27. Tyrxie

Chapter 27

Tyrxie

Fed up

A n explosion of rich flavors caresses my senses, eliciting an involuntary moan from my lips. It’s a stark contrast to the bland, gloppy paste that has always sustained me. This meat processes a wondrous texture, and each chew releases a burst of delicious nourishment. “So good!” I declare, in response to Xandor’s question.

Glancing at Xandor he smiles with a brief nod, although he shuffles with an awkward movement, adjusting his body angle away from me. Something I said? He’s been hard work today, but I think he’s finally warming up to me.

I wanted to speak with him, to ask him questions—no, that’s a lie, I wanted to make things right. Over the past few days, I’ve felt awful for pushing him away, especially when he ignored me afterward.

Only when I almost lost him did I realize how much I want him.

“Good, I’m glad,” Xandor replies, interrupting my jumbled thoughts, wishing I had someone, anyone, who could answer my unsolvable queries. “Although this pales compared to the steaks back home. Not to mention, I nearly obliterated these,” he adds, taking my old plate to cut up more meat.

My greed and rumbling stomach drive me to keep devouring chunks. A frantic part of me wants to finish before something or someone takes it away from me. “I like the burned bits,” I mumble, my mouth stuffed to the brim. “They’re crunchy.”

Xandor shakes his head with a sigh, “It’s supposed to be succulent,” he laments with an over dramatic opening of his elevated hand. “So it melts in your mouth, like soft snow under a pleasant sun.”

Noroth rolls his eyes, and I would laugh, If I wasn’t struggling to swallow. “Oh,” I begin, trying to imagine snow melting, something I’ve never seen. “If it melted, how could you eat it? Like a liquid?” I ask with a grimace, thinking that sounds horrible.

Xandor lets out a soft laugh. “No... It’s hard to explain,” he frowns, his full lips scrunching. “If you ever return to Klendathor, try the steaks in Draxru. Then you’ll know what I mean,” he smiles. “And then you’ll think, ‘Gods, Xandor was right all along!’”

My heart sinks like arcweave slag. I had hoped he would stay with me, that he could show me Klendathor and Draxru, maybe even—Earth. But I told him I wanted to part ways on Nebia, for him to leave me alone.

I’m such a stupid bitch!

“What this really needs is some vegetables, a big plate of fried dumplings and a horn of stiff draught,” Noroth interrupts with closed eyes and a soft groan.

My mouth waters, even though I’ve no idea what he’s listing. Seeing their reaction is enough. To my surprise, I notice my plate is almost empty. Despite my stomach feeling full to bursting, I still crave more.

Xandor must observe my greedy glances. “Here, finish mine,” he offers, pushing his plate toward me with a smile.

Yummy! I drive right in, using both hands with efficient movements, creating a conveyer belt of deliciousness. “Gods, she eats faster than you, Noroth,” Xandor states with a laugh.

My face heats at his words, but I don’t care. Who knows when I’ll have the opportunity for such decadence again? “I think you’re right,” Noroth scrutinizes me with a wide-eyed stare.

I’d reply if my mouth wasn’t sore from chewing. Finally, my stomach gurgles with loud surrender, overwhelmed by this rare treat. “Void, I couldn’t eat another bite!” I exclaim, patting my swollen belly.

Xandor frowns. “That’s lucky. There isn’t another bite remaining,” he says with dry humor.

I smile, glancing towards Xandor. “Thank you. It tasted delicious,” I declare.

Xandor waves a dismissive hand. “Think nothing of it. My only regret is that voiding thing burned them,” he gestures with annoyance towards the perfect functioning food dispenser, as if it’s somehow responsible. “If I were back on Klendathor, with a real natural fire, they would’ve been perfect,” he laments.

My heart thunders in my chest as a bold question forces my lips to open. “Maybe you can show me one day?” I ask, my gaze locked onto his, pleading with every fiber of my being that he won’t reject me.

