Afterburn

by S. L. Viehl

  The subcommander limped back in the direction of Main Transport. Behind him, he heard another, smaller pod male speaking to Burn.

  “Heard you went nova in the trainer today.”

  “Took half the pod with me.” Burn strummed a laugh. “Have you checked out the StarFire yet?”

  Onkar’s patience strained to the snapping point, but he kept going. Byorn is still young. Time and experience will temper his recklessness.

  He managed to regain control over his own, and after a brief search found Jadaira by herself in one of the vessel hangars. She was performing an unscheduled preflight check on Rescue Three; work being her method of relaxing tension on land. Judging by the way she rammed down one engine cowling, it wasn’t working.

  “Why are you here?” she asked without looking at him.

  He kept his tone mild. “You didn’t answer my signals. I was concerned.”

  She snorted. “You should be. If he ever does that again, I’ll rip out his gillets.”

  “I think you will not.”

  Now she looked at him. “Watch me.”

  The hangar was deserted, and there was an emergency immersion tank sitting on one side of the modified gstek. Onkar checked it to make sure it was filled before he went to his mate and picked her up in his arms.

  “Onkar!” She shoved at him, but not enough to make him drop her. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you wet.”

  He stripped off her uniform, and then his own. She had not worn a skin seal again. Thanks to the integration of her human and aquatic DNA, Dair no longer required the close-fitted shield that kept her hide wet, unless she meant to stay on land for longer than a day. What Onkar most feared about Dair’s mysterious transformation was that it would allow her to survive on land indefinitely.

  That would allow her to leave their homeworld, and him.

  Something of his fear must have shown in his eyes, for Dair’s tone changed. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you the way I did. Sometimes Burn makes me so mad I can’t swim straight.”

  Mindful of her condition, Onkar eased them both into the tank. I felt the same about you not very long ago.

  I was never as reckless as Burn is. She rolled over and swam beneath him, rubbing her rounded belly against his flat one. Speaking in their native baelaena allowed her to use body language and tone to relay a subtle blend and hint of mischief with her next words. Well, almost never.

  What about the missions when you were nearly blown up by a stardrive gone critical, or sucked out into space through a ruptured hull panel, or boarded by Hsktskt, or attacked by that orbital minefield—

  She glided around him and nuzzled the broad, flat expanse of his neck. You forgot about the time I nearly toasted myself in the suns’ corona.

  Onkar released a stream of bubbles through his gill vents. I will never forget that. He still had nightmares about the moment when he had lifted her dying body out of her wrecked ship, and taken her to die in the nameless place. The central problem with Byorn is not atypical. His growth spurt and the new adult hormones he is experiencing for the first time are changing him. Remember, Jadaira, until this season he was still an adolescent.

  Are you telling me that now I’m supposed to treat him like an adult male? Her arms churned the water. His behavior is more outrageous than it was when we were podlings.

  He will soon find a young female upon whom to focus his attention, Onkar predicted. Then most of the aggression he displays will be in the breeding caverns, where it belongs.

  Duo, don’t tell me that. I can’t imagine Burn having pups. He’s barely six years old. Her silvery eyes glittered as she touched her abdomen. We’re older, and I still have difficulty thinking of you and me as parents.

  Did she regret their mating? Or did she fear, as he sometimes did, that her transformation had somehow also affected their child? Or was it, so soon after her brush with death, all too much for her? Jadaira, I want our pup as much as I want to breathe, but if this pregnancy has put too much strain on you—

  Stop. She bumped into him, refusing to allow him to finish the thought. Your worries are unnecessary. I will be fine, and so will our little one.

  Onkar felt immediate, if somewhat guilt-tinged, relief. He could not imagine Jadaira dying, not when she had survived being burned so horribly. He had held her until she had drifted within moments of death, and then witnessed her astonishing recovery. In the nameless, sacred cave where the ’Zangians went to die, there had been a flash of light, sound, and motion that had snatched Jadaira back from death and transformed her body. The miracle confounded everyone, so much so that hardly anyone spoke of it. Surely the whelping would not hurt her. Teresa would have indicated something by now. Of course, the Terran marine biologist was still furious with him for mating with Jadaira and making her pregnant. To Teresa, her stepdaughter was yet a child, and given her way Jadaira would still be in an observation tank.

