Chapter Seven
The next planet rotation, Qulpa waited in the medic bay for Lead Medic to arrive and remove the gauze around his hand. Unaccustomed to being inactive, he had abandoned his sleeping support and was training, fighting feigned enemies in the small chamber.
He had a gerel now. His duty was to protect her, to ensure she was safe.
Because she didn’t feel that way. He splayed his claws, trying to imagine what it would be like to not have them. It would be worse than losing his fingers.
Chameles were a warrior species. They learned to fight as soon as they could walk. Not having claws would put any child at a severe disadvantage. She would lose every battle, be defeated again and again and again. Children could be cruel. His gerel would have been the target of that cruelty.
It was no longer a mystery why she preferred to be alone. He blended into the background. When surrounded by battle-happy Chameles, every being was a possible enemy, a source of pain and ridicule.
The doors opened. Lead Medic walked in, clasping a private viewscreen. She looked around the chamber and shook her head. “He has left again.”
“I’m here.” He retracted his claws and made himself visible to her human vision.
Lead Medic’s body jerked. One of her leather-clad hands slipped into her pocket, where she often kept her little gun. “Do that again and you’re getting zapped.”
He winced. Being zapped was extremely painful. “I won’t do that again.” He wouldn’t blend into his surroundings around her.
“Sit on the sleeping support.” That was her next order.
He complied, plunking his bare ass on the soft surface. “You’ve been learning about Chamele anatomy.”
“I wouldn’t tend to you if I wasn’t qualified.” Lead Medic frowned fiercely at him.
“I know you’re qualified.” He rushed to reassure her. “And I know I can trust you. You won’t talk about what we discuss with others.”
She hugged her viewscreen to her chest, her forehead furrowed with thought lines. “If it puts the team at danger, I will have to mention it to your Second.”
His Second was her warrior. Qulpa assumed she’d tell him what they discussed. Very few bonded pairs kept secrets from each other.
His gerel was the exception. His lips twisted. “It doesn’t put the team in danger. I need…information about an ailment.”
Lead Medic sat in the guest chair, her device set before her. “What are the symptoms? I’ll enter them into my database.”
“The being is Chamele and doesn’t have claws.” He strived to be as vague as possible, seeking to conceal Nayan’s identity.
Lead Medic tapped on her private viewscreen. Lines appeared between her eyebrows. “Was that caused by trauma?”
“I don’t know.” It could have been the result of a fight or an accident. “The being also lacks the ability to blend into the background.”
“That will narrow it down.” She inputted that into her system. “Can the being sense the presence of other Chameles?”
You can’t sense me? Nayan had asked him.
Zondoo. She was operating partially blind. “The being can’t sense the presence of other Chameles.”
“It sounds like Chamele Ancestritis.” Lead Medic gazed at the display. “It’s a birth defect, very rare, was given that name because the traits supposedly belonged to an ancient ancestor.” She shook her head, scrunching up her face. “That last bit sounds fabricated. There hasn’t been much research on it because of its rarity and because few beings having it live to maturity.” Her face darkened. “Their short lifespans are due to inflicted trauma. Fuck. It looks like your kind kills them off.”
I won’t ever have children. There had been sadness in Nayan’s voice when she relayed that decision.
Chameles, being insular. were overly concerned with their genetic material. That was one of the reasons cloning was forbidden. They wouldn’t knowingly allow a being with a birth defect to reproduce.
“How rare is it?” Had she found others like her? Was that how she’d survived her affliction?
“1.6 billion to 1.” Lead Medic’s reply dashed that possibility.
His gerel had endured because she was the most intelligent being he had ever met and she was strong, more powerful than he had given her credit for being. She had somehow isolated herself, created bots to safeguard her, designed artificial claws and form-concealing body coverings to compensate for her weaknesses.
And she had done that alone…in the past. Now, she had him.
He would earn her trust, be her defender. “I need the use of both of my hands.” He extended his right arm. Flying was a lower priority than being able to fight.
He never thought he’d say that.
Lead Medic set the private viewscreen on a horizontal support, swept a cleaning cloth over her leather-clad hands.
“You shouldn’t train using this hand for three planet rotations.” She set the fabric square aside and removed the gauze wrapped around his fingers.
He’d train using his other hand. “Can I fly?”
Lead Medic’s nose wrinkled. “You should be able to do that.” She peered at his fingers, tilting them to the left and to the right. “The color matching worked.”
They were the same hue as the rest of his skin. The seam was small. The size and shape were normal. They looked like his other fingers. Few beings would know they were mechanical.
He cared more about their usability than their appearance. Qulpa bent his fingers. His organic fingers moved first. His new fingers had a slight delay, barely perceptible, yet enough to hamper flying a ship.
“They work.” Lead Medic seemed pleased with their performance.
They didn’t work at the level needed for him to maintain his role. His shoulders slumped, the hope inside him doused by that brutal reality.
He couldn’t fly. That task was now beyond his reach.
He said nothing because he doubted there was anything Lead Medic could do to fix the issue. She hadn’t even noticed there was an issue.
