“I came down to fetch a glass of water, and I heard voices,” she said.
“You listened.” He did not blame her. One should always gather information. “There is no shame in acquiring information.”
“It’s considered rude to listen in on another’s conversation in my culture.”
Human conventions did not stop her curiosity, though. He approved. “What did you learn?”
She plucked at the sleeve of her robe. “Amity and I had a disagreement earlier. I didn’t mean to run her off. She’s your sister, and I never intended to drive a wedge between you.”
“You did no such thing. Amity and I are no longer kits and far too set in our ways. It is time for her to return to Talmar.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. The scent of disturbed sleep clung to her. “Are you sleeping well?”
“Hmm. Well enough, I suppose.” She blinked and yawned. “It’s odd. I’ve slept alone for ages, but now I can’t seem to sleep unless you’re there.”
Her words pleased him. His chest rumbled with satisfaction that she missed him. “The work keeps me away,” he said.
“I understand. The town’s safety depends on you.” The words spoke of understanding, but her tone implied frustration. New to this family, to the world, and committed to a male who could not help her during this transition, Kal bore the stress with remarkable grace. She leaned against him, head on his shoulder, trusting in him.
“I’ve never resented how long the hunt keeps me in the field until now,” he said. The mine’s expansion proved more troublesome than initial intelligence suggested. They discovered a mornclaw nest where none had been detected, which meant either the mornclaw nesting pattern had changed, or the equipment suffered a failure.
Merit leaned toward equipment failure. The provincial government funded the Watchtower and his operation, but they never seemed to send the correct supplies or the necessary amount. If he did not know that the ore scratched out of the ground was Corra’s largest export and fueled the economy, he would believe the government wanted the mine to fail. He found it easier to believe in some bureaucratic incompetence or greed rather than criminal negligence. Confirming that, however, would prove tricky.
“Can I ask about the war?”
Bold as ever. Merit tightened his grip on her.
“If you’d rather not–”
“No. You ask a reasonable question. You are my mate. You should know this of me.” He stroked her hair, momentarily distracted by the place where her ears would be if she were Tal. Human ears were lower and closer to the head. So strange. “The war was not,” he searched for the correct word, “clean. The enemy was not a foreign invader. The enemy was us. The rebels were not wrong with their grievances, but they used civilians as weapons. They killed indiscriminately and made us do the same.”
Stroking her hair brought him comfort, made the hurt and anger of those years seem distant, despite that his scarred leg served as a daily reminder.
A young male, naïve and fresh, he never worried about what it was to take a life. Combat from a distance had a sanitized effect. He never heard the cries, the gurgling of breath, or felt the spray of hot blood on his skin. Long-range weapons removed him from the gore and from the danger of falling into bloodlust.
The actual war—or the Troubles as the media so neatly described it—was fought up close and in the streets, using the urban landscape against the military. There were so many hiding places for bombs and ambushes in the average town. The only way to flush the rebels out had been to either bomb the town flat, at great civilian expense, or fight door-to-door.
Merit absently rubbed his knee, remembering the fragments of the day his pride dragged him back.
“And that’s why you won’t go back?”
“I refuse to go back to Talmar not because I worry for my safety. I cannot go back because when I see people on the street, I wonder who I took from them. Whose life did I end that mattered to them?” He shook his head to free himself from his darker thoughts. “The government betrayed us soldiers. They made us slaughter our neighbors, our friends, even our families. For what? For corrupt officials to continue their administrations. I will not live the rest of my days on a world where that is deemed to be acceptable and the cost of doing business.” Rage at the corrupt, bumbling government that pulled him into a civil war and the rebels that escalated the violence, burned in him. “I cannot.”
Kal brushed the back of her hand against the side of his face. It was a comfort-seeking gesture, one used on kits and the most intimate of partners. His anger unraveled at her touch. His eyes closed as his body relaxed.
“I’m sorry you suffered,” she said.