  Onkar knew his mate was far more mature than her Terran stepmother could ever know. He also knew that without Jadaira, there would be no life left for him. With a quick turn he faced her and cradled her against his chest. Do you want to stay here the night?

  There isn’t enough room for what I want to do. Jadaira gave him a sharp nip on the jaw. Are you feeling up to a run in the caverns?

  Breeding ’Zangian females were usually complacent and uninterested in sex after becoming pregnant. Not so with Jadaira, whose human DNA had radically altered her sexual behavior, much to Onkar’s distress and pleasure.

  Do you still wish me to chase you? Another of Onkar’s fears was that she would seek out the company of another male. While ’Zangians were polygamous in nature, breeding couples generally remained monogamous until after their whelping. Yet nothing about Jadaira could be deemed conventional, and Onkar refused to take anything for granted.

  Oh, Onkar. The ghostly color of her eyes softened. I wish for you. Only you, now and forever.

  Eternity might just be long enough for him, Onkar thought as he tucked his head over hers. Then let us go home, Jadaira. Home to the sea.

  CHAPTER 2

  M ajor Shon Valtas removed his mask and breathing gear as he waded out of the surf, just in time to see two ’Zangians dive into the depths from the cliffs overhead. One of the native aquatics was a large, dark-hided male; the other a small, silvery female. The twin suns outlined them with a halo of amber-orange light before they made graceful arcs of their streamlined bodies and plummeted down toward the churning waves.

  That could be me up there, diving with her.

  Jadaira and Onkar were too engrossed with each other, Shon saw, to notice him or the paw he had lifted in greeting. He didn’t mind. Shon’s interference in Dair’s life had nearly killed her more than once, and she deserved the happiness she had found with her mate. Shon was grateful that she still considered him a friend, although that was all, as she had once kindly informed him, that she would ever feel for him.

  Most days Shon didn’t resent Dair’s choosing Onkar over him to be her life mate. Most days.

  Unlike the ’Zangians, Shon was not at home in the water. He had to wear a breathing rig whenever he swam, and he could not dive deeper than one hundred feet without risking injury or death due to the immense pressure of the ocean depths. Shon’s homeworld was not K-2, but oKia, an icy-cold world of tundra and thick forests, where his people had evolved from the fiercest and most successful of lupine predators. The oKiaf’s element was snow; rugged cliffs and dark valleys their natural territory.

  Perhaps that was why Shon found the sea so fascinating. Like Dair it was beautiful, unpredictable, and filled with life and, for him, just as unattainable.

  Water streamed from his long black mane and ran over his sleek shoulders, the dark hair partially covering the two parallel golden marks on his chest pelt. The thick brown and black hair that covered the rest of Shon’s body began to dry in the breeze, turning faintly white from residual salt. He wore only a pair of abbreviated trousers and
the flipper-shaped footgear that allowed him to move underwater more efficiently, but were awkward on land. Walking in them always made him understand why the aquatic ’Zangians disliked being above the surface so much. He could kick off his footgear, but they were permanently stuck with their flukes.

  I wouldn’t mind having that problem.

  It was hard to remember that only a few months ago he had feared and hated the water. Now he hated being away from it for longer than a day or two, and had entertained the idea of applying for a permanent transfer to K-2 so he wouldn’t have to leave the sea.

  Or her.

  Shon looked out at the horizon, where a group of dark dorsal fins cut through the waves above the seamount ridge. The coastal pod coming out to greet Dair and Onkar, as they did to anyone who entered their territory. Oddly, it made him feel lonely, to watch the ’Zangians mass. He had never felt alone until he had come to this world, and been exposed to the ’Zangians’ friendly, communal way of life.

