His To Steal

by Taylor Vaughn

  Once again, I’m interrupted by Kira’s parents. “I can’t believe this! Isn’t that so, so nice of him?” Mom shouts, like we’ve won the alien lottery.

  “Here, let me show you, young man,” Kira’s father says. “All you gotta do is check to see if the ruchi is ripe, then if it is, you tear it off from the stem. But you’ve got to be careful not to hurt yourself on the—”

  Dad’s “thorns” disappears, when T’Kan easily finds a ripened ruchi on a neighboring plant and simply slices it off with one of his finger talons, making the thorns on the vine a moot point.

  “Wow! Would you look at that!” Dad says as T’Kan harvests all the ripe ruchis growing on the six-foot stake in a manner of seconds then deposits them easily into the innermost stacked basket.

  Mom claps. “I can’t believe it!”

  Even I’m impressed now. At that rate, he’d be able to get all three of our rows done in a manner of minutes, not hours.

  “Thank you for your guidance, Father of our Qel,” T’Kan says to Dad. “Please take a seat upon the red clay again. I will finish this row and then yours and that of our Qel’s mother.”

  He then turns his violet gaze to me and says, “You will deliver song story until my work is done.”

  He must be kidding. There is no way I’ll ever sing for this bastard again. “Thank you for taking care of Kira’s parents,” I say, my voice tight with barely checked resentment. How dare he try to put me in a corner to make me owe him something for his services? “But I can handle my own row.”

  “Wait just an old planet minute. What in the moons is going on here?” a new voice asks.

  We look up to see Dan, wearing the High Leader sash, even though there’s no formal occasion to warrant it. Phil stands right beside him, like a kid who’s gotten in his tattle.

  Dread pools in my stomach. But T’Kan simply answers, “From now on I will do this female’s daily portion of work, along with that of our Qel’s parents.”

  Fury flashes across Dan’s face, twisting it into an ugly mask. And I find myself falling into my old role of conflict diffuser like a robot switched to on.

  “It’s okay, I can do my own work,” I refute quickly. “Dan, it’s okay. I’m doing it.”

  My words draw his attention away from T’Kan, and I can sense him coming back to himself. Registering me and all the other people looking on, the ones who don’t know what he’s really like behind closed doors.

  “Yes…yes, you should do your own work,” he says, resetting his handsome face to its usual public facade. He then raises his voice to add, “I’m not sure how things are run on your planet, but New Terrhan prides itself on being an egalitarian society. We don’t abide favoritism.”

  It takes everything in me not to snort. Is he kidding? Dan’s version of leadership practically runs on cronyism. And he stopped doing any version of actual physical work the day he took over my father’s seat.

  But he’s painted T’Kan into a bad corner for sure with his claim. Everyone’s head, including mine swivels to see how the Kel Regent will respond to Dan’s claim.

  “You are correct, that would be unfair,” T’Kan cedes, his nose ridges rippling. “Especially since there are so many other elders and females with newborns working your fields.”

  “Yes, yes, I am correct,” Dan says, grinning widely at the crowd. “Now if you would all get back to work—”

  “My soldiers and I will do not only the work of this new mother and our Qel’s parents, but all of the field work for the people of New Terrhan until further notice. It will be a good way to assess what machines are needed to do this labor instead of senior citizens and new mothers.”

  Dan’s eyes pop, but before he can come up with another protest, someone asks, “Did King Xar just say he was going to do all our fieldwork?”

  “Yeah, that’s what he said! Plus, he’s going to tell the other Xals to bring in some machines to help us.”

  By the time Dan recovers from his shock, everyone within earshot is cheering. A few of the senior citizens are even crying tears of joy, proving just how painful it must have been for them to work these field with their aging bodies.

  Dan balls his fists at his sides, but he wisely stays quiet. Really, there’s nothing he could say to counter an offer like that without looking like a dick.

  All around me people are cheering for this new unexpected blessing of freedom from field work. Yet, I cannot shout for joy along with my people.

  Not when T’Kan is staring me down, like he can’t see my fuming brother or hear the shouts of people relaying his message to the ends of the ruchi field and beyond.

  His eyes glitter triumphantly, then he touches his throat.

  Commanding me to sing like he used to. Giving me no choice but to accept his presence here. Accept his help.

  He’s doing it again. Manipulating me. Trying to make me feel grateful, so that I’ll do whatever he wants. Leaving me no choice but to follow his commands. Panic sets my heart to racing.

  No, I can’t cheer along with Kira’s parents and all the other field workers. I know something they don’t. Nothing in this hard life is free.

  He’s only demanding my voice. But the for now at the end of that demand is obvious.

  What will he command me to do in exchange for all this generosity when there is no one looking on? How much will I have to give?

  I shiver with the sure knowledge that telling me to sing is just the tip of the iceberg. Then I open my mouth to do exactly as commanded.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  T’Kan

  Over the past week, I have come to develop much respect for the people of New Terrhan. The fact that they have managed to survive for so long with so little is a testament to both their will and strength. Especially when one considers that my uncle’s damaging report was not completely wrong.

