“No, the land will be fine. The Strafe is selective. It only kills the humans. It doesn’t burn them, just stops them, their hearts. The land and the animals will be fine. But the humans…”
The Strafe stayed near the crash site for a long time.
“Why do you think it will come this way?”
“The river. If the pilot knew anything about the Strafe, he would head to the river. If he could find an overhang on the bank, he might survive. The Strafe doesn’t go through soil. So our dugout is safe. Sooner or later it will come this way.” He moved her back into the corner, away from the door and shoved their piles of grass to the far wall. She helped, tossing the blankets on the pile.
One moment it was far away, next it was by the river, the white light giving the dugout an eerie appearance. It came closer, crashing around the dugout louder than a thousand lightening strikes. Gema screamed as the light burned and zapped outside the dugout. The strikes came over and over again, filling the air with the smell of ozone.
“Close your eyes, get further back.” They pressed against the far wall, which was actually in the hillside, where they stored supplies. They had made a crude mud and dried grass plaster for the inside of the dugout, so the wall felt smooth and dry.
Curled up against the wall, Gema trembled, and tried to hold in her tears. Kellac moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “We’re good,” he yelled above the roar. “We are safe here. Keep your face toward the wall. The light can blind.”
At his words and gentle touch the dam she barely held into place broke, and she cried, while he crooned in her ear, soft words in a language she didn’t know.
***
He could feel her relax a little. Her body shook against him, but not so hard and her breath evened out.
“We are safe. Don’t cry. We are safe. The dugout keeps us safe.” She probably couldn’t hear his words above the din so he held her tighter and soon they were both on the floor, spooned together on the grass pile, facing the wall to avoid the bright light in their eyes.
The soft globes of her bottom were pressed to his groin. She could probably feel his cock; he couldn’t hide it.
The Strafe moved away from the dugout and they rested together breathing heavily, and then the Strafe was back. Gema jerked and his hips ground hard against her round bottom before he could think to stop himself.
To his surprise she didn’t yank away from him. Instead she pressed her bottom against him and circled his cock.
An invitation.
“I’m sorry. Sorry.” Wild, breathless with fear and desire, he moved so he could speak right into her ear. “I was an idiot. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter you are part Zh Cle’. You are just right, just the way you are.”
He was desperate. He pulled at her ribbons, then yanked her out of the bodice.
In the Strafe light, the swirls of scales glinted with mother of pearl lights.
He would show her he didn’t find her ancestry disturbing
He pressed her into the grass and settled over her thighs, and pushed his hands under her, holding her breasts.
His tongue found the shiny scales on her shoulder, iridescent in the white, unrelenting shards of light. He followed the pattern, the swirls and spirals, followed the curved lines down her spine. He could feel a difference in texture with his lips and tongue—a slight scrape if he licked upward, silky smoothness if he licked the other way…
He reached her soft bottom which he enjoyed massages and kissing.
Then he rose back to her shoulders and followed the pattern on the other side of her spine. While he tongued her pattern, his fingers found hard nipples which he tugged and rolled while his tongue glided over her back. While he explored her with his hungry mouth, he slid fingers down to her lower curls. He worked her legs apart enough to get his fingers to her slick well and then to her swollen clit. He played with her, gratified when she began to press against his hand, wanting more.
When she came, throbbing against his hand, his body jerked in sympathy and he wanted his own release. He pulled her to her knees in the pile of grass. His hungry cock probed between her legs until it found the tight wet place he longed for, his control was gone. He slammed into her, and she responded grinding her bottom back against him, making him wild. He came in an explosive rush and they collapsed together on the bedding.
The Strafe stopped before morning light. They left the dugout in the dim predawn light, and climbed a steep rocky hill that lead to a thickly forested area where they could hide and watch.
The transport was visible, across the river and not far from their favorite bathing place.
“If the Harvesters come on this side of the river, we’ll stay in the trees and head back toward the high rock outcrop. He waved above them toward the high hills they had explored once. It was rough country without much to forage, but the view was wonderful. “That’s where we’ll meet if we get separated.”
The idea of being separated made her stomach lurch.
“What are Harvesters?
“Cyborgs. The Gorvas have some kind of trade agreement with a far sector system with advanced war technology. They use human bodies with technology to produce drones, but high functioning ones. If they use the Strafe many of the bodies will be intact, so they take them somewhere to process into cyborgs. We don’t know much else about that process. Not yet. They have used some cyborgs in border skirmishes so we have some information on them. They send in harvesters right after the Strafe and gather the undamaged bodies.”
“That is just sick. Insane.”
“Yes.”
“There’s a survivor,” Kellac whispered. “See—down near those reeds with the edible roots.”