His golden eyes bore into mine, as if weighing every ounce of me. My very soul laid bare before him. It’s a struggle to resist the urge to flinch. Then my heart shatters as Xandor averts his gaze downward. “No, we are to part on Nebia,” he intones, entombing my desires with such finality, I’m rendered speechless.

He casually shatters my heart, and I know I deserve it.

An incredible tension and awkward silence ensue as I suppress tears that threaten to burst from my eyes. Noroth groans, filling the void. “What food do the Nebians eat?” he inquires, although the question feels hollow—an echo of my soul.

“I don’t know, but judging by their short stature and grumpy attitude, I’d guess—” Xandor begins with a frustrated tone until I interrupt him, driven by a sudden mania that surprises me.

“Why?” I demand,

“Why what?” Xandor responds.

“Why do you reject me?”

“You reject yourself.”

“What the void is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t know your own mind, and when you do, you work against it.”

“That’s not true...” Is that what I’ve been doing?

“It is, and you lack the conviction of your words. Even now you waver, uncertain of what you want.”

“No, I’m just trying to process things.”

Xandor sighs, “Listen Tyrxie, you’re a young female who was stuck in an awful situation. With your freedom on Nebia, you can discover who you really are.”

Each word feels like the most bitter blow. “You promised to protect me. Remember?” I remind him as my tears come crashing down, along with my dreams of safety.

“You killed my promise at the end of a gun. You’re too volatile, moving from desire and hatred in the blink of an eye.”

“I’m sorry, Xandor, please!” I plead, my vision now blurred.

“No, I can’t trust you,” Xandor declares, turning away with folded arms. “Go now. I tire of this, and I’ve much work to do.”

Consumed by utter devastation, I’m unable to find the right words, unable to endure anymore. I can only glance at the others. Logarn has no interest as he remains fixated on his meal. My eyes find Noroth’s, who offers a sympathetic grimace before lowering his gaze.

There’s nothing I can do. I am alone, as always.

Shaking from the sobs, I rub the tears from my eyes, turning to exit the room. As the door slides open, I hear Noroth say, “You were hard on the female.”

And as I round the corner, I hear Xandor reply, almost inaudible, “I know, but it had to be done.”

Did it? Why can’t he understand this is what I want? The other times irrational fear and confusion clouded me, caused by years of abuse and neglect. Is there nothing I can do? My mind races with possibilities—some words, some act that will right this wrong, that threaten to pull me into a bottomless abyss of pain.

Maybe Xandor is right. Some things can’t be mended?

I continue towards Job’s workshop, not sure why—maybe to finish my project. It’s hard to tell, my heads fuzzy with intense emotions. Feelings of loss and bitter disappointment, foreign to me, surge within. My life has been full of fear, terror, and pain, but nothing like having my hopes dashed to pieces. It’s crueler to soar from the heights of joy, only for my wings to be cut, leaving me plummeting into a chasm of tears.

Entering the workshop with erratic breaths, I almost fail to notice Job bent over, reaching into a crate of arcweave plates. His presence irks me; I wish to be left alone, to avoid being seen in such an obvious emotional and vulnerable state.

They’ll see my weakness and take advantage.

Job jolts upright, his antenna twirling until they point in my direction. “Oh, Tyrxie, you frighten with sudden appearance. Yes?” he states, his tone quicker than usual.

“I... I’m sorry, Job,” I reply, wiping my face in haste. Too much apologizing of late.

“Hmm.” Job studies me with his beady eyes, like he’s sizing up how much filler he needs. “Your face is leaking. You visit Captain again? Yes?” he inquires.

“No,” I avert my gaze, seeking to escape his questioning scrutiny. “I haven’t seen him in days.” The Captains been on my mind, knowing Xandor has taken over some of his duties. A part of me fears what will become of him. But I squash the thought. He’s not worth it!

Job lowers his goggles, and peers even closer, forcing me to step back. “Hey, what are you doing?” I exclaim, throwing my hands up.

