Pets in Space: Cats, Dogs, and Other Worldly Creatures

by S. E. Smith

  “I’m glad you’re coming with us,” Maggie chirped next to his ear. “Uncle Dante has been dissist so he can stay here and help Uncle Nick turn into a healer.”

  “It’s ‘dismissed’, Maggie,” Juan corrected. “I thought all the Guardians had to go help reorganize the fleet, Uncle Graig.”

  “Healers are not bound by the same vows as the rest of us.” Graig shifted Maggie onto his hip. “They must go where they are most needed. That’s why Dante was released from his Guardian obligation. Training new healers is the best way he can serve.”

  “I wish Aunt Simone was coming with us.” Flora’s words twisted in his gut like shards of ice.

  “Flora,” Juan hissed. “Mama said not to talk about it.”

  Of course she did. Not at all unexpected.

  “And I meant it,” Alex said from behind him, displeasure at her daughter evident in her tone.

  Flora crossed her arms over her chest and scowled.

  “Everyone aboard,” Gryf ordered. “Time to strap in.”

  “Will you double check my seatbelt, Uncle Graig, please?” Maggie smile sweetly.

  “Of course, little bird.”

  Juan grasped the handle of his gear bag. “I’ll stow your bag, Uncle Graig.” The six-year-old bounded up the ramp and disappeared into the craft.

  There wasn’t much in the bag, just a couple of changes of civilian clothes he’d taken from the stores of Camp One. Everything he’d owned had been left behind aboard the Atlantis when the Anferthians had boarded the ship.

  Alex brushed passed him, shooting him a meaningful glance. Yes, this would be a long year.

  Three

  Guardian Fleet Cruiser Atlantis

  Two months later

  Bam!

  Graig staggered back under the force of the blow to his well-padded chin, the weighted palo stick slipped in his grip. Ska! Gryf hadn’t hit him that hard since their cadet days.

  Bam!

  Gryf’s stick caught him alongside his head this time. If not for the protective head gear, he’d be on the arena floor, most likely in a debilitating state of unconsciousness. His friend spun and lunged, going in for the “kill”. The bulbous end of the stick drove the breath from Graig’s lungs with an explosive “woof”.

  “Death blow,” the automated voice announced. “Match over.”

  How in the hells had that happened? He splayed his hand against the wall of the practice arena, doubled over as he sucked in deep breaths.

  Gryf lowered his palo stick to his side. “What troubles you, ades?” Brother.

  “Nothing.” Except that there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room to fill his lungs. “Just an off day.”

  Gryf unstrapped and removed his helmet, his eyes seemed to study him as though peeling away layers to get to the heart of the matter. “Unusual, for you to go down so quickly.”

  Why had he ever thought it would be a good idea to serve under the leadership of a man who knew him so well? He forced himself upright. “I will recover.”

  “Hmm.” The noncommittal sound was laced with concern. And concern would lead to more questions, questions he didn’t need. Primarily because he had no answers. “Graig—”

  “I’m fine, Gryf.” He reached up, gripped the back of his helmet and jerked it over his head.

  Furrows appeared between his best friend’s brows, and all the questions he didn’t want to answer hovered in those vivid blue eyes. The odds of getting out of here without an interrogation were rapidly approaching zero.

  Gryf nodded once. “Very well. Get some rest, Commander. I will see you on the bridge in the morning. Good eve.” He turned on his heel and exited the arena.

  That was an unexpected reprieve. The switch from friendship to impersonal professionalism sat like a cold hunk of metal in his belly. In all fairness, he deserved it. Shutting out Gryf was the last thing he’d meant to do, but what else could he say? There was no excuse for his deteriorating ability to concentrate over the past two months.

  “Good eve, sir.” It seemed appropriate to at least murmur the standard response, even though Gryf probably hadn’t heard him.

  Get rest, indeed. He released a long gust of air and stowed his combat gear before heading to his quarters.

