Chapter Five
Qulpa had said he’d let her go. He hadn’t vowed not to follow her.
That would normally be an easy task. At the moment, he was buzzed on pain inhibitors. He always had a loopy reaction to them, preferred not to take them.
But he had taken them this planet rotation. Lead Medic hadn’t given him a choice about that.
And now merely getting off the sleeping support proved to be a challenge. The chamber spun. His legs wobbled. A peculiar chirping sound punctuated the quiet.
He ignored all of that, gazing around him. Garments were needed. He was naked and he didn’t know where his ass coverings were…or where his boots had been placed.
Something tapped his shoulder as he searched for them.
He turned his head. A tiny bot looked at him, looked at the door, pointed with one of his little legs, looked back at him and beeped.
That was one of his gerel’s creations. He recognized it from his first meeting with her, had talked to it. Hitch. He believed he’d called it.
“I’m going after her, Hitch.” He tilted a chair back. His boots weren’t there. “I have to find my clothing.”
The bot beeped louder, waved its forelegs more frantically.
Hitch knew its creator. If it was worried, there must be a reason.
“I’ll locate my ass coverings later.” He faded from view—utilizing that Chamele ability to his advantage—and exited the chamber, his head floating, a bot perched on his shoulder.
They passed a medic. Hitch pressed against Qulpa’s neck and trembled.
He reached up and stroked it with his uninjured hand, trying to soothe it…as he wanted to soothe its creator. His gerel had run from him again.
He didn’t know why she’d done that, was too brain-impaired from the pain inhibitors at the moment to figure out the reason. But she had told him multiple times he didn’t want her for his gerel and letting her go would only reinforce that incorrect view.
He wanted her, would hunt her down, find her wherever she ran.
The first location he’d look was her laboratory, which doubled as her private chambers. Before he’d met her, he’d heard how reclusive the Head of Ship and Weapons Design was. He suspected that was because she rarely left her working space.
The doors to it were closed. He placed his uninjured palm on the control panel, was once again rejected. That didn’t faze him. He made himself visible and opened communications.
“I’m working.” She answered immediately. Her face didn’t appear on the screen.
“Let me in.” He wanted to see her.
“I have tasks to complete. You can’t—”
Hitch leaned forward, warbling and cooing, its little body swaying. The bot was as enamored with its creator as he was.
“Hitch, is that you?” The caring in her voice caused Qulpa’s chest to compress with envy. “Come in. He shouldn’t be out.”
The doors opened. A wave of Nayan-scented air hit him.
His cock, already hard, bobbed. He walked into his gerel’s space. Bots whizzed around his boots, looking at him, chirping. Hitch chirped back, waving its front legs. Drones hovered in the air. Larger bots stood at the perimeters, watching him.
The chamber was spotless. The floor tiles and wall panels gleamed. Parts and containers were set on multi-level supports, perfectly spaced apart. A sleeping support was pushed against one wall, its covering cloths neatly folded.
“Yes, yes, he’s a Chamele male.” His gerel strode toward him, a frown on her beautiful face. “You’ve seen one before. There’s no need to get excited. Get back to work.” She waved her hands.
The bots dispersed. One long thin bot spread a covering cloth out on the sleeping support and refolded the fabric. A black stout bot measured the spaces between the containers on a multi-level support. Bots scrubbed the already immaculate walls and chased non-existent specks of dirt around the floor.
“They like to be busy.” She gazed at them fondly. “It makes them happy.”
Everything in her laboratory was automated. She was surrounded by bot workers.
His gerel’s gaze returned to his face and then lowered. Slowly. He sucked in his gut, flexed his muscles. Her perusal paused at his groin. His cock, appreciative of that attention, twitched.
Her eyes glowed. She continued her inspection, looking down and then up, bringing her gaze back to meet his.
“I knew you would be perfect.” She said that as though it were a bad thing.
“I have scars.” All warriors had them. But he was older, had been fighting longer. The marks on his body were excessive, crisscrossing his form.
“Chameles value scars.” Her lips twisted. “When they’re honorably obtained.”
Were some of hers not honorably obtained? He lifted his eyebrows.
She shook her head, refusing to answer his unspoken question. “Thank you for bringing Hitch back.” His gerel held out her right hand and the bot crawled onto her leather-clad palm, snuggling against her hand covering, trilling with joy. “He prefers to stay with me.” She stroked it. “I usually assign another bot to watch him when I leave the laboratory. This planet rotation, I…” Her voice faded.
“You were exhausted because you stayed up all rest cycle crafting my fingers.” He petted the shell of the little bot. It sang louder.
She looked at it. “Hitch normally doesn’t like other beings to touch him.”
