155. Chapter One
Chapter One
S omewhere in Space
On the Misfit , a space satellite in the Procul Sector
Star
I don’t need to look at the screens to know what time it is. My internal clock is counting down the seconds until my midnight comm.
I have ten minutes and a few seconds, give or take.
Over the past two months, I’ve developed quite the pre-comm routine. After tidying the bridge, although there’s never anything out of place, I check the coils on the heating/cooling system and ensure the solar panels are properly adjusted.
After my heavy boots clang down the metal steps to the hydroponics room, I turn off all the water valves for the night, then return to the bridge to double-check all the hardware readings. All systems are fine except the oxygenator, which has been throwing wonky readings for the past three months. When I inspect it, the unit is always functioning fine. I’ve concluded it’s the gauge that’s malfunctioning. But I keep a close eye on it anyway.
If I were a weaker person, I’d have pics of Ar’Tok emblazoned on every screen all day long so I could moon over him. But I don’t allow myself that luxury. Looking at him becomes even more special if I deny myself all day, and just turn the pictures on about five minutes before our comm.
Even though neither side of our vid-chat works, I check the mirror in the head and make sure my brown hair is pulled into a neat ponytail, then slide into the captain’s chair.
It’s hard to hide the smile on my face as I finally allow myself to fill every screen in the room with Ar’Tok’s handsome face.
We’ve been talking every night at 0000 for the past two months. Although I’ve never actually seen him, nor has he seen me, I’ve got a pretty good imagination.
He says he’s of the Simkin race, so I searched the Intergalactic Database for hours—many, many pleasurable hours—looking at his handsome race. I chose maybe fifty pictures of the most attractive males and watch them on an endless loop as we converse.
His race all have burnished bronze skin and thick almost-golden horns that rise from the top of their foreheads and curl back. They wear their hair in long dreads and have pointed ears. Their race exudes sexy, masculine energy that does interesting things to my body.
It’s ridiculous I know, to moon over a male I’ll never have the opportunity to meet. But our talks are so exciting, and Ar’Tok’s voice is so deep and rumbly and irrefutably masculine that I’ll enjoy this small pleasure for as long as it lasts.
Every cell in my body lights up when the comm makes that almost-imperceptible click signaling a connection.
“Star?”
At the start of our relationship, I tried to ignore the delicious feelings swirling through my body from just the sound of his voice. Now though, I close my eyes and let the warm sparks roll through me from head to toe.
“Hi Ar’Tok. Tell me about your day.”
We play this game every night. I ask him about his day, and he answers in as few words as possible. Tonight he says, “I did my job. It’s not very exciting. How was your day?”
When it’s my turn at the game, I answer with just as much detail, “You know, more of the same. Just doing my best to keep the lights on.” I shrug as if he could see me.
And now we get to talk. Really talk. About nothing and everything. I’ve said more words to Ar’Tok in the last two months than I’ve spoken in the previous four years.
I never dreamed it could be this way with anyone. We talk endlessly about things I never thought I’d share.
“I had time to read most of the Philosophy of the Xantian Race , the book you mentioned yesterday,” he says. His voice is so low and intimate it awakens something deep inside me. I had bland sexual feelings before I met him, but for these last few months, I pay attention to the space between my legs during our conversations. Afterward, I notice how wet my panties are and how much I ache for . . . something.
“What did you think?” I ask.
He launches into a lengthy discussion of every aspect of the book. I’m the one who suggested he read it, yet it’s Ar’Tok who has so much to say about it—deep thoughts, conjectures, speculations, and hypotheses. We talk for almost an hour about the book and tangents and thoughts that we’ve never shared with another living soul.
Occasionally he places me on hold to do his job. He says he’s the comms officer on a starship. I assume he works for the Intergalactic Federation. When I’m holding for him, I allow myself to pull up images of enormous Federation starships and pour over pictures of their bridges. I visualize handsome Ar’Tok in his red and black Federation uniform, sitting stiffly in his black leather comms chair, performing official business.
I never hold it against him that he’s in the Federation. Although I’m only twenty-one, I understand that different species and different people have varying feelings about the Federation. I was brought up to hate them. Mom called them imperialists. Dad called them invaders.
