by H. E. Trent
Murk set his empty bowl on the nightstand and leaned his back against the headboard. He looked straight ahead, not at Trig, but seemingly through him.
“What?”
Murk closed his eyes and gave his head a small shake.
“Tell me.” Trig nudged the tablet closer.
Murk stared at the stylus for a long while, and finally picked it up.
Trig could have crossed an entire ocean on a flimsy raft in the time Murk took to write.
“I wonder. With more Terrans coming, the chances of them all being of the same mindset of those fools from the Marquise Corporation will decrease. There will be fewer rich zealots eager to set out for a distant world with far fewer amenities than they were accustomed to on Earth, and more people coming for their own desperate reasons. Whether they’re desperate in ways that are good for us or bad for us doesn’t matter. But, there’s opportunity there.”
“For whom? Them or us?”
Murk turned over his hands and nodded. Both.
“You think Courtney is desperate?”
Murk nodded and reached for his water bottle.
“In a good way or bad way?”
Murk raised an eyebrow. His expression read You tell me.
Trig couldn’t help but assume the worst. Naturally, he thought Courtney would turn on them. Maybe she would have to. That didn’t mean she was a bad person, only that she wasn’t deserving of his trust.
He wished he could give it to her—wished he could know what happened in her past that made her smiles so fleeting. And he wished he knew what would make a single woman travel to Jekh on her own for a job she wasn’t all that invested in. She either had something to prove or nothing left to lose. Either way could be dangerous for them.
“I don’t know, Murk.”
Murk bent forward and wrote, “Not knowing is fine. I just ask that you not act before you do.”
That was the hard part.
___
A couple of hours after dinner, Courtney poked her head into the guest bedroom door and was immediately waved in by Murk.
Trig took a bracing breath, expecting it might be the last deep one he took for a while.
Jerry scampered in behind her and made a beeline for the bed.
“Down, Jerry,” she said.
He whimpered, but got down, only to sit at the bedside and look at Murk expectantly.
Might have to remind the dog who owns him.
“I just took Jerry for a walk,” she said. “This neighborhood is…” she rocked back on her heels and studied the plain white ceiling as she searched for the word. “I don’t know. Feels a bit Stepfordesque to me.”
“Is that an English word?” Trig asked. He hated feeling like the dumbest person in the room.
“No, it’s not technically a word, period. Stepford is a fictional place created in a twentieth-century book. Everything there is artificially perfect, even the people. They all look alike, act alike. When people talk about Stepford, they’re referring to a sort of…cult of sameness. I’ve seen planned communities before with their cookie-cutter houses, but I just wonder why they would do that here. Half the houses are empty, and folks like me are living in most of the ones that have people in them. Folks who would be squarely in the lower middle class back on Earth. I think they’re trying to make us respectable even though we never asked to be.”
“Huh.” Trigrian closed his book and drummed his fingertips on the cover. “Most of your policymakers and businesspeople live in Buinet in Zones Three, Four, and Five.”
“Right. Zone One is the downtown city center?”
Trig nodded without looking up.
“Zone Two is where the shuttle landed, I think—the municipal sector of the city.” She rubbed her temples. “Trying to organize the rest of the numbers in my brain. My short-term memory has always been about as good as a goldfish’s.”
He didn’t get that reference, either.
“This is Zone Six. Zone Seven is, well, Zone Seven. Zones Eight and Nine are still in planning?”
“You tell me.”
“I think they are. I think I read in the orientation guide that they’d be where the worker class would live, as soon as the population is large enough to bear one. They’re supposed to start coming en masse in the next year—as soon as processing and production facilities are up and running.”
“The new government wants to establish exportation of goods as soon as possible, I imagine.”
“Maybe so, but nothing respectable. Nothing agricultural is ready for export yet, so what the hell are they in such a hurry to ship?”
“Drugs and women.”
“I don’t know you well enough to tell if you’re joking.”
She’ll find out soon enough.
If she cared, anyway. That was up to her.
Murk gave Trig another painful nudge, and he chastened. Trig racked his brain for some civil conversational tidbit. He’d once been better at small talk. Nowhere as good at bullshitting as Murk, but he could string enough words together to sound semi-intelligent. “Uh…where would you live if you had a choice?”
“Probably Zone One or possibly Two,” she said. “I’m used to being in the thick of things. I grew up in a pretty large city, and this cute little neighborhood is trying way too hard to be the suburbs for my tastes.”
“I prefer the farm.” He opened his book again.
“I’m sorry you can’t be there. Oh! I nearly forgot.”
He looked up in time to watch her walk to the keypad. It was mounted in the corner beside the empty dresser, and held the controls for the wall projector.
Navigating through the menu, she brought up a list of options. She set the projected picture size to the width of the dresser and left the display on the options menu.
“The projector will fall asleep and turn off if you don’t want to watch now, but these are the videos I was telling you about.”
“The Old West?”
“Yeah. The computer can be operated by voice command, so if you want to play something, just say what.”
