Taji From Beyond the Rings

by R. Cooper

  He skipped all that in order to stumble to his room. The space was not large, although likely bigger than anything the members of the detail had, and still much more spacious than what he’d rented during his work on the moon. It had probably once been a guest room for a lower class relative, or the place where educated servants might have stayed. Which was what he was, really, a makeshift assistant to an ambassador, chosen because he was the best, closest option.

  The door to his room was light—a metal alloy, fairly recent addition, with a biometric lock he didn’t bother to use. He had no state secrets to give away, as was more than clear when the door closed behind him and he was alone.

  The shuttered windows overlooked a small lounging area, complete with cushions on the floor and a tray Taji used for a desk when he required one. Five or so abandoned cups of tea littered the ground, along with the crutch he used sometimes when alone and very tired. The wardrobe was Shavian craftsmanship, ancient, lacquered, carved wood, far too grand for Taji’s simple clothes. His data from the moon was on zips in a bag in the wardrobe, collecting dust along with a few interesting crafts he planned on giving to his father the next time he saw him. Taji’s fancy soria hung from a notch in the wall where something decorative had once been. His shoes had been scattered across the floor, usually kicked off the moment he could get away with it. There was a toy of his on the carved stands by the enormous bed, as well as a bottle of lube he had painstakingly tracked down in his first months here.

  Taji had no shame about the use of either object—he had lived alone for most of his adult life, and loneliness was inevitable. But the Sha, who were not a prudish people, had stared when he had first asked, the same way they had stared tonight. That possibly wouldn’t have bothered Taji so much if not for what he finally noticed as he got closer to the round, raised, firm cushion Shavians called a bed.

  On the bed—obscenely large for one human—was a pile of blankets, as well as two data devices stuffed to the brim with what information Taji had managed to glean on his own plus IPTC’s official files on the planet. There was also the bag Trenne had carried for him. Next to that was a tray bearing a silver painted cup of the spicy tea that Shavians loved, usually served over ice, although Taji liked it warm.

  Taji stopped, then closed his eyes. “Ah, Trenne,” he whispered, too gone on midye not to want to feel cared for and less alone. Of course, when he opened his eyes, none of that would be true. Not in the way he wanted. He wasn’t going to test their fragile friendship, or bother Trenne, who had enough to worry over, with the longing that had hit him shortly after he’d been brought down here.

  Midye made him sad, and Taji wondered if that was why the Sha tried to drink it in moderation. He’d ask why they would drink it at all, but there was something thrilling about finally opening his eyes and reaching for the tea he’d been offered, something soothing and yet reckless about lying back across his bed, fully dressed, and pretending he really was wild and wanted.

  The tea wet his mouth and pushed some of the heat from him, but he drank it slowly, taking the rest of his night off to let his thoughts go where they may, over tonight’s strange conversations, and the words, and the sensation of being in Trenne’s arms.

  That part wasn’t new. Taji had ended many a night with thoughts of Trenne. But tonight he didn’t reach for his toy or slide his hand into his pants. He sipped his tea and breathed slowly and didn’t move for a long, long time.

  Chapter Two

  EARLY THE next morning, Taji stumbled out of the lift onto the first floor in search of food. A quick shower and several pain pills had revived him enough to get dressed and start preparing for the day, but food and any kind of stim drink—coffee, yerba, even that one Arosti confection that tasted like minty charcoal, would get his brain working again.

  A slight pain behind his eyes could not be banished, and he had the exhausted feeling of a hangover without the nausea or dry mouth, but overall he was better than four cups of midye should have left him. He suspected his gift of tea was responsible for that, but dwelling on it would be a bad idea, so he quickly scanned the space around him to see who was up and on duty.

  With no visitors expected, the members of the ambassador’s security team tended to roam around the ground floor as if it belonged to them. The area directly in front of the entrance was larger than any house Taji had ever lived in, and contained a small garden, complete with miniature trees. Rodian had taken over its care shortly before Taji had arrived. The interior was lit mostly from the large skylight high above. The walls were painted, faded murals merging into calligraphy.

  The gleaming gold paint used to highlight certain characters almost made Taji lick his lips anxiously, but he kept on course to the kitchen. A room at the back of the estate was used as a gym, although through another doorway was an outdoor garden area where the soldiers sparred. Taji found the sight distracting, but it didn’t generally stop him from curling up on a bench by the tiny trees and staring out at straining, muscular bodies when he should have been reading.

  Today, he did not allow his attention to drift as he hurried to the side of the house reserved for the kitchen and the rooms now serving as a barracks. The kitchen wasn’t empty, but Rodian had his back to the entrance Taji used and didn’t turn around when Taji pulled one of the roughly fashioned stools the soldiers had made to one of the large kitchen islands that they all used as a table.

  Someone had adapted furniture for humans who sometimes wanted to sit hunched over their breakfast with their elbows rudely on the table and not cross-legged on the floor cushions like Shavians. Taji didn’t mind dinner that way, but to his brain there was something off about eating breakfast in a kitchen on the floor. Someone else, from another planet, might not mind, but by some silent agreement, Taji and most of the human soldiers ate their morning meal in the kitchen. Even Lin and Trenne had been spotted in there once or twice, downing rations or toast or eggs that were more orange than yellow, vitamin-protein powders sprinkled over the top.

