5. Zeerah
Three kortans ago, Falkion was bonded to me against his will with a twisted mating spray.
And he's finally figured out the way to get to me.
"Zeerah." He comes to my door and knocks politely. Like he's a human now, just with gray skin and silver eyes and black spikes on the tips of his ears. "You finished studying for the Needle-class. Do you want to practice flying one?"
My heart squeezes.
No, no.
No.
His drug is wearing off. Getting attached is pointless.
At first, he couldn't allow me out of arm's reach. Then, he couldn't handle me being outside his line of sight. Finally, he couldn't handle a separation longer than a few clicks.
Now, he can go clegs. Almost a full shift. I just need to stretch us apart a little more, and the bindings will snap. We'll both be free.
I should definitely not go flying with him.
Not even to become an officially certified pilot of the empire, one of my impossible girlhood dreams.
He looks at me expectantly.
Oh, H. "I'm ready."
He reaches out a hand. "Let's go."
My chest twists.
I do not take his hand. Distance, Zeerah, distance. I stride past him. "I know the way."
He ambles beside me.
In the past, he'd argue. Insult me. Forcefully close our distance.
That was the drug, though.
He's always been a relentless man, so I mustn't react because he's relentless in pursuing me.
Falkion takes me to engineering. The main engineering bay opens up in front of me. It's massive, like standing on the street in Cloud City and staring up at the skyscrapers. I've never spent much time here. My supply officer gig didn't require it.
Hundreds of ships dock on the different levels. Far below my entrance, parts of a hull sizzle as the engineers make repairs. This whole area is crawling with busyness and noise.
He signs out the small vessel, and we cross from the main grating to a miniature grav tube. I step into air and shoot up like I'm flying out of a cannon.
Falkion tugs me onto the correct level, about six floors up, and I wobble on the scaffolding. We stride past pristine, gleaming ships that dwarf us until we reach the tiny little two-person Needle-class.
Arrisan ships have teeth.
All the better for biting onto their targets.
Here, the bottom teeth seal to the dock. Only the color difference shows where they connect in a smooth zigzag fit.
I duck beneath the fangs and enter.
This is my first time in a Needle-class. It's my first time in the captain's seat since the Eruvisans wrecked my Harvester and my first time ever piloting a new, well-functioning Arrisan ship.
I tug the glass-like wall. It morphs beneath my fingertips, transforming into a console that surrounds and cups me. Controls appear on the armrests and across the panels above and below.
Falkion sits in the other console. I could run over and throw my arms around him and cry with thanks, but I strictly do not. He leans back, rests his ankle on his knee, and crosses his arms. Like me, he wears his hood down, fully protected in case of a sudden depressurization or other catastrophe.
My heart rate quickens.
This is a long way from launching out of a dusty airfield.
I follow the protocols to seal up the ship and undock us, then I wait attentively as an engineer on a small sled tows our ship through the bay, moving us around the hundreds of other ships docked here. She uncouples at the atmosphere veil.
My stomach pitches with excitement.
Here we go.
I ease forward.
We slide through the atmosphere veil.
Cables from the dreadnought's massive guns and communications arrays dangle around our external passage like vipers. They automatically train on us, evaluate us as a target, and then rotate away.
We clear the obstacles, and space opens up around us.
My fingers dance over the unblemished dash.
The ship moves richly under me, so responsive.
I zoom away from the dreadnought. Away from the support ships, away from the battlefield, away from lessers-who-should-know-their-place and look-she-thinks-she's-an-ally.
The stars are limitless.
This peace is beautiful.
I could keep going.
Just fly away.
Free.
Falkion makes a guttural noise, clears his throat, and shifts in his seat.
Ah, no. I guess I couldn't.
Although, in the quiet moments, when the world is so peaceful and I can almost smell his electric male scent, I wonder if being stuck to him for the rest of my life would really be all that bad.
He's almost human underneath that skinsuit. I've seen him nude. His relaxed member has girth, and I think it would feel—
Ah! What am I thinking?
I check my angles and take evasive action, practicing the quick movements Needle-class ships are designed for, but mostly to evade my own thoughts.
But illicit feelings thrum below my belly…
I veer back toward the dreadnought.
It hangs in space like a massive jellyfish being eaten by a sea urchin.
Support ships, including a Starbreaker-class warship holding thousands, orbit the dreadnought like angry bees.
They're so small in comparison, it's crazy.
They're also mostly here to study the sea urchin ship.
It's an H-alien ship.
It popped out of the Vanadisan's secret research base in the middle of their epic final battle, paralyzed and ate the other dreadnought, then came for us.
The Arrisans about had a massive empire-wide coronary.
They thought the H-aliens had come back from a thousand years ago to finish the job.
The Vanadisans actually just found it abandoned and got it working again, somehow. It gave them a massive psychological advantage.
Falkion missed it because he was out of his mind from their drug. We barely managed to deactivate it. It still drifted into our dreadnought.
