Chapter 29
Fundamental Incompatibility
Orange Icthian blood swirled with the crimson human equivalent in the drain by her feet, a streaky blur that remained distinct as it disappeared into the pipes.
How poignant. Even our blood cannot mix.
Fia sank down to the tile floor of the shower and let her head tilt back into the stream of water.
She had struck her own commander. Far beyond that, she had assaulted him.
She had to be pulled off him before she ripped his throat out.
If Theos hadn’t separated them, she could have undone everything.
The image of Davik pinned down with Rel Parovek atop him brought out a snarl of anger that crumbled into sobs. She couldn’t do this. There was no balance to be found. She could either break her oath or break her heart.
Even if she turned her back on her people, that would not deliver him into a life of peace.
She was forever a fugitive in his world.
A creature branded an unbound, feral risk.
An outsider even among criminals. She knew that if she asked, he would bend the world to meet her where she was.
But what sort of life would that be for him, truly?
They had not said the words to seal it, but she could see the trajectory of a future together with him.
The pure devotion in his eyes was intoxicating, dangerous.
It meant he would forget himself, for her.
He would endure living on the fringes of his world, with her.
He would forget his dreams of feeling grass underfoot and rain on his skin, for her.
She couldn’t take that from him.
Another guilty pang shot her in the chest. She was comparing her worries about his discomfort versus Icthian survival. All she had ever wanted was to fight for a better civilization, one without the yoke of Sol to ruin everything.
Such a civilization could have, would have, a space for people like Davik to live and thrive, though.
Somewhere in the endless possibilities was a future she could help create.
If her people succeeded, they could make a world here where he was safe.
A world where control of his destiny was returned into his own hands.
What a beautiful world that would be. For him.
The intense urge to protect him was not something she could ignore or dismiss with logic. It was a deep, primal sensation.
The soft murmur of his voice had brought her such comfort, such clarity.
The way he listened to her with such rapt attention, almost reverence.
Adoration, but not in that isolating way she had experienced in the past. Not a fascination with her because of her differences, but curiosity about their similarities.
He made her feel like a unique glimmer of light in the sky.
A star that he could name, point to, and describe.
She had spent so long dampening her emotions, trying not to drown out those around her.
But he painted a world where she stood in stark contrast, and he looked at her as if her guiding light was all that he needed.
What could she even give him in return? What would ever deserve that sort of affection?
She searched her mind through every interaction they had, but she couldn’t summon a single example of what she brought him that could ever even the scales.
Sure, she had learned how to make him melt and whimper, and she could bend datastreams and neutralize station guards, but those were paltry things in the grand scheme.
I have never fallen so deeply that I needed to engage beyond shallow exchanges. I am … lost.
The water ran clear. She had washed her hands clean of the blood of her commander and her lover. The self-pity and indulgent self-flagellation would have to continue another day. There was much to do.
She knocked on Davik’s door quietly, cursing herself for not just pinging him to see if he was awake. His rest was important, but the commander was recovered, lucid, and demanding they all meet to discuss the “engagement” from the night before.
She had evaded the tense reunion by spending the night in the observation tank. Her injuries had been minor enough that she did not need to linger in the mess hall with Theos as he worked to bandage up the commander.
Further scouring of the datastreams while she was in the tank wasn’t truly needed. It was just an excuse she used to buy herself some time. But evasion would not change the facts: Parovek was her superior, and she had assaulted him. This was not something she could let fester.
Despite the thick layer of translucent gel bandaging, Davik’s face still crinkled into a smile when his door opened.
Or at least half of it did. She was relieved to see his grin, but the mangled flesh she could spy beneath the gel was heart-wrenching.
Four distinct ragged cuts from his forehead to his chin marred his skin, and the strike had not spared the warm amber eye caught in its path.
With shaking hands, she pulled him into her arms and pressed a kiss to his brow.
“It’s okay, Fi,” he murmured, nuzzling into the side of her neck. “I’m all right. You’re alright. It’ll be okay.”
“That is what I am supposed to say to you,” she replied, her voice wavering.
