by Cara Bristol
When light flashed on the comm unit, he picked up the receiver. “This is Biggs.”
“This is John Whitten.”
“What’s happening?”
“I’m afraid I have bad news.”
Of course he did. When was news from Elementa ever good?
“It’s about your brother. I’m sorry, but Robert was killed today.”
“Bobby?” No, not Bobby. Not my little brother. Wake up. Wake up. His assistant, coming to get him, the call, a dream. Just a dream. He’d wake up and—“Dragon attack?” He clenched his fist.
“No. Your brother accompanied a team to inspect one of the mining sites.” Robos operated the drilling equipment and excavators while colonists remained in the habitats, keeping tabs via vidcam, but regular visual inspections by real people were required. “Before they could get there, the ground began to shake and then it cracked open.”
“He fell into a fissure.” Acid bubbled up from his gut. This is my fault. I sent him there.
Whitten cleared his throat. “According to the reports from the colonists who were with him—he jumped in.”
“The ground was shaking. He lost his balance…” Denial. Denial. It wasn’t working.
“He left…a note. He, um, volunteered to join the away team so he could remove the hood and let nature take its course.”
But then another opportunity literally opened up, and he’d taken it. Jesus Christ.
“Is that all the note said?” Did he have anything to say to me? Goodbye. I love you, brother. I’m sorry. Anything?
“That was it. I can transmit it to you. I didn’t want to send it without speaking to you.”
Bobby had succeeded in killing himself. Biggs, who feared little, had feared this day.
“Again, I’m very sorry,” Whitten said. “We, uh, can pack up Robert’s personal effects and put them on the ship—”
“Keep them. Use them. Destroy them. They’re just things.”
“As you wish.”
The transmission ended, and he remained sitting, 3Gs of memory pressing him into the chair.
“Jackie, Jackie! Watch me, Jackie!” An image of his little brother peddling a fast wobble on his bicycle flew through his mind. More parent than brother, he’d taught Bobby how to ride a bike, how to hit a baseball, how to drive, how to throw a punch. Maybe if he hadn’t taught him the latter, he’d still be alive. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. There were so many maybes.
He was seven when Bobby was born. They had the same mother but different fathers. Biggs had never met his own father; his parents hadn’t been married, and his father had chosen not to be present in his life. Then his mother married Big Rob, and they had Bobby. When his brother was a toddler, Big Rob died in a construction accident, and Biggs, who already adored his younger brother, stepped up to become his protector.
He’d protected him from skinned knees, nightmares, and school bullies, but he’d been unable to save him from self-loathing, suicide attempts, and a felony charge.
In the incident that had precipitated sending Bobby to Elementa, his brother had picked up a guy at a gay bar and beaten the crap out of him. He’d been charged not just with felony assault and battery but a hate crime.
His gay brother was homophobic.
He couldn’t recall when he’d realized Bobby was gay; it seemed like he’d always known. He’d suspected before he’d accidentally happened upon his seventeen-year-old brother having sex with a male friend in his room. Biggs didn’t say anything then. First, there was the embarrassment factor of having caught him in the act, and second, he assumed when Bobby was ready to come out, he would be the first person he would tell. It didn’t matter his brother was gay. Bobby was Bobby. He loved him.
Shortly after that sexual encounter, Bobby attempted suicide for the first time. Biggs didn’t make the connection. Nor later when a couple of Bobby’s “friends” got banged up after walking into doors and walls. When Bobby got arrested for beating up a guy in a bar fight, Biggs hired a good lawyer who got the charges reduced to misdemeanor assault. Bobby received probation, but a lightbulb clicked on. Bobby, his “accident-prone” friends, the guy at the bar—they had one thing in common.
“What are you doing, Bobby? What the hell happened?” Biggs had confronted him.
“Nothing. A misunderstanding. We got drunk. We had a disagreement.” Bobby had looked him right in the eye.
But there’d been two other suicide attempts by then.
“I love you, Bobby. I’ll always be there for you. You can tell me anything. Nothing will change between us.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Bobby’s gaze slid away. His expression blanked except for the twitch in his jaw.
The “fixer” never shied away from difficult decisions or conversations. “You’re gay,” he said quietly.
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Bobby said. “You’re full of shit. You think I’m a fucking fa—”
“Being gay doesn’t change anything.”
“How the fuck would you know?”
“I meant it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. It won’t with Mom, either. She loves you. I love you.”
“Oh, because it’s all about you. Jackson Biggs has no problem with homosexuality, so it’s a nonissue.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Bobby stood up and moved close until they were nose to nose. “I don’t want to be this way. Do you have any idea what it’s like to hate what you feel inside, hate what you are, and be unable to change it?”
“Maybe you should talk to somebody, a therapist—”
“I tried the aversion programs. Went to therapy. Picked up a couple of female hookers. I’m still gay!” He threw his hands up mockingly.
His brother’s suffering, the lengths he’d gone through to try to become straight shocked him. He’d never realized. How much more of a dumbass could I have been? Suicide attempts weren’t enough of a clue? “No—therapy to help you accept yourself. To recognize your own worth.” The psychobabble platitudes spilling from his mouth sounded lame, inadequate, but he was at a loss. How had he missed all this?
