Chapter 17 #2
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement—Ilia, bright red with Gerverstock strength with a purple Dom hanging limp over his shoulder.
He jumps, boots hitting the skids hard enough to jar the frame.
The steering bucks in my grip, but I correct immediately, compensating for the sudden weight shift.
“Strap in, now,” I call through gritted teeth, sweat stinging my eyes as I wrestle with the machine to keep her steady. I can’t calculate how little margin for error there is anymore; my focus is locked on keeping the rotor disk clear of the rocks.
“In,” Gara yells, and a burst of air leaves me in an explosive gust. Like harnessing a wild beast, I steer us into the path of a strong current of air and ride it all the way up, stomach dropping out of my boots.
Behind me, my crewmates vomit, but I'm whooping, screaming, yelling as I conquer this planet's deadly storms and slingshot us to safety.
Once we're out of atmosphere I engage faux-grav and allow myself to thump back against my seat. Sweat soaks my chair, the straps loosened with how much I'd been tossed around. But a smile trickles onto my face.
Ilia's hand lands on my organic shoulder. “Thank you, Arture. You saved us all with that flying.”
“All within mission tolerance,” I reply, grinning more widely now. Everything aches, my head especially, my hearts thumping as hard as they usually do, even at rest. But I wouldn't trade my place with any clone.
Here, I'm a hero.
“Nnnnnnnnn.”
Nic-coal's groan of pain has me upright instantly. I cast about for what's hurting her.
She holds her head. “Owwww.”
Quickly I slip into a Selthiastock, sniffing the air. She's dehydrated, with a dramatic increase in acetaldehydes in her bloodstream. They smell sour-sweet like her sweat, and their presence means her tissues will be experiencing inflammation.
“Wait there. I can help you,” I reassure her before dashing to the medbay.
As I mix her up a more circumspect cocktail, I muse over the memories clicking into place. I did good as the Pranastock, I was a valued member of the team. I saved lives as well as missions with my skills as a crack pilot.
Tapping at the door makes me spin around, tensing up. “Ship, scan the surroundings for lifeforms,” I order.
“Lifeforms detected. Template Homo sapiens, origin unknown.”
The humans are back. I cradle Nic-coal's curative in my fist. She did tell them she'd be up first thing tomorrow, but then she decided on a “bender,” as humans on the radio would put it.
I open the door, letting in the gray half-light of dawn and the cold.
There's an array of humans here today, both men and women.
They each have the same pattern shaved into their hair, beads clicking as they back away from the side of the ship, staring.
One male raises a spear but the female from yesterday, Vry, pushes the tip back down with a respectful nod to me.
I suppose the men, young and muscled as they are, could be considered handsome. I level a glare at them. How do I communicate that Nic-coal is above them all? “The goddess will be another hour or so.”
“Goddess?” Vry murmurs, a smile tugging her lips.
“Goddess,” I repeat firmly. “There are rules. Don't touch her, don't approach her without clearing it with me first, and don't you dare—”
“Ooh, are they here?” Nic-coal scoots past me, halting at the threshold with a gasp. “Where's the rest of the gangplank? Can you make it appear, and let everyone in out of the cold?”
“Everyone?” I scowl.
“Please?”
Muttering, I punch in the request and change the configuration of the door to an entry ramp. “Here,” I say as it reforms, handing her the vial.
“What's this?”
“Acte-something neutraliser. The Selthiastock side of me knows what those are.”
“Oh. A hangover cure?” She downs it in one, making a face. “Urgh. I guessed it wasn't going to be as tasty as your margaritas, but still.”
I will her to look up into my eyes. I want to ask her what she remembers of last night and gauge how she feels about bearing her heart to me, but there's too many people here now to ask outright.
And she’s too excited to welcome in her guests.
They’re wide eyed at the sleek space, staring at the central glowing pillar which throbs with blue-silver light as the ship recharges.
Nic-coal gets them to sit on the cushions, trying to move Greharm’s equipment so no one cuts themselves, and otherwise being as welcoming as she can be.
Meanwhile, I practice my simmering glower at our unwelcome guests until Nic-coal touches my arm. “Would you mind translating, please? Vry said yesterday I might be able to help.”
I can’t deny anything Nic-coal asks of me. “Of course. What do you want to say?”
