by Celia Kyle
“The pressures of command do weigh rather heavily upon one. Do they not?”
“Command?” She flicks her gaze over to me for a moment before returning it to the floor. “I guess that’s an apt term. But unlike you, I never sought out the responsibility. I never wanted to be a leader, not really.”
“Perhaps, but there’s an old saying in the galaxy.” I lean forward and flash her a gentle smile. “Great people do not seek out power, but have it thrust upon them. Perhaps your gods have decided that you and you alone are the best suited for this task.”
“I’m not sure I believe in any of the old Terran gods.” She sighs and shakes her head while a helpless laugh escapes her lips. “I mean, the other women and I have been through hell, and I just don’t see why a loving or kind god might allow that to happen.”
When she’s not angry, especially not angry at me, I find Varia to be far more complex and compelling than appearances would suggest. Would I be any less stressed and determined if it were my own crew thrust into such a situation? Perhaps I’m just tired, but I speak before I really think about what I’m saying.
“I, for one, am glad your path has led you here.”
Varia does look at me now, her eyes wide, questioning. She leans forward, her voice coming in a husky whisper. “Are you? Are you really?”
She’s so close to me now that I can smell her sweet scent and feel the heat emanating from her skin. All of a sudden the wall of anger between us has melted away, leaving nothing to obstruct my lips as I move in for a kiss without really considering what’s happening.
Varia tilts her face to the side, parts her lips as if to accept my kiss… and then abruptly stands up.
“I—I have to go and…”
I just sit there like a slumbering Odex while she rushes out the door, leaving me very alone and very confused.
Chapter Nineteen
Varia
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I went to Solair’s quarters, despite Nicari being aghast at the very idea, so I could take him to task for the incompetence of his underlings. In what universe does that scenario end with me on the verge of kissing him?
Shit. One minute I want to throttle the living daylights out of the Kilgari captain, and the next I want him to climb on top of me. God, I wish he wasn’t so damn good looking. Maybe if he hadn’t greeted me at the door with those chiseled pecs and sleek abs on display. His tapered torso just seems to invite my gaze to keep going down further, to the prominent bulge in his trousers that has (allegedly) two members. As if I don’t have enough going on in my head at the moment.
I return to my quarters and quietly slip into bed so as not to disturb my bunkmates. Lamira is snoring softly in hers, but I notice Thrase is nowhere to be seen. Hopefully she’s keeping a watchful eye on Doctor Quack so he doesn’t randomly kill one of the poor women still in cryostasis.
Lying there in the dark, the hum of the ship’s engines is a soothing sound, yet I find I can’t be lulled into sleep. My mind is too jumbled, too filled with conflicting emotions and ideas. I’m not used to feeling like this, and I don’t like it one bit.
Ask anyone and they’ll tell you Varia Dawn is nothing if not sure of herself. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not naïve. I don’t think for a moment that I know everything or have all the answers. For example, I’d never try to second guess Fiona on how an electrical panel should be wired. But once I decide on a course of action, I don’t spend a lot of time second guessing my choice.
But here I am, second guessing everything I feel about the handsome Kilgari captain. Part of me wonders if we’d be at each other’s throats so much if the circumstances of our first meeting had been different. There’s no way to know for sure but thinking about it certainly tangles my mind and prevents even the idea of sleep.
Eventually, I give up on the idea of slumber for the time being and fling my covers back. I dress in loose fitting trousers and a tank top before heading out into the darkened corridor. My feet take me toward the cargo bay Solair gifted me as a workout space.
When the doors slide open, I’m surprised by what I see. For one thing, the bay has been cleared and cleaned with a meticulous eye for detail. I don’t know where all of the fishing equipment—the heavy, awkward, pain in the ass fishing equipment—wandered off to, but I don’t care. I only know that it’s been replaced with rubber mats, magnetically locking barbells—don’t want those flying around during an emergency—and what appears to be a drinking fountain recently installed right into the wall.
The other thing that surprises me is that I’m not alone. Apparently, I’ve interrupted the end of a work bullshit session that seems to spring up in any sapient race engaged in manual labor. A group of Kilgari men stand about in casual poses, though their gazes snapped over to me when the door opened.
A moment later, their matriarchal conditioning kicks in and they politely look away and return, albeit a bit stiffly, to their previous conversations. I move into the bay-turned-workout room and slip off my shoes before stepping barefoot onto the practice mat.
I take some time to stretch, putting my hands behind my head and leaning backward before working on my hamstrings. It’s been a while since I was able to really get a good workout in. Who knows how long I was in cryo? All I know is that my muscles complain with the stiffness of inactivity and then gradually loosen into limp submission as I continue my stretch routine.
Once I’m sufficiently warmed up, I start practicing a few strikes. I’ve definitely slowed down some since I went into the cryopod, but I feel like I can get back to where I was in relatively short order.
Over time I realize I’ve gained something of an audience. The Kilgari crewmen are watching my movements intently. Not in a creepy way, like they’re trying to check out my body, but in an appreciative manner. Finally, one of them overcomes generations of conditioning and steps toward the mat. “You’re really good. Is that Khur Lei?”
