by Anna Carven
“We’re still working on narrowing down the exact diagnosis.” To his credit, the medic’s voice is steady. He’s every inch the cool, calm professional. “It’s proving to be a bit more complicated than I’d thought. I can’t tell you much now, because I don’t want to tell you anything incorrect or misleading. Please be patient. I’ll have more information for you soon.”
The muscles in Tarak’s neck flex and harden. “She has my black nanites inside her. Contrary to what is supposed to happen, they haven’t devoured her. Instead, she’s developed a tolerance to them. Can I not just give her another transfusion of my blood?”
Joran goes a little bit pale. “Th-that wouldn’t be a good idea right now.”
“Why wouldn’t—”
I gently squeeze the back of Tarak’s neck. “Listen to the medic, love. This is his area of expertise, not yours.” I keep my voice low; my words are little more than a breath. To my relief, Tarak responds with a low, assenting grunt.
“Patience is not something I have a lot of right now.” One of his ears twitches. “I expect answers, medic, and I expect them soon.”
Joran’s face goes funny, as if he’s making an active effort to bite back a retort. “Y-yes,” he says. He meets my eyes, holding up the cartridge-thing. “I need to add this to the infusion. Your serum protein levels are dropping. This is a highly concentrated plasma-protein preparation. It’s freshly made.”
“Made?” I blink, reminding myself that I know next-to-nothing about Kordolian medicine. I know they’re capable of godlike feats of healing, but I still don’t understand how they’re able to heal me when I’m Human and all their theory is based on Kordolians.
“Your genomic map is stored in our systems. After analyzing your genetic data, it wasn’t difficult to synthesize the necessary proteins.”
“O-oh.” I struggle to process that information as he fiddles with the infusion machine, attaching the cartridge to it.
Tarak watches him closely. Joran fumbles the cartridge as he tries to clip it into the machine.
“Let him do his job, love,” I whisper under my breath, knowing that he can hear me perfectly well. “Terrifying him out of his wits isn’t going to make this process go any faster.”
A soft growl escapes my husband. He’s still ridiculously tense, and his irritability almost makes the air around us crackle. “Why is she still in isolation? Is all of this,” he gestures towards Joran’s protective suit and the entrance to the airlock, “really necessary?”
The cartridge slides into the infusion device with a satisfying click, and Joran looks down at Tarak. “It’s definitely infectious,” he says quietly. “You’ll have to de-contaminate when you leave.”
“I’m not leaving until she’s cleared.”
Joran offers Tarak a small bow. “With all due respect, Sir, we don’t know how long it will—”
“You’d better have answers for me soon, medic.” Tarak’s voice could freeze oceans.
“Patience,” I whisper. My fingers trace up-and-down his neck. The infusion machine clicks and starts to pump the protein stuff into my veins. Joran backs away, appearing more than a little uncomfortable.
“I’ll return as soon as I have confirmation of the diagnosis,” he says.
From deep down, I summon a smile. “Thank you, Joran.” I feel a little bit of sympathy for the poor medic. Zyara is one of the few Kordolians who can stand toe-to-toe with Tarak in his own domain and get away with it. I’ve even seen her overrule him once or twice on medical matters.
My dear husband is a terrible patient. Impatient, demanding, and stubborn, he seems to have a particular aversion towards any kind of medical facility, and this in a man who never shies away from anything.
Joran disappears through the qualum doors, leaving us alone together. Amazingly, the plasma-protein infusion seems to be helping the deep ache in my joints, although the Sylerian has me feeling a little bit woozy and detached from reality.
Thank Jupiter Tarak’s here. His grumpy, irritable, indomitable presence has a soothing effect on me, almost making me forget how desperately I want to see my daughter again.
And as always, despite the fact that I’m undergoing treatment, I feel a little bit… aroused.
“Hey, Tarak.” I sit up slowly, pushing the soft black sheets aside. “Remember when we first met?”
“Mm?” His eyes are closed. He’s running his bare hand up my leg now. The rough pads of his fingers brush the inside of my thigh. “What about it?”