But perhaps Ar’Tok really needed the job, or the money. Or maybe he truly believes the Federation is doing important work throughout the galaxy. Personally, I think they’re evil dictatorial despots, but we’ve never discussed it, which is probably a very good thing.
I grew up speaking mostly English because of my Mom, but am multilingual, speaking both Universal and my dad’s language—Whelpie. I speak Universal on our late-night comms so Ar’Tok will never know I’m human.
“Star?” his voice sounds breathless, as if he couldn’t wait to see if I’m still holding for him.
“Yes. I’m still here.”
“I’ve been listening to swacheck music from Cheredon,” he says. “It’s different from any we’ve discussed before. I didn’t like it at first. In fact, I hated it. But it’s grown on me. Care to hear a sampling?”
“You’ve turned me on to a lot of great new music. Go for it,” I tell him.
He pipes the music over our comm, and for a moment, I’m glad he can’t see my face. I’m sure my expression is more than skeptical. Shock would be more like it. Or maybe disgust. What I hear is screechy and discordant.
“I can imagine,” he says over the music, “you don’t like it yet. Here’s what made me appreciate it; listen for the flute melody in the background.”
Okay. Lovely lone flute playing counterpoint in the background. Then it becomes the foreground, and the beauty of the piece surprises me.
“I’m in awe. You figured out how to appreciate that ?” I say when the piece ends.
“I assumed there had to be something redeeming in all that dissonance. I found it,” he sounds proud of himself in his humble way.
I like him more every time we talk. I wish someday we could meet, but a Federation officer and an illegal human in an off-the-grid satellite who makes her living performing criminal hacks, most of which are against the Feds, is a relationship doomed to failure.
I’m going to enjoy this while it lasts, though.
“I wish I could see your face, Star,” he says, his voice rougher than before.
Glancing at the timestamp on my screen, I see we’ve been talking for more than an hour. We’re getting to my favorite part.
“I know. I wish I could see you too, Ar’Tok.” I scroll through the Simkin pics until I’m at my favorite one, then blow it up to just the face. The bronze warrior is so handsome he takes my breath away. Although he’s muscular and masculine, his expression is tender. It’s always this image I look at when we’re toward the end of our comm.
“I imagine you when I’m alone in my bunk Star; I can’t lie. Tell me again what you look like.”
I close my eyes and pretend he’s right next to me, whispering into my ear.
“Long brown hair I pull into a tail at the back of my head. I’m humanoid . . .” I can’t even tell him I’m human. Humans are prohibited in space. If the Feds apprehend me, they’d steal everything I own, then sell me. “My skin is beige, and my eyes are brown. And,” I blush a bit, but force myself to say it, “I always wear a smile when I talk to you, Ar’Tok.”
“Mmm.” I hear him breathe for a moment. “I always picture you with a smile, Star. Not a wide one with lots of teeth. Your teeth are white, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I picture you with a small smile, as if it’s meant for me and me alone.”
Oh yes. He always says something toward the end of our comm that makes the tips of my breasts tighten and gives me swirly feelings down below. That was it.
“I wear that smile a lot, Ar’Tok. A small smile that’s just for you.” Gods, I wish we could meet in person someday.
“And what do you picture that gives you that smile, Star?”
I suck in a breath and have a long debate in my mind. I want to tell him things I’ve never said, but I’m afraid to speak them out loud.
The way I imagine him in his Federation uniform, reminds me we’ll never meet. I can say what I want. Even if I scandalize him, I’ll never have to see the shocked look on his face.
“I . . . read books—not just books like the Philosophy of the Xantian Race . I read romance novels. I’ve found some very . . . compelling ones from planet Virago. There are things I imagine from the book, things I picture us doing, that put a smile on my face.”
He’s silent for so long I wonder if he’s terminated our comm. But I hear him breathing through the connection from millions of miles away. He has to know what I’m alluding to. Is this disgusting to a Federation Comms Officer?
“We read to each other all the time.” He pauses as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “Why don’t you read me your favorite passages?” Ar’Tok’s voice is quieter, deeper, like he’s murmuring right into my ear.
“You want to hear me read that type of book?” my voice has morphed into a high, embarrassed squeak.
