Her Alien Forgemasters

by Susan Hayes

  He had managed to prop himself up against some pillows and was drinking the water she’d left for him. “Is that ice?”

  “It is.”

  “Why is it in the bowl and not in my glass?” he gave her a wary look. “What’s the ice for, Anya?”

  “To lower your body temperature. I can’t give you any medication because I have no idea what would work, and I’m not taking any chances.” She held his gaze as she deliberately placed the cloths into the bowl and then extracted one, wringing it out without looking at it.

  “This is how humans treat their sick?” He set down the glass and glowered. “No.”

  “I have bad news for you. The patient doesn’t get a say in this. Your only job is to do what you’re told and get better.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “No ice.”

  “Fine.” She placed the chilled cloth on his chest. “This is just water.”

  He cursed loudly in his own language. The words came too fast for her to make out more than a few snippets questioning her parentage, her sanity, and something she was very certain wasn’t anatomically possible for either species.

  “It’s not that cold. It only feels that way because you’re overheated.”

  “I’m overheated because it’s warm in here and you’ve piled half the blankets we own on top of me.”

  She left the first cloth spread out over his chest and withdrew another from the bowl. She twisted it and then folded it into a square and placed it on his forehead, ignoring his protesting glare.

  “Trust me. This will help.”

  “You’re covering me in cold, wet cloths. If this is the human medicine I’ve heard so much about, I’m amazed your species has survived this long.”

  Anya bowed her head to kiss him, but he stopped her with a gentle hand. “You shouldn’t kiss me. In fact, you shouldn’t be anywhere near me. I thought giving you our nanotech would protect you, but now…”

  “I’m happy you did it. At least one of my mahoyen knows what they want.”

  She glanced to where Damos stood at the far end of the room, still talking to the healers. His hair was mussed from sleep, but his brows were creased into a deep frown. He was worried.

  So was she.

  What if the mating bite had been the moment of infection for Tra’var? What if she was a carrier of whatever this was and didn’t know it? Had Damos’ decision saved him from sharing his anrik’s condition? Fraxx. Fraxx. Fraxx.

  “I didn’t know that about our bonding ceremony. He’s never mentioned it and I wasn’t allowed to see the contract.” Tra’var grimaced. “He isn’t rejecting you. He thinks he’s protecting you.”

  “He’s also rejecting himself. I thought we were past this.”

  Tra’v chuckled weakly and looked at her in bemusement. “I’ve been trying to get him past this for decades. You are amazing, little flower, but not even you can bring him around so quickly.”

  “I can try. Or I will once I stop being mad at him for being so fraxxing stubborn. And for tricking me into thinking he’d claimed me and then not telling me before I figured it out for myself.”

  She switched out the now-tepid cloths with ones fresh from the ice water, not bothering to squeeze these out as much.

  Tra’v hissed as they hit his skin. “I’m not the one you’re mad at. Remember?”

  “Sorry. I’m just worried. And pissed.”

  He caught her hand and squeezed it. “I know. And I like that you’re worried about me, even if you are trying to give me frostbite and drown me at the same time.”

  “Just be glad this planet doesn’t have leeches, or I’d demonstrate some really old-fashioned medicine.” Her mother had a passion for strange trivia about human history, especially the weird and icky stuff. Her bedtime stories had been dark, fascinating, and fueled more than a few nightmares.

  “I’m not even going to ask. I don’t want to know.”

  “Good choice.”

  Damos finished his call and walked back to the makeshift bed. “I couldn’t speak to the healers, but the AI was programmed with all the information they had. I’ve been instructed to bring him to the main practice arena. They’re setting up there to handle all the cases coming in.”

  “They’re expecting that many?” She tried to keep the alarm out of her voice, but the arena was huge. If there were enough cases to justify turning it into a treatment center, things were escalating quickly.

  “I think they have that many. Whatever this is, it’s spreading fast. And no, they have no idea what it is yet.” Damos looked down at Tra’var. “But I did confirm that cold compresses are a valid and recommended treatment. Apparently if your fever gets worse, you get to stand in a lukewarm shower.”

  The look of horror on her mate’s face made her burst out laughing. “Make sure you get better so it doesn’t come to that.” She squeezed his hand and then let it go to push herself to her feet. “I need to check in on Saral and her family. I don’t want any of them coming to work today. I’m closing down the tavern for a few days.” She took a few steps and then turned to look back at Damos. “I need to be here to take care of my mate.” If she was the cause of his infection, it was too late to protect him, anyway. Veth, after last night, it might be too late to protect either one of them. All she could do now was take care of the beings she cared about… and warn her mother not to come back here until it was safe.

  Guilt, worry, and regret were warring with each other in Damos’ gut. He thought he’d done the right thing by making sure Anya got only Tra’var’s nanotech. It had made sense at the time, but he should have told her instead of leaving her to discover it for herself. His only defense was that the sharhal had stolen most of his mind and clouded what was left of his judgment.

  And now his anrik was sick. If Tra’var’s nanotech was compromised, Anya wasn’t as protected as they’d hoped. He stiffened as he realized what that meant. Anya couldn’t be here. She was putting herself at risk.