“Where did you learn to do that?” He could waste the day away in bed, just letting his mate touch him with her soft human hands.
Silently, he counted the responsibilities that pulled him away out of bed every morning and away from his lovely warm mate. He counted the lives that relied on him to keep them safe, starting with the kits.
“It’s something I saw Amity do for Dare and Clarity,” she said.
“Ah. Very observant.”
“Is it wrong?” She hesitated, hand hovering close but not touching him.
“Never. No touch of yours could ever be wrong.”
“It’s late. Come to bed, husband.”
“Yes.” The morning would come early. Too many people depended on him for Merit to ignore his duty.
Chapter Seven
Merit
Merit growled in irritation at the map, before snapping the device shut and shoving it into a pocket. “I don’t care what the engineers say, this is unsafe.”
The mine expanding operations had never been an easy process. In addition to the Watchtower’s regular responsibilities, Merit’s Hunters had to sweep the furthest branches of the mine. They had to inspect the area above, around, and sometimes under the proposed new dig location. Even then, a pair of Hunters had to be present for the actual excavation. As an added complication, the vibrations from the digging could hatch any undiscovered egg sacs, necessitating extra sweeps of the area above.
Merit needed more Hunters. Without a small fortune to hire new recruits, he made do with what he had. That meant every available Hunter worked long hours and double shifts, which made the Hunters tired, prone to mistakes, and far more likely to cause an incident. Far from a good solution, if his team could push through until the diggers completed the new mine shaft, then they could resume the normal routine.
If they survived the engineers.
Months ago, his Hunters secured several new shafts before a collapse closed the entire area. Now the engineers believed they could clear the rubble and reinforce the roof with scaffolding to prevent collapse. The entire mine complex sprawled in a web of shafts under the mountains. Merit wasn’t sure how it didn’t collapse under its own weight.
“Sounds like you lost your sense of adventure, boss,” Ulmer said.
Merit ignored the male’s teasing. The mechanic normally stayed at the Watchtower. That’s how short staffed he was, forced to do a burn and clear run with the blasted mechanic. The fledgling recruit, Birn, was hardly any better. Merit had already redressed the male for being lax at the guard station.
“Stay focused. I don’t want to bring your body back to your mother,” Merit said.
They moved in silence, lights attached to helmets illuminating the way.
“I thought he’d be in a good mood, on account of that mate of his,” Birn said.
“Nah, look at his tail. He’s getting that pulled all the time, you know what I mean. He’s too exhausted to be nice,” Ulmer said.
“You’d think he’d be too exhausted to be mean.”
Merit ground his teeth. He hadn’t had his tail pulled in years by a female, let alone by his mate. Her touches had been shy and soft. They decided to wait until they knew each other better, but he had to admit that he looked forward to some tail pulling.
“Enough g
ossiping about my sex life,” he said.
“We could gossip about mine if I had one,” Ulmer said, cheerily.
Insufferable male.
The air grew fetid and stale as the shaft descended. The odors of machine oil and stagnant water tickled his nostrils. Merit scrubbed at his face, unwilling to sneeze in front of the Hunters. The last time he did, his team teased him for sneezing “like a kitten.” His olfactory receptors were far more complex than a Corravian. His sneezes were robust and impressive.
“The reported sighting is not far,” Ulmer said, stopping at the mouth of a side passage. Birn cracked a flare and threw it into the dark passage. Phosphorous yellow light illuminated the floor with machined grooves and the uneven walls.
They waited, listening.
Merit could only detect the faint drip of condensation.
“Smell all right, boss?” Birn asked. Mornclaws had a distinctive odor, like salt and rotting flesh. Most anyone could recognize the horrid stench when one of the creatures were close. His Tal nose allowed Merit to detect them at a distance. Prospect had the same ability.
“They were here but a long time ago.” Merit crept forward, light sweeping from side to side. He had his rifle at the ready, a shovel on his back and several knives strapped to his body. Ulmer and Birn were outfitted the same, but only Birn moved as if he knew how to carry a rifle. The weapon sat awkwardly in Ulmer’s hands.
