The Wos’kit Pollen Plot: Part 1
I woke up to an empty room, exhausted and groggy, in a bed that wasn’t mine.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth from dehydration, and my arms and legs felt like they were supported by lead pipes instead of bones.
The raging migraine pulsing directly behind my left eye wasn’t helping either.
I lifted my head in an attempt to get my bearings. Unfortunately, that only made the unfamiliar room spin. I flopped back onto the mercifully soft pillows and shut my eyes.
The only thing keeping a panic attack at bay was the fact that I lacked the energy for it.
I forced myself to think. The last thing I remembered was Azo’lah promising that she would wait while I underwent surgery to have my translator replaced. She said she would be here when I woke up.
I cracked a lid to find that I was right in assuming I was in the Healer Wing of the palace. And a private room, no less. Dove gray walls, an empty chair, a rolling tray with a pitcher and a glass, and a curving sculpture casting blue-amber light were all I saw.
No Azo’lah.
I ignored my pang of disappointment. I knew it wasn’t right to hold her to such a small promise. I could only assume that since the attack, she’d been recalled to duty guarding Fleetwood and was, therefore, busy.
I smacked my parched lips together and pushed the button that elevated my bed up into a reclining position. The implant surgery itself was extremely safe, but it seemed I had a stronger reaction to Destyrian anesthetic than the first time I underwent this procedure. At least the calibration process seemed smoother, my headache was already improving. I prodded gently at my new implant, vaguely wondering what color the gem on it was now. A pang of sadness at the loss of my original translator shot through me. It had been with me from the beginning, through all of my adventures with my friends, across multiple planets and galaxies, not to mention our inaugural adventure at the Temple of Aluthua, which had endowed it with unique capabilities.
The door to my room dissipated and my eyes, still struggling with being fully awake, caught onto an exceptionally tall and muscular silhouette. “There you are!”
“Yes. Here I am,” said a voice that was not Azo’lah’s. As the interloper approached the bed, the soothing blue-amber lighting threw Nyc’arra into sharper relief.
She was dressed in a simple white tunic, much like the one I currently wore. Her long hair hung in a simple braid behind her.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice scratchy.
Nyc’arra glowered. “You sound worse than you look.”
With my left hand I held up my middle finger, and with my right, I pulled the rolling tray closer. I filled the glass to the top and gulped down the raspberry-sweet water. Once emptied, I refilled the glass and asked again, “Last I heard, you were still banished from the planet by the Authula. Answer the question.”
Nyc’arra picked at an invisible piece of lint on her hospital gown. “Every time I converse with a human being, I wonder how your species still exists. Truly, the lack of charm, intelligence, and grace is so unbecoming, it is a wonder you all reproduce eno—”
“Nyc’arra,” I interjected, absolutely not in the mood for a long-winded, insulting diatribe detailing the many failings of the human species. “You’re part of a two-human mercenary crew and have been for years. Cut the bullshit.” I sighed. “Either get to the point or get the fuck out.”
Nyc’arra’s icy frown twitched at the corners. She looked to the floor as she began meandering my small healing quarters. I hated how much the precision of her steps and her bearing reminded me of Azo’lah. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, “Recent events have altered my circumstances,” she admitted. What the hell did that even mean? “Before I attend to my business here, I came to see if, in light of recent events, you had given our previous conversation any more thought.”
“Our previous conversation,” I repeated, closing one eye hard, scrubbing at it, then repeating the motion with the other. Watching her pace while things were still fuzzy was giving me motion sickness worse than the first time Matt let Ryan fly the Killer Qu’een. “You mean the one where you monologued at me about the dangers of Azo’lah, then swept out of the room like a vaguely threatening vampire throwing ominous be carefuls over your shoulder? That conversation?”
Voice tight, she said, “Yes, that one.”
“Yeah, no.” I gestured to my new implant. “I’ve been a little preoccupied. Don’t know if you heard, but someone tried to kill me.”
“That is why I am here,” she said. Her continuous footsteps rapped a sharp staccato against the floor. “You have options that don’t force you to stay in such proximity to danger.”
“I don’t need options,” I spat. I folded my arms across my chest like a petulant toddler. “I’m perfectly happy exactly where I am.”
Nyc’arra stilled, and her form was bathed in the perfect golden hue of the setting suns. The evening light dripped across the floor like fresh honey, giving her a preternatural glow.
What was with Destyrians and their ability to catch the perfect light?
“You are perfectly happy, lying here alone,” she imperiously indicated the empty room, “in the Healer’s Wing, looking and sounding terrible, as you recover from an attempt on your life by a rogue iz’waij.”
My stomach roiled at that word.
“Your brain was almost fried inside your skull. What more do you need to see just how dangerous Azo’lah—”
She knows.
“Azo’lah didn’t do this to me,” I bit out, low and fierce.
Nyc’arra sighed, her spite dissipating with the exhale. “I cannot force you to see what is right in front of you if you wish to remain blind. All I can do is remind you–”
I pinched the bridge of my nose in aggravation. “That I have options, yes, you said already. I don’t want them.”
