Seeran

Seeran waited for Lorran to wake. His brother had always been too sound a sleeper. As a child, he and their eldest brother, Mene, would sneak in mildly poisonous snakes and insects into Lorran’s bed. If Lorran did not want to wake with a viper’s bite on his foot, then he should sleep less deeply, or lock his bedroom door.

He sat at the bottom of the bed, watching Lorran’s naked foot flex and twitch. Any other day and he might have demonstrated enough patience to wait for Lorran to waken naturally. Today he had not the time nor the inclination.

Seeran smacked the bottom of Lorran’s pale lavender foot.

The younger male thrashed, fighting back the thin blanket and leaping out of the bed. Seeran cracked a cold smile at his brother’s struggle. It never failed to amuse him.

“I have a task for you,” Seeran said.

“I am ever at your service, brother.” Lorran picked a pair of trousers off the floor and stepped into them, much to Seeran’s relief.

“My mate needs a guardian today. Be at her side always.”

“Are we expecting an attack?”

“Do not let her come to harm,” Seeran said.

“Such an enigma you are. It must be serious if you will let me be alone with your mate, unless you claimed—”

“Do not touch my mate!” Seeran’s temper frayed. He moved and in the space of a heartbeat, he held a blade to his brother’s throat. Lorran was far too jovial about another male’s mate. He did not understand the overwhelming need to possess and the crushing jealousy.

Lorran held up his empty palms in a gesture of surrender. “Peace, brother.”

“If you lay a hand on my female, I will remove every one of your fingers and send them to our mother.”

Lorran’ gave a nod, the skin of his throat scraping against the blade.

“Swear to it!”

“You have my word.”

Satisfied, Seeran relaxed his grip and drew back.

Lorran rubbed his throat. It took only moments for impertinence to replace fleeting seriousness. “She smells too much like you now. I have no interest.”

That would have to satisfy his primal possessiveness. “I have told her that a certain male is dangerous but I fear her heart has more compassion than her head has good sense.”

“I will keep her safe.”

“Safe and untouched,” Seeran said.

“Or fingers. Yes, how could I forget.”

Hazel 

LORRAN DIDN’T EXPLAIN his presence that morning. He didn’t have to. Seeran had him on babysitting duty. Seeran feared Hazel would run off and do something foolish or risky for her only friend and... And he was probably correct. Mia was her only friend. Hazel would do something foolish and risky if Mia asked, or if she thought Mia was in trouble. Having a babysitter wasn’t a bad idea.

Lorran held up a pair of thin soled shoes that looked more like slippers than shoes. “We train.”

“What if I’m not interested?”

“We will go through the warrior forms. It is good for an underworked body and a busy mind.”

Hazel blushed at the words underworked body. Everyone knew. Absolutely everyone knew that her husband couldn’t be bothered to claim her, that she was a rejected woman.

“Too long in one room leads to mischief, eh,” he said in a sympathetic voice.

“A change of scenery would be good, I guess.” She took the shoes with reluctance. Her time on the ship felt like a vacation. Midday naps and hours spent knitting and catching up on programs was a novelty that hadn’t lost its appeal just yet. “Don’t you have regular duties? Why’d you get stuck babysitting me?”

“It is not wise to defy the direct order of a superior officer, which Seeran is.”

“I bet that goes over great.” The slippers were a type of flexible material that stretched to fit her foot tightly yet comfortably. It moved with ease but stiffened to a hard surface when the foot struck the floor. 

“He takes his duties very seriously.”

“Too serious to torment a little brother?”

A wicked smile flashed. “I am not so little, but yes, he is far too serious for that. You have the shoes on. Excellent.”

Lorran took her to a training arena. Stadium riser seats circled the simple sand floor. “This is it?”

“Expecting fantastic equipment and drones?”

“Yes.”

“There are many training arenas. This one is for hand-to-hand combat.” He planted his feet on the sand floor and stretched.

“We’re not going to fight are we?” He’d kick her butt without question. She had zero self-defense experience.

“I am forbidden from touching you on the threat of losing fingers, so we practice the forms.”

“Charming.”

“It was an effective motivator. This is a child’s stance.” He demonstrated, planting feet shoulder width apart with a slight bend to the knee.

Hazel copied.

“Excellent. Now we kneel.” He knelt on all fours then lowered his hips to his heels, his hands remained flat on the floor.

“Doesn't seem very warrior like.”

“A warrior can kneel to the superior skill of another. Also, this relaxes the muscles in the back and hips, so you are less likely to injure yourself.”

Hazel copied Lorran’s motions as much as possible. He took her through a simplistic version of the warrior forms for untrained children. It reminded her of the one yoga class she took before Scott declared yoga a waste of money.

