by RK Munin
“If anyone should understand power dynamics, it's you,” he taunts her.
“I'll show you power dynamics,” she warns him playfully. “Maybe next time I'll tie you up.”
“You can try,” he invites her. He looks over, catching her gaze with his and her breath catches. He gives her a little growl, pulling his lip up just far enough to show a hint of fang. She feels moisture pool between her legs and she can't take her eyes off of him until he breaks eye contact to look at something in the distance. She follows his gaze and sees movement.
They both watch only to be disappointed when it turns out to be one of the many small-lizard like animals that roam the planet.
“Still,” she continues. “They could've at least provided shade. It's hot as a recoil chamber down here.”
“Have you hung out in many recoil chambers?” he asks idly.
“I've had to reach my hand in enough of them to know how uncomfortably hot they are,” she retorts.
She reaches up to wipe the sweat away from her face and pull the high neck of her insulation garment away for a moment to let some air get to her neck and chest. If she'd known they'd be standing under an unforgiving sun with no shade in sight, she would have worn something more comfortable under the armor.
Out of habit and to comfort herself she runs her hands over her weapons again, checking they are in place, on, and loaded. She looks up to find Halin watching her.
“I wish I could do that too,” he mutters.
“Wear weapons?”
“No, run my hands all over you.”
She flushes and makes a show of frowning at him. “Stay focused. I don't know what these Bicoma look like or might do. Keep your mind off your dick.”
“Could I put your mouth on it instead?” he asks with an innocent expression, and she laughs.
Movement again catches her attention. “I think someone's finally showing up.”
He turns to the direction she indicated, his face becoming expressionless. “I think you might be correct.”
Three figures are walking toward them, and as they draw closer Mian finally gets to see what the elusive and mysterious Bicoma look like. They're a tall species, towering over her and perhaps even a few inches taller than Halin, but they are thin with long limbs.
They aren't wearing any clothes, but she can't see any discernible sex organs. Their skin appears to be a rust red except for their lower legs where the red darkens to black. They walk bipedally with two legs that end in small round feet with no toes. They might have only two legs, but they appear to have numerous arm appendages, not all the same length or shape. Even more interesting none of the three have the same pattern or number of appendages. The one in the middle of the trio seems to have an appendage so short it couldn't possibly be useful for anything so she wonders if he's growing it out. Could these creatures shed and grow arms?
They have recognizable faces, with small mouths, slits for a nose, and two large luminous eyes. She can't see any hair or fur but out of the back of their heads are spiny protrusions that gradually change color over their length, going from deep red, to purple, to blue, then back to red on the very tips.
Once they are close enough to enter the circle of stone, she can see they are covered in very fine scales, and their eyes seem to have multiple pupils that can move independently of each other.
That freaks her out more than anything else.
Halin stands stiff and still, holding his box full of samples supported by his palms under the bottom. Mian rests one hand on the blaster on her hip and the other on the knife strapped to her thigh. She checks the charge on her armor and then orders the helmet up. There is no way she's going to wait for a first attack before she lets herself armor up. She’s Halin's only protection, and if she's taken out by a head shot there's no way he’ll survive.
Of course, considering they’re meeting with a species that can make whole armadas disappear, she knows she doesn't have a realistic chance to protect either of them if anything goes wrong.
“Welcome,” the one in the middle speaks first. They are using voice boxes so they must not communicate with each other using verbalization through their mouths.
“Greetings,” Halin replies. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I apologize for my delay.”
“You were attacked,” the one on the right says. “You almost didn't survive.”
“This one rescued you,” the one on the left points to Mian with an appendage. She notices it only has two fingers on the hand pointing at her. The fingers don’t seem to have any joints, they just bend like plastic, rolling and unrolling. Weird, but still not as freaky as the eyes.
She wonders how much Halin told them when he contacted them to request the meeting be postponed. She looks away from the Bicoma and over to Halin. He's barely repressing a frown.