She stared out the windows above my bed as the warm glowing colors of sunset dispersed, leaving only cold shadows. When she finally broke the silence, her voice was softer than I had ever heard. “Max would happily provide you safe passage off-planet. You could… join our crew.”
I snorted loudly. “You want me to join The Danger Zone’s crew?”
“Absolutely not,” she replied. “But I want others to go through what she did to me even less.”
I shook my head hard. Pain spiked through my temple.
Nyc’arra took a step back and shrugged. “I cannot force you. I only wished to remind you that you need not continue to put yourself at risk.”
I attempted to clear my still parched throat and immediately regretted it. It felt as though I had jagged glass lodged in my trachea. “Nyc’arra, I…” I trailed off, unsure what there was to say.
I was saved from having to come up with anything by the royal family’s personal head healer, Ji’lana entering my room. “Ah, Nyc’arra, we are ready for you.”
“Ready for her?” I stammered. “You’re here for a procedure?”
Her white tunic suddenly made sense.
Nyc’arra shuffled to Ji’lana’s side. “Rest well, Gretchen of Earth.”
“That’s not an answer!”
Nyc’arra’s signature sneer reappeared as she followed Healer Ji’lana out of my room, the door rematerializing in the blink of an eye.
I groaned loudly. I hoped sleep or a wanted visitor would arrive soon to distract me from the thought hurricane my conversation with Nyc’arra had stirred up.
But as long moments passed, my room remained empty and my head full of the unignorable truth.
I didn’t know enough about Azo’lah’s powers–powers that seemed to be getting stronger since our visit to the Temple of Aluthua. No matter how much I trusted Azo’lah and knew she would never hurt anyone who wasn’t a threat, I also could no longer lie to myself.
Azo’lah’s powers were dangerous. And there was someone else out there, with the exact same abilities, who wanted me dead.
“Don’t ask again. I’m sure.” I met Azo’lah’s concerned gaze in the mirror as she jabbed a pin into my hair. “I’m more likely to suffer at your hands,” I griped, gesturing to where she inserted two more pins.
“I still don’t like it,” Azo’lah replied, but her subsequent pin placement was much gentler. “We don’t know who the iz’waij is. You’ve barely recovered from your attack, and going to tonight’s closing celebration is–”
“Necessary,” I replied. Azo’lah began methodically brushing out the bottom of my hair, her mouth twisted in displeasure. “Unless,” I added, the fear creeping up on me, “you would rather not me become your Favored. I can just return to Earth.”
“Nonsense,” Azo’lah smacked the brush on my vanity. I had been released from the Healer’s Wing the day before and had only left my bedroom for meals–and never alone. I now had two Myax guards assigned to me at all times. Two Myax guards stood just inside the door to my room, watching Azo’lah and me closely.
The way they eyed her made my stomach spasm with anxiety. What did they expect her to do to me? What had Fleetwood told them to watch for?
Azo’lah grabbed the ket’li crown she had bestowed upon me days prior. She adjusted its blossoms unnecessarily. “If the attack has made you reconsider, I would understand.”
“Hey,” I tugged on her elbow. She turned to look at me, and I rose from my seat in front of the vanity, the flower crown held between us like an offering–or a shield. “You’re my home–the crew, I mean, is home. It's worth it. You’re worth it.” Realizing I was holding her arms, I let my hands drop awkwardly.
Azo’lah cleared her throat lightly. “Very well.” She raised the flower crown, nestling it snugly on my traditional Destyrian updo. She smoothed the blue and silver ribbons into place. Her fingers lightly brushed my brand new turquoise implant.
“You should probably go get ready,” I said, breaking the tense quiet.
“Matt is coming to wait with you. Please don’t leave your rooms until I return for you.” Azo’lah stepped away, taking the warmth with her. She crossed to my balcony door and deactivated it, cutting off the lazy mineral-rich breeze I’d had wafting through. “They’ve come after you twice now. This isn’t the time to be reckless.”
“We’re always a bit reckless,” I said, trying for light but only managing a forced smile. When Azo’lah didn’t smile back, I gestured to my silent Myax shadows. “They won’t let anything happen to me.”
My door chimed. My guards moved to unlock the door, but Azo’lah went to the control panel, briefly turning on the one-way function to see who was on the other side. Matt waited, flanked by Ryan and Chester. They were all impeccably dressed in their specially crafted Fleetwood originals for the evening. Matt gave a snarky little wave, knowing exactly what Azo’lah was doing.
She nodded at our friends as they stepped inside. “Lock the door. I’ll be back shortly.” The door had barely rematerialized behind her before Matt’s hand activated the locking mechanism.
Sebastian meowed as he flounced off of his favorite chaise by the balcony door, wending through my friend’s feet in greeting.
Ryan whistled. “Wow, Fleetwood’s not fucking around with the outfits tonight.”
