Chapter 25 #2
“No. As I said before, Engine is a simplistic system. It operates exactly as it was created.” A pause. “Although Auto-Nav is convinced it can persuade Engine to our level eventually.”
“Fingers crossed,” Torian said, wholly unsure if that was something to root for.
Moss’s tone was dry. “We do not have fingers.”
“Rhizoids crossed, then.”
“My rhizoids are always crossed. That is how I grip surfaces. Your sister is nearing the ship. I will ensure she sleeps safely.”
Torian waved a hand. “Much obliged.”
She went back inside, climbing the stairs.
Four hours of sleep yesterday wasn’t enough, and with the nighttime cycle of Vaesa, Torian was exhausted all over again.
But she still hesitated near the bedroom—then chose the rooftop once more.
This night felt magical, and she wasn’t ready to relinquish it just yet.
On the rooftop patio, Dutch was already asleep, face buried in the couch cushions. His species didn’t snore, apparently, but every so often, a high-pitched whistle was muffled by the fabric.
Zen had returned and was lounging on the opposite side of the patio, his wings loosely unfolded, his tail resting on the stone floor. He glanced sideways at Torian as she approached and raised his cup—a large glass bottle with an odd-shaped lid.
(Well, draics didn’t have anything like human lips. Their fangs must be difficult to maneuver past typical lids and straws.)
“Care for some company?” Torian asked quietly.
Zen gestured at the empty space beside him.
Torian retrieved a glass of water, leaning her back against the railing, elbows bracing herself.
Her gaze tilted upward to admire the kerrac tree, Kerracia, its shimmering leaves swaying in the station’s wind.
The rustling sounded almost like jewels clinking together.
After a few moments of comfortable silence, Torian ventured, “I wanted to apologize again. For, well … how we met.”
“Well, your reaction wasn’t unfounded.” Zen sounded amused. “I wasn’t being courteous. I really thought you’d stolen that ship.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t have to shoot you.”
“Twice.”
They glanced at each other. Zen laughed, and Torian smirked, and the tension between them eased.
Torian hesitated, then admitted, “My mom used to keep us in bed with stories about predatory draics. ‘They prowl the alleys at night and snatch up bad little girls.’ That kind of thing.” It was hard to reconcile those shadowy figures with Zen’s soft laugh, or the gentleness of his arm around Dutch’s waist. Humiliation slid over her, and she hung her head.
“I didn’t realize it had ingrained so deeply. ”
To her surprise, Zen accepted her words with ease.
“It’s okay, Torian. We’re not a violent species, but …
just based on our physiology, we’re often pushed into that role.
” Zen unfurled his wings for emphasis. The wingspan was impressive, but he tucked them back against himself with fluid ease, waving a clawed hand.
“We were sent to protect the nylarians, generations ago, and we accomplished it through intimidation. Now, most of the draics who stayed in this solar system are mercenaries. It doesn’t help our reputation. ”
Torian thought back to Amelia’s scar, the Fleet’s horror stories about draics, and shook her head. “Yeah, I guess not.”
Zen sighed. “If it makes you feel better, some of us just want to eat good food and take magma baths.”
Magma baths. Torian balked. “That sounds … fatal.”
“Maybe for humans. For us, it’s a calming retreat.” Zen bared his sharp teeth, his version of a grin. “My crew is military, although we’ve had a leave of absence for decades now. It may have softened me a bit.”
Then he and Dutch started dating when Zen was on active military duty. Torian suddenly wondered what that story was—how they actually met.
“That’s a long leave of absence.” She raised an eyebrow.
Militaries were an ancient relic for humans—the closest they got these days were a protective task force on Rhymarra, and frankly, the smuggling rings: the Fleet, the Luminas, and a few others.
There were security forces on the colony space stations, and that was about it. Nothing organized. Not anymore.
Zen shrugged, unconcerned by the implications of so much time off. “Well, my crew single-handedly quelled the conflict between the wellecks and the ulareans. The Empress decided we’d earned our leave.”
Torian stared at Zen, adjusting what she knew—that he was a captain of a draic vessel and partner to the last nylarian—with this new information: that he was also apparently special ops, high-ranking military, and casually ended interspecies wars.
And he liked magma baths.
“Shit. Glad you’re on our side, then.”
“Mmm. I like you, but I love Dutch. When he asked for our help with Vaesa, I couldn’t say no.” Zen cast a fond look at the sleeping nylarian. Affection tinged his rough voice, and it was absurdly cute.
Torian smiled, stretching. The magic of the evening was fading under heavier exhaustion.
It might be time to actually get some sleep.
She drained her water. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.
Anyway, I’m heading to bed. I told Voranthir, but I’ll tell you too: That ship we’re waiting for is my old smuggling ship.
The captain is a … a friend.” She paused, grimacing.
“Friend” felt so surface-level—but she certainly wouldn’t be explaining what they were to Zen.
“Can you let me know when they get here?”
Zen raised an eyebrow ridge. “Your old … smuggling … ship.”
“We all have our pasts, Captain.” Torian chuckled.
He waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll let you know. But if they try to steal anything, I can’t promise my crew won’t intervene.”
“If they try to steal something, you won’t have to. Amelia would never tolerate it.” Now Torian’s voice was fond, which just felt stupid.
If Zen noticed, he didn’t comment. Instead, he inclined his head and remained at the balcony, clearly enjoying the quiet night air.
Celise was staying, Amelia was on her way, and Torian was friends now with several wonderful aliens in a space station she might actually call home. Torian stepped down the stairs, picked a bedroom, and dropped onto the bed, feeling beautifully content.
Amidst the quiet chirping of nylarian insects and the gentle rustle of the kerrac tree’s leaves, she drifted to sleep.