“I don’t want to accept myself. I want to change myself. But I can’t. I don’t want to be attracted to other men. I have had sex with men, hoping it would turn me off, repulse me, and it did, but the feelings won’t stop.”
In lashing out at other gay men, Bobby had been lashing out at himself. Self-hatred turned outward. Getting him to accept and appreciate himself would take more time than they had before his behavior landed him in serious jeopardy. “You can’t keep beating up people,” he said. “It’s against the law, and it’s going to get you into trouble.”
Biggs had done much worse than crack a few ribs and blacken a few eyes. He’d had people killed. But only opponents and enemies who stood in the way of the fulfillment of his goal. He’d never reacted out of anger or any emotion, only directed with clearheaded purpose. Bobby didn’t have his strategic savvy, his foresight, or the defensive shield Biggs had built around himself. Bobby was vulnerable; he was not.
“You’ve been lucky so far,” he said, forging on when his brother sneered. “One day you’re going to do something I can’t get you out of.”
That’s what had happened. Another bar. Another gay man. Another beating. This time the victim didn’t keep quiet. He’d gone public, had run to gay rights organizations, civil liberties associations, the media. News of the gay-bashing had gone viral, leaving authorities with no choice but to charge Bobby with a felony hate crime. His gay homophobic brother would go to prison.
Biggs kept a few prosecutors and judges in his pocket, but the case had all the hallmarks of a career-ender for anyone who tried to brush it under the rug. Bobby’s attorney had managed to get him out on bail, whereupon Biggs had bestowed him with a fake ID and had put him on the next ship to Elementa.
Could he have done anything differently? When the shit hit the fan, Bobby had been willing to leave Earth. If he hadn�
��t, Biggs wouldn’t have sent him. However, he truly had believed his brother would be safer away from temptations and torment. He’d hoped he could find acceptance within himself.
Instead, the self-loathing causing him to lash out had turned further inward.
Why, why did you hate yourself so much, Bobby?
Biggs left the war room and shut the door on a problem he’d been unable to fix.
Chapter Six
The Earth female T’mar had been ordered to collect wore a loose yellow suit and heavy boots. A boxy hood encased her head, leaving a slit of a window for her to see through. A huge apparatus strapped to her back hissed as it piped in an air mixture her fragile lungs could tolerate.
Green eyes peering through the tiny screen widened. “You’re human!” she gasped.
“No.” His lip curled at the insult as he eyed the interlopers accompanying her. He’d been told nothing about any other humans.
Forget the others. Only this one matters, the dragon said.
How do you know? Their suits prevent me from smelling them.
Not being able to catch a whiff made him nervous. Humans couldn’t be trusted. Had he been in demiforma, his olfaction would have been sharper, and he could have smelled them through their suits, but his dragon had insisted on meeting the female in man form to avoid scaring her. For the time being, his dragon called the shots—with respect to shifting anyway. Although the intelligent jumpsuit provided some protection from human weaponry, his present state left him feeling more vulnerable than he cared to.
“I was expecting Prince T’mar,” she said.
“I expected one human,” he replied.
“These are my frien—my associates—Patsy and Henry. They are coming with me to Draco. They were key advisors of my father, President Marshfield.”
He shook his head. “One human. You. That is all.”
“We’re a package deal,” one of the other humans, a female, spoke up.
“Where Helena goes, we go.” The male stepped up beside her. “Or she doesn’t go.”
King K’rah would spit fireballs if he returned without the consort. Of course, if the dragon allowed him to shift, he could grab her and take her.
No! We will scare her.
A little fear could be motivating. “We did not agree to a package deal. King K’rah specified one human female.”
Helena crossed her arms. Her hands were covered by gloves. “How do I know you’re the prince? You look human,” she insulted him again.
How dare she? His fyre flared with such heat, it almost felt sexual. He was the son of a mighty king, and she was a weak, perfidious human he’d been ordered to accept into his harem. “I am Prince T’mar ulu K’rah Qatin,” he reiterated. Let us show ourself. She does not believe we are dragon.
No. She will find out soon enough.
At least with the arrival of the female, his dragon had resumed speaking. Unfortunately, it was only to disagree.
She should see now, T’mar said. Putting a little fear into her would show her who was in control.
No.
I thought you wished to avoid scaring her. He switched tactics.
That is what I am doing.
Right now she is close to the settlement, and her friends are with her. She feels safe—or as safe as she will ever feel, he argued. Toying with her just for sport would be counterproductive, but as soon as they departed, he vowed she wouldn’t feel comfortable again. He felt a little guilty for deceiving the dragon as to his motives, but he’d caused him great consternation and inconvenience with his refusal to shift or speak. If we wait until we’re on the ship or on Draco before revealing ourself, she will be surrounded, and her fear will be much greater. Better to show her while she feels safe and let her adjust.
The dragon stayed silent for a long moment. Then he said, Perhaps you are right.
It pains you to admit it.
It does.
T’mar smiled.
“Is something funny?” Helena asked.
He almost thought he smelled pique.
“Private conversation with the dragon,” he said.