“I look ridiculous,” I huffed, gesturing to my dress which was a modernized version of the gown the First Auhtula wore in several depictions on the temple, complete with a sweeping scarlet cloak attached to my shoulders.
“Don’t tell Fleetwood that,” Chester said mildly, moving toward the small beverage cart in the corner of my room. “She thought the idea of modeling your outfit after the First Auhtula’s was cute,” Chester said, snatching up a bottle of qua’pir and plonking it down on the counter.
“Not to mention timely and pointed,” Ryan snorted. “Azo’lah’s absolutely going to slay her First-Myax inspired look.” I thought back to my discussion with Max on the Danger Zone. It was almost like Fleetwood had known something like this was brewing and prepared for it. “Only one glass for Gretchen’s nerves,” Ryan pointed at Chester. “We have to have our wits about us tonight.”
Chester shot Ryan a look over his glasses as he removed the stopper from the bottle and poured four glasses. “Duh,” he said.
“Speaking of Fleetwood,” Matt said, stretching out on the chaise. “What in the bloody hell is going on between her and Azo’lah? Just months ago, Fleetwood fought tooth and nail to keep Azo’lah as her Myax. And suddenly Azo’lah’s kicked off duty and replaced with Milyna?” He swept a hand toward the Myax still standing by my doors. “Not to mention all of the extra fire-power for Gretchen. There’s something big going on there.”
“And don’t say it’s nothing,” Chester said, heading off any brush-off I might attempt. He pressed a glass into my hand. For the first time, I realized that Chester looked worn out and not the pleasant kind derived from too much partying at the festival. “FleetMerc won’t even tell me.”
Ryan knocked Matt’s feet off the end of the chaise to make room to sit. “Our favorite cousins can barely be in the same room and, if they are, they don’t look at each other. It started the night you were attacked. What the hell happened?”
I took a small sip of the fragrant beverage while building up my courage...to tell a bald-faced lie. “I don’t really know. I remember the pain and sort of collapsing and losing control, but then it’s all a blur. The next thing I remember is waking up in the Healer’s Wing.” Okay. So, it was the truth, just minus the part where I knew exactly what had caused the falling out between the cousins.
“Are you even feeling up to this?” Matt asked, tilting his head. I wasn’t sure if he bought my lie of omission or not.
“Physically, mostly yes. Mentally, no.” I shrugged. “But we don’t have a choice. If we want to stay on Destyr, I have to put on a good showing tonight. And, maybe, it’ll draw out my attacker, so we know who we’re dealing with.”
“Well, the good thing about Azo’lah being taken off duty for the night is she’ll be with you the whole time.” Ryan knocked back their drink. “No one is to get near Gretchen besides the crew tonight. Note who tries, but under no circumstances is anyone to touch her,” they placed their empty cup onto the sideboard. “No techno-asshat is frying my crew member’s brain a second time.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Matt said, finishing his drink.
“Don’t worry, Gretch,” Chester said with a tight smile. “We’ve got you. Even Fleetwood, no matter what’s going on with her and Azo’lah.” He shot me a look that very clearly read I-know-you-know-and-aren’t-telling-me.
The door chimed. Matt stood, his hand going to his sleeve where I knew he had a weapon, as my guards activated the one-way feature. Azo’lah stood there, looking unfairly sexy in her perfectly tailored rendition of the First Myax uniform, her flower crown glinting gold on her silver-white hair.
“Alright, crew,” Ryan clapped their hands together. “Showtime.”
In typical Destyrian fashion, the closing ceremony to the week-long festival was an all-night party. The moon was high, the streets were full, and spirits were soaring. Out in the city proper, live music trilled from multiple stages while Destyrians danced to traditional and modern songs. The air was redolent with the honeyed scent of the sweet pastries and the potent rul’vol being sold at stalls lining the streets.
Chester held up an armload of tartlets. “Eat up. These babies are only available this time of year because the fruit is only in season for one binary-cycle.” He distributed a pastry to each member of our crew and then to Mey-ran, who looked longingly at Chester, like he’d rather eat him instead. Chester resumed his place in the protective circle my friends had formed around me before popping the small pastry in his mouth.
I mimicked him, inhaling the treat in one massive bite. The nutty, fruity taste was a welcome distraction from the everpresent press of Azo’lah’s hand on my back or the brittle, silent tension between the cousins.
“Thif if delifus!” I said through a sticky mouthful of food. With a small smile, Azo’lah handed me hers, too busy scanning the streets for potential threats to enjoy herself. I accepted the treat without argument and immediately deposited it in my mouth. “Seriuffly, fo goof!”
Ryan held up their thumbs in agreement.
“We shall get more, yes?” Mey-ran volunteered, looping his arm around Chester. The Vic was dashing as ever in his ceremonial ensemble, this one an eye-catching aubergine.
“Yeah, for sure,” Chester agreed, smiling up at his betrothed. I caught his eye and gave him a teasing wink as he snuggled himself more neatly into Mey-ran’s embrace. If anything good had come out of this disastrous week, it was seeing these two crazy kids start a tentative but real courtship.