“Yes, Captain Mian Sorrow saved me from a raider attack,” he agrees cautiously, which tells her he didn't share that information in his messages to them. “You requested only three of us travel to Bicoma on a ship with no weapons. This left us vulnerable. If it hadn't been for Captain Sorrow, I wouldn't be alive and here.”
“We wish to meet this Captain,” the third one with the fewest limbs announced as he focused several of his pupils on her. She knows with the helmet up, they can't see her face, but it feels like their strange eyes can see right through her armor. She experiences an odd constriction in her chest. She's not sure what's going on, but her finely tuned sense of danger isn’t sounding alarms in her head. Still a strong trepidation fills her. These creatures might not mean her harm, but she doesn’t like their focus on her.
She takes a small step forward but doesn't take her hands off her weapons or retract her helm. She gives them a small bow at the waist. “Greetings.” They keep staring at her even after she straightens up. None of them talk, and she wonders why they are so interested in her when it's Halin who's come to see them.
Finally, the one in the middle puts one leg forward and the entire limb bows forward slightly, lowering the thing’s body a little. This must be the Bicoma version of a bow.
“We do not have names as your species does, but you may refer to me as Leader,” he tells her, then gestures to his right. “You may call this one Follower.” Follower also bends its leg to give a Bicoma bow. Leader points to his left. “And this one would like to be known as Advocate.”
Advocate doesn't bow. Instead he walks toward her until he's right in front of her, towering over her. Hands tightening on her weapon, she stifles the urge to step back.
“Retract your helm,” Advocate demands, and Mian glances over to Halin. He's frowning, studies first the Bicoma in front of her, then her.
“I'm the one who is here to see you,” he reminds them. His voice has an edge to it. She can hear the frustration and worry.
“We will get to your matter,” Leader assures him. “But we want our curiosity appeased first.” Leader turns his attention back to her. “Do as Advocate asks. Or you both may leave now with no answers.”
Knowing how important this mission is for Halin and all the Hissa, Mian orders her armor to retract the helmet. The first thing she notices is the smell. The Bicoma smell familiar, like the hot sweet tea her mother used to drink in the morning. She takes a deep breath in through her nose and feels comforted. Advocate doesn't move or react. He seems to be studying her.
“I want to touch your skin,” he tells her, making her start after such a long silence.
“This is unnecessary,” Halin barks out, turning all their attention to him. “She's not Hissa. She’s here due to unforeseen circumstances. She's inconsequential to this meeting.” He holds the box a little higher. “I have samples of male and female Hissa here. I brought it for you to examine and help us find a way to continue our species.”
She'd be insulted by his dismissal if she didn't know he was trying to protect her. Mian shifts her gaze between him and the Bicoma, standing silently and calm in front of her.
“A
dvocate just wishes to touch her, just a wrist will be fine,” Leader assures him. “We will see to your matter afterward.”
Mian quickly unlatches and then strips off one of her gloves. “It's fine,” she states quickly before Halin can say anything more. She doesn't want him to jeopardize his mission just to keep a Bicoma from touching her wrist.
Keeping her fingers in a fist, she holds up her arm. Advocate steps closer, and the smell of warm sweet tea fills her nose to the point she can't smell anything else. Three long fingers wrap around her wrist. Advocates skin feels cold but soft and silky too. She expected it to be rough, considering the harsh environment they live in.
The fingers holding her wrist have claws, unlike all the other digits on his many appendages. His fingers start to warm and at first, she thinks her skin must be warming him up. But his skin doesn’t stop warming after matching her body temperature. The sensation of heat continues until the Bicoma’s skin feel downright hot against hers. It doesn’t hurt yet, just uncomfortable. His grip is firm but not harsh, and she wonders if Advocate will let go if she tugged her wrist away.
Then his fingers seem to get hotter. Her skin feels like it’s burning, but when she looks down there’s no discoloration or any other indication she’s suffering physical damage.
