Chapter 2

Rohn:

The voices crying for help guided him. He shifted debris, freeing the humans trapped in the building.

His heart hurt when he realized the people buried under the building were children. He wanted to rage at the Suhlik and their dishonor to attack the vulnerable young, but the building had been brought down when a Mahdfel shuttle crashed into it. Under attack, the ship spun out of control as it plummeted through the atmosphere. That just demonstrated zero control and little skill.

He should know; he was the pilot.

Rohn focused on digging out the survivors.

Human medics appeared, scrambling to set up an area for triage. Rohn continued to dig, shouting for the medics when he found another survivor.

His muscles ached from the strain of lifting and shifting the debris. He welcomed the burn and fatigue. While his body moved, it kept his mind from replaying the launch and the pre-flight check. The female passenger, Cirra, complained and generally worked his nerves. He had been eager to get underway and get her off his ship as quickly as possible.

Did he hurry through the system checks? Did he miss a warning or a suspicious reading? If she had not goaded him about schedules and missed appointments, he would have taken the time needed to perform his duty correctly.

It did not matter. Females were precious, even the ones that complained nonstop. She was loved and important. Any male in the clan was sworn to protect a female and Rohn failed her.

He had carried Cirra from the ship’s wreckage. He knew enough of basic medical aid to recognize that her wounds were serious. When he reached a flat area, free of debris, he fell to the ground. He covered her wound with his hands to slow the bleeding and waited until a medic appeared to take his place.

More survivors managed to pull themselves free and wandered in a daze until the crisis responders arrived. “This was supposed to be the safe area!”

“What happened? Why didn’t the sirens go off?”

Rohn knew the answer but he did not respond to the frantic babbling of the dusty and battered people. Crisis responders guided them to safety, handing out blankets and hot beverages.

He worked until his knuckles bled and he lost sensation in his fingers. He worked until the sun slipped below the horizon. Lamps were set up too as Terrans had poor vision in low light settings. Finally, the warlord arrived.

Rohn expected Vadi Ruh to discipline him on the spot. The large red male always seemed to know what the warriors of his clan would do before they did it. Rather than question Rohn about the fitness of the shuttle to fly, malfunctions, or the fitness of the pilot, he joined Rohn in the search and rescue effort.

He heard the small female, voice weak from shouting. Shifting large chunks of debris, he found her, half under a table. A collapsed structural beam pinned her leg in place.

She blinked under the harshness of the portable lights, face nearly white from dust, and fixed her gaze on Rohn. Her eyes were wide, but she did not flinch away in fear, which pleased him. Too many Terrans were timid at their first encounter with a Mahdfel. It grew tiresome.

“Drink this,” he said, pressing a water sphere into her hands.

She bit into the sphere without prompting and greedily slurped down the water. “More,” she said.

He complied. While she drank the second one at a much more controlled rate, he inspected the beam.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked, far too calm.

Shock, he decided. “It’s too risky to move without medics.”

“I knew it.”

“Are you in pain?” Vadi Ruh crouched down to inspect the child’s leg.

“I don’t know. I’m tired and cold.” If the large red male with facial tusks frightened the young female, she gave no indication.

“What is your name?” Rohn asked.

“Nakia Sykes.”

“I am Rohn Ogana, and that is Vadi Ruh. He’s my boss so be sure to act impressed with my rescue. Oohs and aahs, general sounds of amazement, would be appreciated. I’m aiming for a promotion.” Rohn gave a comically exaggerated wink and Nakia grimaced before smiling, thin and tight. She might not admit to pain, but clearly, she felt it.

“Don’t make me laugh. It hurts,” she said in a rasping voice.

Shouts over his shoulder told him that the medics had arrived.

“Nakia, we’re going to shift this beam and free your leg,” he said.

Working together, he and the warlord shifted the beam enough for the medic to pull the youth free. In moments, they had her on a stretcher and administered a pain blocker.

She stretched out a hand to Rohn. “Don’t leave me,” she said, voice fading.

“The child remains under your protection until her family is located,” the warlord said. The red male watched as medics carefully moved the unconscious child to a stretcher. “Or until her condition stabilizes.”

“Sir, I would much rather be productive than sit a vigil at a sick bed,” Rohn protested. Exhaustion wore away the filter that normally kept his tongue in check. He could not think of a more pointless way to waste his time than sitting and waiting.

The warlord tossed him a sharp look. Rohn squared his shoulders to face the warlord but his gaze shifted to a point beyond Rohn. The warlord was not an unreasonable male and tolerated a fair bit of colorful impertinence from his pilot, but they were standing in the ruins of a building that collapsed because of Rohn’s failure as a pilot.

“The Terrans do not trust us,” Ruh said. “Caring for the child you rescued will generate goodwill.”

“Won’t I frighten them?” The few Terrans he had encountered always reared back in alarm, despite his best efforts to smile. Perhaps it was the horns, or his height, or the fangs.

Fangs. Probably the fangs.

