Dhakhar

by Annabelle Rex

  “I’m well aware of the capabilities of my ship,” H’Varak says. “What I want to know is why the Captain of my UP-LE unit was unable to find a few outfits in less than twenty-four hours.”

  I’d hoped to avoid having to tell him, hoped that by some miracle he missed the extended overlay, only checking back on us once I’d made up some of the lost time. But of course H’Varak is watching our progress closely. Charlie is his ticket to greater responsibility. And funding.

  “Well, sir,” I say, wondering how best to frame it so it doesn’t sound close to as awful as it actually was. “There was…”

  “I ordered him to stay,” Charlie says, walking up beside me. “I wanted to see more of the planet. Captain Dhakhar reminded me of the time pressures, but I’m afraid I was just having such a good time at the markets and exploring the town that I didn’t want to stop.”

  She’s using that same demanding tone she’s turned on me before. H’Varak splutters, his cheeks flushing a darker purple. I don’t know if it’s Charlie’s words or her state of dress that has him most off kilter.

  “Is that a problem, Commander?” she says, smiling sweetly.

  “Why, of course not, my lady,” H’Varak says, recovering some of his composure. “It delights me to hear you had a good time on Denestra. Though, I think you’ll find Chasira a far better experience.”

  “I look forwards to it, Commander.”

  And then she takes a seat at the back of the bridge, not quite off camera - enough to make it clear she’s done talking, but also that she’s still able to hear every word H’Varak says. I can see the strain in his smile when he looks at me.

  “Very well, then, Captain,” he says. “Keep me appraised of any further… amendments to your schedule.”

  The link closes down with a click.

  “Asshole,” Charlie says.

  I turn to her. “You just lied to him for me.”

  She frowns. “He was about to lay into you for something that wasn’t your fault. I’ve heard him… I mean, I’ve heard that tone of voice he was using before. He can’t tell me off though, can he?”

  “Charlie, I…”

  I can’t even think of how to put in to words how grateful I am that you did that without sounding creepy.

  I thought that bossy tone of voice made you a brat when you did it to me, but hearing you turn it on someone else is sexy as all hell.

  See aforementioned point about being a creep.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She shrugs her shoulders, like it was nothing, smiling at me, her necklace glowing brighter and brighter.

  “It’s nice to be useful for something,” she says.

  “You’re also know a lot of animal facts,” I say.

  She laughs, a proper, throwing back her head kind of laugh.

  “Animal facts and bossing people around, that’s me,” she says. She heads towards the door for the bridge, then turns at the last minute. “Would you mind showing me how to use the screen thingy in my room? Can I watch things on it?”

  “You can,” I say. “And of course.”

  I follow her to her room. She sits down on her bed, pulling the covers up around her, making herself comfortable. It’s so intimate and yet not. I’m filled with an urge to sit on the bed beside her. Maybe she’d put her head on my shoulder like she did in the tunnel. I ache for want of that kind of contact with her.

  I turn my attention to the screen.

  “Poke it to turn it on,” I say. “This one’s video. I know you can’t read any of the descriptions but remember this pattern of letters here.”

  I point to one. She squints at it.

  “Five red squiggles, fourth one looks a bit like a flower. Got it. What does it say.”

  “Documentaries.”

  She gives me the biggest smile I’ve seen from her yet.

  “Would you like ‘Animals of Garbaneth Eight’ or ‘Strange Inventions of the Fluqastar’. If you want something a bit more grizzly there’s ‘Unsolved: Murder on Hyg’stradi’.”

  She thinks about it for a moment.

  “Is there anything about your planet?” she says. “Garvenia? It sounded so lovely when you described it to me. I’d like to see it.”

  My heart stutters a little. Delight that she’s interested wars with the knowledge that if she watches something about my homeworld, then she’ll see. She’ll know that I’m not like them.

  Which will mean nothing to her, I remind myself. She doesn’t know how certain parts of the Universe feel about hybrids. Based on her aversion to almost everything H’Varak says, it wouldn’t surprise me if she turned around and said she didn’t care, even if she knew.

  I hate how it still feels like a shame I have to bear, though. A brand on my forehead announcing me as lesser.

  I use the search function on the screen to find her something about Garvenia. There’s a documentary about the unique nature of the trees and how Garvenian society utilises them in a perfect symbiotic relationship. I hit play, then press the button beneath the screen that releases its remote operator.

  “Use this to control it,” I say to her as I hand it over.

  “When I’ve finished watching this one, will it start recommending me similar things?” she asks. “Streaming services on Earth do that.”

  “Yeah, it should,” I say. “If you want me to try to find anything specific for you, though, just come find me.”

  “You are definitely going to regret saying that,” she says with a grin.

  I leave her to it, heading straight for my room and changing into my workout gear. I have to get the thought of her curled up in her bed out of my mind. Have to stop the Dravosic side of me from itching to go to her. Have to override the instinct the only way I know how.

  Focus, discipline, exertion.

  Beating a sparring droid to hell should do the trick.

