Arrival

by Michelle Robbins

  “A beautiful blend,” the Envoy finished.

  Since he couldn’t come up with anything to say that wouldn’t get his ass stuck in the brig for an evening, he locked his jaw shut and rolled out of the bed to straighten to his full height. When he caught sight of the sad state of his clothing, the dirty and winkled trousers and the fact he was missing his shirt, he couldn’t help but wince.

  Out of regs and in front of the commander. What else could go wrong with his morning?

  ::Get cleaned up and get to your post.::

  ::Yes, sir.::

  The three left Mike to do as ordered, which he did. He stripped as he lunged for the bathroom and the shower, fast and cold, followed by the decontamination gel that made him itch. Dammit!

  Dressed and polished as much as was required for a day driving a desk, Mike opened the throttle of his single-unit transport and blasted his way across base to his office.

  Arrival. Greetings. Ignore the chuckles and winks. Dive into the job. A summary of the changes he’d missed while on his ass in bed was more shit onto an already crappy morning.

  Steve had accompanied the deployment of the selected liquid team personnel to assist the cabal already embedded onto Kiribati.

  That entire nation teetered on the edge of destruction due to Earth’s climate change. If the Targolt had their way, it wouldn’t be the last. But why had his pod-kin accompanied the selected teams?

  Orders, it seemed, and he found the information after a brief search of his electronic messages. Steve was there to “facilitate the adjustment.” Another one of the Envoy’s manipulations? Even if it was, there wasn’t anything Mike could do about it.

  Steve was scheduled to return by the end of this week to resume control of what remained of the liquid team in the Portland area. Until then, Mike was a master sergeant down and someone had to step into the vacated position to ensure continued cohesion.

  He, Mike, was expected to watch over the man placed into that position. “Make it a training opportunity” was the suggestion.

  Oh, and Liam had been released from medical and was cleared for duty. The expected day to report for duty with the tanker teams was Tuesday morning.

  * * *

  The daily report crossed Mike’s desk late Tuesday afternoon.

  Steve and his team were engaged in conducting experiments alongside the other cabal. Of immediate concern was the water creep and the expanding dead zone.

  Targolt molts, described by the natives in the area as “by the wind sailors” had been located washed up on beaches. They followed the path of documented oceanic currents, so nothing unexpected there, other than the unwelcome arrival of the “sailors.”

  He considered the local’s name for the molts while examining the images saved onto the global information reserve. It was an attractive, somewhat poetic moniker for the little bits of organic flotsam that littered their shores.

  Liam had reported for duty, as expected. His presence delivered an instant change to the paradigm, as well as immediate changes to the equipment. According to the report, Liam had stipulated “minimal” damage to the terrain as well as “reparations” behind the vehicle as it moved through the soil. At top of those expectations, Liam demanded a “critter alarm,” which would precede the tanks. Why? “They live on this planet, too. They deserve a chance to get clear and to come back home after we leave.”

  Mike smiled when he read that. That sounded like Liam, and he had a point. What was the use of leaving devastation in the wake of their efforts to ensure a viable ecosystem for all life? That made no sense.

  The final lines of the report contained a personal note from the sergeant who steered that squad. He offered a thank you for allowing Liam’s transfer into the team. That should have made Mike happy.

  It didn’t.

  * * *

  Wednesday’s daily report was interesting.

  Exploration by the liquid teams had uncovered migration paths of the Targolt by the number of “sailors” discovered on local shores. Beached, they are casualties of Targolt migration. It wasn’t an unknown event. Even baby birds fall out of nests. The line of tiny blue “sailors” on the shores was clear evidence of Targolt advancement. Some of the things escaped death-by-beaching, but there was no doubt others survived the migratory effort and species expansion.

  Oceanic creep besieged the low-lying archipelago with devastating high tides. Current strategy to save the land base was to plan and implement “lily pads” to protect and reinforce available land for the populace.

  An interesting idea, Mike thought. He envisioned a future tourism boom from possible Urilqii-engineered hotels, especially if they happened to remain submerged beyond the Targolt assault.

  Even he might be interested in booking a room if that was the case.

  In more interesting news from that theater, Steve and Jace had, indeed, bonded, as had other members of the E’ssennet liquid team. They were invited to join with other cabal’s bonding ceremony at the end of this week.

  Steve requested permission to remain until that ceremony concluded so his cabal members could partake. Command had signed off on that, which pushed back Steve’s return date to this base.

  The entirety of the E’ssennet cabal still on base focused on the upcoming ceremony among their ranks as well. The building and assembly of the ritual platform came with hoots of delight and boundless enthusiasm and delight. Everyone smiled and there was a bounce to their steps.

  Except in Mike’s. He ignored the construction with studied determination.

  In other news, Liam’s contribution to the tanker team was proving both extensive and valuable. He knew, he saw, he breathed the earth beneath their feet, as did the other selected human volunteers. His recommended adjustment to the tunneling tanks solved cultural concerns for both the humans and Urilqii. Sergeant Dylan expressed enjoyment felt by the entire team. Liam’s bright presence and sunny personality was a great fit.

  Mike lost his appetite.

  * * *

  The next daily report arrived late, and he soon realized why.