My life was in shambles, but I smiled brightly as I watched Chester link his fingers with Mey-ran’s as they retreated for more treats. Milyna and my assigned Myax guards filled in the gaps they left.
“Oy! Get more water, too,” Matt shouted at their retreating backs, holding up his empty cup and shaking it demonstratively. “Those pastries are making me thirsty.”
I glared at all of their rul’vol-less cups. “Guys, I’m sure Milyna and my guards have got my safety covered. You can drink! You shouldn’t have to spend this last rager completely sober just for me.”
Ryan and Matt snorted in eerie tandem. “Yeah, right,” Ryan said.
Matt said, “Gretch, keeping you safe is more important than getting a good buzz going.”
Fleetwood nodded. “I would do anything for love, and I will do that.”
There was a sudden knot of emotion in my throat. I reached for Matt and Ryan and yanked Fleetwood closer to our huddle. A group hug was made exceptionally difficult by my cloak, and the lingering animosity between the cousins. “I–I love you guys,” I said, looking at them with misty eyes.
Fleetwood leaned in and, careful of my ket’li crown, laid a smacking kiss against my forehead. “Love you too, boo boo bear.”
There was a loud throat-clearing to our right, and a familiar voice said, “Are we interrupting something?”
Azo’lah’s arm lassoed around me and dragged me back as Fleetwood, Ryan, and Matt created a protective wall between me and Shockley, who had snuck up on all of us. From beneath Matt’s sleeve, something metal and sharp glinted as it slid out from his shirt and into his palm.
“Oh, it’s you,” Ryan said, their posture slackening upon realizing I was not in immediate danger.
“Max, shit! I’m so sorry! I don’t have my Ran’dyl anymore,” I said, showing off my bare wrist.
Fleetwood smiled widely. “Shockley, you gave us a–”
“Dont!” Ryan held up a hand. “That joke is beneath you.”
Matt returned his weapon up his sleeve as he said. “Stupid move sneaking up on us, mate, considering...”
I extricated myself from Azo’lah’s hold and stepped toward Shockley. Azo’lah, the only member of our party, who hadn’t relaxed upon realizing who the interloper was, placed a hand on my shoulder and hissed, “What do you want, Shockley?”
Before he could answer, Tyler came barreling past him, hands full of pastry. He shouted, “Gretchen!” He shouldered by Ryan and Matt, ignored Azo’lah’s protective grip, and pulled me into a mercifully gentle bearhug. He rocked us back and forth soothingly. He said in a surprisingly discreet undertone, “Scared the shit out of us, my dude. I’m glad you’re okay. Can’t lose my favorite frenemy like that, yo.”
His worry for me warmed my heart. It appeared as though, regardless of his mercenary status, Tyler Batista was truly more friend than enemy these days.
He pulled away and proffered his pastry-filled hands to Fleetwood, Ryan, and Matt. “You guys! Have you tried these yet? They’re like an orgasm for your stomach.”
All three graciously accepted Tyler’s offering.
Max stepped forward, closing the gap between us. He lowered his head close to mine and said, “What the hell, Name Police. You almost die, and I don’t even get a comm–”
“I know, I’m so sorry.” I reached for his wrist, but Azo’lah snatched my hand back and threaded our fingers together.
I met her stern gaze as she nodded to the swarming crowd we found ourselves in.
Right. Not the time or place for this intimate conversation. Especially when I was trying to maintain a story of Azo’lah’s and my intense and committed love.
Before I stepped away from Shockley, I whispered, “We can’t do this publicly. Meet me later so we can talk.”
Shockley nodded, backing away, his fingers grazing against my wrist in a tender touch. He grabbed Tyler by the collar of his shirt and wrangled him away from Matt and Ryan. “Glad we got to see you all,” he said. “But Batista and I need to head back to the Zone, get ready for our early departure tomorrow.”
Tyler frowned. “But I want to hang out, you said we–”
“Tyler,” Max reprimanded under his breath, starting to drag his crewmate away.
“No, don’t go!” Fleetwood whined, wrapping her arms around Shockley.
Azo’lah looked apoplectic.
Fleetwood looped her arm through Tyler’s and declared, “You both must stay and boogie down with us!”
Shockley shot me a questioning look, gesturing discreetly between the cousins as if to say, What’s going on between them?
Tyler’s response was lost in the jubilant greeting of Auhtul Cal’ton as he approached us. “Greetings, Fulyiti Fleetwood!” he grinned, arms outstretched. Fleetwood rushed forward, enfolding Cal’ton in a spinning embrace.
“Auhtul Cal’ton, dearest friend,” she said, pressing her forehead to the younger ruler’s in the traditional Destyrian greeting. “Are you available to join us for closing festivities?”
Cal’ton pulled back from Fleetwood and gestured to the middle-aged male Destyrian on his right. The man was dressed in a deep navy tunic and a resplendent cloak of silver, I assumed he worked for House of Fuiq in some capacity. “Your invitation is greatly appreciated, Fulyiti Fleetwood,” Cal’ton said through clenched teeth, “but I am being so kindly escorted by the esteemed Councilor Jo’son.”
