Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The data pad slipped from Corinne’s fingers and clattered against the desk.
“Anya, what does this say?” She pointed to a line of Galactic Standard text, but the symbols swam in front of her eyes like fish darting through murky water.
Anya leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the screen. “Something about… ship protocols? I think that symbol means ‘safety,’ but I’m not sure about the rest.”
Three days aboard the patrol ship, and her brain felt stuffed with cotton.
The written language program Tarak had provided was thorough—exhaustingly thorough—with modules covering everything from basic greetings to complex navigational terminology.
She’d thrown herself into it with the same determination she’d once applied to learning Shakespearean sonnets for her dissertation, but Galactic Standard had a logic that defied everything she knew about language.
The grammar shifted depending on the speaker’s species. Verb tenses included options for past events that might still be ongoing in alternate timelines. And the written form used characters that looked like someone had let a spider crawl through ink and then dance across the page.
Mikoz fussed from his crib, pulling himself up on the side. He was doing that more and more often these days. She saved her progress on the language module and crossed to pick him up, cradling his warm weight against her chest.
“Hey, little one,” she murmured. “Ready for breakfast?”
He babbled eagerly as she mixed up a small quantity of nutrient powder with water to make a cereal-like paste.
He would be eating solid food soon, she thought as he slurped eagerly at the spoon-like utensil Selik had provided, and her eyes threatened to fill with tears.
He was growing up so fast and she wanted to be there for every minute of it.
Anya had returned to her own studies, bent over a data pad with fierce concentration. The girl attacked learning with the same intensity she applied to everything else—all or nothing, complete focus or complete refusal.
The door chimed and Anya’s head snapped up, wariness flooding her features. Three days of relative safety hadn’t erased the instinct to treat every unexpected sound as a potential threat.
“It’s probably Selik,” she said, trying for reassurance she didn’t quite feel.
“He usually doesn’t come until evening.”
True. Selik had established a pattern over the past few days—checking on them in the morning before starting his shift, then returning in the evening to share a meal and conversation.
He frequently lingered after the children were asleep, but he hadn’t spent the night again. Midday visits were unusual.
“Enter,” she called.
The door slid open to reveal not Selik, but Tarak. The second-in-command ducked through the doorway with the careful precision of someone who’d learned to navigate spaces built for smaller species. He bowed politely to her.
“Mistress Corinne,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all. Please, come in.” She finished feeding Mikoz and wiped his face. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all. The commander wished me to provide some additional training modules for the young female—ones that cover more advanced subjects. He also asked me to inform you that training facilities are available should you wish to use them.”
“Training facilities?”
“For physical conditioning and self-defense instruction. The commander thought you and the young one might benefit from learning to protect yourselves.” His expression remained neutral, but something in his tone suggested this wasn’t merely a casual offer.
“He can provide basic instruction in Cire combat techniques if you’re interested. ”
Self-defense training. The practical part of her brain recognized the value immediately—two human females alone in an alien universe needed every advantage they could get.
But the emotional part remembered her husband’s well-meaning attempts to teach her karate, and how she’d felt clumsy and foolish and utterly incompetent.
But then David’s training had been about forms and theory, abstract movements practiced in the safety of a suburban dojo, whereas she suspected that Selik would teach her things that mattered—like how to break a hold and how to survive.
“I’d like that,” she said. “When can we start?”
“Whenever you wish. The commander has cleared time in his schedule, although you will still need to conceal the infant when you leave these rooms.” Tarak moved towards the door, then paused.
“One more thing. The commander has been making inquiries about suitable worlds for relocation. Places where a Cire warrior and his family might live quietly without unwanted attention.”
Her heart stuttered. His family.
“He wants us to stay with him,” she said quietly.
“Commander Selik does not make commitments lightly. When he gives his word, he honors it.” Tarak’s black eyes met hers directly.
“But more than duty drives him now. I have known him for many years, and served under his command through battles that would have broken lesser males. I have never seen him like this.”
“Like what?”
