Noah's Ark

by Vijaya Schartz

  “People as national treasures? How odd.” She examined one of the practice weapons closer, noticing the graceful curve and smooth finish of the thick, oval cut blade. “You made these yourself, didn't you?”

  Kostas sat on the low wall behind the crate and stroked a fat yellow cat who'd been watching practice. “I enjoy making weapons. It relaxes me.”

  “Where did you learn?” Trixie realized it would take years to master such a craft. The pieces were exquisite.

  “The know-how was in my mind. These are the first bokkens I ever carved.”

  “That's amazing.” The wood was hard and shiny, almost black. “Where did you find the wood?”

  “I gleaned fallen branches in the forest we see from the ramparts. The trees they fell from have straight branches and the wood is almost as hard as metal. Carving it is a challenge, even with a laser tool, but it's the perfect material to make bokkens.”

  “You went out of the citadel and into the forest alone?” Trixie couldn't believe such recklessness.

  “What of it?” He stared at her, his brown eyes narrowed.

  “Zerkers for one thing.” Her heart raced at the idea that he could have been attacked and even killed... or eaten.

  He smiled, all confidence and male strength. “Prince Ktal said they never attack in broad daylight, and I never saw any.”

  “Still...” She shook her head in frustration, grasping at things to say to keep him talking. “When did you find the time to do all that?”

  Kostas shrugged. “I don't sleep much.”

  She didn't want him to leave. She might not get another chance. “How long does it take to master the kind of swordsmanship you are teaching us?”

  “A lifetime.” He didn't look over thirty.

  “But it didn't take you that long...” She remembered soldiers received special expedient training classes. “I guess you were... gifted?”

  “You could say that.” A shadow darkened his brown gaze.

  His eyes followed her every move as Trixie returned the bokken to the open crate.

  She sat on the low wall, across from the big shaggy cat and petted the yellow feline as well. “And who is this handsome fellow?”

  Kostas smiled with obvious pride. “This is Viking, my favorite hunting buddy. I found him in the barracks.”

  She scratched the cat under the chin and the creature purred loudly. “What do you hunt?”

  “Rodents. Viking is exceptionally good at it.” Kostas removed his hand from the cat and laced his fingers together, elbows on his thighs, looking away. He was withdrawing again.

  Trixie might as well shake him out of this annoying attitude. “Kostas, have you been avoiding me?”

  He remained silent, lips pressed together, a stony expression on his face, still not looking at her.

  Trixie took it as an admission of guilt. “But why? I thought we were friends.”

  “We are.” He stared into the amber glow of the setting suns.

  “But we never talk anymore.” Just saying it tugged at something inside Trixie's chest.

  Kostas sighed. “I know.”

  “I miss it. I miss you in the refectory.” She wasn't going to cry and make a spectacle of herself. She was a grown woman, a captain. She could handle this. She steeled herself against the flow of emotions swirling in her chest.

  “I miss you, too,” he said, so softly she wondered if he really said it.

  “Then why?” It didn't make any sense to Trixie.

  Kostas let out a long, heavy sigh. “I don't want to cause trouble. I just don't trust myself around you anymore.”

  Stunned, Trixie stared at him. She closed her mouth as she realized it hung open. So, he was attracted to her! And so candid about admitting it. It was kind of refreshing, but she really didn't know how to react. She didn't know whether to be worried or flattered. After all, that was everything she hoped. But now the next move lay upon her shoulders. If only she didn't have this fear of commitment.

  He cast her a side glance, his expression almost sarcastic. “Scared?”

  “I don't know you that well.” She hated herself for being indecisive.

  “There isn't much to know about me.” He chuckled. “Yet we know enough about each other to consider ourselves friends, right?”

  “What you are implying is more than friendship.” Careful what you wish for, girl.

  “I'm sorry if it's too much information, but you asked.” He turned his haunting gaze upon her. “I was educated in the art of war, not the art of relationships.”

