Burnt Worlds (39 page)

After three verses, all with the same cadence and style, she paused, setting the neatly-folded cloth down on the holy book that sat on the cabin’s small desk.
 
She slowly turned to face the Captain.

Looking up, her eyes met his, and she began to sing again.
 
This tune was different: a smooth, flowing melody that was new to him and yet familiar.
 
Her voice was stronger, clearer, more harmonic.
 
Without taking her eyes from his, she moved across the cabin toward him.

He couldn’t look away from those deep blue oceans in her eyes.
 
He watched her hands move slowly, in fluid motions, as she stepped nearer.
 
He could smell the sweetness of her breath as her voice rose higher, in bright clear tones that went right through him.
 
He stared and listened, transfixed, as the harmonic notes of her voice soared, her hands flowing up above her head.

As the last note of her song fell from her lips, her hands floated down to rest on his shoulders.
 
She smiled at him, her cheeks slightly flushed with blue, her eyelids heavy over her blue eyes.

He hated to break the silence, to follow that voice with his own.
 
“That last part,” he said, his voice suddenly hard to find, “was… a beautiful prayer.”

She leaned in closer, her citrus-scented breath gentle on his face.
 
“That last part… was not a prayer.
 
It was me, singing to you.”
 
She glanced down at his hands, which he still held clasped together in front of him.
 
The cobalt eyes flicked back to his.

“Well,” he began, unlacing his fingers and moving his hands to her sides, “I’ve never had someone sing to me before.”
 
He slid his hands around to the small of her back, feeling her firm body beneath her robes.
 
“Thank you.
 
It was beautiful.”

She tilted her head slightly to one side, a nearly-imperceptible raising of an eyebrow.
 
“You have never had a lover sing to you?
 
Whatever is wrong with human women?”

He paused, a look of confusion flashing over his face before being replaced by a smirk.
 
“Lover, you say?”

She returned the smirk.
 
“Did I mention,” she said conversationally, “the name of the song?
 
It is called ‘Yaella’s Pursuit’. It is about a legendary Palani heroine who chased her reluctant lover for thirty years until he finally relented.”

“Thirty years?”

She shrugged, pulling him a little closer.
 
“Palani women can be persistent.
 
And patient.
 
I hope you do not mind.”

He grinned, pulling her closer, her hips against his.
 
“Whatever is wrong with Palani men, being so reluctant?
 
I would love to be caught by a legendary heroine.”

The Tassali breathed deeply, her eyelids fluttering.
 
“They are not you,” she muttered.
 
“That is what’s wrong with them.”
 
With surprising strength, her hands grabbed his neck and pulled him close, her lips pressing against his.

With a small grunt of surprise, he quickly gave in to her forceful kiss, the two of them pressing their bodies against each other.
 
Her breath was cool against his face, her hair silky between his fingers, her body both soft and firm against his.
 
Her mouth explored his for a few all-too-brief moments before she drew back, gently nipping at his lip with her teeth, resting her forehead against his.
 
Her face was more flushed with blue, her heavy-lidded eyes looking lazily into his.

“By the Divines, Feda, you are still hot to the touch.”

Dillon pecked playfully at her lips.
 
“You’re much warmer.
 
I’m hardly turning blue at all.”

She laughed, the sound loud and melodic in his ears.
 
“My room is at the ship’s normal temperature.
 
My own temperature is twenty-six,” she said proudly.

“That’s very fast,” he said.
 
“Are you pushing it?”

“Of course I am, Feda.
 
What a silly question.”

He nodded, rocking his forehead against hers.
 
“Okay.
 
I just want you to be safe.”

She shrugged a little.
 
“I am a little lethargic until I am accustomed to it.
 
But I...I feel like I will burst if this takes much longer.”

“Now, now.” he said chidingly.
 
“Good things come to those who wait.”

“Nonsense,” she said.
 
“Good things come to those who take them.”

Grabbing the back of his neck, she pulled his mouth against hers, pushing her body against his until he was pressed up against the bulkhead.
 
After a moment’s hesitation, he pushed back, one hand clutching at a fistful of cobalt blue hair while the other grabbed her waist and pulled it against him.
 
She let out a soft moan as she moved herself against him.
 
Her breathing quickened, and as Dillon moved his mouth down to her neck, he found her skin becoming moistened with sweat.
 
He gently bit at the side of her neck; she gasped, her body suddenly tense and quivering.
 
Dillon smiled to himself at the reaction, feeling her body relax against his as she melted into his arms.

He suddenly noticed he was holding her up, as her muscles went limp and her knees buckled.
 
Quickly putting his arms around her back, he leaned to take her weight.
 
Her head lolled to one side, and as he looked down in confusion he saw her face flushed bright blue, her eyes closed, her face relaxed.
 
She breathed deeply and easily.

“Lethargic,” he said to himself.
 
“You weren’t kidding.”

Dropping momentarily to one knee, he took her up in his arms and awkwardly carried her to her bunk.
 
“Huh,” he grunted, “Are Palani all muscle, or do you have rocks in your pockets?”
 
He quickly reconsidered.
 
“You know, maybe forget I said that.”
 
She made no reaction as he laid her on her bunk, less gracefully than he’d hoped.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he paused to gently push her hair from her face.
 
He sat for a moment, watching her smooth porcelain face, listening to her calm breathing.

“Okay, Amba,” he said quietly.
 
“Don’t rush.
 
I’ll wait.”
 
He stood up and turned to leave, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.
 
“Though god knows, it won’t be easy.”

Head Mechanic Saparun Vish looked up from his workbench as the engine room hatch opened.
 