“And I do not?” Ruh’s tail uncurled from his side, the barbed tip lazily swaying. “Terrans say I resemble a demon.”

“Not to your face, though.” Rohn wondered if he too resembled any Terran demons. Researching the subject would at least give him something to do since there was no getting around the warlord’s orders.

Nakia:

The purple alien held her hand. He never left her side, not once as the medics worked, not when she had been moved from the ruin of the school to a bed with cool, clean sheets, and not when a soft-spoken lady asked for her name and her parents.

Nakia was too hot, then impossibly cold. She drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time she came to, the surroundings changed but Rohn remained constant. Sometimes another man was there, who was red and large as a mountain.

Not a man, an alien, her fevered mind supplied.

She shouldn’t trust aliens. Everyone knew that. The pretty golden-skinned aliens introduced humanity to the notion that they were not alone, then proceeded to slaughter humans. What did the purple alien want from her, beyond holding her hand?

She decided in a moment of clarity between uneasy dreams that her purple alien was handsome. And kind. He sat by the bed and read aloud—what he read, she could not say—halting over pronunciation and shaping the words strangely, making it obvious that English was not his native language. Regardless, his voice had a deep, soothing quality. Occasionally he spoke in soft, rolling words, the rich timbre of his voice shining through. She didn’t know what he spoke about; she didn’t care so long as she got to listen.

Doctors came to examine her. They frowned and never answered her questions.

“It’s bad. You can tell me,” she said. Her leg was under a sheet. She couldn’t move it and, with the pain meds pumping into her, she couldn’t feel it. Hell, she couldn’t feel her nose.

Not being able to move her leg worried her.

“Please, tell me.”

The doctor, a human male with dark circles under his eyes looked at Rohn before answering. “You have an injury to your spinal cord.” She wanted to vomit but her stomach was empty. “But we can detect no fractures. When the swelling goes down, I believe you will regain mobility.”

Nakia sighed with relief.

“The right leg will require amputation. An infection has set in, one that isn’t responding to treatment. I think the best course of action is to remove the limb before the infection can spread.”

She stared blankly at the doctor. His words made no sense. “My leg—”

“Community-acquired infections typically respond to treatment. You must have been exposed to a contaminant here. These close quarters make everything difficult,” the doctor said with a shake of his head. “The surgery is scheduled for the morning. Try to rest.”

Nakia couldn’t rest. She had just been coolly informed that her leg was about to be hacked off and the doctor expected her to rest, like she had a chance of hell of sleeping. She wanted her mother. She wanted anyone familiar.

She looked over to Rohn, standing in the corner with his arms folded over his chest.

“He didn’t even ask. I thought patients were supposed to give consent,” she said, suddenly exhausted. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too hard to rest after all.

“It is necessary to save your life,” he said in his wonderful, oddly accented voice.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

Rohn:

“Don’t leave me,” the female said, voice fading as she drifted off to sleep. The Mahdfel-sized bed gave her an especially diminutive appearance, small and needing protection. That’s why he stayed, he reasoned with himself.

Of course, his warlord had given him the same instruction days ago, to generate goodwill and trust with the Terrans.

But the warlord did not see the looks the medical staff gave Rohn. They did not see his watching over the female until her family could arrive as an act of goodwill or friendship. They regarded him with mistrust and apprehension.

He should leave, before the wary staff could accuse him of misdeeds against the child, but she asked him to remain. She had no one, and she appeared so small in the bed sized for an adult.

She was older than he initially thought, but he had such a hard time discerning Terran ages. Their stature and build were slighter than his, prompting his first instinct to classify every Terran as a child. Some had round faces, which spoke of youth, but he knew that to be unreliable as the roundness could be from overindulgence. Then again, many Terrans who came in from the unsecured areas had lean faces, honed from hardship and food shortages. Overindulgence was a relic from before the Suhlik’s arrival.

He enjoyed what he had seen of Earth’s environment. The mountains surrounding the medium-sized Terran town crowded the sky in dramatic fashion, dark gray against a vivid blue sky. He could see why Terrans chose to reside in such surroundings. Those same mountains provided cover from the Suhlik, distorting navigation readings, which was why the Mahdfel placed a military encampment there. Perhaps that contributed to his ship’s uncontrolled freefall.

Rohn sent a quick message to an engineer friend. Surely, he couldn’t be the first to make the connection, but Jaxar was brilliant in his way. If it could be done, he’d make it a reality.

He still waited for the warlord’s judgment on the crash. Initial reports stated that the ship had erroneously been cleared for flight, while it should have received maintenance. The crash had not been his fault but rested on the shoulders of an overworked technician. Still, the decision weighed upon Rohn. Cirra lost her life. A warrior, Levin, lost his mate. At the very least, the male had the right to challenge Rohn in combat. Violence wouldn’t bring his lost mate back, but Rohn should suffer a small fraction of the pain Levin must endure. It was imperfect, but it was a sort of balance.

Until then, he remained with the female child.