3. Skylar

3

Skylar

The black-clad guards show me to a sprawling set of quarters and leave without saying a word. They move quietly for their size. That and the armor makes them terrifying, even though they haven't hurt me.

The Raiva, what's his name, Tan- hiccup -Solish, was also kind. Especially considering I kicked him in the face.

He's an Asheraah. Not a Mangrel or Kohath, as he called them.

I take a breath and take in my new home. It's weird. The bulkheads seem like metal mixed with some kind of stone, and instead of bunks or sleepsacks, I see a huge, gravity-well style bed in the corner piled high with sleeping furs.

And the room is hot. My skinsuit regulates my temperature and keeps the sweat from sticking to my body, which means I was really sweaty when I thought I was fighting for my life earlier.

My gaze drifts to the bed again. They can't mean for me to sleep with Tan- hiccup -Solish—

Executive decision: I'm calling him Tan Solish. The hiccup part is too hard to say, and if I keep it up, I'm going to have the hiccups myself.

There are two other doors beside the entrance, and I walk to the first. It parts, and I step through into a second, smaller room with a similar bed layout.

I breathe out.

At least they don't expect me to share a bed with the Raiva. We might not even be compatible in that way. Humanity has regular contact with two alien races. The Wheylain, or Whales as most call them, are giant, seafaring mammals. They're intelligent and have magnificent cities in the waters of their home system .

They're also not inclined to mating outside their species, which is a good thing. I'm not even sure how one would go about it.

The second we call Feilix because their true name is unpronounceable to humans. Feilix females often dally with human men. You rarely see their males unattended, and they mate in packs, something most humans don't really go for.

I have a feeling Tan Solish is more Feilix than Wheylain. At least he's got two legs and two arms and abs you can bounce a shuttlecraft off of. I can get with that. But that doesn't mean he can get with me. Which is for the best. Really. I have enough problems. I don't need romantic complications. Things are complicated enough.

The good news is, I have my own room.

"Claimed as bounty of the ship," I whisper to the empty room. What does that even mean?

Am I a sack of potatoes? A dozen packs of dehydrated eggs? An e-commerce Federated web zone for a corporation? Nothing makes sense. How is it we knew nothing about the Asheraah? One would think if there was another badass alien race fighting the Mangrel, we'd know about it. Maybe make an alliance?

But we just put up the minefield and ignored everything on the other side for how many years? A hundred? More?

When I think about it, I realize how stupid that is.

The official memo from the Federated Universal Alliance says if you cross the Neutral Zone into Mangrel space, you'll get ripped to shreds or eaten alive. Probably both. It says nothing about shades of shredding, bits of ripping, or that some aliens over here don't seem to be the devouring-you-whole types at all.

It certainly doesn't mention being claimed as bounty and hustled off to a private, well, semi-private bedroom of the leader of the Asheraah.

How did we miss the Asheraah? It makes no sense. Their ship looks like a Mangrel ship, doesn't it?

I've never seen an actual Mangrel ship, just the ones on holovids that showed ships sort of like this one. So, is this some kind of long con? Am I going to be ripped up after everyone's had a good laugh? Look at the poor, stupid human. She thinks she's safe, then blam, wrench, rip, and shred.

That seems like a lot of work for a simple meal.

I wander out of my bedroom and back into what I think is the common room, or the Raiva's bedroom, and whip around, looking at the door when I think I hear it opening. Nothing. No ripping, snapping aliens. Just me, in an enormous suite of rooms.

Since I'm alone and I have plenty of time to be honest with myself, I admit the Raiva, Tan Solish, is handsome. In an alien way. His hair is as pale as moonlight, and long, contrasting with the scales over his golden skin. His ears are frilled, as are his eyebrows, with the scales on his face like sparkling grains of sand. And those eyes, gold in gold with a rim of black. When our gazes met, I thought he could see right through me.

The scales on the rest of his body are bigger, more scale-like. I didn't get too good a look at them while kicking and screaming in my best attempt to fight for my life. Or at least fighting to give my potential gourmands the worst indigestion of theirs.

Tan has a tail. And wings. That's a known Mangrel trait, isn't it? It's hard to tell. Everything terrifying is a Mangrel trait on our side of the neutral zone.

I hear the door swish open and run for my quarters, as I've decided they are. The door taps shut behind me.

Is there a lock?

Maybe they'll just go away.

The door swishes open. So much for positive thinking. I crouch into my best imitation of a karate master from the action vids Ish adores. I growl to add emphasis to my stance.

It's pathetic, I know, but even if they aren't Mangrel, I think with this group it's better to come across as strong.

A new Asheraah, lighter gray than the turbulent gray of the walls, not gold, green or blue like the others I've seen, stands in the doorway holding a towel, clothes, and something that looks like a comb. Is it male or female? Or something else? Stars if I know.

