Chapter 6 #2
She nods, then helps me gather up the tiny cubes, each the size of her delicate fingertips, using her shirt as a pouch to bring them to me.
It shows me flashes of skin at her stomach, paler than her face and arms. Humans seem to be subtle shades, muted and calmer than how Olorians signal their emotions through bright scale color changes.
Shaking my head, I focus on work. Quickly I get a production line going, feeding in the cubes, remagnetizing them, confirming their programming and testing them by throwing them toward the door to check they work.
If they zip in line with the others, they pass the quality control, and more and more cubes stay.
Slowly the door takes shape, each cube pressing so close to its fellow that the seal will be airtight.
The repetitiveness of the task is perfectly suited to a Grammatostock brain, and I sink into a half aware, almost meditative state, despite my rocketing pulse. Nic-coal works quietly alongside me, tireless in seeking out all the parts of the door, not demanding anything of me.
It's… unusual. Perhaps later, I'll figure out if I like it. The Grammatostock does. They hate distractions and small talk. But me? I'm not in the correct headspace, and I can't remember enough of my real life to know from experience. Not yet.
We’re nearly done when a groan rips through the ships. Greharm staggers into the gangway, eyes bleary, still shaking off the effects of the sedative Nic-coal dosed him with. His gaze sharpens when he sees us, and his voice rises in a growl.
“My bride,” he splutters, fury boiling in his eyes as he locks onto me. “Away from her, filthy clone. I knew I should have checked the ship for more of you.”
I let go of the Grammatostock, swallowing down nausea and facing Gerharm as myself at last. My muscles bunch with tension. Round two, and this time, I don’t have sedative drugging my system. I won’t lose.
Nic-coal stays behind the kitchen island, stooping a little. She's likely armed from the sedatives she stored there earlier. “You really need to learn to take no for an answer, Gerharm. I don’t want to be with you, I want to go to Earth.”
He shakes his head. “I'm rescuing you from these clones, and that is end of discussion.”
A female's word is unassailable law for clones, and Samara’s word above that, so his refusal grates against me. I would have thought the human's lack of enthusiastic consent would have given him pause, but Nexans are desperate to rescue their race from the brink of extinction.
I tally up his huge frame and his ancestral ax. I was trapped in a weak form before, but that won’t be an issue this time. I’ll win easily.
Nic-coal comes around the island, hands raised and empty. “Don't fight each other.”
“Get down,” I bark. What is she doing? “Look away, this will be over in human seconds.”
“Over for you, mayhaps,” Greharm snarls.
I suck in a breath, scales hardening, when she grabs my arm. “Don’t fight. Stop.”
Gerharm roars, glaring at me as if I'm reeling Nic-coal in against her will. She tries to appeal to him. “Both of you, let’s calm down.”
“What makes you think he'll listen to you now?” I ask her, lowering my stance and preparing to shift. Perhaps a Parthiastock can take him out the quickest, pairing strength with a psychic assault.
“I wish there was some way to get him to understand.” She tucks in closer to me, warm hands on my arm. Perhaps as her primary captor, I offer a measure of comfort. I'm only forcing her to Oloria, not into my bed.
Ah. Drok na, I've been stupid.
I keep my voice low and calm. “We have to convince him you’re off limits.”
She glances up at me. “How?”
“Trust me.”
“In your dreams,” she snaps back, but I'm already moving. Taking her wrists, I pull her into my arms.
The shock in her eyes is immediate, followed by a flare of indignation, but I tighten my hold, pulling her against me. I lower my face to Nic-coal’s, meeting her flinty stare with my own steady resolve.
I press my lips to hers.
Her fists clench, and I half expect her to shove me back, slap me, or smash me over the head with another bottle.
My gaze flicks to Gerharm, face morphing from slack-jawed shock to grinding his teeth in anger. He stops in his tracks, staring at us, a whirlwind of emotion roiling in his gaze.
Her eyes dart to look at the Nexas, and she lets herself soften just enough for the illusion to take hold.
Eyes open, I can study her at this close proximity.
Little bumps make her nose slightly misaligned, her skin burnished from the sun and clear apart from the mud smeared on her forehead.
Hair so dark brown I thought it was black has escaped its bindings, wisping over her forehead, full of rich chestnuts and ruby reds I hadn't noticed before.
She tenses. Her posture is stiff with steel underneath—a surrender only for the sake of survival.
But her lips are welcoming and warm, the opposite of her flinty eyes. Nic-coal's body is soft, yes, but underneath is a firm foundation, her muscles well honed. She's stronger than she looks, too, gripping onto my forearms so hard I'm going to have bent scales.
Her stance eases and her resistance melts into something more instinctive, her mouth yielding beneath mine.
My own resolve falters as I sense the tiniest sliver of true acceptance in her kiss, like the bloom of a fragile flower. She leans into me and… it feels almost real.
The moment shatters with a loud bang that echoes through the gangway. We break apart, turning to see Greharm on his knees, staring at us with hollow, wounded eyes.
“I… I did not know you were taken already,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. His gaze falls to the floor, his grip loosening on the ax.
Nic-coal turns away from me and the wall between us snaps back into place, the warmth between us. “So you only wanted me if I was untouched? Is that it?” She shakes her head. “Men are the same the universe over.”
Gerharm picks up his weapon, shoulders sagging in defeat. “Not matter if touched, but… I cannot break apart mates. Is most important rule.”
“But consent isn't?” She huffs.
I sidle closer to her, speaking through my teeth as I paste on a smile for Gerharm. “He's leaving, don't poke him.”
