Roark (Women Of Earth Book 1)

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  “You command it. So it will be,” he laughed and did as he was told. “Are you always this demanding?”

  “Only in cases of gross stupidity.” She winced with each dab of the astringent pad. He did not. “This is more than an annoyance. It needs to be stitched.”

  “How badly is the design damaged?” he asked of the tattoos along his side. “I have a few other places that need to be repaired. I can have them all done together.”

  “The design has the big hole in it, too,” she snapped, “but I’m a little more concerned about the wound.”

  The tattoos covered his sides and a good portion of his back One coiled up his neck and along his cheek. The ritualistic pattern made her curious.

  “Do they have meaning?” she asked.

  “Only as to what they cover,” he chuckled. “Run your hand over them,” he told her and when she hesitated he chuckled again. “Go ahead. They don’t bite and neither do I.” He winked. “Much.”

  She wasn’t afraid of the tattoos. She was afraid of touching him, because she wanted to, badly. But she didn’t want him to know that, so she laughed to give herself courage. “Smartass.”

  Her laughter died when she felt what was beneath her trembling fingers. She forgot her fear as she followed the dark designs and the scars they covered. Some were heavy ridges, some so shallow they were barely felt, but all were carefully disguised by the dips and swirls of the intricate designs.

  “Are these all from...?”

  “Battles?” He nodded and watched her closely. “I became battle hardened by the time I was twenty. Harm said he couldn’t decide whether I was fierce or a fool. Do they offend you?”

  “Offend?” With her finger, she traced a swirl that ran across his shoulder and ended in a slashed point over the raised square of his pectoral muscle. “Why would I be offended? I think they’re fascinating, but I don’t understand their purpose. What do you mean by battle hardened? It sounds like one of those things where the literal doesn’t convey the intent.”

  He removed her hand and kissed her fingertips. She thought his mouth would be hard, toughened by sun and wind and scar like the rest of his skin, but his lips were soft as silk. The touch of them sent a shiver through her body. Mira released her breath when Roark released her hand.

  “The official terms for the lowest ranks of our military are first, second, and third Station but the soldiers themselves use the terms blooded, seasoned, and battle hardened. These ranks are earned, unofficially, by the number of your scars and the breadth of your tattoos. These markings tell anyone who sees them that I came up through the rank and file.

  “My father was furious when I refused a purchased commission when I joined the military. You’ll notice that most of the officers don’t share my appreciation for these markings. They see no glory in serving where my men have served and a certain type of female would find in them a sign of humble beginnings and see no future prospects in them, as if the stain of my beginnings would rub off on them.”

  There was more there than the simple words. Mira was afraid of her sudden need to know everything about this man, her Viking. Instead, she fell back on her role as teacher.

  “Then you’ve come to the right place, First Commander. We admire those who have risen up from the ranks. We like success stories, and I think it says a lot about your character.” Mira looked through the drawers until she found the tape and scissors. “You’re going to have to tell me how to do this, and I still think you need stitches.”

  “I’ll have Vochem look at it later if it will make you feel better. Right now, he has better things to do. Cut several lengths of tape about this long.” He measured with his fingers and then explained what he needed Mira to do. When she finished, he let himself down from the table. “Come with me to my quarters so I can change...” He looked at the bloody shirt and then at her. “...into something less colorful.”

  It was a long time ago, but Mira had seen that same look in men’s eyes before. She returned Roark’s with a dubious look of her own. “That sounds suspiciously like a would-you-like-to-see-my-etchings routine. Is it?”

  “I might be able to answer that if I knew what etchings were.”

  “They’re a type of art work, but anything will do; paintings, trophies, a baseball card collection. Puppies and kittens are always good excuses to get a girl into your apartment, too.” Mira grinned and raised her eyebrows in question.

  “Ah, I see,” he grinned back, still with that look in his eyes. “And if that was my intent, what would you say?”

  “No. I don’t even know who you are,” she replied, but she said it with a smile, a flirty one. Oh, God, she was flirting!

  He stood at attention and clicked the heels of his heavy black boots. “Roark, First Commander of Sector Three, North American Continent, Earth; Free Son of Tadin, Master of the Honorable House of Kronak of the Godan Nation, People of Mishra, a Founding Planet of the Galactic Confederation.”

  Mira laughed. “Impressive, but I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Hi, I’m Bob.” She lowered her voice to mimic a man’s. “I like fishing and picnics and drinking beer while I watch football on Sunday afternoons. I like watching old movies, too, as long as I can prop my feet on the coffee table and eat popcorn from a bowl. Someday I’d like a wife, a house, a new pickup truck in the driveway, and 2.5 children, but not right now. I like dogs, and cats are okay as long as they don’t curl around my neck. I like long walks after dark as long as they’re with you.’” She gave him her impression of a man’s wink.

  Laughing, Roark went to the door and held it open for her in a way that made her duck under his arm. As she passed beneath, he dropped his arm over her shoulders, his fingers dancing perilously close to her breast. As they walked down the hall, he bent his head until his mouth was close to her ear.

