His To Steal

by Taylor Vaughn

  He looks over his shoulder toward the facilities, then clicks and hisses something I can only assume means, “I’m going to grab my emergency medical kit!”

  “No, don’t. Wait!” I grab his arm when he tries to rise. “I’m not hurt. I’m okay…this is just something women do every month—human women at least. When we’re not pregnant, we release one of our eggs and there’s all this blood for a few days actually.”

  So what is it like to explain periods to a huge golden alien with hand gestures and words you’re not sure he understands? Imagine your most embarrassing moment ever, then times that by ten. And maybe…maybe…you’ll come close to how excruciating it feels.

  But somehow I get through to him. Eventually he calms.

  Then he gives me a grim look, and in a surprising moment of clarity, starts using his claws to tear the clean part of the white sheet into strips, which he hands them to me.

  I take them with a small “Thank you.”

  He usually answers my thank yous with a few clicks and hisses. But this time he just gives me a grim look, before resuming his trip to the laundry unit to get out his body armor.

  I watch him put on his uniform, just like he does every day, then move directly to what I call the hearth—though there’s no fire burning, just a collection of appliances lining the wall.

  It feels like he’s purposefully keeping his back to me. I should be happy about that. Privacy, yay…but I have a bad feeling as I head into the bathroom to deal with my period mess.

  And the feeling stays with me as I hop into the glass structure, I call the cleaning box. Three days into my stay, I’d learned it was some kind of sun ray shower after he picked me up, stripped my clothes, and bodily placed me into it, as if to say, “You stink.”

  But I don’t stink about a half hour later, when I arrive to the breakfast table, dressed in a diaper made out of sheet dress strips and a sort of toga fashioned from one of the shimmering blankets I used to make my corner pallet.

  He gives me yet another grim look when he sees my makeshift outfit, then indicates with a clawed hand that I should sit down at the table across from him.

  As usual, what would be considered the equivalent of a feast on New Terrhan awaits me. Slices of cold meat and cheese that he keeps in a device, I think would have been called a refrigerator in old planet entertainments. But instead of a huge box sitting on the floor, it’s a clear circle that hangs on the wall. And instead of doors, it has several container slots which slide open with the press of a finger.

  I sit and eat quietly, uneasily falling back into our morning routine. To think yesterday, this had begun to feel normal to me. He’s a very large golden alien with claws and I’m a black human with a limp, but somehow we’d become like a couple in one of the black and white old planet entertainments. A man who goes off to work. A woman who stays behind to clean. Chaste and domestic and almost comfortable.

  But not anymore.

  As we eat in complete silence, I wonder how much of my explanation he understood. Does he get that this means my breeding was unsuccessful?

  And if so…

  A shiver runs up my back.

  If so, what is he going to do about it?

  Chapter Sixteen

  T’Kan

  Of all the eves for my uncle to demand my presence at home, it had to be this one. This morning he had holoed to inform me A’Ry had decided to have a few of her friends over for last meal, and I was expected to attend.

  A “few friends” was of course code for females of marriageable age my uncle had pre-approved. A’Ry may have invited her friends to her father’s seaside mansion, but I would wager my favorite photon gun he had given her a list.

  Tonight’s last meal guests consist almost entirely of females from the Line Louxos. I was not surprised to find several red females milling about the gathering room when I arrived. There are only a handful of lines who have acquired as much power, money, and influence as the Lines Neixal. And unlike my paternal line Trexos, I am not related to any of the females from Louxos. Also, their ranks were not decimated by the Extinction Virus that took the life of my mother, as well as those of my uncle’s first and second wives.

  I could most likely close my eyes, point and find myself well matched. Yet, after taking a glass of berry wine from a servant, I quickly retreated to a window at the far side of the room. Like many of the rooms in my uncle’s seaside mansion, this one has floor to ceiling observation windows. Views of the city and royal palace feature to the east, and the ocean crashes on the west. But while the Louxos females drink berry wine and make conversation on one city-facing side of the room, I stand on the other, staring at the ocean.