  The fact that he'd used the word relationship told Trixie he was serious about this. She didn't feel ready to commit, but if she didn't, some other girl would snatch him. Then she would lose him forever. She hated herself for being so calculating... so protective of herself... like her father.

  Kostas broke the lengthening silence. “You are awfully quiet. I guess I should forget about my silly hopes... I should have known someone like you couldn't be interested in a simple soldier.”

  The judgmental comment hit Trixie in the chest. Yet, he seemed to have his own prejudices. “What to do you mean by someone like me?”

  “Someone of high breeding and education. Someone raised among the elite of Earth's high society.” The setting suns made his face blaze with oranges and pinks. He cut a striking figure, sitting on that wall, in black tee and cargo pants, his square jaw clenched.

  For the first time in her life, Trixie felt ashamed of her family status. Although Kostas didn't know how high in the hierarchy her ties really ran, he'd guessed right, and it hit a nerve. A cold hand clenched inside her chest. “Does it show that much?”

  “It's pretty obvious to me.” He still refused to look at her.

  “The truth be told, I couldn't care less about my family and their precious place in society.” Trixie took a deep breath. Time to shed all that baggage. “Do you see any high society people here? Except for McLure, and we all hate that pretentious know-it-all.”

  Kostas chuckled. “I'm relieved to hear you say that.”

  Trixie smiled. Kostas really liked her... enough to feel insecure. How sweet.

  Around them the esplanade stood empty as the students had gone to the public baths. The twilight deepened into dark amber shadows. She observed Kostas sideways, thinking he was kind, honest, strong, and gorgeous as a Greek god.

  When he turned to meet her gaze, fluttering bugs danced in her stomach. It made her want to do silly things. Like kiss his luscious lips to find out how soft they were.

  Instead, she said, “If you think of me as a little rich girl, I must have given you reason, and I apologize.”

  “No apology necessary. We can't help what we are, and rejection is a fact of life.” A soldier's guarded tone if she'd ever heard one.

  “I'm not rejecting you.” Trixie looked straight into his deep brown eyes. “How about we discuss this matter over a quiet dinner at my place in an hour or so? That should be enough time to close shop and freshen up.”

  Kostas took her hand from the cat's back and brought her fingers to his lips. He kissed each fingertip lightly, sending tendrils of electricity through her entire body. His gaze fixed on her. “Are you sure?”

  Heart racing, Trixie nodded. She'd never been so forward with a man before, and it felt good to make her own choices, affirm her freedom from all the nonsense her good breeding and her family had planted in her head. She wanted this man, and she would have him. “I've never been more certain of anything in my entire life.”

  He leaned over the cat, his index finger tilting her chin. “You are so sexy when you take charge.”

  Thankful for the low wall where they sat, Trixie all but melted under his dark stare. When his lips met hers, soft and warm, all tension flowed out of her body. He brushed her lips, tentatively, barely tasting her. He reminded her of a feline, strong but soft and gentle, graceful, yet incredibly dangerous. She expected more, but he quickly drew back, leaving her wanting, hungry for his touch.

&nbs
p; He rose quickly, closed the titanium crate and pushed the antigravity key on the side. Then he flashed a devilish grin. “I'll see you at your place in about an hour, then.”

  She watched him walk away beside the levitating crate, imagining his splendid body naked, lying next to hers. Wraith! What had she done now?

  * * *

  Bending over to hang her head upside down in front of the blazing fireplace, Trixie raked her short, wet hair with fluffing fingers. Then she straightened and held up her small mirror, a luxury from the basic toiletries compartment of her traveling case. The dancing flame of the oil lamps complimented the warm glow of her freshly scrubbed face.

  Since when did she care about her appearance? She had long ago renounced her father- imposed ball gowns and fancy parties, and the mandatory baubles from the family safe. Since joining Fleet, she'd found the uniform comforting. She never had to wonder about what to wear.

  Now that Kostas showed interest in her, however, she noticed the unflattering cut of the heavy synthetic wool... inadequate for a dinner date but that's all she had. She took a deep, calming breath. Easy, girl. He's seen you at your worst, and he likes you just the way you are. All will be fine.