  “My name is not Bob. I like fishing. I have never been on a picnic and I do not know what football is,” he said as they walked out of the building. “I do enjoy holo recordings if they contain more action than love making since I am not a voyeur and need no instruction in the art. I have eaten your corn and I like it very much, but I have never had it popped, and I would certainly prefer to eat my food from a bowl. I know of no woman who would have me as her husband.

  “I have no house on this planet but the one I am assigned. Pickup trucks are inefficient vehicles that waste valuable resources. I have little interest in children since I would rarely be in attendance to supervise their upbringing. I have seen pictures of dogs and cats and though I have never come in contact with either one, they seem harmless enough. I think I would enjoy long walks after dark as long as they’re with you.

  “I say these things because you appear to have an interest in them, but the end result is the same. You will return to my quarters and wait while I change my shirt. I am Roark, First Commander of Sector Three, North American Continent, Earth; Free Son of Tadin, Master of the Honorable House of Kronak of the Godan Nation, People of Mishra, a Founding Planet of the Galactic Confederation. I command it of you. So it will be.”

  “Okay,” Mira agreed, much too easily because she was laughing. She was a little stunned that he’d listened to everything she’d said, but then she recovered. “As long as it’s only for a shirt change.”

  Chapter 6

  Roark’s intentions had nothing to do with changing his shirt and everything to do with luring this female into his bed. He wanted to reveal the treasures that hid beneath the long skirts and heavy coverings she wore. Those treasures were there waiting to be discovered. He was sure of it.

  Had he not felt the soft roundness of her bottom and the length of those legs when he lifted her into his arms? Had he not been aroused by the fullness of her breasts pressed firmly against his chest? She kept her hair under tight control in a braid that began at the crown of her head and ended in a curled tail at her waist. He didn’t like it. He wanted to free the damp ringlets that had tried to escape that first day. He wanted to see her cloaked in its
waves of amber honey.

  She was one of those creatures he’d read about as a boy when stories of his ancestors filled his head with dreams.

  Much of that fragile history had been lost to time and the destruction of the wars that plagued their planet for a thousand turns. Therefore, much of what Roark read as a boy was history that devolved into the folklore of a time when the Godans first travelled into space not to conquer, but to explore. Some of those early pioneers of the galaxy managed to send back word of their discoveries, but in that age before the mathematical theories of time and space had been woven into reality, few returned home. Many of those brave travelers succumbed to the hazards of early space travel. Others, he was certain, found places they could call home.

  This planet, this Earth, as they called it now, could well have been one of those places. He’d studied it and compared it to the folklore. The atmospheric gases, nutrient rich soil, color of the sky, and abundance of water were only part of the picture. The genetic similarities of the indigenous species to those of his home world and the sentience of Earth’s human inhabitants with their homologous physical structures were too great to be denied.

  Added to this was the wealth of geological formations so necessary to the crystalline technology upon which so much of the Galactic Confederation relied. With its population decimated, this place was ripe for the picking and the Hahnshin would pick it clean.

  Roark was convinced this woman and her planet were the stuff of legends and both deserved their place in the legends of the future. Destiny, it seemed, had determined that he be a part of that future legend, too.

  As had happened so many times in the past, Roark’s personal plans got fucked. He sometimes wondered why he even bothered to make them.

  His comlink buzzed and he answered with a growled, “What?”

  It was Harm, and his mood was no better than Roark’s. “You’re needed at the hospital.”

  Mira moved a few feet away to give him privacy, he assumed, but Roark reached for her hand and pulled her back to his side as he listened to Harm’s rant.

  “Field Marshal Suto is having a tantrum and pulling rank. He doesn’t seem to get that as the Commander’s Prime, I speak with the Commander’s voice. My fist is about to explain it to the little fucker, so unless you want to deal with me up on charges and Suto out of commission for the next six weeks, get your ass over here. And while we’re at it, you sneaky little bastard, don’t think you’re going to be pulling this shit on a regular basis. I’m not the one who got myself suckered...”

  Roark hit the button on the comlink and cut Harm’s tirade off. “Be there in five. See that the Marshal is prepared.”

  Mira had bowed her head in an attempt to hide her face, but Roark could tell by her sucked in cheeks that she was trying not to smile.

  “Did you get all that?” he asked, since Harm’s tirade was in Godan.

  “Most of it,” she admitted and then looked up from beneath her long curling lashes with a thinly disguised smile. “A few words were new to me, but it wasn’t hard to fill them in. Does he always talk to you like that?”

  Roark nodded. “Only when he thinks our conversation is private. Familiarity has its privilege. He’s been talking to me like that since I was a boy, but pity the poor soul who thinks it gives them the privilege, too. Harm will have their tongue in his hand before their second sentence is uttered.” He tugged on her hand. “Come. My quarters are this way.”

  “But the hospital is that way and it’s a ten minute walk,” she protested.

  “Fifteen from my quarters.” He shrugged. “And I still have to change my shirt, so it will be a minimum of twenty.”

  “So your ‘be there in five’ meant I’ll be there shortly, just like it does in English.”

  As usual, Harm was correct in his assessment of the little human. She was always learning and comparing the two cultures. She showed curiosity about the physical differences between her race and others, but no aversion.