  Taji’s stomach rumbled as he sat down, so he pulled over a bowl next to him and found it half full of nadth, a sort of porridge, made with grain and sweetened with fruit syrup. He grabbed a spoon that looked fairly clean and pulled his data device from a pocket as he started to eat.

  “You eat like we’re at war, you know that?” Rodian remarked. He moved from the counter where he’d apparently been making himself a bowl of nadth, and sat down at the end of the island-turned-table. He grimaced. “You aren’t starving. There’s clean bowls and plenty of nadth over there.”

  Taji shrugged. He’d been over this. To him, food was fuel, but also something that shouldn’t be wasted. To prove it, he grabbed the jar of fruit syrup and drenched the last of his nadth in it. The syrup was made from all sorts of different Mirsan fruits, which were high in antioxidants. On a planet as oxygen-rich as Mirsa, humans needed all the antioxidants they could get their hands on. They all took supplements as well, along with the usual minerals of anyone used to long-distance space travel.

  Rodian was not in uniform, meaning he was off-duty and had plenty of time to sit there and annoy Taji. Not that Rodian was usually annoying. He did his job and liked plants and was eerily good with long-range weaponry. But there was a look that IPTC soldiers got when they were going to roast someone, and Rodian had that look now.

  He narrowed his eyes, then flashed a smug smile. “All dressed up today, Mouth?” Rodian wondered, and noisily sucked nadth off his spoon. “Dressed up real fine. Something big brewing, or you hoping to impress someone?”

  Taji glanced down automatically at the soria he wore for special occasions. It draped over his shoulders and closed only where the belt was tied at his waist. It had no sleeves and reached nearly to his knees. The fabric was burnished yellow and clean white almost like damask. He could have worn it with nothing underneath, or loose pants or skirts, or chosen tight pants in the style of the younger Shavians in the capital. But he’d put on a long-sleeved shirt and a
pair of black work pants, which made him look like a human with borrowed clothes. He would sometimes wear a long robe out of the house, the kind lower level nobles or higher ranking servants wore. It was all very heavy, and hot, and restricted most movement, which was probably the point. But Rodian wasn’t talking about the soria.

  Taji licked his lower lip, where hopefully some shimmer had survived his messy eating. He glanced to Rodian, praying the fine gold powder he’d streaked across his cheekbones and at the corner of his eyelids wasn’t too much or too ridiculous on him. He’d thought he’d looked okay. Nice. Almost like a version of Taji who wasn’t only used clothing and a collection of words.

  “I didn’t do it to be pretty,” Taji insisted quickly. “I’m not hoping for attention. The opposite, in fact.” He sighed. “I don’t have the right clothes for what I need to do today, and I thought shimmer would help me fade into the background. It’s, um, some fairly quality stuff. I bought it a while ago but never…well. Anyway. It’s interesting how Shavians only put shimmer on their lower lip. I wonder why that is. All the different ways of wearing it, the many colors, but mouth shimmer is only ever applied to the bottom lip. Do you think I should get a knife to display? Technically, I’m male, just not by their standards, maybe. No one has ever commented on my lack of one. Maybe because I’m human. Or possibly they think I’m one of the other genders. I confess to being a little unclear on certain subjects.”

  “Technically male?” Rodian echoed. Sometimes Taji forgot that a lot of IPTC’s soldiers were from places considered backwaters and so didn’t have a lot of exposure to different cultures at first. Despite that, Rodian had been here longer than Taji and should have understood this by now. Maybe he had never thought to question anything.

  Taji grabbed a handful of berries from a bowl in the center of the island. “‘Male’ as defined by Shavian culture, does not necessarily mean person with a cock. Obviously, that wouldn’t matter to them since all or most of them have the same reproductive parts. To some degree or another. As far as I can tell, anyway. I’m technically male to them since I consider myself one, but also I’m human, so maybe that doesn’t matter. Or maybe…maybe shehzha is another sex or something similar? Hmm. Maybe that was where the conflict came from last night and I should start wearing a decorative knife.”

  “Do you know how to use a knife?” Trenne’s voice startled Taji into looking up, his mouth still stuffed with sour red berries.

  Trenne must have been outside sparring. His hair was held up in a loose bundle, stray wisps clinging to his sweaty face despite the band stretched over his crown meant to keep it from his eyes. He was in a thin shirt with no sleeves, dark pants, and barefoot. Lin also sparred barefoot, big Shavian feet on display. But Lin didn’t steal the air from Taji’s lungs, or make his stomach flutter, or his skin run hot and cold.

  Taji dragged his gaze up from Trenne’s long torso and the mottled colors of the speckles on his shoulders to that ridiculous headband that was less and less ridiculous the more he stared at it. He met Trenne’s eyes, almost on accident, as Trenne’s attention came up from Taji’s mouth, and Taji again remembered the shimmer.

  “Personally, I don’t think anyone should ever give the Mouth a weapon, but that’s just me.” Rodian’s voice was far away, but it was enough to make Taji blink, then look down.

