Page 8 of Warrior (The Outlander Book Club… in Space! #2)

Daicon

Muscle memory never fades.

I lifted the boulder, and my shoulders tensed, waiting for a strike that didn’t come—at least this time.

Mining for the sasjasian crystals is backbreaking work, even for someone as big and strong as me.

The lifespan of most sentenced to the drudgery of the mines is no more than seven years.

I’d lasted twenty, mostly for spite. After Enslak died, I'd survived for vengeance.

They never found the guards I killed. Their bones occupied the same pit that served as a grave for my fellow miners.

I killed them one by one, saving the guard that killed Enslak until I could make him scream, begging for the same life he cruelly stole from my friend.

Perhaps that’s why they use younglings in this mine. It kept the fear of uprising small and manageable. Younglings did not possess the strength to fight back. But I could fight for them, and I would.

Sweat drenched my brow by the time I got the rock re-situated in the wall.

At a distance, the avalanche of stones appeared unchanged—which is exactly what I wanted.

Only a practiced eye could tell my progress.

Not that I expected anyone to inspect my handiwork.

In the week I’d been in the mine, only one guard crossed my path, and he was so preoccupied he walked right by where I hid in the shadows.

I had no qualms about killing the guards, save how it would upset Daisy.

For that alone, I stayed my hand from what would be an easy kill.

I did not expect to escape this place without killing.

I hoped Daisy would understand. By my reckoning, it would take another few weeks to dig through to the other side of the tunnel.

After that, it was a matter of recon to strategize the best escape plan.

A plan where Daisy and the younglings didn’t face risk.

And if I had to kill every single guard on this moon to get them to safety—so, be it.

Truthfully, instead of killing the guards, I would rather find an opportunity to capture one. There are questions regarding this mine that need to be answered.

First off, exactly what are the younglings mining?

Not sasjasian crystals. Those weighed upwards of three hundred kilograms apiece, much too heavy, and cumbersome for tiny bodies to maneuver.

Not precious stones either, from the looks of the tunnels I'd seen.

We found gems in black, gray, or white stone with a baked appearance.

The stone walls surrounding me as I traveled toward the common area were course-grained, varying from orange to deep brown.

They held no color striations, which suggested that nothing valuable hid beneath the surface.

Ewok reported mining soft, white stones, but definitely not salis.

Those mines often appeared so white it resembles a frozen tundra.

Perhaps some other tunnel might yield insight. I might ask Daisy to accompany me on a scouting mission after dinner.

Daisy.

The thought of her never strayed far from my mind.

I’m consumed with her, although I don’t want to admit it.

All day, as I whittled away at the rock standing between me and freedom, I heard her laughter in the ping of my axe against the stone.

How joyously she tended to the younglings, her patience, and voice like siren songs that call them closer and make them eager to be nearby.

Her warped sense of humor, her laugh like a breeze that wrapped around me and tickled my chest. Her bizarre food concoctions were some of the most delicious I’d ever eaten.

Even now, the pull toward the common room proved less about my rumbling stomach and more about the desire not to stay away too long.

Just like Daisy had burrowed under my skin and taken hold, the tiny Kerzak had as well.

The youngling held none of the cruel traits common to his species.

His was bright and kind, his love and protectiveness toward Daisy garnered my respect.

My favorite time of day is after dinner when we three cleaned dishes together.

The kitchen always retained warmth from cooking, holding the scent of spices from our meal.

To entertain us, Daisy told fantastical stories of heroes and epic adventures.

The stories continued as Daisy and I retired for the night.

My pallet seemed to grow smaller and smaller each passing day.

She talked slowly, dreamily, pausing occasionally, as if searching for words to describe the scene in her mind.

I’m entranced by every word falling from her lips, no matter the subject.

When Daisy falls asleep mid-sentence, as she does most nights, her gentle breathing lulled me into slumber.

I like her. Perhaps a little too much. More than once I’d awoken to find my cock hardening merely from the sound of her sleeping.

I will not allow myself to dwell on these feelings.

I am a Vaktaire warrior—war chief of the Bardaga. My mission is to rescue Daisy, nothing more. She will find happiness in Tau Ceti and have a new life and mate while I return to my duties aboard the Bardaga as is meant to be.