  The New Terrhans are sincerely hardworking but their board of leaders, who I am expected to negotiate and consult with as Kel Regent, are all but useless. They continue to operate on an antiquated system of laws that they made when they first crash landed on the planet. There is only one teacher for a classroom of dozens of multi-aged children, and only a few males carry enough knowledge to do maintenance work upon the colony ship.

  Our Qel has given the leaders every reason to set their minds toward future progress. Yet, little thought seems to have been giving to the retraining of any of their citizens to do intelligence work. And after our Qel took her leave, the leaders continued to ration food and force their older citizens and even new mothers to work in the fields, doing hard physical labor.

  Their High Leader even tried to take the harvest from my warriors at the end of our first workday.

  “The food must be stored by us and rationed,” the one called Dan insisted when he saw we were taking the freshly harvested produce back to the base ship we had retrofitted to serve as a government building and temporary living quarters for our work force.

  “You will tell me why this is the case when our base ship has storage systems that are much superior to yours,” I answered, peering down at the smaller male.

  “Because that is the way it has always been done,” he replied with a stubborn frown. As if that were any sort of explanation. “This is too much change too quick for my people.”

  Another tick against the High Leader, he treated his people like children. I can barely believe he is related to the female who figured out how to overcome me at my cabin with just a slim projectile and a young k’vani she had found in the wild.

  In answer to that assertion, I had walked to the top of the base ship’s landing strip and amplified my voice to call out to the settlers, “From now on we will store your harvest in the base ship which will preserve it for much longer. But have no doubt, this food you have grown belongs to you, New Terrhan. Upon the morrow we will begin setting up daily food stands. Please feel free to stop by before the making of your last meal to pick up whatever produce and grains you desire.”

 
I had made that announcement, then watched with satisfaction as the people cheered while the High Leader fumed.

  I have yet to accumulate enough patience to grant any of the High Leader’s follow up meeting requests. But by the end of our first week I have added many New Terrhan items to our daily briefing in the throne room.

  Still preferring standing to sitting in my throne chair, I point to a list typed upon an old-fashioned wall screen. “More housing is required. Some families have double and even tripled up in their red clay houses, because there is not enough housing to accommodate the settlement’s growing population. We will not make the same mistake. Since hu’man females are capable of having serval offspring, we will implement a new housing program to provide a house to every birthing vessel—ah, birth mother,” I correct remembering our Qel’s preferred label for the females we bred. “Whether the female gives birth to a Xalling or a full hu’man. This will be an effective way to make sure there is adequate amounts of housing.”

  My staff nods in agreement and my assistant, De’Tal makes a note on his data board to appoint someone to spearhead the program.

  “How is the retrofitting of the colony ship coming along?” I ask, turning to Fr’No, the head of our tech team.

  The orange director swipes a respectful hand over his ridges before responding, “Our efforts to upgrade the colony ship have been much impeded by its heavy usage. I have spoken to High Leader Dan about being allowed in on the one day the craft is closed so that we may have uninterrupted time upon the ship to retrofit in a holo communication system and install necessary devices. However, he says that the ship is closed on that day for his weekly address to his people and to conserve its energy. This is a most illogical explanation, as the craft runs on a forever battery—a rudimentary one, yes. But it works.”

  I inwardly hiss. As much as I loathe to be in that hu’man male’s presence, it seems it has become necessary. “I will speak to him about this matter and make sure he understands that your team will be given access to the ship on its rest days until further notice.

  Fr’No presses a hand to the top of his ridges. “Thank you, Xar.”

  I nod, then steer the briefing to a more urgent situation. “It has been brought to my attention that one of our photon guns has gone unaccounted for. It is imperative that we find it.”

  “I would not be the least surprised if it was N’Maryah,” Br’In, the warrior who escorted N’Maryah and Zin’nia back to New Terrhan asserts.

  My main guard, L’Rzo nods in agreement. “She has been by the ship several times to demand a translation chip for the hu’man male she was forced to take as her mate. She became rather vexed when we told her you were still putting together a priority list for the translation chip surgery, and she insisted that her male be put at the top of the list, since he is on the board of leaders.”

  My lips thin. As of this moment, I have no plans to give the leaders translation chips, considering who they elected to head their board. And, “I will speak to my cousin and remind her that she is serving out a lifelong prison sentence, and therefore is in no position to make demands. Or steal guns.”

  “It is quite possible that a hostile male took the gun,” Sh’Ean, the warrior I have put in charge of the daily food stand interjects. “It is not universally known on this planet that we have better than average hearing, and I have overheard whispers among the men as they wait in line to pick out their food.”

  “What kind of whispers?”

  “That there are more of them than there are of us. That they will not be left out in the cold. It is not all the men, but I believe that these small factions bear watching, my Xar.”

  “You may be right. Keep a close eye on the detractors and keep me abreast of your findings.”

  “Yes, my Xar.”

  Though I do not say this out loud, I add Zin’nia to the list of possible suspects. She has already tried to kill me once, and though she shows up faithfully every morning to deliver word song at the edge of whatever field I am working, she has yet to acknowledge or speak to me directly. Also, none of her selections include the word, “love.”