“What on Earth possessed you to jump into the stasis tank with me?” Knowing what I know about him now makes my memory of that incident all the more remarkable.
He’s not the impulsive sort. He isn’t rash. He isn’t warm and fluffy or particularly considerate to others, with the exception of Ami and myself.
But for some reason, he’s been saving me from danger ever since we first met.
“You were cold,” he answers simply. “I felt I could do something about it.” As always, he’s scant on detail. The next thing I know, he’s moving, rising fluidly to his feet and sliding into the decidedly one-person sized pod. All of a sudden, he’s beside me, wrapping his naked self around me.
Ah. He’s gone insta-naked again. This exo-armor of his— which is constructed of an infinite number of tiny nano-machines that are responsive to the user’s mental commands—certainly has its perks.
“You were cold back then, just like you are now,” he whispers, and I realize that my bare feet are like glaciers, and my fingers are like icicles. I press my hands against his bare torso and I’m instantly rewarded with an infusion of heat. “Humans do not respond well to the cold.”
“Not here,” I protest. “They’re monitoring my vitals. They’re watching everything.”
They’ve probably picked up on the fact that my temperature’s just risen, along with my heart rate. Delicious warmth spreads down into my core. If Joran’s half-smart, then he would have figured out my predicament by now. The thought of someone else knowing what we’re up to makes me blush.
“I know,” he murmurs as he wraps his arms around me. The hard-edged tension I sensed earlier bleeds into his voice a little bit. A strange energy surrounds him; it’s warm and frantic and tender and savage all at the same time. “You torture me as much as you fulfill me, my amina. It has been a bit too long.”
He’s right, of course. I can’t remember how long it’s been since we last fucked. Days? Weeks? It’s not for any lack of interest. It’s just that he’s been tied up in this whole destroy-the-Empire thing, and I’ve been holed up here on Silence looking after our very energetic, very adventurous, very inquisitive daughter.
My desire skyrockets as his erection presses firmly against my lower back. “See what you do to me?” His voice is strained. “I will be here with you for as long as it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But…” My mind races. With all that’s happening on Kythia, he’s most certainly needed elsewhere. “The selfish part of me wants you to stay, but don’t you have a military coup to supervise? You’re a… unique and powerful individual in this part of the Universe. I shouldn’t be getting in the way of your responsibilities.”
“Abbey.” Tarak pulls me into him. My back is to him, and he engulfs me with his body, wrapping his hard torso and big arms around me. He twines his legs between mine. “Why do you think I am trying to disentangle myself from everything involving Kythia? Why do you think I am trying to step back from my command post?” Frustration seeps into his voice. He’s full of of dark energy and pent up desire, and I probably need to do something about that.
“Because you’re tired,” I say gently. “You can’t fix the Universe on your own, handsome.”
“I can try,” he argues in his typical, stubborn way, “and I would probably succeed, but that’s not the reason for all of this. You are the reason. You and our Ami. Everything else becomes insignificant.” He plants a slow kiss on a particularly sensitive spot behind my right ear. Next, h
is lips are on my earlobe, and he’s grazing my soft skin with his fangs. “Goddess, how I want to fuck you, my sweet Human. I will wait, though, because nothing is more important to me right now than finding a cure for whatever is making you sick, and I don’t want to hurt you or make this thing any worse.”
I shudder. It’s a good kind of shudder, the kind you get when something incredibly pleasant is happening to you. “I’m not that fragile.”
“Patience, my love.” His voice is full of irony as he turns the tables on me. Sneaky, sneaky man. “Fight this thing for me. Get better, and this will be your reward.” He presses the hard length of his cock against the curve of my ass.
“O-oh,” I moan. “You’re so mean, General. I’m practically an invalid here.”
“You’re not that fragile, and I command you to get better.” He sucks on my earlobe. “Think of it as fair, considering my waking thoughts are invaded by you. You’re driving me insane, and I suspect that the symptoms of mating fever are even beginning to return.”