Murk sat up slowly and scooted toward the middle of the bed. He patted the space he’d made, and Jerry jumped up.
He laughed silently, shook his head, and then pointed to Court.
So brazen.
“You want me to watch with you?” she asked.
He nodded.
She checked the time on her wrist com and scoffed. “I guess the time I show up for work in the morning doesn’t matter. I’m not cleared for real duty until my tests work through the system and I can’t get into the gun range until fourteen hundred hours.” She shrugged. “All right, then. Just a little while, though. I know you need rest.”
Murk rolled his eyes.
“Apparently, that perturbed expression isn’t just an Earth thing.”
She brushed Jerry to the end of the bed and climbed on. “I hope you don’t mind him. He tends to think he’s a lapdog, even though he outgrew that five pounds ago.”
“He’s a curious beast,” Trig said low, more to himself than to the room.
She’d heard him, though, because she pinned that damned gaze on him again.
His stomach lurched.
“How so?” she asked.
Breathe, stupid. “Well. Jekhans don’t keep pets of that kind, but a lot of that has to do with space constraints.”
“How so?”
“Our homes traditionally have few gathering spaces. A bedroom wouldn’t be equipped as this one is.”
“So, it’d be smaller?”
Murk pointed to the display.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, bossy. Excuse the hell out of me for being curious.”
A sputter spilled from Murk’s lips.
“Which one?” she asked.
He held up a single finger. Number one.
She queued the program and relaxed against the headboard.
Murk tapped her arm and then the sliver of space on the bed between them.
“What? N
eed some more room? Didn’t realize I was crowding you.”
She scooted left.
Shaking his head, he grabbed her arm and gave her a slight tug toward him.
“Less room,” Trig said. He put his book on the nightstand and settled on his belly, facing the picture. If he didn’t have to watch Murk with Courtney straight on, he’d be less anxious. At least, he hoped. “Murk is what you would call…”
He let the words trail off.
“What?” Court said by way of nudging.
Trig glanced back.
At Murk’s unceasing prodding, she moved closer, putting her hip against his.
Murk grinned like the triumphant bastard he was.
Trig sighed. “I don’t know how to describe him. There’s a word for people like him in Jekhani, but my knowledge of English doesn’t extend to medical terms.”
“Explain in dumb-dumb terms for me.”
That’s easy enough. “He…needs to be touched. Hungers for it more than many of us due to his lineage, I guess. He has more of certain Tyneali genes than average.”
“I think I know what you’re getting at.”
“Do you?”
“Sure. There’s no medical term for that, at least not in English. Closest I can think of is being skin-starved. Craving physical comfort.”
“Skin-starved.” He said the words to taste them—to see if the ingredients were right. Seemed to be, and he certainly understood the sensation. He felt “starved” often when Murk went into his deep sleeps. Starved and lonely.
When the documentary’s narrator started his monotone spiel, Murk wedged his arm around her back and settled his hand at her waist.
Trig waited for her to scoot away or swat his hand.
She didn’t. She smiled in a chastising sort of way.
“If you were a Terran man, I would find the invasion of my personal space upsetting,” she said.
Murk shrugged. His gaze was fixed on the projected video and his other hand idly fiddled with a loose thread at the hem of Trig’s pants. He was used to getting away with things. He certainly did often enough with Trig.
“Your arm behind me is a little uncomfortable.” She turned onto her side so the hollow at her waist rested atop his forearm.
He looked down at her, smiling, and pulled her even closer so her top knee rested on his thigh.
“He’d have you right on top of him if he had his way,” Trig muttered.
Murk pinched his calf.
“Did I lie, Murk?”
Murk had no response for that.
Rolling his eyes, Trig asked, “How old is this film?”
“About a hundred,” Courtney said. “This is the newest film in the database. There isn’t much interest in the Old West nowadays. Most historians are more curious about South America or the Middle East.”
“You’ll have to point those out to me on a map. I have no idea what those place names mean.” Murk probably knows.
“There’s no reason you should know,” she said. “It’s not your planet. Anyway, they’re very different places. Not only culturally, even now, but geographically. Tribes and families are important there.”
“They should be everywhere.”
“No arguments from me.”
Trig lay flat with his chin resting against the back of his hands, and whispered a question about the film in casual Jehkani to Murk.
The bed shook from Murk’s laughter.
“Was he talking about me?” Courtney asked him.
Trig looked back and watched Murk pull the pad onto his lap.
Murk jotted his response.
She read, “‘No. He questions why anyone would want to live in such a stark terrain.’ Oh. Well, land is land to some people. That’s what conquest is always about, right? Land means wealth. Sometimes, people don’t care if the land is arid and hard to till. They still want to own it.”
The narrator droned on and on about water rights, and when Trig looked back again, Court’s eyes were closed.
She leaned against Murk’s side, and Murk smoothed her hair as if she were a pet he were unwilling to let off his lap.
Trig had once been in that same place years ago after Murk had decided Trig was his. There’d been no changing his mind, even after Murk’s brother Esteben suggested that Murk try to find a mate more suitable for his social aspirations.
