Chapter 19

Wyn:

The next morning drove home that this wasn’t a vacation. Mylomon arrived at the door with Mikah, who hid behind the larger man.

“I must deal with the one in the brig,” he said. “This one should stay with his mother.”

“Lorran’s in the shower, but he’ll be out in a minute. Coffee?” She’d tried to brew herself a cup with the room’s machine, but that hardly seemed appropriate for a kid. There wasn’t much else she had to offer. “Juice?”

Mikah peeked his head around Mylomon. “I like juice.”

“Coming right up.” The room had a tiny cooling unit stocked with expensive bottled beverages and snacks. She held up two bottles, one blue and the other green. Mikah took the green.

“I require Lorran’s assistance,” Mylomon said, still standing in the doorway.

“Wait, are you asking me to babysit?” Wyn asked. She cracked open the blue bottle and took a swig. Then sputtered at the salty flavor. Not juice.

“Supervise.”

Right, because supervising a kid wasn’t like babysitting at all.

Wyn looked at Mikah, who had nearly finished his green juice. She needed coffee and a meal that didn’t come in brick form sealed in a foil wrapper. “Sure. How about we go find some breakfast and then visit your mom?”

She grabbed a table at the hotel’s all-hours café. Mikah ordered a large bowl of soup filled with noodles, and she had the same. It was the best meal she’d ever had, but she’d be hard pressed to say if the noodles were that good or her taste buds were that beaten after weeks of meals from foil packets.

“How old are you, kid?” she asked, watching Mikah slurp up his noodles.

“Six.”

“Kind of big for your age, huh?” She’d have guessed nine or ten, judging by his height.

He shrugged. “I dunno. How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

His eyes went wide. “You’re so old. Are you going to die of old age?”

Charming.

She reminded herself that Mikah lost his father recently and his mother was in critical condition and his question was only a little sassy and not mean, so she held her tongue. “Eat your soup,” she said.

After, they stopped at the gift shop in the hospital. She picked up a package of crayons and paper for Mikah and a cheap digital tablet for herself, not that she had been expecting to find quality art supplies in a gift shop. The crayons were a surprise, but when she thought about it, how many children sat in waiting rooms with nothing more to do than color and wait for news? Too many.

She even found coffee, honest-to-goodness coffee from Earth in a cart in the hospital’s atrium.

Fueled and stocked up, they sat in Saavi’s room. Machines beeped and occasionally a medic checked her vitals, but otherwise nothing happened. Some random show played on a viewscreen in the wall, but neither of them paid it any attention. Chattering voices and a canned laugh track—wow, that was a universal thing Wyn did not expect—filled the quiet room.

“Mylomon has a human mate,” Mikah said, sprawled on his stomach on the floor. He drew on the paper with purpose, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Does he?”

He nodded. “What is she like?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met her,” Wyn answered.

“Oh. I thought Terrans knew each other.”

This kid. “There’s something like seven billion people on Earth, so no. We don’t know each other.”

“But Lorran is part of Mylomon’s clan, so you are clan, too.” Mikah set down his crayon and carefully selected a new one.

She tried to get a look at his drawing, but Mikah threw his arm out to shield the paper. “You’re right, but I haven’t met her.”

“Oh. I hope she’s nice.” He pressed a purple crayon to the page with intensity. “I’m going to be clan if Mommy dies. She made Mylomon promise to take care of me.”

Wyn wanted to cry. This kid at his core wasn’t bad or rude, just the people in his life were vanishing with alarming speed and that made him prickly. She’d be prickly too and wondered if he had any friends his own age. How long had his parents lived on that ship, alone, skirting the edges of civilization and the law? That Mikah had any social skills at all was astounding.

“She’ll be okay,” Wyn said.

Mikah looked up from his page. “Mommy says it’s rude to lie.”

Yup, definitely a prickly pear.

“Well, let’s just say that was a hopeful wish and not a statement of fact.”

He nodded, as if satisfied with that response.

After a few hours, Wyn needed to stretch and grab another coffee. Mikah asked to try the brew. Wyn hesitated, because caffeine and children and a vague sense that mixing the two was frowned upon but agreed to let him try a sip.

Mikah pulled a face. “Ewww! It’s so sweet. Are your taste receptors impaired?”

Medics swarmed Saavi’s room when they returned. Wyn kept a hand on Mikah’s shoulder, holding him against her while they waited anxiously in the hall.

Lorran:

His day went from one frustration to another. Caldar sat in his cell, smug and keeping silent. Saavi’s condition deteriorated. As for hard evidence of Ulrik and Saavi’s illicit research…

“Left behind?” Paax leaned forward to the camera. “You dishonor Ulrik’s name with these accusations and you have no proof?”

