Gundar

by Loretta Johns

  Darla exited the sleeping area. Looking past her, he could see similar touches had been added to the room, this time in a soft blue that reminded him of the lake he and his brothers had splashed about in as younglings. She stood in the open doorway, saying nothing and biting her lip. Gundar cleared his throat.

  “It looks... pleasing. And comfortable,” he said. He hoped he didn’t sound condescending. Judging by the way her face and eyes seemed to light up from within and the shy smile that curved her mouth upwards, he’d said the right thing.

  “I am so glad you like it! I was afraid I’d done too much, especially all at once. Xero was such a huge help!”

  “Xero?”

  “Yes, Commander?” Xeranos responded. Gundar’s confusion cleared. His mate had nicknamed the ship’s AI.

  “Nothing. I was just surprised at the nickname.”

  “She insisted my full name was a mouthful and pointed out that younglings would have trouble pronouncing it. My fellow ship’s AI tell me this has been their experience, and that they too, have allowed the use of nicknames.” Xero sounded a bit defensive, Gundar decided.

  “It is a good name,” he reassured the AI.

  “Thank you, Commander,” Xero responded.

  Darla giggled at the exchange, then looked thoughtful. “I also ordered some clothes.”

  Gundar nodded. “I hope you found everything you needed.” The ships’ stores had contracted with human suppliers who had promised to ensure that this would be so.

  “Well, about that...ummm...” She looked uncomfortable. This wouldn’t do. Gundar cursed at himself. Of course she felt defensive. He was still standing just inside the doorway, in his uniform. He must look tense and ill at ease and it was affected her. He loosened his top two buttons and walked over to the couch, making sure to relax his posture and expression. Darla moved from the sleeping area’s doorway to the chair across from the sofa. “I know not all of the brides will be from lower income brackets like me, so might be used to fancier clothes, but I gotta tell you, y’all have a lot, and a do mean a lot, or super expensive clothes on offer. Like, jeans that cost five times as much as normal because it has a fancy name on the label. I could understand it if it was a suit or a dress for a big gala or something really red carpet, but not for everyday stuff to wear.”

  Gundar leaned back, his eyes narrowing. No one had mentioned this to him before. The fleet had trusted their suppliers to procure clothing the average citizen would need, special occasion wear could be requested as needed. This sounded as if their suppliers were taking advantage. “Thank you for informing me. I will speak to the supply officer and have him look at this very carefully.”

  “Okay, good. I didn’t mean to tattle on anybody, it’s just I had a hard time finding normal stuff, you know?”

  Tattle? “What is this ‘tattle’?” he asked.

  She flushed. “It means to tell on somebody, to be a snitch. It’s not considered a good thing to be a tattle tale.”

  Gundar filed that away. Such peculiar terms. Why do they not just say what they mean without having so many ways to say it in the same language? “If the fleet is being sold overpriced goods, and in such bulk, you have done an honorable thing. Even the Mylos do not have a bottomless well to pull funds from. Also, there is the wrongness of being overcharged and sold overly expensive things.”

  She nodded. “Exactly. I did find some ordinary, middle of the road brands, so I got those. They’ll be decent quality without being overpriced, anything cheaper wouldn’t last as long, to be honest.” Darla thought back to the pair of jeans she’d had to throw out just the week before. A hole had appeared right by the crotch seam and widened exponentially after a second wash. She’s only worn them after school when not working and they’d not even lasted a year, unlike the pair of Wranglers her grandmother had gotten her for her birthday the year before. Those were perfect, having broken in to fit her just right and go soft in all the right ways without fraying or coming apart in the wash. She sighed. They were her favorite pair of jeans and she’d probably never see them again.

  Gundar looked at her with concern. Darla waved a hand in front of her face. “Don’t mind me. I’m just thinking about some of the things I’ll never see again.”

  Gundar nodded. “I understand. Change always requires an adjustment.” He stood. “I will shower, then prepare our evening meal.”

  “I hope you are getting dressed before doing that,” Darla quipped.

  “I plan to disrobe first though I will indeed redress myself before preparing the meal. Things best left protected from heat might get damaged otherwise,” he replied, giving her a serious sidelong glance. His mouth quirked at one corner and Darla realized he’d attempted a joke.

  “Why, Commander Gundar, did you just jest?” she said, widening her eyes in an exaggerated manner and placing a hand on her heart.

  “Now why would I do that?” he called over his shoulder, from the sleeping area. “No one likes his reproductives organs charred.” He disappeared into the bathroom. Darla gave a snort. It looked like the commander of the fleet wasn’t such a big stick in the mud after all.

