Arrival

by Michelle Robbins

  Smiles of acceptance and affection showed up throughout the cabal with breathtaking naturalness. What he witnessed now—the quick kiss, a brush of a hand on a cheek or neck, affectionate teasing between squad members—were testament to the efforts these people had taken to make their guests feel comfortable. The need for restraint no longer existed.

  The volunteers who qualified and had chosen to stay, all fifteen of them, had found and bonded with a Urilqii soldier. They could be seen engaging in some of the public displays of affection.

  When he climbed into the ship and strapped into the seat, he caught sight of a playful hip bump between two Urilqiis who’d followed him aboard. Liam tugged on his helmet and buckled the chinstrap while watching one of them climb inside. The morning’s light brightened the portside windows.

  The guy strapped into the nearest empty seat, which happened to be beside the door, and tugged his own helmet over his head.

  Liam recognized him as Ed, one of the tank mechanics. His partner, who Liam didn’t know, gave a wave before he slammed closed the door. That dude was briefly visible in the window as he headed away from the launch pad and toward his own duty station.

  The sound of the engines increased in pitch and the ship rose into the sky. The craft banked to the southeast and headed away from Portland. Liam knew six other identical ships were on the same path toward Fields, Oregon.

  “His name on this planet is Adam,” said Ed, smiling at Liam.

  “He’s a mechanic, like me.”

  Jeez, am I that obvious? Well, duh, the guy had probably heard his thoughts due to that mind-link thing. Liam decided he didn’t mind and smiled back.

  “Command won’t let you two on the same team?” he joked.

  “Good sex too much of a temptation?”

  Ed’s laughter was a cheerful rumble.

  “Too right, but no,” he said. “I volunteered for this section. The idea of modifying your tanks to fight beneath your planet’s crust was too interesting to pass by.”

  “Adam didn’t volunteer?”

  “The thought of going underground gives him the sweats.”

  Everyone inside the cabin laughed, including Liam.

  The ride wasn’t a long one due to the technology in use, and soon enough the ships began a careful circle of the landing area before they began a vertical drop. Liam saw a herd of pronghorns dart away in a mob of browns, russets, and sparkling white rumps.

  The ships came to rest amid clouds of dust, erasing any view other than shades of biscuit and gray. The engine sounds diminished to an idle, which was the cue to exit. He pulled off the helmet, hung it by its straps on an armrest, and disengaged the buckles on the seat.

  When the side door opened, allowing the dust storm of their landing into the cabin, he stood and headed for the exit. His boots hit the ground and he let out a relieved breath. He understood Adam’s unease with belowground. After all, he wasn’t all that comfortable with his boots unattached to the ground, so who was he to judge?

  “Fall in,” somebody bellowed, probably Sergeant Dylan.

  Yeah, that was something he’d better handle first thing. Best not to let an emotional injury like that fester, especially not since he had to work with the guy.

  Liam joined his squad and jogged to the group of M-series Höcker Rapid Deployment buildings. Like the rest of the platoon, Liam entered the hangar that housed the six M1A2 modified tanks and “fell in” as ordered. Sergeant Dylan passed the orders handed to him by command, answered the odd question or two, then dismissed them to get to work.

  “Alright, you’ve got your orders, so get moving,” the sergeant ordered. “Assholes and elbows, people.”

  Everyone broke for his assigned areas except Liam. Dylan was headed for another part of the building. Maybe later or handle it now?

  “Uh, Sergeant Dylan?” He called before too much distance spread between them and before he lost his nerve.

  At the summons, Dylan stopped and turned. He wasn’t pleased to see Liam’s hesitation in the face of the orders he’d just given. A frown flicked across his face before his expression smoothed into one of Politely Concerned.

  “Yes, Mr. Sinclair?”

  Liam caught himself before he shifted on his feet like a schoolboy who’d forgotten his homework. He forced steel into his spine. “Permission to speak freely?”