“Ulrik achieved dishonor by his own merits. My findings do not change that fact.” Lorran held his hands behind his back, hiding the nervous twitch to his fingers. Mylomon stood beside him. If the male was troubled at the warlord’s displeasure, his blank countenance gave nothing away. Lorran continued, “We have Saavi’s confession and Caldar’s admission that he delivered nonviable Suhlik eggs to their ship.”

“Caldar is a liar. I would not believe him if he told me water was wet,” Paax said. Mylomon snorted, as if amused. “I am inclined to believe Saavi.” The image of Paax paced, going in and out of focus on the screen. “And you have no communications with who funded their research?”

“Communications logs had been destroyed. Physically removed and smashed.”

“As was the lab and the eggs.”

“Yes. We had a sample, but—”

“But it was left behind in the raid.” Paax sighed. “The Council will demand proof before they take action. Hearsay will not satisfy them.”

Especially if one of their members secretly funded the research. All present understood that. Again, Lorran wondered if his father was the one. He wanted to defend Oran, that his father had dedicated his life to the protection of Sangrin and would never…but how far would a male go, convinced he was in the right? Oran had dedicated his life and lost many friends through the years. Could his father be swayed to finance an atrocity if he thought he’d protect the future of his sons and grandsons?

Lorran wished he knew his father well enough to say.

“Caldar will try to negotiate his life in exchange for the location of the hatchery,” Lorran eventually said.

“He has useful information.” Another move out of focus on the screen and back again. “The Judgment is a half-day’s journey from your location. When Saavi is stable enough for transport, return.”

“Sir,” Mylomon interjected. “If I may, the medics are not hopeful about her condition. She took a plasma bolt directly to the chest. That she has survived at all is remarkable.”

Paax stared off-screen, his expression blank. “That is unfortunate,” he said at length. “Did you rescue any being on this mission?”

The words hit Lorran as hard as a blow. “Caldar remains alive.” Unfortunately, but he kept that part to himself.

“There is the issue of Ulrik’s son, Mikah,” Mylomon added.

“Ulrik’s son, Mikah,” Paax repeated, as if this was the first he had heard of the child. Considering how badly the clan fell apart after Omas’s transformation, it very well might be. “How old is he?”

“Six.”

“His temperament?”

Mylomon took a moment to answer. “He is six. Saavi asked me to take guardianship of Mikah if something were to happen to her.”

“And how did you answer?”

“I said yes.”

The males stared at each other, each stoic and unreadable, and it annoyed Lorran. He needed to draft a memo about expression and body language and ways to convey what a person thought without verbal communication. All this stone-faced staring and never detecting what the other thought, always guessing, was exhausting.

“Very well,” Paax said. “We welcome a young warrior, but you may wish to inform your mate of the new arrival.” Mylomon dipped his head. Paax turned his attention to Lorran and said, “Keep Caldar in a cell. In chains, if you must. He will escape if given the slightest opportunity.”

“Understood,” Lorran answered.

Paax faced Lorran. “And how is your huntress?”

That surprised him. He had kept from mentioning Wyn during his report, yet Paax somehow had heard the story of Wyn’s hunt. “Remarkable. She created a distraction which allowed us to board the ship to leave Etes 3.”

“Mylomon seemed impressed.”

Lorran wanted to crow with delight. He knew it. All the warriors were jealous, and Mylomon was his friend. Probably. “Sir, my mate’s presence during the mission—”

“Was a technical mix-up. Yes. We figured out on our end. Or did you believe so many females randomly appear that we cannot keep track?”

“I think she will be glad when the mission is complete,” Lorran said. Wyn had not complained once during their stay on the Etes 3 base, but he could tell how much she appreciated the comforts of a modern station.

“I expect your parents will want to meet her. You should take that trip.”

A cold chill washed over him. His mother would be delighted to have another daughter. Of that, he had no doubt, but Paax was not interested in Lorran’s mother’s happiness. “Ah, I wondered when you would hint at my father’s involvement.”

“Learn what you can. Make no accusations. You have a brother on the Council too.”

“Mene is the enforcer, not a member,” Lorran said. Mene was little more than the Council’s mercenary, but the position exposed him to sensitive information.

Damn it all to the darks of space. Lorran rubbed the base of his horns, tired down to his soul. This was meant to be a simple rescue mission, but it had changed. He could not be expected to casually ask his father or brother over family dinner if they were part of a conspiracy to fund illegal research because the Suhlik were encroaching and would attack again, possibly launching a full-scale invasion, and it was rather inconvenient to have the Council fighting itself. “This will be…complicated.”