  Anya returned while he was still mulling over the problem. Her jaw was tight and her lips pressed into a grim line. “They have it too. All three of them, though Antas and N’tev only have the first symptoms. They’re taking Saral to the arena now.”

  She moved to return to Tra’var’s side, but Damos caught her by the arm. “You can’t be near him. I should have thought of that before. You could get sick.”

  She tugged herself free and glared up at him, anger sharpening her features. “He’s my mate. I’m not leaving him.” After a painfully long pause, she added. “Or you.”

  “You have to. I may have been wrong to deny you my nanotech. I’m not sick. I haven’t been feeling the cold or getting tired or any of the other things the others are experiencing.” He was tempted to offer to bite her now, but he suspected that would only compound his error.

  “You didn’t just deny me your damned nanotech. You pretended to claim me but didn’t. Do you understand how that feels?” Her voice didn’t rise in volume but grew more intense, every word carrying an almost physical weight. Or maybe that was just the guilt he felt. He knew what it felt like to be rejected, yet he’d done the same thing to Anya. In hindsight, he wished he’d done things differently.

  “I planned to tell you this morning. To explain. But then I forgot and you figured it out on your own.” He reached for her, but she backed away. “I’m sorry, mahaya.”

  “Sorry don’t feed the bulldog. And no, I don’t know what that means, so don’t ask.”

  The pain and distrust in Anya’s eyes left him feeling like someone had opened his chest and poured molten metal inside, but he wouldn’t regret what he’d done to protect her. Tra’var wasn’t flawed like he was. He wanted only the best for Anya, even if it meant denying his own desires… and hers.

  “You need to go home. If you need anything, call me, but don’t leave. You have to protect yourself.”

  “No. I’m going with you.”

  “You can’t.” He held up a hand to forestall her
next argument. “It’s not my rule. Until they know what this is and where it’s coming from, only Vardarians are allowed into the arena. It should contain the spread. At least that’s what the instructions said.”

  Her expression grew so stormy he half expected tiny bolts of lightning to appear around her head. “Yardan. That male needs to have his paranoia surgically removed. When is he going to realize we’re all in this together? Why is he even involved? This should be Tyran’s decision and there’s no way he’d do this.”

  “Did you just refer to the prince by his first name?”

  “Well, yeah. That’s how he was introduced to me. I’ll work on my courtly manners another time. Right now, I need to talk to Phaedra and find out what the fraxx is going on.”

  Knowing his mahaya was friends with the royal family who had founded this colony was one thing. Listening to her announce her intent to call them up and demand answers was something else again. It was also something of a relief to have her anger focused somewhere else. It would return to him eventually, but maybe by then he’d have some idea how to fix this.

  Maybe.

  An ice cube arced through the air between them. “If you two are done posturing and snapping, I’ve got a few things to say.”

  “You should be resting,” Anya told Tra’var.

  “Bit hard to do when the two beings who matter the most to me are having a fight not five steps away from me,” Tra’var pointed out as he traded the cloth on his forehead for a cold one from the bowl.

  Anya’s lips curved up in a ghost of a smile. “Compresses are working?”

  “They aren’t not working. That’s all I’m saying about it.”

  They all laughed, and for a tiny sliver of time, everything was as it should be. The three of them were caught up in a moment of shared laughter, free of anger, worry, or hurt.

  Then Tra’var shivered and paled, his color fading to a flat gray. He threw off the compress and huddled deeper into the blankets.

  “Human medicine sucks va-vacuum. Now I’m f-freezing,” he said, teeth chattering.

  Anya swore. “You’ve got the chills. It’s part of the fever cycle. We really need to get him to a healer.”

  “I need to get him there. You need to go home,” Damos said.

  “Hey, still talking h-here.” Tra’var waved weakly, his hand barely outside the blankets. “Damos, you’re a bakaffa for what you did.”

  “Yeah, a total bastard,” Anya agreed.

  Tra’var shook his head. “I wasn’t finished. Anya, I know you’re angry and hurt, but he’s still right. You need to go. The longer you’re with me, the more likely you are to get sick.”

  “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. We’re mates. I should be with you no matter what.”

  “Not if it means putting yourself at risk. We won’t let you do that,” Damos said softly.

  Anya made a sound of strangled frustration and threw up her hands. “I’m going to stop arguing about it because it’s a moot point. Tra’var needs to see a healer and I’m forbidden to set foot inside the arena. I’ll speak to Phaedra, find out what the fraxx is going on, and get that order changed.” She pointed a finger at each of them. “And when that happens, I will march to wherever you are and refuse to leave because that is what mates do.”

  A dozen arguments sprang to mind, but Damos kept his mouth shut. As persuasive and stubborn as she was, he highly doubted Anya could make the prince or Yardan change their minds. If it gave her something else to focus on and kept her safe at the same time, he’d consider it a victory.

  “I’m not thrilled at being separated from you either, sandar, but Damos will take care of me. He’s got no choice. If something happens to me, he’d have to spend more time with the customers and handle the books himself.”

  “Alright, I’m going. For now. Call me when you’re settled in at the arena.” Then she turned to him. “Take care of him, Damos.” She raised her hand and then dropped it without reaching for him. “And take care of yourself, too.”