“Yes, because it’s good advice,” he replied, giving her a soft squeeze. “C’mon, we’ll get this melding of the minds out of the way. Then, we can curl up together, and I can see how much sensual massage therapy I can exchange for some sympathy points, alright?”
She couldn’t help but smile. Her ever-optimistic and insatiable little engineer somehow made even this moment an opportunity for playful banter.
“You have earned many points for your suffering. I think you can exchange them for far more than a sensual massage.”
As they entered the mess hall, the atmosphere was crackling with energy Fia had not sensed in months. It had been so long since she had been around an unbound Icthian that she almost didn’t recognize the sensation of the Chorus. That innate, unheard, beautiful resonance of empathic frequencies.
It was dense with pain, confusion, irritation, and betrayal. It was both unpleasant and wholly welcome. A familiarity she had been hunting for that, even in this sour state, she was eager to let roll over her senses.
Theos and the commander sat on one side of the table. Fia, Carissa, and Davik sat opposite. To those who could not hear the Chorus, it was a silent stalemate, with nobody daring to speak.
Until Carissa’s patience wore out.
“All right,” she sighed, clapping her hand on the desk with an irritated thud.
“Look, I’ve been drunk and punched the wrong person in a bar fight before.
” She pointed at Davik, wincing at his bandaged face.
“Though I didn’t have claws or swords like you two, so the aftermath was less gruesome.
The point is, shit happens. Shit happened.
Past tense. So, say sorry, shake hands, and make nice so we can get this show back on the road. ”
Fia felt her stomach tighten. Apologies were an odd thing with Icthians. Apology is enacted, not spoken. Same with gratitude. Solving with words alone was a weak, human-centric impulse. Icthian language and culture had not yet adopted the practice of verbal diplomatic shorthand.
But that was her perspective from hundreds of years ago. Theos seemed to utilize it just fine. That particularly sharp facet of her culture might have been buffeted away over the centuries. And she had no grasp of how much time had passed for her commander.
For her, it had only been months since she awoke. For him, it could have been decades. Perhaps centuries, if the Fleet had found a way for him to enter a regenerative cycle without planet-side spawning pools.
If the Fleet lives. I am making many assumptions. Perhaps he is just a lingering mote of that old age, same as I.
The commander took a long inhale through his slitted nostrils, his eyes briefly twinkling with vibrant violet pulses. Icthians healed quickly, but it would likely be a day or two until he could remove the bandages from the gash she had left along his jaw and his claw-mangled tendrils.
Rel Parovek bristled, his sharp teeth bared.
Her own protective anger flared around her with a warning tone that echoed in the Chorus between them.
Rather than meet her gaze, he lazily stretched his neck and sighed in irritation.
A resonating sentiment of annoyance, not anger, followed the gesture.
He extended his clawed hand across the table towards Davik before speaking in a low, rumbling monotone.
“I am Rel Parovek, commander of Riva Squadron. You and yours risked much to save me, and in my stupor and haze, I harmed you. For this, I deeply, truly—” He drew in another breath, letting it out with an irritated growl and a nearly imperceptible eye roll. “Apologize.”
Davik gripped his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Apology accepted.”
Her eyes locked on the exchange. Davik’s hand was dwarfed by the commander’s, and the gesture ended as quickly as it began, without bloodshed. Diplomacy was not what the commander was known for. He was one for evisceration, not ambassadorial behavior. This was unprecedented.
Fia felt the tension in her shoulders evaporate in her baffled confusion.
What is the term that humans use for when the impossible has occurred? That hell has frozen over? Perhaps much, much more has changed while I slumbered.
“I saw what they were doing to you. Don’t get me wrong, my face hurts like hell, and I’m gonna be peeved if I have to wear an eyepatch,” he said with a dry laugh. “But, you went through some heavy trauma, and I am unfortunately shaped like the people that inflicted that hurt on you.”
Fia felt her heart swell. She didn’t understand how he could be so amiable. The commander might have cost him the use of one of his eyes. He might have killed him if she had been too late.
But here he was, wrapping this gruesome situation in a shroud of empathy.