“Figure it out, warrior,” the warlord said.

He didn’t want much, did he?

“Sir,” Mylomon interrupted again. His hubris in interrupting the warlord astounded Lorran, but Paax waited, head cocked to one side and listening. “Lorran is emotionally compromised for this mission. He will be unable to give an unbiased assessment of his father and brother.”

“That is true. I am full of bias,” Lorran said. Paax tossed him a sharp look, and Lorran felt the disapproval despite the light years separating them.

“He will naturally want to believe in the innocence of his father, and I do not trust that he has the strength of character to resist that temptation,” Mylomon said. “It would be better to send another. Perhaps Ren. It is not yet known that he joined the Judgment.”

“Very well,” Paax said, then ended the call.

Lorran turned to Mylomon. “Strength of character?”

The male glanced down, as if uncomfortable, which was ridiculous because clearly they were the best of friends. “You want to believe the best of your father. That is natural.”

“You saw that the warlord gave me an impossible task, and you fixed it. For me.” Lorran beamed.

Mylomon’s eyes went wide. “I want the mission to succeed. For the clan.”

“For me, because we are friends and friends help each other.”

Mylomon grumbled a reply that was not a denial.

* * *

He found his mate in Saavi’s room. The medical facility stank of disinfectant and death, but the odor seemed to be concentrated in the room. His mate’s natural fresh, clean scent vanished beneath a chemical smell.

She and the youth, Mikah, sat on the floor, drawing colors and shapes onto pieces of paper. He had a glimpse of their future, of Wyn with their son—sons, if he had his way—and the quiet peace of their home. He wanted that. More than anything. The warlord’s words echoed in his memory.

How far would a male go to protect his mate, his sons, and family?

Lorran suspected there was no distance too far. He needed to speak with his father, but Mylomon had been correct. Lorran could not be objective. He would have to patiently wait for Ren to complete his investigation.

Wyn looked up, a smile spreading across her face. Then it vanished, replaced with concern. “Long day?”

“Not as long as yours, I suspect.” He glanced at the monitors attached to the bed. Saavi lay unresponsive in the bed but still breathed. “Have you eaten?”

“I am hungry,” Mikah said, climbing to his feet. He stared at the bed. “But maybe I should not leave.”

Wyn brushed the top of his head with the back of her hand. “I know you’re worried, but your mom wants you to take care of yourself. Let’s have dinner, then we can visit again and say good night.”

Mikah looked as if he would argue, his chin raised, but he nodded. “Where is Mylomon? He said he would come back.”

“He will join us after he has finished speaking with his mate,” Lorran informed the youth.

In the corridor, Wyn leaned into Lorran and whispered, “We stepped out for a drink, and her heart stopped while we were gone.” He nodded. The youth’s reluctance to leave was understandable.

Mylomon joined them in the cafeteria, as quiet as ever. However, his mate responded to the news of their impending guardianship, he kept that information to himself.

After a meal eaten in silence, Mylomon took Mikah back to Saavi’s room. Wyn had a somber air about her when they returned to their room. The female’s condition was tenuous, and Lorran knew if it were his mother in a hospital bed, he would stay by her side until she drew her last breath.

“She’s not going to make it, is she?” Wyn asked, as she went through the nightly bedtime rituals of cleansing her face and teeth.

“No. Her wound is egregious.”

Standing at the sink in the cleansing room, water running from the tap, Wyn’s head sagged. “I’m so conflicted. That could have been me. I’m grateful she took the blast, but she didn’t mean to. She took my gun and used me as a shield—”

“To protect Mikah.”

“Still a dick move. It was just luck that I fell so she got hit, and I’m so mad at her and grateful and sad and fucking furious.” She scrubbed her teeth, then rinsed. “And I’m mad at myself because I’m thankful it was her and not me.”

The shot hitting Saavi instead of Wyn was luck. There was nothing they could do to alter that fact, and Lorran suspected Saavi would not berate herself for surviving at Wyn’s expense.

“You have a soft heart,” he said.

“Survivor’s guilt. How many lectures did I sit through with counselors about that?”

“That is a rhetorical question.”

She shook her head, a hint of a smile returning to her lips. “Yeah. I’m too wound up to sleep. Can we watch something? We’ve never actually watched any television together.”

“There are several episodes of Endless Hope and Suffering I need to catch up on. Hazel and Rosemary enjoy discussing the story, and I do not care for spoilers.”

