“What?” I repeat. My question is now one of horror. I rub at my eyes, and sure enough, they come away with moisture. “Sh’vieth.” I turn away and try brushing them away with my jumpsuit. I’m supposed to be a proud, strong Vzekian warrior, dammit, and yeah, maybe I want to be this perfect being that he’s talking about.
But, as I realize that I’m crying, my chest feels like it’s being split open, baring everything for him to see and critique. I can’t have that. I don’t want to have this horrid human emotion clouding my judgement. I have a ship to repair and a payload to drop off for our parents.
That’s all.
“Dammit,” I mutter. My fingers keep going away wet, and I start pawing at my eyes frantically.
“Kear’yl,” Houston starts, reaching for me.
“Don’t touch me!” I shout, wheeling out of his grasp. “You do not get to touch me.”
His hand hovers in the air, and I see the wavering indecision on his face. I don’t want to stay around long enough to see what conclusion he comes to. Suddenly, the weight of everything hits me, and I feel drained.
“I’m going to lay down,” I say. “You can stay out here and be a blackhole, but I just…” My voice trails off and I don’t know what else to say. So, I just fill in the silence with the only thing that comes to mind. “Merry fucking Charis-must.”
I turn on my heel, stride to my quarters, manually open it, and shut the door behind me. Even still, my eyes keep leaking moisture, and I can’t get them to stop.
***
Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door.
“Kear’yl?” Houston’s voice comes through, muffled by the layers of metal between us. Apparently, the generator that effectively soundproofs rooms is offline as well. “Kear’yl, can I come in?”
“No need to,” I say as blithely as possible. I even paste a smile on my face even through there’s a steel door between us. “There is nothing further to discuss.”
“That must be the Vzekian equivalent of ‘I’m fine’,” he says, exasperated. He sighs. “Just let me in?”
My first thought is Why? because there truly is nothing further to discuss, but this must be a human thing, to talk about things until they dissolve. Plus, I know he won’t stop bothering me. So, I get up and pull the door open. Houston is standing there, his hands in his pockets. There’s something vulnerable about the way he looks at me.
I don’t like it.
“The doors are offline,” I tell him. “You could have very easily opened it yourself.”
“I don’t come into girls’ rooms uninvited,” he says. “That’s a dick thing to do.”
Right. Now he’s talking about genitalia?
“Can we, uh, talk?” he asks.
“Nothing is keeping you from doing so out here,” I point out.
“Yeah, but…” He scratches his head, avoiding the bandage. “It feels more awkward out here.”
Does it? I’m not sure, but I step aside and gesture for him to come in. I follow him in, leaving the door open, knowing that if worse comes to worst, I can just leave him here. Maybe figure out a way to seal him inside until I figure out what to do with the ship and how to save us.
Cosmos, what is he doing to my emotions? I just want to poke my hearts out with a needle, or battle an Abussyiman whale, just to remind myself who I am.
He sits on the bench I have facing the bunk, so I take my spot on the mattress. He looks ill at ease, like he’s unsure what to say. Finally, he looks at me, his eyes pleading.
“I didn’t mean what I said,” he says.
I arch an eyebrow. “Which part of it?”
“All of it.”
I try not taking him literally, and put the first idea in my head that this is an apology and I need to focus on what he’s talking about. He sighs and tousles his hair, so different from Vzekian headtentacles. I wonder what it would be like to run my fingers through it, if it gives him the same reaction that it does me.
I clench my fists.
“The thing is,” he says slowly, “we humans were living in ignorant bliss of what lay beyond our solar system until Vzekian troops landed there and opened up the universe to us. We’re so far behind you guys, and it felt like an invasion of who we were as a species.”
I frown. I don’t like where this story is going. “Houston…”
“Let me finish,” he says, and a ghost of a smile plays at his lips. “That was my father’s view on things. I don’t know what Earth was like before you guys made contact, because that happened when I was four years old. Twenty-three years ago. I’ve never known a life where you Vzekians weren’t a part of it.”
