by Viki Storm
“It was a covert operation,” Kothar says. “Unpublicized.”
“Damn and blast,” Anax says. I can imagine his pain. Anger at losing out on the last ten years with his dearest friend, but joy at the reunion.
“What of females?” Anax asks. “Were any females off-planet?” I don’t know why, but Anax’s question annoys the piss out of me. He’s reunited with his long-lost bros, and the first thing he asks about is females.
I realize it with sudden, stupid clarity: I’m jealous.
And isn’t that stupid of me? Of course Anax wants to know if there are surviving females. That’s the most natural question to ask. Did I think I was special? That he went through all this trouble to get me off Phuru because he… what, loves me? Give me a break. Anax got me off Phuru for reasons that aren’t too hard to guess at—I’m sure he’ll be trying to get me into his bed soon enough.
“No females that I know of,” Kothar says sadly. “Come on, this is a time to celebrate. We have food and hivoo.”
“Hivoo? Please do not toy with me.”
“No joke, we brew it here. We have to ferment the native tubers rather than the frelors from back home, but the taste is remarkably close. Come now. You are both welcome members of the settlement.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Anax says.
“Why do you have a human slave with you?” the one called Corvi asks. He’s older than Anax and Kothar, lines etched deep into his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. His hands are cracked and rough, like he’s logged much more time with a weapon over the course of his life. “Has your time on Phuru made you forget your morals?”
“She’s not my slave,” Anax says, obviously offended at the implication. “I have taken her away from Phuru before she could be despoiled.”
“Huh,” Corvi grunts, a knowing smile spreading over his face. “I get it.”
“You understand nothing,” Anax says, and there’s something in his voice that makes me nervous, like these Kenorians are like the orcs in Lord of the Rings, always fighting with each other and quick to cut a throat over any perceived insult. “This female is…” Anax hesitates. Now this is unlike him. He seems suddenly shy and nervous.
“Is what?” Corvi asks.
“She is arlo jzumak.”
Not one of his long-lost bros says anything for a few beats, and I’m just standing there, pissed off that the translator implant can’t do its job and translate arlo jzumak for me.
“If you say so,” Corvi says dismissively.
“I do,” Anax insists. “I know it’s absurd, but it’s true. I would not make this claim lightly.”
“Then celebration really is in order,” Kothar says, but it’s obvious that he’s trying to lighten the tension. The other two Kenorians have said nothing, but when Anax said that bit about arlo jzumak, both of them looked unmistakably shocked. It’s hard for me to hold my tongue and not ask Anax what the bloody hell he’s talking about, but I get the feeling that would cause him a great loss of face, so I say nothing. “Come on, I know you met Hilf, he’s got some things to explain.”
“Hilf?” Anax says. “The Phurusian?”
“Yes,” Yaubin says, speaking for the first time. “He came yesterday. Scared the piss out of us; we almost vaporized him.”
“Maybe you should have,” Anax says.
“Hilf’s okay,” Udos says. “He gave me access to a beta version of the behavior forecasting software. It’s fascinating.”
“Udos, you’re a cheap date,” Corvi says. “He’s into computers and is easily influenced by memory sticks and vid-panels.”
“And you’ve got a stick up your ass,” Udos says, “easily influenced by length and girth and the quality of the timber.” They all have a hearty laugh at that, even Corvi.
“Listen to what Hilf has to say,” Yaubin says. “Then make up your mind.” Corvi scowls again, making me think that Corvi has no love for the Phurusians, no matter what software they give away.
“I’ll listen,” Anax says. “But I promise no more than that.”
At the fire, we sit and eat, and Anax drinks from the earthenware jug of hivoo that’s passed around. I take a little sip, and it tastes like wasabi-flavored vodka, so I abstain the next time it makes the rounds.
After the meal, we listen to what the Phurusian, Hilf, has to say. I can’t follow all of it because it’s steeped in centuries-old politics and rivalries and the history of a planet I didn’t even know existed until yesterday. But the gist of his story is as old as anything else: the Phurusian King is a corrupt old asshole, and a small group of his trusted advisers are looking to dethrone him.