“Fuck aspiration,” Murk had said. “I choose happiness.”
Apparently, Murk thought he needed Courtney, and if Trig were going to be happy, he’d have to accept that.
They would have to share her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Court opened her eyes to a dim room, her face nestled against a scruff-covered neck, and the sound of Jerry’s collar jingling as he scratched his ears.
Shit.
She whispered to her wrist com, “CG15 on.”
The processor beeped.
“What time is it?”
“In five minutes, the time will be oh-seven-hundred.”
“CG15 off.”
It beeped again, and turned off.
Carefully, she scooted back from Murk, only for his arm over her to constrict more tightly.
She looked up and found that his wine-colored eyes were open.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep in here.”
He closed his eyes and made no motion to let go of her.
She imagined that if he’d had the ability to speak, he would have said, “Go back to bed,” so she decided to answer in turn.
“I can’t go back to bed, Murk. Today’s a workday, and besides, Jerry probably needs to be walked.”
Murk grimaced, and rolled onto his back.
He reached overhead to the headboard’s shelf, found the tablet, and turned on the backlight. He wrote, “You’re better than any drug, Courtney.”
“Meaning what?”
Beside him, Trigrian sat up, rubbed his eyes, and peered at the text.
He sighed and laid down again, this time putting his back to Murki. “His issue is hormonal,” he muttered.”
“Care to elaborate a little more?”
“Not especially.”
“All right, then.” Court sat up and put her legs over the edge of the bed.
Murk grabbed her waist, leaned forward, and hooked his chin over her shoulder.
“You’re making me not want to go.”
“You could say no to him,” Trigrian said.
Murk gave his head a slight shake and pressed his lips against her cheek.
Her skin tingled and nipples tightened as if she were the one starved for touch and not Murk. What he’d done could barely be considered a kiss, but her body didn’t care. The caress had felt good, and she’d welcome more like it…if she hadn’t needed to get up.
She drew in a breath, and her lips pursed to form the words Please, go on, but instead, what came out was, “Do you want some breakfast?”
He twiddled some more, grazing her cheek again. His soft stubble abraded her skin and made her sex tingle.
If that was what Jekhans considered platonic touch, she was in store for a heap of sexual frustration.
He nodded.
“Okay. I’ve got a few minutes. I’ll whip you up something hot and filling. I don’t know how late I’ll be tonight. Most of what I have to do at work today is in the afternoon, and they’ll probably keep me there late to make up the missed hours.”
He let go of her.
Jerry followed her to the door.
She looked back to see Murk lying on his side, watching her leave.
If she didn’t know any better, she’d think that sexy smirk was a smile of conquest.
He’s just friendly.
He’d never stopped being friendly since the moment she opened that closet panel. He was just a friendly face in a universe filled with poisonous snakes.
Too bad I can’t touch him.
She couldn’t be that kind of conqueror. She refused to be one more person taking advantage
of the people of Jekh.
She let Jerry out into the backyard, thankful that she didn’t yet have a neighbor on either side as she hadn’t combed her hair. Inside, she whipped up a no-grain breakfast of bacon, scrambled eggs, and fresh fruit.
She bumped the fridge door shut with her hip on the way past with the tray, and sighed. “Jeez. Already running out of perishable food.”
She’d ordered enough groceries for a woman who was rarely home, but certainly not enough for a woman plus two grown men who could both stand to put on twenty pounds. Between the two plates, she’d scrambled six eggs, and it still didn’t seem like enough.
How did Mom always manage to feed all of the kids? Court and Erin hadn’t eaten much, but their three brothers could have eaten their way through a corner bodega and still would have complained of hunger.
She’d hoped Murk and Trigrian would tell her if they were still hungry. There was no good reason for them to starve when resources were so plentiful for her. She couldn’t help every hungry Jekhan—at least not yet—but she could certainly keep two fed.
“I hope you guys eat cheese,” she said as she rounded the doorway into the bedroom. “I grated so much into these eggs that—”
At the unexpectedly erotic sight, Court paused in the doorway.
Trigrian, straddling Murk’s hips, pulled away from their kiss and crawled off of him, hurriedly tying his loose hair in the process.
She swallowed hard, trying to pull her gaze from the phantom image of Trigrian grinding against the bulge in Murk’s pants, but she kept staring at the bed.
There was no mistaking what Trigrian had been doing, or Murk’s consent. His lips bore a crushed berry tint and his cheeks a flush. He pulled the covers up over the protrusion at his crotch and sat up slowly.
Court swallowed, raised her head high, and walked into the room.
She set the tray on the bedside table and, refusing to meet their gazes, turned on her heel. “I’ll…come get that before I leave.”
Fuck. How could I have even thought he wanted me?
She tucked her finger beneath her hair elastic as she hurried down the hall and freed her hair for the shower.
She’d been so curious about the men and starved for company that she hadn’t once considered that perhaps they were more than the best of friends even if the signs had been there. She simply hadn’t wanted to see them.