“I’m going to close my eyes and picture a pretty humanoid with beige skin and brown eyes and brown hair that’s pulled into a tail. At first, I’m going to listen to your book, and then I’m going to imagine you’re the female in the book. Unless you tell me that would offend you.”
Gods! He knows exactly what type of book I’m talking about, and he wants to picture me as the heroine. My face heats in embarrassment even as I feel quivering between my legs. We’re really going to do this!
“And you, Ar’Tok?” I blurt. “How should I imagine you?” I’m flirting! I didn’t know I could do this.
“Picture a Simkin male, Star. Performing all the actions you’re going to describe.”
My mouth is so dry I need a long pull on my water. I take a fortifying breath as I cue up my favorite book on the computer station in front of me.
“You’re alone on your bridge right now?” I ask. “It’s just you and me?”
“Yes. I’m alone and waiting to hear your favorite part of your favorite book.”
I pull up the passage I’ve bookmarked, the one I’ve read almost daily since Ar’Tok and I accidentally discovered each other on comms late one night. The one I’ve acted out in my imagination with him a hundred times, not just when I’m reading, but when I’m picking vegetables in the hydroponic garden, or re- wiring the orbital tracking device, or when I’m using the food synthesizer to make dinner.
“It’s forbidden to have friendships between males and females on this planet,” I explain, “but the heroine Avaleigh, and the hero Ka'Ron have developed one. They sneak to the barn one evening and are alone for the first time.
“Ka’Ron looks at me as if I’m not wearing any clothes, as if he’s seeing me naked,” I read, my voice husky from embarrassment. “That searing look, as if he can’t wait to touch me, heats my skin. Then his gaze is on my lips, his arms surround me, and he dips his head, lowering his mouth toward mine so slowly I feel impatient.”
I wait, trying to read his mind. Maybe he’ll say something to stop me from making more of a fool of myself, but the comm is silent on his end.
“Should I keep reading?”
“I’m doing just what I said, Star. I’m picturing you as Avaleigh, imagining you naked just as Ka'Ron is doing,” his voice is so deep and rough he barely sounds like Ar’Tok.
A zing of excitement arrows through me as I realize it’s pictures of me in his head that are having this effect on him. I like it.
“His kiss is tender as he brushes softly against my mouth, then his tongue slips out to taste me. I open myself to him and revel in the feeling of him spearing into me. He moans, telling me with that deep hungry sound just how long he’s waited to be inside me, to enter me, to breach me.”
I clench my legs to stem the tide of arousal rolling through my body. I’ve read this passage a hundred times, but knowing Ar’Tok is listening, knowing he’s imagining doing these things to me, is making me burn in a way I’ve never felt before.
“The tips of my breasts have become hard points as they brush against the rough cloth of his shirt. I can’t wait for him to touch me there. I’ve decided tonight’s the night I’m going to give myself to him. Whatever he asks, he’ll receive.
“Grabbing his broad shoulders, I pull him closer. My tongue, emboldened, presses inside his mouth to taste him. He’s sweet as warm honey. His hand, swift and sure, slides under my bodice and finds my . . .”
Can I say these things to Ar’Tok? We’ve never talked like this. Although we’ve shown each other glimpses of our deepest thoughts, we’ve never spoken of sex.
“If it was me,” his voice rumbles into my earpiece, his timbre so deep it sends shivers up my spine, “I would cup Avaleigh’s breast, holding the weight of it in my palm. Delighting in the feel of it, hoping to hear her moan in pleasure.”
My eyes flare at the intimacy of his suggestion. I turn up my headphones, not wanting to miss a word he says.
“I would look into her eyes and make certain her glance said ‘yes’ and then pluck her nipples until I pulled a gasp from her throat. A good gasp, a gasp of pleasure. Then I would slip her blouse off her shoulders and gaze upon her lovely breasts, taking my fill of her before I’d bend my head to suckle at her breasts—first one and then the other. Close your book Star,” I’ve never heard his tone so forceful before, “and tell me what you would do if you were Avaleigh.”
Clever Ar’Tok. We can talk so intimately and pretend it’s all fiction.