  She wondered how the settlers would manage to keep everything clean after the multipurpose sanitizing wash ran out. Her three uniforms and two pairs of boots wouldn't last a lifetime either, especially under such intensive wear. It seemed she was constantly walking, working, climbing, or training. It stressed the seams of her clothes and boots. Soon, the material would wear out and she'd have to improvise.

  She'd picked up food at the refectory on her way back from the baths. Now, she displayed the re-hydrated stew and fresh rolls on the thick, ceramic plates she'd found on the shelves of her lodgings. She kept the plates warm on the stone shelf lining the inside of the fireplace, along with a pot of kawa.

  Although she appreciated the privacy of her small individual quarters, Trixie hated solitude. That's why she usually took her meals in the refectory with the crew and councilmen. But the thought of dining in private with Kostas made her feel light and giddy.

  The knock at the door jarred her thoughts. Trixie straightened her jacket. “Come in, it's open.”

  Kostas smiled as he entered. The soft light enhanced his tan. There was something to be said for Mediterranean men. Kostas in particular had the kind of dark eyes that gleamed with sexy promise. His scant words and restrained manner shrouded him in mystery, but tonight Trixie intended to learn all about his life, his childhood in Greece, his family back on Earth.

  “Smells good.” His gaze skimmed the humble room carved into the rock, the thick rug of roughly meshed fabric, the wood shutters closed against the night chill. The alcove and its simple mattress on a stone shelf, covered with her open sleeping bag, was partly veiled by a dark curtain made of some large animal hide.

  Trixie had a flash of long-ago family life. Of her father coming back from his club, of meals and conversations shared around a table... that was before she grew up and realized that their happiness was only a façade serving her father's limitless ambitions. Still, she yearned for that love and togetherness, convinced it had to exist somewhere.

  “Welcome to my humble abode.” She walked up to him, rose on the tip of her toes both hands on his broad shoulders, and planted a light kiss on his lips, like in a late-second-millennium sitcom.

  He grabbed her waist in a tight grip and sealed her lips, holding her head as he deepened the kiss, soft but demanding, tentative yet persistent. His light exploration sent whirls of tingles all the way to her curling toes. She molded her body against his, acutely aware of his growing desire.

  His possessive behavior thrilled and scared her at the same time. Reeling in his embrace, Trixie didn't care about anything else, enjoying every second of their intimate contact.

  Then he released her and stared into her eyes at arm's length. “I've been imagining this moment since the day I first met you.”

  She couldn't help a delighted smile. So, he'd liked her all along. “I hope you are hungry.”

  “More than you can imagine.” His soft brown eyes stared at her another second, as if to make sure she caught his meaning, then he broke contact.

  She stepped back, needing some distance from his intense heat, and went to retrieve the plates from the fire shelf, with bunched up rags to avoid burning her fingers. She deposited the steaming dishes upon the rough-hewn table. “It's only the regular fare, but at least it's hot.”

  Kostas sat, snatched the warm roll from his plate, opened it with strong fingers and smelled the soft part with gusto. “I sure hope the bread from McLure's hybrid grain next summer smells as good as this.”

  Reminded of his enhanced senses, Trixie wondered how it would affect their lovemaking. Easy, girl. You are not there yet.

  She set on the table a small dish with a cube of butter. “I had to pull rank with the ship's cook, but I was able to snatch this treat.”

  “Butter?” he considered her with mild surprise in his face. “I didn't know we had any real butter.”

  “Officially we don't, but I happen to know the head cook very well.”

  He smiled devilishly as he buttered his bread. “Should I be jealous?”

  Flattered by his reaction, Trixie chuckled. “The cook is a woman. Fedora can't wait until she can prepare fresh food... it will take months before that happens.”

  “We'll get there.” Kostas attacked the stew with his wooden spoon, making appreciative sounds. He certainly had a soldier's appetite. He glanced up from his plate. “Autonomy was the purpose of the Noah’s Ark Project all along.”

