Penny's Protector: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance (Icehome Book 10)

by Ruby Dixon

  “My Calida is sleeping,” he says, his smile brilliant at the mention of her. “I will wake her soon enough.” M’tok gestures at the long star-stone. “What is this rock? Why drag it so far?”

  “It is from the stars,” I say to him.

  “We brought it back for Mardok to take a look at,” P’nee adds. “Because we don’t know what it is. Just that someone dropped it here.”

  “Someone?” M’tok looks confused.

  “Star people,” I say.

  “The star people are bad,” V’za says nearby. “Or am I wrong?” He pulls G’hail a little closer to him, a look of worry on his face. “Why bring their rocks here?”

  “We don’t know what it is,” P’nee says, her expression troubled. “But if it is bad, it makes more sense for us to have it than anyone else.”

  “Is it a weapon?” G’hail asks.

  “We don’t know.”

  “Then we need to find out,” G’hail replies. “Someone go find Mardok and Farli and bring them here. I don’t want this thing anywhere near my child if it’s dangerous.”

  27

  PENNY

  The camp is in chaos for a while. It’s like we’re going from one crisis to another. We’ve gone from “returning kidnappers are a problem” to “possible dangerous object brought to camp” and everyone’s focus is now on the rock. Elly and I rode atop the thing for days but now everyone stays a wary distance away from it, murmuring in low voices and watching it with worried expressions.

  I hope it’s nothing bad. It’s occurred to me several times that it might be. It could just as easily be an enemy in that coffin instead of a human. It could be a monster. It could be a nuclear bomb. Or it could be like…space mail from the space post office. We have no idea.

  Everyone’s antsy as Mardok and Farli are found. Since the weather was nice, they went hunting in the hills for some herbs that grow near the hot springs. Mari hangs out nearby and tells me all about the alkaline properties it has when mixed with water and how good it is for cleaning equipment, but I’m only half listening. I’m too busy watching the tribe as T’chai races through the hills, looking for the couple to bring back to the tribe.

  It seems that everyone’s splitting into factions, and that worries me. Our group has always been a bit clannish with small parties that stick together, but I thought we were getting better about that. Now that S’bren and I are back, it seems that things are worse. Mari hangs out with us, along with R’jaal. M’tok and Callie hold hands and stand near S’bren, who keeps his arm around my shoulders and me locked to his side. We’re apart from the rest of the group. The sa-khui cluster together with their mates, talking to Bek and Elly, and Shadow Cat clan huddles in a small group at the edges, whispering and staring at us. They still look pissed.

  The rest of the group—unmated and mated ex-slaves, and the Strong Arm group—don’t seem to notice the divisions. They’re painfully obvious to me, though, and I feel as if we’re responsible. I don’t want the tribe to fracture. I want us to be a big happy family…but I might be a jerk for wanting that, when S’bren and M’tok flouted the rules to take what they wanted.

  It definitely makes for an uncomfortable wait.

  “So…I’ll say what everyone’s thinking,” Devi declares loudly. The groups get quiet, listening, and she gestures at the space-trunk. “Do we think it’s a nuclear warhead?”

  “Jesus Christ,” Brooke declares, clutching at Taushen’s vest. “Who was thinking that?”

  “Well, now I’m thinking it,” Flor mutters.

  “Me too,” Mari says quietly.

  “Seriously?” Devi looks puzzled. “No one was thinking that?”

  I’m horrified at the thought. It never occurred to me that it could be that dangerous. “It just looked like a coffin to me,” I chime in. “Like one of those pods we were in on the ship.”

  “Oh.” Devi brightens. “I hope you’re right.”

  God, I do, too. Here I thought adding another person to the mix would be dreadful. Now it sounds like the best case scenario. Everyone goes silent, staring at the trunk and probably imagining the nuclear warhead we unwittingly brought back to camp.

  “It’s not a warhead,” a confident voice declares, and Mardok heads forward, his mate Farli at his side. She’s got her pet dvisti with her—the long-nosed shaggy llama looking thing. It bleats and flicks its tail, heading up to the stone and starting to lick it as if it’s a big block of salt.

