Moon Struck

by Heather Guerre

  He gripped the edge of the sink basin, staring at himself in the mirror.

  Monster. A hard, colorless face. A body made for brute force. An animal’s eyes. An animal’s fangs. That’s what she’d see when she looked at him. His desire for her was so laughably unrequitable. All he had was his toxin, and he wasn’t so far gone as that. He wouldn’t lower himself so far as to make her want him.

  He gripped the sink harder.

  The thought of her, in thrall to his toxin, helpless with desire for him, for his body…

  Porcelain cracked under his hands.

  “Errol?” Hadiza’s voice drifted through the thin wall between the lav and the sleeping quarters.

  “Everything’s fine,” he growled. “Go back to sleep.”

  The next day, Hadiza stared at her lank, outgrown braids in the mirrored panel beside the lav door and decided it was time to take them out. It was slow work, but she had the time. After an hour or so, arms and shoulders burning, she’d managed to unwind every single minuscule braid and unwrap the gold and silver threads from them. She gently fluffed the massive, curling corona of her hair, sighing in relief as her scalp experienced a freedom it hadn’t felt in months. She’d have to ask Errol to find some hair oil and a good wide-toothed comb if she didn’t want it to turn into a frayed mess, but for now, she simply enjoyed the luxurious volume of it.

  When Errol returned to the room, much later, Hadiza was sitting at the table, flipping through one of the Ravanoth philosophical texts Errol had gotten for her. It was a longwinded treatise on the historical development and interplay of the two major Ravanoth spiritual ideologies—Paltunkth and Thumatx. Hadiza had never been particularly captivated by theological debates, but reading about such things was more entertaining than staring at the docks.

  The door slid open and Errol stepped in, jacket hanging crookedly on his frame, one eye swollen shut, knuckles scraped raw and bloody. He lifted his head and when he saw her, he froze.

  “Your hair…” he rasped.

  She touched the soft ends. “The braids were getting too grown out. It’s a little messy but—”

  “No,” Errol said abruptly. “It’s…” he swallowed hard. “I have to go.” He turned around and left again. Hadiza stared at the door.

  The passage of days on the dim, gray planet was impossible to keep track of. The thick, constant cloud cover made the difference between night and day nearly negligible. Errol came and went at all hours, alternating between terse silence and impatient little bursts of information that he seemed absolutely loathe to pass along to her, as if even sharing the progress on the needed ship part was too much time spent in her company.

  And yet. Every time he returned, he brought food, and hovered insistently until she ate it. He often returned with little... well, not gifts, exactly—not with that pained expression in his eyes when he handed them over. But, offerings, perhaps, they could be called. Odd little prizes meant to console her over the fact that she had to be trapped in this dingy room for days on end.

  At first they were just interesting little oddities. There was a mini display with hours of Bijari dramas loaded onto it. Hadiza didn’t speak Bijari, and the display hadn’t been programmed with translations, but the aesthetics of the dramas were enough to interest her for a while. There was a Yiruban ring puzzle, which she’d figured out within an hour, much to Errol’s astonishment when he returned later. There was another Yiruban puzzle, a series of iron knots that, when twisted, affected the placement of the other knots. This one took her most of the day, on and off, to solve. But Errol still stared for a long moment, blinking, when he found the long strip of untwisted iron sitting on the table.

  “Are you giving me children’s toys?” she asked him suspiciously. “Just because humans don’t have the tech to project an Ellis bridge—”

  “It’s not an Ellis bridge,” Errol corrected her. “Those are obsolete tech. The superluminal—”

  Hadiza waved his explanation away. If he’d gone off on a lecture about the Scaeven circulatory system or bothered to explain the mechanics of Scaeven reproductive methods, she’d have been all ears. But transport tech was about as comprehensible to her as old Earth Greek.

