Fifteen
The Vraxian regained consciousness slowly. He rubbed his face, the muzziness of his recent stupor persisting. Pulling himself to a sitting position, he checked his wounds. His body ached but seemed to be healing well.
His head, though, pounded like he’d been kicked by a dankar .
He looked through the cave opening. Dawn outside. How long had he been out?
A sound from the other side of the cave made him turn. The human was sitting on the ledge pointing her pulse blaster straight at him.
His hand automatically went to find the yashak control round his neck. He realized it was gone at the same time as he saw she was no longer wearing the collar. Kara tapped her throat triumphantly.
“Looking for something? Forget it. We’re playing by my rules now, snake-boy.”
The alien frowned. Anger was radiating off the small human in waves. Her body was stiff with fury, eyes dark with rage.
Inexplicably, he was hit by a sudden sense of shame. He didn’t understand why, but a bad feeling was creeping over him.
He’d done something. Something he shouldn’t have. But what?
He remembered tracking her across the desert. Fighting the feral desert creatures. And then...
A thought struck him.
How was he back in the cave? Had the human brought him here? Was she angry because she regretted helping him?
He started to stand.
“No!”
She gestured at him to stay down. Then, in case he was in any doubt that she was pissed, she hurled a string of insults at him.
He looked at the gun in her hand and thought how easy it would be to flick out one of his long serpetri and take it from her.
He frowned. Why did the thought of touching her with his serpetrus evoke such inexplicable sensations in him? Part guilt and part... part joy?
Now he was thoroughly confused.
She continued to yell at him in her crude Terran language. He focused on her lips as they spat out a barrage of words and an image wormed its way into his head.
The human. Naked. Pressed against him. And he was kissing her. His tongue in her mouth and his serpetrus in her…
The memory was fragmented, hazy. At first he thought it was a hallucination brought on by his recent infection. But the rage emanating off the human said otherwise.
He tried to piece together his fractured recollection. He’d been injured. Fighting infection. Then he’d smelled her scent. Her confoundingly magnetic scent. It made him feel whole and healed. So he’d picked her up and…
Drek.
He knew it wasn’t a dream, because Vraxians didn’t dream. What he saw in his mind’s eye could only have been real.
He’d tried to mate with the human.
His first thought, once the disconcerting truth had sunk in, was whether he’d hurt her. He looked at her closely.
She didn’t seem hurt. More angry than hurt. Actually, incandescent would be a better word. He was mildly surprised she hadn’t shot him already.
He tried to remember exactly what had happened. He was fairly certain he hadn’t completed the act, but there had definitely been intimacy between them. He had a very clear recollection of how her scent had intensified, filling his senses and driving his lust.
A hot tide of shame flooded through him. May Ayanlesh forgive him, he had acted like a mindless animal.
“Za devestar, hooman! Reh’len vedek.”
His explosive outburst halted her diatribe. She looked at him wild-eyed as he dragged himself to his feet. He turned towards her and she raised her weapon, her finger tightening on the trigger.
But he didn’t try to approach. Instead, he bowed his head and put his left fist to his right shoulder.
“Za farnor’aa.”
He sank down to one knee, still with his arm across his heart, his gaze fixed on the ground. And he didn’t move.
Kara’s eyes narrowed in recognition.
She’d read about this. It was called farnor, a show of regret and contrition. It was something Vraxians did to atone for their transgressions. He would not move until she forgave him – not for hours, nor even days. Not until he dropped from exhaustion.
It was one of their bizarre customs that had been held up as another example of their primitive ways.
Okay. Let’s see just how sorry you are, buddy.
She rested the gun on her knee and leaned back on the ledge, prepared to make him wait.
Time passed. The Vraxian didn’t move an inch.
Kara shuffled around to get more comfortable on the hard rock. The alien remained still.
She eyed his posture. One knee down, one arm up. Basically a stress position. He must be feeling it, and yet he hadn’t shifted an inch.
She wondered how often Vraxians performed farnor. Was it only for really serious mistakes? Or was it normal practice after a row over the washing-up?
An image of hen-pecked alien husbands trying to appease their angry wives popped into her head. Swiftly followed by musings over whether Vraxians actually got married.