  My hearts clench with the memory of waking up from the nightmare in her lap.

  “You are all dismissed,” I say.

  Everyone stands and departs from the room, save for L’Rzo, my main guard. “My Xar,” he says with a respectful swipe over his ridges. “I was wondering about the gift you brought for the mother of your female offspring.”

  Again, my hearts twist into painful knots. But then I remember the vow I made to myself a week ago, when Zin’nia stormed off my ship.

  “Keep it in storage,” I coldly instruct before dismissing him again.

  Then I return to my rooms to change clothes for my nightly stroll. Duty, I most focus on that. For at this time, I have nothing else.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  After donning my Kel Regent robes, I gather my data board and debark from the ship for my nightly walk through the village.

  There are scattering of hu’mans gathered outside of their dwellings. Some of them doing small labors, like weaving, sewing, and metal working while others congregate and converse with their neighbors. Some of them call out greetings to me as I pass by. The field workers especially give me great waves.

  A few New Terrhans tentatively approach me to air grievances, like the need for fabrics, and how this solar’s “Xalthurian chicken” population has grown too fast and will soon need an additional structure. “Chicken” is what they call the vrill, for some reason, the flightless food and egg birds we provide them with each solar.

  I have found that these nightly strolls to be the best way to converse with the New Terrhans. None of them have yet to invite me inside of their tiny red homes, but their increased number of communications tell me they are growing more comfortable with my presence upon their planet every day.

  However, there is one house whose occupants never come out to greet me. Yet, I slow as I do every night, when I arrive at the dwelling Zin’nia shares with our Qel’s parents. Then I come to a full stop. There is scent wafting through the window this eve. It is sweet and yeasty. Wondering at the smell, I step closer only to hear the sound of whispered voices.

  “All I’m saying is you could offer the man some cake. I mean he’s the one that harvested all the grains you used to make it.”

  “No, I’m not going out there. I’m sorry if that strikes you as impolite.”

  “It more than strikes me. He does all that work and you can’t even offer him some bread.”

  “I agree, that’s cold, Zin.”

  “Dad, come on. Don’t you start ganging up on me, too.”

  “You know what, Kira was always telling us we needed to be more brave. Well, I’m done hiding in this house every time that man comes around.”

  “Mom, no, don’t—”

  Zin’nia’s words cut off abruptly when the door swings open and our Qel’s mother steps out with a plate with a triangular slice of bread lying upon it. “Why, hello Mr. Xar,” she greets, her smile wide and welcoming as if there had been no argument before she came outside her little house. “You’re just in time. Here.”

  She pushes the red clay plate toward me.

  “Take it,” she insists when I hesitate.

  None of the other New Terrhans have offered me food before. I eye the concoction on the plate. So this was what I had smelled. “Thank you.”

  I take the plate and slice through a piece with my talon. The flavors dance on my tongue. I like this sweet bread very much. I take another bite and then another until it is gone.

  The small female’s smile widens. “I see you like the birthday cake.”

  I nod slowly. “It was glorious. Thank you. Birthday? I am still unfamiliar with hu’man customs. Are you celebrating the day of someone’s birth?”

  “Yes. It’s Zin’nia’s birthday. She made it, but truth be told, baking is the only kind of hearth cooking that one can handle. She’s a smart one, but don
’t let her near any beans. They will get burned. Anyway, were having a little pre-dinner slice when you stopped by. Me, Joel, Zinnia and your little baby, Stevie—she is your little baby, right?”

  Ste’vie. So that is the name she chose for the little Xalling. Our little Xalling. And Zin’nia had not told the people she lived with of my connection to her.

  My chest pangs with the knowledge, even though fathers and daughters do not enjoy close relationships on Xalthuria. Males inherit and females ally, as the saying goes. In most families, females are considered a commodity to be raised, then given away to form trading alliances and other partnerships.

  “The cake is very good,” I say, working hard to keep my ridges neutral as I hand her back the empty plate. “Please thank Zin’nia for me.”

  “I will,” our Qel’s mother answers. Yet she doesn’t move to go back in the house with the plate. “You know what would taste even better with this cake? The rice and beans I made for dinner. Please come inside and have dinner with us. Then I will give you another piece of cake.”

  “Are you inviting me inside?” My hearts flutter at the thought of sharing a table with Zin’nia again.

  “If you don’t mind sharing a meal with us humans.”

  I place my hand at the top of my ridges. “It would be my honor, mother of our Qel.”

  She swishes her hand in the air. “Please, call me Gloria.”

  She surprises me by taking me by the forearm and pulling me along. It is a friendly guiding touch, and it makes me feel truly welcomed as I hunch down to step inside the dwelling of dried mud and stone.

  The inside is smaller even than my private cabin and only one room. The only furniture is a table with four chairs and in the corner, sits a crude looking cooking oven. Kira’s father and Zin’nia sit at the table. And on her lap, sits my daughter.

  My breath catches. Before this moment I have only seen her strapped to her mother’s back or front, her face obscured by the ever-present bark cloth sling. But now I can examine her fully, and she is…beautiful beyond words. The perfect swirled mixture of Zin’nia and myself with a head full of curly black hair.