Authors: Sandra Harris
Oh fuck, this is really bad.
Coldness washed down her face, tracking the warmth of her blood leaching away. Her brain blanked as shock abducted every thought. From a long way off, Drengel’s voice trickled into hearing.
“General, Lieutenant, you must leave.
Now
.”
General Mhartak strode through Kintista army base cursing fluently and silently. Every time he encountered the woman he left her distressed or unconscious—or both.
And both were unacceptable.
Why? He grimaced behind the expressionless mask of his face. Not for reasons of disinterested compassion, as it should be. No, she fascinated him beyond decency.
He was truly sorry he’d had to sedate her in the cavern. The surprising strength of her understandable, though panicky, struggles would have resulted in injury to herself had he let them continue.
Lank and unruly as her hair had been, the auburn locks charmed him, the lush elegance of her lips tempted him to taste her. What in the name of g’Nel had he been thinking to have those sorts of thoughts
in combat
?
He drew a deep, calming breath, his chest expanding to challenge the dimensions of his shirt. What was it about her that spoke to him on such a fundamental level? Couched as a security question, Drengel had ruled out the influence of a pheromone. Certainly the courage and tenacity she possessed exhibited as profound. He knew the Bluthen. For one of such soft-skinned, limited stature as she to remain alive through such an ordeal was incredible. That she maintained any sense of reason after what she had undoubtedly witnessed and endured testified to her strength of character. Were all humans so durable?
She stirred something deep and primal within him. Gazing into her eyes compared to staring into the gold-flecked, moss green depths of a pool of sacred n’rilan nectar. His palms and finger pads tingled at the memory of skin so soft and warm it felt like touching liquid light.
As commander of this base, his responsibility required him to study Drengel’s report on her. It was
not
his responsibility to discover if they were sexually compatible. Nor be so overjoyed by the fact that the thought of possessing her blasted a rush of sensual fire through his veins.
The races of the Alliance took pleasure in each other and partnered often, but pursuing Sandrea at this stage was not an option. She had endured a terrible ordeal and faced the great challenge of adapting to an alien civilization—unless they could find her world. Despite the similarities of their species, they
were
different. He wasn’t sure she
could
like him. Were humans even aware of other races?
A smile with the power to slice through his reserve landed on his lips. She wasn’t reticent in standing up to him. In spirit, at least, they matched. He gave a mental sigh. The ache in his hands to touch her again had not been quenched by skin-on-skin contact. It had intensified.
He still had a base to run and his duty as guardian of this sector to execute. He entered his office and sat at his desk. His eyes tightened on another unconfirmed report indicating the Bluthen had developed a device that allowed individuals to visually pass as Angrigan. A consideration he must prepare for when addressing the response the Bluthen would mount to the existence of the capsule. Especially as Sandrea had done them the service of recovering the device.
Sandrea opened her eyes to discover the General sitting, apparently working, in a metal chair a few feet from her bed. She blinked and waited for indignation to rampage through the muzziness of recent sleep. It failed to show in substantial quantities, but did put in a mild, somewhat lazy, appearance. She pushed herself up and dragged the hair out of her eyes. At least she felt stronger today.
“Can I help you with something?” she mumbled.
His regard lifted from an electronic pad. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
The General leaned a long arm across to the far wall and pressed a symbol on a backlit glass panel.
“Food will be here shortly.”
She nodded, letting her head fall back between her shoulders, and stared at the ceiling. When she’d fazed out of awareness, her mind had wandered in a funky, not-terribly-nice kind-of, way. The horror of what her family must be going through scraped across her soul. Her gut wrenched at the thought of what might have happened to them. Were they alive? Enduring the same torment she had?
Did they know what had befallen her? She had, quite literally, disappeared off the face of the Earth. Were they even aware of the existence of aliens, the possibility she’d been taken? If not, her father and brothers would have searched for her day and night—and found only cold failure.
Her mother would be distraught beyond comfort and no doubt harrying officials on every level in an attempt to find her. She just hoped to God they were alright. And what about Rinty? A feeling of disquiet and emptiness scooped a void in her heart where her dog should be.
“I would like to apologize for tranquillising you on the Bluthen asteroid.”
She turned to the General and gazed into the intellect radiating from his eyes. A warm connection flickered deep within her. The rather inappropriate feeling that, given time, she’d forgive him anything, stole over her.
“And the surgery without my permission?”
He nodded. “That as well.”
She really didn’t want to fight with him, and he’d had good cause to act as he did on both occasions. “Please don’t do it again.”
The sombre inclination of his head made his silent assent.
“I was on an asteroid?”
“In Bluthen space, yes.”
“Where am I now?”
“Kintista military base. We are on a moon orbiting a gas giant.”
“And you don’t know where Earth—that’s the name of my planet—is.”
“No, we do not. As I said, we have not encountered your species before.”
“What you’re saying then is that Earth is not situated within the realm of space
you
are familiar with.”
“That is correct.”
“Big, is it?”
His eye-ridges raised and she wondered just how the translator had interpreted her words.
“Oh, er, yes. The Alliance, which comprises Angrigans, Magrans, and Legolopanths covers a relatively large area of the Galaxy.”
She ran a hand to her forehead and leaned into it.
How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this?
“You are not going to . . . Do you require the doctor?”
“No, General, I’m not going to faint and, thank you, I don’t require the doctor.”
He dragged the chair closer and stared with solemn gravity into her face. “I can’t even begin to understand what you are going through.”
For a long moment, she drank in the compassion and strength emanating from his gaze. The sheer enormity of what plagued her paled a little.
“I admit I’m more than a tad upset, confused, frightened, and angry.”
She bent her legs to sit cross-legged, stuck an elbow on one knee, and rested her chin on the palm of a hand.