“Sure, let’s watch an episode of your soap opera,” she said in a tone that suggested she agreed only to appease him.

“You do not think you will enjoy the program, but you are incorrect. It is a fascinating story.”

“Sure, uh-huh.”

How aggravating.

“What programs do you enjoy?” he asked.

“You know, I’ve been really into true crime documentaries recently. Vanishings at seedy hotels. Serial killers and how the police bungled the investigation. That sort of thing. Also, if there’s a group of magical teenagers, possibly a Chosen One, I am there for it. Hunting vampires. Fighting wizards. Dealing with your destiny, but also being too shy to confess that you’re crushing on your bestie? I can’t get enough.”

That did sound intriguing. Lorran queued up the program, and the show filled the viewscreen on the wall. Wyn brought out a tablet from a bag and flipped through the images.

“May I see?” he asked.

His mate looked hesitant as her brows drew together. “Sure, but I’m just getting a feel for the tablet.”

She pushed the tablet toward him.

Lorran flipped through the digital pages. She captured images of people in the atrium. A couple having a conversation. Plant leaves against the windows. The vendor selling iced beverages. The images were sketched in with quick, confident strokes but skipped fine detail. It was unneeded. The lines caught motion and conveyed so much more. A swirling design crowded the edges of the sketches.

He went further back, discovering images from Etes 3, particularly the view from their room. Again, quick, confident strokes lacking fine details and again, the swirling design.

“This is significant,” he said, tapping the screen. “This is part of your magpies.”

“I just doodle it a lot.” Wyn leaned forward to take the tablet back, but Lorran moved it out of reach.

“Please. Explain it to me.” This was important. The clues had been laid before him, but he hadn’t bothered to piece them together.

“Well, I told you about the invasion.”

“You were injured.”

“Right, and a Mahdfel rescued me. I don’t know his name and I barely remember what he looks like, but I remembered his tattoo. Isn’t that strange?” She pushed back her hair from her forehead. The curls immediately sprang back. “I guess I stared at it so long when he carried me that it imprinted on my memory. I just doodle it now when I’m thinking. I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

Lorran tapped the screen again to enlarge the image. The design seemed familiar, but he had seen it so many times from Wyn’s absentminded drawings on every available surface, including windows and dusty tables. “This design could signify his clan. We could locate him if you wish,” he said.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she replied. “I mean, thank you for offering, but I barely remember the man and I was nothing to him.”

“Incorrect. He carried you to safety. He might not remember you specifically, but you were important.”

Her cheeks flushed that pretty color. All her colors were pretty, but he especially appreciated the ones when she was flustered or shy. “Do you want to know?”

“Yes,” he said, surprising himself. “I want to meet the male whose mark my mate inscribed into her skin. I want to thank him for preserving the most precious being in the galaxy.”

“That’s sweet. We should rewind the show. I have no idea what’s going on—and why is that woman wearing an eyepatch?”

“Ah. She is hiding her cybernetic implant,” he said, returning his attention to the screen.

“Seems a bit obvious, like a spy announcing that they’re a spy and asking have any other spies recently stopped by.”

“I disagree. No one believes a spy when they claim their spyhood, therefore it is a sound strategy.”

“Spyhood…and you even said it with a straight face,” she muttered, voice breaking into a soft laugh.

They watched the program filled with overly dramatic pauses and staring off into the distance. He enjoyed this and suspected that he would never get enough of these moments.

Eventually, she broke the quiet. “What’s going to happen on your ship? Is life always going to be this chaotic?”

“Chaotic?”

She sat up to look at him. “I mean, you’re a warrior. A soldier. I get that throwing yourself in harm’s way is the job description, but from my point of view, it sucks; I’ll always be worrying if you’re going to be okay and I don’t enjoy worrying.”

“I cannot change that nature of my existence,” he said. “A warrior’s life is filled with duty and obligation. Danger is unavoidable.”

“Do all your missions last this long?”

“No. This is unusual.”

She sighed. “That’s something, at least.”

“More troubles you.”

She shook her head. “There’s just so much going on, I can’t hear myself think. I’ll be glad when things settle down to normal.” Then, she muttered under her breath as if she expected him not to hear, “Whatever normal is.”

Wyn:

“About time.” Sonia’s voice filled the room.

“Sorry. We were out of comm range,” Wyn said.

“Alana told me she talked to you two days ago,” Sonia huffed.

