Alien, Mine Page 4

  She mustered a smile. “I’ll look forward to seeing you later then.” She turned and followed one of the security officers while the other two closed in behind. Their hard stares felt like suspicious needles on her back, probing for her weaknesses.

  I will not let them intimidate me.

  Indignation burned through Sandrea. If that was Mhartak’s idea of the security officers being polite she’d hate to be on the wrong side of them when they weren’t. Fury boiled in her veins and her fists clenched. How dare they insinuate she was part of a Bluthen infiltration plan. So, she couldn’t remember much of what happened to her. Maybe they should try a spell as a Bluthen captive, see how well they did. The pricks hadn’t even let her have lunch in peace.

  Drengel’s regular appearances to run a scanner over her had become balm to her outrage. But when she told him there was no need to be quite so thorough, he replied it wouldn’t be worth his hide to ignore his orders.

  “General Mhartak sends his apologies.” Graegen’s voice penetrated her stewing thoughts. When he strode into the room a few moments ago and dismissed the security officers she could have hugged him. He held a hand out toward her. “Would you care for a tour of the base?”

  “General Mhartak isn’t coming?”

  “The General sends his regrets. His responsibilities are numerous.”

  A mix of apology and defensive justification wove through his tone.

  “You admire him.”

  Graegen shepherded her out the door. “The General has not only kept this sector of space free of Bluthen depredation, but also regained territory previously inhabited by Alliance races. Something no other general has been able to duplicate to the same extent.”

  “That must have been difficult.”

  “It was, especially as General Mhartak does not believe in the term acceptable losses. In every campaign he strives for minimum casualties. Fortunately for us, he is the greatest tactician of our time.” He ushered her down a well-lit hallway. “This military outpost is General Mhartak’s headquarters in the war with the Bluthen.”

  “Why are you at war?”

  His shoulders flexed back in a gesture she interpreted as a resigned shrug. “Because we have to be. I know our appearance can seem quite aggressive. As a people, though, that is not our inclination. From our perspective the Bluthen are the most massively self-centred race we’ve encountered. They tend to think they own the Universe and everything in it. We’ve had to fight to keep what’s ours and help our neighbours do the same.”

  “Severe psycho-centric cosmogony,” she murmured.

  Graegen chuckled. “Well said. So you understand the character?”

  “I’ve met one or two people who suffered the same delusion. Is that why they attacked Earth? Domination?”

  “It’s possible they haven’t mounted an offensive against your people yet. You were probably taken in a snatch raid. They study a new species first, discover strengths and weaknesses.”

  He pushed open a large door. Bright sunshine flowed in and a wave of profound gratitude flooded her at the sight of the yellow radiance. At least this sun was similar to Earth’s Sol.

  “The moon rotates just enough in relation to its orbit to always face the planet,” Graegen explained. “As you can see, it’s a gas giant.”

  She lifted her gaze through the clear atmosphere to the azure grandeur of the huge planet hanging above them.

  “Synchronous rotation. Our moon does that.”

  Sadness settled like a dull blanket as she stared at the spectacular, infinitely alien display. The distance to her home seemed to expand exponentially.

  “Why were the Bluthen operating on you?” After a few moments of silence, she turned her gaze and focused on him. “Security violation if you disclose?”

  “Yes, I can’t divulge that information.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant, I don’t need to know.”

  She trailed him along a paved pathway through a sea of red pebbles between dull, grey buildings. The warm, humid air pulled a sheen of perspiration to her skin.

  “You are hot, yes?” Graegen inquired. “One of our allies, the Legolopanths, acquire a film of water on their skin to thermo-regulate. Angrigans do not do this.”

  “I figured that. You don’t mind the heat either?”

  “No, but we can’t tolerate cold.”

  She panned her gaze over a tan and red, barren landscape. Massive tors, like exclamation marks, dotted the terrain. Here and there, a low hill rose, as though the ground had been shoved up out of the way of more important geological work below the surface.

  The alien landscape seemed to press in on her, shout that here, she was the alien, the oddity.

  In the artificial light of the barracks, days and nights blended into each other. Sandrea fretted over General Mhartak’s apparent withdrawal as interaction with others became limited to the security officers and Drengel. She asked the Chief Medical Officer for his thoughts on her continuing inability to recall anything other than snatches from her time of capture and worried at his reply.

  His diagnosis revolved around the theory that a part of her brain guarded her sanity, the possibility that reliving the horror of her experience could endanger her mental stability. Yet General Mhartak needed her to remember, her memories could provide vital information for the strategic defence of his command. People’s lives could be at stake.

  She slept with the comb under her pillow and each night, the comforting memory of Eugen Mhartak’s touch eased her to sleep. He infiltrated her dreams and stirred her senses with intimate caresses. Deep within her unguarded emotions, the temptation of the big warrior seduced her.

  After a few days the interviews ceased and her company reduced to Drengel. Casual inquiry brought the information that Mhartak was away on a mission. In silence, she worried over his whereabouts and safety, barely able to admit her care and attraction for him to herself, let alone voice it to another.

