“Is this what you truly want?”
A smile tugged at his brother’s lips, a true smile and not the charming mask he slipped on. “Yes, very much, but what do you want, Talen? And do you think you can find it here?”
Talen took a long moment to consider. He joined the IU Navy to see the universe. But the only locations he ever saw were the bowels of an interstellar cruiser or a military base. The only exotic location he ever experienced was a steaming jungle full of mud and vermin.
He had also wanted to help civilians but found the vague assistance that the military delivered to be unsatisfying. They protected ships in the depths of space from pirates, yes, and had deployed to conflict areas, but Talen never felt the situation improved for all the muscle and ballistics the military employed.
“I want to help people,” he answered. “How can I do that here?”
Quil scratched behind one ear. “Why do you have to be so noble? It’s damn inconvenient.”
Talen tilted his head back and squinted in the sunlight that filtered through the dirty glass and the floral canopy. He had spent so much of his life off-planet, be it on ships or stations. Living on the ground, under an open sky, without the constant background hum of engines and circulated air, made him feel exposed.
His mother’s last words came to him. Take care of each other. They were all they had in the universe.
Quil could be such a manipulative bastard.
“Why couldn’t you just discuss this with me ahead of time?”
“I’ve been telling you my plan for ages, but you never listened,” his brother said.
Had he failed to notice? Was he too wrapped up in himself to hear what his brother had been trying to tell him? Probably. Selfishness and single-minded determination were flaws they shared.
He could do this, indulge Quil if that’s what his brother wanted. Having a home with a mate and kits still felt restrictive but he could be an uncle. He’d like that very much. Plus, it would take years to fill that library. His meager collection would fill a shelf, maybe two. The anticipation of hunting for books, talking with other collectors, lazy evenings reading in a comfortable chair—he selfishly wanted that.
“Three years is a good run,” Talen said. “We’ve been lucky, but our luck would run out sooner or later.”
“I knew you were a reasonable male under all the huffing and snarling,” Quil said, slapping Talen on the back.
Talen gave a low warning growl, ears twitching like an irritated male who knew he was about to be bankrupt. “I don’t have the temperament to be a host and you’re already obsessed with your violets.”
“Moon violet, and yes, that’s why I already signed up with Celestial Mates. I thought a human female would be good. Nothing says you have a successful business like a human. Stars know they’re not much good for anything but looking pretty. And the best part is that my new wife is already on her way.”
Chapter 3
Georgia
Tranquility,
Hello! I’m Georgia, your match from Celestial Mates. Writing this feels super awkward but I wanted to take the opportunity for us to get to know each other. After a few medical appointments, vaccinations, and some paperwork, I’ll be on a ship headed to Corra in three weeks.
So, five things about me.
1. My perfect date night is watching a film and staying in.
2. My favorite color is blue.
3. I’d tell you my favorite book, but I can’t pick. I’ve got a top ten, though.
4. Some people try to call me Georgie, but I do prefer to be called Georgia. Do you prefer your full name, or do you have a nickname?
5. I’m grumpy in the morning before I’ve had my coffee. I’m so not a morning person.
Care to share five things I should know about you?
—Georgia
* * *
It took six weeks from signing the contract to setting foot on a ship. First, she had to attend mandatory counseling to “identify coping strategies when making life-changing decisions.” Basically, the agency needed to know if she was crazy. Medical exams were scheduled and she had a weekly appointment for vaccines. Not fun but better than getting the Dagoba Flu or bleeding from her eyes. No joke. Eyeballs. Bleeding.
Yeah, the agency made her watch a very explicit video about alien viruses and bacteria. She’d take the needle jabs and feeling lousy for a day or two over bleeding from places not meant to bleed, thank you very much.
Between medical appointments, she had to sit through training modules about the alien cultures she’d encounter at the end of her journey. The computer tracked eye movement, so it knew when she failed to read or pay adequate attention to the video. Nothing like having the machine snitch on her. At least there wouldn’t be a quiz at the end.
Through it all, the one thing that made it tolerable was knowing that Tranquility went through the same counseling, medical exams, and education modules. The agency guaranteed that he would not welcome a disease-ridden lunatic into his home, and she had the reassurance she wouldn’t be stranded on a planet, alone with an abusive germ factory.
The moment the shuttle left Earth’s orbit and she felt the release of gravity’s grip; she knew every hoop the agency made her jump through was worth the trouble. This was everything she wanted.
* * *
Talen
* * *
The level of satisfaction Talen gained from working on the house surprised him. He never thought of himself as mechanically inclined—that’s why he hired Charl—but he couldn’t deny the warm pleasure of having tangible results at the end of the day. His body ached. Life in the military shaped his body for a specific purpose. Manual labor used him in new ways, breaking his body down and reshaping it.
Each night, he soaked in a cool bath—the hot water boiler proved unreliable—and slept harder than he had in years, since basic training. Each morning, he got up and did it again, working through the heat of the day.