If his blades can slice through almost any substance in the universe, the H-alien ship can slice through all the rest.
The Arrisans are obsessive about the H-aliens. They have a little indicator light on every ship in their empire, including this one, which will light up as soon as the real H-aliens are spotted.
I coast back into the main bay. An engineer tugs us back to our slip. I complete my docking procedures.
Falkion remains in his seat.
I consider leaning across and stroking his arm. Following the line up to his jaw. Pushing back the hood and looking him in the eyes.
Those pure, relentless silver eyes.
And thanking him so much for letting me pilot a ship again.
He takes a deep breath and leans forward, catches me looking at him.
Heat enfolds me.
Awareness streaks to my center.
I jolt to my feet, retract the control console, and head to the door. "Welp, thanks again. See you later."
I lift my hand to the door controls.
He darts forward, impossibly fast, and blocks me. "How do you feel about me now?"
The electric scent of him makes my heart tremble.
It's been over three kortans since he was sprayed.
Since he stuck himself to me.
And I can't stop noticing the broadness of his inflexible jaw, the fierce sharpness of his cheeks. His silver eyes are so clear. Honest, and forthright like his blades, and very pure.
I want to lick that cheekbone. See how he reacts. Or maybe I just want to nibble on his lips. Same reason. My nether regions throb.
After the Vandisan defeat, my clients were rescued and sent to Empress Allie for medical attention. I've gotten to see and talk with them via viewscreens. The ones who were cured, with Arrisan partners seem normal. Happy, even.
So, it's possible to be happy with an Arrisan for a partner…
Ugh, this is why I have to get out of here.
"The flight is over," I say, ignoring his question. "Time to go our separate ways."
"I want to grow your desire for me, Zeerah."
My pussy clenches
"I can't take any more showers," I say, as much for my benefit as for his. "I've shaved my head, scrubbed down to raw skin. I'd rip out my fingernails if that would help you."
He frowns.
"Because this isn't you. And I'm sorry, Falkion. I don't know how else to help you."
"If you desire me like a human…" His silver eyes fix on me, his logic as arrow-straight as his determination. "Then you will remain at my side."
"But I can't because you hate me."
"No."
"You do hate me." Again, I remind myself as much as I remind him. "You just don't remember."
We're stuck.
I hit the button to open the door of the small passenger shuttle. Its jagged lower teeth sink into the dock, melting seamlessly.
Falkion, who does not remember that he hates me, still blocks my exit. "Do this again tomorrow?"
Of course we'll do this again tomorrow. I want to be a pilot more than anything.
If he would only scream at me like before, and growl and threaten, I could keep him at a distance.
"Maybe," I mutter, avoiding his gaze. Which happens to cause me to glance back at the Needle-class ship's main control panel.
The H-alien warning light is glowing a bright and deadly green.
Wait.
My stomach drops. "Uh, isn't that—"
He snatches me. His arm is like a band around my belly.
We barrel out the door, across the scaffolding, and fly off the dock. I'm jerked this way and that, the breath knocked out of me. We land hard on the main floor grating, and he sprints, with me bouncing against him, to the huge internal doors.
The overhead lights shift to green, and a terrifying siren blares from the walls. Other Arrisans stop and look up. Falkion dodges them.
Without a word, they turn and run purposefully, almost robotically, and in complete silence.
Creepy.
Everyone has a station to go to when the H-aliens attack. That's what Falkion told me.
Everyone has a station except me.
He carries me to the bridge. I expect him to drop me inside and do whatever it is that a dreadnought captain does when facing the real H-aliens, but he holds me tight as he barks one question to his bridge crew. "Status?"
"Weapons are hot," his weapons specialist says.
"Engines are a question," the internal officer says.
He pulls back his hood. "Put engineering on the main screen."
The communications officer obeys.
Olasi, the head of engineering, is pale gray. Silent engineers hurry behind her. "Are we flying? Or are we considered out of commission?"
Everyone looks at Falkion, who holds me without an explanation, and nobody comments on it. "Can we fly?"
"Slowly, yes, and in a straight line. The problem will be when we want to stop."
"How much longer will it take to get to our final position?"
"Two extra goras."
"Then you have two extra goras to figure out how to stop us."
She nods, and the engineers behind her scatter. "Engines will be ready in twenty clicks." Her screen goes dark.
"Our flight path is plotted," the navigation officer announces.
"Move in twenty clicks." Falkion sits at his console and pulls me in with him.
I perch on his lap.
This is so awkward.
The clear metal molds to our shape like wraparound glass. Even when he needed me close before, he never made it as obvious as this.
Thankfully, no one cares about me at this moment. I'm the least of their problems.
Fourteen clicks in, I've pulled back my hood as well so I can scratch an itch on my nose, and all the viewscreens go black.
The white symbol of the emperor blinds us. My adrenaline kicks in another hit, and I twitch on Falkion's lap, but his grip on me is iron.
