2. Tan

2

Tan

When Aegiseer-Prime Vano sends me the scan of the being in the tiny ship that breached the Zone 4 minefield, I access the system to look up what probable species it might belong to. There are three: one resembling an ocean leviathan, another of feline stock, but the dominant race in this region is bipedal with surprisingly fragile hide.

Species name: Human.

Outside of its clothing, the human appears furless and fragile from the historical rendering.

If our guest is one of these humans, it should be the height of an Asheraah youth. According to the list, humans are considered intelligent, well- mannered, and they should also speak one of the common trade languages, though which one is not specified.

Interesting.

We haven't had a Zone 4 alien cross their mine barrier for at least five generations.

Why now?

I admit, I am curious.

Then I hear the screaming.

A pair of Masg in full armor enter, one, blaster in hand, the other holding a screaming, kicking… human creature?

"Raiva." The second Masg, Specialist Rel'Kariz approaches and holds the alien out to me.

The human's hair is yellow-gold, a lighter shade than my scales, and what I can see of its skin is the tan of sun-bleached desert sand.

I flare my nostrils and flit out my tongue, tasting the air for its scent.

Female. Of mammalian stock. Human then. It is small, yes, but hardly reticent. I reserve judgment on its level of intelligence.

"Greetings," I offer in the first of the trade Common languages. The one closest to the shrieking sound it is offering.

It shrieks again, but my translation module cannot make anything of it. I taste its fear.

"This creature has been screaming since we took it from its spaceship—fighting, biting, and kicking, sir," the Masg reports with obvious disgust.

For something so small, it has taken two Masg, one armed, to contain it, though they were under strict orders not to damage the creature.

"Did you speak to her in any of the Common trade tongues?" I ask.

"Yes, Raiva. It babbled something in the second tongue about us wanting to shred and eat it." The Masg shrugs. "B u t it does not appear to comprehend our speech."

"Not it. She. She is female," I say.

"Vicious little female."

The female shrinks at the Masg's voice. Mash are trained to intimidate, but, by the Five Deities, I do not wish to frighten this female.

"Let me try," I respond in Asheraahn.

Specialist Rel'Kariz lifts the female higher, and I lean in.

She flails and screams again. Moisture flies from her as she fights. Unlike my kind, who sweat from the tongue, under our arms, palms, and footpads, this female sheds water from everywhere. Then, looking closer, I notice she is upside down.

"Turn her over."

The Masg obeys, flipping it over.

In a loud, slow voice, I say in Second Trade Tongue, "We – mean – you – no – harm."

"Fex you," it retorts—so it can speak!—although the word before ‘you' does not translate. Or, more accurately, it translates to ‘exclamation of emphasis related to bodily functions.'

I lean in, trying to see past the female's long hair and hiss in irritation, "She is also backward. Turn her around." The second Masg joins, and together, he and Specialist Rel'Kariz get her flipped over. It doesn't help much. Long strands of gold now cover her face.

I stare closer, and prepare to speak again, but before I can think of what to say next, the female kicks again, her foot landing with a ka-thunk on my jaw.

Specialist Rel'Kariz's ears flatten, and the scales over his arms raise in obvious embarrassment. I rub my jaw, feeling anger swell within me. I grab the female's errant foot and shove it back into Specialist Rel'Kariz's hand.

My estimation of this female's intelligence is decreasing. Who in their right mind kicks a Raiva in the face?

Maybe it would be best to release her and her escape pod back into space.

No.

If she is stupid, it would be criminal for me to send her into the arms of vacuum. And perhaps we are merely having a cultural misunderstanding?

I reach over to brush the hair off her face, and she screeches again, eyes shut tight.

My head pounds. I wrap my hand around her neck and bark, "STOP." All noise ceases, even the clicking of my bridge crew working. She freezes too, her scream catching as she falls silent. Thank the Five!

"Open your eyes, female," I say in a softer tone. "I mean you no harm."

After what seems like forever, during which the bridge remains deathly quiet, she opens her eyes and stares at me. I fall into green, the hue of new spring growth on Asheraah. My pulse quickens. I feel the blood rising in my veins, the heat and urgency.

What is this?

Her mouth is soft and full, her features symmetrical and delicate, and her gaze, filled with rage and terror, is piercing. Once, when I was promised to Xil'Aktar, I thought myself enamored of her. Willing to kill for her. That emotion was nothing compared to what blossoms in my hearts now .

I do not understand this. It is too sudden, too overwhelming.