She grits her teeth and stands still, her other hand curls around the grip of her blaster pulling it a little out of the holster. She might be willing to go along with this request but only so far. If he starts burning her for real, she’s going to make him stop.
Suddenly those claws pierce her skin, and the heat turns to fire and spreads though her veins. The arm Advocate is holding goes limp, her muscles no longer able to work. The Bicoma’s grip is the only thing keeping her arm it in the air. She moves to pull her weapon, but Advocates voice stops her.
“I'm not doing damage,” it says simply. “Be still. Don't make me incapacitate you. I just need to taste you to be sure.”
She's not sure what it means to 'taste' her, but when she opens her mouth to protest, she finds she can't talk. The Bicoma’s sweet smell is heavy in her nose, and suddenly her brain feels sluggish, and her heartbeat slows. The hand on her weapons relaxes, and her arm falls to her side. Somewhere in her brain she thinks she should be pulling her weapon and demanding Advocate let go of her. But it’s a distant thought, like a voice calling from a half-formed dream.
“Yes,” Advocate says, his voicebox quieter, the voice coming out of it taking on a soft musical quality. “Calm is good.”
She tries to move again, even to just step back. But now her entire body is staring to go limp. She’s never lost control of her body like this. A feeling of helplessness and fear clears a little of the fog in her brain. Then the strange feeling in her mind increases, and the fog covers any concerns she might have. Her legs start to buckle.
“Lock your legs,” Advocate orders. She should be terrified that her body obeys the Bicoma, but the odd feelings in her brain make it impossible for her to be concerned. It’s like she’s watching everything happening to her at a distance.
“Let your eyes close,” Advocate orders, and her lids sweep shut. “Think of something pleasant.” Images of Halin flood her mind. “That's very good,” Advocate tells her.
She can’t tell how long they stand there before Advocate finally pulls away from her and she has control of her body again. The fog clears. Intense pain rockets through her, dropping her to her knees. Grasping the wrist the Bicoma had been holding, she pants as the momentary agony dissipates quickly.
Examining the skin of her wrist, she finds no burns and only two small holes, one of them welling with just one drop of blood before it stops. She watches with wide eyes as the tiny wounds heal and disappear in a matter of seconds.
“You are well,” Advocate assures her, still towing over her. “Stand when you are ready.”
The Bicoma turns to rejoin its two fellows standing on the other side of Halin. Looking up, she sees Follower has a hold on Halin's forearm. The grip doesn't seem tight, but Halin is standing absolutely still, his eyes wide and focused on her. She can see fury on his face and knows he's being held still by Follower just as she was held still by Advocate. A small trickle of blood is rolling down his arm from where Follower’s claws have pierced his skin.
“As you can see she is unharmed,” Leader points out. “Follower will let go if you can remain calm. We are ready to have a discussion with you.”
Mian stumbles to her feet and takes a few deep breaths, trying to get the spots floating in her vision to clear. “I'm not hurt,” she croaks out. “I'm not thrilled, but I'm not hurt.”
Halin turns his gaze back to Follower, and some kind of communication must have happened because the Bicoma releases Halin’s arm and steps back. Mian watches Halin sway on his feet, but he doesn't fall. He shakes his head violently and absently rubs the spot on his forearm where Follower was gripping him.
She looks around and finds the box of biological samples on its side just past Leader. Halin must have thrown it and tried to get to her.
“She's human,” Leader comments, pointing at Mian. She almost rolls her eyes at his statement of the obvious.
“She is,” Halin agrees through gritted teeth. “And I'm Hissa. I don't see how Mian is related to my reason for being here.”
“Yet, you would treat her as a Hissa female,” Follower continues. “You would keep her as your own. You see her as your female. The future mother of your offspring.”
Mian's jaw drops, and Halin glances over at her. For a moment the anger disappears, and she sees a combination of lust and hope; then it's gone, and his gaze focuses back on Leader.
“But she isn't truly human,” Leader continues. “She is a false human.”