Why, then, does my throat constrict and chest feel heavy whenever I imagine her thousands of light years away? Why does the idea of her finding another mate make my stomach clench and ache while a red haze filled my vision?

I rounded the corner, expecting to find exhausted younglings dropping off the tools from a day of work, only to be met by a sea of blankets spread out on the ground, occupied by happy and relaxed beings.

The aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the common area.

A row of baskets sat along the wall just to the right of the stone steps leading up to the kitchen.

Each child took turns reaching into the woven baskets, retrieving small packages, and returning to their blankets.

“We’re having a picnic,” Daisy announced with a smile as I drew near to the blanket she shared with Ewok. Already a selection of meat, bread, and drink occupied the center of the rough-hewn cloth, more than enough for the three of us.

“Pick-nick?” I repeated the word slowly, recognizing the familiarity although having never spoken it before. It reminded me of the Romvesian word pixaitaire, which meant to torture with sharp jabs of a knife . I hoped the Earth word referred to something more pleasant.

“It’s where you get to eat on the ground,” Ewok explained, breadcrumbs littering the fur on his chin.

“A picnic can be more than just eating on the ground,” Daisy issued a delicate snort. “It is a chance to be playful and spend time relaxing and enjoying good food. A picnic is fun.”

I settled between them on the blanket. The oddest knowledge that anything with Daisy would be fun milling around in my chest. The food before me was a strange combination.

Two pieces of bread encasing slivers of meat and vegetables.

Sprinkles of the spices Daisy loved so much clung to the edges of the bread.

It smelled yeasty and meaty, and despite the strangeness, my mouth watered.

“It’s called a sandwich.” A familiar giggle followed her words. “Standard picnic fare.”

I took a bite. Vaktaire warriors subsisted mainly on protein for strength and agility, but this sandwich was good.

“What else do you do on a picnic?” Ewok asked. He was eyeing Daisy's sandwich covetously, and she tore off a good chunk and handed it to him.

“Lots of things. You can play games, go on hikes… tonight I thought we’d have dinner and a movie.”

Ewok frowned. “Mobee?" he asked around a mouthful of sandwich.

I knew the term, my own excited curiosity building as Daisy rose to her feet. All eyes turned as though she were the brightest star in the night sky. Not far off in my opinion.

She waved her hands at everyone, a signal to quiet down. The younglings complied with the precision of a military unit.

“Who wants to hear a story?”

I had to bite my lip to avoid being the loudest agreement in the room.

Daisy wove a tale about a man named Indiana Jones, who traveled the Earth searching for treasures and relics.

The younglings listened hungrily, devouring her every word.

I didn't attempt to stop the eager smile spreading on my face as the story unfolded.

The younglings appeared enthralled by her tales—fascinated by her.

Just like me.

When the tale ended, after Indiana Jones won against a pit of vipers and an evil entity known as Nazis, voices groaned in disappointment.

Yet, none resisted when Daisy announced time to wash up and head to bed.

In fact, most younglings glowed happily, knowing it meant a moment of affection—a touch, a smile, or a hug from the human that had come to mean so much to each of them.

I busied myself helping to clean up the area, while the younglings moved single file past Daisy, garnering small moments of affection that made me envious to watch.

"George, what happened to your hand?"

Daisy's concerned voice made me stumble, causing Ewok to nearly drop the large woven basket we carried.

Daisy stood with her hands clasped around the wrist of a young Garoot, an angry brow furrowing her brow.

His hand sported a makeshift bandage loosely tied, and blood continued to seep through the dark, blue-stained fabric.

"I hurt it in the mines today, kida .” The boy was tiny and frail, save for his head, the swell of his larger brain made the appendage appear akin to an inverted triangle.

Just as Vaktaire were bred to protect, Garoot were bred to heal.

Even without formal training, the light blue youngling would already have far more medical knowledge than Daisy or me.

“Hurt it?” Daisy scoffed as she gingerly peeled back the ragged bandage. “George! It looks like it’s broken.”

“It was,” the Garoot youngling shrugged. “I set the bone. It will heal.”