“Hmm,” Job continues, his investigation unperturbed. “Tears, yet no mis-colored bumpy skin present. Yes?” He lifts his googles over his narrow head. “Perplexing, usual pattern now altered. Yes?” he adds with a fluttering of his arm limbs beneath his mouth.

Can I confide in Job? Perhaps not. I’m still not convinced Glaseroids possess empathy beyond their insatiable curiosity, but my desperation compels me to try. “It’s Xandor the Klendathian, I...I...” My words trail off. Vocalizing my thoughts in front of Job’s expectant antennae proves more difficult than I suspected.

Job taps his fingers with impatience, “Giant mammaloid now mating you? Mod might have ointment. Yes?”

“No!” I snap back, the thought of it both terrifying and exciting. “...it’s the lack of...mating that’s the problem,” I struggle, stammering the words, cringing as I see the confused expression spreading over Job.

“Hmm, but you eager female, who displays mating signals? Yes?” Job tilts his head, and I’m glad he’s taking my problems seriously for once.

Mating signals? I’ve told him I want to be with him? Isn’t that enough?

“I... I think so,” I reply, my voice uncertain, now scratching my head. “What type of mating signals?”

“I’m like sire to new pupa,” Job sighs, casting nervous glances around him, as if he’s about to reveal some great secret. I’m drawn forward, leaning with bated breath, on the verge of discovering the key piece of information. “You display engorged egg sack? Yes?” Job asks in a hushed whisper.

His exoskeleton turns a darker shade as I stare at him, stunned with disappointment. “Engorged egg sack?” I repeat, my tone loaded with disbelief.

“You speak quieter. Yes?” Job suggests, glancing over his shoulder. “No intact male resists such sight. Yes?” Job adds as his beady eyes widen.

“Um,” I persist, wondering if there’s a way his strange species’ advice might be relevant somehow. I’m in this deep! “What if I don’t have an... engorged egg sack?” I whisper the last part for the sake of Job’s modesty.

Now it’s Job’s turn to appear surprised, his many arm limbs flailing. “You lack the sack?” he shakes his narrow head. I would laugh if this wasn’t so serious. “You are female? Yes?”

I frown in annoyance at his silly question. “Yes, of course I’m a voiding female!” I exclaim, yet Job doesn’t look convinced, which further stokes my annoyance. “Sure, aren’t you always suggesting I show my ‘fleshy bits’...” My words give way to a sudden realization, engorged egg sack equals breasts? Not the worst idea ever...

What would Xandor do If I showed him my body?

Such a simple answer, yet I doubt it’d work. As my fingers trace my scorched brand on my chest, anxiety churns in my stomach. No, I’m ugly and bear the mark of another upon me. White-hot hatred replaces my anxiety, melting it in a boiling sea of loathing. My stupid trust in the Tuskarian has maybe ruined my body and ruined my chances with Xandor.

“Yes, fleshy bits!” Job exclaims, coming to the same conclusion. “You display those. Yes?” He suggests with an eager tone, pointing a rude finger at my breasts.

“Alright, no need to point.” I wave his elongated hand away. Yet curiosity prompts me to ask, “What if I show my...” I pause for a steadying breath. “Fleshy bits, and Xandor still isn’t interested?”

“Hmm,” Job mutters, his beady eyes peering to the ceiling. “Then male defective. Yes?” he finishes with a nod. I frown, thinking it sounds so simple for the Glaseroids, but remain skeptical if it applies to us ‘mammaloids.’

Yet our conversation bolsters my mood, giving me one card to play. A damaged one, but it’s all I’ve got. “Thanks Job, I’m going to try that,” I beam at him with a slight nod.

Job scoffs, “I help you, so you help me. Yes?” he gestures to the crate of arcweave plates. “You help finish repairing cargo hold. Yes?”

I suppress a groan, remembering the work is still outstanding. “Fine. Just let me finish something real quick, okay?” I request.

Job just huffs a breath and skitters out the room, carrying some plates of arcweave he’s retrieved. “Job must do everything. Yes?” he mutters, his parting words.

