by Bex McLynn
Hyva had been standing next to the desk, hands clasped before her. "Yes, Elder Vedma."
"Well, why didn't you say anything? You're subjecting us to Seph's damn human ramblings about her planet's vile government undertakings."
"Hey, I wasn't talking about Earth."
Although if technopathy were a thing on Earth, it probably would be a top-secret government program.
"Well, you got your ideas from somewhere, caroa," Vedma said.
Arana leaned forward and pressed her praal-covered hand over Seph's. "Please, don't discount the Academe just yet."
Seph found herself nodding because she wanted the issue to be done.
"Get us started, Hyva," Vedma said, setting back in her chair. "This oughtta be good."
"Very well." Like a magician's assistant, Hyva angled the machine and presented it to Seph. "Using your technopathy, please activate this device."
Seph looked it over. A Cuneiform tablet was attached to a sleek, metal container about the size of a shoe box.
"What is it?"
"A self-contained toroidal pile."
"A what?"
"[Self-contained toroidal pile,]" Prykimis echoed.
Yeah, so very helpful.
"It's a power source, dear." Arana smiled. "You just need to turn it on."
Seph eyed it suspiciously. "And it's safe for me to mess with?"
"We ain't asking you to decompile it," Vedma said. "Just turn on the damn Cuneiform tablet."
"Okay. I'm just flicking a power switch?"
"Yes, dear," Arana said.
"Oh, get on with it," Vedma said, grumbling.
Welcoming the distraction, Seph turned to Vedma. "Well I don't see anyone demonstrating how to do it, do I?"
"My apologies," said Hyva. She gracefully waved a hand toward the pile. The tablet fired to life, then went dark. "Was that sufficient?"
Dismayed, Seph said, "Perhaps one more time, and could you explain—"
Vedma heaved. "Just get on with it!"
Seph snapped at her. "You are just a sour puss, aren't you?"
Vedma rolled her eyes. "Shit, not more of your Earth nonsense."
Hyva interjected. "I think Seph means to say that you are not always pleasant."
"Course I ain't pleasant. I'm a sard through and through, ain't I?"
Not the rocks again. Seph glared at her. "You're the sardest sard of all sarddom. I bow to your superior sardiness."
"No one likes a sassy caroa. You ain't got the brains or the clutchers to pull it off."
"Clutchers?" Seph asked, stumped.
Arana sighed. "She's being crude. Ignore her."
Seph stumbled through it. Did Vedma mean her pussy?
"Clutchers?" Seph pitched in outrage. "Really? That's where you want to take this? You wanna have a pissing contest with our pussies, I mean, clutchers?"
"Afraid to lose? 'Cause you know mine're firm strokers, not ticklers."
Seph recoiled. "That was not the kind of taunt I was expecting."
And what the hell had Zver thought of her lady bits? If Vedma's description was accurate, he probably thought that her bits were missing some pieces.
"You got that right, girly." Vedma leaned forward, eyes icy spears. "Mine'll snatch you up whole."
Seph turned to Hyva. "Maybe Vedma ought to look at those internal MediCune scans again. Because this right here—" Seph pointed back and forth between them, "—is apples and oranges."
"What the hell does that mean?" Vedma snapped.
"Comparing caro to sard."
"Damn right. And mine's sard. Hardstone. Don't you forget it."
"Where I'm from, they'd call you a ball buster, Vedma."
The old woman pursed her lips, then cackled. "Now that makes sense. 'Cause it's true."
Seph pressed her cheek to the cool surface of the banquet table. She hadn't lifted her head since the Trine had left.
Hyva had said succinctly, "I'll bring the toroidal pile to the next session."
Arana had attempted to commiserate. "No one gets it the first time, my dear."
Vedma had giggled, eerily, as she shuffled past. "Hah! Sarddom." It was the nicest thing Vedma had ever said to her.
Once alone, she wandered out to the Hall, where her 'entourage' was stationed. Wies gave her a brusque greeting, but otherwise, left her alone, which suited her. She didn't want company, but at the same time, she grew sick of being cooped up in the Chamber.
"Seph! Psst! Seph!"