  Chapter Nine: Gundar

  Gundar felt the hot water start to loosen his muscles. He hadn’t realized just how tense he was until that moment. It was no wonder, really. He’d felt as if he’d been walking along a crumbling cliff’s edge ever since he the communication came in about his mate. He’d never expected to be matched. Sure, Command had his and everyone else in his fleet group in their database but he’d been told that his ship would be the last ship to be submitted for matching. He’d sent a query in regards to that. He needed to know if he should expect more matches amongst his ship’s crew. If so, there were changes to be made.

  He bent his head down and rolled it from side to side, luxuriating in the way the heat unkinked his neck muscles. Speaking of changes, once he got out of the shower, he had to dress and face his own mate once more. A mate that had never expected to be here either and who had only applied as a means to fund her education. He understood nineteen was only a year past majority in the region his mate was from. She seemed level-headed and mature for her age, so he hoped they could come to an agreement about how to move forward. And move forward they must, and not merely because she’d signed a binding contract. No, much more was at stake here. He sighed in frustration, reaching for the soap. Lathering his arms, he gave a small grimace. His scales were becoming more prominent. His body had recognized her as his mate and gone into courtship display mode. The scales would continue to rise then begin to change color, adding hues designed to catch the eye of his intended. There was no way to stop it beyond cementing their mate bond. Failure was not an option, as once his display plumage was complete, the mating pheromones only gave him a short window to mate or to die.

  Something not in the brochures, he told himself sardonically. He rinsed off and stepped out of the shower. Toweling off, he walked into the sleeping area. Only one bed. I doubt she’s ready for us to cement our bond and sleeping next to her and breathing her scent in so deeply will only accelerate the courtship process. He reached into his closet and pulled out a clean set of clothes and a light blanket. The couch it is for me, then, unless she agrees otherwise. He placed the blanket on the end of the bed and grabbed one of the pillows, placing it on top of the blanket. He then dressed hurriedly, knowing he had a hungry mate to feed and feeling the courtship drive to show off his ability to provide.

  Padding barefoot to the door, he paused for a moment to collect himself. This was their first main meal together and would set the tone for their future as they talked over their meal. He hoped she would find the meal he provided pleasing and that her rational behavior would continue so that they could talk reasonably and plan their immediate future. Certain that he had found his center of calm and was ready to take the step through the door that led to so much promise, he palmed the door open.

  Darla sat watching a human show on the view screen, perched on a stool from t
he dining area.

  “Is the chair not to your liking?” he asked.

  Darla paused the program she was watching. “It is, it’s so nice and big and comfy. It’s just facing the wrong way, and it’s heavy, so I didn’t want to try to move it,” she explained.

  “Xeranos, please orient chair to main view screen,” Gundar requested. Darla gaped as the chair swiveled itself to the desired position. “It has a swivel mechanism that can either be handled manually by reaching underneath on the side to operate the release, enabling you to turn the chair by hand, or, you can simply ask Xeranos.”

  “Smart furniture,” she said in awe. “Is the sofa like that too?”

  Gundar gave a small frown. “It does not think for itself, no. And also no in response to the sofa. It would not have room to pivot without striking the walls and tables.”

  Darla laughed. “I didn’t mean smart as in sentient. It’s a term we use back on Earth to describe networked things. We have basic AI’s too, like Siri and Alexa. Lots of people have home security systems, TVs, phones, lights, and appliances networked to them so they can just ask Alexa to turn them off and on, change the TV channel, play music they want to hear, and even order pizza for them and stuff like that.”

  Gundar’s puzzled frown eased. “Then yes, it is a ‘smart’ chair. The lights, chiller, and cooking appliance are also ‘smart’.”

  “And the bathroom,” she laughed.

  “And the bathroom,” he replied, smiling. “I will go prepare our meal now. You may return to your viewing, I am sorry to have interrupted.”

  Darla rose from the stool. “I think I’ll use the super comfy chair you so graciously rearranged for me.” She reached for the stool. “I’ll just put this back first. And Xero?”

  “Yes, Darla?” The AI replied.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the chair?”

  “You didn’t ask, Darla.”

  “Right.” Smart ass computer. Darla returned the stool to the counter. Watching as Gundar began pulling utensils from cupboards, she asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He turned to look at her over his shoulder. “No. When I have more time, I’ll show you how to use the cooking facilities and share some of my favorite recipes with you. You can also share some of yours, then. In two days time, I have a scheduled day off. Perhaps then?”

  She nodded in response. “Sounds good to me.” She wandered back to living area and moments later he heard the sounds of her program as she resumed watching it. He tuned it out as he tapped a view screen built into the front of the chiller unit. “Xeranos,” he said softly. “Please match food in the chiller unit and cabinetry to recipes from the region Darla is from.”

  “Please refine the parameters for ‘region’. Humans group their regions by continent, country, and locales.”

