Chapter Nine
Starr
“This is my mate!” Torg announced. “Her name is Starrconner. Please make her feel welcome.”
“Hello, Starrconner! Welcome, Starrconner!” Greetings rumbled up from the crowd assembled a few steps below us.
Although two hundred people wasn’t a huge gathering, it seemed bigger when everyone gawked at you like they’d seen, well, an alien.
Torg had called a meeting to introduce me to his clan. He’d carried in a pedestal of wood upon which I stood to raise my height closer to his so the people could see me better. They gathered in a clearing while Torg and I stood under the dubious shelter of a gazebo-like structure. Wind whipped in through the open sides to lash at my face. Still, the rest of me was quite toasty in my new kel attire: leather leggings and tunic, boots, the coat I’d been given the night before, and new mittens. I hardly noticed the smell.
A strong gust of wind tore the hood from my head, sending my hair flying around my face. En masse, the crowd gasped. Eyes widened and whispers skittered through the assembly. What the hell? I gathered up my hair, shoved it under the hood, and glanced up at Torg. “What’s wrong?” I whispered.
He managed to smile at me while scowling at the crowd. “They have not seen yellow hair before,” he murmured.
“Oh.” I eyed the Dakonians. There wasn’t a single towhead among the sea of men with brown, almost black hair, dark eyes, and swarthy skin. I’d been taught staring was rude, but since they gawked at me, I felt at liberty to do the same.
They seemed huge to me, like furry bear-sized people. The women pretty much resembled the men in height, brawn, and fierce features. Only when comparing them side by side could I distinguish one gender from the other.
No wonder no one had chosen me. I looked like an alien to these people. Andrea, Tessa, and the other tall, dark women fit in better. I glanced up at Torg. He beamed with pride. I’d never seen a happier man. But would he have claimed me if he’d had a choice?
Don’t obsess. Let that go.
A male stood in the front row, posture rigid, arms folded. The hood of his kel concealed much of his face, but his bearing radiated disgruntlement. Torg had told me some men opposed the exchange program. Perhaps he was one of them. Or, in my nervousness, was I reading too much into it? I eyed the man. Uh no. Definite animosity. I sidled closer to Torg, and he slipped his arm around my waist.
“What is Terra like?” shouted a man in the crowd.
Torg raised his hands. “Starrconner arrived last evening. Please give her a chance to get acclimated.”
“No, it’s okay. I’d be happy to answer questions.”
He shrugged.
“Terra is much warmer in most places, and we don’t get this much snow,” I said. Not by a long shot. Here, snow weighted the branches and leaves of the tall trees, blanketed the ground, and piled in drifts against the caves. A hunch told me by the time the mild summer could melt it, winter would roll in with more. Probably some snow remained year-round. I supposed the polar regions resembled Dakon, but that was as close as it got.
“Most people live in tall buildings in large cities where there is little space. We move from place to place in solar-cell powered flying vehicles.” I wasn’t sure what they wanted to know.
“Do all females look like you?” another man called out. Side conversations ceased, and everyone stared.
Did he mean, were they all blonde, pale, and “skinny?” Were they seeking reassurance that they wouldn’t be saddled with ugly women? I resisted the urge to touch my hair. Wasn’t it my luck to land on a planet where my weight wasn’t an issue, but my hair—previously my best feature—was? I couldn’t catch a break. I glanced up at Torg. No, I had caught a break. A big hunky alien of a break. “More or less,” I said. “I’m shorter than most women and fairer. Many Terrans have dark-brown hair, darker skin color.”
The questioner nodded, satisfied with my answer. It broke the ice, and questions flew fast and furious. How long was the journey? What is a spaceship like? What is a flying vehicle like? How fast can it go? How many more women would be arriving?
“I don’t know,” I answered the last question honestly. Until I’d been shoved aboard the SS Australia, I hadn’t been aware the program existed.
“Why did you come here?” demanded the scowling man up front in a feminine voice. He was a she!
Torg tensed. Why? Because of how I might answer, or because like me he sensed animosity? She couldn’t possibly view me as a threat. She could have her choice of men. Okay, I had snagged the chief, the most eligible bachelor of the clan, but if she had wanted him, she probably could have had him before I’d arrived.
He’s mine now, lady. So there!
Sheesh! I couldn’t believe I was getting worked up over another woman’s animosity—and I didn’t even know if it was real or misperception.
Curiosity written on their faces, they waited for my answer.
“For a better life.” I slipped my arm through Torg’s. A better life—it could be true, if I didn’t have to return to Terra. What did I have there anyway? If my conviction was overturned, it wouldn’t fully clear my name. My case had been the trial of the century, and some people would always believe me guilty. I had no job, no close relatives who cared about me.
This could be a fresh start. I could do worse than an alien stud.
“You couldn’t get that on Terra?” the woman persisted.
“That’s enough,” Torg said. “There will be more opportunities for questions later. My mate is fatigued from her long journey.”
I wasn’t the least bit tired. Wrapped in kel, curled against Torg’s muscular body beside the fire, I’d slept like a log. He was trying to protect me, and I appreciated it. What was her problem anyway?
