“You’re not joking this time?” Ayvinx says. “This is for real? Because this sounds like the punchline to an old tavern joke.”
“I have never been more serious,” Xalax says. We’re at the dining table at my dwelling, outside the capitol. The Queen is outside with Aren, tending to the tiny green sproutlings that have shot up these last weeks.
“Hey, you hear the one about the Zalaryn mercenary who taught the Fendans how to fight?” Ayvinx says, trying to be amusing. He’s always trying to be amusing—and it can be very tiring to deal with him.
“He was exiled for a traitor when he refused his King,” I say, “How’s that for a punchline?”
“I was thinking more like: ‘He asked for any Fendan with big enough balls to hold an anankah to join his army, and ended up with two little girls and a dog.’”
“That is not funny enough to be told in the taverns,” Xalax says. “Which is good, because this is a dire situation. The Kraxx and the Zalaryn armies are united under Lord Noxu.”
“Lord Noxu?” Ayvinx says. “We do that scoundrel the honor of using the title?”
“That’s what they call him,” I say. It turns out that my air strike did not kill Noxu after all. The Kraxx warlord was killed instantly, but Noxu clawed his way out of the rubble and proclaimed himself Lord of all those willing to follow him.
“The Kraxx elders whisper that he is the Dark One their legends prophesied,” Xalax says. He has sent a few of his loyal guardsman on intelligence missions. Ayvinx has also done his part, using his contacts in the criminal underworld to intercept some of the rebel communications. “Their legends tell of one with the Eye of the Void who will unite the Kraxx with their enemies. He will lead them all to conquest and glory, ushering in an era of dark reign of the universe. He will bring all the planets in all the quadrants into one federation ruled by the Dark One, and enslaved by the Kraxx.”
“The Eye of the Void?” Ayvinx asks.
“The explosion sent shrapnel through his eyes,” Xalax explains. “He had them replaced with two polished orbs of ink stone. He refuses to have prosthetic eyes, even though with the proper implants much of his sight would be restored. He says that he’s lost the use of his eyes, but has gained tremendous vision. They say that he cannot be killed, except by the green ghost army.”
“Oh brother,” Ayvinx says. “Did you say green ghost army? They believe this?”
“I did, and they do,” Xalax says. “They are preparing for invasion as we speak. The Kraxx have not tried anything on this grand a scale since their failed invasion of Earth many generations ago. But now that their prophecy has seemingly been fulfilled, they are ready to try again. But they need the qizo minerals to do it.”
“Are we really letting ourselves be frightened by the nursery stories of a primitive and bloodthirsty race?”
“No,” I say. “I’m not frightened by their stories—but I am frightened by the idea of Kraxx having free access to the Fendan mines.”
“Maybe we’ll be lucky and the qizo will sterilize them,” Ayvinx says.
“You must go to Fenda,” Xalax says. “And train them to fight. The Fendan mines cannot fall.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Ayvinx says.
“For someone of your prowess and expertise, it should be,” I say. “You’re used to this sort of thing, aren’t you? The most feared and revered mercenary on the planet?”
“Your false flattery does appeal to my ego,” Ayvinx says. “When shall I leave on this fool’s errand?”
“Now,” Xalax says.
- - -
I go to the marketplace with Ayvinx to help him prepare for his travels, and I see something that I think Aren will enjoy. I know nothing of cooking, but she claims to have experience slaughtering and preparing many forms of livestock for meals.
She has not been eating much lately, so consumed is she in her work. The little patch of land behind our dwelling has sprouted into a respectable garden. It was the water, she insists, that was not suitable for our crops. The soil of Zalaryx is like the soil of Yrdat: acidic. She made me stick my finger in the dirt and taste it. It was tangy, I admit, and she explained that it wasn’t suitable for plant life.
The well water at my dwelling, she explained, contains minerals that counteract the acid in the soil. Filtering the water takes out those minerals and makes the water useless to condition the soil.
Who would have imagined that dirty, undrinkable water is what the crops and the soil actually needed?
Aren has been working with the High Grower to develop this irrigation idea for large-scale agriculture projects, and the early results are promising. We will have crops for the first time in generations.
But she is not taking care of herself—and I will not allow that. It’s my duty to protect her and that includes forcing her to rest. Forcing her to eat. Forcing her to sleep. And, yes, making sure she goes to bed has a bonus effect for me.
I will tell her tonight. I didn’t want to distract her from her work, so I’ve kept it a secret—but I have known since the moment she stepped into my vehicle outside the auction house. And it’s time to tell her, since her work is taking too much of her energy.
I will help her prepare this animal for consumption, and we will feast on fresh meat. And then I will tell her. I’m not sure what her reaction will be, but big news always goes over better on a full stomach.
I don’t bother entering the dwelling when I arrive. I know she’s out back inspecting her sproutlings. She’s good at growing and nurturing things. “Do you ever get tired of getting elbow-deep in the dirt?” I ask her.