He reaches out and clasps one of my hands, and I try to not jump at the contact. Strangely enough, it feels almost as erotic as if he had caressed my headtentacles. I swallow nervously.
“Ma and Pop divorced shortly after your kind landed on Earth,” Houston continues. At my blank look, he adds, “They, uh, stopped being married.”
“You can’t just stop being married.”
He snickers. “On Earth, you can. They got divorced and I split my time between them. Pop blamed it on the Vzekians landing on Earth and disrupting everything. Ma always—always—liked the idea of Vzekians and what you guys do for the universe.” He laughs softly.
“No wonder she married my father,” I murmur.
“I’m sure he’s a good guy, too,” Houston says quickly. “Not that I ever really spent much time with your pop.”
The silence between us feels heavy and oppressive.
Finally, I fill the void between us. “What a fine family unit we make.”
“Kear’yl, is that sarcasm I hear? I thought your kind has trouble with that kind of humor.”
He grins at me and my stomachs flip at the gesture. I’m sure by human standards, he’s a very good-looking specimen, one that the female would love to have contributing to their gene pool.
“Apparently, I can pick up on it if I spend enough time with your species,” I say truthfully.
“We should spend more time together then.”
I’m not exactly sure what to say to that.
He reaches out and puts a warm hand on my knee. I fight the shiver, and the worst part is, I can’t tell if it’s revulsion or if it’s from something else. One reaction makes sense; the other frightens me.
“We’re spending plenty of time together here,” I whisper feebly.
“You know what I mean, Kear’yl.”
Do I? I gulp down some air and stand up, putting height and distance been us. There’s a flicker of disappointment on Houston’s face, but he stands up as well, straightening himself out.
“Thank you for your apology,” I tell him stiffly.
“No worries. Uhm,” he says, laughing lightly as he scratches the back of his neck “I mean, you’re welcome.”
I nod. I want to say something else, but when I open my mouth, I yawn widely.
Houston grins and combs his hair with a hand again. “I guess that’s our cue that we should go to bed.”
“It is 0300 hours,” I say, using the Earthian clock for his own benefit. I gesture to the door.
He shakes his head with a laugh. “And that’s my cue to leave. Ordinarily these kinds of conversations end differently for me.”
I frown. “How do you mean?”
He laughs loudly and steps out, leaving me perplexed in my quarters. When I lay down, I can’t fall asleep, because I keep wondering what he meant. And I can’t calm my thoughts down, no matter how hard I try.
What in cosmos is happening to me?
Chapter Six
I DRAG MYSELF OUT OF BED AT 0700 HOURS.
I couldn’t sleep a wink, so rather than dwell on my conversation with Houston and my conflicted feelings towards him, I ran through all sorts of different scenarios for fixing the thrusters and the hyperdrive.
Nothing comes to mind.
As I move down the corridors to the cockpit, a smell hits me that is unfamiliar. I freeze, w
ondering what sort of mechanical problem could make a smell like this. Even worse, my stomachs growl in anticipation.
I’m hungry and that smell is enticing me.
It’s coming from the galley, which means it could be any number of things; the garbage disposal or the refrigeration unit has spoiled. I feel my hearts pounding in dread as I stride down the passageway. It’s just another thing to add to my list of things that need to be fixed on my poor ship, and—
“Good morning, sunshine.”
I stand in the doorway, watching as Houston moves about the galley, flipping things, sprinkling stuff onto metal pans filled with…food?
“Are you cooking?” I don’t recognize it, whatever he’s doing.
“Cooking breakfast, more specifically,” Houston tells me. “Ham and cheese omelets with hash browns and grits. Or, rather,” he frowns, “what I could find that most likely matched those flavors.”’
“I’ve never had those things before.” But the smell is delicious.
He grins. “I figured.”
