“The captain sounded impressed.”
“I’ll tell you what’s impressive; Captain Tranis showing up on the bridge mere hours after being pounded into ground ronka. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.” Tukui closed his packed bin and glanced at Tina. “That white-haired girl was there too. Cassidy Hamilton. Her attitude seemed much improved since we saw her in the dining hall, didn’t you think, Osopa?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. I barely noticed her, to be honest.”
Yorso closed his bin too, which contained his property and the tiny pack belonging to Tina. “We can load these into the shuttle and return for you two. Or we can wait.”
Osopa scowled. “I know, it’s taking me too long.”
“We have plenty of time. I wasn’t complaining.”
“We’ll be back,” Tukui decided. “Besides, I’ve decided to pull navigation’s memory core. I want to study how I compensated for loss of helm control with the venting, maybe run a few simulations to improve what I did, and turn it into a how-to manual for others.”
“Someone’s gunning for promotion,” Yorso grinned.
“Doubtful. The way our ships are built, the issue almost never comes up. Still, it would be useful for those rare occasions when it does.” He reached as if to pat Osopa on the shoulder, looked at the sculptural piece the Nobek was fussing over, and thought better of it. “Try not to have too much fun while we’re gone.”
Yorso laughed, and they set off after pausing to kiss Tina. She settled in to watch Osopa.
It astounded her how silently he worked. If she closed her eyes, she could fool herself into thinking she was alone. How did he do that? Just a slight shift of how she sat on the bed produced a rustle. Yet there Osopa stood, wrapping his gorgeous designs and settling them in his bin, without the slightest noise—at least none she could hear.
He noticed her watching and smiled wryly. “It was ridiculous of me to turn weapons of brutality into such delicate things. I chose art over functionality.”
“They’re beautiful. I suppose it takes a warrior to see how deadliness can be made pretty.”
“The original shapes suggested other forms to me. Grace from fatal instruments. I appreciated the irony.”
“Your work shows the hidden depths of a man who doesn’t prefer to emote.”
Osopa paused. Uncertainty shimmered to the surface. “That has long been a failing of mine. I do feel. Strongly.”
His unwavering gaze hinted that it might be her he felt strongly for. Tina thought of how he’d run in after the Tragoom attack despite needing to be elsewhere, how he’d reached for her and Yorso. His emotional promise to keep them safe no matter what had been spoken with passion.
He was difficult, but not impossible, to reach. She edged towards him. “I won’t laugh if you express yourself. Or reject you. You can be open with me.”
He paused his packing to regard her. “You’ve been patient with how I’ve treated you. I could have behaved better.”
“You could have acted worse. There’ve been moments when you let me peek behind that formidable stoicism.”
He chuckled and began wrapping his last piece. “I used to be far more awful. Until Tukui, and later Yorso, I didn’t think I could share much with anyone. I’m supposed to be tough.”
“Because you’re the designated warrior? Or is there more? I sense a bigger story behind the strong, silent treatment.”
He paused before speaking again, his voice low. “It started when I was set aside by my parents.”
“Set aside?” Tina sat so she was out of his way, but they could easily look at each other.
“That’s as accurate a term to put it as any other. Similar to how you’ve been treated, perhaps. My older sister was found to be infertile when I was young. It was awful for her.”
“Infertility is pretty common for your women, right?”
“It’s the reason we’re desperate enough to snatch poor Earther girls from their quiet convents. I’m glad you don’t hate me for that.”
“What’s done is done. I can’t go back, and you’re good to me, so I cope. Go on. Tell me more about your sister.”
“Though infertility is nearly a given, it was still a gut-punch to her. Jisa was doted on from birth, because she was among the few rays of hope for our dying species. Then the test results arrived, and she went from a shining promise to a disappointment in an instant. At least, that was how she saw herself.”
“Poor girl.” Tina felt a stab of sympathy for the plight of a woman she’d never met.
“Suicide rates are high for our young Mataras. They have no control over whether they can bear children, and our society does its best to not place undue pressure on them. But when the hopes of an entire civilization are riding on whether you produce viable eggs—well, dashed expectations take a hell of a toll. Especially when you’ve been treated like a goddess from the day of your birth.”
“When it’s over, no more special treatment?” Tina’s heart ached for anyone caught in such a situation.
“Females, no matter their fertility, are held in high esteem. They’re too rare not to be. But the offers of clanship to those men highest in rank are replaced by stable but unglamorous clans that can’t offer all the wealth and status the Mataras previously attracted.”
“That’s crappy.”
“When you have riches and standing, you can hope to snag a Matara who can give you children. But yes, it’s a shitty situation. To a woman who’s just learned her fate, it’s tantamount to declaring she’s worthless without her fertility.”
He stopped, as if realizing he was speaking louder in growing anger. He drew a deep breath before continuing.
“My parents went to great lengths to make Jisa feel worthwhile. I had to take a backseat to that. I was resentful, as a young Nobek boy tends to be.”
“As any sibling would be. It’s no fun begging for attention and being ignored,” Tina reassured him.
“I was ignored. I might as well have not existed. I understand it now, because Jisa was devastated. Absolutely, unequivocally destroyed. Still, it hurt then, and I doubt understanding would have made it any better. Then I went off to training camp.”
Tina had heard a little about Nobek training camps from Yorso’s explanations of Kalquorian society. Between the ages of five and seven, those classified as Nobeks—exceptionally intelligent but incapable of controlling dangerous rages that came when they were upset—were sent to camps to live. There they learned how to direct their aggression to benefit the empire.
“You would have had playmates at the camp. Did it help?”
Osopa finished packing his bin and latched it closed. He set it on the floor and sat next to her. “For a bit. Even though we often competed against each other and could become bitter rivals, there were usually two or three others to forge close friendships with. My first year was wonderful. I liked being there more than at home with all the sadness and desperate attempts to keep my sister’s head above water. But after, training camp became another place to be lonely.”
“Why?”
“It turned out I was a little too good at being a Nobek. There’s not really a modest way of stating it. I was smarter than most, resourceful, and unafraid to do what needed to be done. They advanced me to train with older boys. And when I say older, I’m talking three years—a big deal for children of that age.”