Page 215 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sam

I don’t dream at all for the next little while.

Time is meaningless, trapped inside as we are.

It could be the middle of the night or the afternoon, and I’d be none the wiser.

I sleep when I’m tired, which is almost all the time, and take two of the tablets with some djenti berry water each time I think it’s been more than twelve hours.

It’s hardly precise, but little by little, the ache in my chest starts to recede, my breaths come easier, and the cough starts to subside.

But I don’t dream, and I think it’s because I’ve been sick. I’m sure Ellie said something about not dreaming with Anghar while he was injured, and it makes sense. If the body is using all its reserves to heal, it won’t be wasting energy on dreams.

I hate not being able to actually talk to Dazzik, though.

There’s so much we need to talk about. The slaughter of Basran’s tribe hangs between us, this big, heavy thing that needs to be addressed.

I’m not upset about it - Dazzik did what he needed to do to save me, as far as I’m concerned - but we still need to talk it out.

There are the scars, too, which Dazzik seems to be very embarrassed about. Often I catch him turning his head so it’s his unscarred side that faces me, and no matter how often I touch his face, plant little kisses on it, he doesn’t seem to be reassured.

But there are two far more pressing problems that need to be dealt with before we can sort out things between us, and as my energy comes back, as my brain switches fully on, I turn my attention to solving them.

First, food. I’ve had barely any appetite for the last few days, but with my fever finally broken, I’m suddenly ravenous, and I don’t think Dazzik has many supplies.

Basran must have had some, but either they were taken by someone, or Dazzik can’t find them, because he feeds me travel rations, never taking any for himself.

I have no idea how long it’s been since he last had a good meal, but I’m thinking it’s probably several days at this point, and that just can’t carry on.

But just like Basran’s tribe never discovered the upstairs and downstairs to this place, I bet they never discovered the kitchens either.

The canteen will have a standard service hatch type kitchen - I saw the shutter when I was in there - and hopefully there’s a freezer full of food that’s still good to eat.

Or at least some tins, some long life stuff that we can work with.

I climb out of bed, itching at my face, my stomach as I stretch out the aches.

The pristine bed is filthy already from me lying in it, and that’s problem number two - hygiene.

I’m filthy, and I don’t fancy standing outside in the cold rain for a little natural shower.

There will be some communal bathrooms here somewhere.

A set of showers that hopefully still run hot.

Food first, though. Food is more pressing.

The gnawing hunger in my stomach drives me downstairs and to the canteen, right to the back where the shutter is.

There’s a door, but it’s got a combo code on it.

Unlockable from the inside, probably. I try pressing the buttons in a line, and other obvious patterns, to no avail, so I turn my attention to the shutter itself.

I try to pull it up, but it’s also locked shut.

Fortunately, I know just the guy to solve that little problem.

Dazzik is in one of the bedrooms, gathering up the furs.

I’d forgotten just how bad it smelled in these rooms, and my nose wrinkles, but then I remember that I probably smell not dissimilar, so I swallow down my disgust and just beckon for Dazzik to follow me.

I take him to the shutter, and just as he did with the cabinet, he rips it open with ease.

I go to kiss him, remembering at the last moment how bad I must smell, then draw back.

But Dazzik gives me a questioning look, before pulling me back to him, planting a long, loving kiss on my lips.

So I guess the smell doesn’t bother him so much.

I clamber up onto the service area, manoeuvring over the heat lamps with some difficulty, before dropping into the kitchen on the other side.

It’s so like my old workplace, I’m hit with a wave of surprisingly warm nostalgia.

I shake it off, opening the door so Dazzik can join me, then go straight for the big industrial freezers.

There’s a green light shining on the side of them, which I take to be a very good sign.

Heaving the lid of one open, I gaze down into the depths of it at the piles and piles of pre-prepped meals. The end product of what I used to make - vacuum sealed dishes, portioned out for one person. All they need is heating up, and they’re good to eat.