He’s such a moaner.

But my mind is already abuzz with new schemes. How do I get Xandor alone? He refused a private conversation last time, despite enduring my terrifying fear of his Klendathian friends. I’d even made a fool of myself in front of them. The memory alone ignites my face with embarrassment. Yet, he questions my convictions, despite suffering his feigned boredom and terse responses too. “Void, he’s ridiculous!” I exclaim to no one. Maybe Job’s right, maybe he is defective.

My heart drops as a terrible realization dawns on me in a sudden stomach churning rumble. Xandor has already seen my fleshy bits! When Urgnaw the Tuskarian attacked me, I was topless and yet Xandor never glanced at my chest once. It must be because I’m ugly, like I suspected. I sigh, disappointed, thinking Job’s and my idea is even less likely to work now.

Letting out a resigned sigh, I move to a workbench cluttered with old parts and random cuts of arcweave. The workshop is the epitome of organized chaos. Once, I tried to tidy the place and Job complained for a week straight that he couldn’t find anything. Who knows how the Glaseroid processes this madness?

For my part, I’m left to rummage like a scurrying animal amidst the chaos. I retrieve my half-completed project, happy to find Job hasn’t mistaken it for rubbish, and incinerated it. Studying the fake pistol frame, I both marvel at my clever idea and despair at my lack of metalworking skills.

I overlay the pistol frame over my Nebian gun, hoping it’ll act like a disguise. Then I can carry it with me, avoiding the prying eyes and vengeful Nebians. It rests over the sleek black and red Nebian pistol, mimicking the chamber and barrel of a more standard ballistic gun, similar to my own. I bite my lip and grab my tools, needing to smooth out more edges and deepen the groves to make it more convincing.

As I work, all troubled thoughts of Xandor, this ship, and my future fade away like space dust. There’s only this task before me, a welcome reprieve for my battered soul. It’s not long before I’ve smoothed the metal, sliding the casing over the Nebian gun, comparing it to my original. So close now, it’s almost identical! A smile crosses my lips, thinking how exciting it’ll be to carry such a deadly weapon and no one being the wiser.

I move across the room to retrieve a clean cloth and catch my reflection in a large polished sheet of arcweave, seeing myself with stunning clarity. Giggling, I notice my protruding belly still full of rich meat. “I look like a pregnant Tuskarian!” I declare, pushing out my stomach for comical emphasis. A bold idea pops into my head, compelling me to peek over my shoulders to ensure I’m alone.

Let’s see what I’m working with here.

Lifting off my shirt that clings with prudish stubbornness, I stand exposed before my reflection. I frown, looking at my ‘fleshy bits’ that appear silly and pointless. Turning, I examine my side angles, lamenting at my visible ribs. My hopes sink with each new blemish, each new ugly observation. Xandor is so big and muscular. There’s no way he’ll be attracted to me—a skinny bag of bones.

“What’s the point?” I complain with a heavy sigh. Already feeling defeated before I’ve examined the worst part—the horrible snarling horned beast that sits between my breasts. My teeth clench in anger, tracing my fingers over the coarse, raised skin, mocking me. It feels like my body itself is conspiring against me, twisting into a scornful monster, a manifestation of all my insecurities.

Why can’t I get rid of this voiding thing?

I rake my nails over the skin, driven by hatred and despair. But pain forces me to stop, a small trickle of blood weeping from the beast’s eyes, echoing my own agony. How can Xandor, or anyone for that matter, care for me when I have the mark of another male on me? A constant reminder of my shame glaring back at them. I don’t know Xandor as well as I’d like, but I worry it might disgust him.

Maybe I am disgusting?

Something golden glints in the reflection, filling me with dread. I spin round, reaching for my knife, dropping into a low stance. Hyanxa lurks close by—too close. She must’ve been sneaking up on me. I was right to be afraid. What does she want? She always finds me when I’m most vulnerable.

But this time I’ll fight her!