  Every day the walls of her room seemed closer, and as strength and health returned, boredom became a force to be reckoned with. The constant urge to get out, to bond with this here and now on her terms became essential. The rest of her life lay ahead and the desire to get on with it buzzed through her blood.

  The day came when she marched from her room, the fire of determination burning in her belly. Drengel lifted his head from examining a soldier’s bleeding leg.

  “Off for a walk?” he greeted.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Good. Don’t overdo.” He nodded toward the entrance. “Turn right, take the first corridor on the right. That will lead you outside.”

  Surprise and a splash of relief swept through her that she wouldn’t have to argue her way out.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  She followed his directions and in slanting, afternoon sunlight strode from the building, crossed the flat, red ground, and scrambled up a slight, rocky rise.

  Silence blanketed the top of the knoll and her gaze wandered the lonely landscape. Sunlight glinted off the surface of distant water. Across the darkening horizon, glowing pink splashed over a background of burnt orange. She drank in the sight for long moments, refusing the temptation to delude herself into thinking the display was Terrestrial in origin. It pleased her to think such beauty was Universal, even if here on this moon, because of its orbit, a sunset lasted for several days.

  Below her the vast, dull grey complex of the barracks sprawled over several red, stony acres. She made herself comfortable on a flat rock and drank in the wonder of the sunset. Her gaze drifted back to the water and she wondered if it was deep enough to swim in. Back home, parts of the Australian land were so flat, shallow water could spread for miles.

  An enormous wave of homesickness crashed into her. Heat pricked her eyes
and her vision blurred to a stream of tears. Smothering despair and bone-deep isolation left her floundering. She dropped her head into her hands. Pain squeezed her eyes closed and her world shrank to the sickening turmoil within her mind and body. Her courage and determination rose, fought to gain some equilibrium of spirit.

  She forced her ragged breathing into a deep, even tempo and when her body no longer shook to the extremes of emotional vulnerability she turned to her new world.

  A soft breeze on absolute silence drifted by her ears. She lifted her eyelids. By her feet a small, symmetrical rock formation protruded from the grainy soil. It had the shape of a crystalline structure her mother called a “desert rose”. Bleakness twitched the muscles beneath her eyes at the reminder of her unreachable family.

  She gathered her raw emotions, knelt, and with a gentle hand brushed the gravel and sand aside from the base of the rock then eased the amber beauty from the ground.

  A sense of connection, of significance infused her soul.

  “Sandrea?”

  Sweet Jesus!

  Her heart clenched. She leapt upright and swung defensively to the unexpected intrusion. Her brain recognized the voice, flagged a name, and she eased out a sigh.

  “Over here, Lieutenant.”

  Graegen strolled into view. “Are you well?”

  Apart from the fright you just gave me?

  She paused for a moment then answered in all seriousness. “Yes, I am.”

  His smile seemed pleased. “Call me Graegen.”

  “What’s up?”

  A small frown flickered across his brow. “Up? Ah! I came to tell you the General has assigned you quarters.”

  He’s here?

  She ordered the blooming delight in her chest to behave itself. “Quarters of my own?”

  “Correct. The General has asked that I provide whatever aid you require until he returns.”

  Her delight deflated like a pricked balloon.

  “You admire the rock-flower?” Graegen asked.

  What?

  She pushed aside her disappointment. “Yes, we have something similar on Earth.”

  “There are many such about. We excavate a particular crystal on this moon that is adapted into much of our technology. The mine shafts and tunnels can be very beautiful in artificial light.”

  “That sounds . . . nice.”

  Graegen nodded. “Well, if you’ll excuse me I have tasks to accomplish before dinner.”

  He moved off a couple of strides.

  “Thanks for caring enough to come looking,” she called after him.

  He turned back, nodding gravely. “Least I could do.”

  A smile with a touch of sorrow softened her lips as she watched him walk away. He was so much like her eldest brother.

  “Hey, Graegen, wait up!” She scrambled after him. “Have you got time now? To show me my room?”

  “Of course.”

  She followed him down the hill then toward a squat building with huge metal-like tubes connected either side.

  “What is this?” she asked. “I saw from the hill they run all through the barracks.”

  “Turbo-Tunnels. As you no doubt noticed, the barracks is quite large. This is a fast means of transport.”

  They entered the structure and he drew her to an electronic display panel. “This is the site map.” He pointed to a collection of labelled, dark green rectangles. “Quarters are here. You are in 3C. To navigate your way around simply press your destination”—his finger touched the quarters motif—“and get in that car when it arrives.”

  A moment later the pair of copper-coloured doors guarding the turbo tunnel entrance whooshed open and he guided her into a carriage.

  “You might want to hold on to the supports.”

  Acceleration jerked her toward the rear of the car. One hand snatched at and clenched around a vertical metal bar while the other desperately clutched her fragile rock flower. A few seconds later, massive reduction in momentum tried to hurl her forward. Graegen, she noted ruefully, didn’t look as though he’d moved a muscle.