Oh dear god, she knew that voice...
"What, Therion?"
"I can't get in," he said, whining.
Confused, she slowly raised her head. Ah, yes. Wies and Company blocked the door. Literally, Wies and a company of fleetmen were positioned about the Athel Hall. Zver grossly overcompensated when he amended the terms of her 'entourage.'
"He can come in," she said.
Therion exchanged harsh, low words with Wies, ending with Therion dodging a fist to his shoulder. Seph just rolled her eyes and lowered her head.
"So, Seph, glad I caught you,” Therion gushed as he plopped into a seat next to her.
She huffed dejectedly. "You've not caught me. I am still a free-range person."
"I have no idea what that means," Therion said as he leaned forward, placing his cheek on the table so that they looked at each other. "But here's the important part: I'm not afraid to admit that."
"Listen, Ther. I can call you Ther, right? Not Acting Cachemaster Ther, or sir, or..." Seph took a breath, embarrassed that her throat tightened up on her. "Listen, I just spent all day flipping a light switch and learned absolutely nothing. Which is incredibly ironic and cruel, because in my culture, a well-lit light bulb is the sacred symbol of enlightenment."
"Huh. That actually makes sense. And I like it. In fact, let me just..." Keeping his cheek plastered to the table, Therion contorted his arms so he could eyeball his typing on his WristCune.
Ping!
Seph slid back, repositioned her forehead to the edge of the table, and dropped her arms into her lap. She peered down at her WristCune.
In a flat voice, she read aloud. "'Recessed lighting creates more head space.' That makes no—" She closed her eyes and groaned. "You're 'Thanebanger,' aren't you?"
"Hush, hush! Clades are clandestine. If I wanted everyone to know I was in a clade, my scrum code would be 'Throbbing Nobber.'"
"You're talking about your penis."
"No," he said, sounding insulted. "I'm a swordsman."
"A swordsman? In space?"
"Nob's another word for pommel."
"And what part of the sword is the throb?"
"Huh? The throb's my penis."
Seph groaned. "I say again: a swordsman? In space?"
"You don't board a spaceship with firearms, unless you're wearing vacuumed-sealed armor." Then Therion chuckled and said to himself, "Ah, planet dwellers and their quaint notions."
"Do you actually need something?"
"Heard you ran through my ship yesterday."
She squirmed. "The thane told you?"
"No. I heard you. Over the comms. You scream like a girl."
"Because I am a girl."
"We all have our challenges. I'm Acting Cachemaster of a battleship."
Despite herself, Seph chuckled. "How's that a challenge?"
Therion sighed and unburdened himself on her. "Because I'm not an actor. Truly, the fact that I've over-come that short-coming to be-come Acting Cachemaster is a whole lot of coming. I'm amazing." He winked at her before carrying on. "The ship. What did you think of her?"
Seph felt her face scrunch, perplexed. "You know I've only been through two sessions with the Trine, right?"
"But your opinion means so much to me." He somehow managed to grasp both of her hands under the table. "This ship has been. My. Life. For the past three-hundred and sixty-eight days."
Seph sensed a trap. Trying to buy herself some time, she asked, "Well, what did the thane say?"
"Noth
ing that I'd grunt in polite company."
Therion was far more appealing than he should be. He looked nothing like Zver's robust fleetmen. More like a biker in a motorcycle club, rugged and inked. Therion appeared diminished, like someone who partied too hard, too often, and never took a sick day. They just powered through the hangovers. Yet, even with all his ridiculousness, Seph believed that Therion meant to do good. He just wasn't any good at being good.
Her chest pinched. God, he reminded her of her brother so much.
She looked him in the eye and solemnly said, "I think the ship is not what she appears to be. She feels like what is on the inside, doesn't match the outside. So, what people see, well, that's not the real ship."
Therion stopped moving, yet Seph swore she saw something move through him.
"Seph, you—" He breathed profoundly. "Did not use one single engineering term. At all."
Dammit, Therion.
"But spot-fucking-on nonetheless!" he said, outwardly thrilled, and squeezed her hands. "You gotta share that insight with Thane Borac."