Lorran took her through the forms, each flowing gently into the next. Recognition made her stumble in a few places. She saw Seeran do this back on Earth, when they were in the jail cell. She thought it looked like violent tai-chi. This was the kind, gentler version: aggressive yoga.

“You have a good center of balance,” he said.

“I should have. I balanced drinks and plates on trays all day long and never dropped a thing,” she said, proud of her record. A clumsy waitress could lose a shift’s worth of tips if she spilled a fancy drink from the bar.

“When do I move on from the kid stuff?”

“When you no longer make that ‘oof’ noise.”

Practice continued until the muscles in her calves and thighs ached. Satisfied at her progress, Lorran declared them finished for the day.

“You wouldn’t stop, though, would you?” she asked, mopping up the sweat at the back of her neck.

“No. I would test my endurance and run until my legs collapsed. I would spar with a drone and train on a weapon. My prowess in close quarters needs improvement. Do you hunger? I hunger.”

He took her to the mess hall. Other warriors gave them a wide berth, clearing the table as they approached.

“Do I smell?” Hazel asked, making a weak joke. She probably did. She hadn’t gotten that much exercise since leaving Earth and she was sure to be sore in the morning.

Lorran inhaled deeply. “Not disagreeably. You smell of Seeran, of course, and that is merely unpleasant but not foul.”

At least she didn’t stink. The food arrived and her stomach growled. Lorran raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sound.

“Don’t judge me. I’m hungry, too.”

Lunch was a thick, meaty stew served over a slab of bread. She didn’t recognize the vegetables or the meat, the taste and texture was all wrong, but it was close enough to “stew” to satisfy her. It had a pleasant tang and the bread soaked in the juices.

“He is different with you,” Lorran said between spoonfuls. “It is good to see him live again.”

She must have looked confused because he continued, “He was not the same after... what happened on Earth.”

Right, she thought, his lost wife. “Seeran told me,” she said.

“He lost the fire in his blood. I believe because he did not mourn as a male should for a lost mate.” Lorran rolled a shoulder. “But that is his concern.”

“Clearly not if you’re discussing it with me.”

“Truth, but it is also your concern.”

“I’m not competing with a dead woman.” She wouldn’t. There was no winning that competition.

Lorran finished off his bowl with a loud smack. “You gave him his fires back and I thank you.”

“Who made the food?” she asked, desperate to change the subject. She didn’t want to talk about Seeran’s dead wife.

“Do you find it unacceptable?”

“What? No. It’s fine. I’m just curious.” Hazel gestured to the hydroponics which created a green canopy above the room. The vegetation added a crispness to the air. “The ingredients are fresh, not packaged or from a machine.”

“Good. An elder prepares the meals. The warlord has made many such improvements for his female. Are you going to finish that?”

Hazel pushed over her bowl. “I don’t see that many elders.”

“This clan is in flux but when a male’s horns go grey, he may retire. Often he teaches the young.”

“Or cooks.”

“He remains in service to the clan in some fashion. Those with mates often choose to remain on the planet and raise their sons.”

She didn’t want to ask because she knew the answer would be sad but she couldn't help herself. “What happens to those without mates?”

“When their bones ache and the grey is in their horns, they often choose battle as an end. It is honorable.”

Hazel watched Lorran finish her bowl of stew.

“What about your father?” she finally asked. “Does he serve the clan still?” Seeran spoke often of his parents in the plural, as a unit, but seldom as individuals. She knew little about his family other than the vineyard and his mother’s taste in decorating.

Lorran nodded. “My father no longer served in battle when I was young. He serves on the Council now. Has your mane changed?”

Hazel rolled her eyes. “Very observant, warrior.”

“I am pleased you detected that,” Lorran said, chest puffing with pride. “I am the most observant of my brothers.”

“Who’s this?” Mia sank down onto the bench next to Hazel, her tray slapping down on the table. Her own bowl of stew sloshed over the rim.

“I thought you were forbidden from hanging out with me,” Hazel said, her voice more sour than intended.

“I was forbidden from your quarters,” Mia said. “This is public. We just ran into each other.”

“Devious.”

“Happenstance. So—”

“Oh, my brother-in-law, Lorran.”

“Charmed.” Mia gave him a brief smile then turned her attention back to Hazel. “I need sugar.”

Years of bringing hungry people food and beverages kicked in. “I have just the thing. Sit tight.”

Hazel made her way to the reconstructor units embedded in the wall. She needed two ingredients for what she had in mind. It was simple but showy and delivered on the sugar.

“I insist you remain at the table,” Lorran said, hovering behind her.

“I’m not getting food,” she said, scrolling through a menu. The characters were in a language she couldn’t read yet the translator chip had deciphered their meaning easily.

“It is unseemly.”

“I just want to make my friend a drink.” Hazel scanned the hall and found several eyes on her, the scandalous and unclaimed female. “Fine. I’ll tell you the ingredients but I get to assemble.”

