Page 17 of Warrior’s Mate

"Try."

Kaiven looked at Pel. Pel turned her chair away with exaggerated concentration.

"My body recognized yours," he said quietly. "There is no uncertainty in it."

Maelis folded her arms.

"And what exactly does that require me to do?"

There it was. Her response held none of the wonder or soft surrender celebrated in old bonding stories. Maelis wanted terms, boundaries, and facts, which steadied Kaiven more effectively than any ceremonial script could have done. Underneath his shock, Kaiven found solid ground. This, at least, he knew how to answer.

"Nothing."

Maelis blinked.

"Nothing?"

"Recognition isn't a contract."

"I've heard Uatu men describe a solmatu as belonging to them."

"You've heard Uatu men talk badly."

Her gaze stayed fixed on him. Kaiven continued, because the distinction suddenly mattered more than it ever had in theory.

"It tells me what you are to me biologically. It doesn't tell you what I am to you. You don't owe me touch. You don't owe me courtship, bonding, sex, residence, children, or even a conversation after this one."

Something moved in her face. Not softness exactly. Surprise.

"That's very progressive for Military Civil Defense."

"I'm flight security."

"Temporarily attached."

"You remember everything inconvenient."

"It's my best quality."

A violent burst of static erupted from the console. Pel spun back.

"Incoming local emergency call."

Kaiven's attention snapped to the display. A man's voice broke through.

"—south pumping station—pressure failure—two workers trapped—repeat, gate control is cycling—"

The message cut out. Maelis swore.

"If that pumping station fails, the lower canal overflows into the market access tunnel."

Kaiven looked at the district map.

"How many people?"

"In the tunnel? This time of day? Hundreds moving through over an hour. More if the exchange starts rerouting traffic because communications are down."

He keyed the Civil Defense channel.