"Um, are you s—" How would she finish that thought? Are you sure? Serious? Sane? "Suddenly hungry? Because I'm hungry."
"Sure, yeah. I can eat."
Sharing a meal had her thinking of Rannik.
"I miss your nephew," she said. "The thane won't let him off Deleo. And the Trine want me to stay on Prykimis."
"It won't be forever," Therion said, stroking her arm. "Once the thane flushes out the conspirators, and pulls their hearts out through their lower intestines by way of their nasal cavities, it will all be back to normal."
"Normal? Wait, your lower intestines connect to your nasal cavities? The Teras shit through their noses?"
Still calmly comforting her, Therion said, "Oh, no dearest. That's why it will cause them excruciating pain."
Seph bolted upright in her chair. "And what is 'normal' anyway? I mean, once the thane is done with Prykimis, I go home. None of this is really normal, is it?"
Therion grimaced. "You should probably discuss that with the thane."
"Arana talks about the Athela Academe like it's a foregone conclusion."
"I don't know anything about all that."
"And what if I can't get home? What then? I mean, can I get a job?"
"Sure?"
"Dammit, Therion!"
She shoved him, yet forgot that the man just did not move. As she repelled backward, he nonchalantly reached out and snagged her, keeping her in her chair.
"I don't know what I'm gonna do," she ended weakly. "What's gonna happen?"
He just stared at her, frowning fiercely, and finally said, "I'll tell you what you're gonna do, Seph. You're gonna be brilliant. Fucking. Brilliant." He jammed his large index finger onto the surface of the table, ready to make his point. "No one can tell a spirenought what to do. No. One. You got Prykimis to fire up, shut down, and fucking pine for you to come home. The Trine is fucking itself to get you. Teras Great Houses are gonna bleed over you. When Thane Borac is done kicking ass here, the Dominion is gonna tremble and pray to Direis and Unholde both, 'cause there will be nothing holding you back from getting home, even if it means conquering their godsdamn worlds."
"Fucking aye."
Seph glanced about the Hall, searching. Was that Wies?
"Fucking aye."
Same words, different voices, spoken lowly and with conviction. Again and again. As her gaze hopped from man to man, each stood stoically silent. Sneaky bunch.
"Fucking. Aye." Therion pounded the table with his fist as he said each word. Then he stared at her, demanding her response.
"Fucking. Aye," said Seph, also pounding the table.
Therion just composed the best daily self-affirmation of all damn time.
"We good?" he asked sternly.
"We're great!"
"Ready to eat?"
"Let's eat!"
"Oh thank gods," he said on a rush, shoulders drooping. "For a second there, I thought you were gonna cry."
Chapter Fourteen
Zver spoke into his C-Cune to his squadron leader. "Get it done."
Lt. Nisac was already boarding another crippled marauder ship, the third one to enter Deleo's secured zone within the past thirty hours. Deleo's flotilla included a squadron of spire fighters, specialized crafts designed to dominate the flotilla's protective arena. The spire pilots had been patrolling the edges of the corona, nonstop, since Zver's arrival at Prykimis's position.
Wies Cuned him: Seph incoming.
The hatch swung open. Seph pulled up short when she saw him standing over the desk and likewise heard the chatter coming through the open comm line.
"Shit!" Seph said, whispering as she started to retreat. "I can come back."
With a thought, he muted his own comm line. "It's all right. Come on in."
Gods, he was pleased to see her. Each time he saw her, knowing he saw Seph in the flesh and not a sefura was like a godsdamned kick to the chest.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
Since his officers had already converted the Athel Hall for bunking, she didn't have anywhere else to go. Martial law throughout the ship affected Seph as well. She had been restricted to the mess, Hall, and Chamber.
"Yes. Come."
And thank Direis and Unholde both that Therion was no longer with her. His brother was annoying on his best days, useless on his worst. When the Trine had finally left, and Seph had needed to be comforted and reassured, Therion almost fucked it up. His brother let her spiral in doubt about getting home. Let her worry about being abandoned.
She gingerly closed the hatch and stood, fidgeting awkwardly with the cuff of her jacket. This was the first time he'd seen her since she'd fallen asleep in his arms. Since he'd tasted her—easement for her, a feast for him.
