CHAPTER FIVE
K ara watched as Thraxar prepared to serve their food.
His huge hands moved with surprising delicacy as he portioned out food onto simple metal bowls.
The galley was small but immaculate, every surface gleaming, every container precisely arranged—a level of order that reminded her of Rory’s careful arrangements.
He was working on one now—his attention fixed on the utensils before him. With intense concentration, he lined them up, adjusting each one until they formed a perfect parallel row. Then he dismantled the arrangement and began again, his small fingers working with deliberate care.
She tensed, sneaking a peek at Thraxar as she waited for the irritation that such behavior typically provoked in others. On the mining asteroid, she’d learned to quietly redirect Rory’s repetitive activities, knowing they made him a target for ridicule or worse.
But Thraxar merely glanced at Rory’s methodical arrangement, observing without judgment.
He simply placed the bowls on the table without comment, giving the boy space to complete his ritual.
Once Rory was satisfied with his arrangement, he studied the bowls, then pointed to one of them —a simple purée of some kind of vegetable with a smooth consistency.
Thraxar placed a large scoop of it on Rory’s plate but made no attempt to serve him any of the rejected dishes.
“Is this sufficient?” he asked, his voice matter-of-fact.
She nodded, momentarily speechless at the casual acceptance.
She watched as Rory happily consumed the purée, then helped herself to a portion from each bowl.
The flavors were unfamiliar but not unpleasant—hearty and filling in a way that the mining colony’s meager rations had never been and accented with subtle spices.
“This is delicious. Thank you.”
“I am glad you are pleased. Both of you,” he added as he filled his own plate.
“What do you do?” she asked after several minutes of silence. “For work, I mean. You mentioned trading.”
“I maintain a semi-regular route through this sector. I specialize in small, high-value items rather than bulk cargo. Medicinals, technology components, cultural artifacts.”
“And that brings you to places like the mining colony?” She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice.
“Not typically, although I have been there once or twice before.” He met her eyes across the table. “I do not enjoy stopping there, but I had some minor repairs that needed doing.”
“Did you get them done?” she asked uneasily, thinking of their hasty departure.
“No, but it was nothing urgent. The primary compression coil was showing signs of wear.”
“That’s not urgent?”
“I will replace it before it fails,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
“What if it fails, while you’re in space? Alone?”
She shuddered at the thought.
“Then it would have been a good run,” he said calmly.
A good run? The words echoed in her mind. Was that truly all he expected from life?
“You don’t have anyone to help you?” She hesitated, then added. “A friend? A… wife?”
His face stiffened. “That is not possible. All Cire females were lost in the Red Death—the plague that swept through our systems twenty years ago.”
She gave him a horrified look, unable to imagine the scope of such a tragedy.
“That’s terrible.”
“Many races were affected by the plague, although the Cire were amongst the worst. That is one of the reasons why the Vedeckians have found a market, even though their activities are illegal.”
“You don’t mean you?—”
“Absolutely not,” he said immediately. “But it would be a useless endeavor even if I were to fall so low. A Cire male can only mate with a Cire female.”
“You mean you’re not physically compatible with anyone else?” she asked, then blushed when she realized what she’d said. “Um, you know what I mean.”
His mouth curved in that odd almost smile. “I do, and I am afraid that is the case. I will live and die alone.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “It has been many years since the plague. I am used to my solitary existence.”
Despite the casual gesture, she didn’t think he was as nonchalant about his fate as he seemed.
“Don’t you ever wish that you had someone?”
His gaze went to Rory, still happily consuming his food. “Sometimes. A male would like to leave a legacy behind him.”
“And you’re sure it’s impossible?”
“Of course. I cannot mate with anyone but a Cire female,” he said again, and she swore his tail twitched.
“But you can’t know that for certain, can you?”
“It has always been that way.”
“But what if you just believe it’s impossible? What if you try and find out it’s not impossible?”
He gave her a long look, and she could tell he was about to dismiss the idea.
“You should at least try,” she insisted.
“Why? I will only be disappointed.”
“Because maybe you won’t be. Maybe you’ll find your mate.” She reached across the table and placed a gentle hand on his arm. His tail came up to cover her hand. “And then you would have a legacy.”
Something stirred in his eyes but he shook his head. “It is not possible. I must accept that fact.”
“You sound as if you prefer that.”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, but I have grown accustomed to my solitary existence.”
“Me too,” she admitted. “Although I have Rory, of course.”
He followed her gaze to where her son was finishing his meal, then looked back at her.
“Then you understand. We have survived, even if our lives are not ideal.”
No, her life was not ideal, but for the first time in months, she felt safe. It was a dangerous feeling—too much like hope—but she couldn’t resist the warmth that spread through her as she sat there, eating the food Thraxar had prepared for them, in the safety of his ship.