She believed the procedure had been a success, and he hadn’t the heart to tell her it wasn’t.
“Can you feel this?” She tapped one of his fingertips.
There was an almost indiscernible pause between the tap and his awareness of it. “I feel it.” He didn’t feel it quickly enough.
Top pilots had to be perfectly in tune with their ships. Response time was critical. They had to experience every shudder, every shimmy as they were occurring, take the necessary corrective action. Any disconnect could cause a crash, injury, death.
He curled and uncurled his fingers once, twice, three times. The delay remained. The movement felt more natural. He might be able to compensate for the hesitation, but that would take solar cycles of training.
“Don’t put any force against it.” Lead Medic advised him. “Don’t lift with it. That means no swords, no guns, no daggers.”
Like most Chameles, he enjoyed fighting, but he loved flying more, and now that was lost to him. He remained silent, not trusting himself to speak. The pain was too acute.
“In three planet rotations, see me.” Lead Medic met his gaze. “I want to examine you, ensure they’ve attached properly. Then you can utilize them like you previously utilized your organic fingers.”
“Thank you.” Although it was a struggle to acknowledge it at the moment, he had reasons to be grateful. He now sported two full sets of fingers and that should allow him to protect his gerel…while he was on the ground.
His heart ached. He wanted to fly.
“There’s no need to thank me.” Lead Medic’s satisfied expression belied her words. “It’s my role.” She gave his fingers one more perusal and hurried out of the chamber.
It was her role. Qulpa gazed down at his hands. Second’s gerel, a human medic on a planet occupied by distrustful Chameles, had derived a way to keep her position.
Why was he giving up so easily? He was a warrior, and he wouldn’t concede defeat without a battle.
His fighting spirit revived, he donned the ass covering that had mysteriously reappeared in the chamber at sunrise, slipped his feet into his boots. Simulations would train his fingers and show him how much work he had in front of him.
He stalked from the chamber, determined to fly again.
* * *
Qulpa was less optimistic the twenty-eighth time his simulated ship crashed. He had attracted a crowd in the pilot-training chamber, beings gathered around his simulator. His frustration warred with his exhaustion and a tinge of delusion.
He breathed deeply, detecting the faintest sniff of his gerel’s distinct scent on the recirculated air. His cock tented his ass coverings. He fought to regain his focus, to ignore his body’s needs, his audience.
Urus smirked at him. The male realized he couldn’t fly. Zondoo. Everyone in the space realized that.
But Qulpa wouldn’t give up—not on his role, not on his passion. He reset the simulation, took off once more. His lift off was steadier but it required all of his concentration. Tension stretched across his shoulders as he increased the simulated ship’s speed.
He flew the ship across the clear blue sky. That act boasted his confidence and filled him with a joy he only got from being airborne or being with his gerel.
But that route wasn’t a test of his abilities. A child could fly with no obstacles facing him.
He veered the ship into a winding canyon. There was plenty of space between the tips of the wings and the rock facings.
He made the first turn. Barely. The ship tilted to the right and to the left. Sweat beaded on his forehead. It was a struggle to keep the vessel horizontal.
On the next turn, the wings grazed the stone. Lights flashed red. The ship spun.
He cursed under his breath, fought to slow its rotation. The next turn approached. His fingers, both organic and mechanical, ached.
Turn. He silently hollered at his simulated ship. The lapse between his fingers widened. The vessel spun once more.
It hit the rock facing head-on and exploded.
“Son of a Gechii.” He slumped against the seat.
Some Chameles in the audience laughed. Some gasped. Some looked at him with sympathy.
They pitied him. He drew his shoulders back and stood.
“You’re getting worse, old male.” Urus jeered.
He said nothing because there was nothing to say. He was getting worse.
“If that had been a real ship, you would have killed your entire crew.” His rival was determined to humiliate him. “You would have killed Second.”
That observation prompted a buzz of disapproval to sweep over the crowd.
“Not fit for flying.”
“Second should have the best pilot.”
“His time has passed.” The comments struck at Qulpa’s heart and at his pride.
An honorable male would step aside. He drew in his breath, knowing what he had to do. “I can no longer fly.”
“That’s unee shit.” A familiar voice yelled from the back of the group.
Beings parted, revealing Nayan. She was clad in tight leather, her form and hands covered. Her eyes flashed with anger. Her beautiful face was dark.
Qulpa gulped air. She was a force.
“He can’t fly. We all saw that.” Urus’ tone was gleeful. “He crashed over twenty times on the simplest routes.”
“He flew those simplest routes with brand new fingers.” Qulpa’s gerel tugged on her hand coverings and strode forward, her gaze shifting from side to side.
Others would see a powerful female. Qulpa, however, saw the fear hidden under the layers of scorn and bravado.
He partially extended his claws, sending a message. One she received. Her gaze flicked to him. He would protect her, would fight any being who tried to touch her.
“What is the first task you complete when you receive a gun?” She asked everyone in the chamber. “You calibrate it.” She answered her own question. “Even the most perfectly designed mechanics require fine tuning.”
