Erstwhile: A Sci-Fi Romance (The Jekh Saga Book 1)

by H. E. Trent

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Amy said quietly. “I’m obviously not supposed to know, but I have ways of learning things.”

  “Teach me those ways, master Jedi.”

  Court waved goodbye to the shoemaker and his daughter, and she and Amy hurried to the zone barrier.

  As Amy mentioned, the two guards were nowhere to be found.

  They strolled through Zone Six in the general direction of both their homes. “How do you know so much about the Buinet underbelly?” Court asked.

  Amy shrugged. “I guess I’m an opportunist. I get the trait from my father. He was a masterful wheeler-dealer, and I always respected the way he could find out what people wanted and give it to them.”

  Court chuckled. “I’m guessing he didn’t trade in chocolate.”

  “No, but I’m sure he would have if he’d gotten the idea.”

  “Is he on Earth?”

  Amy’s smile waned. “No, he…died some time ago.”

  “Sorry. I…” Court had never been good at comforting people, but still had a profound urge to try. She understood loss and had her fair share of it.

  She gave Amy’s shoulder a squeeze and tried to smile, but the thing on her face felt more like a wince.

  “Losing parents when you’re young must be unbearable. It was hard enough for me losing one of my brothers and losing my grandfather was an added devastation no one was ready to bear. Still, that’s nothing like losing a parent.”

  “No, grandparents are special, too. And hey, I can’t allow myself time for self-pity. So many of the people here have no one. That puts much of my life into perspective.”

  “I’m still trying to find perspective.”

  “That sets you apart from most people.”

  “What does?”

  “The fact you’re actually looking for it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Murk turned down the volume on the Terran film he’d just started watching and gave Trig a nudge.

  Trig looked up from the computer he’d borrowed from Courtney’s living room. He’d been scrolling through the Terran library catalogues. “I heard the sound. That was the doorbell.”

  The lights were off in the house, and the curtains drawn tight. No one would be able to see the glow from the film down on the street. The only noise they would ostensibly hear was the clicking of Jerry’s nails against the hardwood floors on the first floor.

  There came an insistent knock.

  Jerry barked.

  Murk paused the picture.

  “Maybe it’s a delivery or something,” Trig whispered.

  The front door clicked open, and a man’s voice called out, “Courtney?”

  Trig set down the tablet. He ran to the bedroom door and locked it, looking around frantically. “Shit. There isn’t a hiding compartment in here.”

  “Just wanted to check on you,” came the voice. “See if you were all right.”

  Jerry barked again, but the noise was more like a snarl than a woof of curiosity.

  “It’s all right, pup. Move.”

  Jerry yelped.

  Murk tensed. What happened to the dog?

  “The closet,” Trig mouthed, hurrying over to him.

  Murk’s fingers curled over the edge of the bed. He dug in, stymieing Trig’s assistance.

  Could it be her betrothed? The one she doesn’t want?

  Murk needed to send him away. Murk wasn’t going to let some bastard take his mate from him.

  Trig shook him. “Murk, what are you doing?”

  Murk shook his head and worked his mouth to say, “Not hiding,” but as always, no sound came out. He’d need a weapon of some sort, just in case. The lamp base looked heavy enough to make a man hurt.

  “Murk!”

  That curtain rod could be used as a staff…

  Trig placed his hands on either side of Murk’s face and locked his gaze on him. “What is wrong with you, Murki?”

  “Courtney?” Footsteps creaked on the staircase.

  Murk would kill him so Trig wouldn’t have to.

  He pushed weight onto his feet, testing the limits of his body. He could deal with the man. Murk would be slow, but he could stand and walk a few feet. He could do that one thing, even if he did nothing else for weeks. He started for the lamp, Trig’s hand on his shoulder an annoying deterrence.

  “Let me go,” he said soundlessly.

  “You’re not well, Murk. It’s The Ague. It must be rotting your brain. You’re not making good decisions.”

