He smelled nice. He felt even better—big, strong, warm.
Safe.
It was wonderful to be held. The lingering sadness and anxiety melted away.
How did one survive for two decades without a hug?
Then, I realized, I hadn’t been held like this for a very long time, either.
For a while, I had a boyfriend when I was at the Academy, and a couple of other intimate encounters with men after I had graduated. None of them serious.
On the space station, I stayed away from men entirely. Random connections happened between the staff during missions. My parents had me like that, during the one and only project on which they’d both worked together. Shortly after my birth, they each went their separate ways. My grandparents raised me.
Consciously or not, I had been preparing myself for the same life as my parents. My passion had always been exploring the unknown parts of space. I knew from their experience that it would be a life unsuitable for long-term relationships or for having a family.
Now, was definitely the wrong time even to think about any form of connection.
But I wasn’t thinking about anything at all. I simply allowed myself to enjoy being held in his powerful arms, to let the feeling of comfort and safety take over me, even as neither was guaranteed around here.
“Vrateus,” I said softly, prompted by our closeness to try again. “Please, help me leave here. I promise to organize a rescue mission.”
If ever there was a person for me to talk sense into them here, it had to be him.
He jerked to attention, looking startled by my request.
“Leave?”
“I’ve done some detailed calculations,” I hurried to explain. “I’m confident, it’s possible—”
“No,” he cut me off.
Instead of releasing me from his hug, he held tighter.
“Please. If you just let me, I could try—”
“No!”
I attempted to free myself from his arms, but he flexed them, forming a vise around me.
“Svetlana.” He peered deep into my eyes. “Trying always leads to death. Do you understand? Every single attempt resulted in people and ships smashing against the edge of the disk of the Dark Anomaly.” He gave me a firm shake, as if trying to get his words to sink into my head. “Everyone has died.”
“None of them had the most advanced technology, Vrateus,” I argued. “Humans can now generate incredible amounts of energy from relatively small power sources. I’m confident it’d be enough to combat even the enormous gravitational field of the Anomaly.”
His mouth pressed into a hard line, he combed the claws of one hand through the thick curl of fur hanging over his forehead.
“And what if not?”
I used the moment, to twist myself out of his one-armed hug.
“Well, there is always a slight chance of failure in any test, I guess.”
“No.” He retreated to the exit.
“But the chance of success is so much greater...” I moved after him.
“No,” he repeated over and over, shaking his head, then resolutely slammed his hand on the panel, opening the doors.
“I want you alive,” he said firmly before leaving.
The doors closed, shutting me in my room once again.
How about what I wanted?
The thought burned through me with rising anger. His stubbornness was beyond exasperating. His curt manner of brushing me off—as if I were a child nagging at him with some trivial request, instead of a trained specialist offering him a chance at a better life out there in the world—was infuriating.
Maybe my earlier guess was right. Vrateus didn’t want to be rescued—either out of fear of the unknown or unwillingness to relinquish the absolute control he had on the Anomaly. He might not want to leave behind everything he had accomplished here.
Why would he care how I felt about losing the life I had chosen? About having to play the role of a sex toy for the rest of my existence?
In the eight days I had spent here, over six years had already passed on Earth and my station. My mission contract had ended. Everyone I knew had grown that much older. And every day, every hour I spent here, the life out there kept moving at a much faster pace.
Obviously, Vrateus didn’t feel my sense of urgency.
That had been my last attempt at trying to convince him to let me go. Now, I was certain I had to do it on my own.
Chapter 12
IT HAD BEEN ANOTHER week and another public “performance” in the mess hall before Vrateus finally allowed me another tour of the Anomaly.
This time, he was taking me to see the gardens. They were located past the library, along the same long and winding corridor that stretched through the entire habitable area of the Anomaly.
“Damirian technology allowed us to grow a variety of plants,” Vrateus told me on the way there. “When Malahki arrived about five years ago, it helped me design and build our expansive gardens the way they are today. It’s very knowledgeable about agriculture.”
It?
“What is Malahki? A robot? AI?”
“No, it’s a person.”
“Didn’t you just refer to him as it?” Or had I heard him wrong?
“That’s what it is. Malahki is a damirian. Its species are born with no gender. They call it the ‘neutral sex’. They are neither male nor female until they sexually mature.”
That was new to me. Earth had been in contact with damirians. We had recently put a program in place, exchanging research findings between our planets. That didn’t include an exchange of detailed information about the development of our species. Neither had I ever met a damirian in person.
“Referring to them as he or she before they mature is considered offensive,” Vrateus added. “Inconsiderate.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I assured him. “How long does it take for them to reach maturity?”
“There is no definitive age for that. Malahki is a full-grown adult. A damirian remains neutral gender until it meets the right person. They mate for life and choose the gender opposite of their partner.”
“How does it work?” I asked, confused. “If two ‘it-s’ meet, both of neutral gender, who decides which one of them is to become a ‘he’ and which one a ‘she’?”