And yet, when our gazes meet, I think: this female, this strange alien, has already claimed a piece of me.

Her scent, sweat and citrus with an undertone uniquely hers, fills me, and my body reacts, the urge to claim her rising. My wings unfurl, an overreaction that would be mortifying if she did not overcome my will. This alien. A red fills my vision, the same red of battle rage, and it terrifies me.

I have killed for less.

After Xil'Aktar's lover challenged my claim, the duel ending with his blood on my scales, my claws in his guts and my teeth through his neck, I witnessed her grief and horror and swore before the Five I would never again lose control of my base instincts.

I must reclaim my control. If I am to make her mine, I must maintain my discipline. Just because an empty part of my soul has wanted this female my entire life does not mean she wants me.

My body continues to betray me, reacting to her proximity. Yet even as my arousal builds, so does an urge to shelter and defend her. She has awakened both the protector and the lover in me.

"Don't kill me," she says, the pitch of her voice high and the sound of it rough.

"I will not," I respond in Second Trade Tongue. "If my Masg puts you down, do you promise not to cause trouble?"

She hiccups, her too-green eyes fixed on mine. "Promise you won't rip me limb from limb? Or eat me?"

"What?" I realize I spoke in Asheraahn, and, softening my tone, add in Second Trade Tongue. "No. Why would I do that?"

"You're a Mangrel. That's what you do."

Again, I see red. Mangrel? This female thinks me one of the Kohath? That murderous scum! What have I done to earn such low regard? "No. I am Asheraah."

"Okay." The patch of skin between the golden tufts of hair over her eyes furrows. "Are you a kind of Mangrel that doesn't eat people? "

"I am no Mangrel at all! We are Asheraah. We fight the Kohath. The Mangrel."

"Oh," she replies, "That's… wow… How long have you… uhh… been doing that?"

"For generations." If she assumed I was one of the Kohath, her irrational behavior makes sense. And it is not as though the inhabitants of Zone 4 come through their minefield. Are they truly ignorant of us?

If so, I shall educate her. I wave for Specialist Rel'Kariz to put her down. He opens his hands. She drops, her knees bent slightly, and then draws herself to her full height, lifting her chin to meet my gaze again.

My nostrils flare, and her eyes widen.

"I am Tan'Solish, Raiva of the battlecruiser Starshadow," I explain. "You are my guest. And more, so much more.

Control, Tan.

She does not know of our species at all. And I do not know if humans have taboos against inter- species mating.

If I want to make her mine, I must maintain my discipline.

"What shall I call you?"

The female takes a breath. "I am Skylar Zavien, second navigator of the FUA Titan, the former Federated Universal Alliance cargo vessel. It had an unexpected drive failure. The kind that ends with a boom. How do you speak Common?"

I chuckle. "This is Second Trade Tongue. It is loaded into my linguistic implant. They use it in Zone 5 and 7 as well."

My second in command, Ehan Prime Ano'Couv'ray, steps forward and leans toward me, whispering in Asheraahn. "If the alien is female, she must be claimed, Raiva. Else it will be too dangerous for her and the crew."

Of course. I did not wish to think of that. It is law though and good sense. An unclaimed female cannot serve on an Asheraah vessel. It is too dangerous, with females being so rare. Free males would want a part of her otherwise, alien or no, and there's no way I will let that happen .

I cannot claim her as my bokdazi , my mate, not yet. To do that, she would need to perform the rite of mating either on the soil of my homeworld or at the least beneath the eyes of a priest or priestess of the Five Deities. But as Raiva, I speak for myself and for the ship. So, in the ship's name, I speak the ritual words: "Skylar Zavian, second navigator of the once FUA vessel Titan, I claim you as a bounty of the Starshadow."

"What?" she says, looking confused.

"I've just claimed you as ship's bounty," I explain. "You are under the Starshadow's and therefore my protection," I say.

Then in Asheraahn, I say to Vano, "Take Skylar Zavian to my quarters, and get her settled. I need a sistan to attend to her."

"You will not be harmed." I repeat for good measure. While smelling of nerves, Skylar Zavian neither screams nor attempts to bite. I count this as a victory.

As the female follows the Masg from the bridge, everyone else is studiously busy .

I lean back in the Raiva's chair. With Skylar, the Goddess of Rebirth has given me a second chance to correct my greatest mistake.

This time, I will not fail.

I will court her in the old manner. I will show her the breadth of protection I offer through songs of glory and warrior triumphs. Then, she will see I am a male of honor, and with patience and control, she will be mine.