I have to clear my throat so my dry mouth can make noise. “If I were Avaleigh, I would revel in the feeling, knowing I was allowing the male I cared for to explore me in such intimate ways. As I was waiting for him to lift me up and carry me to the soft pile of nearby hay, I’d sneak my gaze down the front of his body to see if I was affecting him as deeply as he was affecting me.”
“And Ka'Ron’s pants would be close to bursting for his female,” Ar’Tok murmurs into my ear. “He’s been stroking himself to thoughts of her every night since he met her. He would never admit that each time he spilled his seed, he called her name into the silent dark of night.”
“And a female of worth would never touch herself alone in her bed. But Avaleigh held a dark secret,” I admit, “she’d explored her body under her covers, imagining her hands were Ka'Ron’s hands, that the fingers that plucked her nipples were his, that the hand that brought her release was his.”
“Star,” Ar’Tok says. Instead of shattering the moment, his use of my name draws me in, hinting that what’s to come next isn’t going to be playacting anymore. He’s going to tell me something real. “I dream of you every night. Every single night since I stumbled onto your signal. If we were ever to meet, I would worship your body. More than Ka'Ron with Avaleigh, I would adore you.
“I would taste every part of you. If I ever had the opportunity to be with you, even if it was just for one night, I would taste you. Every inch of you. I would memorize it. If I lived to be one hundred, I’d be able to recall the sweetness of—”
A loud buzzer goes off, along with every red warning light on board. The computerized male voice announces, “Warning! Warning! Oxygenation apparatus malfunction! Warning! Warning!”
“I need to check this out!” I say as my body transforms from relaxed and aroused to high alert. I bound out of my chair and run to the mech room to see if it’s another false alarm or if the oxygenator really isn’t working.
Usually, when the dial displays a malfunction, I check the release valve, which emits a stream of air. This tells me the machine is producing oxygen and also re-sets the dial.
When I release the valve, though, no air comes through. None. The dial still reads zero. I do what I can, banging on the dial, re-starting the mechanism, changing the hoses. It’s the converter itself that quit working. After doing everything I know how to do, I realize I’m screwed.
I grew up on this satellite. I know everything there is to know about it—my dad saw to that. With just me in this vessel, I have twelve hours of shallow breathing before I die. That’s it. End of story. I can’t fix this.
I saunter to the bridge so as not to expend an iota more energy than I have to, and sink into the captain’s chair. Although I didn’t expect Ar’Tok to still be waiting, he’s desperately calling my name.
“Star! Please answer me! Are you alright?”
“Oxygenator isn’t working,” I say, trying to keep my anxiety down so I don’t use more air than is necessary.
“Can your mech fix it?”
“I’m alone on this vessel. I am the mech. No.”
“Get off the comm with me and call the authorities for help!” he orders. “No. Tell me your coordinates and let me do it.”
“I’m human. No one would come help,” I explain as calmly as I can.
“Your coordinates!” he roars. “I’ll come get you.”
I hear him calling his captain and pilot to the bridge. I know the outcome even though he doesn’t. The Feds aren’t going to waste an ounce of fuel to go out of their way on a fool’s errand to rescue a little Earth female.
I don’t say any of this, though. I don’t want to waste my breath.
After he calls his captain, I tell him my coordinates, then let my fingers fly over my keyboard as I send out emergency messages on the off chance someone will rescue me. It’s all I can do.
Ar’Tok
“What’s the emergency?” Captain Zar demands as he flies through the bridge’s double doors.
“Emergency hail from a lone human female.” I wait a few modicums until Axxios one of our pilots, joins us. I tell him her coordinates and the situation.
Axxios has already slid into the pilot’s chair and is punching her coordinates into the computer.
“With hyperdrive at top speed, we can be there in just under thirteen hoaras ,” he says.
“Please, Zar,” I ask.
I’m relatively new on this ship full of escaped slaves. They rescued me and a few others, then commandeered the ship we were being hauled on. They scrubbed that vessel of all identifying information, renamed it the Devil’s Playground , and stationed half their fighters on each ship. We’ve stayed side-by-side in space, making certain we have competent staff on both ships before we separate.
I learned comms, trying to make myself useful, hoping they wouldn’t evict me from the ship at the first stop.