  “My point is,” she cut in, “Humans aren’t mentally inferior. Just because we haven’t developed the same tech as you doesn’t mean we’re less capable. When we encounter advanced tech, we can use and replicate it. On Earth, way before space travel, there were civilizations that never independently invented the wheel. The wheel! And, yet, there was no difference in intellectual capability between these civilizations. It was just that their environments and the selective pressures they faced didn’t drive them towards developing that technology. Some civilizations developed metallurgy very early in human history, while others never—”

  It was Errol’s turn to cut her off. “Yes, fine. You’re a very clever little alien. So sorry I haven’t been adequately meeting your intellectual needs. Next time I’ll bring back an anti-ballistics system for you to dissemble.”

  Hadiza ran her front teeth over her lip ring. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I’m going stir-crazy in here.”

  “Worse than being trapped in the traffickers’ cargo hold?”

  She winced. She really was being an ungrateful bitch. “No. Of course not. Really, I am sorry.”

  Errol regarded her for a moment. “You were in the human military?” he asked.

  “Yes. But there isn’t just one human military. The big two are the Interplanetary Alliance and the Exodus Confederation. They’ve been at war basically since humanity colonized more than two planets. My home planet, Kepler, is in the Alliance, so I joined the Alliance Defense Force. But there are a lot of different factions—humans aren’t as united as the Yiruba or the Bijari. Even the Ravanoth are more cohesive than us.”

  “That would explain the lag in tech development, I suppose.” He shifted slightly. “You’re used to being kept busy.”

  “Because of the military? Yes. But, in general, humans need mental stimulation. I know the Ravanoth can put themselves into a sort of mental stasis, and maybe your race can do that, too? But humans can’t. Except when we’re asleep—and even then, our brains are still processing information.”

  “Scaeven sleep phases are similar to Ravanoth mental stasis. We can’t enter a sleep phase at will, though.”

  “So you don’t dream?”

  “No.”

  Hadiza tilted her head, considering this new information. “How often do you sleep?”

  Errol didn’t answer. He was looking at her, but she could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. After a moment, he said, “You’re a medical practitioner.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Human medicine—but I find the interspecies differences fascinating. You mentioned that Scaevens can—”

  “I won’t tell you anything more than strictly necessary about Scaevens. Humans aren’t supposed to know about us.”

  Hadiza frowned. “Why?”

  “Look at the way we react to you,” he said, suddenly tense again. “It’s safer. For both species.”

  “Well, if the human trafficking continues, you won’t stay hidden for long.”

  Errol nodded. “It’s a problem with no clear solution.” He turned away from her, putting a hand to the door locks.

  “Are you leaving me alone, again?” she demanded, incredulous.

  “Ungrateful,” Errol scolded as he exited the room, but she thought she heard a hint of amusement in his tone.

  He returned shortly and laid a thin display console on the table in front of her. He tapped the screen, waking it up.

  “Another puzzle?” she asked, trying not to be annoyed.

  “In a way.” He retreated across the room again.

  She glanced down at the screen. Blue light formed a web-like array across the screen. The web pulsed brightly. Faint yellow lights drifted between the branching knots of blue light. Points of dull red interrupted the movement of yellow light. There was a living
quality to the movement of the—

  “This is a nervous system,” Hadiza said, looking up at Errol.

  The mask covered his mouth, but she could swear he’d smiled, ever so faintly, at her. She grinned back at him, surprised by the surge of happiness his mild approval inspired.

  Unsettled by that reaction, she turned her attention back to the display. “So, the red… is a disease? Some kind of nervous disorder. What am I supposed to do? Cure it?”

  “You’re an intellectually capable creature. Figure it out.” He’d turned his back on her, peering out the window at ship movements along the docks.