  Where is my place? Where are the family and friends waiting for my return?

  There were none on oKia; that much Shon knew. He had done the unthinkable by disobeying his father’s wishes and leaving his homeworld, and then the unforgivable by joining the military and undergoing SEAL alterforming. His manhood notches on the family totem had been chopped out of the wood by now; his name rubbed from all the hunting story hides. He would never be mentioned, or welcomed, or wanted among his tribe and, looking as he did, no other would have him.

  He no longer had a home or a people.

  “Major Valtas.” A colonial security officer stumbled a little as he made his way down a sand dune toward him. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but you’re needed back at colony.” He held out a towel.

  Shon might not have had a home, but he certainly had a job. “I’ll get changed and report in twenty minutes.”

  “Not an option, sir.” The officer, a placid-looking Psyoran, made a flutter of regret with his rainbow-colored frills. “I was ordered to personally transport you to Chief Norash’s office.”

  “Any particular reason?” Shon asked. “Besides the chief’s perennial impatience with waiting?”

  The officer’s colors shifted, a sign of increased emotion among the Psyoran. “I can’t say for absolute sure, sir, but I think it might have to do with the twenty or so Skartesh that have been waiting outside your office all morning.”

  Of course it was the Skartesh. It was always the Skartesh, ever since Shon had been surgically altered and enhanced to become a stand-in for their dead Messiah.

  Shon quickly toweled off most of the moisture remaining on his pelt before he pulled on a tunic and picked up the last of his land gear. “Let’s go.”

  The security officer’s glidecar waited at the edge of the cliff, and from there he drove Shon back to the colony. As they passed the new construction and restoration projects, Shon absently scanned faces and assigned species. More new transfers were coming in by the week, many from planets in other quadrants. One peculiarity caught his eye; a one-legged Omorr male having a spoken conversation with a tall, slim Terran female.

  His driver followed Shon’s gaze. “Now that’s something you don’t see every day. What’s that Omorr doing, fraternizing with that Terran?”

  Shon didn’t comment. With a few exceptions like Dair’s stepmother, Shon didn’t care much for Terrans, who were mainly ignorant, obnoxious xenophobes and tended to create trouble wherever they transferred. He was interested in the Omorr, however, whose formal and occasionally inflexible manner didn’t detract from their universally respected intellect, or their other, more mysterious talents.

  The glidecar slowed as the officer at the controls gawked at the unusual couple. “She isn’t spraying some sort of body fluid around him, is she? I’ve never actually met a Terran, but my brother told me that’s one of their defense mechanisms.”

  Shon suppressed a sigh. “Terrans spit a little saliva on someone to show contempt or disgust.”

  “On people?” The Psyoran shuddered. “Is it poisonous? Should we stop and warn him?”

  Shon glanced back at the unlikely pair. The Omorr seemed perplexed, but the female had a benign look about her. “The skin on the front of their heads usually turns red or purple first. She’s not changing color. Keep going.”

  “I should have been watching where I was walking,” Emily Kim said as she bent to pick up the last of the alien’s cases. “I do apologize for bumping into you.”

  The alien, a male judging by the cut of his tunic, regarded her with round, dark eyes. “That is not necessary. Had I been attending to my path, I should have been able to anticipate yours and keep myself out of it.”

  He was not speaking in Terran, but the tympanic insert she had been issued at Main Transport allowed her to understand him perfectly. Still, this was not the sort of encounter she had long imagined having. She had hoped to freely discuss environmental and cultural differences with her first alien contact, not collide blindly with him and end up sprawled over his luggage.

  “Should we keep blaming ourselves and making apologies to each other, or may we exchange names?” Some species, Emily had been told, required more formal or ceremonial introductions, while others reserved the use of personal names for family or species members. In any case, it was always wise to inquire first.

  “An exchange seems suitable, under the circumstances. I am Hkyrim, of Omorr.” He scanned her from head to footgear. “Please do not interpret this as an insult if I am incorrect in my preliminary identification of your species, but you are Terran?”