“They know. Gender roles are clearly defined in their society. The neutral gender works in all levels of government due to their aptitude for diplomacy and their calm demeanour. The males are more aggressive and dominant, with the females being more playful, easy-going, and creative. After spending some time together, each half of a couple leans one way while the other one takes the opposing role. Then the physical differences form.”
The concept sounded fascinating, and I made a note to get more information from the library.
“So, since you told me that Malahki is the only one of his species here, does it mean he...it is destined to remain it forever?”
“It’s been five years since Malahki’s arrival to the Dark Anomaly. I suspect if there was a suitable partner for it here, it would have chosen one already.”
The fact that Malahki hadn’t found a suitable life partner on the Anomaly did not surprise me. Though the fact that it might now be destined to remain alone for the rest of its days carried a certain sadness.
Walking to the gardens took some time. After several turns and curves in the uneven corridor, we finally came to a wide door of opaque glass that folded away to the sides, like an accordion.
The gardens had a very distinct look, different from everything else on the Dark Anomaly. Unlike the glaring white light everywhere else, here it was dimmer, with a yellow softness to it. Vines of every shade of green and purple covered the walls, making the already sizeable space appear even bigger.
The air seemed cleaner, rich with moisture and scents of flowers and wet dirt.
“Malahki,” Vrateus called out into the labyrinth of greens and purples that dominated the place.
“Y
es, Captain,” came a calm voice from behind the vines then a tall, lean figure slipped around them and headed our way.
“I want you to show Svetlana everything we have in here.” Vrateus gestured for the errocks accompanying us to stay behind by the entrance.
“Welcome to the gardens, Svetlana,” Malahki greeted me, which made the damirian immediately stand out from the rest of the Anomaly’s crew, none of whom had ever shown any manners.
According to Vrateus, Malahki got here relatively recently. That might be why it still retained some shreds of civilization.
Tall, with toned muscles and shoulders slightly wider than the hips, Malahki’s figure could have equally belonged to a slender male or an athletic female. Its beige skin was smooth and even, like a clean canvas. The same color as its skin, its waist-long hair was braided in plaits of different length and thickness and decorated with vines and flowers.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I gave Malahki a friendly smile.
At first, I thought the damirian was wearing a skin-colored bodysuit, then I realized it wore no clothes at all. Its chest was smooth, as was the area between its legs—no breasts, not even nipples, no distinct genitals, and no body hair.
“Follow me,” it invited.
With all its politeness, Malahki’s expression lacked emotion. There was no aggression or sneering that I was used to seeing from others here. But neither was there any genuine warmth, just a detached stoic calmness.
I understood what Vrateus meant by saying Malahki was of neutral gender. It truly was genderless, like a basic mold, waiting for the sculptor to add the finishing touches to be complete, both in physical appearance and personality.
We followed the damirian down the narrow passages between the long containers with dirt and plants.
“The gardens were completed four years ago,” Malahki said, conducting the tour. “Soon thereafter, about ninety percent of the ground had been planted using the seeds and spores we were able to retrieve from the ships. Not all the varieties thrived right away. For the past three years, I have been increasing the yield by rotating crops and improving the soil quality.”
The familiar scent of the soap used on the Anomaly wafted through the air as we approached a wide planter with gorgeous umbrella-like plants in it. Their tops were as wide as my hand, vivid burgundy with pink fuzzy lines. I slid the tip of my finger along one of the soft stripes.
“These are beautiful—”
“Don’t!” With lightning speed, Vrateus yanked my hand away from the plant.
“Did she touch them?” Malahki hit a button on the side of the planter. A clear cover lowered over the entire container, securely enclosing the plants.
“She did.” Vrateus held out my hand to the damirian.
It grabbed a bottle with some strong-smelling liquid from under the planter.
“Sorry. I’ve been fertilizing the soil and needed the cover raised.” The damirian sprayed the liquid on my palm and fingers then rubbed my hand dry with a soft cloth, cleaning me as if I were a toddler who’d had a messy spaghetti dinner.
Confused and a little embarrassed, I asked, “Was I not supposed to touch these?”
“Fuhnid mushroom juice is poisonous,” Malahki replied in his even tone. “If swallowed, it would put you to sleep, one you would never wake up from.”
“Even touching them is dangerous?” I clenched my hands into fists, taking a big step away from the planter.
“If you touched your face right after or licked your fingers, it could still make you sick.”
“Why keep them here at all, then?” I asked.
Vrateus glanced over his shoulder at the errocks.
Nocc plucked small round berries off a bush, tossing them at Wyck, who laughed trying to dodge them. Standing by the same bush, Crux was stuffing his face with the berries.
“Fuhnid mushrooms have no taste or smell of their own,” Vrateus said softly, leaning close to my ear. “When added to soap, they completely neutralize all body odors. Errocks have an acute sense of smell. They can trace a person by their scent up to an hour after they’ve passed by.”
Malahki had moved ahead, meanwhile, seemingly expecting us to follow. However, I lingered by the planter with the mushrooms, confused by Vrateus’s words.
“If they’re odorless, what is this smell then?”