  I do not want to be here, yet I do not wish to return to the cabin.

  “Xar T’Kan.”

  I look up from the ocean to find L’Gon standing beside me. He, too, must have come directly from work. He is still dressed in his council robes and wears his waist-length silver hair down and over both shoulders, the style favored by most intelligence workers.

  He swipes a hand over his ridges.

  “Mal L’Gon,” I greet, pressing the back of my hand to my own ridges.

  But he waves off my gesture.

  “No need to press ridges or use my formal title, Xar. I will always consider you my commander. And we are at a party. Though I fear this was a poor choice of eve for such an event. I assume you, like me, have much on your mind with the upcoming Kaidorian peace talks.”

  “I do, but I am here at the prime minister’s request. I am surprised to see you here with so much to do before our Kel departs.”

  He leans in and informs me, “My cousin has intentions toward yours.”

  I follow the direction of my former warrior’s gaze to where his cousin, L’Than, one of the original hybrids is talking with A’Ry. His head is bent and his eyes twinkle as if he could laugh at any moment.

  “I have told him that she is all but engaged to our Kel, but he only seems to hear the ‘all but.’ Until the official announcement he will continue to make his admiration known. He has requested I ask you to recommend him to N’Maryah.”

  I look to N’Maryah, who I almost never call by her formal name and scrunch my ridges. “I am nearly seven solars older than she. We are not very close, but if the opportunity arises, I will let A’Ry know she has yet another admirer.”

  “Yes, please enter his name on her extensive waiting list,” L’Gon answers with a joking click.

  “You are kind to come to me on your cousin’s behalf.”

  “In truth, I am too indulgent with him. But he is the closest thing I have to a younger brother,” L’Gon answers with a wry flap of his ridges. “I will not deny him a request if it is within the realm of possibility.”

  I think of how N’Thn might have said the same about me had he survived the war. If he were here, I would have had certainly sought him out for counsel in the Zin’nia matter. An unusual combination of intelligence worker handsome with a warrior’s build, he had been popular with females and often spent entire leaves at pleasure stations.

  Perhaps he could have advised me about why I was having so much trouble with the idea of what I would have to do when I returned to the cabin tonight. Or why I had stolen Zin’nia in the first place, instead of attending to my duty and breeding as many females as possible during the ceremony.

  These thoughts remind me of the appointment I had been meaning to make. “If you have space on your schedule, I would like to come to in for a medical scan, outside of official record.”

  L’Gon’s ridges lift. “Allow me to guess the reason for your wanting a confidential exam. You have been haunted by what took place at the Breeding Ceremony. So much so, you feel little to no motivation to rut other females or acquire a Xalthurian wife, as is standard after taking part in the ceremony. In fact, you have been plagued by obsessive thoughts of one hu’man female in particular, and you have begun to suspect you have contracted some manner of disease or virus on New Terrhan.
One that has turned your mind to rot.”

  His words are so accurate, I let out a shocked hiss. He responds with a cold smile. “I have fielded many such requests from high ranking officials who have taken part in the Ceremony since becoming the Minister of Health. I have also heard from males who could only bring themselves to rut one hu’man female during the ceremony—taking her over and over again and often becoming so possessive, they will not allow other males the opportunity to have her. Many of the married participants who were overtaken by such possession fail for several moons cycles afterwards to make their diijo rise to engage in sex with their mates.”

  A grim ripple runs up L’Gon’s nose. “I will save you the trip to my personal lab. I have yet to find evidence of any disease or virus that leads to such obsessive thoughts, along with the erasure of desire for Xalthurian females. In fact, the only cure for what I have dubbed Ceremony Mind Rot is time. Which is why I always suggest several solars between breeding trips, even to the males who have failed to secure a male heir or wish to father more than one child. I have also urged your uncle to include a warning in the manual on hu’man females we must all upload before the trip. But so far, he has ignored my suggestion.”