The bot trusted him. Its creator would eventually grow to trust him also.
Qulpa didn’t say anything. As he caressed the bot, he brushed his fingertips against her soft hand covering, over her rough fingers, savoring her contrasts. His gerel didn’t move, didn’t speak.
She also didn’t run.
Moments passed. She relaxed more and more, leaning toward him.
“Hitch was supposed to be a tracking device.” She surprised him by sharing that information. “The plan was, he’d jump on the enemy, attach to that being, and transmit where he or she went.”
“It didn’t work?” He grazed his fingertips over hers.
She quivered. “Beings sensed him. At first, I thought it was his feet. I changed them a few times. Then I realized he was too heavy.”
Hitch was also too noisy, warbling as it shook its little behind, dancing under Qulpa’s touch.
“Other beings scrap their mistakes.” He would have done that.
“I’d never scrap him.” She pulled Hitch out of his reach. “He might not do what I expected him to do, but that’s my fault, not his.” She turned her body, sheltering the bot from him as though she sought to protect it. “He can do other things, add value to the universe in other ways.”
She wasn’t talking solely about the little bot. Her tone was too vehement for that.
She was referring to herself. Someone had been disappointed in her because she hadn’t done what they expected her to do.
“Chameles value fighting above flying.” They would value it above crafting mechanics also. “I’m a good warrior.” Everyone on Second’s team was skilled in battle. “But I’m a great pilot. That is where I can best benefit our kind.”
“That was a choice for you.” She tugged on her hand coverings. “Hitch doesn’t have a choice.”
She didn’t have a choice. Qulpa stared at her hand coverings, her hand coverings with the artificial claws. Did she not have…
No. He dismissed that wild thought. His brain was fogged with the pain inhibitors.
She was a Chamele. All Chameles had claws.
“I didn’t lie when I said I had tasks complete.” She was retreating from him once more. “I have to return to those responsibilities.”
“I’ll watch you work.” He doubted he could leave if he wanted to. His energy was drained from his trek to the laboratory.
“Watching me work will bore you.” She moved toward a horizontal support. A three-dimensional model of a ship was projected on top of its surface.
“Watching the ceiling in the medic bay will bore me more.” He followed her. “If Lead Medic arrives, don’t let her in.”
Second’s gerel had told him to stay in the chamber and rest. He winced. She’d likely zap him with her little gun for leaving the space.
“Don’t worry. I’ll lie for you.” Nayan gave him a hint of a smile. “I don’t have honor.”
His gut told him that wasn’t true. Her rules about honor were merely different than his.
He claimed one of the chairs, was unable to hold back his moan of happiness as his ass touched the seat. Sitting felt good.
“Do you need more pain inhibitors?” His gerel eyed him.
He shook his head. “I need the chamber to stop spinning from all the pain inhibitors I’ve already absorbed.”
“Some Chameles have bad reactions to pain inhibitors.” She rotated the three-dimensional image, studying it. “That’s normal.”
He shrugged, not caring if it wasn’t normal. It wouldn’t change his situation.
Twenty Geminorum Giants couldn’t remove him from his chair. He was too blitzed to go anywhere.
The images on the horizontal support changed. His gerel studied them.
He studied his gerel. “Are you searching for the next warship design?” Warships interested him also.
“I’m looking for inspiration.” She pursed her lips, that action exciting his already too-excited body. “Something to base my design on.”
He struggled to concentrate on the task, his arousal and floating thoughts distracting him. “I sent your team some interesting schematics we discovered on Carinae E.” They had been crafted by Lead Medic’s late mother. “They might inspire you.”
“They’re in the queue.” His gerel wouldn’t be rushed, her tone told him. “Give me a pilot’s opinion on this design.” She rotated one. “Would you want to fly it?”
He gave her his insights every time she requested them, hoping he was making sense. The designs were all single-pilot ships, had the ability to be flown via systems.
When he mentioned that, she told him there was a pilot shortage. Even with his thinking impaired, he recognized that as a lie but he didn’t challenge her on it. It was sensible to build ships that required fewer pilots. That could expand the size of their fleet.
Moments slipped by. Some of his fuzziness dissipated.
A medium-sized bot she referred to as Tubby delivered containers of beverage to them. She thanked it, patted the bot on its metal shoulder.
There was constant movement in the chamber, his gerel’s creations in continual motion, beeping and singing. Each of them had distinct personalities.
And she cared for them all, talking to them, touching them.
No one else interrupted them. There wasn’t one communication from a being requesting entrance to the laboratory. It was only him and her and the bots inside the space.
