by H. E. Trent
“Does your family celebrate this…Christ?”
“Eh. We’re Christmas and Easter Catholics, so yes. Given how broke we always were there usually wasn’t much under the tree. That was fine, though, because we never really expected much. Money was too tight and having food on the table was more important. My grandfather always made things cheerful for us.”
Her voice took on a wistful note that made him curious. She didn’t talk much about her grandfather, and he was curious about what the man must have been like to have sired such a headstrong, cynical bunch.
“What kind of holidays do Jekhans have?” she asked.
“Oh. Depends on area. The customs in this district may be different from the ones in Buinet. I’d venture to guess that here, we’re a little more familiar with who our ancestors were since so many of the stolen ones the Tyneali didn’t breed with clumped here.”
“Why here?”
“I never thought to ask. Maybe this land reminded them of someplace. I don’t know enough about where they were from on Earth. I only know that the town only got its name in the past few hundred years.”
“Oh. Well, the people known now as the Romani migrated from the Indian subcontinent into Asia and Europe, picking up bits and pieces of DNA along the way. They’ve always been travelers.”
“You have…information about them in your com?” He pushed up onto his forearms and slid her curtain of curls back from her face.
She opened the eye nearest him. “I bet there’s plenty in there, but I imagine the information is heavily biased. The Romani were considered undesirables for a long period of their recent history.”
“Were? Things have improved?”
“No, there just aren’t many of them left. They’ve either been assimilated into the rest of Europe, or they’ve disappeared. Died out.”
“Oh.” He laced his fingers together behind his head and stared up at the dark ceiling. He’d probably cringe at the structure’s relative lack of sanitation in the morning, but at the moment, he’d try to be positive. Positivity would get him up in the morning and would keep him moving even after he saw the amount of work ahead of them. They couldn’t just hide. If they were going to thrive, they needed to get the farm up and going—needed ready food suitable for a child whose tastes might be more Jekhan than Terran. He’d need to re-teach his body how to do hard work and to keep working even when his muscles begged him to stop.
Their future depended on his endurance. They needed to be able to trade and to eat in order to thrive and love, and grain didn’t grow overnight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
In the first weeks and then months after their arrival at the farm, Court spent most of her free time worrying that she’d wake up to find a gun pointed in her face and her men already dead. She worried they’d be overtaken by greedy people with an eye for good land and that she’d be hauled back to Buinet to face some barbaric fate.
But, there was no one. No one came, not even after Trig and Murk got the water running, and the power flowing through every light on the property.
No one came, no one flew by, and no one called. After all, there was no com signal through which they could receive calls. They were too remote.
She would have never thought she would crave a little action, especially given their whirlwind upheaval from Buinet, but monotony made her impatient. Her mission of investigating her grandfather’s death had more or less stalled due to lack of access to information, and Court’s days passed with a lot of frustration and regret—a lot of why did I come to this planet?
Worse, far too often, she was left only in the company of her own dark mood.
Trig spent days at a time gone. He said he had to forage for enough seeds to make a viable grain crop for the coming year, and would return after three days with huge sacks of the green seeds ready for drying only to disappear again after a hearty meal and long sleep.
Murk, growing stronger by the day, spent much of his time walking the perimeter of the property. He was the one who’d posted the ownership claims in Court’s name, and he’d been the person who’d repaired as best he could any gaps in the old fence.
When they were at home, they ate and then slept. That was all they did.
They hardly connected, except for the touches initiated by Murk, whose condition still seemed to necessitate closeness. The rare caresses bolstered his system, he said, but even those were lazy, rarely more than an arm slung over her belly as he snored.
She grew big and round under their neglect, and she wondered when they would notice. If they’d ever had their eyes open for longer than it took for them to eat and take off their clothes at night, perhaps they would have.
She’d had enough of seed-culling and weeding and household organization. She needed more. Her circumstance wouldn’t have been so unbearable if there were people around to talk to, but the ennui was going to drive her insane long before the baby’s insistent jabs on her pelvic floor did.
She trudged outside, holding her dress’s hem off the ground, and found Trig up to his knees in an irrigation ditch.
Obviously spotting her, he immediately started for the bank. “All you all right? Is something wrong?”
“Yep.”
“The baby? Is it—”
“No.” She sighed and braced her hands against the throbbing base of her spine. If half-Jekhan babies were born at about the same gestation as plain-old human kids, she had a few weeks left. Court’s mother had always gone late with all her pregnancies, so Court held out no hope of imminent relief from her condition. She was so swollen and tender that she couldn’t even bear to wear her com band. And she’d felt a true pang of sadness at having to unscrew the releases again to remove the bracelet Amy had given to her. The bracelet reminded her of one of the few friends Court had on Buinet, and she missed her. She missed Brenna, too, and hoped she was okay in that sea of alpha male wannabes at the station.
“Take me into Little Gitano,” Court said.
Trig climbed over the bank and shook the mud off his hands. “What?”