  The silence of his cabin pressed against his eardrums. Even after two months, he still missed the sounds of the cube he’d shared with Simone on Terr. Comfortable sounds, like the low hum of the generator, the tiny clicks the oven made when heating, the soft snick of their bedroom door. The husky allure of her voice. An odd tugging sensation pulled at his heart.

  Ska. This pining for what was past was beyond absurd. He loosened the seals of his uniform and yanked the shirt over his head. He had a job to do, and dwelling on what he could never have back served no purpose.

  At least, that’s what his brain kept telling him. His heart seemed to be the instigator of poorly thought out ideas—like the telum he’d purchased the last time he’d escorted Alex to Matir. The weapon had seemed to whisper to him from the case in the shop. Too small for his hand, yet just right for Simone’s. Even its weight was ideal and wouldn’t tire her arm. Ranger was still a puppy and would be little protection against coyotes for a while. Simone would benefit from such a weapon.

  Not that she would accept any gift from him. That was why he’d asked Alex to ship it to her with specific instructions not to mention his name.

  Mother above, he was pathetic. He lowered himself into a stiff-backed chair. Between Alex’s worried glances and Gryf’s unsolicited performance assessments in the practice arena, it was clear something needed to change or he could be relieved of duty. If he didn’t refocus himself, who knew what he could miss. The security of so many depended on him. Giving anything less than his best was unacceptable.

  The following afternoon Graig stomped along the corridor toward the ship’s atrium. Others he passed acknowledged him with a nod or salute, but few seemed eager to make eye contact as if they feared being on the receiving end of his attention. That was fine, as long as they left him alone. The only one he wanted to interact with at this moment was that insolent Terrian woman, Alex Bock. She’d been hounding him since they’d departed her home-world two months ago, and now she’d gone too far. By the Fires of Ata, she would drive him to throw himself down a conveyor shaft to escape her meddling.

  Or wring her scrawny neck. That option was tempting, but Gryf would likely object since she was his wife. Ska.

  He slammed his hand against the ID reader for the atrium door. It swooshed open and he stepped into the airlock, waiting until the second door opened. Warm, humid air rolled over him laden with the heavy scent of tropical flowers. His gaze took in the lush plant life growing in this section of Atlantis’s atrium. Simone loved tropical plants, especially hibiscus.

  Focus. This wasn’t about Simone, it was about Alex and what she had done. Most likely, she would be in the farming section, which was beyond the section housing the tropical plants. He moved along the paths between the plants that provided either fresh food or medicines for the crew. Right now, they served as a means for Alex to hide from him. But not for long. He continued to stomp along the path—because stomping was justified—and through another set of doors.

  The farming section was much less humid, but still warm and bright with artificial sunlight. He could call out to her and she’d probably hear, but why give her any advantage?

  A few turns later his quarry came into view. Alex Bock, his best friend’s wife, the esteemed Profeta, savior of Terr and Matir, first Terrian ambassador to Matir, and all-around pain in the ass was kneeling in the dirt picking little red berries.

  “Alex.” Her name rolled from him like a threat.

  She startled, looked up at him, and smiled. Smiled! Damn her.

  “Hi, Graig.”

  Her cheery words grated on his nerves like the high-pitched whine of one of those blood-sucking mosquitoes from her home-world. “Is that all you have to say? ‘Hi, Graig’?”
/>   She tipped her head to one side with a puzzled expression, as if she had any reason to be puzzled. “Would you rather I said, ‘What’s up, dick wad’?”

  He tamped down the growl of frustration building inside. “I’d rather you explain why the hell you submitted my name to Healer Tostra for psychological evaluation.”

  Why was he even asking? Her various official titles alone gave her almost as much power aboard the Atlantis as her husband, the Senior Captain. It was her flag-ship after all, thanks to the UDF brass and the Matiran government. She could make such requests.

  “Graig, you’re a basket case,” she said, then held up a shallow, rectangular harvesting flat as if showing him her new-born baby. “Look, my first harvest. The strawberry plants Simone gave me have become rather prolific. I think they like outer space.”