  “Here we are.” He led her out into a short corridor. “The room is programmed for your thumbprint. Press your thumb to the panel and you’re in.” He smiled. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

  “Thanks, Graegen.” She stepped the few feet to her door.

  “I’ll see you later,” he said.

  She smiled over her shoulder. “Bye.”

  She pressed her thumb to the pad and the door slid open so fast it appeared to vanish. Warm comfort stole across her limbs and she entered.

  She had a home.

  Okay, a temporary one, but hers, nonetheless. A sense of having taken the first step in a long, healing journey infused her heart. She placed her treasured rock flower on a nearby ledge and wrapped her arms around her body. Her eyes alighted on the bed and mischief erupted. She took a running jump and landed on the firm cushioning, feeling it give a little. A laugh rose.

  How many times had she and her brothers gotten into trouble for doing just that? Well, that and swinging off the rotary clothes line. Her mouth firmed and she pressed a bittersweet tremble from her lips.

  I will not remember them with sorrow, no matter how much I miss them.

  A doorway beckoned and hopeful curiosity urged investigation.

  An en-suite!

  Her excitement dimmed when she discovered that ablutions for Angrigans consisted of scented wipes—and she’d thought that had just been hospital procedure.

  Ah, well, at least she had her own lavatory.

  She busied herself that afternoon furthering her education into the society willing to embrace her, using the computer audio interface in her room to study the Angrigan culture and language. A knock on her door mid-afternoon heralded the arrival of a package and she opened it with curiosity and enthusiasm.

  From the box she pulled a snowflake-shaped piece of gold-coloured metal about half the size of her palm and a small data-recording device. It began to play when she lifted it and Mhartak’s voice fanned a dizzy flame over her heart.

  “Sandrea, as you have been discharged from medical and free to roam the base’s unrestricted areas, please wear this . . . decoration. It will identify you as a guest at Kintista base.”

  Really? You don’t think my altogether human appearance will tell me apart?

  The next day she pinned the brooch to the lapel of her shirt and took a solitary wander about the base. An energetic stroll up a couple of knolls collected her three more desert roses, but her attempts to strike up a conversation in Angrigan failed miserably. Maybe it was her Australian accent mangling her Angrigan. A lot of the soldiers ignored her, shooting her a contemptuous look after staring at the brooch she wore. She wondered what about the decoration could incite so much hostility. Or was the cause simply her wearing it?

  “I thought I might find you here.”

  Delight blazed through Sandrea at Mhartak’s voice. She spun from her ritual of admiring the sunset to drink in the sight of him climbing the last rise of the knoll.

  “Hello, General.” Despite her heart hammering like a blacksmith who’d downed one too many shots of espresso, she managed to greet him with composure.

  He came to a halt by her side and gazed at the sky. “A beautiful sight, is it not?”

  “Certainly is.”

  “Does it remind you of your home?”

  His perception cheered a forlorn part of her.

  “Yes, kind of, these just last longer.” She forced her eyes from him and focused on the psychedelic horizon. “I guess we’ll have perpetual night for a while soon.”

  “That is correct. The temperature will drop quite dramatically. You have been issued cold-weather gear?”

 
She nodded. “Yes, thank you.” She abandoned the magnificent, atmospheric display and rested her eyes on him with pleasure.

  “You look tired, General. Hard day?”

  “A slight headache, that’s all.”

  “Sit.” She pointed to a boulder-sized red rock.

  He turned and peered down on her. For a moment his green eyes lingered on her face, then he lowered himself to the rock surface. She moved to stand behind him, lifted her hands, and pressed a light touch to his temples. A buzz tingled across her finger pads. Warm pleasure danced over her arms to her breasts. She gritted her jaw and resisted the impulse to lean into him and feel the hard strength of his broad back against her softness.

  What is it with me? Christ, that’d go over so well, molesting the general of this base.

  Mhartak sat straighter.

  Unease or military posture? Had he sensed her wanton attraction?

  She took a deep breath, steadied her wayward body, and traced slow circles over the smooth skin at the edges of his eyes, alert for any sign of distaste. He seemed to relax, so she continued, enjoying the flares of sensual heat licking at her skin. After a few moments, she walked her fingers up over his brow-ridges. Tiny blasts of exquisite sensation exploded into her fingertips. She suppressed a gasp and pressed into a brow-scale. The texture softened and heated, pulsing beneath her touch like sensuality incarnate. Desire stirred and rippled through her sex.

  The pressure against her fingers increased. Had he leaned into her hands? Perhaps massaging that area gave him relief. She pushed down her burgeoning lust and kneaded fingers eager to savour the erogenous sizzle into his brow-ridges.

  Are his other scales like this?

  She smoothed her hands up and back over his head. The warm, firm texture of resilient skin pleasured her senses. Slanting sunlight glimmered on the streaks of gold adorning his head ridges. She brushed an exploratory hand over them.

  He jerked.

  “Sorry.”

  Hell, the golden ridges were swelling. Had she done something to anger him?