The thought of my mate being driven to distraction because of me is a little unsettling. Ordinarily, I’d just jump his bones and be done with it, but I’m stuck in an isolation chamber with monitors and lines attached to me, and people are watching us.
Oh. How much can those medics interpret from outside the pod? I don’t really want to know. As for Tarak, he probably wouldn’t care. He’s shameless like that. He can walk around naked in public on freezing cold Kythia and think nothing of it.
This sweet, impossible, stubborn man of mine. Having him here with me makes all the difference.
The Sylerian coursing through my veins must be making me a little bit high, because all of a sudden, my aches and pains fade away, and I don’t think it’s just because of the plasma-protein infusion. Being surrounded by naked, larger-than-life Tarak in a cramped medical pod is the quickest way for a woman to feel invincible.
I close my eyes and let his overwhelming presence soothe me as he wraps his arms around my waist, holding me tight. It’s as if we’re both hanging in tortuous stasis, marinating in each other’s lust. I’m sick and untouchable as I wait for answers, and he’s on the verge of being consumed by mating fever. We’re like tinder and flint; all it takes is a little friction, and there’ll be fire.
That’s how it always is with us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter Nine
Abbey
I wake to the sound of voices, having been consumed by lustful fever-dreams of Tarak even as I slept in his arms.
They are angry, raised voices.
Correction: an angry voice, which unmistakably belongs to my husband. I look up. He isn’t in the pod with me anymore. He’s standing—no, looming threateningly would be a better term for it—over the medics.
He looks ready to commit bloody murder.
Both of the medics have come. Joran has been joined by his colleague, a big, sturdy Kordolian called Mareth, who looks more like a mercenary than a doctor, especially with that vicious looking pale scar crossing his left eye.
In his dark Kordolian-tech contamination suit, Mareth is quite the intimidating alien, but he’s still no match for my husband, who is once again wearing his exo-armor.
Tarak is all darkness and thunder; he’s as menacing as ever as he stands between me and the medics. “What do you mean there’s no known cure?” He speaks in Kordolian. Although my ability to speak the language leaves a lot to be desired, I can understand him perfectly well.
I’ve been stuck onboard this battle-cruiser for the last six months or so. What better way to fill in the time than to try and learn my husband’s elegant sounding language?
Sometimes, they forget you can understand them. That’s when things get the most interesting.
“She’s Human,” Mareth says carefully. “We’re in uncharted territory here. The kriovirus that’s inside you was previously stable, thanks to the addition of Callidum machine-particles and your own acquired immunity, but something in her biology seems to have caused it to mutate. It’s become infectious again, and we’ll need time to sequence the exact mutation. It’s a… structurally complicated virus that’s prone to ultra-rapid mutation, and it moves fast. That’s what makes it so dangerous and difficult to pin down. The addition of Callidum to its outer capsid makes it near-impossible to treat.”
“We just don’t have the knowledge or technology to develop the antivirus here on Silence,” Joran adds. “Neither of us were part of the Exogenesis Project, but we all know what happened with that. How many died on Xar as a result? That’s how dangerous the kriovirus can be. No matter how much we try to modify it, it’s still a flesh-eating virus.” Unease creeps into the medic’s voice. “Of course, you and the rest of the First Division were the rare exceptions to the rule. Last I heard, the Exo-Project guys were still working on a cure.”
“This so-called ‘antivirus’… How can it be synthesized?”
“Theoretically, it would have to be done in an advanced nano-lab by trained specialists. But even if we had the technology and knowledge to synthesize the antivirus, it would take time. It’s intricate work.”
Tarak begins to pace. “What kind of timeframe are we talking about?”
“It’s hard to say at this point.” Joran moves back a fraction of an inch, unconsciously reacting to the restrained violence in my husband’s movements. “We aren’t nanospecialists. A lot of background research needs to be done, and the fact that she’s Human further complicates the matter.”
