The rapid whirling of bodies led to her laughter. A husky sound that vibrated through him.
“Touchy, aren’t you?”
“If you let them think you weak, they will strike. It’s best to make a point early. It saves the bother of a full-scale vendetta later on.”
She blinked at him. “A vendetta for staring?”
“Staring might lead to overtures and, when rebuffed, perhaps even an unfortunate attempt at abduction or assault.”
“Why is that unfortunate?”
“Because minor infractions we can punish lightly.” He gestured behind them to the alien screeching as his friends brought out a light saw. The limb he’d tied wouldn’t be salvageable. “While the more severe are annihilated to provide a stern example.”
“You don’t come from a dense population, do you?”
“Our world is not overcrowded, if that is your query. Planetary sustainability requires us keeping the number of inhabitants at a certain level.”
“Which I’m guessing in plain English means you have lots of wars so you don’t multiply like rabbits and overrun the world.”
“Not just wars. Vendettas, skirmishes, and if that isn’t enough, we also have the games.”
“The games being?”
“A sporting event, usually to the death, to prove valiance.”
“Have you ever played?”
He grinned. “Yes.” He’d won four of the tournaments, which was a matter of pride with his mother. It still didn’t net him a bride.
Until now.
Did this human feel the connection? She gave no indication she did as she stomped for an open section in the bay where a ship sat docked, the gangway open.
“Yo, bitch tit, I’m back! And I have company,” the orange-haired female yodeled.
He could only assume she spoke some odd dialect, as his translator had no comparison.
As if her words were a signal, the so-called bitch tit came thumping into view. Upon seeing the Zonian—distinctive with her avian legs ending in claws, the rapier features and beak, and of course, the single breast—he began to understand how a protected barbarian had survived and wandered freely on this space station rather than end up chained on the slave block.
The warrior cawed, “Did you find yourself a man finally?”
He didn’t miss the sudden color in the barbarian’s cheeks.
“I don’t need a man!” she hotly declared.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re adept at masturbation.”
Thyos almost laughed at the Zonian’s blunt words.
The Earth female turned so mottled he feared she might explode. “Shut your beak, Ishtara.”
“Or what?” The Zonian warrior, with her vivid yellow gaze, leaned forward rapaciously as if daring the female to attack.
The human didn’t cower. She leaned forward and snarled, “Don’t tempt me to kill you. I’d hate to feel guilty about gutting a friend.”
The threat had the one called Ishtara bellowing with laughter. “You, kill me? You always know how to amuse, Red Tide.”
“Don’t you start with that name again,” the human grumbled.
Thyos listened in rapt attention to the strange repartee. It reminded him of the jesting among the warriors at home. Perhaps they weren’t so different after all.
“You should accept the fine name given to you,” the Zonian declared.
“I don’t need a new name, because I have one. Clarabelle. Remember? Clar-a-belle.” She enunciated slowly.
A strange series of consonants, too many in his mind. “Why Red Tide?” he found himself asking, drawing the Zonian’s attention.
“Who are you?” Ishtara eyed him suspiciously.
Thyos knew better than to move too quickly. She’d attack at once if she thought him hostile. The Zonians were fast. Renowned. Deadly.
Their reputation closely mirrored that of his own people, meaning he would show her respect. Yet, at the same time, he was almost tempted to see what would happen if they did battle head to head. Was the rumor of their fierceness true or exaggerated? He wouldn’t mind experiencing a taste. Good sparring partners weren’t always easy to find.
Since he saw no harm in giving his name, he replied. “I am Thyos of—”
The Clara-a-belle interrupted. “His name must be dumbass because only an idiot would interrupt me having a conversation with my friend.”
“She asked me a question. It would be disrespectful to not reply.”
“Only because you listened in on a private conversation,” she reminded.
“And?” It was only eavesdropping if a person hid to listen.
“And my nickname is none of your business.”
Why did her gaze slide to the side? Why was she turning an interesting shade of red?
“Red Tide is unique. I assume you earned it?” He could only imagine what it meant. “Is it because of how you use your knives in a fight?”
Ishtara snorted. “She wishes! Girl bleeds like she’s going to die when her woman’s time hits. Messy and avoidable if she’d just agree to a few stitches.”
“Oh, my gawd, what is wrong with you?” Belle—he decided on a much more manageable version of her name—yelled. “I cannot believe you just told him about my periods.”
“I don’t understand your embarrassment of female menses.” Ishtara sniffed. “It is quite common among the lesser races. Not us, of course. We have perfected the art of procreation.”
According to biology literature on the procreation practices of Zonians, that involved an egg, a warm and bloody corpse, and a bed of coals. Add some seasoning and it sounded like dinner to him.
Belle gritted her teeth and hissed, “You know we don’t talk about that stuff.”
“You don’t, and it is a weakness. Embrace the fact you’re a copious bleeder. Perhaps a male will think it makes you an excellent breeder, thus increasing the possibilities of fertilization.”
“Ewww.” Belle’s embarrassment was clear and amusing.
But it also brought up a concern for him. “Do you not wish to create progeny?”
“Not particularly.” Her nose wrinkled.
“She says that now,” Ishtara interrupted, “and yet you put a screaming, wrinkled, fleshy blob in her arms and she’ll change her mind.”
Thyos couldn’t stop his laughter at Belle’s expression, which only deepened her scowl. “Perhaps I can aid in her finding an appropriate donor.”
“I don’t need your help. As a matter of fact, you can leave now.” She thought she could dismiss him.
As if. He’d just found her. He wasn’t about to leave.
He got his chance when the Zonian asked, “How can you help?”
Belle hastily huffed, “He can’t. He doesn’t know of any humans. I’m the first he’s met.”
Ishtara eyed him. “Can you find more humans?”
This was a direct question, and lying here would get him hurt later, so he hedged. “Maybe.”
“First it’s he can, now it’s maybe,” Belle drawled. “He’s lying and wasting our time.”
“I’m not lying.” He looked her straight in the eye as he said, “I can give you what you need.”