Page 18 of Defiance (The Intersolar Union #7)

Hja Qiyua was an incredible relic.

The city was millenia old, the only piece of early hjarna history that still existed above ground.

It had been buried for centuries before being restored, and raw printer drones were still busy everywhere.

They repaired crumbling columns and reconstructed ancient temples from the remnants of their foundations.

Some worked in cramped quarries between buildings like a colony of bees, printing stacks of mud bricks for biognostic and uid contractors to carry off for their projects.

I found myself constantly checking under my feet around steps, since they tended to skitter around where foot traffic was heaviest.

Like mice that whirred instead of squeaked.

Hjarna were apparently very committed to progress, and had lost a significant amount of their own history because of it.

Rather than keep something for its sentimentality and legacy, they were cutthroat about making space for the next generation.

They demolished as much as they built and regulated growth with painstaking care.

If they didn’t, Piaoguo itself could run out of life-sustaining resources within a generation.

So sure, they might have looked a teensy bit like “little green men” with their long fingers and big black eyes—nevermind that they were tall with vibrant personalities—but that urge to colonize the galaxy was understandable.

They needed a back-up plan, observed other species making their way on other planets, and thought, maybe we can be each other’s safety nets.

They hadn’t had much to share, but threw themselves into a whirlwind of building anyway.

A sort of trust fall, perhaps.

They sacrificed a lot of their own resources, building up an infrastructure of education and research and trade that could withstand world-ending disasters.

What if was a mantra to the hjarna.

Not just what could go wrong, but also what could spark innovation.

In order to do it, though, they’d destroyed a part of themselves. Dismantled their cities, turned over their metal jewelry and dishes, and rationed food. They’d drained spawning channels for water to cool nuclear reactors, and started farming sacred beetles to replace animal proteins in their diet. They modified their own genome to increase drought tolerance and slow down the adverse effects of micro-gravity to build the Union’s fleet.

That had been centuries ago, but the effects still scarred the hjarna culture. Their famous stutter—saying hm or yes in the middle of sentences—was a symptom of those modifications, and their gene pool was dangerously homogenous. They were proud of their sacrifices, though, and saw an age of rebuilding ahead of them. An archeological boom had taken over Piaoguo in the last decade as people became more fascinated with history and self-expression.

“Maybe a privilege of stability,”

Sath mused, leading Agent Gaul and I through the striped stone halls of the riad we’d be staying in. The hallways were open to the dark blue sky with white cloth shades hung from painted arches every few meters. The arches were so tall that they were visible from the market streets, and if I hugged the left side of the path, I could see the walls of the Medial Palace on the hill at the riad’s back.

“Is there a security room?”

Gaul asked.

“Ah, yes.”

Sath pulled up his holotab and sent a packet of files to Agent Gaul. He scrolled through them as Sath unlocked a door with his palm, revealing a suite down three steps just like the restaurant. It had a domed ceiling and was painted lavender with white stripes. The bedding was thin, balanced on what looked like a wicker frame with sheer white curtains.

I appreciated the room as Sath unloaded my personal bag from his shoulder and set it on a window ledge beside everything else Ambassador Zufi had packed for me. The window was a box with a single thin sheet of shale carved into an intricate lattice pattern that kept the room cool.

“Every room has a biolock, and the gate requires authentication from the Palace Guard,”

he said, standing with Agent Gaul while I shucked my boots with a moan.

My bodyguard’s eyes snapped to me, though he kept talking to Sath. Lord, he couldn’t smell my socks, could he? I picked my boots up and moved them to the window nook just to be sure.

“Who has access?”

Sath nodded to Gaul’s holotab.

“You have the access list and the authority to view vid feeds throughout the estate. It is small, yes. Three private rooms, a bath, and a bay station for any printing needs. It includes a pantry for food storage. The courtyard, of course.”

“Aerial defense?”

“Standard. But it’s not my specialty, so please direct your questions to the Palace Guard. The gatehouse’s direct contact is included in your files, yes?”

Sath took my hand in both of his and gave it a warm squeeze.