She'd found some decorative bauble, likely from Arana, to gather all her hair off her face, forming a bouncy tail between her shoulders. He knew why he was so enamored with her hair. Teras hair was thick and heavy, swinging like the slice of a scythe, bone straight and singularly black—lustrous when young, dulling with age. Seph's hair had a life all its own, amplified all her movements. Walking, shrugging, simply directing her gaze, her hair shimmered with motion, making it impossible to keep his eyes off her.
The sound of an explosion boomed through the open comm line. Seph startled, gorgeous brown eyes opening wide.
He surveyed the progress of his strike team, then activated his own comm. "If the recruits shoot everything in sight, Lieutenant Nisac, there'll be nothing to salvage."
Nisac's C-Cune connected, catching him mid-rant. "Other left!" His tone changed when he responded to Zver. "We've already reconfigured our firing solution, Thane."
He wasn't comfortable with Seph listening in as he pilfered another marauder ship. Requesting meager handouts from the Dominion and TerTac never sat well with him. Already his fleetmen secured TerTac contraband. Contraband that now became House Borac's resources. It was one of the reasons why he was called 'Thanemonger,' because he'd rather seize than grovel.
"Carry on," he said to Nisac.
"Aye, Thane."
He tapped away on the surface of the hrast desk, sending an order to his cachemaster about their latest inventory additions, but his attention locked on Seph as she wandered toward the desk. Transfixed, he watched the wonder on her face as she realized the entire surface was a large Cuneiform screen. Strange that she hadn't recognized the desk’s purpose, a console station pretentiously molded for the Athel Chamber.
He took a step back, hoping his retreat would draw her closer.
As Seph marveled over the filigreed desk, he checked in with his strike team, confirmed that Rannik ate dinner, and skimmed end of shift reports from both Prykimis and Deleo bridge crews.
He took a second and pondered Seph's actual age, wondering if Humans and the Teras matured congruently.
"Is Nisac joking, Thane?" Furiero, his cachemaster, said over the comm, commenting on the report. "Sixteen ke
gs of weina aspic?"
With a thought, he reopened his comm line. "Not a joke."
Seph glanced up inquisitively.
He mentally sent search results to the desk. "Weina aspic. An officer's ration."
It consisted of salt-cured fish and gelatin made from a meat stock. He'd rather eat canteen porridge than weina aspic.
"Oh," she said, her eyes on the screen. "So that's what I'd been eating. Prykimis's cargo hold had tons of the stuff."
Curious, he pulled up the next item found in large quantities on the marauder ship. Kaas, a fermented, sour cheese.
She smirked. "Tasted like cheese. Glad to know it was cheese."
He gestured to the desk. "You can search for other items."
She hesitated just a moment, hands hovering over the screen, not yet touching, when an expensive ale spontaneously appeared.
Her technopathy had interfaced with the desk's Cuneiform. She gasped in awe, and it gratified him that it wasn't the fearful sound he'd heard retched from her chest after her attack.
"I did that." Startled, she clasped her hands over mouth.
"Pardon, Thane?" Furiero asked.
"Jahat's been bribing the local marauder clades with TerTac food supplies," he said stonily, but he gave Seph a long look, letting his eyes soften. Giving her such a tender look was a risk. He was sorely out of practice with expressing unspoken sentiment. "Have Chief Ochrona look into it."
"Aye, Thane."
His prior intel about Prykimis reported regular marauder raids, which at first did not surprise him. Prykimis didn't have a single squadron to scramble, and her railguns had been offline for years. Her stores presented easy pickings.
Yet, now that there was a destroyer present with an armored flotilla, plus the Trine's cruiser, marauders circled back... To do what? Satisfy their curiosity? To take pot shots? Bullshit.
He'd bet that the marauder raids had always been staged, to cover the scheduled pickups of Thane Jahat's bribes. Those bribes were the supplies meant for Prykimis's crew. The presence of Deleo and his flotilla now disrupted the marauder's supplies resource, and they had become desperate.
He ended his comm with his cachemaster and found Seph waiting, fidgeting with her jacket sleeve again.