  Steve and his liquid teams had located the boundary of the newest Targolt activity. Yes, the dead zone was expanding and at an unwelcome rate. Considering that and the fact the mother ship daily got closer, in the liquid teams planned for contact, even as they prepared for the evening’s bonding ceremony and festival.

  Mike reached to offer a ::Good job!:: message, but discovered that his pod-kin’s mind was shuttered. He remembered that area of the globe was a day earlier. Steve must have already concluded his ritual and was deep in the bliss of the consummation.

  The privacy lock and tardy report were now explained.

  Activities within the tankers had produced much information.

  Liam had schooled the Urilqii on three-dimensional thinking as it related to the soil. Oddly enough, the tank teams needed to go nose first either up, down, or sideways. Strange, yes, but it didn’t seem to tactically interfere with the activities of the team. In fact, that oddity put the Urilqii off balance in many ways.

  Mike found himself smiling again. If it confounded his people, then it was sure to frustrate the free-floating enemy.

  There was another note from Sergeant Dylan. Liam was an asset, and the team looked forward to a long and exciting interaction with Mr. Sinclair. He’d been promoted to squad leader.

  A closer interaction could only bring rich rewards.

  Mike surged out of his seat. That fucker’s after my guy! But he caught himself. Liam wasn’t his guy. He’d made sure of that .

  Frustration and temper boiled through him. He fisted his hands and tried for control…and lost. He stormed outside his office and tossed his data unit onto the ground, then stomped the shit out of it.

  Killing the messenger, sure, and it didn’t offer any consolation.

  He stopped when his foot protested, only to realize his temper hadn’t abated. So he gathered up the remnants of the unit and limped his way past the nearly complete f
estival platform and slammed into the armory.

  He requested and received a weapon. It felt good in his hands, especially as it jumped and bucked when he emptied three magazines into the hapless data unit he’d tossed down range.

  Finally, he was cool enough to stop. The amusement of the armory personnel, witnessing what amounted to a monumental temper tantrum was unavoidable.

  Fuck ’em. Mike returned the weapon, stomped to the quartermaster’s office, requisitioned another data unit, and headed back to his office. He took his seat again.

  So Liam was connecting with another Urilqii? What had Mike expected? Wasn’t that what he wanted? Wasn’t that to be celebrated?

  He would get through this.

  * * *

  Mike spent Friday afternoon in his office, buried in his work and ignoring the sound of the festivities outside. The laughing, the singing, the summer-sweet feeling of excitement and anticipation danced on the edge of his awareness.

  He shoved it all aside and told himself he was neither jealous of, nor bitter about, the mental rapture that flowed from the newly connected couples moving through the ritual. Still, it sapped and soured his calm.

  His commander’s mind slammed into his. ::Fall in. Stat.:: The order jerked Mike from his thoughts and pushed him to his feet. He was on his way to the door, his work disregarded behind him on his desk, before he had a chance to think twice. A reality crashed over him.

  The commander had pushed him!

  How often did that happen? It didn’t. Not once a guy had graduated from basic training.

  Astonished, he asked, ::You pushed me?::

  There was no remorse, only determination.

  ::Get out here. To the platform Now.::

  Both the unusual act of the push as well as the pressure in the commander’s mental tone coaxed Mike to pick up the pace. He rushed out of his office and quick-timed it toward the platform. His cabal crowded the area, each bonded couple radiating joy and delight. At his approach the cabal shifted and parted to allow Mike to see the activity on the platform.

  Shock hit him like a punch in the chest and nearly knocked him down. Liam stood on the platform, naked and aroused.

  His hands held the handlebars. The machine blazed a bright white. His amazing mental presence washed through the crowd like an aphrodisiac.

  For fuck’s sake, Liam had put himself before the unbonded Urilqii? He’d presented himself as available and demonstrated all he had to offer to a relationship!

  Ravenous Urilqii surged closer to the platform.

  Mike spotted Sergeant Dylan, in charge of the tank team, move close to the platform, peeling off his shirt as he did to better facilitate his sex-scent into the air.

  Mike reacted in an instant. ::No fucking way!::

  CHAPTER 13

  The bonding ceremony was both fascinating and depressing.

  Liam had spent the evening watching the festivities unfold, watching others bond, wincing with each joyful union, and trying to ignore the pain in his heart.

  He stood alone in the side section where the human volunteers were seated and studied the platform, especially the handlebars.

  They were there for protection, or so he’d been told, and were critical considering the strength difference between humans and Urilqii.

  The receptive partner, in this case the human partner, would hold the bottom bars. The machine would take his readings and record it via the receptors embedded in the grips. Any hesitation or concern would be noted and reported, thus stopping the ceremony and any attempted bonding would be rendered invalid.

  The dominant partner, the one who made claim to the coupling, was subject to the same checks and protections via the sensors in the grips of the top set. But if everything was a go, then the machine would record the commitment.

  The unit’s lights documented the recording of the bonding. It sounded very mechanical and dry, but here, in front of the restless mass and to the delight of so many, it was far from dry.

  Of the volunteers, fifteen remained after “full immersion.” The ones who hadn’t “heard” the “noises” after the infusion of chemicals had been sent on their way, their memories wiped.