  He was making the best decision. Trig may not have understood, but he would later—after Murk did what needed to be done.

  “Courtney, you up here?” The footsteps continued up the stairs.

  Murk curled his fingers onto the bottom of the lampshade and gave it a twist. The shade itself was luminescent. No inner bulb to fiddle with. No glass to clean up.

  The front door creaked open again.

  Reinforcements? The usurper would need them.

  Jerry’s nails clicked across the floor, and he barked several times.

  “Hello?” Court called up warily.

  Murk couldn’t unstick his vocal cords to call back.

  She started to call out, “Tri—”

  “Courtney!” Footsteps on the stairs. “There you are. I came by to check up on you.”

  Trig let out a relieved breath, and whispered, “It’s all right, Murki. She’s home. Come back to bed.”

  Murk kept his grip on the lamp.

  “Tim? What are you doing in my house?” Courtney asked.

  Tim? Who is that? Murk closed his eyes and tried to pull all the threads together in his head. Tim…

  “You missed your two-day check-in,” Tim said. “You being all alone here, I figured I’d come over and make sure you were all right.”

  “I didn’t miss the check-in,” she said. “I was at work. I got the call. When the prompt asked if I was settling in well, I told it yes, and the recording told me to call the agency if I needed anything. I didn’t need anything, so I didn’t call.”

  Tim…from the relocation office, not her match. Murk released the lamp.

  “Most folks call,” Tim said. “Folks always need something.”

  “I don’t. You still haven’t answered why you’re in my house. Do that now.”

  “Oh! Ha ha. You know, I just…got worried when you didn’t answer the door, and I knew you should have been off from work by now. I have your schedule. Ha ha.”

  Courtney was quiet for a long while, and Murk wondered if he were too hasty in putting the lamp down.

  “Maybe this seems too obvious to me,” she said in an uncharacteristically flat tone, “but you can’t answer a door when you’re not home.”

  “Well, where were you?”

  “That’s none of your business. Why do you have a copy of my house key?”

  “I guess I just forgot to give it to you. We always have spares when we’re getting houses ready for settlers, and I may have forgotten to put it in your folder.”

  “Sure, he did,” Trig whispered. He took Murk by the elbow and started him toward the bed.

  “Give me the key,” Courtney said.

  “No problem,” Tim said a little too blithely.

  Murk imagined that the stranger was wearing a big smile. He wished he could see it and perhaps rearrange it to make him swallow a few of those teeth.

  “Keep moving,” Trig hissed when Murk stopped walking.

  Murk moved, but slowly. Trig may have been faster and could get to Tim quickly if Courtney needed him to, but Trig wasn’t listening for the right things. Trig wasn’t offended enough that the man was in their space talking to their woman.

  “Make sure that if there are any others filed away at the agency, you bring me those, too,” Courtney said.

  “I’ll look into it.”

  “You’re going to do more than look. You’re going to bring them.”

  “Sure, sure. Hey, I’m just looking out for you, you know? So ma
ny desperate people here. You’re not safe.”

  “I’m a cop, Tim. I can tell what’s safe and what’s not. Furthermore, walking into the home of a single woman without her permission may possibly be construed as one of those things I’d consider using force to rectify.”

  “Oh. I just…”

  “Thanks for the visit, Tim. No need to come by. If I need anything, I’ll call your boss.”

  Quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Murk couldn’t tell what was happening and was trying to stand once more when the front door closed.

  Trig went to the window and looked outside through a small gap in the curtains. “He’s leaving.”

  Lighter footsteps up the stairs.

  The clicking of dog nails.

  A gentle knock.

  “Trigrian?”

  Courtney. Murk gestured to the door. Get it. Let her in.

  Trig opened the door.

  Murk waved her over. Here! Come here.

  “Everything’s all right,” she said from the door. “He’s gone. I’m going to get some deadbolts tomorrow so this doesn’t happen again. I hate these electronic locks. They’re too easy to manipulate, even if you don’t have the right credentials programmed into your key. Never trust anything that can be re-coded on someone else’s whim.”

