by Eve Langlais
“Time to jump. Find a seat to strap in.”
The excuse gave her the strength to finally fling herself off him, her tender bits aching. She didn’t look back once as she stalked off.
Want him indeed. She did not have any interest in the human. None at all. She’d prove it. Despite there being seats for jumping beside him, she chose her room for the next part of the journey. Stayed there until she was hungry.
I’m hiding.
Not hiding, just staying clear of the human so she didn’t kill him.
You only want to kill him because he spoke the truth. She did feel some odd desire for him.
She ignored it. Just like she ignored him for the next several sleep rotations. She did her best to not see him, or speak to him, but failed miserably at thinking of him.
The recollection of his body pressing plagued her. Her own flesh betrayed her, yearning for something she couldn’t define.
Was her mother right when she said one day Azteriya wouldn’t be able to deny the needs of her body?
Had she waited too long to become a warrior? Would her desires now get in the way?
They’d better not because she’d not come this far to fail because of her feminine side.
She fought it, and eventually they reached their destination. The commander’s robotic voice boomed through the speaker in her room.
“Get ready, crewmember Azteriya. We are going planet side. You will provide security.”
“What of your human?” The moment she asked, she banged her forehead on the wall. Don’t show interest. She’d done so well avoiding him thus far.
“He will remain behind on the ship. Arm yourself and meet me in the airlock. We dock shortly.”
Excitement moved her into a jog to her quarters, where she hummed as she wound her many straps around her body and slid knives into them. She did not have any firing weapons. Projectiles were for those that lacked the courage and strength to fight face to face. They also could be quite dangerous on a ship. One little hole could destabilize an entire structure.
Prepared—with enough weapons to take over a small city—Azteriya made her way down to the airlock, and waited.
And waited.
Jedrek happened by and leaned against the doorway. “You’re early.”
She tried to ignore him. Ignored his tousled hair, the thick fur on his jaw, and the way his body filled out his shirt.
Why am I staring?
She looked away. “The commander said to be prepared.”
“We aren’t docking for another half-hour.”
“I will wait.”
“You seem awfully anxious.”
“I am not afraid,” she retorted.
“Never said you were, more like itching for action. I can understand that. I’ll bet you’re feeling cooped up on board.”
“The ship is rather limited when it comes to space.” Her jogging several times a cycle meant she knew every inch of the vessel. The sight of it got boring quickly.
“You know, it’s a nice planet we’re going to. They’ve got a few cities that welcome outsiders if you want to stay.”
“Your subtlety in trying to oust me has been noted, human.” She sneered. “Try to contain your jealousy that your commander has chosen me rather than you to protect him on his mission.”
He snorted. “You think I’m jealous? Have at it. I’ve got better shit to do than meet with some alien dudes and swap merchandise.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Can’t a guy pop by and wish you luck?”
“I don’t need luck.”
“Ah yes, because you have mad skills.” His tone mocked.
“You will not goad me into fighting today, human. I see what you’re doing. You wish to discredit me in front of the commander.”
“I doubt the commander would care what you did because he’s apparently a moron where you’re concerned,” he muttered.
“Your jealousy warms my blood.”
“How about you don’t spill any of that blood on the ground.”
She bared her teeth. “Your insult of my skills is noted.”
He sighed. “Must you take everything I say as a challenge?”
“Your very existence offends me.” Especially the way he invaded her dreams. Naked.
“Whatever, princess.” He strode away and left her alone again to contemplate the coming mission.
A mission she knew nothing about. It didn’t matter. The commander thought he might have need of protection, and she’d provide it.
The commander’s voice, as robotic as ever, emerged from the concealed speakers. “All crewmembers brace yourself for planetary entry.”
She sat on the bench and looped her arms through the metal brackets. There wasn’t much jostling or shaking, just a pressure in her ears that popped as soon as their trajectory smoothed. The atmosphere must have been denser than Aressotle. She’d make sure to check the breathability of the surface air.
There was a slight shudder as the ship landed, and then the constant vibration of the engines lessened as they were set to idle.
And still she waited.
She checked the landing site specifications. Heavier gravity, so everything would require more effort. Air was a little thinner on oxygen than she was used to, but her body would be fine for a while before weakening.
She read everything twice.
And waited.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. She heard the commander coming before she saw him. She stood and held herself at attention, eyes straight ahead.
The moment he entered, the top of his armored head almost touching the ceiling, she saluted him. “Commander.”
His metallic voice boomed in the small space. “Crewmember Azteriya, I see you are overly prepared.”
“I am ready to protect my commander.”
“There should be nothing to protect from. This is a simple transaction. We’re delivering the goods, and they’re paying for them. Nothing more.”
A merchant mission. She did her best to hide her distaste and not grimace. “Even the most benign of transactions can go awry. Should that happen, I will defend you.”
“How about you don’t frukx anything up. And, by that, I mean stay quiet and don’t do anything stupid. Jedrek has spoken of your headstrong attitude and violent tendencies.”