The enormous scale of the renovations the house required weighed on him. The house was simply too big for four people and they could not, without blowing through their entire budget in an instant, renovate the entire property. They had to choose, which Quil resisted but Talen enforced. Quil’s conservatory sat at the top of the project list, but it was not more important than a new roof, working plumbing, safe-to-operate appliances, and vermin-free rooms.
Talen and Charl started by cleaning out the section of the house they planned to live in. With the debris and vermin eradicated, they tackled the ancient plumbing. The house had clean water, thanks to a natural spring, but it also had leaks.
Charl understood how the guts of a house worked and spotted problem areas before they became disasters. Hot water remained a luxury with the unreliable boiler that needed to be replaced twenty years ago. In a water-damaged ledger, Quil found a reference to a hot spring and grotto on the grounds, but he had yet to locate it.
Quil’s conservatory required special high-strength, impact-resistant material for the glass panes, which ate a considerable chunk of their savings. Considering the wind speeds in the storms that Corra experienced, they would forever be replacing broken glass. It was smarter and more frugal in the long run to buy the durable material, regardless of expense.
The wrought-iron frame of the conservatory had badly rusted and needed to be replaced. For one harrowing day, the entire structure swayed in the wind and Talen thought it would collapse. Fortunately, the glass panes added necessary stability and they avoided disaster.
They used the same material for the windows in the library. Talen packed away the contents and sent them away to be restored, if possible. His gut told him that most of the books were beyond saving, but he let the professionals make that call. Every single book went, no matter how swollen with water or chewed by vermin.
Talen sold the ship. Paying for docking fees at a station seemed ludicrous; it was better to sell and sink that money into the house. Surprisingly, he didn’t miss the ship. He missed
the noise of the engines and the rattle of the air vents, but he didn’t miss stooping for the low doorways, squeezing into the tiny cleansing stalls, or rationing water. He had lived in the ship since leaving the Navy, but it wasn’t his home.
Quil, Bright, and even Charl were his home.
He had not lived on a planet for years.
After the first week, he felt the itch to leave. As a kit, they never stayed in one location for long, always one step ahead of those who might want to do them harm. As time passed, when they had not been murdered in their bed, the sense of urgency faded but they still continued the pattern of never staying in one place for long. He had never questioned that urge before.
Quil had arrived at the need for a planetside house in a roundabout way, but he had been correct. The house was what their little family needed. Talen found he took an inordinate amount of pride in making the building habitable for his family. Under an inch-thick layer of dirt in the foyer, he discovered a mosaic floor with dark navy stars embedded in a creamy field, which reflected the vaulted ceiling of navy with painted gold stars. He enjoyed uncovering the house’s secret treasures.
The roof, though, was a special kind of hell. Badly damaged, little could be salvaged of the traditional slate tiles. Whole sections of the roof had rotted away. If Talen did not step carefully, he could put a foot through it. Steeply pitched, the roof required athleticism and an unfailing sense of balance. Morning dew made the tiles slippery and treacherous but after a day of soaking up the heat of the sun, the tiles were hotter than a supernova.
Talen mopped his brow with a cloth. The summer sun beat down and the roof offered no shade. “I hate this roof.”
“You’ll like not having the rain on your head,” Charl replied.
They had been lucky with a lack of summer storms, but their luck could not hold. One day, a storm would roll over the horizon, steal the sun for days, and bring down a fury of hail and cold rain. Talen and Charl worked day in and day out on the massive structure. The project would have been finished by now if the roof had a uniform design. Each section was unique, and each gable had its own measurements. Each new area required measuring and custom cutting tiles to fit.
“If we were smart, we could have just put on a flat roof and be down with it,” Talen muttered.
Charl sat down next to Talen and handed him a cold bottle of water. “I remember someone insisting on traditional aesthetics.”
“That someone was an idiot,” Talen said.
“That was you, yes?”
Talen growled, ignoring his friend. Charl chuckled into his bottle. He had insisted on replicating the original roof out of a misguided idea that if they were going to do something, they would do it properly. He had been so naive then, unaware of how much a complete pain-in-the-ass working with the tile would be.
“Next roof,” he said, “is tar paper.”
“This roof will last a hundred years, so I don’t think it’ll be your problem,” Charl said.
“So practical. I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Talen stretched out on the roof, letting the heat of the tiles soak into his tired muscles. That morning, Quil had left on a supply run while they used the last of the boxes of tiles. Talen and Charl had done as much as they could until Quil returned. He should climb down, clean up, and see if Bright needed any assistance, but his bones did not want to move.
His stomach decided for him and rumbled.
After stowing away the tools, he took a frigid shower and followed an enticing aroma into the kitchen. Bright set a plate of sautéed vegetables in a creamy yogurt sauce over rice in front of him. The meal was too heavy for the summer heat, but Talen scraped his plate clean, using thick slices of bread to gather up the last bits of sauce.
“Don’t eat too much. You’ll make yourself ill in this heat, Talent,” Bright cautioned.
“Yeah, Talent,” Charl added, barely pausing as he shoveled food in his maw.