  She left, and Damos took a moment to make sure she hadn’t taken her things with her. Relief hit him when he saw her bag full of personal items still in its place. Their newly lit flame might not be burning brightly right now, but the embers were still there. He’d find a way to rekindle that fire… but not until he got Tra’var to the healers.

  He bundled his anrik in every blanket he could find, ignoring his half-hearted protests. He called for a transport and then lifted Tra’var into his arms and made for the stairs they almost never used. It was usually quicker to step out onto the balcony or the rooftop and fly.

  “So this is what it feels like to get carried around?” Tra’var commented. “Maybe we should look into a decent flight harness for Anya. This is not nearly as comfortable as I imagined.”

  “Anya weighs about as much as two feathers and a pebble compared to you,” Damos retorted. “Have you considered going on a diet?”

  “This is all muscle, thank you.” Tra’var’s jesting tone turned serious. “If this doesn’t turn out well for me, I need you to promise me something.”

  “We are not having this discussion.”

  “Yes, we are. I’m the sick one here, so you have to humor me.”

  Damos scowled at him. He really didn’t want to talk about a future that didn’t include his best friend. “You know I’ll take care of her.”

  “I know. I want you to promise me you’ll let her take care of you.”

  He didn’t know how to answer that, so he didn’t.

  “Promise me.”

  “Forge and fire, are all sick people this stubborn and cantankerous?”

  “Based on my extremely limited experience, yes. But you’re not sick so what’s your excuse?”

  They reached the door to the outside and Damos set his anrik back on his feet, making sure not to let go until he was sure he wouldn’t fall over. He’d never seen Tra’var look like this. Pale. Weak. Uncertain.

  “I’ll let her take care of me. But it’s not going to come to that. You’re sick, not dying. If this was serious, you wouldn’t have the strength to argue and complain. The scientists will figure out how to fix the nanotech, the humans will help us treat this pathogen, and the three of us will celebrate this mating properly.”

  An empty transport rolled up outside. The road was already marked by the passage of other vehicles despite the fact it was barely dawn. The colony was already awake this morning, and all the tracks led the in same direction—to the arena.

  A cold, unpleasant feeling slithered down Damos’ spine and wound itself into a tight ball in his gut. If this many were sick already, how long would it be before no one was left to take care of the stricken?

  At least Anya was as safe as they could make her. Locked away in her home with plenty of food and drink, she could stay secluded for however long this crisis lasted.

  12

  It was a clear, chilly but beautiful morning. Anya watched dawn chase the darkness from the sky, filling the world with light and color once more. Not that there was much color to be seen. Everything was blanketed in a fresh fall of snow. Her boots crunched as she walked, her stride shortened to make sure she didn’t lose her footing. The roads hadn’t been cleared yet, which meant she could see the tracks of vehicles imbedded in the snowy surface. A great many tracks, which was odd. The Vardarians flew most of the time, and when they weren’t airborne, they preferred to walk. So where was everyone going so early in the morning?

  The answer became obvious when a vehicle passed her. Of the three occupants, two of them were bundled in blankets as a third sat across from them, grim faced and worried.

  They had to be sick, just like Tra’var.

  Yardan’s words of yesterday came back to her as clearly as if he was standing beside her. “Some of your recent customers have fallen ill.”

  Could this be her fault? Had some freighter crew come to her tavern and inadvertently infected her or one of the staff? That didn’t explain why the Vardarian
s’ nanotech was malfunctioning, though. If that was the case, why did she feel energized after a long and very vigorous night of lovemaking? She should have been asleep for hours yet.

  There were too many questions she didn’t have answers to. She needed more information before she reached out to Phaedra and demanded to know why Tyran was breaking the most fundamental rule of the colony he’d established. They should be facing this problem as a united community.

  She reached an intersection and paused. If she continued straight, she’d be home in a matter of minutes. The nearest medical building was a few blocks to her left.

  She turned left. If she wanted answers, that was the best place to start.

  The clinic was eerily quiet. Her instincts told her there wasn’t another living being in the place. It made sense that it would be empty, but it was still a strange feeling.

  “Hello?” she called, feeling slightly foolish. If an AI was around, it would already know she was here.

  “Hello. What can I assist you with?” a female voice spoke and the air in front of her shimmered and then coalesced into a hologram of a silver-skinned Vardarian female.

  “Uh. Hi. I’d like to get tested to see if I’m carrying any pathogens or anything that might cause problems for my Vardarian mates. You can do that. Right?”

  “Scans and bloodwork would establish if you had any current infections or other health issues. If you will follow me, we can continue this consultation in an exam room away from other patients.”

  She was alone in a room talking to a hologram. No one was around to eavesdrop, but the AI’s protocols were hard coded. “That would be fine.”

  The hologram led her to a small area off the waiting room with several identical doors, which she assumed led to other exam rooms. Most of the minor functions were handled by the medical AI and droids. The healers’ focus was emergency treatment for accidents and serious injuries… until now. She imagined that every healer in the colony was currently getting a crash course on infectious diseases and how to treat them.