Ah, Jo’son, that name did ring a bell–he was on Auhtula Ty’uria’s advisory committee for Natural Resources and was not my biggest fan. He had never been outright hostile, but he downright ignored Chester and me whenever we presented our updates on our work at the Temple of Aluthua. I flashed a polite smile at Jo’son, who sneered down his aquiline nose as he surveyed me.
Azo'lah, catching his glare, stepped behind me, pulling my back against her front. Her arm wrapped around my shoulders, her thumb lazily stroking my collar bone.
Upon seeing our public display of affection, Cal’ton gushed, “Ah, yes! Gretchen of Earth and Azo’lah Myax, accept my most heartfelt congratulations on your impending Favored ceremony!” The sincerity of his smile soured the pastry settling in my stomach. It was one thing to fool these judgy-ass political advisors, it was another to lie to an ally and friend.
Above me, Azo’lah seemed to have no compunction selling this for all she was worth. She sighed dreamily and said, “Thank you, Auhtul Cal’ton. Your felicitations are most gracious.”
“I wish I could attend the ceremony itself,” Cal’ton continued. “Favored ceremonies happen so infrequently, I have not had the honor to witness one.”
“They aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” Chester said, returning to the group, with a tray of assorted foods. Mey-ran stood at his back carrying two trays over-full with drinks. “Oh, hey, Tyler, Shockley. Didn’t know you guys were coming.”
As Ryan, Matt, and Tyler descended on Chester’s trays ravenously, Cal’ton asked, “Have you already started making arrangements for the ceremony?”
“Uhh,” I stammered as Councilor Jo’son snorted at Cal’ton’s side.
“Councilor Jo’son,” Azo’lah said slowly as she drew herself to her full and intimidating height. “Do you have something to ask my beloved and I? Or something constructive to add to the conversation about this sacred ceremony?”
Jo’son swept his unbound, dark hair over his shoulder. “Other than my sincerest disbelief that a Favored Oath between the two of you will ever occur, no Azo’ah Myax.”
We all stilled at his words, Ryan mid-bite of the pastry Fleetwood was feeding them.
“Excuse me,” Fleetwood said, her voice soft but unyielding. “But my mother has already granted the blessing for their binding. In this matter, the Auhtula’s word is law.”
“Apologies, Fulyiti,” Jo’son said, inclining his head toward Fleetwood. “I was not implying that the Auhtula would attempt to obstruct their union. I was, instead, stating my doubt in the sincerity of Gretchen of Earth’s affections for Azo’lah Myax.”
Matt choked on his gulp of water, and Tyler swatted at his back concernedly. “Dude, you good?”
Wide-eyed, Chester gaped at the proceedings from the safety of Mey-ran’s arms.
“Ah, Councilor, you have been spending too much time listening to Lija’s lies,” Azo’lah said gently. “But let me be the first to disabuse you of these silly notions that Gretchen Myaxi and I are anything but committed to one another. In fact, we have already set a date for our ceremony. We will take the Favored Oath two days from now in the eyes of the Auhtula and anyone else who hopes to witness our union.”
Matt choked on his drink again, spurting water across the ground. Ryan closed their eyes tight, pinched the bridge of their nose, and muttered something unintelligible to themselves, though they seemed to be fighting a smirk.
“Two–two days?” I stammered.
“Yes, beloved,” Azo’lah replied, her smile tight. “Did I not tell you of the Auhtula’s approval of our request? We kept getting…distracted. Pastry, Councilor?”
Councilor Jo’son looked as though Azo’lah had offered him to feed him glass. “Well, then, congratulations are in order.”
I grimaced, panic gripping me like a vice. Two days.
“Two days!” Cal’ton exclaimed exuberantly. “What a joyous piece of news! I must certainly stay then and witness your union myself.”
My jaw ground together so painfully I was sure I would crack my teeth. “Thank you, Auhtul. Your presence at our ceremony would be an honor.”
I don’t think I had ever really understood the axiom ‘caught between a rock and a hard place’ until that night. The rock being Azo’lah and the hard place being Shockley. Azo’lah’s hands were always on me, running through my hair, resting on my shoulder, curling around my ribs, stroking my collarbone absentmindedly. While Shockley’s eyes were always on us, assessing us in a distant, calculating way that reminded me strongly of the mercenary Captain I’d first met. Like he was looking for weaknesses.
I leaned against Azo’lah, feeling exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I took a small sip of the cup of water I’d been nursing. My crew maintained their vigil around me, but the whole situation was grating in a way that made me want to take the Killer Qu’een into orbit and sleep for a few days. “Are you well, Myaxi?” Azo’lah murmured near my ear. I caught Shockley watching us out of the corner of his eye while he laughed at something Ryan said.
“Just tired,” I said. “I think I’ll head back to the palace soon.”
Shockley leaned over to say something to Tyler. The next thing I knew, Tyler hollered, “Princess Fleetwood!”