She was the Head of Ship and Weapons Design, renowned for her genius, her originality, her skill. Many Chameles would battle to learn from her, to assist her.
Theft wasn’t a fear. She shared her ideas with him freely, showed no concern about him stealing them. His gerel mentioned others’ insights in passing, insinuating she’d asked for their input also.
She worked alone because that was her choice.
Solitude wasn’t normal for Chameles. They were social beings. Nayan must have a reason for isolating herself from others.
Had she lost beings? Most Chameles had. The Succession Wars had been long and bloody.
Zondoo. He had lost everyone, that pain constantly with him, a wound that would never completely heal.
“All of my family is dead.” He blurted that truth into a stretch of silence, wanting her to know he understood her grief.
“Did they care about you?” She didn’t look away from the image of the Ahkian battle ship projected between them.
Other beings would have asked if he had cared about his family. She had asked if his family cared about him.
Someone hadn’t accepted her and someone hadn’t cared about her. He lowered his gaze to her leather-clad hands. She was rubbing her right palm over the knuckles on her left hand.
That was where her claws would extend…providing she had those natural weapons.
“They cared about me.” His family hadn’t always agreed with his choices, but he’d always known they’d cared about him. “They would have accepted any female I chose.”
“Even if she was human?” She lifted her chin, defiance in her eyes.
“You’re not human.” Having encountered humans and many other species in his travels outside the sector, he was certain she was Chamele. Their coloring was distinctive.
Her lips flattened. “Tell me what you think of this design?”
She was emotionally running away from him again.
“It’s crude and primitive, not worthy of discussion.” He dismissed it from consideration and from their conversation. “And yes, my family would have accepted a human.” He paused. It wasn’t his secret to tell, but he was certain his uncle wouldn’t have minded him relaying it. “One of my uncles bonded with another male warrior. That male was accepted.”
There had been opposition at first. His uncle’s father thought his son was confused, that the relationship wouldn’t last. But it did last and no one could begrudge the two males their happiness.
“He bonded with another male?” Her gaze flew upward to meet his, her eyes widening. “And your family accepted that?”
“They accepted the relationship.” Qulpa nodded. “They also honored his wishes. He wanted the existence of that bond kept secret from outsiders.” His uncle feared other Chameles wouldn’t be as understanding. “My family did that for him.” He reached out to his gerel with his only fully functional hand. “They would have kept the secrets of the female I chose also.”
She hesitated for a heartbeat and grasped his palm. “I don’t have any secrets.”
His gerel was lying again. The leather on the hand coverings she had told him she was testing was worn at the seams. They had a softness only extended usage could give them.
He would wager she’d been donning them for solar cycles, well past the point of any experiment.
“I would never allow anyone to hurt you.” He would protect her. She was his, would always be his, whether she bonded with him or not.
“I know you think you wouldn’t allow that.” She didn’t yet have faith in him.
That hurt, but he was patient and persistent. He’d earn her trust.
They held hands, gazing at each other. He massaged her leather-clad palm with his thumb.
Her forehead furrowed. Those thought lines grew deeper and deeper.
What was his gerel worrying about now?
“Is your cock still hard?” She surprised him with that question.
His rigid cock stiffened even more. Not trusting his voice, his need for her all-encompassing, he nodded. He’d been hard since he’d entered the laboratory.
“I understand it can be…uncomfortable for a male to be aroused for a long period of time.” Her cheeks streaked with red, her sudden shyness enchanting him. “You’re injured, have use of only one hand.”
One hand was often enough. Not being a fool, he didn’t volunteer that information. He remained silent, watching her, waiting for her to continue.
Her gaze lowered, as did her voice. “I could take care of your problem for you.”
That sounded too clinical to be enjoyable. He frowned. She specialized in Ship and Weapons Design. Why would she—
A drone whizzed by his head.
“No.” He straightened in his seat. “I’m not sticking my cock into one of your bots.”
Her face turned bright red. “That was not what I was suggesting.” She pulled her hand away from his.
He fought the urge to grab it back, to hold onto her.
Would she run again? Would she race out of her laboratory, refusing to return until he’d left the space?
Time passed.
She didn’t leave. She also didn’t look at him. Or speak.
He’d embarrassed his gerel. “What were you suggesting?”
“I could use my fingers to satisfy you.” She tugged on her hand coverings. “If you wanted me to do that. If you don’t want—”
“I want you to do that.” He rushed to assure her.
Stars. How could she believe he wouldn’t want her to touch him, stroke him, bring him to completion? She was the most enthralling creature he’d ever met. He could come from the mere thought of her fingers on his cock, was one breath away from proving that to her.
His gaze met hers. “There’s nothing I want more.”