“Hopeful.” The word hung in the air between them, weighted with significance. “He lost his family twenty years ago and he stopped believing in happiness. He stopped believing in futures that held anything beyond duty and survival. But you have changed that.”
The baby in her arms burped loudly, shattering the moment’s intensity. Tarak’s tail flicked in amusement, and he inclined his head.
“I’ll let the commander know you’re interested in training,” he said, and left before she could formulate a response.
Anya looked up from her data pad, expression unreadable. “He really likes you.”
“Tarak?”
“Selik, dummy.” The girl rolled her eyes. “Tarak basically just gave you his blessing. Which is a big deal, I think. Cire seem really into honor and loyalty and respecting chain of command.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been reading.” She waved the data pad. “Did you know his wife and daughter died in the Red Death?”
“Yes.”
“He told me when we built the crib.” Anya’s voice softened slightly. “He said his daughter would have liked me. That we’re both stubborn.”
“You are stubborn.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Fair point. She had bulldozed her way through a doctorate, a career, a marriage, and single motherhood through sheer determination and refusal to quit. Stubbornness ran in their makeshift family like a genetic trait.
“What else did you learn about Cire culture?” she asked.
Anya scrolled through her notes. “That their biology binds them to a partner for life.”
Cire biology which she did not have.
“Maybe he just wants companionship,” she said, aiming for pragmatism and landing somewhere closer to desperation. “Partnership without the biological component. That’s still valid.”
“Maybe.” Anya didn’t sound convinced. “Or maybe the database is wrong. You’re always saying that cultural information gets filtered through observer bias. Maybe the Cire think they can only bond with other Cire, but it’s not actually true.”
“Maybe.”
But doubt had taken root now, spreading through her thoughts like poison. What if she was setting herself up for heartbreak by hoping for something that couldn’t exist?
“I need to stop overthinking this,” she said aloud.
“Good luck with that.” Anya returned to her reading, but her expression remained thoughtful. “For what it’s worth, he looks at you like you hung the moon. I don’t know if that’s mating bond stuff or just regular attraction, but it’s definitely something.”
Something. Such an inadequate word for the electricity that arced between them whenever they were in the same room, for the way her pulse jumped when he touched her, for the heat that pooled low in her belly when his tail curled possessively around her waist.
She needed to talk to him. Needed to understand what was happening between them and what was possible. Needed to know if she was building a future or just clinging to a fantasy.
But first, she had a language lesson to finish and a baby to care for and a teenager to educate. Reality didn’t pause for an emotional crisis.
She put Mikoz down on the floor for some exercise time and returned to her data pad, forcing herself to focus on the swimming symbols of Galactic Standard.
Anya plugged into her own study materials with the intensity of someone trying to outrun her own thoughts.
They worked in companionable silence, the soft sounds of Mikoz’s babbling providing a gentle rhythm to their concentration.
An hour later, the door chimed again.
This time it was Selik, still in his black uniform but with his tail moving in that relaxed pattern that meant he was off-duty and content. His eyes found her immediately, that black gaze warming in a way that made her skin prickle with awareness.
“I heard Tarak delivered the materials,” he said.
“He did. Thank you.” She stood, smoothing down her shirt self-consciously. “Anya’s already buried in advanced physics. I think you might have created a monster.”
“A well-educated monster is preferable to an ignorant one.” He moved into the room with that predatory grace she found simultaneously unsettling and attractive. “Tarak also mentioned you’re interested in self-defense training.”
“If you have time to teach us.”
“I cleared my schedule.” His gaze swept over her, assessing. “We can start today if you wish. Unless you’re too tired.”
She was tired, but she was also restless, edgy with unspent energy and too many thoughts chasing through her mind.
“Today works,” she said. “Anya?”
The girl looked up from her data pad, wariness flickering across her face. “You want me to learn how to fight?”
“I want you to learn how to protect yourself,” he corrected. “There is a difference. Fighting is about aggression and dominance. Protection is about survival and escape.”
“What if I don’t want to learn?”