“All I seem to be getting are half-answers and open-ended possibilities.” Tarak’s deep voice has gone soft. That’s a dangerous sign. The fingers of his sword-hand twitch in a reflexive gesture that I’ve come to recognize as one of his subtle tells. He’s looking for a weapon, because holding onto weapons seems to make him feel better, but he’s without his small arsenal of blades and guns right now. “You need to tell me exactly what you think can achieve here, and if your answer isn’t satisfactory, you need to tell me where I can find someone who specializes in this kind of work. I am not going to settle for anything less than the best care in the Universe when it comes to my mate.”
Ooh. He’s gone all over-the-top overprotective. The fine hairs on the back of my neck ripple as the air grows thick with the promise of violence.
I need to pour water on this.
“Ahem.” I sit up, and the medics glance at me in surprise. I point at myself wryly. “Hello? I’m right here. You can talk to me about me.” The Kordolian words sound strange coming out of my mouth. I know my accent is weird, and my inflection is totally un-Kordolian, but the effect on my newfound language skills on the medics is profound.
As I rise to my feet, they stare at me as if I’ve just dropped in from outer space. Tarak stops mid-stride and turns to look at me, raising a silvery eyebrow. Despite his grumpiness, the corner of his mouth rises in a minute quirk. It’s as if I’ve done something pleasantly surprising.
The old Earth-centric me would have been utterly indignant at the prospect of a group of overbearing male aliens discussing my personal and confidential medical information right in front of me. The mate-of-a-Kordolian-male me sees it differently.
A half-annoyed, half-amused sigh escapes me. These guys simply view me as an extension of the Big Bad, and therefore, nothing is off-limits.
They have good intentions, so I let it slide.
“Just so I have this clear,” I say, reverting to Universal as I flip my legs over the side of the pod, “because of some unforeseen mutation, the nanites inside me have gone rogue, and they’re making me sick? I’m guessing this kriovirus is the thing that makes them tick?” Ever since I coughed up blood with black dots in it, I had a sinking feeling this whole thing had something to do with the nano-stuff. The fact that my Human body just accepted the stuff in the first place seemed too good to be true.
“Y-yes,” Joran blurts, his eyes widening in surprise. “The virus is fused to a Callidum nano-structure. You know something of
bio-nano-engineering?” His tone is almost reverent. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“I made an educated guess,” I say dryly, shooting Tarak a meaningful look. This is one of the areas in which I know a little more than he does, even though my area of expertise is plants. But cells are cells, and plants get attacked by viruses too. “What I want to know is why you’re all so scared that I’m going to infect someone. Don’t the nanites have an affinity for my blood? The last I heard, my blood was still inside my body… well, most of it, anyway.”
Moving, cell-repairing, Callidum-hardened vampire-machines that respond to the user’s will, that’s what those nanites are. Tarak and his boys can command them in weird and scary ways. I don’t know whether that feat is due to psy-ability or unfathomable alien tech, and I don’t really care to find out.
I get the feeling all Kordolians have a little bit of psy-ability, and it’s something my Ami may have possibly inherited. It usually seems to manifest in the most subtle of ways, but there are some who possess mind-blowing abilities. Don’t even get me started on those so-called Silent Ones.
I’m just glad Noa and her lover have left the ship. We don’t need any more planetary-axis-altering declarations of love between telepathic assassins and virtuoso pianists, thank-you-very-much. Just ask my favorite fluffy slippers. They’re still recovering from a brutal laundering after I threw up on them when Silence rocked to the beat of Noa’s distressed psy-waves.
“Your blood sample produced some interesting results.” Joran and Mareth share an uneasy glance, which in turn makes me uneasy. “A direct consequence of the new mutations in the virus is that the nanites seem to have developed an increased appetite for a specific kind of blood-protein. Once they’ve exhausted their local supply, they’ll actively go in search of more.”
“They’ll leave my body… and attack someone else?”
“Yes, and the process of departure from the body has the potential to be quite traumatic. Once they identify a likely target, they will erupt from the infected’s blood vessels at high velocity.”