“You mean the scent of the soap?” He reached for the bush with white berries nearby, plucking one off it. “The soap is made with chela berries. They have a mild scent.” He squished one between his fingers, showing me the gel-like substance inside it.
Grabbing his hand, I sniffed at the gel. “No, this smells much milder and different from the mushrooms.”
“But mushrooms don’t smell,” he insisted.
Malahki had noticed that we weren’t following and came back, now staring at me, too.
“What is this fragrance then?” I glanced at both of them in confusion, then leaned over the planter with the burgundy mushrooms. “It’s nice. Fruity, with a hint of some...baking spice. Can’t you smell it?”
Both stared at me blankly, then exchanged puzzled looks with each other.
“You really can’t smell it, then?”
“No one can,” Vrateus said.
“Well, I can.” I shrugged, “Must be a human thing, then.”
“Must be...” He narrowed his eyes at me, then darted a glance at the mushrooms again. “Would you consider smelling our food every night?”
“Smelling it?” I frowned. “What do you mean by that? Like everyone’s plates? Or those huge pots in the kitchen?”
I tried not to sound like I was mocking him, but his request seemed rather odd.
“No, not like that.” He rolled his shoulders back.
My gaze slid behind Vrateus. Wyck and Nocc were still horsing around by the berry bushes, now trying to feed some berries to Lesh. Crux, however, was staring at us. The way his eyes glared from under the thick brow ridges made my spine prickle with unease.
Maybe Vrateus’s request was not that out of place, after all.
“You want to make sure the food isn’t poisoned?” I asked, and he nodded in reply. “How would you like me to do it?” I pretended not to pay attention to Crux anymore, though I could still feel his heavy stare with my skin.
With the considerable distance between us, he couldn’t possibly hear what we were talking about. Errocks’ hearing wasn’t as acute as their sense of smell. Despite that, Vrateus and I both spoke in lowered voices.
“I normally eat in my room,” Vrateus said. “After everyone else has had their dinner, including you. From now on, I want to feed you first. If you notice this smell in your food, I’ll order the entire pot dumped.”
“All right,” I agreed. “But what are the chances of anyone poisoning the food? What’s the point of killing everyone? No one could survive here on their own. People are needed to run and maintain things.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It would be just another precaution.”
“Okay.” I conceded. “I’ll do it if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Thank you.”
After that, Malahki showed us a variety of edible plants the damirian had been cultivating, including some grains and greens.
“Are any of these used in meals,” I asked, trying one of the juicy strings from the cluster he had given me. It tasted a little like a banana but with the texture of a watermelon.
“Some.” Malahki pressed its mouth into a thin line, displaying obvious displeasure. “Other than grains, the crew prefers meat to plants. And now that they have a whole farm of vasai, they can have as much meat as their digestive systems can handle.”
The savage scene of butchering the giant centipede came unbidden to my mind.
“The vasai also lay clusters of eggs,” Vrateus commented. “Which are highly nutritious.”
In the meantime, we had circled the gardens, our tour coming to an end. Vrateus stepped aside, talking with Crux about something. I ling
ered by the last bed with ridged, dark-green spheres that reminded me of a cactus, though they had no needles or spikes.
Idly, I walked around the planter, admiring the round fruit. I wasn’t in a hurry to return to the room that felt more like a prison cell with each passing day.
“Watch your step,” Malahki warned me.
“Oh. What is this?” I skipped over a pile of dry branches on the ground behind the planter.
“Just some garden waste. I was going to send it to the garbage sorting room.” Malahki lifted an armload of the twigs then kicked aside a piece of loose paneling on the wall.
It revealed an opening, large enough for me to fit through. A wide, ribbed strip moved inside it, like a conveyor belt. The damirian shoved the branches inside. With rustling and thumping, they moved down, pushed by the belt.
“Is it like a garbage chute?” I asked. “Where does it lead to?”
“To the garbage sorting room, near the vasai farm. They use some of the garden waste for bedding for the centipedes.”
“Does all garbage end up being sent to the same location?” I asked.
“I believe so.”
That might mean there were more garbage tunnels accessible by openings in the walls.
“The system isn’t perfect,” Malahki complained. “You might have seen dead grass and leaves in the corridor not far from your room. There is a kink in the tunnel and debris is often blown out through the wall. I have to sweep the floor there, every time I get rid of garden waste.” It shook its head, dumping the rest of the dry branches into the chute.
“Are they steep then? The tunnels?”
“In some places they are. But they need to be even steeper, as some garbage, especially the garden waste, ends up getting stuck. I go down the tunnel now and then, to clean or to fix the conveyor belt when it gets stuck. But it’s still more convenient to have the tunnels than to carry every armload to the farm myself.”
Vrateus returned to us. He took hold of my arm again, signaling it was time to leave. The now-familiar sensation of his large hand firmly circling my upper arm spread with warmth through the rest of my body. I couldn’t resist drawing in a long breath, savoring his scent as it filled my lungs.
Gravity (Dark Anomaly Book 1) Page 10