Raising an eyebrow at the visitor, he put down his tools and began wiping his hands on a rag.

“Well,” he said airily.
 
“The Chief comes to our humble realm.”

Black smiled thinly at him, her eyes scanning the room.
 
“I’ve never seen it so clean in here,” she said.
 
“I have to say, I’m impressed.”

Saparun nodded, giving a slight bow.
 
“I thank you.
 
My apprentices are hard-working people.
 
A credit to your species.”
 
He paused a few moments, his hands stopping in the middle of wiping.
 
He studied the Chief’s face carefully.
 
“So,” he said at last.
 
“What brings you to Engineering?”

The Chief gave another quick look around the room, her eyes coming to rest on the Mechanic’s face.
 
“Your apprentices…?”

He shook his head.
 
“On their meal break.”

Black nodded.
 
“Good, good.”
 
She hesitated, glancing down at her boots.
 
“Look, Sap.
 
Maybe we haven’t gotten off on the right foot.
 
There have been some misunderstandings between us.”

“Ah,” said the Mechanic, breathing in.
 
“Like the misunderstanding of you telling me inaccurate things about human culture.
 
The Captain thought I was insane when I said that ‘proletariat’ was a seasoning.”

“Yeah,” said the Chief, a smirk drawing across her lips.
 
“He had the strangest look when he told me about that.”
 
She looked into the Dosh’s green eyes.
 
“There was also the misunderstanding right after that, when you rigged the shower in my cabin.”

“Indeed,” said Saparun.
 
“You froze for days, thinking there was no hot water on the ship.
 
How regrettable.”

“Cold,” she replied thoughtfully.
 

“I also recall,” said the Mechanic, “the misunderstanding that happened after that.
 
My inventory was thrown into disarray by the insertion of a false equipment record.”

Black smiled.
 
“Yeah.
 
You spent a week of evenings looking for the ‘binnacle calibration tool’.
 
An oldie but a goodie.
 
If I recall, it was right after that, there was a misunderstanding with my hair dye.”

Saparun shrugged.
 
“Pink is a pleasant colour.”

“Yeah, it was hilarious,” she mumbled.

“Was it not after that,” he said, “that you provided the wardroom with a new flavour of coffee, just for me?”

“‘Sackville Blend’?
 
Did you like it?
 
It had gin.”
 
The Chief smiled.
 
“A lot of gin.
 
You hallucinated, said you could see your pores talking to each other.”

“I forgot my name for an hour,” said the Mechanic.

“You did?
 
Outstanding,” said the Chief.
 
She hesitated, then added, “I mean, what a tragic misunderstanding.”

Saparun nodded.
 
“Indeed.
 
So, what else shall we reminisce about?”
 
His green eyes looked at her meaningfully.
 
He raised his eyebrow ridge.

“Well,” she began, glancing back down at her boots.
 
“I came to ask if we could have a truce for a few minutes.”

The Mechanic was genuinely surprised.
 
“A truce?”
 
He quickly warmed to the thought.
 
“Are you nervous, Chief Black?
 
Afraid that my next misunderstanding to you will involve an airlock?
 
Because it does.”
 
He smiled sweetly.

“What?
 
You wouldn’t.”

“Of course not,” he said, “as far as you know.”

“Oh.”
 
She thought for a moment.
 
“Anyway, just for a few minutes?
 
I need to ask you something serious.”

Saparun nodded, his grin abruptly disappearing.
 
“Serious?
 
Of course, Chief.
 
A truce, then, until you leave the room.
 
What do you need to ask?”

“Well,” she said, “I need to know if you’re recruiting Atwell to mess with me.”

The Mechanic was taken aback, his eyes widening.
 
“Chief Black, I have standards.
 
I do not enlist others for my misunderstandings.
 
And...” he raised a red-skinned finger for emphasis, “so we are clear:
 
Lieutenant Cho is completely off limits. “

The Chief quickly nodded, raising her palms in surrender.
 
“I know, I know.
 
I get it, Sap, no problem.
 
No messing with Cho or it’s the airlock for me.”

Saparun relaxed, lowering his finger.
 
“Very well.
 
I take you at your word.
 
And no, I have not recruited anyone in any way.”

Black’s shoulders dropped slightly.
 
“Oh.
 
Okay, good.”

“Why do you ask, Chief Black?
 
You would have preferred if I had?”

“Well, she asked me something that’s been bothering me.”

The Mechanic grinned broadly.
 
“Ah, so naturally you assumed I had sent her.
 
I am flattered, Chief Black.
 
Thank you.”

She looked up at him, making a face.
 
“Yeah.
 
Anyway, between you and me…”

Saparun nodded enthusiastically.

“...she said she’s interested in a female crew member, but I don’t know who.”

“Interested?”

The Chief waggled her eyebrows.

“Oh,” said the Dosh.
 
“Interested.”

“Yeah.”

“Able Seaman Currie?”

“No, she’s taken.”

“Oh.
 
Pakinova?”

“Also taken.”

“I did not know that.
 
Perhaps Belanger?”

“Wrong team.”

“What?
 
Oh.
 
How about Singh?”

The Chief squinted at him.
 
“I don’t know.
 
Maybe.
 
What team is she—”

Saparun shook his head.
 
“I have no idea.”

“Oh.”

The Mechanic began to chuckle, a soft gurgle in his throat.
 

“What’s so funny?” asked the Chief.

“I like this,” he said.
 
“It bothers you, not knowing who she’s interested in.”

“No,” said Black defensively.
 

Saparun raised his eyebrow ridge again.