As she turned to face him, Tyler wrapped his arms around her and dipped her smoothly, kissing her full on the mouth in the middle of the bustling square. Fleetwood let out a squeal that was equal parts surprised and amused as she thrust a fist into the air like this was the end of an 80s teen classic. Milyna was already moving in, but Azo’lah was quicker, hauling Tyler up by the back of the shirt.
Something tugged on my arm, spilling my water all down the front of my gown. I would’ve screamed if Shockley hadn’t murmured, “It’s just me, Name Police.” I let him lead me away from the group, down an alleyway, and around the corner. We stopped behind a row of woven tents set up for the festival that hid us mostly from view. I knew we had to be quick before Azo’lah noticed I was gone, but I felt guilty that I had been avoiding Max since the other night on the boat with Azo’lah, and the incident afterward.
Max grabbed my elbows and squeezed. “What the hell is going on, Gretchen?” he demanded, maybe more serious than I’d ever seen him. “One day, we’re having sex–great sex–on the Zone, and the next, you’re in the medical wing under armed guard. Nyc’arra said you could have died…” His hands came up to clutch my face, his dark eyes piercing straight through me. “You gotta give me something, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe,” I responded reflexively. I sighed, and Shockley drew me into his chest. I sagged against him, letting him take my weight for a moment. This was nice. This uncomplicated, honest affection. Unlike Azo’lah, where I only knew where my feelings stood. I knew she cared about me, but I doubted her feelings were as entangled as mine. With Shockley, things were straightforward, easy. I leaned into his warmth and gave him the short version of the past week’s events, leaving out certain aforementioned emotional revelations.
“I think you should come with us for a while,” Shockley said, his warm palm pressing between my shoulder blades. “At least until the heat dies down.”
I shook my head against his chest. “There’s no guarantee it won’t pick back up again when I come back. Besides, I’d rather keep the heat on me than have it transferred to another human member of my crew.”
Shockley drew back, his thumb tracing the tense muscle of my jaw. “Bring ‘em all with you. Come on, you guys will love it! Let me persuade you into living your best mercenary life.”
I smiled, faint but genuine. “I know you can be quite persuasive, but I’ve made up my mind.”
Shockley bent down, pressing his lips to mine, tenderly at first, but with an easy heat, I was tempted to let myself slide into. “Can I see you again tonight before I go?” He sweetened the offer with another kiss, this one just the polite side of dirty. I knew it would be hard to get away from my protective detail. I already felt guilty at kissing Max this way, but Shockley and I had been upfront with each other. We were frenemies with fantastic benefits, and I was doomed to pine for Azo’lah from afar. And right now, a pleasant distraction sounded like the best worst idea I’d heard.
“Alright,” I said against his lips. “Yes, of course.”
“Gretchen?” Azo’lah called from a distance. I turned, not wanting her to find me kissing Shockley, but the figure I saw, swiftly turning the corner, wasn't the familiar striking image of Azo’lah in her casual tunic but the sweeping robes of a Destyrian Councilor.
“Was that…” Max began.
“Councilor Jo’son. Fuck,” I stepped back, scrubbing my hands over my face and resisting the urge to scream at my own stupidity. We’d been seen. I’d just definitively blown my own cover and in front of a Councilor who was close to Lija, no less.
Azo’lah was going to murder me. If I wasn’t kicked off the planet first.
“And you’re sure it was Jo’son?” Matt asked, running his hand through his sleep-flattened curls.
“Yes,” I confirmed for the twentieth time since last night. After telling a stone-faced Azo’lah and an unreadable Fleetwood about Jo’son catching me ensconced with Shockley, I buried myself in my sheets for a sleepless night. It felt as though every time I did anything, I fucked everything up further.
Even sitting in Fleetwood’s dining room, having breakfast with my friends, I couldn’t shake the thought that there was a strong possibility I might fuck up breakfast, too. At least my guards were stationed outside of Fleetwood’s suite, for once.
I refilled my mug to the brim with vy’tal and passed the carafe to Ryan. “Could’ve been worse,” they said, filling their own mug. “Could’ve been Lija himself or his assistant.”
“Then everything would be well and truly fucked,” Chester commiserated as he slouched sleepily against Mey-ran, whose well-defined physique apparently made an excellent pillow.
Fleetwood hummed her agreement as one of the kitchen staff entered, bearing multiple steaming dishes. The platters clattered onto the table as I said, “I know you guys think you’re helping, but you’re really not.”
I took a little solace in the fact that Azo’lah was not present to hear this conversation. I could only take her withering disappointment being directed at me for so long.
“I was unaware we were trying to be helpful. I thought this was the human custom of bantering in a defeated, sarcastic manner,” Mey-ran leaned forward and scooped up a spoonful of perotas–Destyrian oatmeal, which I was currently obsessed with. “What is this?” he asked as he allowed the gelatinous food to splat onto his plate.