  Dylan reversed his path and closed the distance between them, an act that offered privacy and, for Liam, a chance to relax. If Dylan was pissed at him, then he wouldn’t be willing to get close, right?

  Sergeant Dylan came to a stop within arm’s reach and tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. “What’s on your mind?”

  Dylan didn’t send angry signals. In fact, he radiated only mild, respectful curiosity. Still… Liam untangled his tongue and went for it.

  “About last night.” Ah, hell, how many crappy discussions had started out with those exact words? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  Well, yeah, he had refused the sergeant’s offer in lieu of Mike’s.

  “I-I-I, uh, I don’t know what to say. But I feel I should apologize.”

  A myriad of emotions flickered across Liam’s skin like a sharp wind. Shock, confusion, puzzlement. Before he could think about the confusion, his sergeant clapped one of Liam’s shoulders with a power that rocked him on his feet.

  He staggered, and it was only Dylan’s gentled grip that saved him from falling onto his ass. Dylan’s next words, however, were on the original subject.

  “Liam,” he said, “like I told you last night, there’s no shame in any step of the learning process. You chose Mike, and judging by the blinding colors you two generated, you made the right choice.”

  Colors? The colors said something about the binding?

  He had other things to talk about.

  “You looked pissed last night.” When one of Dylan’s eyebrows lifted across his forehead, Liam rushed a rueful, “Just saying.”

  Indignation filled the energy between them. “That’s because he tossed me. Sure, I wasn’t at risk of taking any damage, but that’s not the point. The fucker tossed me.”

  “Well, I’m told he is a competitive ass clown.” Oh, shit! Maybe he shouldn’t have said that while on duty.

  Dylan’s hand moved from his shoulder to cup the back of his neck. With a gentle squeeze, the sergeant leaned close.

  “The truth is,” Dylan murmured, “you’re an amazing addition to the cabal. We are lucky to have you. But most of all”—he paused, as if to make sure Liam was paying attention— “you gave us back something equally precious. You gave us back our Mike.”

  Humbled by the sincerity and the statement, Liam blinked against threatening tears. Christ! Man up, for fuck’s sake.

  Dylan stepped back, dropping his hand as he did so.

  “Dismissed, Mr. Sinclair.” The blade’s edge of command had returned to his voice. “Your team’s waiting at the Abrams.”

  Liam looked and, yep, his team relaxed on the turret bucket, watching his private conversation without the slightest hint of embarrassment. In fact, his gunner offered a shit-kicking grin.

  Of course they would be waiting, he reminded himself. He was the damned tank commander after all. Yet here he was, standing around like a punk and trying not to cry. Damn it!

  He tossed a fast, “Yes, Sergeant. Thank you, Sergeant,” over his shoulder as he bolted across the cement floor. He arrived at his tank and hauled himself onto the earth-colored, seventy-tons of death amid a chorus of dick-centric humor. Fuckers.

  “Get your asses inside,” he ordered on a grumble.

  Then he followed them through the loading portal and into the belly of the beast.

  * * *

  That evening, an informal and festive get-together happened at the reception hall. Liam had spent the day focused on the job at hand, ensuring the health and welfare of his tank team with the skills of a man at home on and in his planet. Back on base, however, the pinch of Mike’s absence became notic
eable.

  After dinner was over, everyone clustered around bars of munchies and drinks. They hung out around game tables and relaxed on furniture sectionals in front of entertainment units.

  The newly-bonded Urilqii were determined to display the fresh tattoos of dark lettering on their left forearms, markings that displayed names of their human adnama and yesterday’s date.

  Laughter and cheers erupted with each presentation of the lettering to any new observer. Their human partners smiled with each congratulations and promised they’d “soon” be wearing ink to celebrate their bonding.

  Left forearm. Hmm…

  Mike had reacted to his touch in that area like he’d burned it.

  But that had been before they’d bonded. If that was the place where adnama names and dates were memorialized, then that would have a constant reminder of Mike’s loss.

  No wonder the guy had flinched.