Since the emperor is the one who activates the Harsi light, he's probably contacting us with more information, but it's not the emperor who appears on the screen. It's Allie. And she looks more furious than I've ever seen her.
"Arrisans of the empire, the warning beacon is a mistake," she spits at the screens. "Again. A false alarm. Again. There's no Harsi. Yet again."
There's a long silence.
She huffs with frustration. "They don't believe me. Ranse?"
The emperor moves behind her.
Unlike normal Arrisans, Ranse has a rare shape and coloration. He's got a larger build, with bluish hair and lips, and an almost iridescent white skin. It makes him look otherworldly, ethereal, and strangely relaxing.
Except for the blood dripping off his hands and the new red mark, like the first hint of a bruise, under one eye.
"It is true." He crosses his blades. The blood reflects off his lances. "I have confirmed it myself. Stand down. Return to your previous assignments."
"If you can." Empress Allie gestures at a screen we can't see. "Look. Nobody's listening. They're still launching."
"Because we act," he tells her, having a private conversation in front of literally the entire empire. "We're aren't trained to question. The light appears, and we move."
"Well, ‘we' need to start thinking again." Allie balls her fists. "This is the last time. I will not jump at shadows, and I will not live with false threats."
Off-screen, someone calls out to her, "The High Command wants answers!"
She grits her teeth. "They will get them."
The screens go dark again, the emperor's symbol flashes, and then the bridge is very, very silent.
Falkion remains in perfect position, barely breathing.
I shift on his lap and whisper in his ear, "If it's a false alarm, can I go?"
He blinks, unseeing. I nudge him. "Falkion?"
No response.
I get so close, he goes blurry. "Falk—"
He startles, and my lips brush his gray cheek. His skin is smooth, the bone beneath hard, and he tastes like masculinity, hot and welcome. Heat streaks through my body. He focuses on me, finally, and with a terrible intensity that steals my breath and flushes awareness through my veins. I twist on his lap, suddenly conscious of every hard plane of his touching my softer places.
"The engines are ready," the navigator says tightly.
Falkion opens his mouth and closes it.
The navigator's hand hovers over his control. "Give the order to move, sir."
Instead, Falkion slides from beneath me and leaves his console. He approaches the main screen. Around our ship, the lights of other support ships and warships streak across the map, heading to their assigned destinations to fight the H-aliens.
But not all.
He turns. "Confirm our deployment with the High Command."
Vice-captain Kollok jets to his feet. "Sir?"
The other officers echo his shock.
Falkion stares at them, silver steel, and does not repeat his order.
Kollok frowns and sits again.
For another long, long period, the bridge is silent.
Then the communications officer clears her throat. "The orders from the High Command are to stand down."
Falkion touches his ear, activating his implant, and makes the shipwide announcement to stand down.
And then things get weird.
It takes clegs to get our ship back in order. He has to go and talk to some soldiers individually because they simply refuse to stand down until he breaks their trance and physically pulls them away from their emergency stations.
And I have to go with him.
Falkion keeps me within arm's reach, even forcing me to sleep in a corner of the bridge near him. Which, honestly, I appreciate, because it reminds me of just how much I hate his stupid gray Arrisan guts.
Seriously.
My warmer feelings were fleeting. Temporary insanity. My hatred is truth.
Over the following gora, explanations trickle in.
Some captain thought he saw an H-alien ship. Spooked by recent events, he sounded an alarm, which went straight to the Palace. There, several fail-safes were ignored or dismantled, and his warning was taken as truth. The Palace staff, trained to act without question, executed the alert.
Cue chaos.
So many ships disobeyed either the Palace, the High Command, or both that they don't know where everyone's ended up yet. They've lost entire armadas.
Old enemies took advantage of the Arrisan disarray to attack. Planetary governments collapsed.
All because of one false alarm.
That captain would probably be court-martialed, but he's dead. He refused the stand-down order, lost control, and his crew tore itself apart fighting the contradictory orders.
But none of that concerns me, because even though I grouch about having to bunk in the corner of the bridge while Falkion regains his peace of mind, I'm grateful for the distraction.
I don't want to think too hard about what Falkion did. Specifically about how, in the moment he thought the empire was ending, Falkion pulled me to his side and held me there.
He tried to protect me.
No one's ever done that before.
It's always, Uh-oh, we're in trouble, run, Zeerah, run.
I'm fast. I've had a lot of practice with running. But someone else having my back? Nah. I can't get used to that.
And so I don't talk about it.
After another gora, our support ships return to our nearspace, and everything reverts to normal.
Falkion allows me, once more, to go back to my room. Alone. Which means now, in the darkness of my sleeping pod, I can't stop thinking about the hardness of his cheek, the smoothness of his skin.
How it might taste if he takes my mouth.
The weight of his body pressing down on mine.
I twist, writhing in my sweat, and try to push out the thoughts of him crowding more and more into my head.
Soon, I'll have my pilot certifications.
The universe is limitless.
I'll fly beyond the farthest horizon.
And I'll forget this.
I will leave him far behind.