  A sharp twinge jabbed at his heart at the mention of Simone’s name. He pushed it aside. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your harvest. Why the fuck did you do it?”

  Her smile faded into a glower in the space of an eye blink. “You have no reason to speak to me like that.” She set the flat on the ground and climbed to her feet. Creases between her brows marred her otherwise smooth forehead.

  “You have no reason to set me up like this, either. Do you realize I’ve been relieved of duty until an evaluation is rendered?”

  She folded her arms in front of her. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

  He curled his hands into fists and stepped forward, invading her oh-so-precious Terrian personal space. “Then, why. The fuck. Did you. Do it?”

  “Because, you’re an asshole.”

  A howl beat at his throat, seeking escape. His hands reached for her, closing around her upper arms to make sure she didn’t back away before he had a chance to voice his opinion of her unwelcomed intervention.

  An exploding super-nova of pain in his crotch stole air from his lungs in a wheezing gasp. He sank to his knees as bile rose up from his stomach. What the hells had just happened?

  Strawberry leaves tickled his nose. He was on the ground curled in the fetal position covering his injured manhood with his hands—too little too late, apparently. How did he not anticipate this?

  Alex bent over him. “I don’t care if you don’t like my opinion, Commander Roble. I also don’t care if you don’t agree with my actions. I do care if you lay your hands on me for them, though. If you have an issue with me, either talk to me or invite me to the practice arena to work it out. But, don’t you ever touch me like you just did again.”

  What the hells had possessed him to lay his hands on her? Could there be something to her theory? He squeezed his eyes shut. No, he was in control. He was always in control. He blinked several times in rapid succession to clear the fog of pain from his head. Alex and her flat of strawberries seemed to be gone. Had she really left without resolving this issue?

  “Not so fast, Alex.” His whispered words sounded strangled to his ears, but damn if this was over.

  He willed his body to move, rolling to his knees, then he vomited the meager contents of his stomach on her precious prolific strawberries. A moment later he staggered toward the exit. Hopefully she’d gone in this direction. By the time he reached the airlock his stomach had settled and he’d compartmentalized the pain from his groin. He burst through the final doorway and into the corridor.

  A young, fresh-faced Matiran ensign gaped at him, his hand stopped half-way into a salute and the desire to flee in his eyes. No sense in giving the young man a chance to recover his senses. “Did you see which way Ambassador Bock went?”

  “Th-that way, sir.” The ensign pointed.

  Graig gave him a rough nod and sprinted down the corridor. With any luck, she was heading to her quarters. Two right turns later he spied her. “Alex!”

  She whipped around to face him, her eyes going wide as he stalked toward her. Good, she understood this was not over. He dipped down and scooped her onto his shoulder, her indignant yelp reaching his ears as strawberries bounced on the deck around him.

  “Cripes, Graig, put me down!”

  He allowed one side of his mouth to curl upward. “Consider this your invitation, your honor.”

  “Oh, my effing god! You are an asshole.”

  “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.”

  Senior Captain Gryf Helyg shifted in his seat, trying not to count the moments until he was off duty. It wouldn’t be much longer; Ora had arrived a short while ago to take over command of the bridge for the night. He inhaled deeply and released his breath through his nose. It’d been a tedious day. Fortunate, it was, that the Guardian Fleet conversion was ahead of schedule and he was determined it remain so, mostly for the sakes of his wife and their three children.

  His family. Mother above, he loved them all more than his own life. But it wouldn’t be too much longer before the excitement of living in space would wear off, then Flora, Juan, and Maggie would start prowling the corridors in search of anything to occupy their curious minds when not with their tutors. Even the short trips to visit his parents on Matir might not be enough to satisfy their need for fresh air and open space.

  “Anxious, Gryf?” Ora asked in a low voice.

  Gryf cast an amused glance at his second-in-command. “I am just tired and ready to be with my family for the evening.”

  Her face transformed as she smiled. “You are a blessed man, sobin.” Cousin.

  “A greater truth I cannot conceive.”