  “She tries to accept the differences, but she searches for the similarities and when she finds one, she points it out as if she wants to make sure we see it, too,” the old soldier said of her and then gave a nod of approval as if Roark needed one. “You could do worse. She’s a smart little tidbit. She sets the nail, but she doesn’t drive it home. She lets you do the hammering.

  That, Roark thought, was a good sign, but in this instance, she was wrong. Once again, he started for his quarters, increasing his pace and resentful that his leisurely stroll had now become a mission. It was another black mark against Suto.

  “No, I meant what I said. I want the Field Marshal to expect me in five. He’ll be on edge for the time span and when I don’t show up, Harm will become livid with suppressed rage. Suto will be terrified by it, convinced that the Prime will explode into violence, and with good reason, as anyone who has seen my Prime when he returns from battle can attest. I will arrive in time to save Suto from Harm’s wrath. Being an officer, the good Field Marshal will expect me to take his side. He will be surprised and shaken when I don’t. He will find that my wrath is greater than Harm’s and the message will be clear. My Prime speaks with my voice and in this Sector, on this planet, I speak with the voice of the Galactic Confederation.”

  “And Harm won’t figure this out?”

  “My Prime has already figured it out. We’ve used this ploy before.”

  She started to speak, then hesitated with an inward curling of the lips and lowered lashes. She thought before she spoke, a good quality in a female.

  When she looked up, her eyes held a look of concern, “You’re not going to hurt Commander Suto, are you?”

  “That’s Field Marshal or Marshal and yes, I am.” Seeing her eyes widen, he explained, though as First Commander, he shouldn’t have to. “Field Marshal Suto is a sycophant of certain members of the Confederation’s Council. His family is modestly wealthy and his commission was purchased, not earned. His abilities are better suited to the ballroom than the battlefield. He has most likely never been closer to a battlefield than a holoscreen, yet he sends his men out there on a regular basis.

  “He places himself above his men, and that I will not tolerate. He will learn to lead or he will beg to be transferred. Either way, he will be blooded before he leaves this base and his first blood will be mine.” Roark stopped at the door to his quarters and looked down to see yet another look on her face. “What are you thinking? Say it aloud.”

  “You can catch more flies with honey.”

  Roark opened the door and held it for her. “I don’t know what you mean by this, but it is a falsehood. You will catch more flies with shit.”

  He hadn’t meant it to be funny, but he liked the sound of her laugh. It was another mark in her favor. Though Harm had already told him Mira had a sense of humor, it was nice to have it confirmed. After tossing the comlink on the small reception table by the door, he led her down the short hall that led to the communal area.

  “It means you can win more people over by being nice.”

  “I have little time for nice. Do you like it?” He asked waving his hand to indicate the room.

  He watched her as she slowly turned in a full circle taking in the spacious central room with its wall of windows at the far end. Her lips were slightly parted as her eyes passed over the raised area meant for dining and continuing on to the kitchen where a bank of pristine appliances waited among the vacant countertops. The glass fronted cabinets were empty. The refrigerator kicked on, sending a whisper soft buzz echoing through the cavernous space. There was a hallway to the left and another to the right, but she stayed where she was when she completed her circle.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  “This room is larger than our whole apartment. The floor is beautiful, the walls a perfect color, and those windows are spectacular, but you need to get rid of your decorator.” She pointed to the large desk against one wall, the only furniture in the room. “She’s taken minimalist way too far.” She smiled
up at him. “When you said your quarters, I was thinking single room, bed, nightstand, and yeah, maybe the desk. I wasn’t thinking luxury accommodations, though I guess I should have. You’re the First Commander, after all. It really will be lovely once it’s furnished.”

  “It is already furnished with all I need. The rest will be up to you.”

  Roark continued down the hall to the right pointing out the bedrooms as he went until he came to the double doors at the end. Pushing them open, he peeled his bloodied shirt up and over his head and tossed it on the unmade bed.

  “I’ll have the supply sergeant give you a list of the furnishings available. If you find nothing there that satisfies your taste, you must tell him what you need and he will see that it is done. Do not hesitate to ask. It is my wish that you be comfortable in your new home. You will, of course, have a generous clothing allotment though I can’t guarantee the delivery of the more exotic fabrics since personal space on the transports is limited.”

  He was in the closet and reaching for a clean shirt before he realized she was no longer with him. He stuck his head out the closet door and there she was, standing just inside the room at the open double doors. Her mouth was slightly open and she was staring at the large bed in the middle of the room.

  “It is my failing,” he said of the rumpled bed clothes and the pile of dirty laundry on the floor. “I am not tidy and I have yet to choose an orderly to see to such things. Once installed, I will have Harm send the candidates to you and you may choose whoever you feel most comfortable with unless you would prefer to hire a woman from the outside. Do you cook?”

  “No.”

  “Then I will notify the commissary and they will prepare your meals according to your directions. I would ask that you keep a variety of ready-made foods on hand since my hours may not always coincide with your meal times.” It was the first thing on his list of requirements that she had not met. Disappointing, but perhaps she would be willing to learn.

  “No.” She gave no explanation for her refusal.