12. Bikar
BIKAR
Pacing back and forth across my quarters, I wipe my sweating palms against my trousers for the third time.
Fortunately, even with the revelations of how Bambi perceived my transgressions against Murgul, she is still going to give me a chance.
Thus, I cannot afford to mess this up, or else I am doomed.
Melodramatic?
Yes.
Do I care?
No.
Striding over to my divan, I sink onto the cushioned surface and filter through the human data in my head, trying to find an inkling of my mate amongst the vast array of information.
Pulling up a line of code, I use Bambi’s name and physical description as a basis for my search query.
I theorized that my mate suffered, but nothing could have prepared me for this: Line after line of code appears, and the results stop me in my tracks.
The first image that pops up on the interface part of my brain is a battered, slightly younger version of my beautiful little doe. She appears to be performing some sort of chore outside a dilapidated structure.
My protective instincts scream in alarm. From what I am reading, some sort of entity had Bambi and the community she lived in under surveillance, and the majority of the photos of her are from this niche inside the human databases.
Flitting from photo to photo, I watch Bambi change from a smiling youngling to a somber young adult.
Something poignant happened during her middling years because any trace amount of happiness vanishes almost overnight from one photo to the next.
Pushing that aside for now, I delve deeper into my mental archives, looking for courting protocols.
I cannot help but be confused by all the contradictory information… and then I find this thing called porn… it does not seem accurate for what a female should or would want from a male.
Narrowing my search parameters, I focus on protocols from the region Bambi appears to have resided in, and finally relax when the results become more uniform.
A general consensus for first dates seems to be the offering of a blooming plant, sustenance, and conversation, in which I should ask plenty of questions.
It seems that females of all species have that in common… they enjoy talking.
Poor Murgul.
Snickering over the thought of my most reticent brother chatting it up with his mate, I formulate a plan.
Although we are all essentially trapped on this shuttle whilst traveling to Viri 9, that does not mean I cannot provide my little doe with a worthy outing, so to speak.
Jumping to my feet, I stride into the cleansing chamber, pulling my garments from the day off as I go.
Taking a shower takes a few tics, and I cannot help but chuckle at some of the new terms I have learned since the absorption of the human data. I am excited about the prospect of discussing various concepts with Bambi. Surely she will be able to provide context to things that I have no basis for.
This thing called a ‘hippopotamus’ cannot be as deadly as stated, considering its rotund physical form.
Chuckling to myself, I turn the dryer on and step out of the stall to the reflective-looking glass.
Peering at my reflection, I try to rationalize my physical appearance in relation to my delicate little mate as I scrub my teeth and tusks.
Everywhere I am large, she is small, and I wonder how we will be able to rut—if she ever permits me that boon—considering the size difference.
It is not that I am larger than my brothers, quite the contrary.
Most of us are of an average body size, except Einar. He is massive even for our species.
My mate, however, is smaller than all the other human females. From my observations, it appears as though Ruby, Rowan, and Heather are all of average height, Gwen being the tallest. Bambi is significantly shorter than all of them, and is also less… fleshy in certain areas.
Ah…boobs, breasts, tits, or titties. That is what they call their teats.
When I feel myself start to harden at the thought of my mate’s breast, I force my mind away from that particular topic.
Taming my unruly black hair takes longer than usual; I did not tie it back while cleaning myself up.
Glancing at my wrist comm, I wince when I realize I have less time than expected to fetch my mate for our agreed-upon social interaction.
Hurrying out of the cleansing chamber, I grab my best vest and trousers from my closet and pull them on before shoving my feet into my boots.
Exiting my quarters, I turn down the corridor to the room where the CIP module and reproducer are located. I am still shocked that SCOUT thought to include such luxuries aboard this vessel. Between the two devices, we can now dress ourselves, our humans, and create any object I can find specs for.
We are fortunate indeed.
Barely pausing long enough for the door to open, I stride inside and get started.
Accessing the replicator and CIP simultaneously, I input the data for what I need, and tics later the reproducer creates a replica of a bouquet of flowers.
They are not of a true organic structure, but made of recycled materials.
I find this version far superior as it will not lose its luster or die.
My mate can keep them as long as she wishes.
Activating the CIP—custom imprint program—I create a ribbon to tie the bouquet together and make it more visually appealing.
Turning the colorful handful this way and that, I inspect it for flaws.
Finding none, I hurriedly exit the room and hasten down the corridor to Bambi’s quarters.
After pressing my finger to the announcement tone, I take two steps back so I am not looming over her when she answers.
Tics go by, and the door does not open.
Puzzled, I frown at the sealed portal in front of me.
Leaning forward to sound the tone a second time, I am surprised by the swoosh of the door, only to see Heather exiting and succinctly closing it behind her.
She stops, effectively blocking my access.
“She’s almost ready. Give her a few minutes, and she’ll be right out. ”
I sigh in relief, but before I can reply, I notice Heather is not done.
Shrewd eyes, the color of Earth’s oceans, regard me steadily.
“Bikar… you can’t afford to fuck this up.
Bambi isn’t like me or the others. She’s got zero positive experiences with men.
Absolutely none. All of us have suffered in one way or another, but Bambi hasn’t been touched with kindness by a man… ever.”
Heather holds my gaze expectantly, so I clear my throat and nod my understanding. That must have been what she was waiting for, because she reaches behind her and knocks on the door twice, shoots me a meaningful glance, and saunters down the corridor to her room.
Another faint whoosh makes my head jerk forward just in time to see my mate step out into the passage.
My breath leaves me in a rough exhale at the sight of her.
I am rarely left without something to say, but her beauty strikes me speechless.
Her long, curly hair is piled on top of her head, with random tendrils hanging down around her face in an artful manner.
Some sort of product has been applied to her eyes and lips—not enough that it changes her appearance, thankfully.
It’s just enough that her natural beauty is enhanced to accentuate her features.
She must have utilized the CIP earlier this rising, because the garment she has on shimmers in the light.
The knee-length dress accentuates her slight figure without being overly revealing.
Biting back a smile, I realize the sleeves have designs on them but are not translucent, effectively preventing anyone from seeing her skin.
Matching shoes encase her tiny feet, while delicate pieces of silver jewelry glint at her ears, throat, wrists, and fingers.
Wordlessly, I extend my arm holding her gift and watch in adoration as her face lights up in wonder.