He cleared his throat and his tail slipped away from her hand, leaving it oddly cold.
“How long until we reach the Patrol station?” she asked, changing the subject to something more practical.
“Approximately three standard days at current velocity.” He tilted his head slightly. “We are taking an indirect route to avoid the mining corporation’s security vessels. There is no reason for them to approach me, but better to avoid the possibility.”
Three days. Three days of uncertain safety before facing whatever waited at the Patrol station. Would they really help her and Rory return to Earth? Or would they just become someone else’s problem?
“What do you do during these journeys?” she asked. “When you’re alone for days between stops?”
He shrugged. “I train every day. I perform maintenance tasks. Sometimes I work on small items to sell. And I read.”
“Read?” The word emerged wistfully despite her attempt to sound casual.
“You sound surprised.”
She ducked her head, suddenly self-conscious. “I just… I wish I could read more than the few medical terms I managed to pick up. The translator doesn’t extend to written language.”
His expression darkened before he abruptly rose from the table and disappeared. She stared after him in dismay. Had she offended him somehow? But he returned a moment later with a sleek rectangular device.
“A standard datapad,” he explained, handing it to her. “It contains a comprehensive learning component for Galactic Standard. Most spacefaring vessels carry them for communication purposes.”
She stared at the device, unexpected tears threatening to surface. Such a simple thing, but it meant so much to her
“Thank you,” she said, her voice shaky.
She activated the pad, and he showed her how to access the language interface. Excitement fluttered in her chest as she navigated through the simple opening exercises. Meal finished, Rory leaned against her and watched the screen.
“This says ship,” she said softly, pointing to the word and tracing the characters with her finger, then repeated it in English. “Can you remember that? Ship.”
Thraxar observed them, his head tilted slightly. “Why do you repeat the words to him? Does he not understand?”
“He understands more than people realize, although he sometimes needs language input in different ways.” She hesitated, watching Rory trace the letter, then added, “He also doesn’t have a translator.”
“What?” he growled.
“The Vedeckians didn’t think it was worth giving him one since he doesn’t speak.” She managed to keep her voice steady, though the memory still burned.
His tail lashed as he frowned at her.
“Unacceptable,” he growled, and stalked out of the galley again.
This time when he returned he was carrying a small medical case, and he knelt next to the table, closer to Rory’s level.
“Every sentient being deserves access to communication,” he stated firmly. “May I provide your son with a standard translator?”
She bit her lip. “It won’t hurt him? He’s sensitive to?—”
“The procedure is quite painless,” he assured her.
She looked at Rory, who was watching Thraxar with his usual solemn intensity. The boy reached out and traced a pattern on Thraxar’s forearm, a gesture of trust that made her decision easier.
“Okay,” she nodded. “But let me explain it to him first.”
She turned to Rory, gently taking his hands. “Rory, Thraxar wants to give you something that will help you understand when people talk. It won’t hurt. Is that okay?”
Rory considered this, then reached up and touched his own ear. He looked at Thraxar, then back at her, and gave a single, definitive nod.
Thraxar gave him a solemn nod and pulled out a device that reminded her far too much of a needle—but he’d promised her it wouldn’t hurt so she took a deep breath and lifted Rory onto her lap.
“We’re ready.”
Thraxar carefully brushed Rory’s hair aside and placed the device behind his ear. There was a soft click but Rory didn’t even flinch.
“It is done.”
Another simple thing—access to language—but one that had been denied to her son out of pure cruelty and indifference.
“Thank you,” she said, the words wholly inadequate, but Thraxar shook his head.
“It is a basic right, not a gift.”
Rory reached up and touched the spot behind his ear again, then smiled—a rare, precious expression that made her heart clench.
“I know, buddy,” she whispered against his hair. “I know.”
Thraxar cleared his throat and indicated the empty bowls.
“Would you like more food?”
“No, but thank you. It was delicious.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll help you clean up.”
“It is not necessary. The ship is designed to be maintained by a single person.”
“Still, I’d feel better if I had some way to help.” She bit her lip. “We’ve already been too much of a burden on you.”
He frowned. “You have been no burden. I offered my assistance.”
“But your food, your supplies?—”
“Are sufficient,” he interrupted.
She gave a reluctant nod, but couldn’t help thinking about the food and fuel that she and Rory were costing him. “I promise I’ll repay you someday.”
“If it makes you feel better to do so, I will accept,” he said, but she could see his skepticism.
“It will,” she said firmly.
“Very well.” He nodded at Rory and she could see her son’s head drooping. After the excitement of their escape and a full meal, she wasn’t surprised. “Let me show you back to the cabin so that you may rest.”
The thought appealed to her just as much. Perhaps, safe on this ship under Thraxar’s watchful eye, she could finally rest.