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She humors me as I direct her through a couple images that I snap from my comm device. One posed with her bemused smile facing me, and another with her leaning on the rail with her eyes on the planet. Her silhouette looks so lovely framed by the luminous orb.
“I heard you like to make images like this, as something more of an art form, hm?”
“We call it photography,” she says. “Yes, I did. Or I do.”
“Then come tell me if these captures are any good.”
She’s taken to wearing Kar’Kali clothes, having told me that she wants the people to know she’s taking this “role” seriously. I always find it strange when she calls it a “role,” but I admire her efforts, nonetheless. Today she wears a matching knit halter and skirt, and she’s had her hair braided by one of the females that ply their trade in the atrium. Two fat twisted plaits bind her thick brown hair, pinned in a neat swoop that circles her head.
It leaves her neck deliciously naked. As she bends her head to look at the pictures, my eyes travel from the nape to the base of her spine. Her skin is pale yet pinkish beige, like the milk of a tropical fruit I once had. She’s mentioned before that her skin can change color under the sun, and I wonder what that might look like. When we’re out exploring the planet, will I see her turn that different shade?
My self-control is pushed to its limits, because I long to close the scant distance between us and press my lips against that elegant neck.
“This one,” she says, stirring me to attention. Luckily, she didn’t notice I was lost in yearning thoughts. “I think this one’s very nice.”
She chose one where her face is turned away.
“What makes you think so?”
“It tells a story,” she explains. “But there’s an air of mystery too. You want to know what the subject is thinking.”
“And what was the subject thinking?” I ask.
“How hopeful I am for the future,” she says. “For the first time in a while, I feel very excited to be alive. Not just grateful and tired, but truly excited.”
It’s the perfect moment for a kiss. It would’ve been so easy to tug her waist, pull her in toward my body, and bend to bring my lips against her cheek. I’d ask her with my eyes as I hesitated there, waiting for her to close the distance or nod her head. Then I’d know the taste of her mouth, and perhaps the soft sounds she makes when she’s swept away.
None of that happens.
But she’s smiling at me, and that alone is enough.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MAK
The end of our journey brings with it a bevy of new meetings as we prepare to land on the surface. I’ve been avoiding the glaring matter of my mate being human, and therefore likely to trigger volcanic activity when she puts her feet on the ground. Pakka, the new Ka’lakka who leads the Deadheads, has a human queen of his own, and I hear from him that they had no trouble when she stepped onto the surface.
There are unspoken assumptions about why that human queen and the other females mated to Deadhead warriors could so easily be accepted by our volatile planet. And the realization that I’ll have to deal with that matter threatens to destroy all the fragile hopes that I’ve built up for our union.
I must meet with the sworn captains that have decided to assist with the beginnings of settlement on Kar’Kal. A few of the larger ships had been following the Revenge closely and arrive soon after us. There is one captain I’ve been anxious to meet with ever since Niko and I decided he was the right person for a certain job.
“Darra.”
Windswept and ruffled, he pumps his fist quickly against his chest in deference. It’s a lazy half-salute, but insubordination suits him, so I ignore it. His eyes meet Kalla’s. They nod at each other.
“I came straight away. But where’s the fire?”
I chuck a chip his way. He plucks it from the air easily, tucking it into his coat before asking any questions.
“You’re good at multi-tasking, aren’t you?”
“Short of being two places at once…? Yes,” he replies.
“I have two targets for you. One to kill and one to rescue.”
“This had better be a well-written report, then,” he says, tapping the pocket into which my chip disappeared. “If I mix them up that could be a real problem.”
“Believe me, there’s no mixing these up,” I assure him.