With exaggeration she leaned left then right, peering around him. “Aren’t you the dragon?” Her voice held a disbelieving challenge. Unable to smell her, he found himself listening to her tone.
He’d expected to savor her fear, but he enjoyed the spark of bravado. He wondered if her odor would be as rank as that of the other humans he had encountered years ago. They stank in general, but their emotions reeked even more, although his brother’s human mate Rhianna was tolerable. What did Helena smell like?
His fyre flashed bright and hot. He felt energized, purposeful, almost excited. T’mar shook himself. He needed to stifle his curiosity. He wouldn’t fall under a human’s spell the way his brother K’ev had. He wouldn’t allow this female to fool him into believing she was anything but the enemy, his forced consort. “Would you like to see?”
“Sure. Show me.”
“Let’s not be hasty…” the man objected.
“We’ll have to see dragons sooner or later.”
“I would prefer later,” the other female said.
“Biggs sent you, didn’t he?” Helena said.
“I do not know any Biggs. King K’rah sent me.”
“I don’t think he’s an enforcer,” said the other female.
“I have to make sure this isn’t a trick to take me into custody. I’m not going anywhere until I verify who he is. Or at least what he is.” Her breathing apparatus hissed. “Show me the dragon.”
Well? Are you going to deny her request? He counted on his dragon’s liking for the female.
It worked. His spine began to vibrate. “Remain where you are,” he said to the humans and marched ten paces away, making room.
Bones broke and reshaped in a pleasurable pain, his growing body engulfing the space he’d put between them. The jumpsuit split and fell away. His neck and tail elongated, and his face assumed its triangular shape, his jaw and nose merging into a snout. Fangs erupted. Leathery wings unfurled from his thorny back. Hands and feet curled into talons, completing the transformation.
“Holy shit!” the man gasped.
The other woman screamed and stumbled backward.
Helena stood there silent and unmoving.
Released from the captivity of his man form, T’mar felt himself filled with a sense of power and freedom. His fyre snapped and roared. How he’d missed this.
Towering over the humans, the dragon swiveled its long neck down to scrutinize Helena.
The other female crumpled to the ground. The man darted to her side. “I think she’s okay. She just fainted.”
Helena continued to gaze up at him. The dragon sniffed, picking up her scent with its enhanced olfaction. Her nervousness didn’t appeal as much as T’mar had anticipated. More intriguing, more pleasurable was the scent of awe, of fire and smoke. She was afraid, but also she was…impressed.
The dragon preened, showing off its gleaming scales, its long neck, and its face-framing frill.
T’mar wished she wasn’t wearing the ugly suit so he could smell her better.
Yes! We need to smell her more! the dragon agreed.
No! T’mar responded before the creature shredded her suit with a swipe of his talons. She can’t tolerate Elementa’s atmosphere.
“You really are a dragon.” A funny sort of half laugh snorted out her nose. “I guess you don’t work for Biggs.” At the mention of the name, her fear scent spiked. It did not smell good at all.
Who is Biggs? I will kill him. His dragon bugled into the sky.
Helena recoiled.
You’re scaring her. Change back so we can talk to her, ask her. After not having shifted for so long, he would have preferred to remain in form for a while, but he couldn’t communicate with Helena. Who was this Biggs whom she feared more than a dragon? The other female had collapsed in terror. Even the man was scared, although he tried to hide it. Helena had stood and faced
him.
The dragon shifted into man form.
Helena gasped.
“What’s wrong?” T’mar asked.
“You’re naked!” She whipped around, turning her back. “Put your clothes back on.”
He gathered up the tatters, scrunched them into a ball, and then shook out an intact jumpsuit. Intelligent fabric had knitted itself back together. He donned his clothing.
“Is it safe yet?” she asked.
“No, but I’m dressed. Who is Biggs?”
The man assisted the fallen female to sit. “What happened?” she asked with a moan.
“You fainted. Take some deep breaths,” the man said. Henry, T’mar recalled his name. The female’s appellation he couldn’t remember. She was inconsequential. Weak. Unlike Helena who hadn’t fainted at the sight of him.
“Who is Biggs?” he repeated.
“He’s a man…who, uh, works for my father.”
“And why does he scare you?”
“I didn’t say I was afraid of him.”
He snorted and warned, “Humans should never lie.” He had no intention of explaining emotions emitted odors. He doubted she could block or mask them, but he wished to get a clean scent on her without the taint of dissemblance. Once they were on the ship and she was out of the suit, reading her would be no problem.
“Are you all right, Patsy?” Helena asked.
“This is so embarrassing,” the female replied. “I’m fine,” she said to a hovering Henry.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he replied.
“Of course not.” Helena touched the female’s arm. “Don’t be silly.”
“You didn’t pass out.”
“Physiological reaction. You can’t control it,” Henry said, his concern for the female evident.
“Are you two mated?” He couldn’t detect any mating hormone because of the suits.
They are not, the dragon said. I smelled them after we shifted.
T’mar had been too focused on Helena to pay attention to the others.
“Henry and Patsy are brother and sister,” Helena said.
“What is your relationship to them?” he asked.