Merit made a mental note to have his team brush up on weapon training, especially the mechanics.
The light hit something dull white.
Merit motioned for another flare. In short order, the shaft glowed a sickly yellow. The sight dropped a weight in the pit of his stomach, sinking him down.
“Fucking hell,” Ulmer said.
“Are they supposed to look like that?” Birn asked.
Egg sacs. Attached to the shaft walls, dozens of empty, deflated and shriveled egg sacs hung there, sad and forgotten.
“Only when they hatch,” Merit said. “When was the last time this shaft was used?”
Ulmer pulled out his table, the screen casting a bluish glow on his face. “Two years ago. It was built to store equipment but not used for much else.” Ulmer gave Merit a critical look. “You okay there, boss?”
Merit focused on steady even, breaths. His ears pressed back, away from Ulmer. He ignored the male’s concern.
“They hatched some time ago. I can barely smell them,” Merit said. Basically, they had no idea when the eggs were deposited or when they hatched.
“But where did they go?” Birn asked.
Good question. Instinct drove a newly hatched mornclaw to feed, and mornclaws were driven by little more than instinct. When they hatched, they should have swarmed toward the nearest source of blood and heat. The mine operations reported no infestations and no civilian reported a sighting.
The mines also connected to a series of natural caves, connecting to the Crystal Cavern and further on to the north. Merit would like to take Kal there and show her the wondrous side of his adopted planet, but he didn’t have time to scratch his ass, let alone take his wife sightseeing. He should find the time. She was worth the effort.
Merit envisioned his mate dipping into a hot spring, surrounded by giant crystals, wearing nothing but a smile. The image pleased him, then worry set in. The mines did connect to the Crystal Caverns. He could not guarantee that they were totally safe. Perhaps the mornclaws fought against all instinct and found a way out through the caves, but, again, no civilian had reported a sighting in that area.
No. The mornclaws would have gone for the easiest, closest meal. A monarch could have organized the hatchlings to escape through the caves, but they had to eat, and mornclaws were always hungry.
“Ulmer, chat with the manager and pull any records of accidents,” Merit said. “Birn, get those things down and make a pile for burning. We still have to clear this tunnel, even if it’s old.”
Mornclaws would return to successful nesting ground. Best practice was to clear out every trace of them. Birn took out his shovel and started scraping the egg sacs off the wall.
“You think they covered it up, boss?” Ulmer already had his tablet out, tapping in a message.
If they did, it was a short-sighted and foolhardy decision. Too often, civilians thought they could smash an egg and skip reporting, saying they couldn’t afford to have their farm, business, or mine closed down while the Hunters did their job. Merit could never understand people who valued the loss of a day’s productivity over lives. Fines were designed to discourage this behavior and keep businesses focused on the safety and prosperity of the community, but greed made people complacent.
“If they did, they’re in for a world of hurt,” Merit said.
Chapter Eight
Kalini
One and a half weeks passed before Kal realized it. Day-to-day activities replaced the exciting glow of being on holiday with the slow realization that this is how it was going to be.
Except it wasn’t how Kal wanted it to be. Some parts were grand like the children, the unspoiled landscape, and the fluttery feeling in her stomach when Merit smiled at her. Other parts, however, sucked donkey balls.
Amity, for one. Granted, they got on better once Kal spoke her mind. They moved cautiously around each other in the house, neither one wanting to test the other’s patience, but the passive-aggressive commentary stopped. Amity even took the time to teach Kal a few simple Tal recipes. When she wasn’t correcting how Kal held a knife–apparently, she’d been doing it wrong for ages–Amity dropped bits of information about which foods were seasonal, what was a reasonable price and what was robbery, and family favorite meals. Between all that came anecdotes and family stories. Merit didn’t like a certain honeyed pastry because once, as a kit, he ate an entire tray of it and had gotten sick.