  Liam recognized he was one of the few who didn’t have an affectionate partner at his side, but didn’t let it bother him. That, however, changed the moment command staff arrived.

  Wherever they had been, everyone was back on base now.

  They connected with their partners, those that’d been separated by the day’s activities, and parked themselves alongside the rest of the cabal.

  Liam waited and kept an eye out for Mike…and waited…and waited. Gradually, an unavoidable reality covered him like a dark fog. Mike was on base. Command staff had returned so, of course, Mike had, which meant he’d opted out of the party.

  Mike’s absence was noted, as was Liam’s solitude. Shame slid across him like a landslide. He closed off. In the space of twenty-four hours, he’d transformed from desired and fought over, well-fucked and happy as shit, a valuable inclusion to the family, into “That Guy” again.

  That Guy who was stood up at the party or dined alone.

  That Guy whose bonded partner ditched him.

  Liam’s stomach clenched. Ditched. Blown off. Pissed away.

  A migraine threatened his temples. His heart died a little with every beat. Hell, even the command personnel were glancing his way now. Curiosity…concern…shit, he wasn’t going to be the resident sideshow freak.

  Fuck them and fuck Mike.

  He stood and made his goodbyes. The polite smile he’d pasted onto his face felt like a full-face rubber mask by the time he made his exit.

  The trip to his barracks was uneventful, made even easier by a ride he hitched from some troopers on their way to the gun range for an evening drill. Enduring the celebratory greetings and thumps on his shoulders and back was helluva of a downer, though.

  He managed to fool everyone and bailed out of the wheeled troop carrier when it came abreast of his building. He made it inside without a problem and came fact-to-face with his isolation.

  This morning, the emptiness in the barracks was nothing but odd.

  Now, however, it was soul killing. No voices, no laughter, no bitching and moaning, no friendly wrestling matches and no Mike.

  No…please…

  Desperate, clutching at a threadbare hope, Liam examined his bunk, dresser and the surrounding floor in hopes that another note had been left by his absent partner. An explanation would have helped. Foolish as it might have been, he would have clung to it.

  Just something from the guy would have helped.

  Nothing.

  He opened the bedside computer terminal and signed onto the message center with another flutter of hope in his heart.

  Nothing.

  Liam fell backward onto his bunk. What was going on? Why not send a message? Mike was the first sergeant, for fuck’s sake.

  He had the necessary privileges to send a note to…to… Hell, he could say it. He could send a message to his adnama, couldn’t he?

  Was he in a communication blackout or something?

  Aware he was brooding like a lovesick teenager, he pulled the earlier note from his pocket. He caressed it, as if trying to create a tactile connection to his lover, then flipped it open.

  Thank you, Liam, for all that you are.

  Understanding hit like a brick to the head. Mike had broken up with him. Liam’s voice echoed through the lonely barracks as a heartbroken howl.

  CHAPTER 15

  Mike was in his chair while the morale officer worked his artistic craft on the skin of his forearm. Beneath Arvidnan’s name, the date they’d bonded and the painful end date, Liam’s name and yesterday’s date was being etched on his skin. It was almost done, so Mike expected to be dismissed soon to go and enjoy the ongoing festivities.

  The writing on his arm was not simply a decoration; it was a pledge. It was a promise. It was his right and his honor to bear Liam’s name.

  He’d been in the chair for some time, and he’d been witness to Liam’s slowly escalating anxiety. Why hadn’t his adnama reached out to him? He hadn’t, so Mike could only conclude that Liam preferred to handle whatever it was on his own.

  Liam’s mental shriek yanked Mike from his conclusions. He jumped in his seat, sending the small, metallic tools into a chaotic dance.

  “What the fuck?” he blurted.

  The artist at his arm was equally shocked. He gazed at Mike with widened eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m about to find out,” Mike answered.

  He glanced at his arm, confined beneath the small dome that prevented infection. The morale officer flowed his gaze. A thought must have broken the technician’s temporary paralysis.

  He grabbed for a tube of sterilization gel and smeared it onto the area.