  “What is it, then?” I speak up again, because I feel responsible. After all, wasn’t it my idea to grab the darn thing? S’bren hadn’t been interested in it at all and Bek and Elly didn’t know what to make of it. Me, I thought it’d be great to take it with us. Now I’m thinking of all the dreadful things it could have been.

  I really need to learn to not be so impulsive. To not see the world through rose-colored glasses. Sheesh. A warhead. I’m going to have nightmares about that.

  Mardok moves forward, his bare arms exposed, his tattoos visible. He dresses like he’s used to the cold now, just like the sa-khui, but no one goes as bare as Farli. She’s wearing a tiny leather skirt, boots, and a beaded necklace. She’s gorgeous and muscular, though, so she can carry it off. Me, not so much.

  Mardok pushes aside the dvisti. “Not right now, Chompy.” He crouches at one end, brushing aside flakes of dried-on snow, and nods to himself. “It’s a war trunk.”

  My heart clenches and I grab at S’bren’s arm, needing support. War?

  “War?” Gail echoes. “What’s a war trunk?”

  Mardok chuckles, shaking his head at the sight of all of our worried faces. “Nothing to freak out about. It’s just a type of storage container that was common during the big war. They’re waterproof, weatherproof, fireproof, laser-proof, and now pirates love to use ’em because they’re untraceable.” He runs his fingers over the blank, shiny pad at the end. “They’re keyed to a specific user, so we probably can’t…”

  His voice dies off as a loud, metallic chirp echoes off the cliffs and several lights start flashing green near his hand.

  “I’ll be keffed,” he says, pulling back. Surprise is written all over his face. “It’s for me?”

  “Is it your birthday?” Hannah asks, sarcasm in her voice.

  Lauren smacks her lightly on the arm and shushes her.

  “Why is someone sending you a trunk?” Farli asks, her arm around Chompy’s neck and her hand on his muzzle.

  “No clue,” Mardok admits. He rubs a hand over his jaw, then presses his thumb to the pad and types something in.

  A light beams up into the air, and a moment later, a hologram starts. At least, I think it’s a hologram. It reminds me of those old, weird science fiction movies…but I guess it’s not that weird, considering the circumstances. A 3-D picture of a woman’s head appears, and it looks as if she’s sitting in front of a computer monitor of some kind as she speaks, because she stares into the camera.

  “Is that…” Farli asks.

  “Niri,” Mardok agrees, his eyes curiously shiny. He puts a hand to his mouth, as if unable to speak, and my own eyes water with sympathy tears. It’s obviously someone he cares about and wasn’t expecting to hear from.

  The woman in the image—an older sa-khui woman from the looks of things—clears her throat and leans forward. “I hope it didn’t take you too long to find this, Mardok. Actually, keffing scratch that. I hope you’re alive still, but who knows on that stupid backwater planet you decided to live on for the rest of your life. You keffing idiot.” She shakes her head. “Thought you had more brains than that, but I guess that sweet little thing you hooked up with sucked them right out of your head.”

  Farli laughs, moving to stand next to Mardok. She puts her hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. He touches it, smiling. Neither of them seems to notice or care that Chompy moves back to the trunk and begins licking it again. No one moves to stop him. We’re all watching the message.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” the alien w
oman—Niri—says. “You’re thinking, holy keffing planets, how is she alive?” Her hard mouth curls into a smile and she taps her temple. “I’m alive because I spent too long in the war. It taught me that you always sleep with one eye open. Trust no one.” She points at the camera. “That’s something the captain needed to learn. We got followed out of our last port by pirates. I kept seeing anomalies on the radar, but he thought I was being paranoid. Seems I wasn’t, right? So anyway, they attached to our ship in the middle of the night and tried to board. Our systems kept them out for a few minutes only. There wasn’t time to fire up escape pods or anything.” Her mouth thins into a hard line. “But I set up a fail-safe in the computer and…” She waves a hand. “I’m not going to share all my secrets. Let’s just say that ship records showed one less crew member when boarded, and I hid out in the ventilation ducts until we landed at another space port. It wasn’t pretty, but survival never is. You know that.”