She spins to face me, mouth open, but then rightly determines I've got a point and closes it.
With heavy steps, Gerharm walks back to his ship. Letting out a breath, Nic-coal reaches up and unfastens the leather straps of the Nexas’ bridal garments. “I suppose it was rather cruel to kiss me with these on,” she mutters. “Like rubbing it in.”
It hadn't even crossed my mind, let alone moved me to do something about it. She steps out of the straps and takes them across the gangplank.
“Greharm?”
He flinches at her voice. “Yes, pretty female?”
She hands him the folded straps. “Learn the word no and what it means. Respect is important in a relationship. Then, maybe you’ll be a good husband to someone one day.”
I can't quite understand what I'm seeing and hearing. She's… not shouting at him. She's even given back his raiments. How did she know they were passed down through his family and are irreplaceable?
Her words linger in the air, unexpected and gentle. A quiet flicker of lightness spreads across my chest, but I stuff it down.
She's just too naive for her own good.
“Thank you,” he rumbles, tears tracking down his cheeks. He looks at me. “You are lucky bastard, clone.”
That hits like a stone thrown in the swimming lake: a fast drop to the pit of my stomach, but sending ripples through my body for some reason. I stay as myself to finish off the reprogramming, the storm of thoughts tossing around my mind.
I watch as our doors seal at last. Once we’re alone again, I face the human. “That was… kind. Giving him back his bridal raiments.”
She runs a hand through her messy hair, eyes losing their hard edge. “It was the right thing to do.”
I stay staring for a handful of heartbeats, before I come to myself and jog toward the cockpit.
Nic-coal jogs after me. “Wait for him to get back inside his ship safely.”
“If you say so.” It'll take me longer to do pre-flight checks anyway, because I refuse to be a Pranastock just to turn the autopilot on.
We go to the cockpit and I sit at the console, calling up the ship's holo and turning thrusters on first. They always take the longest. Nic-coal settles next to me, keeping an eye on what I'm doing, and we rock gently as the Nexas’ ship blasts off in search of a mate in whatever backwaters he can plunder next.
Once the ship's computers begin their checks, I lean back in the chair. “Next stop, Oloria.”
If I thought her eyes had ever communicated murder toward me before, I'd been dead wrong. A blaster shot would melt through less metal than her glare. “No, we're going to Earth. You promised.”
I chuckle. “I did, didn't I? And I’ll take you back, once we've visited my home planet.”
“You—”
“You didn't say ‘straight there’, did you?” I shake my head. “Words are just that, human. Easy to say. Now, get in your room.”
She pulls something from her pocket and I hunker into a defensive posture in my chair automatically. The fact it's a vial makes me relax a little initially, but then I tense. Her aim with those is lethal.
Shaking it in my face, she asks sweetly, “Remember this?”
I brush it away, grimacing. “Sure do, but I recall it worked out for you about as well as it worked out for me.”
She swallows hard like she's pushing back her anger, and a thrill races across my scales. Baiting her is my new favorite sport.
She declares, “I've hidden them.”
I cock my head. “So?”
“Yeah. Hundreds of vials, jars, bottles, all hidden throughout the ship. All the sedative, all in secret hidey holes. You'll never find them all.”
My stomach drops. Fuck. “I can shift into a Parthiastock and read the locations from your head,” I counter, preparing to do just that.
“I've probably forgotten half of them. There were literally hundreds, and now they're riddling every crevice of the ship. In cupboards, sure, but in ceilings, lamp sockets, taped under tables, in between cushions.” She leans over the armrests of the chairs toward me.
“No matter where you try to lock me away, Arture Pranastock, I'll be able to get restocked.”
Drok na. It'll be like living with a blaster pressed to my head. At any moment she could pull the trigger. Plus she used my hated name, twisting the knife. “Then I just won't go near you. Good luck getting fed,” I blast back.
She shakes her head, smile broad over her victory now. “Whatever you're up to, you need me alive.”
I restrain the growl trying to rip out of my throat. If I show she's got to me, she wins, but the contented victorious look on her face fans the flames of heat in my chest.
The ship’s alarms blare.
Nic-coal straps in. “What is it?” she asks, all business.
“It’s not an attack. The ship would just move out of the way.
” Still, my hearts are thumping like I’ve shifted, cold creeping under my scales.
Alarms don’t ring for amusement. I peer at the schematic of the ship flashing in front of me.
“Wait. We’re running low on fuel? How in Samara’s golden gaze can that be?
The blasted thing was subjected to torrential rain for weeks on end on Earth. ”
Nic-coal’s face flushes red. “This ship runs on rain?”
“Dihydrogen monoxide, which it hydrolyses to make hydrogen.”
“Oh. That’s clever. But, uh, yeah. The Nexas took our fuel. And, well, a lot of the food too.”
I gape at her. “And you didn’t think to mention it before he fucked off?”
“Not on the top of my priority list when he’s waving an ax in our faces, kidnapper number one.”
“I could have beaten him! I should have.”
“No.” Her face scrunches, the expression she gets when she’s digging in her heels. “I just wanted out until we broke his heart. Then he didn’t seem so… brutal. And you might not have won.”
I snarl, “Of course I’d win. Now, if we can’t find a planet with water on it, we’re going to die. And if there’s nothing edible on the planet, we’ll perish while the ship refuels.”
“So, let’s get looking for a planet with water and food on it,” she says, matter of fact, like I haven’t just laid out our likely fate.
“But you—”
She holds up a hand. “No sense crying over spilled milk, Arture. Tell me how I can help.”
And all I can do is splutter at her, but if I can't find us a suitable planet, we are going to die.