Despair washed through Tukui. Tina had to come first. For him, it was a simple call. He could easily walk away from his navigation post for whatever job that would keep him with his Matara. But to demolish the careers Osopa and Yorso had striven for? To insist they give it all up because their Dramok hadn’t seen beyond the immediate excitement of a female lifemate? Even for the precious gift that was Tina?
Tukui would have to think long and hard about what had to happen for the good of his clan. He couldn’t trust to luck on this one. This was no time to cast the die and let the future figure itself out.
Ancestors help me, because I don’t have a clue how to handle the mess that I’ve made.
Chapter Thirteen
Evening had rolled around. Yorso headed down the alcove-studded corridor to the dining hall. He blinked in the too-bright beige surroundings, studying Tina’s list of what to order from the automatic food dispensers. Italian sausage subs, potato salad, baked beans, salad, and apple pie.
Yorso hoped it would be good. He’d worked all day on updating his report to the fleet on newly discovered customs of Earthers, thanks to Tina’s input. Lists of official holidays and how the many different cultures had assimilated them into their old practices without getting in trouble with the Church. Names of saints to be revered. Proper roles for women where careers were concerned—a depressingly short list. How sex was taught to young women nearing marriage age—an even shorter list. The punishments for females who knew more about intimate activities on their wedding nights than their bridegrooms thought proper was long and gruesomely detailed, however.
As a result, Yorso wasn’t up for a cooking lesson. Pickings were slim in their quarters anyway, since three Kalquorians ate a hell of a lot more than the former Earther occupant. The cupboards, full when they’d arrived two days before, were nearly empty.
Osopa and Tukui had come in exhausted following their shift. Tukui was particularly quiet, almost morose. Yorso hoped he hadn’t done something to get reprimanded so soon after being awarded his commendation.
He neared the dining hall and checked the meal list again, hoping the food dispensers wouldn’t be too complicated to manage. Tukui and Osopa had both mentioned convoluted controls when it came to ship’s operations. Surely one wouldn’t have to possess engineering training to order a meal.
The scents leading him to the doorway only feet away weren’t bad. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.
Dramok Zevs came out, carrying a couple of steaming trays. Nobek Akpri was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was only able to catch a quick bite because he was on duty.
Zevs lit up to see Yorso headed his way and angled to intercept him. Yorso couldn’t help but return his smile, enjoying the coming attention. With the men focused on Tina, Tukui and Osopa weren’t spoiling him as much as they used to. He didn’t begrudge his Matara her deserved limelight. He was devoted to her as well. Nonetheless, it was nice to remember he too was desirable.
“I haven’t seen you around. I was afraid you’d gotten lost in this big ship.” Zevs looked him over, his grin turning into a leer that made Yorso uneasy. Did Zevs always look at him that way?
“I’ve been busy. New Matara, remember?”
“She’s a lucky lady. I’m sure she’s figured that out by now.”
“An Imdiko has to take care of those around him, so we pick up more than the usual tricks.”
“I remember quite a few of your tricks.” Zevs smirked. Suggestive. Too suggestive for another Dramok’s clanmate.
Yet Yorso had let Zevs behave in such a manner for over a year since joining Clan Tukui. Perhaps he’d even encouraged it, as Osopa had complained. Why? Why did he need his ego stroked after all this time? He had a wonderful Dramok in Tukui. The perfect clan, complete with a Matara.
A wave of disgust for his behavior turned Yorso’s stomach sour. He had to set the record straight with Zevs and the other admirers.
“I’m afraid I’ve given you the wrong impression, Dramok Zevs. I’m glad you have fond memories of me, but those days are over. My Dramok wouldn’t appreciate me having this inappropriate conversation with you. Excuse me, please. My clan is waiting for their dinner.”
Leaving Zevs staring open-mouthed, Yorso brushed past him. When the urge to congratulate himself for doing the right thing arose, he brushed it off impatiently. He had nothing to be proud of. He should have ended Zevs’ flattery over a year ago.
* * * *
Osopa would look back on the first few days after they’d evacuated to the Earther transport as a quiet requiem, a bright spark of happiness made more brilliant by the darkness that followed.
The Kalquorian war fleet had arrived, and the security codes keeping them out of the wormhole that led to Earth had been broken, allowing an invasion force to slip in. Victory, and the end of the war, had been all but assured. Captain Tranis’ crew, on board the Earther transport and unable to participate, had been spectators to the unfolding events.
The war was decided, but there was no triumph for either side. Earth was vanquished, but not by the Kalquorians. In the end, Osopa stared at the vid feeds from the invasion force, filled with impossible clouds of destruction raining ash and debris on the craters where hundreds—hundreds—of cities had thrived only seconds before. Where millions, perhaps billions, of men, women, and children had worked and played and lived.
Gone. All because Earth’s leaders had decided it was better for their people to die than to surrender to the Kalquorians. The invasion force’s arrival had triggered a nuclear Armageddon, annihilating the planet’s major cities.
As Osopa tried to come to terms with incalculable deaths, Tranis’ clan carried their sobbing Matara off the bridge, leaving Simdow in command. The crew sat or stood frozen at their stations, eyes wide, mouths gaping as the inconceivable horror played out before them on their vid screens.
It was Tukui’s face that woke Osopa from the nightmarish trance that had descended. His Dramok stared as the others did, silent tears tracking down his cheeks. Osopa doubted Tukui realized he wept for the untold dead. He wasn’t the only man to do so, but it was the devastation of his Dramok’s expression that got Osopa moving.
The Nobek went first to Simdow’s station. A few flicks of switches, and the images disappeared, leaving them with the view of various ship status readouts. The first officer blinked at him.
“My apologies for doing that, Commander. However, it would be best to spare yourself any further trauma. Looking at it won’t help them.” Osopa had to pause as his usual command over himself trembled. When he managed to settle his raging emotions, he said, “By the ancestors, nothing can help them now.”
As Simdow stared at his control panel, as if it might offer answers for the inexplicable horror that had just occurred, Osopa went to Tukui. He gripped his Dramok’s shoulder.
Tukui raised his gaze to Osopa’s face, but the Nobek wasn’t sure he saw him. However, Tukui must have recognized his clanmate because he said, “We need to find her family.”
“I contacted some acquaintances a few days ago who were to police the area where they live. I called in a few favors, and they agreed to check in on her father and the rest.”