“You’re not gonna like it.” Chester swapped their plates. He shuffled a plate of smoked breakfast meats Mey-ran’s way. “This’ll be more your speed.”
Mey-ran happily speared the meat with his fork. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”
“Pyrotas,” Matt said as he served himself a large helping of the porridge.
“It’s foul,” Ryan added, making grabby hands for the platter of meat.
“It basically tastes like cinnamon apple oatmeal,” I argued, heaping a large scoop of pyrotas onto my plate. I could certainly use some comfort food this morning.
“Who cares what it tastes like when the texture is weirdly slimy yet chunky?” Ryan asked. “Like seriously, what the fuck is that about?”
Fleetwood, whose breakfast plate remained noticeably bare, hummed again. Her gaze was fixed on the wall above my head, the laugh lines around her mouth taught with concentration.
I caught Chester’s eyes as he drained his juice glass. He nodded, reaching for Fleetwood and threading their fingers together. “You okay, FleetMerc? What’s going on in that glitterfied brain?”
Fleetwood startled at her name, and when she saw that we were all staring at her as we stuffed our faces, she sighed. “I will not lie, beloved, I am troubled. But all will be well. I am sure of that.”
“Course it will.” Matt held his mug up and toasted the air. He tugged at the belt of his robe and said, “Someone want to crack the windows and let in some air? I thought autumn on this planet meant cooler mornings?”
“The windows are already thrown wide, Matty-Matt.” Fleetwood gestured to where the windows were indeed open, the morning sea-breeze stirring Fleetwood's diaphanous drapes.
I tugged at my sleep-creased t-shirt collar. “Is it supposed to be colder than usual today? It feels like they’re really cranking the heat.”
“Feels like the environmental controls broke,” Chester said, yanking off his beanie and swiping at the back of his neck. “Hot as hell in here all of a sudden.”
“Are you alright, beloved?” Fleetwood eyed Chester with concern.
Mey-ran reached to cup Chester’s cheek. “You are hotter than a conflagration, Chester. Is this a sudden onset of some rare and beguiling human disease?”
I placed my own palm on my forehead. My temperature had sky-rocketed since breakfast started. A low throb of something familiar but unnamed began low in my abdomen.
“Ugh, I swear to God, if any of you gives me the flu,” Ryan threatened half-heartedly as they surveyed all of us over their vy’tal mug.
“Don’t think it’s the flu, Cap,” Matt cleared his throat uncomfortably. Adding under his breath, “Would prefer the flu, actually.”
“Yeah, no, definitely not the flu,” I said, raising a cool glass of juice to my burning cheeks for some relief. The throb in my abdomen roiled into a violent current, sweeping up my body so forcefully I barely noticed the wave of mortification that followed it.
Why was I unbearably turned on for no reason at an incredibly platonic breakfast with my friends?
Hand still gently caressing Chester’s cheek, Mey-ran intoned, “Are you sure it is not this human flu?”
Chester leaned into Mey-ran’s touch with a deep sigh. “Definitely not the flu. Unless there’s an alien flu that we’re susceptible to that makes us horny.”
The tines of Ryan’s fork missed the piece of melon they were attempting to spear and eeked across their plate. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
Fleetwood and Mey-ran pushed back from the table at the same time. Mey-ran hissed, “They’ve been dosed with wos’kit pollen!”
“It must be in the food!” Fleetwood stilled Ryan’s arm. “Captain, eat no more!”
“Wos’kit pollen,” I repeated slowly. The name was vaguely familiar, but I had no idea what it did. “Have we been poisoned?”
“In a way,” Mey’ran answered, reaching across the table to gather all of the food into the center. “But you will not die. Wos’kit pollen is not lethal. But its adverse effects can be extremely painful.”
Matt rubbed at his sternum as he shifted awkwardly in his chair. “Fuck.”
I rocked in my seat as panic bubbled up. I gripped the edge of the table to anchor myself against my warring emotions.
“Let me call down to the Healer Wing,” Ryan offered, their fingers already tapping at the comms on their Ran’dyl.
Once again, Fleetwood stilled our Captain. She said, “They don’t need the Healer Wing.”
“They need sexual release,” Mey’ran said as though this were a normal breakfast table topic.
Ryan’s mouth dropped open.
Fleetwood stepped out into the foyer and opened the door to her suite. She said to the Myax guard posted there, “Send for her. It is time.”
The doors to her suite shut as she strode back into the dining room. If I weren’t lost in my own frenzied panic, I would’ve paid better attention to Fleetwood’s uncharacteristically neutral expression.
“Are you saying they got dosed with sex pollen?” Ryan said, hiding a chuckle behind their hand. “Holy shit, I’m pretty sure I’ve written this fanfic before.”
“Wos’kit pollen heightens the need for sexual intercourse. Unfortunately, if one does not act on it, the pollen invades the muscles of the host and tightens them to an extremely painful degree. For most alien species, the chemicals produced by sexual release eliminate this side effect.”
“Oxytocin,” Chester supplied, trailing a hand up Mey-ran’s toned forearm. “It’s oxytocin in humans.”