“Take me into town.”
“But—”
“No.” She shook her head and put up her hands to stave him off. “Look, I’m going crazy. There are only so many time times I can sweep the same rooms. Only so much grain I can process and put up. Only so much bread I can freeze and game for me to prepare. I don’t mind being a little domestic, but I’m a city girl. I need a community. I need to be in touch with people.”
He furrowed his brow and shifted his weight. “Going there isn’t safe. We’ve discussed this.”
“I know better than anyone that sticking our necks out isn’t safe. Drop me off at the outskirts and let me look around for an hour. Let me see who’s there. When we know, we can make smarter decisions.”
“They may not be Jekhan.”
“Neither am I. Be rational, Trig. If they’re Jekhan, they probably won’t hurt me, right? Murk is an outlier. You guys are pacifistic to a fault. And if they’re Terran, well…” She shrugged. “We may as well see what they’re about sooner than later.”
“Murk would kill me if I took you.”
She scoffed and pressed her palm to the top of her belly where her heartburn liked to settle. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re more afraid of what Murk would do than what I would do. Funny how things change. But you see me as sort of extraneous in this deal, right? My feelings don’t really matter unless they’re preventing you from doing something you need to do.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” She raked her fingers through her hair and smoothed down the lumps at the top the best she could. Her back ached, and she hadn’t had the energy to hold her arms over her head to detangle her hair as well as she needed to. “Lots of nights, you make that pretty clear to me. You know, even if you go outside, I can still hear you fucking. You two are so damned rude.”
He furrowed his brow again. “What are you talking about? We assumed you didn
’t want to…” He made a waffling gesture.
“What, have sex? Why, because I’m so huge?”
He groaned and gave his messy hair a tug. “No! When Jekhan women are pregnant, they tend to seclude themselves. They don’t want be touched or talked to.”
“Are you kidding me? Seriously, that’s your excuse?” She pressed her hands to the bottom of her belly to support it as she laughed. “You make them sound like cats about to drop litters. And hey, I’m not a Jekhan woman. I thought we established that. You two continue to operate on the assumption that I’m going to behave in a particular way, but you haven’t asked me what I want.”
“We…I didn’t know to ask. I can’t help what I don’t know, Courtney. If you’d like Murk to make love to you—”
“Why not you?”
“I…” His jaw flapped a few beats, mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
“Can’t make up a good lie? Why does Murk have to be the one who touches me? Is that another Jekhan cultural thing I’m missing? Explain it to me. No more dancing around the whole story. I’m not so delicate that I’m going to swoon from the threat of impropriety. Tell me now. Tell me why in nearly a year you haven’t tried to fuck me.”
He opened his mouth again, but before he could spit out whatever lame-ass rebuttal he had planned, she added, “and don’t tell me you don’t like me a little.”
“Damn it, Courtney, I more than like you, okay? I’m doing the best I can. It’s all I know.”
“What do you want, Trig? Tell me what you want, and not what you know.”
“I want to touch you.”
“So, what’s stopping you? I’ve never told you no.”
“The custom is that the second mate doesn’t…” He gulped. “Make love to the woman they share until after she’s given the first mate a child. That’s respectful.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose and paced. Pacing distracted her from how much her back hurt. “God. And then after I give birth?”
“We can…make love?”
“This is ridiculous.”
“No, customary.”
She dropped her hand from her face and stared at him. “I’m not Jekhan. I understand that you are and that you’re wired a certain way, but so am I. You think having sex with me would be unseemly right now, and I understand. I don’t like that you think that, but I understand. Abstaining from intercourse doesn’t mean you can’t touch me or kiss me. I’m starving here, Trig. I don’t want to be left up to my own devices. I don’t need as much solitude as you two have been giving me.”
“I…” Moving forward, he skimmed tentative fingers along her jaw. His expression was anguished, voice strained.
He really hadn’t known. There was still so much they didn’t know about each other, and Court was sick of them being ignorant.
“We’ll do better,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“Prove it by taking me to town.”
He dropped his hand. “Courtney, I—”
“Goddammit, Trigrian. Wouldn’t life be so much easier if I could trade for some things? So you wouldn’t have to spend so much of your downtime foraging? And I need to get to a functioning com signal. I want to let my family know I’m okay. They may be able to ship us some things. Some things…for the baby.”
“Bringing the baby into the bargain is cruel.”
“Maybe so, but I’m being honest. We need to trade, and I need to be around people. And the thing is, Trigrian, I don’t need your permission. I could just go, but I’m trying to keep you two from spazzing out. I’m trying to be considerate. Do you understand me?”
“You wouldn’t do that.” He shook his head hard. “You wouldn’t go on your own.”
“Yeah, I would. You’re forgetting who I am. I’m not some damsel in distress who needs to be cloistered. Either I’m a fully contributing member of this trio or just a toy for you two. Which one am I?”
“Why do we have to pick one of two extremes? Is there no compromise?”
