parted, and the wall of a man’s body took their place. He wore white. She didn’t remember him ever wearing white. The shirt was a light fabric, the trousers loose and flowing. She looked up into Brock’s face, and he was smiling.
No, he was grinning.
Before she had the chance to leap into his arms, he’d caught her up and held her in the air above him. She steadied herself on his shoulders, and she laughed.
“Got her!” he shouted, and a cheer went up. “Didn’t think I’d let you get away, did you?”
“Brock!” He lowered her till she was comfortably cradled in his arms. “What are you doing?”
They were surrounded now, by a wall of Braccin. A sea of Braccin! They were large, forbidding, and all grinning happily.
“Verda, my love. Meet my family. My father, Pyotr. My mother, Dorna.” He swung her in the direction of a handsome older couple. Their coloring was the same as Brock’s, and his face resembled his mother more than his father. “Sister Lettie and my brother Bram. My younger brother Evan.” He went on to introduce wives and cousins and neighbors from down the road. She nodded, baffled at all the names and faces. There were other introductions... family and friends. A city leader. Perhaps a complete stranger, was in there as well. Her hands were clasped, her cheeks kissed. Several were crying.
“You understand, we just got him back, it’s so hard to see him go again.” His mother spoke softly, yet clearly over the chatter. “But nothing is forever, and we know now he’s going for a good reason.”
“This time,” Brock’s father growled.
“Leaving?” Verda glared at Brock. “Put me down.”
“Nope. Not letting go till we’re both on board that behemoth out there.”
She blinked rapidly, not sure what she was hearing. Or that she was hearing it right.
“You’re going?”
“I’m coming with you. I got the last available fare. Thankfully, I was able to upgrade to a double, for larger species.”
“You’re coming?”
“No dirty talk,” he whispered in her ear. “My parents—”
She smacked his shoulder. “You’re coming with me?”
“I couldn’t let you go, Verda. What would my life be without you?”
She stared at him, framing his face with her hands. And then she kissed him.
There might have been laughter, and there might have been cheers. Brock set her down as he exchanged long, hard embraces with his parents and family. He then looked critically at the braces on her legs.
“We can do better than that, Verda.”
She let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.” He bent to pick her up again, and she stepped back. I’m doing this part myself.”
He smiled. “I think that’s a very good idea.” He bent down and kissed her softly on the forehead. “I love your strength, my warrior,” he whispered.
“Can you do this, Brock? Can you leave them again?”
“For you, Verda, I can. It’s what people do when they love each other. Now I’m free... we’re both free. And my family will be waiting for us.”
“You love me?”
He touched a finger to her lips. “I love you.”
She kissed the tip of his finger. “I love you, Brock.” It was a quiet declaration of forever.
That was it, then. They were going together. And someday, they’d come back.
They turned, looked at his assembled family. He started to speak, but she put a hand on his arm.
“Thank you for the gift of your son.” She looked up at Brock and slipped her hand into his. “We’ll be back. I promise.”
With a final, lingering look at the people who lived in Brock’s heart, Verda walked down the gentle slope of the ramp, feeling his presence at her back.
Epilogue
The Vash were real. And they were magical. Miraculous.
Somehow, they’d heard the story of the banished princess who’d been crippled by her uncle, and they’d been waiting for Verda. Perhaps the gentle, nocturnal species had abilities other than their vaunted healing skills.
The procedure had been difficult, as so many years had passed without treatment. After hours of consults and meetings, they’d decided to w
ork with a surgeon, who opened her legs painlessly, gingerly exposing scar tissue and mangled sinews, while the Vash worked from the inside, painstakingly piecing together fiber and tissue, reconnecting the tiniest vessels and veins.
Within a day, she was on her feet. In a week, she was jogging on a streamlined moving track. Within a month, the pain was but a ghost of what it had been.
The Vash were so honored that she’d sacrificed everything to seek them out, that they worked for free. The Valoran surgeon frowned, grumbled and also dropped his fees. He was grim but good-hearted.
Verda lay on her bed in the healing center, one leg extended in the air above her. She flexed her ankle, grinning when she felt the pain of a normal, healthy stretch.
“Today’s deliveries.”
Brock filled the door, a smile on his face and a huge pile of flowers in his arms. They’d become celebrities among the Vash... and other Coalition species as well. The slave girl and the gladiator—the story of their escape from the arena and the journey up the mountain had leaked, probably from a survivor. Brock suspected Peri Stroop. Her miraculous recovery was being detailed in news publications and broadcast on entertainment networks. Storefronts featured limited edition images of the two, as well as old data books from Brock’s fighting days.
Amazingly enough, local laws enforced subject royalties, so Brock and Verda were earning a substantial profit. Still, she was impatient to move on, back to anonymity.
“Crazy news coming in from Attigua.” Brock placed the bundles of flowers on a dresser and then sat next to her on the bed. “The king was located, and when investigations revealed that he’d knowingly covered up the effect of the White Star on the planet, he was tried before a citizen committee. As it turns out, the effects of the solar waves could have been mitigated. Those scientists you knew provided data indicating the star’s flare cycle will soon end. Jamis was sentenced to death.”