“And we’re at a hospital—”

“Are you hurt? Did that alien hurt you? I’ll crush his bones and—”

“I’m fine,” Wyn said, speaking over Sonia’s threats to grind Lorran into dust and turn him into paint pigment and use his remains to paint vulgar graffiti. As far as threats went, it was rather good. “There was a rescue mission, and one of the crew was hurt. Now we’re waiting and there’s a kid, and I watched him yesterday because Lorran was off doing alien things and I can’t exactly just leave this six-year-old kid alone to phone home.” Wyn paused, waiting for a reaction. “Well, can I?”

“No, no. Shit. Are they going to be okay?”

Wyn shook her head. “No, and that sucks. We’re just sort of waiting for the inevitable.” She gave Sonia a highly edited rundown of events.

“Okay,” Sonia said in a skeptical tone. “That’s exactly what you told your momma. How about you tell me the truth?”

“What? I’m not lying by omissions. Why would you even say such a thing?”

“Really?”

Wyn sighed dramatically. “Fine. Comms were out for weeks because apparently the Suhlik are getting gun-happy again, and no one knew I was coming, and they shoved me on this shuttle and I just went with it because trust the system.” She made air quotes, though she couldn’t recall who or what she quoted.

“Never trust the system.”

“Exactly, and Lorran—total sweetheart, by the way—didn’t trust me not to accidentally blow up their shuttle so when they got to the ship that sent the distress call—a ghost ship—they made me suit up and go with. But get this! That ship blew up.”

“Get out!”

“Well, it was a fire and a minor explosion. And then we tracked down the escape pods to this abandoned base and we went air skating, so that was good,” Wyn said hurriedly, excitement making her rush. “And we went target shooting, and I used this badass rifle. Real Terminator stuff. Then this wolf-bear animal attacked, and I shot it. In. The. Face.” Wyn beamed. “That was super gross, but also hot. Lorran is so hot. You should see him. And sweet and funny and he listens to me.”

“Oh my God, who are you?”

Wyn waved away Sonia’s question. “Anyway, long story short—”

“Wait, that was the short version?”

“The people from the ghost ship? Doing secret, illegal research. Real supervillain stuff and the Suhlik showed up, and that’s why we’re in the hospital. And I like him, Sonia. I really do. And it’s not my sky-high expectations, it’s not.” Her words faltered, unable to explain her happiness. “I’m just happy.”

“With exploding ships and Suhlik shooting at you? Because you’re doing that thing where if you talk real fast, I won’t notice you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying,” Wyn said.

Sonia leveled a look at her.

“Fine. Fine! Ugh. How do you do that?”

“It’s my mutant power. Now tell me how the big bad aliens are oppressing you.”

“It’s not…it’s not like that, but it’s a lot. Like there’s no chill setting. It’s all explosions and running for your life and it’s exhausting.” Wyn flopped down onto a chair. “I know I said I wanted excitement for inspiration but now I feel like that cautionary saying, be careful what you wish for.”

“May you live in interesting times.”

“That’s the one. Screw interesting times. Give me humdrum.” Yeah, that was all she had to say about that. She hoped things quieted down once they got to the Judgment. “What about you?”

Sonia ran a hand over her short hair, a vivid blue today. “I gave the call center notice. I’m doing your idea.”

“I knew it!” Then, “Which idea?”

“The year-long star cruise. I mean, fuck, it’s not my money. I might as well spend it on something outrageous, yeah? The call center is eternal. It will be there when I get back.”

“Waiting to devour your soul.”

“Listen, where are you and is there a place we can meet? I’ve got a list of all the ports when the ship will be docked for a few days. We can explore.”

“That sounds amazing. I’m sure it can be arranged.”

“You’re not a prisoner. You can take day trips,” Sonia said tartly.

Wyn didn’t know if that was entirely true—the day trip part, not the prison part. She was not a prisoner. Lorran had mentioned visiting his family on Sangrin, so shore leave was a thing.

Sonia transmitted a list of ports of calls and dates. It took a few minutes to arrive, but as Wyn reviewed the list, she felt confident that they could meet up. “This is going to be so great,” she said. “We can check out the art galleries and museums on Sangrin. I’m super curious about media. Like is paint the same? Just paint on canvas?”

“Way to trivialize our craft. Just paint on canvas.”

Wyn rolled her eyes. “Well, do you have any idea what traditional Sangrin art is like? Three-dimensional shifting sculptures? Maybe an olfactory experience?”

“They have scripted dramas, just like Earth. Paintings are probably paintings, but I’m curious—”

“Right? Lorran watches this drama, and it’s a total soap opera with cyborgs and time travel and doctors and nurses. It’s a trip.”

“No. I’m curious about the man standing behind you with a gun,” Sonia said.