  Mardok makes a strangled sound in his throat.

  “Anyhow, I’d tell you my new name and the ship I’m running, but even I’m not keffing stupid enough to leave that information in a message, no matter how encrypted.” She shrugs. “All I’ll say is this. A distant cousin of yours inherited all your belongings and I hear she bought a nice little deep-space freighter for running solo hauls to outer sectors. If you come back, we’ll fix that. If not, well, I’m sure your cousin could use the money more than you.”

  She pauses, then sighs and tilts her head. “In a way, I’m glad you stayed on that planet. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m assuming you’re okay, though there’s no way of me knowing without landing, and that particular planet’s been reclassified as a “hostile environment” so I’ll skip that. I’m not good with the sentimental shit anyhow. But…I was thinking about you on this last run and I hope you’re happy. I hope you don’t feel like you made a mistake, but I’m thinking you’re doing just fine. You always were the type that liked peace and quiet more than anything. So, I hope you have that.”

  The woman’s expression grows soft. “I don’t miss that ship. I don’t miss the others. Sometimes, though, I miss you. You’re like the keffing idiot son I never had.”

  Mardok chokes on a laugh.

  “At any rate, I was in this sector and thought about you, and so I thought I’d send down a trunk of goodies to say hello. I might occasionally toss you down a gift package when I swing through this end of space, but don’t expect too much. I can’t send anything important or anything that can be traced, because even though I like you, I’m not willing to risk my neck for you.” She smirks. “I hope you enjoy this keffing stuff, because I cleaned out my credits stash just for you.” The woman lifts her chin one more time. “Now, I’m gonna go before I get all keffing emotional. Name your kid after me or something. Bye.” She reaches forward, and then the hologram clicks off.

  All goes quiet.

  I’m holding my breath, I realize, as I look over at Farli and Mardok. The big, tattooed alien averts his gaze, staring at the ground for a moment, and Farli strokes his short-cropped hair, comforting him. No one moves or says anything, but I feel S’bren reach for my hand and he squeezes it tight in his own. Sometimes I forget that everyone on this beach has had to give up something to be here. It’s a reminder that we’re all in this together, we’re all here surviving together.

  We’re a family no matter what.

  Mardok clears his throat and taps the panel again. “Let’s see what she sent, all right?”

  The lid of the trunk hisses and lifts up, then slides back, neatly tucking itself against the side and disappearing out of the way. The interior is revealed, and everyone leans over.

  I…don’t know what I’m looking at. I see a couple of boxes of colorful things here and there, but it’s all written in alien languages. Mardok leans over and pulls out one large, long box, though, and laughs, shaking his head.

  “What is it?” Farli asks, all eagerness.

  “Alloy knives,” he says, pulling one long, slim box open and revealing a wicked-looking dagger. “Temperature treated metal alloy that won’t need sharpening nearly as often.” He glances down at the big trunk. “She’s sent easily a dozen of those.”

  There’s a rumble of approval from the group.

  Mardok passes the knife to Farli, who looks at it with shining eyes. She touches the edge of the blade and gasps at how sharp it is. “Careful, love,” Mardok tells her. “Let’s see what else there is.” He picks up more containers. “Some scramblers so we can mask signals. A tool kit. This looks like…spices?”

  “Spices?” Gail asks, stepping forward. “Can I see?”

  He hands them over, and then digs in the trunk again. “A few boxes of Homeworld sweets, some noodles, soaps, and some fabric.”

  “Fabric?” Callie sighs, her eyes shining.

  “Soaps?” Willa sounds excited at that. “Heck yeah.”

  The items are passed around, one by one, for each of us to sniff and inspect. I touch one of the shiny knives, impressed. The metal doesn’t feel cold when I touch it, and the blade’s impossibly sharp. Of all the gifts, these are the best because they’ll make hunting so much easier. It’s clear I’m not the only one that’s excited about the knives, because each of the hunters holds onto each one for a long, long moment before reluctantly passing it to the next person. Then it’s all handed back to Mardok, who stacks it into the trunk.