  “Not a good fit,” was the verdict from their mouthpiece, Robertson. He’d also added, “We thank them for the opportunity.”

  What could be said to combat that?

  That the “fit” was telepathy and a same-sex committed relationship was a topic no one spoke about off base. Probably a wise choice, he thought, considering Earth’s cultural struggles regarding same-sex relationships. But that was who their military allies were. They could not, in fact would not, work with minds that were not on their wavelength or comfortable with their social structure.

  Who could blame them?

  Liam was brought back to the here and now by another “bonding” couple who stepped up to the machine. He, like everyone else in the audience, was ready for another event.

  Yellow-white lights glared from the unit as they gripped the handles.

  Exhibitionist sex? Rock! He’d never tried it, but, in truth, it was something he’d fantasized about a time or two. What would it be like with Mike— He shoved away the thought.

  Mike had closed that door, not once, but twice. Nevertheless, Liam had been invited to stay. He’d even like to think he’d done well with his new team. The question at hand was would he submit to a bonding at this ceremony?

  The E’ssennet commander had been very clear. The Urilqii were not comfortable in sharing their weapons and their people in a blended effort unless they had a way to know the thoughts and intents of their guests.

  Liam’s first reaction had been one of indignation. ( What? The fuckers don’t trust us? ) Honesty won out, though, and he admitted the truth to himself. Humanity wasn’t well known for utilizing weaponry in a responsible manner.

  Impulse control wasn’t one of his people’s stronger character traits. The Urilquii did well to approach the situation with caution and that included requiring bonded couples.

  Speaking of that…yeah! He wasn’t gonna let Mike run him out. Fuck him. If he didn’t want Liam as a partner—the Urilqii term was adnama, he reminded himself—then Liam was free to bond with another guy who did.

  What did he have to lose? His life? Maybe, but he could also die on the battlefield to save his planet. He would die as he lived, bold and unafraid. And this was, by far, the adventure of a life.

  The guy in charge of the ceremony glanced at Liam. His eyes lingered, the question obvious. What would Liam do? Would he stay off the podium or would he take a solitary step into the unknown?

  Fuck it. Mike made his choice.

  Liam put his ass into gear and moved to the stairs. The spectators around the area fell silent. He felt their gazes and marveled at the intensity. It felt almost predatory. Fresh meat?

  He used the bottom step as a prop and bent to unlace his boots and kick his feet free, one at a time. A moment’s worry chased at his mind. He shrugged it off and climbed the three steps in his bare feet.

  Something bubbled through the air around Liam and brought goose bumps to his skin. He heard, like a wolf’s howl in the distance, the interest of the crowd shift from predatory to ravenous.

  Beneath the avid, hungry regard, he felt hot, exposed and powerful. Here, he wasn’t refused. Here, he wasn’t rejected. Here, he was desired.

  Liam marched across the platform to the middle and stopped.

  There, he let the audience take a good look at him, then began a strip-tease. He tossed aside his woodland camo battle dress uniform shirt and eased the underlying T-shirt up his body, showing off his abs and stomach, and finally, tugged it over his head.

  Nude from the waist up, he waved the light cotton over his head like a cowboy with his lasso. It went flying into the spectators. One caught it and pressed it to his nose. His audience shoved closer.

  Liam spun in a circle to show off the muscled line of his back.

  He glanced over his shoulder and drew
a figure eight with his ass.

  A low sound filled the air from multiple throats. If he didn’t misinterpret the messages in his mind, the multiple groans heralded the arrival of multiple boners.

  Oh, yeah. Fuck you, Mike.

  One guy shoved his way to the front of the pack to press himself against the supports of the platform. He recognized his new boss, Sergeant Dylan. If Liam’s intimate radar still worked, then Dylan was interested. The look in his eyes now blew away any doubt in Liam’s mind.

  Even more interesting, the guy smelled good. When he got close, and he had slipped into Liam’s bubble upon occasion, he had a scent like really fine peach schnapps. Mike had the scent of cinnamon and musk, but peach schnapps might be his new favorite drink.

  He could be flexible that way. Couldn’t he?

  Liam caught Sergeant Dylan’s gaze with his own and worked the guy’s interest with a bump-and-grind that would have sent his grandmother into a faint. He tipped his hip and displayed his ass, shifted his weight on his leg to cause the muscles to entice the guy’s eyes as they bunched and rippled.

  Dylan’s attention fell to Liam’s ass.

  His mouth parted slightly. A flush crept over his cheeks.

  Liam smiled to himself as he unbuckled his belt. Then, beneath the gaze of all of those starfire eyes, he pinched open the buttons and eased down the zipper. Without thinking about it, he reached for Dylan. Did he like what he saw?

  Leashed hunger sang between them. Desire rode a storm wind.

  Dylan wasn’t ashamed to admit what he felt. ::You have no idea what I’d do with that ass…::

  Liam tugged the pants and briefs over his hips and let them fall.

  They crumpled around his ankles and he wasn’t surprised to discover he had a helluva hard-on. Ashamed? Hell, no.

  He was on fire. He was alive.