The Asheraah looks confused, if they, like us, show confusion by the furrowing of the frill of skin between their eyes: the center lavender rimmed in black.

"I was told by the Raiva to help you bathe, eat, and ready yourself," the Asheraah says in the Common tongue. Or Second Trade tongue, as the Raiva had called it.

"Ready myself for what?" I snarl, crouching lower.

"To meet him," the Asheraah crouches like I am, snarls, then stands and backs out of the room I'm crouching in. I stand up, not following, just watching the alien's movements.

What happened to the Raiva saying that they would not harm me? Did I miss a timetable on that sentence? Was there a ‘yet'?

Getting ready indicates something is going to happen when he arrives, and as much as I want to believe that it's nothing negative, too much mythology and horror stories about Mangrel plays in my mind.

But Tan Solish is not a Mangrel, I remind myself. He looked offended when I suggested it.

A delicious smell wafts into the room interrupting my spiraling fear, and I realize I'm famished. I come to the door, still watching the Asheraah servant in the other room. Is it a servant? Something else? To my shock, the Asheraah has turned a tap and is running what looks like a fortune of potable water into what I assume is a tub. It's better than any tub me and my sister had planetside, let alone on a starship.

How wealthy are the Asheraah?

I look to the left, to the source of the smell, and see a tray with a couple of dishes on it. One looks like rice, the other some sort of meat product. Steam rises from it, and it smells delicious.

"You may eat first." I jump at the sound of the Asheraah's voice, much closer now. The bath smells heavenly, some sort of flowery smell fighting with the savory smells from the tray. I lunge for the tray of food.

Pathetic , I think. Desperation doesn't look good on anyone. I'm offering a pitiful example of humankind.

Oh well. I'm hungry, and if they can afford to fill a tub with water on a starship, they probably don't need to gnaw on my skinny bones. Or at least they can afford to fatten me up first.

I grab the utensil and scoop up some of the rice dish, then pick up a piece of what I hope is meat and plop the whole thing in my mouth. It feels like sunshine on a warm day. It tastes better than ice cream in summer, and ice cream is my favorite food. I didn't realize I was so hungry.

They might be fattening me up for the slaughter—probably not, but it never pays to challenge the power of ‘things could get worse.' Right now, I don't care. I haven't eaten since yesterday, and then just a protein bar. I repeat the maneuver, trying another of the strange-looking cubes. Again, I'm rewarded with a wonderful taste.

I turn and see the Asheraah standing in the doorway to the tub room, watching me. They are slender and small with no visible sex organs, or at least none I can identify. I look up from my dish and smile. They stare some more.

This is going well.

I'm probably the worst representative for humanity right now, eating like a barbarian. Well, at least I used the spoon thingy—the Spork thingy.

"I don't normally eat like this," I say, squaring my shoulders to look less like a starving shiprat.

"You are hungry," the Asheraah says. Their voice is a higher pitch than the Raiva's or his two giant guards.

Is this Asheraah female? If so, maybe she can give me the lay of the land?

"Are you a female like me?" I ask as I scrape the last bits of rice and meatcube from the bottom of my bowl.

The Asheraah raises frilled eyebrows. "I am nyrin ," it says as though that's an explanation. The blank stare of ‘huh' must be universal because the nyrin continues, "We are neither male nor female."

"So you're not claimed by the ship?"

"I am fifth of my Kiyara. Blood and purpose bonds us, but none of us will bear our own young."

"Ah." Asheraah aren't human, and this Kiyara group thing is a friendly reminder of that. Being claimed by the Raiva on behalf of the ship might not mean he sees me as anything more than a sack of potatoes. Or a hostage.

If Tan Solish is hoping to ransom me, he's doomed to disappointment. A runaway, third-generation indentured colonist is worth less than the tub full of water my new Asheraah friend is waiting for me to splash around in.

I fill another bowl and eat more slowly. Then I straighten up and look at the Asheraah. They are still standing in the door, watching me. "Uh," I venture, "thank you for running the bath water."

"You are welcome," the Asheraah replies, not moving.

"I'll get to it after I eat a bit more."

"I will wait."

Wait for what?

"I can handle it. Unless there's some trick to the drainage system?"

"I am here to help you."

Help me take a bath? Ridiculous.

"I can bathe myself," I say.

"The Raiva instructed me to help you."

And whatever the Raiva says goes? "And you have helped me. I appreciate it."

"I am instructed to help you get ready."

I don't even know this Asheraah's name, and they're going to help me bathe, something only Paul, a long-ago ex-boyfriend who swiped sani-wipes over my face when I was plastered and threw up all over myself, and my mother did for me when I was a baby. I'm not plastered and I'm not a child. "That won't work. I will bathe myself."

"This is my task, my purpose for being here."