  “By locale, please.”

  “I have found fifteen thousand and twenty-seven recipes via their internet. Most seem to be variations of the same meal. Collating to the simplest and highest satisfaction rating from users. Now rearranging into common meal groupings. “The screen began displaying a list of meals, along with photos. Gundar looked at the first one.

  “This sweet tea, does it require any particular type of tea? We have green tea and something called orange pekoe.”

  “Orange pekoe is commonly used, but I am also seeing that eateries also sell iced green teas.”

  Gundar decided to use the orange pekoe. The directions were simple enough and once mixed, he set the jug to chill. Next came the preparation for the main course, something called chicken and dumplings. It looked like a hearty stew of some kind and decidedly filling. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to also prepare a dessert. If they were too full to eat it immediately, they could always have it later for a snack. He looked over the ingredients list and instructions, tied on an apron, and prepared for battle.

  Chapter Ten: Darla

  Darla hoped he hadn’t thought that what she was watching too childish just because it was animated. She’d found they had the full collection of Studio Ghibli films in their library and she simply couldn’t pass up watching My Neighbors the Yamadas. She found herself laughing as the family realized they’d gotten in the car to go home and had forgotten one of their members at the department store. She laughed again as the grandmother took on some local youths wreaking havoc through the neighborhood with their motor bikes.

  “You tell 'em, Shige!” she giggled.

  When the film ended, she became aware that delicious smells had begun teasing her. She got up to investigate. Gundar stood over a stockpot, holding a spoon in his hand and peering inside it as if he would attack it if it did not do as he ordered. She blinked. He was wearing an apron. She grinned. He looked cute, she decided.

  Big, bad ass warrior cooking in the kitchen, wearing an apron. Awww...

  He became aware of her presence and turned slightly in order to face her. “It will be another half hour or so,” he informed her.

  “Okay. Mind if I grab a cold drink and go watch something else? I don’t want to get in your way.”

  “I have made sweet tea, would you care to try it?” he offered.

  “Yeah, sure. That sounds great, thanks.” Darla watched as he placed the spoon down on a spoon rest on the counter, got out a glass, and then opened the chiller unit. He placed an opaque jug on the counter before picking up her glass once more and filling it halfway with ice cubes from a dispenser set in the wall. The liquid he poured out from the jug over the ice cubes certainly looked like what she expected and when he handed her the glass and she took a sip, she nodded. “It’s good, thanks.”

  There was no other word for it. Gundar positively preened at her words, the scale like pattern of skin along his neck suddenly looking more prominent, a rich opalescent blue now glittering at the edges. Wow. Wonder what that’s about. Does this mean he’s happy? She smiled at him over the rim of her glass before taking another sip and walking back to her seat.

  Half an hour, huh? So, something short. Calling up the on-screen catalogue, she asked Xero to filter by genre and length. Spying a vintage comedy she recalled having been made into a feature film she’d seen on network TV one Friday night, she opted to give it a go. Soon, the theme song from Get Smart filled the room. Less than five minutes into the show, she became acutely aware that it was much better than the big screen adaptation done decades later. She settled into her chair, turning almost sideways and putting her legs over an arm of the chair.

  The program had just ended as Gundar began to place dishes and cutlery out onto the breakfast bar. Darla got up, turned off the view screen, and sat herself onto a stool. “Now that’s what I call timing,” she said.

  “It all came together within the desired time span, yes. I simply hope the flavors did as well,” he replied.

  Darla glanced down at the large, shallow bowl before her. “Is this chicken and dumplings?” she asked.

  “It is supposed to be,” he admitted.

  “I love chicken and dumplings!”

  Gundar filled their glasses with tea and took his seat. “Then I hope this meets with your approval.” He watched as she picked up her spoon and scooped up some of the stew. She blew on it gently before taking a taste. She closed her eyes. “Mmmph. This is good. Almost as good as my mama’s,” she praised him. Yep, definitely from him being happy, she decided, noticing the scales flaring once more.

  “Perhaps once the adjustment period is over, your mother can share with me on how to improve this dish,” he suggested.

  “I bet she would, and all,” Darla declared.

  They ate in companionable silence for several minutes before Gundar spoke once more. “We need to talk over matters.”

  Darla’s spoon paused in mid-air. She stared down at it and her cheeks reddened. She had a pretty good idea where this conversation was headed. She licked her lips nervously. “Uh, yeah. So, the wedding... we will be having a wedding, right?”

  “It is not the way of the Mylos and man
y of the other cultures we have taken mates from, but many Mylos have gone through the traditional mating ceremonies of their brides’ cultures. I have signed off on several such celebrations myself and have no objection to participating in one if you so wish.”