  Taji pulled in a sour-sweet breath. Trenne went to a different part of the kitchen, where various IPTC machines had been set up, and returned in seconds with steaming cups of instant coffee.

  Taji was smiling before Trenne placed one in front of him. He put down his data device to hold the cup with both hands, then looked over when Trenne sat down opposite him. “Thanks.”

  He could see Trenne about to form the words, “It is my honor,” and narrowed his eyes. Trenne paused, apparently decided not to speak, then took a vaguely round, peach-colored fruit from the bowl and pulled one of the knives from his belt to peel it, the show-off.

  “What time did you get up? Did you even sleep?” Taji asked, or complained, with a disgruntled frown, but accepted a piece of fruit when it was offered.

  “I am flattered you would notice me,” Trenne answered mildly, which could have been sarcasm, although Taji wasn’t sure.

  “I’m serious,” Taji sniped back, around a second offering of tangy fruit. “I know it’s all a lot right now, but do they let you sleep?”

  Rodian dropped his gaze to his nadth and kept it there. He hummed, then stopped abruptly. His breathing seemed quieter.

  Trenne chewed thoughtfully. “There was much to see to,” he finally answered. “And I don’t need as much as you.” He selected another piece of fruit for himself. “Not even the ambassador needs as much sleep as you.”

  “Fuck off,” Taji said, smiling behind his cup. “I was up early. I had stuff to look up.” He lost his smile and glanced over to Rodian as he continued. “Sorry about last night, if I was weird when I was drunk.” He didn’t think he’d been inappropriate. The opposite, in fact. He had done all he could not to make his feelings for Trenne so obvious as to make Trenne uncomfortable.

  Trenne, naturally, wasn’t going to acknowledge that. He never did. “You were fine.”

  Taji’s face felt hot. Rodian darted a glance to him, then pursed his lips and looked away.

  Taji shook his head. “No. I wasn’t. I was, apparently, out of control—which is hilarious because I wasn’t a ‘go wild when intoxicated’ person, even in school.”

  Trenne put one hand flat to the countertop. “You were fine,” he repeated, louder. “They were inappropriate. They know they were inappropriate. In another time, they would not have been. But now they have their emperor for an example—” He stopped short right there and resumed eating.

  Trenne was very Sha. Perhaps more than anyone else Taji had met when it came to public self-control, and yet he was an ‘animal?’ It made no sense.

  “They called you names,” Taji remembered, and scowled at Lin as she strolled in. She was on-duty and in black fatigues.

  “Ignore that,” she commanded shortly. She had an accent in both ‘Asha and Anglisky that Taji had taken a while to understand. She wore a small utility knife at the back of her belt, as per IPTC regs, and another strapped to her thigh entirely for her own amusement. If she had an ornamental knife hidden on her person, the way those Shavians who identified as women were said to, Taji had never glimpsed it.

  Her coloring was pale, with swirls so white they were only visible in very bright light. Her hair and eyes, however, were very dark. She was a striking picture, with her height and in full uniform. She was the highest ranking member of the team after Trenne, and Shavian as well, although not from the capital city.

  “Do they call you names, too?” Taji pressed, completely disregarding her order since he was not under her chain of command. He wasn’t even supposed to be on this planet.

  She leveled a look at Taji that gave no answers, then turned to prepare some tea. She didn’t use the machines. The tea was something she’d purchased for her personal use. One advantage to being stationed in her native country, Taji assumed.

  Trenne continued to eat whatever was provided, along with his human-influenced coffee. Taji leaned forward to sniff at his cup and grinned when he detected sweetener. “A selfish desire for sweet coffee? Is this a lapse in your control at last, Trenne?” he gasped playfully, although Trenne’s fondness for artificially flavored coffees was well-known, and one of the few things Taji had ever seen the others tease their leader about.

  Trenne’s eyes met his, then Lin kicked a stool over to their “table” and startled Taji into jumping. It didn’t slow her down as she made a place between Taji and Rodian. She pushed some tea Rodian’s way, then turned to Taji.

  “Decent job with the shimmer, Ameyo,” she commented, “but your lip is almost bare.”

  “Oh. Shit.” Taji fumbled for a moment to bring the tiny tub out of his pocket. He dipped his thumb in the fine, lightly oiled powder, and swept it acro
ss his bottom lip. “Better?”

  Lin considered him, then hummed. “What do you think, sir?” she inquired calmly. “Gold looks good on him. Mouth could almost be meant for the emperor himself.”

  Rodian made a choking noise.

  Taji sputtered. He recovered a second later, glaring at Lin. His chest felt tight, his breathing too loud, his desperation obvious even without Shavian ears. He made himself look at Trenne.

  “He will honor us,” Trenne said softly before turning to his corporal. For half a second, Taji thought Trenne was implying someone else at the table was not honoring them. Perhaps he was.

  “I was—” Lin started, but Taji stood up and grabbed his coffee. His face was burning.

  “I—I have more work to do before we get going,” he excused himself. He nodded to everyone without quite pulling his gaze from Trenne’s, then realized what he was doing and forced himself from the room.

  He had to turn around to retrieve his data device a few seconds later, but by then the table was quiet.