“Where do we fit in?” Anax asks when Hilf is done. That’s a question I am very interested in. Particularly, where does my convict collar fit in? Hilf is a high-ranking Phurusian, and if anyone can find a way to get this thing off of my neck, it’s him.
“I need warriors,” Hilf admits. “I cannot overthrow Lord Phuru with the small contingent of bureaucrats I have recruited to my cause. I thought the remaining Kenorians would be a logical choice; after all, many of your race resent Phuru and the yoke of servitude you’ve been living under the last ten years. Hiring out your mercenary services, performing tasks you deem to be beneath your skills and being treated as second-class citizens. I thought you Kenorians were prideful and liked to fight.”
“We are and we do,” Anax says. “But maybe we’d just like to see your planet rot, decay into civil war. Maybe we have no wish to be entangled in your political affairs.”
“Maybe,” Hilf says. “But maybe you do not speak for the entire settlement here.”
“I speak for myself,” Anax says. “And I did not leave your planet just to take orders from another Phurusian.”
“Fair enough, but what if I could get the collar off of that human?” Hilf asks.
It takes all my willpower to keep from shouting a hundred questions at once. But I know that I have no place in these negotiations—as a human, I’m the ultimate outsider.
“Then I would consider your proposition,” Anax says. “And assume that you require me to do a specific task. What is it? Raiding a planet? Stealing cargo? Murdering a rival?”
“Probably something you deem to be beneath your dignity,” Hilf admits, “but I need someone to fly to Laurentia and exchange cargo for cargo. No double-cross or heist. Just an exchange of goods.”
“I do that and you take off her collar?”
“Yes,” Hilf says. “But that’s just one part in my plans. Like I said, I intend to overthrow Lord Phuru.”
“Why are you out to unseat the king now?” Anax asks. “What’s he plotting?” I’m about to chime in that there doesn’t need to be a reason—that there’s never a real one. My pre-law studies included a B.A. in history, and I know that every revolution was born with a small group of greedy jerks trying to overthrow some smaller group of greedy jerks. They have titular reasons, but it always just boils down to: I want what he has.
“The king is planning a protracted invasion of a lesser planet. It will cost much, both monetarily and… spiritually. He insists that the strategic location will allow Phuru to set up a military stronghold and conquer other planets in the sector.”
“And you want to save these civilizations from becoming part of a Phurusian empire?” Anax asks.
“On that, I have no opinion. I have no love for these planets and the lifeforms who reside there. But I have common sense, something Lord Phuru has lost in his blind quest for power. I do not want to see Phuru become bogged down in a costly, lengthy and ultimately fruitless endeavor.”
“Maybe we do,” Anax says. “Maybe it will stretch your degenerate society too thin and you’ll collapse.”
“Indeed it will,” Hilf says, “but before that happens, you can guarantee that the Lord will hunt down and conscript all remaining Kenorian warriors for the fight.”
“You want to buy us before Lord Phuru does,” Anax says.
“I’m here to make offers,
” Hilf says. “You lot are free to accept or decline.” I want to scream, I’m so impatient. He said he could get the collar off, but now they’re droning on and on about this supposed invasion and the political ramifications.
I don’t give a fiddler’s fuck about Phuru invading some strategically-located planet. I just want this thing off of my neck so I can go back to Earth.
“I will consider it,” Anax says.
My heart sinks. He won’t fly to some planet and swap cargo? That sounds easy enough.
Maybe Anax doesn’t want my collar off. Maybe he likes having me in bondage and unable to escape.
I look at Anax and the blazing roar of the fire isn’t half as hot as the rage burning in my eyes.
“Shouldn’t you help overthrow Lord Phuru?” I say through gritted teeth. “After all, it will be a good battle, and you guys look like you love a good battle.”