Dazzik looks into the freezer, recoiling at the cold.

His reactions to technology continue to be comical, but I try to hold in my amusement.

I know he must be finding staying here difficult - just another thing we really need to have a conversation about - so I try not to laugh at him too much.

I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong impression that I think he’s stupid.

I reach into the freezer and pluck out a couple of meals, picking something with a big slab of steak for Dazzik, and something heavy on the vegetables for me.

I think they might sit a little easier in my stomach, and Grace is always going on about how many nutrients are in food made from plants, how healthy the raskarran diet must be.

I need a bit of healthy to speed my recovery.

There’s a microwave on one of the sideboards, and I go to it.

It takes a moment to figure out the controls, and a while longer before I have the food hot enough to eat.

I fetch some cutlery from the draws, handing Dazzik a spoon that he looks at with great distrust. But then I put the plate of food in front of him, and I see the rapture in his expression, the way his eyes close as he breathes in the smell of it.

Yup, he’s definitely been going hungry.

He takes a first cautious mouthful, then demolishes everything on his tray.

I’m slower, my stomach still readjusting to experiencing hunger, so I make him a second round, and he polishes that off before I’ve even finished my first. It gives me a weird sense of pride, though.

I probably didn’t make these exact meals, but they are the kind of thing I used to make, and seeing him enjoy something that could have been the product of my labour is very gratifying.

Dazzik watches me until I’ve eaten everything on my tray, and I see the same kind of smug pride reflected in his eyes. So we both like to feed each other. A firm foundation for any relationship in my book.

I go back to the freezer, doing a quick count of the meals.

I stop when I get to thirty, opening up the second freezer next to it.

When I see that one’s also full, I know we don’t have to worry about food.

Dazzik, for all he finds everything here difficult to understand, seems to understand this, and it’s like years lift off him in a moment.

His shoulders and back straighten, the almost permanent downward turn to his lips softening, and the deep furrows between his brows smooth out, his eyes going soft with wonder and relief.

“I know,” I say, reaching for his hand and gripping it. “You didn’t have enough food, but now we have plenty.”

It occurs to me that while there’s plenty for the two of us, I’m not sure how far the supplies would stretch if we were feeding a whole tribe. A problem to address when it comes up, and so far there’s been no sign of anyone else coming to join us.

I push it out of my mind and focus on the next thing. A shower.

I head back down to the level with the medic centre on it.

Most of the doors down here are code locked like the kitchen, and I don’t rate Dazzik’s chances of hauling them open.

Lucky that the cabinet locking away the medicine was enough security for Mercenia around the medic’s room, otherwise I’d have been in real trouble, but it makes me wonder what could possibly be behind those doors that’s more dangerous, more valuable than the medicine.

Or perhaps that’s just bottom tier thinking.

Perhaps for the higher tiers, the kind of medicine that we would have killed for was handed out freely.

I put it out of mind, instead looking for the communal bathroom that must be down here somewhere.

I find it a moment later. A large room with proper toilet stalls, lockers, sinks, and a shower area. There are rungs on the ceiling that suggest once upon a time there were curtains, but there aren’t any now - just a big open shower space with several shower heads in a row.

And dispensers. Dispensers next to every shower head. I go straight to the first one, pressing the lever on the button and laughing with delight as some cleaning substance jets out.

I raise my hands to my nose, breathing in the lightly fruity scent.

Dazzik watches me, and I hold it up to him.

He takes a sniff, but pulls a face, his more sensitive nose maybe picking up on some chemical smell that I can’t detect.

I grin at him, then gesture for him to step back so he’s out of range of the water.

The showers are the kind where you have to press a button for the water to come out.

I step to the side so I’m somewhat shielded from the spray and press it.

The shower makes a groaning noise, then a loud sputtering that makes both Dazzik and me jump.

The water that comes out is brown and horrible, and I’m about to despair when it starts to run clean. Clean and steamy.