The Dakonians started to shuffle away, but Torg raised his hand. “Wait. There is one more announcement.”
They halted, and Torg’s gaze flicked to the surly, masculine woman in the front. His expression hardened for an instant before he focused on the crowd. “By the law of the clan, I banished Armax this morning. He will not be permitted to return.”
A few men nodded while surprise registered on other faces. “What did he do?” somebody asked.
“He attacked and gravely injured Yorgav.”
Heads pivoted in the woman’s direction.
“Icha remains with the clan as she has chosen Yorgav.”
The notorious Icha! This sour woman had been the source of contention between the two men? Dakon was desperate for women if some chick built like a brick shithouse with a face and personality to match was worth fighting over. Even her name. Icha. Pretty darn close to Ick! I was being mean and catty. Especially since the hood obscured much of her features. There could be a raving beauty under all that fur—a beauty who I’d mistaken for a man.
Stop it! What the hell had gotten into me? Given that I’d been the last one chosen in the schoolyard pick, I had no room to talk.
But she’d started it with her scowls.
Take the high road, Starr. I inhaled a deep breath and allowed the icy air to cool my heated thoughts.
The crowd dispersed, and Icha sashayed away. If I’d seen the walk, I would not have mistaken her for a male.
“Thank you for indulging them,” Torg said when we were alone. “I hope they didn’t offend you.”
“Not at all. I understand their curiosity.” Everything about Dakon seemed strange to me, so it made sense my planet would be a mystery to them, too. “Yorgav will be okay, won’t he?” Banishment had seemed extreme, but not if Yorgav’s condition was as serious as it sounded. Torg pressed his lips into a grim line.
“Darq checked with the healer this morning. Yorgav’s injuries are quite severe. He hasn’t regained consciousness.”
Dakon had no hospital. No medical school. What kind of training could the “healer” have? Maybe he was like a witch doctor, chanting and shaking a bouquet of feathers over the patient.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Torg gazed into the distance. “I am, too. We had a lot more, once.”
“Before the asteroid.”
He nodded. “We had hospitals. Buildings. Equipment. Schools. All of it is gone. Fortunately, a few healers survived, and they passed on their knowledge. The current generation can set broken bones, suture wounds, but they diagnose more than they can cure, and even that’s difficult. We have no medicines, only herbal remedies.” He made a wry face. “We can help someone with an upset stomach or a headache feel better, but those ailments aren’t going to kill you.”
“I’m surprised you only expelled Armax.”
“Fault existed on both sides. Stealing another man’s mate is a serious offense, so Yorgav is not blameless. Perhaps, I should have taken stronger measures, but it wasn’t until this morning that Yorgav took a turn for the worse. I had separated the two men in the camp to defuse the situation. However, with Icha involved, problems would continue, so I opted for exile.”
“Doesn’t banishing Armax push the problem off on someone else?”
“Most of our problems are interpersonal disagreements. Separating an individual from the person he has a problem with usually fixes the problem. Without Icha’s influence, I don’t believe Armax poses a danger to anyone else.”
“But Icha will still be here, right?”
He nodded. “This is not the first fight she has caused. She often pits one man against another. She is supposedly quite skilled sexually and, before she chose Armax, she’d stirred much jealousy around the camp.”
“So why not exile her?” I asked, and then answered my own question. “Because she is female.”
Torg nodded. “We need all the females we can get, and when she is between mates, Icha shares her favors. The men would riot if I banished her.”
“She has had more than one partner?”
“Many. She never stays with one man very long.”
“But Yorgav might die.”
“Yes. He might. “
I shivered at the grimness in his tone.
“My apologies!” Torg mistook the reason for my shudder and helped me off the booster. Literally and figuratively, he’d placed me on a pedestal.
What would happen if I fell off?
Dakon guarded their females, protected them, treasured them. Despite the trouble she caused, they kept Icha around. But they condemned violence. Would being female save me if they discovered I’d supposedly killed a man?
“Let’s go to the cave where it’s warm. It’s time for our midday meal.”
“Kel?”
“Phea.” He grinned. “We do eat other food besides kel.”
“Good to know.” The stew Darq had prepared had been quite tasty, but I could foresee getting quite tired of kel, if that was all I ate. “Um, what’s phea?”
“Fowl. Even more birds than animals died, but the phea survived. We eat the eggs, too. Unborn phea are quite a delicacy.”
“Good gods, that’s not what we’re having, is it?” I’d take a chunk of kel any day.
Torg threw back his head and roared.
How wonderful that I could provide such amusement. I glared at him. He chuckled again and hugged me. “No, Starr. We will not have unborn phea.” He picked me up and carried me toward his cave.
“Put me down, I can walk.” I wiggled my feet to prove it.
“I like carrying you.”
I buried my face against his shoulder. I liked it, too, more than I should, but I could worry about that later.
“It’s all about survival for us, Starr.” Torg tromped toward his cave. “We learned how precious life is, and every act is weighed to determine whether it enhances or detracts from our chance of survival. If I make the right decision, I live another day. If I make the wrong one, I perish.”
Torg and I had something in common. That pretty much described my employment with the Carmichaels.