  Hadiza gave her focus to the display, experimenting until she understood how to adjust the view, how to manipulate the structures. She pushed the view out until she could see the entire structure, brain, spinal cord, and peripheral system. Then dialed in until she was examining the structure of individual neurons. Eventually, she forgot the dingy room, forgot the surrounding strange planet, forgot even Errol’s looming presence. Time and again, she failed to resolve the disease—watching helplessly as the red intensified and spread, until the blue web of dendrites and nodes and synapses faded and disintegrated.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she became aware that her eyes were dry and burning with fatigue, her throat tight from lack of water, her stomach rumbling with hunger. A shadow fell over her, and she realized that Errol had come to look over her shoulder at her progress. She could smell the biocircuitry inhibitor wafting off his mask. She felt the heat of his body like a physical touch, and it made her own body go tense in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

  Flustered by her reaction to him, she cast around for something to say, some way to distract herself from his nearness. “I don’t think this is a human nervous system.” She felt confident that it was some kind of mammalian vertebrate, but she didn’t know enough to be sure. Her medical expertise as a trauma surgeon focused on larger structures—she was a jack of all trades, but a master of none. The delicacy of neurology was not something that could be treated in the field, and even in hospital settings it was largely handled by AI.

  “Hmm,” Errol rumbled, neither confirming nor denying. “Your patient appears to be… dead.”

  She flicked the screen with a growl, bringing herself back to the start of the disease—for at least the twentieth time. “First of all, I’m a trauma surgeon and a general practitioner, not a a neurologist,” she said defensively. “And secondly, when I’m treating a patient, I at least know what their species is. And I can see the rest of their body.”

  “Put it in stasis, Doctor. You need to eat.” He dropped a steaming container on the table beside the display.

  Hadiza stared at the food in surprise. When had he gotten it? She hadn’t heard him leave. She hadn’t even heard him return. She slid the neurological puzzle aside, and took a long drink of water before she opened the food container. It was a Yiruban stew, spicy and rich, that reminded her of Kepleran harira. Errol had brought the same thing for her yesterday. Was it just a coincidence, or had he remembered that she liked it?

  He was still standing behind her, his big body warm and solid. The urge to lean back, to lean against him, swept through her. She stiffened, resisting, controlling herself. It’s just gratitude, she reasoned. He’s saved you from enslavement, protected you, provided for you. The nightmares have stopped since you’ve been with him. You’ll get over it.

  He taunted himself with her nearness. It hurt to stand so close to her. And yet he welcomed the pain. He wanted to take off his mask, inhale deeply the scent of her skin and hair. He wanted to slide his hands over her slight, curving body and feel her softness. He wanted to taste her lips and make her ache for him as badly as he ached for her.

  Wrong, his conscience scolded. Monster.

  He moved away from her, returned to his usual post at the one-way window overlooking the docks. He watched the interchange of ships with only a fraction of his mind, the rest of him acutely tuned to Hadiza’s movements. She finished her meal, and slid from the metal stool that had been bolted to the floor. It was a bit of a drop for her—the room having been constructed to accommodate the larger species, like the Scaevens, Ljark, and Bijari. She padded into the lav to bathe and change.

  Outside the window, the overcast darkness of day faded into the pitch black of night. The lights of the dock glared brightly against his eyes. He turned away from them, and took a seat on the edge of the lower bunk. Now that Hadiza was no longer half-dead from hypothermia, she’d claimed the top bunk. Humans were primates. They probably liked heights. The Bijari were like that, too, though their ancestry was felid. Scaevens preferred the security of earthen cover.

  Hadiza emerged from the lav, chased by a cloud of steam. Her hair hung in loose, damp curls around her face and over her shoulders. Her skin would be humid and warm from the heat of the water. She’d smell like the soap he’d gotten for her—scented with thrassra oil, from an herb that grew in abundance on his home moon, Rafir. He couldn’t smell it through the mask, but he knew. It was a small, impotent way of marking her. But he knew what he’d done.

  She killed the light in the lav, plunging the rooms into darkness. His eyes adjusted quickly, better suited to the darkness than to the glare of artificial light. The Yiruban cassock, pale blue, floated ethereally as she walked, coasting against her body to give him glimpses of the sleek line of her legs, the smooth plane of her abdomen. He didn’t bother to conceal his hunger from her. The light was at his back, and her human vision was poor in the dark. She’d see nothing but his hulking silhouette.