Her lip curled. “The human should keep his opinions to himself.”
“That human,” the machine generated voice managed an inflection, “has been with me longer than you. You might want to be more respectful.”
Respect a lesser being? The very idea almost made her laugh. She bit down her disdain.
The door to the outside opened, the hydraulics lowering the door to form a ramp. As the pressure inside and outside evened out, there was a hissing of gases. An orange-hued light, a natural illumination caused by four suns, lit the space and provided a warmth that felt good on the skin after the perpetual chill of space travel.
The commander moved to stand in front of the open doorway, but she darted ahead of him and ensured she exited first.
The first thing she noted was they weren’t on any kind of landing pad. On the contrary, they were parked amidst a field of flowing fronds, their red tops waving due to a delicate breeze wafting fragrantly.
“We aren’t in a spaceport,” she remarked.
“The clients prefer to conduct their business away from prying eyes.”
“I’m sure they do,” she muttered, already suspicious. Beings who wished to avoid port authorities weren’t the type to always have honorable intentions. It made her more alert.
She made it to the bottom of the ramp, arms extended, a dagger in each hand. Her gaze darted from side to side, looking for movement and danger.
Clomp. Whir. Clomp. The commander followed before she’d given him the all clear. She shot him a dark look.
“You should have waited inside while I scouted the area.”
“I’ve been here before. There’s nothing to fear.”
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Fear? She didn’t feel any such thing. On the contrary, her body thrummed, alive with adrenaline.
She crept forward, her boots crushing the slender foliage. A whirring sound had her twisting around to see a compartment opening on the ship. A mechanical arm emerged, gripping one of the shipping containers.
It set the large box on the ground with a loud thump.
The noise hid the arrival of their buyers. Only instinct had her whirling to see them, a trio of short beings, wearing red robes that blended with the stalks, their hands tucked in their sleeves, the hoods lowered, revealing bulbous bald heads, orange skin, their single eye pure white. They lacked noses and ears like most bipedal races but had a thin slash for a mouth.
Ugly. Short. And probably not much of a challenge. Pity. Perhaps she’d make them taller when she wrote to Dorrys back home.
A piercing noise emerged from the robed alien in the middle, the mouth opening wide as it wailed its hello. “Greetings, mighty Tyttan, commander of the Attlus.”
“A fine day to you too, Rattius.”
The single eye stared without blinking. “You are late with the shipment.”
Clomp. Whir. Clomp. The commander approached to Rattius before replying. “The supplier needed more time to gather your order. You doubled it from last time.”
“It is all there?” asked the leader, his head pivoting that his white gaze might peruse the container.
“Every last drop.”
The leader waved at his party, who scurried over to peek inside the shipping container.
“All present,” one of them shouted.
“Of course it is, and you can avail yourself of it once you give me payment.” The commander held out his huge metal hand, the three fingers extended.
The sleeves of the robe parted, and a hand, more like a thick appendage tipped in a claw, emerged holding a sack. “Your payment as agreed.”
Rattius tossed the bag, and Azteriya snatched it mid-air, noting that it seemed rather heavy. Exactly what had the commander traded for the cargo?
“What are you doing, crewmember?” asked the commander.
“Checking the payment.” While she thought merchant tasks beneath her, Mother had taught her to always verify transactions.
“What insult is this?” asked the creature in the robe. “Do you cast aspersion on my honor?”
“You had no problem checking out the goods we brought. Just returning the favor and checking yours,” she replied, struggling with the knot.
“Take the bag and get on the ship,” ordered the commander.
“As soon as I make sure he hasn’t fleeced you.” But she stopped her struggle with the knot when she noted Rattius raising his arm.
“This insult shall not go unanswered.” Then Rattius whistled, a long piercing sound that had no word, but Azteriya knew what it meant.
A fight!
“We are betrayed!” She might have crowed it a little more happily than necessary. She dropped the bag and readied her knives.
The commander rumbled, “What have you done?”
Nothing yet, however, given the frantic movement of the fronds, as if something moved through them in large number, she had a feeling she was about to earn her keep on board.
A wave of red robes poured from between the stalks in the field, mouths open wide on a battle cry, scythes in hand.
“Permission to engage.” She bounced on the balls of her feet.
“Granted.”
With a cry of joy, she charged the double-dealing merchants. Dancing around the group, she sliced with her knife, having to adjust her stance and battle moves to their shorter stature.
Clang. She blocked the swing of their curved weapons. She slid to her knees and swung her daggers. Never pausing or looking to see if she hit her target. If she missed, she’d know soon enough.
Instinct had her raise a blade to block. Clang. She stopped it. Her other hand stabbed behind. A yell let her know she’d hit her foe.
The pungent smell of blood filled her nostrils. Screams, some of attack, others of injury, echoed all around. As did her laughter.
She kept count of those she downed. Her first true battle. Sure, she’d fought with her father back home. She’d gone on hunts and bled creatures before. But those were animals. Not sentient beings with weapons who could fight back!