Cooking was about the only thing Amity and Kal agreed on. Recipes were formulas that followed logical patterns. Heat plus time created a certain result. Kal enjoyed the predictable nature of it. For Amity, however, it was about family and relationships. Each meal served as a testament to their love and devotion to one another. Kal’s mother had been the same way. When she felt happy, certain desserts made an appearance. When she needed comfort, she brought out old favorites. Dare joined them in the kitchen, eager to learn.
Some nights, Amity declared herself too annoyed to cook edible food and left Kal in charge. Kal didn’t understand how Amity could run a successful business if she were too temperamental to cook day in and day out, but she had to admit that everything Amity put on a plate was delicious.
Fortunately, the problem would solve itself. Amity would be leaving tomorrow to return to Talmar.
“Bruised fruit makes for better preserves,” Amity said, shoving a list into Kal’s hands.
“Bruising makes it taste better?”
“No. The taste is the same. It is cheaper because of the appearance but what do I care if I’m going to peel it up? So, complain about the bruising and drive down the price.” Amity pointed to a stall laden with summer fruit.
The weekly farmer’s market crowded the town square. Belith had found her and Amity in the crowd. Kal enjoyed perusing the weekly selection but disliked haggling. The price was the price, and she should respect what the farmers wanted for their goods.
“Why can’t you do that if you like haggling so much?” Kal asked.
Amity sniffed dramatically. “They will no longer haggle with me. They expect me to pay the first price they offer, like an untried kit? It is insulting.”
Had to be a Tal thing.
“I don’t mind paying the asking price,” Kal said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her.” Belith grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward the fruit stand. “Bruised fruit should be cheaper. Just make sure they do not try to charge you the newcomer price.”
“Because you’ve been here so much longer than me?”
“No, because they are afraid to make me angry.” Belith
grinned, teeth white against the dusky blue of her complex. Pride streaked her cheeks. Standing nearly seven feet tall, the woman towered above Kal and stood taller than most everyone except her husband, Sigald.
“At least you’re a jolly blue giant,” Kal murmured, picking at the fruit. She had no idea what they were named or what they tasted like. The fruit had fuzzy yellow skin, a bit like a peach.
“Would you like to try a sample?” the farmer behind the counter asked. Before Kal could answer, the woman sliced up the fruit and handed her and Belith thick chunks.
Sweet juice trickled down her fingers. The sweet aroma hit her with a comforting familiarity. Mangoes. She popped the piece in her mouth before her brain could tell her nose that it was wrong. The familiar taste of sweetness and a touch of acidity hit her tongue. Not quite a mango but close. Kal fought back a groan. She needed a bushel, and there was no way she’d be able to drive down the price once she started groaning in ecstasy.
Belith was less impressed. “Too sweet. It makes my teeth ache.”
Kal decided then to make a large batch of Coronation Chicken. She had already identified a poultry-type meat that tasted for all the world like chicken. With her alien mangoes, all she needed was curry.
She tried not to laugh at the irony. All her life, her mother added curry powder to everything. The spice stained her mother’s fingers, and the scent lingered down deep in the carpeting and fabric in the home. It was a smell that she associated with home.
Kal hated the taste of curry. It overpowered everything, and her mother used the spice without reservation. As an adult, she never had the spice in her home. Now, she craved it and loathed it in equal measure.
Perhaps if she asked, Amity would help her identify a similar blend.
They arrived back at the house, laden with a weeks’ worth of fruit and vegetables. With Amity’s help, she made Coronation Chicken for the first time in years. She explained the spice, a blend of pungent spices like ginger, turmeric, and cumin. Amity set about to create a substitute while Kal poached the almost-chicken and chopped the nearly-mangoes. The end result was a sweet and spicy spread, a bit hotter than what her mother made but pleasing. It gave her a sense of home, and she puffed up with pride when the kits devoured the sandwiches she made with it.
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