With the viewer she could make out a man, sitting on the bank.
Near mid-morning they saw a dark, utilitarian ship fly in close to the river. It landed near the transport. The Harvesters flowed out of their dark ship, twenty or so. Various appliances were worn in different places on their bodies. In the viewer Gema could make out the slack, pale faces of the ones who didn’t have appliances obscuring their features.
“Are they dead?”
“We’re not certain. The few we tried to capture self destructed.”
The survivor was smart and hid in the reeds, but the cyborgs were thorough. They moved down river, several in the water.
“I don’t think he’s going to make it,” Kellac said.
Gema shut her eyes. She didn’t want to see the man die.
Can I herd them?
She sent a command.
*There is nothing to harvest. LEAVE NOW.*
She repeated the command over and over, in an emotionless sending. Emotion might alert the cyborgs, warn them of something unusual happening.
Opening her eyes she saw the Harvesters had stopped moving down river. *There is nothing to harvest. LEAVE NOW.*
The cyborgs turned and retreated to their ship.
“Are you doing that?” Kellac whispered.
She nodded, still concentrating on the harvesters.
The cyborgs returned to their ship.
*Take off now.*
She held her breath and waited as though frozen. Then she heard the whirr of the engines. The Harvest ship shot up into the sky, soon out of sight.
“So, you herded them.”
“They were easy,” she said, surprised, “Like woolies back home.”
Kellac looked at her for a moment, a slight frown between his eyebrows, until she turned away from his scrutiny.
Zh Cle’ issues, popping up already. She bit back a sigh.
They hadn’t really talked last night, since the Strafe was so loud. Instead they had filled sleepless hours with touching…
“I'll get him with the raft.” Kellac said. They kept the raft hidden in the reeds near the river.
“I'll start some soup. He'll probably be freezing. You should take a blanket.”
To Kellac's surprise there were two survivors, a small man, young
, of Terran descent and a tall woman with the sculpted beauty of a PureGen.
“I'll come get you with my raft,” He shouted across the river. They waited for him on the bank, huddled together.
Dooley was a small, thin man and the time in the cold river water had endangered him more than the woman. His lips were blue and he could barely walk to the raft. The woman was Lorl of Toph. They shared the blanket but Kellac had to practically drag the man to the camp.
“Gema is heating soup. We'll get you warmed up.” The man gave a jerky nod.
“Are you able to walk?”
The woman just looked at him with a blank expression for a moment, then whispered, “Yes.”
Gema rushed to meet them.
“The pilot's really cold. Get me a towel and some clothes. I'll get him undressed and rubbed down. We need to warm him up right away.”
Gema quickly fetched Kellac's spare clothes. “Can you change yourself?” She asked the woman, who gave a sharp nod. The woman took her clothes into the dugout and was able to put them on without assistance. Gema poured hot broth into camp mugs while Kellac wrestled the small man into dry clothes, then sat him near the fire, propped up against the sitting log and wrapped head to toe in blankets. The man's hand shook as he reached for the mug.
“Let me help. Small sips, you don't want to burn your mouth,” Kellac brought the mug to the man's blue lips and helped him sip.
The woman came out of the dugout wrapped in a blanket and accepted a mug from Gema.
“Thank you for rescuing us,” she said. She sat, knees tightly together as if at a formal meal, and sipped her soup.
“Th-Thought we were done for sure.” The small man said. After he drank the mug of broth he lost the blue lips and quit shivering. “I'm Dooley, transport pilot.”
“I'm Lorl, tech administer for the show. From Toph,” The woman said. She had pale blond hair, almost gilt in the sun, cut in a short style. Her skin was a warm golden tan, eyes deep blue. She was nearly as tall as Kellac with a slender athletic build. After introducing herself she pulled the blanket over her hair and stared at the fire. She was in much better shape than the man.
“That was a risky maneuver, riding next to the wreckage.” Kellac said, “Probably saved your life.”
“The first time anyway,” Dooley said. “I knew they'd send the Strafe and we were lucky to find the bank. But I don’t know how we survived the Harvesters.”
Kellac glanced at Gema, who shrugged. “Gema did it,” Kellac said. “She has some Zh Cle’ blood and has the ability to mind herd. The cyborgs followed her orders.”
Dooley’s head jerked up. “You can mind herd them like a flock of sheep?” His eyes were wide. “Does the military know about this? Rumor is the cyborgs aren’t just servants and grunt workers anymore. They’ve stepped up to making military units.”
Gema shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. But they were easy to herd.”
“Who knows what orders they follow,” Kellac said. “You think it was Gorvas, too?”