  Observing the bitter set of L’Gon’s ridges, I recall that his own Breeding Ceremony trip of two solars ago did not yield any progeny. “Did you also experience this After Ceremony Effect?” I ask him.

  The chime of bell for last supper cuts off any reply he might have given.

  “Excuse me, Xar,” L’Gon says with another swipe over his ridges. “I should walk with L’Than back to the table. Ensure he does not express his admiration too ardently to your cousin.”

  I nod and click, effectively dismissing him as I would have when he was a medic under my command. But his words continue to repeat in my ears as I trail behind him and the rest of party to the banquet hall.

  The banquet hall is one of the largest and grandest rooms in my uncle’s four-story house. Three jeweled chandelier’s hang from the ceilings, while rare crystals ground to fine powder line the walls giving it shimmering effect. Even the dishes sitting upon the table big enough to seat fifty are crafted from a fine clay, only found on a planet at the farthest reaches of the galaxy.

  All the other dinner party attendants are already seated by the time I enter, with my uncle at the head of the table. I take the only empty seat left, between two of the most beautiful Louxos females. Of course.

  To my right sits L’Nel. She is A’Ry’s most dedicated follower. One of the many vapid females, who not only admire my now only cousin, but can often be seen trailing after her, like planets in need of a sun to orbit. If she has ever had a thought that does not originate from something A’Ry said or did, I have yet to hear it.

  L’Ryn, the red female with long golden hair seated on my left is a little better. She is L’Gon’s younger sister.

  She is pleasant, does not look to A’Ry before daring to speak, and is a great beauty to boot. But her perfection cannot pry my mind from the female I left behind in my cabin.

  L'Gon was correct. This was a poor choice of eve for this event.

  I should put some effort in with L’Ryn, but I can think of no female but Zin’nia as the first course is set before us by servants. All that blood…

  Bleeding in such a fashion means a Xalthurian female has halved or completely lost her ability to bear children. It is said my uncle divorced the mother of N’Thn after she bled in a similar manner and took a younger bride, the mother of A’Ry.

  But according to the manual we were required to upload into our minds before the Breeding Ceremony trip, hu’man females have a much greater quantity of eggs than their Xalthurian counterparts. The manual claimed that they could even be bred while bleeding, and instructed us not to let the appearance of such liquid impede our taking. Perhaps I could still breed….

  I cut that thought off brutally. Refusing to give in to the Ceremony Mind Rot. No…if anything, what L’Gon told me makes my decision to end Zin’nia’s life now that she has not swelled with my babe that much more logical. Killing her may very well be the only way to rid myself of these obsessive thoughts.

  “L’Gon has there been any progress made recently in finding a cure for the fertility issue?” my uncle asks at the far end of the table after the first course and more berry wine has been served. “Rumor has it that your team may have found a possible breakthrough.”

  A’Ry, who is sitting to the right of L’Gon and the many Louxos females at the table, eagerly look to the Health Minister for his answer.

  L’Gon hisses heavily. “Unfortunately that rumor is unfounded. We made some progress in figuring out why the females who survived the extinction virus have not been able to reproduce after retrieving the body of a female who was raised on the Amnesty station and therefore never came in contact with the virus. We compared her unfertilized egg to that of the females on Xalthuria who cannot reproduce, and it appears that though the virus did not kill our surviving females, it did mutate their eggs—and sadly, the mutation is highly heritable.”

  L’Nel gasps beside me, then looks to A’Ry to ask, “Our eggs are mutated? What does that mean?”

  A’Ry flattens her ridges. “It means the same thing it did under the last Health Minister. We are still infertile. They know why now, but based on L’Gon’s gloomy hisses, I am assuming he and the other bright scientists on his team still have not figured out how to fix it.”

  L’Than, who is sitting on the other side of L’Gon nods at A’Ry, his diamond-shaped blue eyes filled with respect. “L’Gon had to explain this to me several times. I am impressed you not only understood, but are also able to explain the current dilemma so well to your fellow females. You are very intelligent.”

