19. Bikar
BIKAR
Mentally kicking myself, I stomp down the corridor.
I cannot believe I was so ignorant that I did not realize my mate had nothing to pass her idle time.
Dodging Velgriddix ships is an excuse enough while we were on the Zenith, but failing to notice something like that while on Deapra, it is negligent.
That is well over a lunar of nothing to stimulate her mind or simply enjoy for entertainment.
My mate may not understand things like quantum physics, but she is not lacking in intelligence.
Stalking into the chamber with the CIP and reproducer, I tap into the shuttle’s mainframe, checking systems and fluidly multitasking.
Before the modifications, the trip across the Void would have taken almost half a lunar cycle. Now, it is a mere six to seven rotations, dependent upon any obstacles we encounter, of which, to this point at least, there have been none.
Urgency beats at me. There is so much uncertainty in my life right now, and I am not dealing well with it.
My instincts are driving me to solidify my mating bond, but that is not a realistic goal, at least not yet.
I must make more progress with my mate before our arrival, so we at least look like we care for one another and are in the process of cementing our bond.
Bambi’s trust is fragile, and I cannot afford to scare her away with any territorial displays if another male were to show interest in her. The mere thought of another male trying to poach my female fills me with rage, and causes a spicy, sweet-tasting fluid to fill my mouth.
That is new. I will have to hack Einar’s records to investigate this.
Swallowing, I am relieved when no more of the liquid fills my mouth. I do not have the time to deal with it when I do not know what sort of welcome, or lack thereof, we will receive upon landing. It is another notion weighing me down.
Flitting from system to system, ensuring all is well, I create two customized tablets for Bambi and Heather. When my brothers see what my mate and her dear friend have in comparison to their females’ entertainment screens, they are certain to bargain with me for upgrades.
Well… Slavic, Ruarc, and Einar will trade. Murgul and Vrog will threaten me into compliance.
I rub my palms together in glee, smiling at the thought of besting them. Tics later, a subdued chime from the reproducer sounds the completion of the tablets.
Abandoning my tertiary dive into the shuttle’s system, I excise them from the recesses of the alcove, examining each for any external flaws and internal glitches.
How embarrassing would it be to hand my mate a present, only to have it malfunction upon immediate use?
A tic later, I am satisfied that all is well with both of my new creations.
Now all that is left to do is to load entertainment sources for the females.
My steps slow to a halt halfway across the room, and I stare at the innocuous objects in my hands.
This matter bears further contemplation and, perhaps, guidance from my mate.
Or… perhaps I should consult Heather first, so it is a surprise for my lovely little doe?
My research has shown me there were few happy revelations in her prior life, so maybe something like this would make her smile.
Surely Heather would know. The term bestie indicates a committed friendship with deep feelings of connection to the person deemed your best friend forever, and Bambi has indicated Heather holds that title.
Nodding decisively, I leave the fabrication chamber and saunter down the corridor to my room.
Two older Ruks walking down the corridor offer me hesitant smiles in passing, but do not stop to speak.
I have noticed that the older generation of survivors keeps to themselves and seems to be ill at ease whenever any of us with visible differences are around.
It is not that they have said anything negative; to the contrary, they are overly grateful to us, but the teachings from their youth still hold sway no matter how appreciative they are.
I, as well as most of my brethren, am different, which is why returning to Uzrul is not an option available to us.
Nor are we willing to risk the King’s wrath to drop the others off on our home planet.
It is a topic that was discussed at length before Slavic and Mam finally made the decision against going anywhere near Uzrul.
Kallen’s uncle is still the reigning King as far as we know, and he has no tolerance for anything.
Whatsoever.
Thus, he would not grant us asylum. Instead, he would slaughter us upon landing, especially since Kallen’s sire followed fate, claimed his mate, and left Uzrul under death threats from his blood brother. Any Rukuhk that followed him—and their offspring—were instantly branded traitors of the crown.
Shaking my head, I check my wrist comm and wince. I was in the fabrication chamber far longer than I thought and am running behind to prepare things for my second date. I must get ready and track Heather down prior to the end of rotation festivities.
Best not to be late… my little doe might remove parts of my person if I were to disappoint her.
Shuddering at the thought of my mate’s bloodthirsty friend, I disrobe before rushing through the cleansing chamber.
I barely wait long enough for the dryer to shut off before scrubbing my teeth and ensuring my hair is neatly arranged around my horns.
Striding into my closet, I put on fresh garments and pull my boots back on.
I am ready and leaving my quarters in near record time. Tapping into the shuttle’s main computer, I ping Heather’s location and head her way.