  Chapter 20

  Charlie

  Garvenia is beautiful, like an enchanted forest paradise. I wish it was one of the four options for planets that we can visit. Strange that none of the people interviewed looked like Dhak, though. I wonder if Dhak’s species live deeper into the trees or something, further than the camera crew was prepared to go. I’d have liked to have seen his society specifically.

  What a place to grow up, though. All that beauty, all that nature. Not just one crappy play park with half dead grass littered with discarded cigarettes and beer bottles.

  I click through to the next documentary, but I’m wondering now about the planet that we actually are going to visit. Chasira. I debate whether I want to learn a little about it before I go, or whether watching a documentary about it would make me more excited. I think about the Day of the Dead program I watched - how much more it made me want to travel to Mexico - and decide to find something about Chasira to watch.

  By which I mean, go find Dhak and get him to put something on for me.

  I did tell him he was going to regret making that offer.

  He’s not on the bridge though, or in any of the common areas on the same level as my bedroom. His bedroom is on the next level down. I guess because Vetruens don’t want to be any closer to their servants than necessary, but I can’t imagine the servants complaining about having their boss on a separate floor.

  I knock on Dhak’s bedroom door but get no answer. I’ve not really explored down here yet, not really had the chance. Everything feels like it’s been happening for such a long time, but in truth it’s only been a couple of days. Most of which has not been spent on the ship. Dhak never mentioned there being anything off limits, no areas I shouldn’t go for whatever reason, so I start poking my head round doors, hoping to find him.

  I hear him before I see him in the end, the rhythmic smack of fists against a punch bag coming from the far end of the ship. Jason has a punch bag in his bedroom, and sometimes would work out with it when I was round. I say work out - mostly just show off for a little while to impress me, like I’d be impressed by him hitting a bag full of s
and that doesn’t go anywhere and doesn’t hit back. It’s not much to look at.

  I consider not interrupting Dhak’s work out, but then it occurs to me that I’m stuck on this ship for the next two weeks. I can’t watch documentaries for the entire two weeks. I need to do something active. I don’t do workouts at home, but I do walk a lot. Not having a car makes that kind of necessary. I wonder if there’s more than just boxing equipment, if the ship has a treadmill, maybe. I could walk for a little bit every day.

  Strange that I can even contemplate walking after hurting my ankle so badly, but whatever the Denestran medics did, it’s fixed me up good. It doesn’t even twinge as I walk down the corridor and open the end door.

  It is a gym, and there is some vaguely familiar equipment round the edges of it. Dhak is in the centre of the room, in a small square of open space surrounded by what looks like a holographic fence. With him, is a robot. They both have their arms raised as they square off with each other, circling round. Jason likes to watch the boxing on the telly, and that’s what this looks like. Only, instead of the big gloves boxers wear, Dhak just has small gloves on, little more than bandages wrapped around his knuckles. He looks a bit like I looked yesterday, before the medics sorted my hands out.

  The robot moves to the left in a sharp little burst. Dhak blocks the punch it throws, then lands one of his own, his fist meeting the chest of the robot. Whatever the robot is made of, it makes the same sound as a punch bag. It wobbles backwards under the force of the punch, and Dhak follows it up with a few more jabs, the robot eventually bumping up against the holographic fence. Which is apparently solid. Weird. It flickers like it’s just a projection.

  When he steps back, Dhak notices me.

  “End,” he calls out, and the fence disappears, the robot walks away, slotting itself inside some big tube in the far corner of the room. Dhak grabs a towel from nearby and mops his forehead as he walks over.

  “Everything alright?” he asks.

  Not particularly. He’s wearing a vest, and the sight of his bare arms is making my heart trip over itself. Every well defined muscle on Jason’s body was put there out of vanity. Dhak is the opposite - he’s built for power and strength, not to look pretty - but there’s something about the heat radiating off him, the hard planes of his chest that makes me want to run my tongue all over him.

  Although, maybe after he’s had a shower.

  Although… maybe not.

  “The program finished,” I say. “Your home planet is beautiful.”

  He smiles like it’s him I’ve complimented.

  “I haven’t been back in forever,” he says. “You’re reminding me I should go.”

  “I don’t know how you ever left in the first place.”

  His smile widens. “Did you want me to find something else for you?”

  “Yes please, but… Can I have a look at the gym? I was thinking I should probably do some exercise.” I smile, gesturing to my pyjamas. “But not today. I have earned the right to do nothing today.”

  Dhak grins, and I wish he wouldn’t, because it’s not helping with the whole wanting to get to know him a bit more biblically issue.

  “You can have a look,” he says. “But probably better if I show you. Any of those clothes you picked up on Denestra okay for working out in?”

  “I was only going to walk on a treadmill a bit,” I say. “I’m not a gym bunny, I’ve never used one before.”

  But even as I say it, an idea is forming in my mind. I walk over to the robot in its… docking station? Charging point?

  “I’ve been abducted twice now, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it either time,” I say.

  “You fought like hell to get away the second time, I saw you.”

  “Not very effective, though, was it?” I say. “I didn’t get away, and when I had a chance to escape I managed to hit someone’s shoulders rather than their head. Not a very effective fighter.”