“Listen to the convict,” Hilf says. “Do the cargo exchange, and I’ll remove the collar as a sign of good faith. That’s all I require. Then we can talk in more detail about how I’d like to incorporate the rest of your merry band of warriors into my plans, but first I need you to make the delivery. Do we have a deal?”
“Why me?” Anax asks. “Why not have someone else make the cargo swap?”
“Because you know the most about Phurusian society. You’re the one I want on my side the most.”
I hold my breath, waiting for Anax’s response. He promised he’d get the collar off and return me to Earth.
And right now he’s got the chance—if he doesn’t accept, it will be proof that he’s not really interested in helping me.
When Anax finally speaks, I feel any last vestige of hope drain from my soul.
“My answer is no,” Anax says.
Chapter 8
Anax
This Phurusian, I don’t trust him. He’s admitted that he’s a turncoat, so why would I be stupid enough to assume he’s going to be loyal to anyone but himself?
But. He’s our best chance to get the collar off of Brooke.
I get up and leave the fire pit. It hurts to leave Brooke sitting there alone with that collar still tight around her neck and no idea how it’s going to be deactivated. But I need to walk, need to think.
Kothar and Yaubin are following me. I sense them, hear them muttering to each other, but I don’t turn around.
I know that I have no choice but to work for Hilf—but being forced into it enrages me.
“Hilf isn’t as bad as he seems,” Kothar says when they catch up to me.
“He seems like a slimy opportunist,” I say.
“And he is,” Kothar admits, “but at least do the cargo swap for him. Get the collar deactivated. You can’t have your arlo jzumak in thrall.”
“I know,” I say. “I know that I’m going to do it, but damn it, I don’t like being forced. I just left that damned planet because I was sick of being ordered around. Then the first thing that happens when I leave is I get ordered around by a Blackness-loving Phurusian.”
“All you have to do is the swap,” Yaubin says. “The settlement hasn’t discussed or decided on whether we would help stop Lord Phuru from taking the strategically-located planet.”
“When did Hilf show up here?” I ask.
“Yesterday,” Kothar says.
“Isn’t that strange that he shows up right before I do?”
“Not really,” Kothar says. “He said he was waiting for a Kenorian who went rogue.”
“He’s using the behavior forecasting software on me?”
“Probably not,” Yaubin says. “It doesn’t take a genius to assume that you’d come here after you escaped with your captive.”
“She’s not my captive,” I say.
“Whatever,” Yaubin says. “Then get that collar off of her.”
He’s right, and I know it. And that enrages me even more.
I charge back to the fire pit. Brooke has an empty plate on her lap and an empty cup between her feet. A good meal and long night’s sleep will go a long way to helping her feel better. “Let’s go,” I tell Brooke. “There’s an empty room available for us. Hilf,” I say, turning to the Phurusian. His skin looks orange in the firelight, and he wipes away a fleck of meat from the corner of his mouth with a long, nail-less finger. “I’ll do it, swap your cargo like a common errand boy, and you will deactivate her collar.”
“I will give you instructions in the morning. You travel at first light,” Hilf says. He’s smiling like he’s won some victory, and that troubles me. I know he’s planning something more than just stopping Lord Phuru from expanding the Phurusian empire, but I’ll be damned if I know what.
“Thank God,” Brooke says. “I get a bed? How long can I sleep for?”
“Time is similar here to what you’re used to on Earth,” I say. “We have what you would think of as ten hours before we should leave.” I take her hand and we stand up, ready to retire for the evening. It feels so right, having her at my side, sharing a meal then retiring to our bed. It feels like this has been our routine for years.
“First light,” Hilf repeats. I ignore him as I lead her away, happy to have her to myself. Everyone around the fire was staring at her—and although I can’t blame them, it was causing uneasy prickles of anxiety and rage at the base of my spine.
“I need a shower,” she says. “Do you have showers, or do I need to wash in a river or something?”
“There is a bathing cabinet,” I explain. I lead her to the bathing area. It’s traditional for Kenorians to bathe after the evening meal, before sleep. The huge double doors are open, and most of the warriors who aren’t assigned to post are here, bathing and dressing.