She stopped moving and faced him, small and strong and his.
His fingers, all of them, twitched. The need to touch her drummed at him.
“Mechanical fingers are no different.” She met his gaze. “You flew without calibrating them.” She shook her head. Her hair was drawn back from her countenance, fastened high on her head. The long tendrils hung down, bounced against her shoulders. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
She hadn’t expected him to be able to fly. He swallowed that wondrous truth, hope reviving inside him, fed by her words.
“If you can fly like that now, it will be interesting to see how much better of a pilot your mechanical fingers make you.” She played with her hand coverings again. “Are you done here?”
He opened his mouth.
“Because I have ships and weapons to design, warrior.” She turned and walked away. “I can’t wait all planet rotation for you to see me about calibrating your fingers. I’m busy.”
“Who is that?” One of the newer pilots asked that question with awe in his voice.
“If I’m not mistaken, that was the Head of Ship and Weapons Design,” another male answered him. He looked at Qulpa. “Nayan designed your mechanical fingers?”
Qulpa nodded. “She did.”
“Zondoo.” The envy in the male’s voice was mirrored on many faces.
Pride filled Qulpa. His gerel’s skill was admired by everyone.
Almost everyone.
“Flying is by feel.” Urus’ top lip curled. “Not even mechanical fingers designed by our esteemed Head of Ship and Weapons Design can duplicate the experience.”
That might be true. But if any being could design superior mechanical fingers, it would be his gerel. “We’ll test that theory after my fingers have been calibrated.”
He followed Nayan through the hallways, hustling to catch up with her. Although her stride was much shorter than his, her pace was fast.
He retracted his claws and placed his right palm on the small of her back. She flinched.
“You’re safe.” He soothed his frightened female. “It’s me.”
“I can defend myself.” Her form was stiff.
“I know you can defend yourself.” He rubbed his fingertips over her leather-clad back. “But you don’t have to do that when you’re with me. Design is your expertise. Fighting is mine.”
She relaxed a smidgeon. “Flying is your expertise also.”
“It was my expertise.” His confidence had taken a beating along with his simulated ship. “And it will be again with your help.”
She smacked her palm on the control panel outside her laboratory. The doors opened. She walked into her private space. He stuck close by her side.
Drones and bots zipped toward them, circling their creator, beeping and chirping. Some of them bounced up and down.
“Yes, yes, I’m back.” She smiled down at her little mechanical beings. “I missed you too.” Hitch climbed up her form, perched triumphantly on her left shoulder.
She had missed them and her laboratory. Qulpa read that truth in her eyes. Her fear had dissipated once she entered the space.
He reached down and rubbed a bot’s smooth metallic head. It sang and twirled. Its friends bumped against him, seeking touches also. He distributed caresses while he watched his gerel.
This was her created family. She cared for the bots and drones, had created them to care for her. Each had its own unique personality. None of them spoke.
They couldn’t tell other beings her secrets, even if they wanted to do that.
“You can trust me, Nayan.” He would never hurt her.
“Trust is…difficult for me.” She didn’t meet his gaze. “And you have split loyalties. If you were faced with the choice of sharing my secrets or betraying our Warlord, honor would dictate you keep your oath to Khan.”
“I know your secrets.” He drifted closer to her. “And I have no intention of telling anyone.”
Her gaze flicked to his face and returned to her bots. “I worried you had uncovered them.”
“There’s no need to worry.” He wouldn’t betray her.
“There is great need to worry.” She sighed, the sound tugging at his heart. “Many would consider me unworthy of holding my role.”
“Then they don’t know you.” He grasped her leather-clad hands. “If anything, you are more worthy of holding your role. You realize what can happen if your devices fail.”
She looked up at him.
One, two, three heartbeats passed. He traced the barely visible seams on her hand coverings, exploring them with his new fingertips. She watched him. Her shoulders crept upward.
“If you run, I’ll chase you.” He warned her.
“Running isn’t an honorable solution. It isn’t the Chamele way.” She said that with a hint of bitterness.
“Running kept you alive.” He guessed at that truth. She couldn’t fight with her lack of claws. Flight would be next best alternative. “Flee when others face you. That will ensure you remain safe.” He gave her favored tactic his full support. “But you don’t have to run when you’re with me. I’m your warrior. I vow to protect you and that oath supersedes all others.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You’d choose protecting me over safeguarding our Warlord?”
“I will always choose you.” He meant that with all of his heart, but he suspected he’d never have to make that choice. His gerel’s loyalty to their Warlord ran as deep as his did.
Silence stretched. He felt Nayan’s disbelief. Her mistrust of him, of his words was written all over her beautiful face.
His gerel had been hurt. He didn’t know by whom. She hadn’t yet shared those details with him.
But she had suffered, he read that in her actions. Those past betrayals had lasting consequences for them, for their future.
It would take time and constant reassurance before his cautious female fully accepted him, before she embraced that he would never break her trust.
He could wait for that to happen, would wait for her, all of her. They had a long lifespan together and this was one war he’d win…even if it took him solar cycles.
She was his gerel. He would never give up on her.