  He pauses, then looks at Raahosh—who returned for the opening of the trunk—and R’jaal. “I don’t know how to divide this up,” Mardok says. “There’s not enough to go around for everyone.”

  “I have an idea,” I’rec says immediately. “Perhaps we should have games for them. A competition.”

  “You and your games,” T’chai grumbles.

  “Games are fair. All can get a chance to compete. All can get a chance to win.”

  Mardok turns to look at us, though. He gazes at me and S’bren, then Bek and Elly. “You’re the ones that found the trunk. I feel like they’re yours.”

  “It was a trunk left for you,” S’bren says. “It was never for us.”

  “You should at least get first dibs,” Mardok protests. “You and Bek—”

  “What about punishment?” I’rec says, stepping forward. His expression is harsh, his mouth drawn down into a scowl. “So S’bren gets fine metal knives and a resonance mate? This seems no punishment to me.”

  There’s a low murmur through the rest of Shadow Cat clan, and Raahosh crosses his arms over his chest, his expression neutral. Something tells me that he agrees with I’rec but is smart enough not to say it aloud and give the irate hunter any more ammo.

  Mardok looks at Raahosh and R’jaal. “Well?”

  Raahosh turns to R’jaal and gestures. “You are the one in charge of punishment. You can now be in charge of the trunk.”

  R’jaal strokes his jaw. He thinks for a long moment, watching Mardok and Farli, then Bek and his mate, then S’bren and myself, and then finally I’rec. “The trunk belongs to M’dok,” he says after a moment. “Whatever he wishes to share with us, we will welcome. I imagine he will want a knife for his mate at the least.” R’jaal gestures at Bek. “And Bek should get a knife for finding the trunk. But…no knife for S’bren. That is his punishment.”

  Mardok and Raahosh both nod.

  I squeeze S’bren’s hand, aching for him. I know he would want a knife. They’re amazing and I can already think of how much easier they would make every aspect of hunting, of gathering, heck, of day-to-day chores.

  But my mate squeezes my hand back and smiles at me. He reaches out and runs a finger along my cheek, as if to tell me not to worry, that he has the only thing he needs. It makes me feel better.

  “If Mardok wishes to share what is left,” R’jaal continues, “Then we will have games to divide the knives up fairly amongst all those that compete. Does this seem fair to all?”

  There’s a murmur of assent.

  O’jek steps forward, glaring at us. “What ab
out punishment for S’bren and M’tok?”

  “They cannot compete in the games,” R’jaal says. “That is their punishment.”

  “It is not enough—” O’jek begins.

  Bek steps forward, scowling. “Do you want punishment or do you want games? Because S’bren did not have to bring this trunk back at all. Mar-dock does not have to share anything. It is only through their kindness that you have knives at all. Be thankful.” He turns and looks at S’bren, and then lifts his chin in a nod of acknowledgment. “S’bren did wrong by stealing a female, but he is a good hunter and worked hard to bring this star-stone back when I would have left it in the snow. He does not deserve your hate.”

  Aw, shit. Now I’m going to cry out of sheer gratitude for Bek. Behind him, his mate Elly gives me a shy smile and a small thumbs up.

  “Well?” R’jaal says, turning to I’rec and O’jek.

  They look at us. “Games it is.”

  It feels late when we finally make our way back to S’bren’s hut. Everyone in the camp has stopped by to say hello, to share gossip, and to ask about Mardok’s trunk. How did we find it? Where did we go when we ran off? How did S’bren carry me off without me realizing?

  I make up some story about being a heavy sleeper. I don’t want them to know he drugged my drink. He didn’t realize how bad it was and I feel protective of him. Callie confesses quietly to me that she lied about her and M’tok, too, and we agree to keep our secrets.

  I love my tribe but they don’t have to know everything. Some things need to stay private.

  I’m yawning over my bowl of stew by the fire as I talk to Harlow, when S’bren carefully pulls it from my grip and sets it down. He scoops me up in his arms and carries me, bridal style, out of the group. “We are done for this evening. There will be more things to talk about tomorrow.”