  He pointed to his lap. Come here.

  She kept her place and fixed her gaze on Trig. “I’m sorry if he gave you a scare.”

  Courtney! He smacked his palm against the mattress.

  Why doesn’t she understand?

  Trig went to the door and leaned against the frame.

  They whispered.

  She nodded, looked around Trig at Murk once, and then left.

  Trig left the door open and joined him on the bed. “You need to calm down.”

  Murk tried to stand, but Trig’s grip on his arm was too sure.

  “Calm down. Get this under check, or you’re going to scare her. You don’t want to scare her, do you?”

  Of course he didn’t want to scare her. How could Trig possibly make such a ridiculous insinuation? He knew Murk better than that.

  Trig loosened the ties in Murk’s hair and reworked the knot, muttering things that were probably meant to be soothing, but only managed to crank Murk’s anxiety level to a new peak. Why was Trig so unaffected? Did he not want Courtney as much as Murk did?

  Murk grabbed the tablet and scribbled, “You don’t want her. Is that it? You want to sabotage me.”

  “Gods.” Trig sighed. “You’re not thinking clearly, Murki. She’s downstairs making us dinner. I told her not to come in, and not because I don’t want her to touch you. I know how much you need that, but she doesn’t know what this is.”

  “What is the this you’re referring to?”

  “If you were thinking clearly, you would know. You’re clouded by that damned Tyneali mate lust. Try to push it aside or you’re going to expend energy you don’t have.”

  “If you’re insinuating that—” Murk set down the stylus, uncertain of what he’d intended to argue. That he wasn’t out of control? He was; he was simply too weak to cause trouble. If he’d had his strength, he’d likely have done something violent. Not all Jekhans had that particular Tyneali predilection, but it’d been identified in Murk and his eldest brother Esteben. The last Murk had heard, Esteben was in a Jekhan asylum being treated with high-dosage Marscadrel, but there was no Marscadrel anymore. And no Jekhan asylums, only prisons.

  Murk shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

  Trig was right. Murk had to do everything he could to keep the wildness at bay, but knowing that the woman who could help him was so close made finding control difficult.

  “Okay?” Trig took Murk’s face in hand and kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his chin.

  Murk nodded. Okay.

  He’d try to do better, but he was only a man. There was only so much he could take.

  ___

  As Courtney shoved the grill pan into the oven to heat the steaks all the way through, it wasn’t side dishes on her mind, but thoughts of murderous rage.

  She hadn’t even gotten used to her house yet. The place certainly didn’t feel like a home, even with the furniture delivered and all her possessions stored away. Still, it was supposed to be her sanctuary, and Tim had punctured that illusion.

  “Who does that?” she muttered. “Who lets themselves into a near stranger’s home with little provocation and then goes very close to a woman’s private quarters?”

  If Murk and Trigrian had been up and about…

  “Ugh.” She didn’t want to think of the consequences. Technically, it was legal for a Jekhan in Buinet to reside outside of Zone Seven, but according to the Jekhan regulars at Spilled Milk, the government made attempting to reintegrate the city an undesirable venture. There were too many hoops to jump through. Too many restrictions. They needed to be “gainfully employed” to a certain standard, and that standard was nearly impossible to achieve for non-Terrans. Even if Terrans hired them, there were guidelines about taxation and pay scale that had to be adhered to. A Jekhan’s salary could escalate to the standard, but the schedule in which their employees could administer raises had so much distance from one point to the next that a Jekhan could have aged out of the workforce by the time they got close.

  If she hired them as “domestic servants,” though…

  She chewed on her cuticle, pondering the possibility.

  Her few neighbors wouldn’t have to know Trigrian and Murk weren’t strictly legal or even the nature of their jobs. They’d only know that the law said they were allowed to reside there as long as they were in Court’s service.