When she checked the position of the suns, she estimated at least sixty minutes had passed. She counted another twenty in her head, just to be sure. But the Vraxian continued his penance without making a sound or moving a muscle.
Watching him kneeling in the dirt, Kara began to sense the blue alien was deeply sorry for what he’d done. And somehow, that made her feel a little better.
She holstered her blaster and broke the silence.
“Get up.”
She spoke brusquely. The alien didn’t move.
“Look, I don’t know the right words to release you from this. It’s called farnor isn’t it?” The Vraxian looked up in surprise. “Yeah, I know some things about you. About Vraxos. You can quit the farnor . But if you ever touch me again, I will shoot you.” She pointed her fingers at his head and pulled an imaginary trigger. “Got it?”
The alien understood. He had no doubt she would kill him at the first excuse. He lumbered to his feet and the pair of them stood awkwardly. Neither of them could quite meet the other’s eyes, the memory of what had happened between them still fresh.
The silence stretched.
This is stupid. Kara cleared her throat.
“Do you have any other clothes?” She gestured at his bare chest. “Your tunic was torn to pieces by those animals.”
The alien looked down at himself and shrugged. He seemed supremely untroubled by his half-naked status but she was finding it distracting. She searched her bag and pulled out one of the vacuum-packed SDF regulation T-shirts.
“It’s all I have,” she said, offering it to him.
He opened the packet and shook out the grey cotton top with a frown of disapproval. Kara understood his misgivings. At least it didn’t have ‘Space Defense Force’ emblazoned across it. This one simply had a motto.
Semper Fortis . Always valiant.
The Vraxian ripped holes in the back of it.
“Hey!” Kara bristled. “If you don’t want it you can just…” she trailed off as the alien pulled the T-shirt over his head, slipping his arms through the sleeves and his tentacles through the rips. “Ah. Okay, I see what you did there.”
The T-shirt was extra large but even so it was stretched taut across his pecs and shoulders.
Not that it was a bad look.
Kara folded her arms and adopted a brisk, business-like tone.
“Right, we have to make a plan. My beacon is broken and there’s no way of calling in a rescue. So for the time being we’re stuck here. We need to make some ground rules so we can co-exist. And our first priority is to find food and water.” She stopped. “You have no idea what I’m saying, do you?”
An idea struck her. She looked round the cave and found what she was looking for. The case from the Viper. Grabbing it up, she dropped it at the Vraxian’s feet.
“I found this. In your ship.” She watched as the alien opened it. “What is it?”
The alien didn’t answer straight away. He gazed at the syringe, his mind a whirl. Vannla’s Sword . How had this survived?
He lifted it out carefully and uncrewed the top to reveal a long needle that glinted in the sunlight. Thank Ayanlesh, it was intact. But was it worth wasting on the human?
Technically, he didn’t need her anymore. The fact that she’d found this meant she’d cleared enough debris off the Viper to gain access to the cockpit.
She must have done it while he was unconscious. A laudable effort, but it did mean her labor was no longer required. She was now just a burden on the remaining food and water supplies. The smart move would be to dispatch her.
And yet he was unaccountably intrigued by her. The human had forgiven him for the unforgiveable. She had accepted his farnor. On Vraxos, this was of no small significance.
And she’d saved his life. He couldn’t ignore that. She had saved him, after he had saved her. Honor dictated they were now in each other’s debt. It was an affront to the gods of Vraxos to preserve a soul only to sacrifice it on the altar of selfishness at a later date.
And that’s all?
He tried to ignore the voice inside his head. The one that told him he could rationalize it all he wanted but for some unfathomable reason he was drawn to her .
Yes, something about the female seemed to provoke his senses. He could scarcely deny that after what had happened earlier. And yes, it was unnatural and wrong.
But it was temporary. His aberration would right itself once he got off this spirit-forsaken planet. He had to believe that.
His train of thought was interrupted by the human.
“So? Is it medicine? Suicide shot? Recreational drug?”
The alien shook the syringe carefully.
“Dan’a lesh garon sharja, hooman, ” he explained.
She looked at him blankly.
He pointed at his mouth, then her forehead.
She still didn’t understand.
So he stabbed her in the neck with the needle.