  An impatient sound rumbled from Mike’s chest.

  “I’m hurrying. I’m hurrying.”

  Finished, the morale technician flicked closed the tube and went to work turning off and removing the sanitization shield.

  A hiss of pressurized and sterilized air prefaced the nearly inaudible hum of the medical canopy retracting into its sleeve, and Mike was free. He shook out his arm muscles, cramped by the position they’d held for a time, and headed for the exit.

  He did remember to grunt, “Thanks,” over his shoulder, but he didn’t remember to retrieve his shirt. That oversight was corrected when it slapped against the back of his head.

  He ducked and grabbed. The frown he sent back into the room should have blistered the walls. The technician, who’d thrown the garment, laughed.

  Mike hurried outside the office complex and trotted to his hover-bike. He threw a leg over the frame, set the autopilot’s directional locater for Liam’s identification code, and steered for his quarters.

  The urge to open the throttle to maximum tempted him, but Mike controlled himself. Instead, he used the time spent on his journey across base to study the situation. He didn’t reach into Liam’s mind to ask, “What’s up” because Liam had retreated behind a wall.

  Privacy to deal with his concern was how Mike understood it.

  He’d respected the silent request, although he would have much preferred Liam share his concerns. But, if he were any judge of the wave of pain blasted through the cabal, it was way past time they talked.

  Mike was surprised when the autopilot warned him of an upcoming turn. That was the direction toward the barracks, not toward the festivities. What? Why? And why the barracks? Hadn’t Liam moved his belongings into their quarters? He turned the hoverbike and accelerated toward the icon.

  Mike brought the bike in for a landing before the clear entrance doors and kicked down the parking support. He sat there for a moment and traced the threads of the knot.

  Liam’s rising anxiety. Liam’s silence. Liam’s pain. Questions that added up to something, and that something wasn’t good. He reflected on his past actions and cursed himself. Was it possible to repair the damage he’d inflicted?

  I’d better get busy trying.

  Mike dismounted, headed into the building and stopped. Inside was cold. Barren. Like the shell of the man he’d been for so long.

  Unsure of where to go, he stood at the
entryway. Should he head for the bunks or for the communal area?

  “Liam?”

  His voice echoed. No response came from the call. No sounds from the entertainment unit in the shared area either. Mike headed for the bunks. He pushed open the doors to the cavernous room and discovered emptiness.

  Barren three-drawer dressers stood beside each bunk, as though keeping watch in the Spartan area. A double row of mattresses and metallic frames marched down the length of the hall. Only one set showed signs of life with a rumpled blanket, a dented pillow, and a pile of discarded clothing.

  Mike headed over. He snagged a desert-colored T-shirt from the floor and brought it to his nose. Liam’s scent. His heartbeat doubled its tempo, his blood surged with the sound of a wind in his ears, and his dick lurched. It surged and thickened against his pants until the fastenings bit into the sensitive flesh.

  His adnama, hurting and confused.

  Distress lashed him. Where was Liam?

  He cast around him for an answer to his question. The hiss of running water caught his attention. The showers? An image of Liam wet and soapy flickered in his imagination. He swallowed drool.

  It didn’t escape him that his would be the—what?—third discussion he’d had with him clothed and Liam naked. A pattern developed, no? They’d probably better figure out how to have a conversation without Liam’s nakedness, although Mike wasn’t opposed to a naked Liam.

  He dropped the garment back to the floor and managed two steps toward the showers before his attention was snagged by the sight of something odd among the folds of the blanket.

  White. Pieces. Torn from the whole. Writing on one side…his.

  Liam had torn the note he’d left him? Why? Suddenly, understanding landed in his thick skull. Liam had lost confidence in them? Why the… Suddenly he understood that also.

  Absence the day after bonding wasn’t the norm because it often created unease in the newly-bonded couple. Unfortunately, the Targolt’s proximity had required an emergency trans-cabal conference. He’d been pulled into it because he was his people’s “patient zero” when it came to Project Embedment.