Lorran nodded. “That is acceptable.”

He carried back to the table a tray with two fluted glasses, a lump of pink cotton candy and a ginger ale. Mia’s eyes went wide but she said nothing as Hazel stuffed the glasses with the pink spun sugar. She cooed in delight as Hazel poured the ginger ale and the candy dissolved in a burst of pink bubbles.

“A sweet nebula,” Hazel said, handing Mia a glass. “Pouring these tableside was the best part of my old job.”

Mia took a sip. “Oh, that’s disgusting. My teeth hurt.”

“You asked for sugar.” Hazel took her own cautious sip, finding it as overbearingly sweet as on Earth.

“I like it but it’s not for everyday, not if I want to avoid cavities.” Mia took another sip. “Have you thought about getting a job?”

“As what? My only work experience is as a waitress and that’s not allowed, apparently.” Considering all the shocked and disturbed expressions she received just ordering a drink, waitressing was off the table.

“It is true,” Lorran said. “It is the height of deviance for a female to serve a meal to a male. I understand you were very bold on Earth but my brother allowed this as you did not know it was wrong.”

“Is he serious right now?” Mia asked.

“Some kind of cultural taboo,” Hazel explained after another round of eyerolls. “Seeran flipped his lid when I tried to make him toast one morning, so waitressing is out and that’s all I’m qualified for.”

“Pfft. I don’t believe that. We have two human nurses.”

“They were nurses before they got here.” Hazel said.

“Well, I’ve been talking to Mercy and she said that the ladies were allowed any occupation they liked.”

Hazel was unsure what occupation she’d like. She had been a housewife for many years. She enjoyed cooking meals and did get satisfaction from cleaning her home. Staying a housewife had genuine appeal, especially if she and Seeran had kids. She’d like that much better than serving plates of food to scandalized aliens.

“I’m going to open a beauty parlor,” Mia said, “and you’re my first employee.”

“I’m not a beautician.”

Now it was Mia’s turn to roll her eyes. “Not to cut hair.”

“I’m not going to sweep the floor.” She couldn’t see how she’d be qualified to do anything else in Mia’s dream beauty parlor.

“You have experience handling money and organizing. You’ll be the office manager.”

“Doing what exactly? And there’s no money on the ship.”

“Scheduling. Making small talk. Ordering supplies. And we have a monthly allowance of tokens. That’s our currency.”

“We couldn’t charge.”

“Why not? Supplies cost tokens. We won’t charge a lot, just enough to cover expenses and maybe a little extra for something nice. Mercy said there’s space and we’re getting more ladies every day. The warriors might be fine hacking their own hair with a knife but that won’t fly with most women.”

Hazel listened to Mia’s plan to open the best—and only—beauty parlor for humans and Mahdfel. She made it sound exciting, like the endless hours of work would be two friends hanging out and not, in fact, standing on their feet all day. Or sweeping hair.

“I would like to meet more people,” Hazel said. 

“I knew you’d be onboard! Now we need a name. Mama Mia’s!”

“Oh no.”

“Starstruck?”

“You want customers, right?”

Mia thought while she ate her stew, offering out terrible name suggestions. 

A shadow loomed over the table. Lorran sprang to his feet immediately. For a moment Hazel believed it was Seeran about to give his brother a hard time for not hovering protectively enough. She looked up, smile ready, and found trouble.

“Female, you were told to stay away from this one,” Cen said, glowering at Mia.

“You told me to stay out of her apartment,” Mia said sweetly. She batted her lashes but Cen was unmoved.

“I forbade you from the presence of this rejected female—”

“Hey!” Hazel managed, just before Lorran pushed Cen back.

“That is enough, warrior,” Lorran warned.

“Did your milk blood brother pass this defective female off on you?” Cen spat out a harsh laugh.

Several things happened at once. Mia begged for Cen to let it go. Cen grabbed Mia by the arm, jerking her up. Hazel tossed the bowl of stew at him. He turned on her and raised a fist. Before Hazel could close her eyes or flinch, Lorran was on him.

The two men grappled, knocking over the table and scattering the benches. They were a blur of horns and fists. Hazel pulled Mia back. They were helpless to stop the fight.

Security arrived, at least the warriors carried themselves with the authority of security. Hazel recognized Seeran and her heart beat a little faster. The men were separated. Seeran cuffed Lorran behind the ears but forced Cen to the floor. He placed force cuffs on his wrists. 

“No, please, let him go. He didn’t do anything!” Mia struggled in Hazel’s arms but she held fast until Mia gave up and sobbed on her shoulder.

Seeran stood tall over the kneeling man. “Warrior known as Cen, I charge you with conspiring against your clan with the Suhlik. Your life is no longer your own. It rests with the warlord.”