“No,” she says. “Queen Resa told me that it’s up to me to make them grow, and I don’t want to disappoint that woman.” She’s on her hands and knees, her face close to the ground. I set down the sack and approach her from behind. I put my hands on her shoulders and rub her tight muscles. She moans, and I feel myself start to stiffen underneath my breeches. I push my erection against her rump and move my hands to her front so I can fondle her breasts. I love the feel of her hard nipples underneath the thin, billowy fabric of the tunic. It shifts and slides over her tight peaks as I knead her breasts. She’s starting to breathe harder, and she pushes back against me, rubbing gently back and forth against my hard cock. “And I don’t get tired of this either.”
“Neither do I,” I say. I can barely restrain myself around her. My hands are always wandering. Always pinching and grabbing—and undressing. She’s wearing long, protective clothing so the sunslight doesn’t burn her skin and it drives me crazy seeing her like that—all bundled up in loose clothing. I know her lithe and smooth body is underneath, and I can’t help myself from trying to have a feel.
“I can stop for the day,” she says, “if you make it worth my time.”
“Always,” I say. The livestock animal in the sack makes another one of its unholy noises. It sounds like it’s ready to fight me with all the armies of the undead.
“What’s that?” she says. She pops up to her feet and scans the yard. “I swear I just heard—” Then she sees the sack. The sack is tied up, but the thing inside has managed to move around a little, struggling to get out.
“That is dinner,” I say.
“Dinner?” she says. Her face is all screwed up into a mask of confusion and… revulsion? Yes, revulsion.
“I was in the capitol marketplace. Someone was selling fresh meat. Said it was an animal native to Earth.”
“Oh no,” she says, but now she’s laughing a little. “You’ve never eaten one, right?”
“One of these things?” I say. “I don’t even know what they’re called. We have no word in our language.”
“We do in my language,” she says. She’s made her way to the sack and is unknotting the cord. She lets the creature free and it does not run, as I thought it would. “We call it a cat.”
“Cat?” I say.
“Yes,” she says. She picks up the creature and kisses it. Is this some strange human custom? Some races honor their livestock before slaughter, giving thanks for the nourishment they are to receive. “But you don’t eat them.”
“You don’t eat them?” I ask. “Then what do you do with them?”
“They’re pets,” she says.
“What is a pet?” I ask. This is getting stranger.
“A companion,” she says. “You keep it and… I don’t know, you pet it.”
“Stroke it?” I say.
“Yes,” she says, “like this.” She pets the creature and it starts to make a weird noise: a rattling deep in its chest.
“You have strange customs,” I say.
“We aren’t eating it,” she says. The thing is now rubbing its head against her hand.
“Because it’s your pet?”
“Yes,” she says. I can tell that she is happy to have it. A small creature to take care of. To love. “We’ll keep it. They’re skilled hunters. It can catch the little vermin around here.” I look at its furry face and tiny feet. It doesn’t look much like a skilled hunter.
I go to her and put my arms around her. She’s still holding the cat, but when I approach, it leaps from her hands—probably remembering that I am the one who put it in the sack.
Good. It’s smart. I like the creature a little more already.
“I have to tell you something,” I say. Better not to prolong it.
“What?” she says. She pulls back and looks at me, concern plain on her face.
“There will soon be another,” I say. I put my hands on her stomach. “You are with child.”
“What?” she says. I can tell that this is the last thing she expected me to say. “How can you tell?”
“I can sense it,” I say. She is so much more beautiful with my offspring inside her—my seed growing inside her, like the sproutlings she spends her days tending to.
“That pill at the auction house?” she says, thinking out loud. “I spit it out. But—” she starts to say. I don’t let her finish. I draw her in for a kiss. I can’t wait for her belly to get large.
“It is so,” I say. “This will be a great blessing.”
“All of this,” she gestures around, “is a great blessing. I can’t believe that of all the murderous bastards in the galaxy, you were the one who found me.”
“I can’t believe of all the murderous human females hiding in closets, you were the one who tried to stab me,” I say. “Events that seem improbable to us are merely the work of the fates, weaving together the fabric of the universe.”
“I love you,” she says. “It’s sort of scary how much. It’s like an ache.”
“That is our bond. We are mated. There’s a connection forged that cannot be broken. I feel it too. It’s the yearning. The need. It feels like it will split open my ribcage. I love you too.”
“Is it love if I want you inside me right now?” she asks. I can sense her arousal—her sex is swollen and wet.
“Yes,” I say. I pick her up and carry her inside. The creature she calls a cat follows. “Bonded mates desire much physical contact to cement the bond. It’s what keeps your ribcage from splitting open with the power of it all.”
I throw her onto the bed and tear off her clothes. She’s dirty from her work in the soil, but I don’t care. I slide into her and she squeals, driving me crazy with her cries of pleasure. I thrust wildly, unable to restrain myself. She screams, and I cover her mouth with mine—tasting her and wanting more.
I feel her cunt tightening around my cock and know that her orgasm is approaching. She spasms beneath me, wriggling and pushing into me. I can’t hold it either and I let it go, releasing deep inside her.
We lie in bed for a long while, not saying anything. Not needing to. Wanting this moment to last forever, but knowing that it can’t.
What we have, the life that we’re building together, the child in her womb—it is only going to get better.
This moment is only the start.
The End