  Whether or not Trigrian and Murk would go along with the scheme, though…

  “Worth asking, I guess.”

  She tossed a bit of steak to Jerry and pulled a couple of plates down from the cabinet.

  “CG15?” she said to her com.

  “Go ahead with your query,” the computer voice said.

  “I need a hardware store.”

  “Please rephrase.”

  Court rolled her eyes. “Find a place in Buinet that sells home improvement supplies.”

  “I have a list of residential contractors and handymen. John Pelter, Buinet Zone Three. License number 48-312. Certified in solar energy. Edwin Collins, Buinet Zone Two. License number 4—”

  “Stop. No. Find me a place that sells the supplies. I don’t want a list of people who can install them. I’ll install them myself.”

  “What would you like to install?” it asked sweetly. “I will do a search.”

  Court scoffed. The last thing she needed was for her com to keep a record of her searches. “You don’t need to know that. Repeat. Find me a shop in Buinet, preferably in this zone or nearby, that sells, oh, hammers and nails and stuff.”

  “Hammers and nails. Buinet Building Supply straddles Zones Two and Three. Sufficient?”

  Not a quick walk, but the place would have to do. “Yes,” she told the com.

  “Would you like me to open an account in their ordering system for you?”

  “No, thank you. CG15 off.”

  The com beeped.

  “Probably would be a good idea to shop in person from now on.”

  At first, Courtney had recoiled at the idea that Buinet wasn’t yet one hundred percent cash-free, but she suddenly appreciated the ability to shop discreetly. That hadn’t been so important back on Earth. She never did anything even remotely legally questionable because too many people expected her to slip up. The thought that she’d have to use old-fashioned technology to counteract the computers that were supposed to make her life easier made her chuckle.

  The floorboards creaked behind her as she reached into the cabinet for salad bowls.

  She froze. Terror gripped her for far too long before she remembered she wasn’t alone in the house. There were people she was trying to keep out, but at the same time, there were two she wanted very much to keep in.

&nbs
p; “Trigrian?”

  The footsteps came closer. “I wanted to see if you needed help carrying anything.”

  She let out a relieved breath. “Hungry?” She grabbed the bowls and closed the cabinet, still not turning to him. Regardless of the fact she didn’t want him to leave, she couldn’t bear to face him at the moment.

  “Well, yes, but I wanted to give Murk a bit of space. If things had been as they used to be, he’d retreat to the bath right now.”

  “Is he…better?” She’d only had to glance into the room to see that something had been wrong with the fairer-haired man. Murki had looked as if he didn’t recognize his surroundings. Agitated.

  “Yes,” Trigrian said. “Better.”

  “Is what’s wrong with him reversible with Marscadrel?” She grabbed salad vegetables out of the refrigerator and cringed. She’d be scraping the bottom of the barrel soon. She’d forgotten to put in a new grocery order.

  Tomorrow. Groceries and door locks.

  “I don’t know if this is a problem Marscadrel can fix,” Trigrian said quietly.

  “No? Well, I asked around. The drug doesn’t seem very easy to get.” She concentrated on ripping lettuce. Chopping carrots. Slicing cucumbers. As long as she didn’t look up, she didn’t have to confront what had happened.

  Trigrian leaned onto the counter nearby. “These are all Terran vegetables.”

  “I ordered what was available.”

  “Have you had our food? What grows natively, I mean.”

  “A few fruits that got nudged to me along with my pastry order at Spilled Milk. Hardly a representative sampling, I’m sure.”

  “You know their names?”

  “The fruits? Why?”

  She saw him shrug in her periphery, and turned to face him.

  She didn’t know him well, but his furrowed brow and the tight set of his lush lips didn’t bode well.

  “Tell me,” she urged.

  “Most of us aren’t big fruit eaters,” he said flatly. “The sugars in our native fruits tend to… Uh…” He made a waffling gesture, as if he were trying to wave the word he sought out of thin air. “They’re things we eat after big feasts. They boost our energy for a short while and then we…”