“What?” I burst into laughter. “I’m pretty sure that’s a fake style made up by the holovid entertainment industry. I practice several styles, but most of my training is in Magate.”
“Magate?” he tilts his head to the side in query. I notice this Kilgari isn’t quite as powerfully built as the rest, but he has an easy smile and a very nonthreatening manner that makes me willing to relax around him. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a Terran art developed shortly after we started exploring the galaxy. About a third of the moves are designed for zero g combat, but the strikes are universal.”
“That’s fascinating. I used to study Raith Pa style, but then I found out my supposed teacher had never even been in one of their monasteries.” He licks his lips nervously before speaking again. “Ah… would you be willing to teach me a little?”
I start to say no, but then I realize that having a sparring partner isn’t a bad idea at all. “Sure, I’ll show you some things… sorry, I haven’t caught your name.”
“Vurt. Pleased to meet you.”
“Call me Varia. Like your captain, I’ve no patience for formalities.”
“Very well. Varia.” He grins. “Both of our names begin with an unvoiced labiodental fricative. Isn’t that neat?”
“Ah, sure.”
Vurt isn’t the most agile male I’ve ever seen, but he’s a good listener and replicates the basic stances with aplomb. I find that by instructing him I remember things about Magate I’d forgotten, and even learn new ways to polish up my own technique.
We’re in the middle of a sticky hands drill, where the defender tries to break the attacker’s grip but is constantly foiled by perpetual motion, when I decide to pry a little into Vurt’s head.
“Say, Vurt… how long have you served with Solair?
He blinks sweat out of his eyes as our limbs slap together with meaty thunks. “Oh, more than a year, I guess. Why?”
“I was just wondering… what kind of male is he?”
Vurt pauses, and I let up on the drill so
we can both catch our breath. “Well, ah… he’s a Kilgari.”
Struggling to keep the frustration out of my tone, I rephrase my query. “No, I mean… what’s his character like? Is he a good commander? Does his crew like him, as well as respect his authority?”
“Oh.” Vurt shakes his head. “Well, I don’t interact with him as much as some of the bridge crew, but he’s always struck me as a decent sort. He’s tough, but fair, and not a disciplinarian like some commanders.”
“A disciplinarian?”
“Yeah, I mean he doesn’t assign shit details to people he’s mad at. Hell, I don’t even think I’ve ever heard him yell outside of an emergency situation. That’s not how he acts when you fuck up.”
I purse my lips, absorbing this new information. “I see. So, what does he do when someone, as you so subtly put it, fucks up?”
Vurt grins in response. “Oh, he doesn’t have to yell. He gets this look on his face.” Vurt assumes a comically accurate expression similar to the dour disappointment I’ve often seen on Solair’s golden-skinned face, so much so that I burst into laughter. “Vurt…” I laugh even harder because he’s really nailed Solair’s deep baritone. “I’m very disappointed in you.”
“That’s really good. Do you ever do that impression in front of him?”
“Are you out of your mind? Of course not.” Our laughter dies down, and he grins. “We Kilgari tend toward politeness and a reserved composure.”
“So I’ve noticed. What’s your world like?”
Vurt sighs and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Well, we’re one of the first members of the League… but you’re probably asking about what our society is like. Right? Basically, we used to be more male dominated as a culture until our dumb asses killed off most of the females in a civil war.”
I gape in astonishment. “That’s awful.”
“Indeed, and it nearly meant the end of us as a species. But since females were so scarce, they sort of took advantage of their new importance. They taught us that conflict should be used as a last resort, or not at all. Honestly, if I’m lucky enough to be a fourth or fifth husband, I look forward to what I’ll learn from my future, hypothetical wife.”
“Fifth husband? Is the divorce rate really that high on Kilgar?”
“Divorce rate?” He shakes his horned head. I notice the other observing Kilgari seem just as confused. “What’s a divorce rate?”
“I’ll take that as a no…” I put two and two together in my head and gasp. “Wait a minute. You mean that your females are polyandrous?”
Realization dawns in his eyes. “Yes, that’s it. Each female might have up to a dozen husbands. It’s the only way to repopulate our world, as monogamous relationships are no longer practical.”
Gradually the sparring session breaks down into a crash course on Kilgari society and history. I’m a little bit shocked by what I hear, but overall, they seem a people of good moral stock.
It’s all fascinating, but I’m still no closer to understanding my feelings for Solair before I head back to my bunk.
Chapter Twenty
Solair
Despite the two nagging distractions quaking just south of my navel, I did manage to slip off into sleep. After all of the excitement and upset our new charges have kicked up, my night was blessedly dreamless, so I suppose wishes do come true.
When the gentle sounds from my data pad pull me back to consciousness, the first thing that floods into my brain is the image of Varia in the moment before she bolted. Those half-lidded eyes and gently parted lips. The moment had been so fleeting, but I’m kicking myself for not making the most of the opportunity when it came. At least I would have an answer as to whether or not she’s my true mate.