“Charlie, it has been a delight,”

he said happily.

“I hope you enjoy the riad, and please comm me for any reason at all. You are my sole focus while you are here.”

Wow, did hjarna flirt? Sath certainly knew how to be a gentleman.

“I will. Thank you, Sath.”

“Then I beg your pardon. I must update our schedule, yes? I will comm you with the details for tomorrow.”

Sath bowed his crest at me, its shape blowing a nice little breeze over my face and arms. The glittery powder on his marigold skin smelled like jasmine as it swirled around my shoulders. Then he left, Agent Gaul watching him walk away. The advenan haunted my door as I set down the leftovers and flopped onto the bed. It felt like we’d been walking for hours.

“I am not used to hard roads anymore,”

I groaned, rotating my ankles. The soles of my feet throbbed after so long on the soft, bouncy footpaths of Renata.

“I need to inspect your room,”

he said, ears bending as he descended the steps. They bounced back up once he’d cleared the door. I waved at him to do his thing while I massaged my ankles and stared longingly at the small tub. It was a glorified soup pot with a seat, made of uneven grey glass. There was a golden drain in the bottom, but no handles or shower.

“How do I…”

“You sit inside and use your foot or tail to tap the grate. It fills from the floor.”

Gaul withdrew a puck from his thigh and used his long tail to stick it to the center of the domed ceiling high above our heads. It flashed, bending light around the room. A stream of data flew across his holoscreen. Satisfied, he minimized his tab.

“We can talk in here,”

he decreed.

“That puck will alert me to new devices that enter your space.”

“Craic, thank you.”

I stood back up, knowing that if I stayed seated, I wouldn’t want to get back up for a bath. Gaul adjusted his jaw.

“You shouldn’t go to the La?we spawning channels.”

His tail drifted over my bare feet, causing gooseflesh to prickle up across my arms. I curled my toes self-consciously.

“And why exactly should I say no? My work in artificial spawning is the reason I volunteered to be your bait.”

At least he had the decency to twist his ears back.

“It’s unusual. The sort of thing a prospective suitor would offer, not a colleague. If La?we wanted to just show you one, he would take you to HIXBS’s fertility center. Just remember that.”

I picked up the bag of leftovers and walked up to him, holding it out. His ear twitched.

“You have to admit it’s kind of funny,”

I said with a quirk in my mouth, wagging the bag.

“Wanting to spawn with me?”

I looked down at my stomach to drive the point home, trying to lighten the mood. Novak grinned, taking the bag. His claws brushed the back of my hand.

“It’s only amusing if you ignore the fact that he won’t let me within whipping distance of the entrance,”

he hissed, cracking his tail across the floor for emphasis.

“Despite the mission, I do want you to enjoy yourself for a few days before I allow any nefarious kidnappings.”

A bit of color drained from my cheeks. Now that Sath was gone and Novak was sweeping my room for bugs, the gravity of what we were doing sat more heavily on my shoulders.

“How long does it last?”

I heard myself ask, a delicate hitch in my words. I was trying to sound casual but swallowed hard when Novak’s eyes sharpened. He understood what I was asking.

“The scent burn?”

He exhaled like a race horse.

“Let’s just say you’ll be imprinted on me for a long time.”

He curled his shoulders over me, bending his nose towards my hair. I hadn’t realized how close he was, or maybe he’d leaned closer. He didn’t breathe in, but he when he spoke, his tone was comforting. Resigned.

“I’ll know where you are every second of every day, even in my sleep. And that’s not changing anytime soon.”

I sighed a shaky breath.

“Just keep smelling, grand. At least I’ve got something going for me.”

He creased his brow and leaned back.

“Chemia isn’t a simple smell. It’s a signature.”

“Well, surely it changes after a week on a space ship,”

I groused, backing up over various boxes. I needed distance. Novak was overpowering. Slinky and intense, as cutting as a razor when his attention was solely on me and mine on him. I busied myself with opening my first piece of luggage, set on organizing the foodstuff into the pantry.

“There’s no way I smell like the river anymore.”