“Obviously sex with a partner is not necessary to avoid the exceptional levels of pain as one can reach release on their own.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or sob at the fact that the fearsome Covlax Vic was lecturing us on masturbation. The topic was doing nothing to help the situation either. “Though it is a much easier experience with a partner to help care for you during this time of heightened need.”
Chester bent over double in his chair and howled with laughter.
“Chester?” I queried, worried for my friend’s sanity. Though at this point, it felt as though we were all entitled to a mental breakdown.
Chester sat up, his eyes streaming with tears and his body shook with mirth. “Of course, this happens to us. Shit isn’t already stressful enough, and now we’re a target of a sex pollen scheme!”
“I doubt you guys were the intended target,” Ryan said. “Most likely, you were just cannon-fodder for someone trying to embarrass or incapacitate our Fulyiti for a little bit.”
“I must disagree with you, Captain,” Fleetwood said. Her face was still emotionless, though the crinkle of her eyes betrayed her concern for us. “You, the Vic, and I are untouched, meaning the wos’kit pollen was in a portion of food we did not eat. None of us ate the pyrotas, the rest of our crew did.” We all did a sweep of our jumbled plates, and Fleetwood was right. She continued. “My distaste for pyrotas is well-noted. It was not a dish brought to my rooms for breakfast until I found out Gret’chen favored it.”
Everyone turned to me as they all reached the same conclusion.
If the pyrotas was dosed, and my preference for it was well known, then I was the intended target.
“Goddamn it,” I mumbled as, behind me, Fleetwood’s suite doors disappeared.
“Where is the threat?” Azo’lah demanded, running into the room, her zali’thir drawn.
“Weapon away, Myax. Not that kind of threat,” Ryan said. “Matt, Chester, and Gretchen have been dosed with wos’kit pollen.”
Azo’lah’s zali’thir clattered onto the tabletop. “How did that happen?”
“That is the concern of my new security detail,” Fleetwood replied icily as Azo’lah snatched up her weapon and stowed it into her thigh holster. I gulped audibly as I watched her fingers skate along the handle of the blade. Fleetwood said, “They should not have contacted you for this.”
Ryan’s eyebrows shot up. “I called Azo’lah.”
“While I do not argue with your decisions, Captain, it was unnecessary,” Fleetwood said. “Azo’lah’s services are not needed.”
For some reason, Chester snorted at that. Then his face twisted into a grimace. “Alright, the muscle tightening and pain Mey-ran mentioned, that’s starting.”
“We must move you all to a secure location,” Azo’lah said.
Mey-ran wrapped his arm around Chester and looked to Matt and me, “Do either of you need help contacting partners?”
“No,” Matt replied automatically.
The doors to Fleetwood’s suites dematerialized, and someone else entered. I groaned–how many more people would be witness to my embarrassment?
“Fulyiti,” Nyc’arra said as she glided into the room.
“What is she doing here?” Azo’lah, Ryan, and I asked in tandem.
Fleetwood drew herself up to her full height. “I have appointed Nyc’arra as Gret’chen’s personal bodyguard.”
“You did what?” Azo’lah gritted out. I collapsed deeper into my chair, wondering vaguely if I had ever had a worse breakfast in my entire life.
“With the most recent attempt on Gret’chen's life, and with you compromised as Gret’chen is your intended Favored,” Fleetwood said, “I appointed the best Myax available to keep her safe.”
“Nyc’arra is no longer Myax,” Azo’lah spat. “Milyna is the best available.”
“Milyna has been assigned to the Fulyiti’s personal detail,” Nyc’arra returned lazily. She studied her fingernails as though she found the confrontation unfolding around her gauche. “The Auhtula seemed quite fixed on keeping Milyna with her daughter.”
“You have been banished from this continent as a traitor!” Azo’lah said. “You should not even be here, let alone–”
“Nyc’arra’s banishment has been lifted, as her punishment was decided when my family was not in possession of all of the facts,” Fleetwood said.
I watched Azo’lah’s fists flex, pretty sure I was on the verge of watching her murder someone while dying myself from intense horniness. She glared at Fleetwood. “What have you done, Fulyiti?”
“What needed to be done to protect Gret’chen,” Fleetwood bit out.
“Guys!” Ryan held up both palms in a cease-fire gesture. “Whatever this drama is can wait! Right now, we have to focus on taking care of our affected crew members.”
A lightning bolt of pain shot up my back, arcing my body against the chair. My eyes grayed around the edges from the pain. “Fuck, that hurts.”
Ryan said, “If they’re riding this out alone, we need to get them to their rooms and–”
“Not alone,” I said, gripping the edges of the chair. Mey-ran said I didn’t need to have a partner but that it would be better and safer if I had one. And right now, feeling safer and cared for sounded pretty damn good. I also had someone who had already proven he was ready and willing to help me out in this area of my life. Hopefully, he was still on planet.
I bit my lip as another bout of scorching pain rocketed through my body. “Call–call Shockley.”