I cross my arms, leaning against the door frame. What is this feeling that I have at seeing him cook? It’s a warmth that is spreading through me, and my cheeks color in embarrassment.
“We have rations. You didn’t have to do this.”
He shrugs as he takes a pan and stirs whatever is in it. “I felt like I owed you a good human-style breakfast.”
“You knew which ingredients to use?”
He laughs. “Hell no. I, uh, had to try a lot of things to see how they tasted. And if they cooked correctly. A few things you had in there were…very strange, to say the least.”
I look around at the mess he’s made, but it doesn’t bother me. If anything, it’s…endearing.
“How long have you been in the galley?”
“Since about ten minutes after you sent me back to my room.” He looks up, our eyes meeting, and I fight the urge to squirm under that gaze. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could I.”
“Well, there are things you could do to help you sleep.” He pauses, as if waiting for me to say something, then he gives himself a shake. “Such as cooking,” he says, indicating the pan.
I look at it dubiously. “Is it ready?”
“Just about.” He points to the table. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll get this ready.”
I nod and take a chair. As I wait, memories of eating at the cafeteria as a young Vzekian warrior-in-training come back to me. I used to have to sit up straight, eat within a few moments, stand whenever the commanding officer entered the room, and not speak.
Now, I just want to relax and enjoy this human-style brekkist as Houston called. Maybe talk to him, learn more about life on Earth. And, actually, I hope that happens.
I look at up him as he sets a plate in front of me and a mug of steaming brown liquid. My stomachs gurgle loudly again in anticipation. I pick up the mug and inhale deeply.
“Snuck in some coffee,” he tells me as he takes a spot next to me. Not across from me, but next to me. Putting his body and his body heat that much closer to me. “Don’t worry, it’s decaf. You know, heart condition and all.” He rolls his eyes at the last part.
I’ve never tried coffee before. I sniff it tentatively. “It smells delicious.”
“It would be better if it was the full-strength stuff.”
I cautiously take a sip and nearly spit it out, coughing heavily. “It’s hot!”
He claps me on the back a few times. “Sorry, I should have warned you about that. I forget how different you are from humans.”
I cough covering my mouth. “I’m not sure I like it.”
“Let it cool off,” he says pedantically. “And then try it again.”
I frown at him, but sigh as I pick up an eating utensil and poke at the meal he set down in front of me. “What’d you say this was again?”
“That’s a ham and cheese omelet, hash browns, and grits. Or, at least the spaceship equivalent of that.”
I pop a morsel into my mouth and chew it thoughtfully. “This is rather…good.”
He grins widely. He’s proud of himself and it’s infectious. I find that there’s a dopey smile on my face too, and I can’t mask it, no matter how hard I try. Houston’s expression changes to something I can’t identify.
It must make him uneasy too, because he turns away from me and puts some of the food in his mouth. I’m almost disappointed that I can’t see that expression anymore to study it. I watch him eat for a few moments, watching his profile as he keeps his eyes straight forward.
“Hmm,” he says in between mouthfuls. “The taste is kind of off.”
“It tastes good to me.”
He snickers. “That’s because you’ve never had a Grand Slam from an American diner.”
“Grand—?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
We eat in silence. Silence on my end because I can’t stop stuffing the food in my mouth, that old training as a Vzekian soldier taking over. What’s more, I can’t remember the last time I had something with this much flavor. It makes me wonder how much I’ve missed out on in my solitary life.
I suddenly let out a hiss of…pleasure…as his arm brushes up against one of my headtentacles. I must have moved them on top of the table as I was eating—the food is so delicious, I was busy gesticulating with them. My eyes roll into the back of my head, and I stop everything to ride the sensation.
Why does this feel so different from two days before? Is it because I no longer loathe Houston? Again, I ask myself what’s happening to me. Why is everything changing inside of me?