“The river?”

Novak asked, leaning against the wall. At least he was on the other side of all the crates now.

“Imani told me you chose me because I smell like the river.”

He laughed, ears upright and cheeky. He adjusted his fangs one after the other, offering a flash of dark muscle inside his mouth.

“I just used the river as an identifier since I knew you spent a lot of time there. I believe I also said you had long silk in a plait of fire. Maybe she should have led with that.”

“So you didn’t choose me because I smell like fish?”

He stepped over the boxes of neatly packed gifts and tapped the top of his muzzle.

“I think you chose me, Charlie Halloway. The first time I sampled your chemia, it practically punched me in the face. Left me reeling for sols.”

My eyelids fluttered with confusion as I crossed my arms.

“But you’d only been in the colony for—”

Novak leaned in close with a drawling grin and my words evaporated.

“How do you think Mel got pregnant?”

“She would never!”

I gasped, raising my hand to smack his chest. He caught my wrist and held me there.

“I was their advenan donor for diversification,”

he clarified, thoroughly enjoying himself at my expense. My chest deflated, the fight leaving me in a confused post-rage glow.

“Oh.”

“On my way to the clinic, I caught a trail. A subtle musk with flashes of bright zest. Salt and wind, not the sort that humans sweat out. Heated spices I can’t name, and herbs soaked in water. Your skin is often in contact with rubber—the waders, I assume—and you have algae and dirt in your cuticles. The fruit I taste on you is from wax you put on your lips, though I didn’t know that until we met.”

Novak’s eyes descended to my neck and his tail slid up my spine. He wrapped the tip around the end of my braid and pulled it over my shoulder so he could lift it with his claws.

“Your silk has only grown two inches since you arrived here, but the rest of it smells like an island with tall grass and land meat. High levels of cortisol, some sort of incense. There was a period not too long ago in which you ate almost nothing of substance. The tips…”

He lifted my split ends to his nose and breathed in, pupils blowing wide with their shocking red color.

“They still smell like you were fertile, which tells me that you haven’t cut your silk in years. And in your teeth, remnants of something you smoked when you were much younger. Your blood, your saliva, the dead cells in your silk and nails, the fluid in your eyes. I can scent it all. Your unique biome lives in me. I can form a perfect picture of it with my colear?. A magenta haze that glitters like a fever dream in the places you’ve been. Every time I breathe it in, the picture of you grows stronger.”

My braid slipped from his grip as I backed up, landing on the window bench with a soft huff. Novak stood above me with his fingers wrapped lightly around the bones of my wrist like he was taking my pulse. Like he wouldn’t let me fall too hard. His pupils narrowed again.

“I’ve told plenty of women that they smell sweet over the years, Charlie, but it’s a lie. They smelled like everyone else. Soap, musk, exertion, stress… Chemia tells me a story about the person’s life. A complete sensory signature, not just the parts you want people to see.”

“So I just scream mine a little louder than everyone else.”

I looked away.

“That tracks.”

I’d never been accused of delicate sensibilities. Who had time for that when you were surrounded by fishermen and trying to date in your forties?

Novak retracted his hand, leaving a zing from the tips of his claws over my pulse.

“Or maybe the portrait you paint is more striking.”

Certainly didn’t feel so after laying all that bare.

He lifted the bag of leftovers with an i Cline of his head.

“Thank you for the moog, Charlie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

After Novak left, I scrubbed my face and peeled off my clothes, then stared at my fingernails.

Algae? Really?

No matter how knackered I was, a scalding hot bath was in order. I made a list to waste away the evening. Unpacking, reviewing the outdated schedule, choosing what gifts to give out to who…

Instead, I rolled myself up naked in my sheets and fell asleep, not even bothering to towel off.

The last thought I had was of a true crime podcast I’d listen to on the Clare Island ferry. The host nagged me as I drifted, Always wear clothing to bed. What if you have to run?

“Sod off…”

I mumbled, descending into fitful dreams of running naked through the streets of Hja Qiyua, jiggling like a jelly dessert.