Purpose? If the Asheraah fought Mangrel, you'd think everyone on this ship would have better things do than bathe random strangers who could bath themselves. But the nyrin seemed determined, like they had no choice.

Maybe this Raiva was power tripping. It happened. That's one reason me and Ish had fled Caliban. If the Raiva was that type, I'd have to watch my back too. I'd relaxed with the good food and the fact that Tan Solish hadn't tried to shred or eat me, but there was a whole lot of space for misery between not getting eaten and relaxing on a beach sipping fruit drinks out of gourds.

"What's your name?" I ask, hoping to change the subject.

The Asheraah looks even more confused. "My name is not important," they say after a few moments.

"It is to me," I reply, perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary. If this nyrin going to insist on scrubbing me naked in a tub, the least they can do is share their name with me.

I'll tell them mine, break the ice and such.

"My name is Skylar Zavien, second navigator of the FUA cargo vessel, Titan." Aka p iece of crap ship that blew up in the middle of nowhere .

"Yes," they reply. "So they informed me. Nice to meet you, Skylar Zavien, second navigator of the FUA cargo vessel, Titan."

"You can just call me Sky. Most do."

"Sky," the Asheraah says. "Like the ceiling, the red sky of my homeworld."

"Sort of, just a shortening of the name Skylar. Now, what is your name?"

"My name is not important. Your bath water will get cold."

"I can't call you ‘hey you' or ‘buddy'," I say, puzzled by the secrecy.

"You may call me ‘hey you' if you like."

This is getting ridiculous. "How are we supposed to be friends if you won't share your name?"

"I am not your friend. I am your helper, your sistan . My name is of no importance. Now, please come to the bath, so I can get you ready to meet with the Raiva."

This is a creature of singular vision, it seems. "Tell me your name, and I will take the bath with you." That didn't come out as intended, but they seem to understand.

"Tylan." They tap a clawed fingertip against the stone inlaid bulkhead. "Now, will you please come to the bath?"

I can't help but grin, feeling like I've won a great battle. "Certainly, Tylan," I say, walking toward the bathing room. Then I realize I may have just pissed off someone who is about to dunk me neck deep in water, and I shiver.

"Thank you for telling me your name," I say as I follow them toward the tub. "I'm sorry if I was rude."

"I did not think it rude. I think Sky is well named. You are one who gives without thinking and expects others to have that same gift," the sistan says, their tone even.

I'm not sure if that's an insult, compliment, or just an observation. Considering my luck, it's probably an insult. But as far as insults go, I've weathered worse. This one was almost nice. "Thanks," I say. "Now, can we compromise?"

"Compromise?"

"Yeah," I say, standing before the hot tub of water and bubbles. "You hold up the towel while I get undressed. Then I'll get into the tub, and you can hand me the washcloth and the soap. Then you can hold up the towel when I'm done and get out. Okay?"

I shouldn't care so much about this bathing thing. I mean, it's cringe-worthy in the extreme, but better bathed than basted. But everything since the Titan blew up has been one spiraling disaster after another, and I've had no control over any of it. Hell, I couldn't even get the Raiva's guards to turn me right side up when they dragged me into the ship. I want to wash my own armpits. That's not too much to ask, is it?

Tylan asks, "Is this how they carry out the ritual of bathing where you come from?" as I stare into the tub.

"Yes, yes, it is," I say, avoiding Tylan's gaze. If make eye contact, I'll burst out laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. One minute I'm convinced these creatures mean to kill me, and the next I'm fabricating some cockamamie bathing ritual so I can wash my own armpits.

This has been a day.

"I see. How fascinating," Tylan replies. Their eyebrow frills raise. "We have little information compiled on Zone 4, unfortunately. I will ensure that we add this to our database. Is this a common custom for your kind?"

By the stars, at the rate I'm going, I can see my little white lie spiraling into a diplomatic incident. When and if humans and Asheraah ever make contact.

"No. Just my homeworld. It's remote," I say, scrambling for details. "Uh… Xanthia. Little place. Super religious folk. Holding the towel is an honor reserved only for the most devout."

I hold my breath, hoping they'll buy my barefaced bunk. Tylan stares at me for a long moment before nodding. "I see. My apologies. I did not mean to question your customs." They gesture to the towel with a hand. "I am honored to uphold this important ritual for you."

I exhale, flooded with relief. Crisis averted. My armpits are my own.

Tylan holds up the towel while I undress, sink into the warm water of the tub, and hold out my hand for the washcloth and soap. It smells like flowers. The water feels soothing against my skin as I lower myself in, the temperature perfect.

This is nice. I wonder what's going to happen when the Raiva arrives? I'd better be done with this bathing thing before he gets here, just in case he's thinking of me as more than a dozen rehydrated egg packets or a hostage.

One step at a time, Sky.

Things can always get worse.