  Crewman Alta Imifa turned in her seat. “Captain Helyg, there seems to be a disturbance on delta deck.” She paused. “It seems…um, no…oh, Holy Mother. This must be wrong.”

  Gryf jerked his body upright. “Report, Crewman.”

  Concern flashed in Alta’s blue eyes. “Sir, multiple reports are coming from crewmembers who have witnessed Commander Roble carrying the Profeta over his shoulder. He is reportedly livid, sir.”

  What in the hells? Gryf extended his soul-mate link with Alexandra. Despite their mutual agreement to keep their link “disengaged” while he was on duty, the current situation deemed immediate contact essential. It took less than half a heartbeat to reestablish their connection.

  What is happening, Alexandra?

  I’m fine, Gryf.

  If you are truly over Graig’s shoulder, then you are not, as you say, fine.

  Well, I may have pissed him off a teensy bit. Her memory of filing a report leading to an order of a psychological evaluation for Graig filtered into his thoughts.

  Gryf pinched the bridge of his nose. Alexandra and Graig had been hurtling toward a confrontation like this since the Atlantis’s departure from Terr. Now, it seemed to have reached its zenith. Mother willing, their friendship would be strong enough to survive this confrontation.

  “Captain Solaris, you have the bridge for the night. I shall defuse the situation below, after which I plan to be officially off-duty until morning.”

  Ora gaped at him. “You will not leave me here to miss this. Commander Zola, you have the bridge until I return.”

  Karise Zola nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Mother above, this was all he needed. A soul-mate with a vendetta, a best friend who had taken leave of his senses, and a cousin who couldn’t take one simple order if it meant missing the impending showdown.

  Gryf pushed out of the command chair. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Four

  Graig danced backward, dodging Alex’s foot by a hairsbreadth. Close. Too close.

  “C’mon, Graig,” she goaded. “Let’s see some offense.”

  There was no response he could give to that. He had been on the defensive since they’d started—right after Gryf and Ora had appeared behind the transparent observation shield. This had colossal disaster looming over it like a storm cloud.

  Something struck him in the solar plexus, doubling him over. How had she managed to get that kick in without him seeing it? Her knee took him in the head and he staggered backward. The room seemed to rotate around him,
then he blinked up at the ceiling of the practice arena, his head vibrating from Alex’s vicious attack.

  Damned hells, she was right. He had lost his edge, and that was a very serious problem for the person in charge of fleet security.

  “Get up and fight, old man,” Alex snarled.

  Did she have to call him that? Old man? It may fit him at the moment but it didn’t mean he liked it. The worst part was how she stood over him like an avenging priestess of the Mother’s temple. Ska. “I’m done.”

  “Like hell. We haven’t been going more than four minutes, I’m barely warmed up. Get up.”

  He gave her a hard glare. “Chatapi.”

  “You’ll have to kiss my lily-white ass before I’ll accept your forfeit.”

  Holy hells, please don’t let her mean that literally. It was hard to tell sometimes with Alex. He ground his teeth together and squeezed his eyes closed. Patience, that’s what he needed to get her to back off. The only way he’d persevere was to stifle his own damn pride and admit she was right.

  Galling. Just galling.

  He opened his eyes and met her steady gaze. “Sora, dimmi. Forgive me. I am sorry. You’re right, I am, as you so eloquently put it, a basket case.”

  Alex’s right eyebrow arched up, but she obviously was not convinced. This would require more than a simple admission of wrong doing. “May I sit up?”

  Her expression turned suspicious.

  “I’ve already forfeited, and you know I don’t use trickery in combat.” He’d never needed to resort to such ploys. His wits and well-thought-out tactics gleaned from years of experience had never failed him. Until now.

  She nodded and stepped back. He levered himself into a sitting position, his arms resting on his raised knees as he focused on regulating his breathing. It was probably too much to hope she’d sit down for this. “Deception is not my intent when I say you’re right. I don’t know what is wrong with me, but it is clear now—even to me—that I’m unfit for duty.”