“Sure do. I watch every Viewcast about them I can find. Heard how they have some alliance with a Center system world, some warlike place. Read some specs on the Strafe on military sites. Glad I did. Wasn’t sure it was coming, but didn’t want to take the chance.” He shook his head. “I knew we were dealing with a heavyweight when the ship was disabled in moments after the initial attack. It wasn’t some grimy little pirate in a patched together cruiser.”
Dooley had no problem accepting Gema’s Zh Cle’ blood. It made Kellac uncomfortable. He didn’t want some other guy being Gema’s champion.
Kellac looked at the man with a critical eye. He was small, no taller than Gema, but his thin build was tight with muscle. Chestnut brown hair worn long fell across his forehead, emphasizing large blue eyes and a triangle face with a stubble of reddish brown beard. He was not PureGen as far as Kellac could tell, being so short, but he was handsome, almost pretty.
“You seem to have military experience Dooley, but you don't look old enough.”
“I'm older than I look, it's a family trait. I'm from Derry in the first sector. Junior military academy, then mandatory seven year service. Starting at age seventeen. I retired from my seven years as a light ship pilot. Last year.”
“You're from Derry?” Gema said. “Is Dooley your family name?”
“Why, yes. My given name is Trey but the PureGen use just one name.”
“I'm originally from your sister world, Armagh.” She paused. “Raferty?”
It made no sense to Kellac but the small man reacted with a warm smile, showing even white teeth a PureGen would be proud of. Gema smiled back and he felt a strange charge of jealousy.
It was a new sensation. He'd never felt jealous in his life.
“Rafferty Hafferity, Cocoron, Dunn.
Cooley, Dooley O'Bannon and Boyle
Kerwin, Larkin, Houlihan, Keane
O'Malley, O'Melody, Finnevar Breen.”
Both Gema and Dooley finished the odd rhyme with wide smiles.
“Trey Dooley. Breen on my father's side.”
“Gema O'Malley. O'Bannon on my father's side.”
Gema finally noticed Kellac, staring at her. “Derry and Armagh are sister worlds settled by the same group of Terran colonists.” She explained. “For centuries our two homeworlds traded and intermarried. The rhyme is an old one from childhood, of the founding families’ names. Basically, we are distant kin.”
Kin. Kellac's stomach tightened just for a moment at the idea of this man having some type of claim on Gema, no matter how small.
And then he realized after all this time he had never thought to ask Gema her full name. Shame filled him. All this time and he'd never asked about her homeworld or family. He’d assumed she came from Zh Cle’ reservation. Apparently not.
Then the woman Lorl yawned hugely, and so did Dooley.
“Why don't you two climb into the lean-to. It'll get the sun and be warmer than the dugout.” Kellac patted the roof of the small shelter.
“I’m still cold from the river. I hope I do get baked,” Dooley said with a grin and crawled into the lean-to.
The woman hesitated and looked at Kellac. “Are we safe? Will they come back?”
“I don't think so. They might send a salvager for the transport. Gema and I will keep watch. We'll head for the forest if it looks like they are coming this way.”
She nodded and crawled into the dugout.
“We'll need a lot more grass, a pile for each of them. And two more lean to-s.” Gema said while the newcomers slept. The arrival of the newcomers changed everything. Her mind had raced for the past hour, thinking of all the things they would need to do, of all the changes they would have to make.
Kellac had gone back to the river to hide the raft in the reeds and check their fish traps. He was now cleaning the fish he'd caught.
“Why two more?” Kellac frowned at her.
“Well, unless you want Dooley to sleep in the dugout with you.”
Still frowning, he stared at her. “I want you to sleep in the dugout with me. The woman can have your lean-to and we'll make another for Dooley.”
She frowned back at him, exasperated. “If we sleep in there together, they will suspect we are having sex.”
“So?”
“So, they know I’m Zh Cle’.”
“You being Zh Cle’ saved their lives. It saved our lives, too. And we're in survival mode more than ever now with four mouths to feed.”
She paused. “Yes, that's true.”
“And they will pull their own weight.”
“Somehow I don't see Lorl fishing or eating grubs.”
“She'll have to. You are not waiting on her.”
Chapter Eight
Kellac stuck a thin sharpened stick through two decent sized fish and set the ends in forked sticks pushed into the ground on either side of the fire. The fish would cook slowly above the coals and be ready for their next meal.
“Come on.” Kellac st
ood up in one of those smooth moves only PureGen could do and grabbed her hand.
“Where?”
“To the stream.”
He didn’t grab the water bucket, which was half full. She stared at him.
“Why are we going there?”
“We need some privacy,” Kellac said, and he broke into a lope so she had to gallop alongside.
Alien Blood (Diaspora Worlds) Page 8