  “Yes, you are rather shrewd, N’Maryah,” L’Gon agrees, throwing his younger cousin an annoyed look. “And you are correct that this knowledge has only served to frustrate us that much more. We simply do not have the medical technology to fix a genetic mutation of this magnitude. We must develop it, and I am not sure how long that will take.”

  L’Ryn glances at me while saying to her brother, “That is disappointing to hear.”

  “Yes, but I and the rest of my team are working relentlessly to correct the mutation,” L’Gon assures his sister. “.”

  He turns his head to address my uncle with his ridges raised, “I am especially interested in finding a solution to this problem. After my own Breeding Ceremony failure, I refuse to take part again. I believe the strength of my people, of Xalthuria lies in finding a cure for our own females and not depending on those emotionally unstable hu’man females for our race’s future…”

  As if tasting something bitter, his ridges ripple in disgust. “In fact, I have decided that my own personal bloodline will continue with a Xalthurian female or it will not continue at all.”

  My uncle, who until now had been silently following the conversation levels L’Gon with an irritated look. “T’Kan did not manage to successfully implant his seed either. However, the Line Neixal is not as lucky as Louxos. After losing so many of our members to the Extinction Virus and Three Generation War it is not only imperative that my nephew produce a male heir, but also that my daughter passes our line name on to a son, even if that son is the hybrid our Kel is currently trying to implant in the hu’man female he brought back from New Terrhan. The future of Line Neixal lies in my nephew’s fulfillment of his duty and my daughter’s upcoming marriage to our Kel…”

  I inwardly frown. I am deeply aware of my failure to secure a male heir at the Breeding Ceremony, but my uncle has presented the betrothal of A’Ry and our Kel as an absolute, when I know it is only a possibility. Across the table, L’Than looks to A’Ry, his shorter ridgeline rippling in a way that makes me wonder if the hybrid males will be subject to great fits of emotion, like their hu’man vessels. Like Zin’nia, who cries in pain and laughs with delight and screams in terror.

  As the conversation turns to our Kel’s taking
of the hu’man from New Terrhan, so that he might guarantee a successful breeding, my mind once again drifts to the female waiting for me in my cabin. I will have to make it quick when I return to the cabin. No delaying. A snap of her neck and then it will be done.

  “What do you think, Xar T’Kan?” my uncle interrupts my thoughts.

  I do my best to cover up my lack of attention. “Of the accord?”

  My uncle frowns and briefly narrows his eyes, but repeats, “What do you think of the whispers that our Kel is planning to renegotiate the New Terrhan accord, so that our elite males and warriors will be given more access to the hu’mans?”

  I cock my head to the side. “More access in what way?”

  “It is rumored that perhaps hu’mans will be bought back to Xalthuria as comfort females. I believe that would be the best course of action for him to take. And if he does not, perhaps you as Xar, should argue for it on behalf of your warriors. After all, I am sure there must be much grumbling among their ranks about our Kel using his power to guarantee his own successful breeding when they cannot.”

  The others nod thoughtfully at my uncle’s words, but a bad feeling ripples up my nose. For I have not heard or been told by any of my staff of such grumblings. And I know my uncle. Often when he is “sure” of something, his certainty is often a suggestion that I make something true.

  Is he suggesting that I sow dissent among my ranks in order to influence our Kel?

  It is a tempting proposition. For if my uncle’s wish came to pass, I could keep Zin’nia without worry, perhaps even bring her back to one of my residences in the city—

  Essh! The mind rot has set upon me again. No, of course I cannot betray our Kel, just so that I may keep the hu’man.

  “If that is what the Kel wishes then it is his right to change the accord,” I answer, setting my ridges to neutral.

  L’Gon is not nearly so careful with his answer. He hisses, his ridges bristling. “It is bad enough that we have to lower ourselves to mate with a lesser race—take no offense, L’Than. No matter your birthing vessel, you remain like a brother to me.”