  “I am. My name is Emily Kim.” She made the polite palm-up gesture the attendant on the jaunt from Terra had taught her. “I just arrived on colony this morning.”

  “So, too, have I.” Hkyrim made the same gesture with one of his three arms. He didn’t have fingers, but the delicate membranes that webbed the ends of his spade-shaped hands seemed to serve the same purpose. “I will be working at the colonial medical facility. What, if I may ask, is your assignment?”

  Goodness, he was a polite one. “I’m slotted to serve as a personal assistant in Administration.” She had been disappointed to discover she had been assigned to work with another Terran, but surely one who had spent twenty years on K-2 couldn’t be the usual sort. “It’s not as exciting as medical, but I enjoy the work.” And she was good at it; her employer back on Terra had tried everything to keep her there, including an offer to double her salary.

  “My own position is one that keeps me secluded in a laboratory most of the time.”

  “I could stop by sometime and take you out for a meal interval,” she blurted out.

  “You probably will not wish to visit me at the FreeClinic, Emily Kim.”

  The FreeClinic—that was the medical facility on-planet. “I don’t mind visiting hospitals.”

  “I am assigned to process pathologic and forensic specimens for the medical examiner.” His gildrells made what appeared to be agitated movements. “This sometimes requires my participation in and performance of autopsies.”

  “Oh.” Emily blinked. “You’ll be working in the hospital morgue.”

  “Yes.”

  She tried to think of how to comment on that with some sort of enthusiasm. “Your work must be very . . . interesting.”

  “I never hear complaints from my patients.” The Omorr looked as if he might say more, and then his expression became shuttered and polite again. “Do you require any further assistance?”

  “No, thank you.” She had chattered on too much; he was obviously bored. Or maybe he was worried about her spitting on him. She really couldn’t tell. If only Terrans didn’t have such a rotten reputation off-world. “It was very kind of you to help me up.” As well as interesting to discover how strong he was—he had lifted her without effort, using only one arm.

  “As I knocked you down there, I could do no less.” The Omorr bent over from the waist, and it took a moment for Emily to register that he was actually bowing to he
r. “I must now report for my newcomer orientation, and then find the colonial archives. I wish you well, Emily Kim.”

  She murmured an appropriate good-bye and watched Hkyrim hop away. His species only had one leg, so he bounced more than walked. It didn’t seem to bother him, however.

  Did I stare too long at him? That marvelous fringe of prehensile tendrils covering the lower half of his face had mesmerized her; she had thought it a beard until she looked closer and saw what appeared like a nest of white snakes, or three-foot-long fingers. She had wanted to ask what their function was, but that was the sort of thing that offended another life-form, or so she had been told.

  The great many things she had been told about aliens were part of the reason she had come to this world.

  Emily checked her wristcom. Her own orientation did not begin for another hour, so she still had ample time. Her living quarters, while a little small, were adequate for her needs. She had dumped all her cases there so she could do some exploring.

  The sight of so many exotic alien beings walking about—so freely and openly—had entranced her. Being spellbound, not Hkyrim, had been the actual cause of their collision. But how could anyone who had spent her entire life among her own kind not be plunged into a daze by the gorgeous variety of life here?

  Not everyone on colony seemed equally delighted at the sight of Emily. More than one alien had made rather obvious efforts not to come in close proximity to her. Others stared with what seemed like angry expressions, but at times it was difficult for her to tell. Alien countenances were completely new to her, so she might have been mistaken in her interpretation of them.

  He liked me, though. I think.

  Hkyrim hadn’t smiled, and his voice had come through her TI with something of a cool tone, but that might have been his natural manner. She wished she knew more about the Omorr so she could tell. He appeared to be a very pleasant person. That, and she was dying to know what he used that beard of tendrils for.

  A short walk down one winding path led to a glidebus station and a bank of public access terminals, the latter of which were all occupied. Emily stepped behind one immense, gray-furred being and waited for her turn.