They seem to have accepted me, although I steer clear of everyone as much as possible. But rescuing someone they’ve never met? For no reason other than I asked? It defies logic.
“Yes,” is all Zar says before Axxios kicks the vessel into hyperdrive. “Now Ar’Tok, tell me who this female is, what you know about her, and what’s the emergency. Before you do, call the Devil’s Playground and let them know why we’re speeding away from them.”
“I still do my job when I’m working at night,” I explain after I inform the other ship where we’re going. “But I . . . found a female I talk to sometimes.” Growing up in prison, I learned how to lie well at a young age. The less I admit about how long and how frequently I speak with Star, the better.
“We were talking tonight, just for a minima or two, and her oxygenator malfunctioned. She says she has twelve hoaras of oxygen left.”
“Ar’Tok,” Zar says, his voice tight with disappointment, “you’re a valued member of our team. We don’t expect you to work every minima of the day and night. If you talk to a friend on comms, you’re not breaking any rules.” He pinches the bridge of his furred, feline nose.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. Call Savannah to the bridge. She’s the best mechanic we have. Perhaps she can help your friend fix the issue.”
My stomach tightens into a ball of writhing snakes. Is he going to call off the rescue mission?
Moments later, Savannah runs onto the bridge and begins a technical conversation with Star, whose comm is still open.
“That female knows her stuff,” Savannah says when she signs off, “she’s already tried everything I suggested.”
Captain Zar and Savannah leave the bridge; now it’s just Axxios and me.
“I’m putting in headphones to listen to music,” Axx says. “You talk to your female in private.”
“Timetable?” I ask.
“Ten hoaras , fifty minimas ,” he says sadly.
I look at the counter I set the moment Star told me she had twelve hoaras . It says ten hoaras and ten minimas. Barring a miracle, we’re going to arrive forty minimas too late to save her.
It doesn’t surprise me when a giant fist squeezes my heart. I’ve known I had feelings for Star since shortly after we began talking. But the depth of my anguish shocks me.
“Star. You there?”
“Yes.”
The sound of that one word tells me all I need to know about how scared she is. She never told me her age, but at this moment, she sounds like a little girl. A terrified little girl.
“I forbid you to talk Star. Not like our usual conversations. I don’t want you to waste a molecule of air unless you must say something. You just listen, okay? Just use my voice as a lifeline, something to hold onto.”
“Mmm,” she says. I resent even that little hum. I don’t want it to snatch half a modicum off her life.
“I’m sure you have questions. Don’t ask them. I’ll tell you everything I probably should have told you weeks ago.
“I’m on a ship of runaway slaves. I tried not to lie to you, but I’m pretty sure I led you to believe I work for the Federation. We’re far from it. In fact, we’re on the run from them.
“Several lunars ago, ten Earth females were abducted and thrown into cells with ten male gladiators on the ship we’re coming to rescue you with. It was a slave ship. The gladiators and Earth females staged an overthrow and confiscated the vessel.
“Two lunars ago, I was on a ship being transported to a slave auction when another gladiator and myself, as well as two human females, were rescued. We commandeered that slave ship, so now we’re a little band of escaped slaves with two vessels.
“I bet you were worried you wouldn’t be safe with us because you’re human. When we rescue you Star, you’ll be welcomed among us. Rescued, welcomed, and safe,” I reassure her calmly even as the back of my mind is mourning the forty dracking minima s we lack. I shake my head, trying to erase the picture of a little human curled into a ball in the corner on the bridge of her ship. Dead.
I keep talking and calming and comforting her. When I run out of things to say, I read to her from a book she told me was one of her favorites. When my voice runs dry, I play music for her. Not the swacheck music that is an acquired taste, but things she’s told me over the last few lunars that she loves.
“Star? Sweet? Can you hum for me? Just to reassure me that you’re awake?” I caught myself at the last moment, so I said the word ‘awake’ instead of ‘alive’.
“Mmm,” is all she says.
“Hum if you want me to shut up. Maybe I’m boring you.” I try to lighten the mood.
She’s silent. I figured she would be. I hope my words and silly songs and stories are something she can hold onto.
The countdown clock says two hoaras , eleven minimas .