  “True.” Trixie tasted her food. Although satisfying, the simple fare was far from a fancy dinner. “But we've lost so much equipment with the ship. Starting from scratch without any sophisticated machinery is going to be a challenge.”

  “Going back to basics is not so bad. I enjoy making swords and bokkens.” His calloused hand reached across the table to cover hers.

  Trixie shivered at his warm contact. “But you carved the bokkens with a laser. Soon these tools will run out of power. We'll need old-fashioned hand tools.”

  Kostas nodded. “Shovels, axes, hammers, chisels... I'll have to search for more metal scattered by the explosion of the ship.”

  “And what happens when that runs out? We'll mine ore for our own needs?”

  Kostas shrugged. “There must be simple metals as well in these mountains.”

  Trixie wasn't looking forward to that. “I can understand why Cheng and Tom are still desperately hanging on to what's left of our technology. They'd feel lost without it.”

  “They will adapt, eventually.” Kostas removed his hand from hers. “But they are gravely mistaken if they think the Godds will help us maintain our remnants of civilization.”

  “Maybe they will surprise us in a good way.” Trixie believed in the power of positive thinking, although, lately, it hadn't worked that well.

  Kostas shook his head. “The amenities they provided so far are barely adequate. Oil lamps... firewood. Rudimentary lodgings. Basic weather.”

  Trixie rose, gathered the empty plates, and took them to the stone basin. “So much to organize and prepare, before the last vestiges of technology disappear from our lives. I wonder how we'll survive on what we can produce by hand.”

  “Relax. The settlers are farmers and craftsmen. Even without their favorite machines, they know raw materials, they know the crops, and they know cattle. Each of them is an expert in a particular trade.”

  “I know that.” She brushed his arm as she poured the strong kawa into the mugs, enjoying his brief contact, then she set the pot on the table and sat next to him on the bench, relishing the heat of his thigh against hers.

  Kostas wrapped his hands around the steaming mug. “They trust you to lead them and me to protect them. We should trust them to do their job.”

  Trixie smiled, slightly embarrassed that he'd seen right through her trust issues. “Yes, I
have to learn to trust again. Since I realized the Godds brought us here to exploit us, my faith in the benevolence of the universe is a little shaken. I worry, but it's because I care.”

  “I know.” He leaned and kissed her brow softly.

  Warming under his touch, she eased closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. “Let's talk about you, about Greece, about your life until now. We hardly know anything about each other.”

  He cleared his throat. She looked up and noticed that his face sobered, almost grave. His jaw tightened and his eyes regarded her with dark purpose. “I have a better idea.”

  When he slid his large hand under her uniform jacket and kneaded her shoulder, Trixie felt suddenly warm. Her cheeks flushed as if she stood above the fire. His obvious desire ignited hers, and she didn't mind skipping the conversation. There would be time enough to know each other later. For now, she only wanted to feel his skin against hers.

  The jacket slid off her shoulders and he picked her up and carried her toward the alcove. When he deposited her on the bed, far from feeling the chill of the room, she found herself burning with fever... a delicious Kostas fever.

  Chapter Ten

  Kostas fever indeed. Trixie's heart beat double-time as she watched him straighten and unbuckle his utility belt. Towering over her, Kostas hung his belt on a hook above the bed, where a headboard should be. At least he hadn't brought a sword, but he always wore at least one phase gun, and a variety of useful hardware besides his radio.

  He offered an apologetic smile. “I wouldn't want to hurt you. It's easy to fire by mistake in close contact wrestling.”

  “Wrestling? That's what you call it?” Trixie smiled. His coveting gaze loosened her inhibitions like a strong, intoxicating wine. “I bet I can get your primary weapon to fire against your will.”

  “Problem is... I'm willing.” He chuckled and dropped on the bed to remove his boots... both equipped with a dagger sheath. “I saw an avenging angel in you the first time we met. But you are gravely mistaken. Soldiers have both endurance and self-control.”