Throughout the morning, rather than pampering her in bed and finding out whether she really wants to choose me as a partner, I talk about horses. And then more horses. And tiny flying horses.
And the tiny flying horses in question skim around the room, land on counters, tip things off, chase each other, gallop on the floor, zimming around the central pillar. Nic-coal’s enchanted, but I'm starting to get a headache.
Nic-coal stands confidently in front of the group, her voice calm and steady as she explains the science of equine anatomy and behavior.
I translate her words, though my focus keeps slipping to her.
Her passion is clear, her knowledge vast, as she speaks about muscle groups, social dynamics, and herd instincts.
The humans from this other planet lean in, intrigued, asking questions.
I catch the flicker of excitement in her eyes every time she answers, and it’s distracting.
I know nothing about horses—nothing beyond how their size and unpredictability make my scales itch—but I love seeing her like this, marveling at her passion and how much she cares for these creatures.
She’s not just teaching; she’s sharing a piece of her soul.
And that makes me more protective of her than ever.
Especially when I see the males as rapt as the females.
“Don't you want a break?” I ask her as lunchtime approaches.
“Not yet.” Her cheeks flush, eyes bright.
I rub the base of my thumb with my metal hand. “You need a break. Drink some water, rest your voice.”
“Oh, yeah.” She practically guzzles the water I give her, droplets sliding down the side of her lips. It makes me want to lick them off her mouth.
“We should make them some lunch,” she says, gesturing to the galley.
“I don’t have enough seedcake for everyone.
” I glare at the interlopers, and Vry motions to some of the males.
They leave the ship, but to my dismay, come back with food: bright baskets of dough wrapping cooked vegetables.
They offer one to Nic-coal first and, after I insist on sniffing it as a Selthiastock to detect any poison, she takes a big bite. And another.
“I love this,” she says, as if I couldn't tell.
“It’s not hard to reverse engineer the recipe,” I mutter. “I can make this.”
“Oh, not just the dumpling. I love this, talking about animals, teaching people.”
“I don't know why you bother, apart from passing time until the ship is ready to fly.” And I can think of much better pastimes than lecturing groups. “We don't know these people. What advantage can be gained from them?”
“Really?” She squints at me. “I do it because I can make a difference to animal lives here. There's nothing else we need to do until we have enough fuel, right? My knowledge can leave this place better than before.”
“Yes, but you should be fairly compensated for it. How are you this…” I wave my hands at her delicious form, fully energized as though this activity gives her something rather than takes away.
“Excited? I don't know, but I wouldn't be doing anything else. If there's a way I can help, I'm there.”
My hearts ache for her. She's so self-sacrificing and giving.
“Someone needs to be selfish and guarded on your behalf, protect your generous spirit from those who would take and take,” I grumble. “I appoint myself your protector.”
She flushes, and I grin at provoking such a reaction in her. “Most creatures, I've found, are good at heart. Even the deeply hurt ones try to reach out. They just need someone to show them kindness.”
My face falls, imagining the mate who sought to put his boot on her neck. “I don't believe in second chances, Nic-coal.”
“I gave you a second chance,” she says, voice low and brown eyes rich. Then she flushes again. “Well. First, I sedated you.”
I laugh. Although it's quiet, it's a genuine belly laugh, one I can't stop.
“I definitely deserved it,” I manage between snorts.
“Yes, you did. But I think we’ve… come to understand each other a little better now.
At least I haven't had to sedate you for a while.” Her eyes gleam, and I want nothing else but to pull her into my arms. I know a bit more of who I am now: a hero Pranastock, someone who risks themselves for others. A bit more worthy of Nic-coal.
As darkness gathers in, Vry stands. “We are very grateful for the knowledge, which will help all our herd, not just Karribel’s mares. We would like to give gifts to show our appreciation.”
Finally, something in return for Nic-coal's generosity and knowledge. The humans grab more supplies they had left outside and crowd around her, their laughter and chatter filling the space as they present Nic-coal with more baskets of food. Bright green stalks of tender asparagus, plump ruby tomatoes, and fragrant bundles of fresh herbs fill the air with the scent of earth and sunlight. She thanks them warmly and they beam at her like she’s just solved all their problems.