“Holy mackerel,” she says. “Umm, am I allowed in here?”
“Why wouldn’t you be?” I ask. “Didn’t you hear when Kothar said that we were both welcome members of the settlement?”
“Yeah, but…” She gestures to the bathing and dressing warriors. It takes me a moment to realize the source of her discomfort.
“We feel no shame at our nudity,” I explain.
“That’s obvious,” she says. She’s openly staring, as if she’s never seen an unclothed male before. Maybe she hasn’t. The thought delights me—that my mate is pure and untouched by another male, that I alone will lay claim to her ripe body. “Are all you Kenorians, umm, this generously endowed?”
“Endowed?” I ask. “As in bequeathed with property?”
“No,” she says. “There’s another meaning of that word. It means… gifted with certain physical attributes.”
“Yes,” I reply. “Our physical stature, musculature and tall height are common to all males of the species. We are a warrior race.”
“No, not those physical attributes,” she says, then shakes her head. “Oh, never mind. You’re telling me that none of these guys cares that there’s a female in here while they’re getting dressed?”
“No,” I say.
“I guess if I was that hung, I’d want to show it off, too…” she says quietly under her breath. “Are they covered in scales?”
“Male reproductive organs are sheathed in a protective layer,” I explain, “which retracts during coitus.”
Her face is red, and I can sense her shame at being surrounded by the nude males. “And what’s that, umm, lump thing?” She points at her pubic bone, the spot above where a male’s phallus would be.
“It’s a cartilage protuberance,” I respond. Her shame is heightened at this mention, so I decide to go into detail, teasing her with what she considers to be personal information. “It’s for mating. As the male penetrates the female, her…” I have to probe my mind to think of the word in her language… “Her clitoris will rub on the cartilage pad. It’s soft and highly pleasurable for the female. It encourages orgasm.”
“Jesus,” she whispers. Her face is redder than ever, but I can detect arousal, increased blood flow between her legs, the steady throbbing of an area overwrought and needing to be touched.
“Every thrust will rub the cartilage—we call it a vrla—against the clitoris, surrounding it with soft, warm pressure. It’s supposed to feel like oral pleasure, a tongue pressed against the female’s sensitive little nub.” I’m getting hard describing sexual acts to Brooke, but it’s also caused a wave of grief at the destruction of our race. There are no more females to make bawdy jokes about the vrla or the protective scales or anything else related to mating.
“Understood,” she says.
She takes an undue amount of time in the bathing cabinet, and I have time to wash myself and dress before she is finished. I stay close, making sure that none of the males try to get a closer look at her… or that she tries to get a closer look at them.
I’m feeling my protective instincts even stronger now that we are on a settlement with other virile male warriors. I still can’t quite believe that she’s my bonded mate—the fabled female sent to me by the Masters of the Universe Itself—but I do feel the overwhelming need to possess her, to hoard and keep her for myself. It’s that instinct that drove me half-mad on Phuru and impelled me to get her off-planet. Whatever this instinct is, I’d be a fool to ignore it. The first thing a warrior learns is to hone and trust his instincts.
I hear the squeak of the water faucet as she turns it off. One slender hand reaches over the top of the door to the stall to grab a towel and the large spacesuit she was wearing. That reminds me to have suitable garments brought to our room. And a not-so-suitable outfit for tomorrow’s journey to Laurentia. I use my comm-panel to message Kothar, and he says he’ll find something for her to wear.
I think of her undressing, washing, and knowing she’s nude inside the bathing closet is driving me mad with desire to claim her.
To claim my mate.
I remember what she looked like in the Hall of Justice after she removed her clothing, those rosy pink nipples pointing out, the dark thatch of hair covering her sex. I’m filled with a strong mix of both shame and arousal. I hate myself for my part in what happened to her, but I can’t argue with my instinct. The sight of her vulnerable, nude body is what awakened my desire to protect her and rescue her.