Mian opens her mouth to snap at Leader for the insult, but Halin speaks first. “There is nothing false about her. She is human and an honorable soldier.”
“Bounty hunter,” Follower clarifies.
“She protects those who are vulnerable, no matter her title,” Halin growls out, and she's surprised he doesn't show them angry fang.
“Still, that doesn't change that fact that she is a false human. She wasn't born. She was manufactured, and her DNA isn't pure,” Leader points out.
Mian thinks she knows what the Bicoma are getting at. “It's true. I’m Decanted,” she speaks finally. “But the Hissa can't grow children like me, if that's what you’re getting at. Halin told me it failed. The tech that produced me can't help the Hissa.”
Follower turns his gaze to her. “You’re correct. The Hissa can't grow themselves. But you were grown.”
Mian exchanges a puzzled glance with Halin.
Leader speaks again. “I can see you don't understand.” He focuses his gaze on Follower. They stare at each other for a time, silently communicating then both turn back to Mian.
“We aren't going to hurt you,” Leader tells her, and before she can react to his words her armor is gone. It's not pulled off her. It doesn't fall off. It just disappears, making her jolt. She gasps and looks wildly around for her armor and weapons, feeling immensely vulnerable without them.
Everyone knows the Bicoma are powerful, but this little demonstration makes her understand how truly powerfulness they are. After that first interaction with Advocate, she assumed they had to touch her to incapacitate her. Now she knows that they don’t even need to be near her.
At least they left her wearing the high-necked insulation suit. She’d rather have her armor and weapons, but at least she’s not standing naked under the harsh Bicoma sun.
And neither of them are dead yet. Need to focus on the positives because if these Bicoma wanted to they could easily snap their long fingers and make the two of them disappear, just like that Anavac armada.
“That suit is brand new,” she grouses and sees Halins shocked face break into a half smile at her outrage.
“We have left you clothing for modesty. Pull the neck of your garment down, or we can remove your clothing as wel
l,” Follower orders. She can't imagine what is going on, but she's not about to obey with a demand of her own.
“Give me back my armor and weapons,” she demands. “I won’t touch it, but I want it back.” The three are silent for a moment, exchanging glances. Then her armor and weapons appear in a pile at her feet.
“You are doing well, Captain Sorrow,” Leader comments. “Now let Commander Halin see your neck.”
All of them are now watching her, including Halin. With a grunt of annoyance she hooks a finger in the neck of her suit and drags it down. It's tight but elastic so she's able to get it down to her collar bone. To her bewilderment Halin goes pale and sways.
She lets go of the neck of her suit and runs to him, grabbing him by his arms in an attempt to steady him. Even with her assistance, he falls to his knees, never taking his eyes off her neck. She follows him down, going to one knee next to him.
“Easy, big guy,” she tells him anxiously. “What's wrong?”
He just stares at her, then reaches up and rips open the neck of her shirt. Gasping, she rears back, but she doesn't get far. Without getting up, he clamps a hand down on her upper arm, using enough force to bruise as he keeps her from moving away. He brings his other hand to her neck, running his finger along something he sees there.
“It can't be,” he mumbles and he almost sounds drunk. “It's impossible.”
“She is a false human,” Follower repeats. “She is more than human. She is many others. The Decanted humans can be the savior to the Hissa.”
Still confused, Mian looks around at the Bicoma and then back to Halin. “What's going on?” She tries to look down at her neck but can't really see anything. Advocate steps forward and holds up an appendage, three fingers spread wide. The air shimmers in front of her and solidifies into a disk that reflects her image. She tugs at her ripped insulation garment and leans toward the disk. There’s something dark red on her neck. She studies it, confused. Slapping Halin’s hand away so she can see better, she frowns at her reflection.
“When did I get a tattoo?” she murmurs as she realizes that's exactly what it looks like. A strange geometric pattern circles the base of her neck and continues down. She can only pull the torn garment down one shoulder but sees the pattern gets looser and vaguer until it because just a warm red color as it gets to the edge of her shoulder.