  She passed the ladder for the upper bunk, coming closer and closer to him. He felt as if he were watching the both of them from a distance. Hadiza stopped just in front of him. The heat of her body curled against him. She looked as if she wanted to speak, but for a long time, she said nothing.

  Thin light from the docks filtered through the window, gilding her skin with edges of silver. The golden ring in her lip glittered like a single star. Errol stared at her, arrested once again by her striking beauty. Her eyes, large and pensive, looked fathomless in the dark. Her mouth was a full, lush pout, demanding to be tasted. Her rich, tawny skin looked soft as velvet, smooth as honey.

  Before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers brushed her jaw. She drew in an unsteady breath, but didn’t flinch away. Big, dark eyes met his. Her skin felt as soft and fine as it looked. His steely gray skin looked silver in the moonlight, a stark contrast to the colorful rosewood tone of hers. He trailed his fingertips over the velvet of her cheek. His thumb slid along the curve of her bottom lip, pausing on her lip ring. Her stuttered breath was soft and warm against his palm. For the briefest moment, he felt her lean into his touch.

  And just as quickly, she pulled away, breaking eye contact. As she should. She was lovely and he was grotesque. His hand fell to his thigh, curling into a fist as if he could hold onto the feel of her.

  “I—” she looked down, fisting her hands into the cuffs of her gown. “Goodnight, Errol.”

  He shouldn’t answer. He shouldn’t encourage any kind of relationship between them. “Sleep well.”

  She turned and climbed the ladder. Errol watched her delicate feet ascend the rungs. He listened to the rustle of her lithe, warm body as she burrowed into her bedding. When she’d found a comfortable position, she let out a soft little sigh that licked over his skin.

  The pain of his desire had sharpened to a bolt that pierced through his body from throat to chest to groin. His hands shook with it. The muscles in his legs burned from resisting the urge to pursue her. His skin prickled. His chest squeezed tight. His head swam with one thought, one impulse, looping round and round, driving him closer and closer to breaking.

  Chapter Eight

  He spent the entire night trapped in his own mind, frozen in place while Hadiza breathed peacefully above him.

  When she woke and climbed down to the floor, he was in exactly the same place she’d left him. �
��Did you finally sleep?” she asked.

  “No.” He stirred into motion at last, unable to look at her. He couldn’t bear the sight of her sleep-mussed beauty. He got to his feet and walked over the window, staring out at the docks.

  “You know what’s strange?” Hadiza asked. He gave no reply, but she answered anyway. “I haven’t had a nightmare the entire time I’ve been with you. I used to have them every night. I’d wake up sweating. But now they’re gone.”

  It seemed like she was trying to say something more significant, but Errol couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept of human dreams. Your own mind deceiving you? And it was a healthy part of normal brain function?

  When he didn’t reply, Hadiza turned away from him. He heard the soft chime of the pathology simulator starting up.

  “I had an epiphany,” Hadiza said.

  Unable to help himself, he turned to look at her. She was seated at the the table, focused on the display. The soft glow of the screen lit her face.

  “Did you?” Errol asked.

  “Yeah. This disease is degenerative. I was trying to stop the spread by isolating the diseased portions of the tissue, but what I needed to do was go just outside the diseased portions—where it hadn’t spread yet.” She tapped at the screen. “Those neural pathways are already compromised, so all I have to do is cut off the connection to healthy tissue, and—” one last tap “—the disease is isolated. The compromised portions can be removed surgically.” She held the display up with a bright smile.

  Her pride filled Errol’s chest with a swelling lightness. He felt like he was choking on it, but was happy to be doing so.

  Her smile softened, and her gaze traveled over his masked face. “Thank you, Errol,” she said. “For everything you’ve done for me.”