  “Fighting’s a skill, like anything,” Dhak says. “You can’t expect to be good at it without any practice.”

  “Maybe I should get some practice. Current trends in my life suggest that might be a good idea.”

  “Well, I was hoping not to encounter any more people that want to abduct you,” Dhak says, giving me an amused look. “But, I suppose I shouldn’t make any promises.”

  “Does the robot have a tutorial setting?” I ask.

  Dhak shakes his head. “It’s not that sophisticated. Some of them do, but this one’s just programmed with different fight styles. You could do drills with it, once you’ve learned them.” He hesitates a moment, then says, “I could teach you some. If you want.”

  My mouth goes dry at the thought of his hands on me, and if it wasn’t clear to me before that me and Jason are so done, it really is now. The idea of Dhak is sending my body in to overdrive in a way the reality of Jason never did. It’s quite obvious that allowing Dhak to teach me anything that involves physical contact is a bad, bad idea, but I’m an idiot.

  I say yes.

  I’m a bundle of nerves and anticipation as I head down to the gym the next day, dressed in the closest approximation of a gym outfit that I can make from my limited wardrobe. I spent all night imagining how it will feel as his hands graze over my skin, his body close to mine as he guides me through movements. Maybe once we’ve got the basics covered, he’ll start showing me how to escape specific scenarios. Maybe he’ll pin me to the floor.

  Is it wrong that I am all kinds of turned on by that idea?

  If Dhak notices my jittery energy, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he’s all business as he talks me through safety in the gym space, the importance of warming up and cooling down. He takes me through some stretches and warm up exercises and I’m embarrassed to feel out of puff straight away.

  “I bet I’m going to be the most rubbish person you’ve ever trained,” I say, trying to hide my mortification with humour.

  Dhak just gives me a patient smile. “Everyone has to start from somewhere.”

  My ‘somewhere’ is definitely ‘from scratch’. For the first session, we don’t even get as far as any hands on stuff. He teaches me about how to balance, how to change my centre of gravity so I can better use my weight to help me. He shows me exercises I can do on my own to help build my arm and upper body strength and suggests I do sets every day if I’m serious about wanting to train.

  I’m hurting everywhere and shattered from the exertion. This is where Jason would say ‘I told you you weren’t cut out for this’ or something similar. And before all this, I would have agreed with him. I would have given up. That thought hardens my spine and I vow I’m going to do whatever Dhak tells me, pain and aches or no.

  The next day, I’m sore, but I do the exercises as soon as I get out of bed. When I go for breakfast, Dhak’s already in his gym clothes.

  “We’ve been given a transit time for Nova Gate,” he says. “We’ve only got an hour or so this morning before I’ll need to be on the bridge. If you want to train today, it will have to be now. Trust me, you won’t want to after we’ve gone through Nova Gate.”

  ‘Want’ is a strong word, but I know I definitely don’t want to give up. So I keep my breakfast light and head down to the gym with him.

  He gets me to warm up again, jogging on the spot, jumping about, moving and stretching each muscle in turn. Then he runs me quickly through everything we covered yesterday, testing my memory. I demonstrate that I remember how to position myself to maximise my centre of gravity, and ability to use someone else’s weight against them.

  “Does this really work, though?” I say. “I’m only little and I’m not very strong. I’m not going to be able to throw people about.”

  “You could throw me about easily if you get it right,” he says.

  He must see the disbelief in my face.

  “I’ll show you,” he says, then gestures at me. “If I may?”

  My heart beats a little faster. I nod, and he steps up beside me,
taking my hand in his.

  “Things will vary from species to species,” he says, “but there are a few similarities that you can use to your advantage.”

  He positions my arm so it’s out in front of me, palm facing inwards like I’m going to shake someone’s hand. I let him manoeuvre me into position, trying not to respond to his heat so close to me, the soft brush of his fingers over my arm, my hands.

  “Bipedal lifeforms like you and me have very similar bone structure,” he says. “And I’m prepared to bet that Humans have most of the same pressure points that other bipedal species do.”

  He wraps his fingers around my wrists, his thumb brushing over mine, folding it in half.

  “You just have to know where to apply a little pressure,” he says.

  He presses down on the end of my thumb, pushing it back towards my wrist, and I yelp. It hurts like hell and I can tell he’s not even pressing that hard.

  “Get someone in a hold like this and you can get them to do pretty much whatever you want,” he says. “If I try to steer you in this direction now…”

  He pushes me just a little, and I’m honestly willing to go wherever he wants at this point - anything to stop it hurting. I move where he moves me, unbalanced, made pliable by the pain.

  He lets me go and the relief is instant.

  “It should stop hurting pretty fast,” he says. “Pressure points hurt like hell when you press them, but it doesn’t do any damage. The pain doesn’t linger.”

  I shake my hand out. “No, it feels fine now.”

  He smiles. “Now you try.”

  He offers me his hand, coaching me through the correct hold.

  “You have to hold me in place,” he says. “That’s what the fingers on the wrist do. If you don’t, I’ll just move backwards away from the pain.”