“Please don’t talk, but I want you to think about all the things you want to do after we rescue you. You never really told me much about your life, but I’ll bet there are places you always wanted to explore and activities you wanted to try.
“Picture it, Star. Planets you want to investigate. Perhaps it’s been a long time since you’ve been to a zoo, or swam in the ocean, or tasted exotic fruits.”
It’s not hard for me to come up with hundreds of ideas of things she might want to try. I’ve had all these thoughts myself, a thousand times. Growing up in prison, seldom leaving my cell, I dreamed of many things I wanted to explore. Now I’m just listing them for Star, giving her beautiful pictures for her mind to hold onto while the oxygen in her satellite vanishes.
“I’ve read that the ocean tastes like salt. Wouldn’t it be fun to experience that?” I ask. “Or imagine lying on fine blue sand on the shores of the Ocean of Tranquility on Ortheon, on your back with the sun pouring down on your face. I bet it’s peaceful,” I lower my voice in awe, encouraging her to visualize such a calm place, hoping it gives her serenity.
“Remember the feel of rain on your face, the fresh smell of it.” I can’t imagine this, since I’ve never experienced it, but maybe she can. “How about the wind blowing through your long brown hair? Remember the smell of a garden, Star? The swirling scents of a hundred different flowers perfuming the air? Or the soft feel of your beloved pet’s fur as it curls on your lap?”
Glancing at the countdown clock, I see she has twelve minimas left. My jaw quivers as I try to hold back tears. I feel desperate.
“How long, Axxios?”
“Thirty-two minimas , my friend. There’s a contingent of males at the gangway, already dressed in spacesuits. My mate Brianna’s bringing you one. You can put it on here. Keep talking to your female until the last moment. But if she’s alive she’ll want to see you first, so at the last moment, run to the gangway.”
Every muscle in my body tightens. I want Star to live with every fiber of my body, and if by some miracle she’s still alive, when she sees me, that little smile she told me about will disappear. She’s looked at the Intergalactic Database and seen pictures of normal Simkins. Handsome males the color of burnished metal.
In the name of all that’s holy, what will the little human think when she sees my ruined face? My ravaged body? The discoloration of my skin and horns?
It doesn’t matter. What matters is that she lives.
She said she had twelve hoaras . That couldn’t have been a scientific statement, could it? It had to be an estimate. An estimate that only had to be twenty minimas off.
“You be sure she sees your face first when you rescue her,” Brianna says optimistically as she hands me the suit. “It will calm her, Ar’Tok. Let her hear your voice. Hold her hand. She’ll live through this,” she reassures, even though she doesn’t know the number on the countdown clock has already reached zero and I haven’t heard a hum from Star in over ten minimas .
“Dr. Drayke and Dax have the hover stretcher and oxygen mask at the gangway. Beat them to her if you can. Give her your strength.”
Brianna’s expression is so caring, so concerned, it makes me feel guilty. None of the good people on this ship know my shame. I’ve succeeded in keeping it a secret. They’d kick me out at the next stop if they knew my transgressions.
“Thank you, Brianna. You’re a good female. I’m glad you’ve found two males who love you,” I say of Axxios and Braxxus, her silver and gold mates.
“Tell Star you’ll see her in a minima , and get your ass to the docking bay,” Axxios urges.
“Star,” I say into the comm. “If you can still hear me, hold on a few minimas more. I’ll be right there.”
I run to the airlock right as the doors open. After working her magic, Savannah opens the entry into Star’s ship. I rush in, unerringly finding my way to the bridge.
Red lights are flashing and klaxons are blaring, but I ignore everything as I look for Star. There’s a little pile of clothes under the captain’s computer station—a pile of clothes and a head with a hank of long brown hair.
“Here!” I yell. The doctor and Stryker are right behind me, and a moment later, after I lift her onto the stretcher and they’ve placed an oxygen mask over her face, they run with her back to our ship. I’m so focused on Star, it’s surprising that I catch the vid screens out of the corner of my eyes.
There must be ten of them on the bridge; they’re all set to a picture of a handsome Simkin male. A normal Simkin with bronze skin and perfectly-formed horns. One who isn’t scarred and damaged. One who looks nothing like me.