“What about Charl? He ate twice as much,” Talen complained in a masculine and not childish at all tone.
“If I get sick, I’ll just use my other stomach.”
“You’re making that up.”
Charl shrugged, his massive shoulders heaving. “Am I?”
“How many stomachs do you have then?” Talen challenged. Charl forever made outlandish claims about his innate Gyer abilities. True, the male had remarkable hand-eye coordination. He’d need to with four hands, but a fair majority of the boasting was just a male stroking his own ego.
“Three. One for everyday consumption, one for toxins and poisons, and another for dessert.”
See? He couldn’t expect Talen to take him seriously.
“Three? Is that where you put all my cooking?” Bright poked Charl in the stomach but the large male laughed. “Now get out of my kitchen. Go on.”
“Yes, Talent, back to work,” Charl said in a sing-song voice.
Talen growled a warning but Charl ignored him, as always. He knew he behaved like a whining kit, but he loathed being called Talent because it was a stupid name. Only Bright called him that and he could not correct her without a lecture about how she smuggled him and Quil off Talmar at great personal risk and raised them as her own, with no money and no resources.
His name was Talen and he had gone by that moniker for years. It sounded like another word for claws and that suited him just fine. Talent, however, as a name, was remarkably uninspired.
Quil, short for Tranquility, was the epitome of ‘cranky baby christened by exhausted parents.’ The name reflected his parents’ mindset at the time and their desperate prayer for a bit of rest. What did his parents hope to gain with talent? That their youngest son would excel at something, but they didn’t particularly care what? Talent was a placeholder name, a kit’s name that no grown male should carry.
As an adolescent, he intended to change it. Every day was a new name, a new identity, but nothing suited him. Talent, as much as he loathed it, was one of the few remaining gifts from his parents and he found himself reluctant to part with the moniker.
His feelings were complicated and refusing to look closely at them did not make him an overgrown kit. He was a busy male with no time for navel-gazing. Quil could mope about their lost family and childhood; Talen had work to do.
He and Charl prepped the hallway for painting as they were stalled on the roof until Quil returned with supplies. Charl used his many hands to fill in any holes in plasters and sand the surface smooth.
The sun eased closer to the horizon and the shadows moved across the floor. Quil had been gone too long for a simple run into town and that made Talen nervous. The nearest town, Drac, was mid-sized and had no casino or gambling hall to lure Quil into temptation.
But it did have several bars.
Fuck.
Quil had to be at a card table, fleecing the locals. Talen knew it in his bones. They didn’t need that kind of trouble. If Quil’s starry-eyed notion of a bed and breakfast was to ever turn a profit, they could not afford to turn the local population against them. They no longer had the option of hopping in their ship and sailing away to another port.
Fucking hell. Could Quil ever think of anyone but himself? How could he be so selfish? Then, with dread tugging on his tail, how could he have let Quil go into town on his own? He knew better.
Talen needed to find Quil. He needed to get this situation under control. For one day, just one day, Talen would like his older brother to behave like a grown-ass male and not require constant supervision.
At last, just as they finished for the day, a vehicle arrived.
Back before dinner, he couldn’t have possibly gotten into too much trouble.
Talen ambled toward the vehicle, ready to unload the cargo.
Quil stood proud, the last rays of the summer sun casting a golden glow over him. Talen noticed what he had on his arm.
Double fuck and all the trouble in the galaxy.
“What did you do?”
* * *
Geor
gia
* * *
Tranquility,
Tomorrow’s the big day! I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.—Georgia
* * *
The shuttle landed on a raked gravel drive. The hatch opened and fresh air flooded the cabin. She breathed deep, enjoying how the scent of fresh-cut lawn overpowered the oil and engine aroma of the shuttle. Her day had started early with her ship landing before dawn. With hours to wait until she caught a connecting shuttle, she wandered the spaceport, choking on fumes and the unique scent of stale coffee and unwashed travelers.
She was tired down to her bones and nervous. She wrote faithfully to Tranquility, hoping to develop some type of relationship before they met face-to-face. Six months was a long time to travel, but her actual time spent aboard ships was only half that. The other half of the journey had been spent waiting at stations and ports to catch a connecting ship. She spent nine days at Aldrin One, which was technically still in Earth’s territory.
Fortunately, she had no shortage of interesting things to see or food to try. Once she made it on board, entertainment options were limited, but she filled her tablet with books and movies.
Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, she picked up a bug that morphed into an upper respiratory infection. She suffered for days in her cabin, congested and coughing, reluctant to see the ship’s medic. They weren’t human and the captain might want to ditch her at the nearest port like she carried a plague instead of the common cold. Once she put on her big girl panties and visited the medic, a course of antibiotics sorted her out.
The agency covered the cost of the trip—which explained why it was so slow with so many gaps in connections—and allowed a daily stipend. Her messages were filled with photos of the new and weird surroundings and short little anecdotes about the joys of traveling.
Pulled by the Tail: Celestial Mates Page 5