“Tell you what, General, if you’ve got a Galactic map, I’ll show you where Earth is.”
“You know where your planet is located?”
“Roughly,” she said, and then quoted, “The unfashionable end of the Western Spiral Arm.”
“I’m sorry?”
A sigh leaked out of her, like air from a tire.
Yeah, me too.
“Just get me the map, General.”
He nodded. “Very well.”
His intense regard remained focused and she could not but help fall into his reef-water green eyes
as she would the sea. Silence wrapped a heavy, almost intimate, blanket around them.
“What happened to your ridges?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
She lifted a hand and sketched a line along the top of either side of her head. “Your ridges. You had lateral cranial ridges in the cavern.”
“Ahh, they are products of . . . high emotion—such as aggression.”
“I don’t follow you.”
He frowned. “I’m not going anywh— Oh I see! When we are faced with . . . provocation, the ridges harden and swell.”
Must be great for head butting.
“And they contract when the threat is over?”
“When we are no longer experiencing stimuli, yes.”
She ran her fingers into her air. It was clean, but, heavens, her scalp felt itchy
.
Patiently she tried to finger-comb several knots free.
“Thank you for saving my life, General.”
“The honour was entirely mine, Sa— Miss Fairbairn, and my name is Mhartak. Eugen Mhartak.”
“Call me Sandrea.”
The door
whooshed
open and an Angrigan soldier strode in bearing a tray of food.
“Thank you, Private,” Mhartak said.
The soldier placed the tray on her lap and glanced into her face with a depth of earnest studiousness that surprised her. He took a step back, then stood to attention.
Mhartak glanced at him. “Was there something else, Private?”
“I wanted to express my gratitude to the human, sir.”
Mhartak transferred his gaze to her.
“The human’s name is Miss Fairbairn—”
“Sandrea.”
“Perhaps you should define your reasons why you think she requires your gratitude.”
The soldier regarded her with what she could only describe as professional self-containment.
“I was one of the group you helped free.”
“Oh! Well, I’m grateful you were there otherwise I wouldn’t have been rescued.”
The soldier gave a short, sharp nod and turned.
“Private, advise Lieutenant Graegen I require a Galactic map.”
“Yes, sir.”
An aroma stole into her nostrils, tantalizing her taste buds. She dropped her gaze to the bowl of food and took an experimental mouthful. It did not taste like chicken, but it did appeal to her palate.
“Your food is acceptable?”
“I can’t remember the last time I ate.” A partial recollection flashed through her mind and she grimaced. “Actually, I think I can, but I’d rather not.” She concentrated on making a new, much more pleasant memory.
When Lieutenant Graegen appeared at the open doorway and entered carrying a pair of thin, metal tubes, she paused and gave him a bright smile.
“Hi, Lieutenant, how’s things?”
“Well, thank you, Sandrea, and you?”
“You needn’t have brought the map yourself, Lieutenant,” Mhartak reprimanded. “That is, after all, one of the duties of a private.”
She flicked her gaze to his frowning face.
What’s that about?
“Yes, General,” Graegen answered and handed the cylinders to him.
“Can you stay a minute, Lieutenant?” she asked.
Mhartak’s jaw clenched. “I’m sure the Lieutenant has much to accomplish, Sandrea.”
She frowned.
Are those ridges swelling?
“I’m only asking him to stay for a minute,” she said in her best ‘be-reasonable-will-you?’ voice.
“Your attire is hardly appropriate,” Mhartak censured.
Disbelief flamed through her.
This from a man who sat by my bed while I slept!
“I don’t have anything else
to
wear, General.”
“I am rather busy, Sandrea,” Graegen deferred. “Perhaps I’ll come back later.” He turned to Mhartak. “It’s selected to the required map, sir.”
Mhartak grunted, pressed a switch on one of the tubes then separated them about a meter. Between the two pipes a blue haze glowed then filled with dots of white, yellow, and red in the shape of a barred spiral galaxy. He shifted the map so she could view it.
Briefly ignoring him, she waved good-bye to Graegen then turned her attention to the map, and the solid strength in Mhartak’s forearms caught her eye. Muscle rippled beneath smooth mocha skin dappled with smudges of gold. Her stomach dipped and she gritted her teeth.
It’s bad enough that my body has this uncontrollable response to his, but does it have to do it when I’m miffed at him?
“This spiral arm,” she said after a moment’s observation and pointed.
If I remember my graduate astronomy classes correctly.
“We’re about eight kiloparsecs from Galactic centre. Here.”
“Kiloparsecs?”
“Three point two-six light years to a parsec, so, um, put down the eight, carry the four . . . just over twenty-six thousand light years.”
“Lieutenant!” Mhartak’s roar reverberated through her skull, and she slapped a hand to her ear.
Goddammit! Did he have to
do
that?
Graegen’s footsteps jogged back. Mhartak showed him Earth’s location. The pair exchanged a look that was far from reassuring. She bounced her gaze between them.
“They’ve penetrated that far?” Graegen seemed amazed.
“So it would seem,” Mhartak replied with resigned disgust.
Their distress almost compelled her to offer comfort. She lifted a hand toward them and they turned to her. The similar, compassionate expressions in their eyes levelled a kick to her gut.
“What?”
“The distance to your home is considerable,” Mhartak said.
“You can’t get me back?”
“Regrettably, no.”
Anguish pierced her heart while rage threatened to screech her rejection of fate. Her body folded and sagged to the bed, swamped by a violent flood of loss and misery.
“You will, of course, be welcome with us.” Mhartak’s soft words drifted like fragile petals into the dreadful turmoil of her emotions.
The lifeline he offered seemed all too insignificant against the tide of bitter despair burning her soul. Her throat clogged with churning emotion, she managed an abrupt nod.
“Is there anything we can do for you?” he offered.