“Oh, shit.” Houston’s arm moves away from me and I nearly sob at the loss. Dazed, I open my eyes to look at him, and he looks like he’s white with fear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” I say. “I…kind of like that, actually. Do it again?” That last part was meant to be a command, but my voice hitches and it becomes more of a question.
“Are you sure? I thought—?”
“Please?” Suddenly, I need him to play with one right now.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he reaches out with one hand and picks up the tentacles that is closest to him. I’m more prepared for it this time, so I don’t hiss or cry out in pain.
I like it. A lot.
He twirls it in between his fingers. I shiver, my eyelids fluttering at the sensation. A heat starts in my core, spreading to my arms and legs and feet, and one other place that starts to ache at the touch.
“I’ve always liked these,” he murmurs softly. “Your headtentacles.”
“I thought you called me ‘M’doosah Head’ because you didn’t like them.” My voice is airy, breathy. I don’t sound like myself.
A pained look crosses his face. “That wasn’t why. I just didn’t want to grow close to you because…”
That admission hurts. “Because why?”
With his thumb, he brushes away some moisture that’s falling from my eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he whispers. He takes in a long, shuddering breath. “Because I care about you, Kear’yl. I care about you and I didn’t want to hurt you. You were always this proud warrior princess and I was always this fuck-up of a kid who was going nowhere in life. So, I pushed you away.”
I swallow, as it feels like my mouth is suddenly dry. “I pushed you away, too.”
He smirks. “For good reason.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s because I was afraid. Of a lot of things. They all sound silly now.”
“Are you still afraid?”
“No,” I say truthfully. “I’m not.”
He spears me with a look, his blue-eyed gaze catching my own violet one. We stare at each other, and I feel like the tension between us could snap in a moment. Somehow, this beautiful moment between us would break, and we’d go back to how we were. Pushing each other away. Utterly miserable.
Then he surprises me.
His lips crash against mine, soft supple skin ag
ainst my own. It feels like he’s consuming me, wanting every piece of me. And I give it willingly. A sound escapes and I realize that it’s coming from me. His hand is at the back of my head, massaging my headtentacles and I sigh in contentment.
I feel him smile against my lips. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“What?”
“Kiss you.”
So, this is what kissing is like. I’ve heard about them, especially in the “romance” novels I read. I want more of it. Blackhole be damned, I want all of it, and I want to vanish inside of them. They’re addictive, wonderful, and I can’t believe that Vzekians don’t do anything like that.
“Then kiss me again,” I tell him. “I’m sure one isn’t enough.” Because it isn’t for me.
He obliges, although there’s less desperation this time. It’s softer, more delicate, and I like this one just as much as the first. His tongue fills my mouth, and I reciprocate his movements. If what he does is making me feel this way, then I know that it would do the same for him.
He pulls me astride his lap and I straddle him, kissing him deeply. I guess this is a part of kissing as well? Or possibly more, because he cups my rear end and grinds me to him.
This is even better than stroking my headtentacles and I gasp into his mouth.
You’d think the difference in our heights would be a problem, but it’s not. If anything, being like this is even more perfect. I can feel the heat of his skin, the power of his body, and a hard length underneath his pants that I suspect is his aroused reproductive organ. Suddenly, I wonder if humans enjoy reproductive behavior like Vzekians do. If so, then we could…
“Kear’yl,” he murmurs.
“Yes?” I want him to keep talking about how much he cares for me, but I also want him to keep kissing me.
“I—”
“Soldier Kear’yl.”
I snap my head up at my AI’s voice, interrupting what could have happened next. Houston groans and rubs at his eyes.
“Perfect,” he mutters.
“What is it, Sli’vier Biel?” I ask. My ship wouldn’t have interrupted us unless there was a problem.
“An asteroid field is moving towards your trajectory,” the AI intones. “Estimated odds of survival are 0.048%. We’ll need evasive action to increase those odds.”
Baby, it's Cold in Space: Eight Science Fiction Romances Page 30