“You two don’t understand compromise. You think in black and white, so that’s how I feed information to you. I’m going to town, even if I have to walk.”
“No, I’ll take you. Damn it, Courtney.” It was his turn to pace. He’d probably paced half a kilometer worth of steps before he stopped in front of her again and pointed to her. “You’ll promise to keep your distance until you’re sure no one will harm you?”
“You keep forgetting that I was a cop, and a good cop at that. I think ahead. If it’ll make you more comfortable, I’ll take a gun.”
“I don’t know if comfortable is the word I’d use.”
“Trig,” she warned. She was growing weary of the conversation and just wanted to go.
He put up his hands. “All right. Not like I can say no to you.”
“Could have shocked the hell out of me, because I certainly didn’t get that vibe.”
He let out a breath and scratched in front of his messy bun. With a little bit more sweat, it would probably fall apart from stress of its own weight.
She wished he would just let the damned hair down and get the little scandal over with.
“Murk’s harvesting some early fruit from the northeast boundaries today. Jerry’s with him. He probably won’t be back for a few hours, but we can leave him a note.”
Court imagined Murk wouldn’t be so eager to see that note. He’d probably lose his shit knowing they didn’t run the scenario past him, but as long as they got back safely, Court didn’t see where it mattered. He’d have to get over it, just like she got over their infuriating Jekhanisms every damned day.
___
For once, Trig seemed to need to touch, so Court impatiently let him have his fill. He’d set the flyer down beneath a couple of shade trees about a kilometer outside Little Gitano. He’d eased around the front seat to give her a last warning about something, and then had gotten distracted by touching her face, her lips.
“Tell me again what you’re going to do.” His gaze fell to her heavy breasts and a sigh slipped out of his lips. They were a marvel to him. She got that. They’d probably doubled in size, and she hadn’t had the heart to tell them they were probably going to get bigger once her milk came in.
She cleared her throat, and he pulled his gaze back to her face. Her lips, not her eyes, but close enough. “I’m going to head straight for the…” Damn, what did he call it? The place was probably the closest thing to a general store Little Gitano had.
“The meet-shop.”
“Right. There, I’ll be able to get some supplies and pay to use a functioning com, if they still have one?”
“Correct.” He skimmed gentle fingertips up her belly and rested them at the top, just below her breasts. His violet gaze tracked upward.
“I’m feeling a bit like a goat in a petting zoo, but go ahead. Get the novelty out of your system. You could have done that months ago if you weren’t too busy ignoring me.”
“I wasn’t ignoring you, I was—”
She grabbed his hands and pressed his palms against her breasts.
The pained sound he made ignited a cascade of giggles from her that made her worry about the integrity of her bladder. “Wanna see them?” Still laughing, she brushed his hands across her nipples.
“No.” His voice came out a strained whisper. He dropped his hands, only to adjust his crotch. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“I can think of more efficient ways. Anyway. So, meet-shop first”—she counted off on her fingers—“then if I think doing so is safe, I can do a quick walk-around to see what’s left in town.”
“Look quickly in case Murk decides to head home early.”
She shrugged. “Well, if he’s mad, I have some words for him, too. He’s not off the hook, and you’re still not, either. Don’t assume that because I’m calm that I’m not pissed. Now let me out of this thing.”
Trig let out a long sigh before leaning forward to tap the door release.
Court made sure she
still had her bag, grabbed her skirt to lift the hem, climbed out—with the tiniest push of assistance—and gave Trig a consoling wave as she started up the path.
Where Buinet was a glass-and-concrete modern city that looked so much like what Earth had to offer, Little Gitano seemed to be some cross between medieval marketplace and Old West stagecoach stop. The buildings were subdued and compact, much like the earth-brick structures on Trig’s farm. Little Gitano’s buildings, though, were obviously built for commercial purposes. They were wider and had larger doorways, but more or less, the construction was the same. One had to step down into them rather than step up into them. Trig had explained that building a few feet into the ground made them exponentially cooler in the region’s very long summer.
She spotted the meet-shop easily for all of its bustling activity without even being able to read the signs. The best she could tell, they were in Jekhani. No one had bothered to change them, and she found that curious. In Buinet, all evidence of the first inhabitants had been stripped away—pushed into ghettos. The Jekhans had left their mark in Little Gitano and apparently no one seemed inclined to change that.
And women! There were human women in Little Gitano.
Court paused beside a low wood bench to watch a pair of them. They stood in front of a fruit cart half a block away making some very animated hand gestures as they discussed something. They didn’t seem to fit the profile of the first brides brought to the place for the farmers. The recruiters had specifically sought tall, wide-hipped women—especially single mothers with few economic prospects. Perhaps those women are the Earth-born children of those recruited mothers.
Court moved closer to the meet-shop door, idly fondling her bag’s strap. Her natural inclination was to talk with them—learn from them—but she needed to be at least a little wary.
She stepped down into the store and was immediately taken aback not only by its offerings, but also at its smells. Its sounds.