But the fact that they could think meant she couldn’t make a mistake. She moved fast. She had to in order to avoid injury. She rolled and ducked, slicing as she did, sending the enemy toppling.
“Bring the draeygofyre,” a voice screamed.
She had a moment to wonder what it meant before a newcomer emerged from the fronds, a large hose in hand, his eye covered by a single lens goggle.
Flames spewed from his nozzle, and she felt the heat of it as she sprinted out of its path, right in front of the cargo container.
Which ignited.
“No! Not the shipment,” someone yelled.
She didn’t care. She dodged her way toward the creature with the portable torch. When she got close and he aimed her way, she snagged a wiggling body and held it before her as a shield, throwing it away from her when it caught fire.
It hit the wielder of the flame, and they tumbled to the ground. A few slashes of her knife meant they didn’t get up again.
Victory.
“Release the vompeer.”
The lull in battle meant she heard the command and could stand ready. What would they throw at them next?
The big lump of black fur emerged from the stalks low to the ground. It leapt and threw itself at the commander, who batted it away with a closed fist.
Before the hissing beast could rise and attack again, the commander aimed his arm. The tips of his three blunt fingers shot a white-hot laser blast that ashed the thing.
But it was only the first. More of the furry things emerged, and Azteriya found herself laughing anew as she fought them off. These creatures were a bit tougher to kill than the robed beings. Their flesh less yielding, meaning she had to strike harder.
Her sword bit deep into one lunging with pointed teeth and red eyes. She struggled to wrench it free from the falling corpse.
Another kill.
A glint of metal in the sun’s rays caught her attention, and she turned to see a muzzle—a projectile weapon, how unsporting—aimed at her and firing. She ducked but knew she wouldn’t be able avoid the spray of pellets entirely. However, she tried, putting her arm over her head and face.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
The metallic bits hit something, and she cautiously peered out to see the commander had thrown himself in front of her, a shield that took most of the damage.
The one wielding the weapon kept firing and screamed as the commander thumped toward him on hydraulic legs. A cry cut short when Tyttan lifted him by the neck and crushed it.
As for the one who started it all? Rattius turned to run. He didn’t go far. The hilt of her knife protruded from his back.
The sounds of battle died. Possibly because there was no one left to fight.
Bodies littered the ground, a few twitching, none of them rising. The cargo flamed, not worth anything, not anymore.
As for the bag she’d tried to check? She noted it split open on the ground, spilling the rocks it held. Plain gray pebbles of no worth.
She pointed. “I knew it. He was trying to cheat you!”
The commander ground the evidence with his big booted metal heel and said, “Let’s go back to the ship.”
Keeping an eye on his back, they left the scene of carnage—her first true battle!—and she made sure to catch an image to send before activating the mechanism to close the ramp.
Only once the airlock shut did the commander slump. He hit the bench inside hard. It was then she noticed it. Red fluid leaking from his armor. Something had managed to penetrate.
“You’re injured,” she noted.
“A flesh wound.”
“We need to get you to the infirmary.”<
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“I need to get us off this planet before we’re attacked.” The metal voice somehow managed to sound weary. The commander heaved himself to his feet and swayed. “Attlus, prepare a course for the dust quadrant. Maximum speed. Cloak us as soon as we leave the surface.”
“Yes, sir.”
Azteriya’s eyes widened as the new voice replied. “Who is that?” She’d thought Jedrek the only other crew.
“My ship.”
“I didn’t know it spoke.” It certainly never talked to her.
“Because you’re not the commander.”
The ship shuddered as it began its ascent.
The commander put a hand on the hall, as if to steady himself. He took a few steps, exiting the airlock, entering the hall.
Crash.
Darting out of the airlock, she found the commander splayed on the floor. Obviously more injured than he claimed.
I have to get him to the medical bay.
Or she could toss him out of the airlock and take over his ship.
For some reason, the idea didn’t sit well. A mercenary didn’t turn on his or her allies.
Azteriya grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to heave him, but his weight proved too much. She’d need help.
“Jedrek!” she bellowed. The lazy human didn’t respond. She slapped a control panel, opening the communication channel, and bellowed his name again.
Still nothing. Probably off sulking somewhere because he’d missed out on the action.
There had to be a way to get the commander to the medical bay.
His armor. Maybe if she removed it, he would prove light enough to carry. Or she’d kill him and the problem would solve itself.
She began looking for clasps, finally locating one on the breastplate. The suit hissed, and something clicked; the helmet shifted.
Gripping it with two hands, she twisted and pulled. The helmet came off, and she cursed. Cursed so loudly and thoroughly her father would have applauded and her mother run for a priest.
Because the commander was none other than Jedrek.
Six
The molasses running through Jedrek’s veins tried to keep his eyelids shut. Consciousness proved slippery to hold on to, but he kept a grip on it mostly because of the cursing.
“Lying human! Hiding behind a suit.”