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1
MARGARET
“There isn’t a choice,” Nyanna says, shaking her head. “I hate to put it this bluntly, but we are screwed.”
No one in the room speaks up. I don’t either because what am I going to say? She summed it up in pretty much the same words I would use. Screwed is accurate but I may have said it with a bit more color since none of the kids are here.
The refrigerator was broken and we didn’t have the parts to fix it. No refrigerator and we were in trouble. We were down to the last of the dried rations that had survived the crashing of the ship to this planet, or, in other words, not much. The alien Zmaj had been a blessing in more ways than one. They had begun hunting meat and other food sources for us, which is great, but what they brought needed to be kept cool or it would spoil. And there are too many of us to feed without keeping the meat safe for longer periods.
Nyanna looks at each of us in turn and every person in casts their eyes down and away. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’ve had a good life. More than I could ever have asked for, if I’m being honest. If I’m going to die, it might as well be at least trying to do something good. Something that will help make sure my children, grandchildren, and newly born great-grandchild survive.
“I’ll go,” I say, raising my hand as I open my eyes and meet Nyanna’s steady gaze with one of my own.
The surprise on her face is so clear it might as well be a searchlight illuminating a night sky. Her mouth parts into an o shape as her eyebrows raise almost to her hairline.
“Marge you don’t?—”
“No,” I cut her off. “I do. I’ll go.”
The others who had gathered in my kitchen shuffled their feet uncomfortable but not disagreeing with my offer. They may want to speak up, or at least feel like they should anyway, but no one does. I get it. It feels wrong to send the old lady out into the desert on what is quite likely a suicide mission, but they don’t have my viewpoint on it.
They don’t know me that well or know what a good life I’ve had. That I’ve known love. I’ve raised my family and by the grace of all the Gods that ever were most of them survived the crash to this forsaken planet.
And, everyone gathered here still has so much life ahead of them. Some of them haven’t even found love. They don’t yet know the touch of a lover's caress, or the joy that can be found in sharing a morning cup with your mate.
I’ve had all that and more. My husband died years ago and sure I’ve been lonely and alone since, but I’ve never been unhappy. I loved and that part of my life ended when I lost him, but I’ve found every bit as much joy in what my life became after. Spending time with my children, my grandkids, and my first great-grandchild.
Beautiful.
The Zmaj’s word echoes in my head like a clarion call. Ridiculous thought. In truth I really didn’t think I was capable of feeling what I had in that moment when he looked at me. That tight, needy desire that flooded your body when pure lust and primal instinct soared, but I now know how wrong I was about that having gone away. It apparently only needed the right trigger, which he was.
It’s a silly thought though. A fantasy, which there is no harm in indulging, as long as I don’t lose touch with reality. I’m way too old for him and he deserves better than that. What kind of life could I offer him? I don’t know how many more years I have left. Any man committing himself to me would only be for whatever that time is and that’s not fair to him.
“Marge, seriously, this is going to be really dangerous,” Nyanna says. “I appreciate the offer, truly, but I don’t think?—”
“That I’m able enough? You think the old woman hasn’t got it in her anymore?” I ask, grinning. “Here, let me do a jig for you.” I do my best imitation of an ancient Irish folk dance then end with a semi-graceful pirouette. “See? The old gal still has it.”
I smile at her and the others who stare wide-eyed in either disbelief or appreciation, but I choose to believe its appreciation. Probably it’s the opposite, but the greatest wisdom age has brought me is to not be so concerned with what other people think.
“It’s not that,” Nyanna says. “Or not totally.”
She’s flustered, which is very unusual for Nyanna who is always in control. I grin with satisfaction.
“Captain,” I say, stepping forward. “I get it. It’s dangerous. We all know the odds.”
“The odds are not…”
“I take her,” a deep, thrumming bass voice echoes from the back of the room.
I hate the way it makes my heart speed up. What is wrong with me? I’m too old for this kind of nonsense. It’s ridiculous, but when he pushes his way through my mouth turns dry and I can’t take my eyes off of him. The best or maybe the worst part is he can’t seem to take his eyes off of me.
He has the most amazing eyes. The color of them is one no human has ever had in the long history of humans. Not naturally anyway. His are a shade of violet but with these starbursts in them that are incredible. Also his pupils are slits, because he is, after all, an alien.
He steps forward and comes to a stop at my side, staring down from his much greater height. I, for my part, feel about as frumpy as I ever have in my life. It couldn’t be any worse if he’d come upon me in my bathrobe with my hair in curlers. Both of which are a luxury that was lost when the ship crashed. I do miss curlers and bathrobes.
I clear my throat and force my eyes up. That’s right girl, don’t keep staring at that v diving into his loosely tied pants. Up. A little more, there you go. Back to those eyes. Which are enough. I mean, damn, those eyes are incredible. Bright and intelligent and piercing and I’m running out of adjectives plus I become acutely aware that everyone else is staring at me and him.
“Ah-hem,” Nyanna clears her throat. “Uh, Mohlad?” she looks over to her Zmaj whose name escapes me. He nods with a soft smile and she continues. “Mohlad. I don’t think this is a good idea.”