“Dammit, Solair,” I grunt to myself as I sit up.
I must have been deeply asleep, as groggy as I am. My trousers are still on the floor where I kicked them off, so I yank them on before meandering over to splash some water—a benefit of being Captain—on my face. The next move is to get myself fueled up for the day ahead.
Walking to the bridge, I can’t help but rankle slightly at the gall of that woman, presuming upon my private time. She’s got some backbone. I can say that for her. I find myself wondering why none of my men were on hand to forestall her approach. It’s a pretty distracted world aboard right now.
“What the hell?”
I can hear the startling din before I can even get close to the dining hall. My jaw drops at the sheer volume of it, and I consider turning back before I even reach the door. Surely, I could find someone who could just bring a plate up to the relative serenity of my own quarters?
But maybe Varia will be in there. The prospect of seeing her gives me the steel I need to stride into the cacophony awaiting me.
It’s madness in here. If Varia is in this hurricane, I’d be hard pressed to pick her out. It’s so loud it almost makes it hard to focus. The room is filled with women. Why does everyone have to speak so loudly?
“I’ve never had food like this before!”
“Yeah, well, I hope I never have anything like it again.”
“I like it.”
“How long do you think we’re going to be stuck on this ship?”
“I wouldn’t call it ‘stuck’ exactly!”
“I’m in no hurry to get away from all this. Are you?”
It’s like they’re all talking at once and nobody is listening. Responses that do line up seem incidental at best. Like some kind of happy accident.
There’s this phenomenon where one group’s conversation becomes so loud that other groups have to speak up even to hear themselves. So the first group tops them, and it grows until the whole world is thrown into utter pandemonium. But this is something else.
Human women seem to inspire some kind of hysteria in each other. The room is thick with high-pitched voices and shocking bleats of piercing laughter. Even if this isn’t the new standard, it makes me wonder what the hell I am going to do with all these women. The mind reels.
I’ve been in the heated pitch of battle before, but this is wholly overwhelming. Once, so long ago I can hardly remember the circumstances, I found myself in a Targelian bat coop. That brand of squawking and flapping and general anarchy is the closest thing I can compare this to. I’m sorry if that doesn’t sound like a compliment, but it’s not supposed to.
“So, wait, how do you pronounce where you’re from again?”
That was a man’s voice.
My eyes seem to focus for the first time, and I find members of my crew peppered throughout the mayhem. If I’m affronted by all of this, I seem to be the only one. The faces of the men I can see are lighted with broad, bright smiles.
“Am I really the first nonhuman you’ve ever seen? Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“Don’t pester her, Trimlan. She’s the first human you’ve ever seen. I’d call that even.”
“If you can tell which one of these creatures you saw first, I’ll buy every drink you have for a month.”
“I can remember exactly which one!”
Shrieks of laughter bubble up and the throaty braying of my own men matches it. What looks like mindless conversation begins to take on a kind of pattern. Order emerges from the chaos, and the truth of the situation hits me like a bolt from the far edge of the cosmos.
This is part of the human mating ritual.
At least it seems to be. The room is flooded with various aromas, and while the particular strain I recognize as my own mate isn’t in the mix, I’ve no doubt that others are catching the scent. It would certainly speak to why none of my men have been readily found at their workstations since our visitors joined us.
This unexpected hitch in the journey might just be a fortuitous event.
“Are you really expecting us to stay in some cargo hold? All of us?”
“I wish it weren’t the case, miss, but those seem to be the orders from above.”
“But it’s so much livelier up here with all of yo
u.”
“I can agree with that, miss. Absolutely.”
Breaking past the grand swirl of the room I begin to see the tiny interactions, touches, and looks. It seems like everything is an invitation. And the men are reveling in it.
One of the primary reasons I departed Kilgar was to escape the rigors of being kept in a harem. It’s no secret that our men are prized for their prowess between the sheets. Shit, it’s a point of pride. But even the greatest pleasure becomes a drudgery when there’s no choice. But now choice seems to abound at every turn. These women damn near equal us, number for number. While it would be absurd to think that most of my crew would find their true match by such a fluke of circumstance, it does take a bit of the sting off of my own, taunting predicament.
It’s one thing to be tied as a group to an elite number of powerful females who can use us at and for their pleasure. But to be able to choose—really choose? It’s almost too much to hope.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?”
Swipt has materialized at my side in that unnerving way he has. I just shake my head and survey the scene.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
“Long enough to watch you start to put the pieces together. Who could have expected a little rescue mission to turn into something like this?” He leans in closer, “Have you, uh, detected anything… specific?”
I look at him, uncomprehending until he taps the side of his nose. The boldness of his question breaks in upon me and I can feel the blood racing to my face.
“Hard to say. You?”
“Hard to say,” he echoes me, giving a loose shrug and turning back to watch the show. “We should call Nicari up here.”
“Why is that?”
“I’d say this is a pretty interesting case study. Wouldn’t you? Even if there aren’t a lot of…” he taps his nose again. “You can’t argue with the fact that this whole ship is about to turn into a pleasure cruise.”
I snort at the thought.