Page 18 of Dealing With Drak

“Rocketship,” she corrects kindly. “And no. I’ve never been on a regular plane, either. People have to have money to go on flights.”

I huff at this. The hu-nim concept of money still baffles me. I understand the idea since many planets have electronic funds to trade, but it is not the Aprixian way.

Why should An-nana be denied the joy of flight because she does not have hu-nim funds? It is a maddening idea, but I am grateful to give her something no one else has before. Perhaps this will make her more fond of me.

“This ship is better than Urth planes,” I inform her, in case she has not realized. “Stee-vee has told me as such.”

“Yeah?” she asks evenly.

“Yes,” I agree firmly. “Do you like it?”

My Mean One takes very many minutes to consider this question. She is a peculiar female when it comes to discussing the things she enjoys. An-nana could discuss what she does not like for hours, but she shies away from admitting when she is pleased with something. It is a good thing that I am a patient male.

“It’s nice,” she finally decides.

My lips spread into a wide grin. “I think it is nice too.”

I am wondering what else I can say when An-nana speaks first.

“We’re here,” she whispers, finger outstretched to gesture at a bright blue structure ahead. “The blue barn,” she adds. “You can land in the field next to it.”

“I do not sense anyone,” I inform her, refusing to get her hopes up. “We will still look. I will be able to smell better down there.”

“You can smell down there from up here at all?”

“Of course.”

She lets out a rare laugh. It is breathy and smothered but a laugh indeed. “That’s not an ‘of course’ question, Drak. I can’t smell literally anything other than you. Humans can’t smell through glass.”

She can smell me?

Does she like what she scents? She has never complained before.

An-nana likes my scent, I decide. If she did not, she would have complained by now. My Mean One is not one to hide her feelings.

I begin to lower the ship, slowing down to start our landing.

“Aprixians can smell very well,” I explain, but she already knows. “I hope my smell does not offend you.”

She stiffens, refusing to meet my eye. “It doesn’t.”

Oh, yes, An-nana likes my smell. Is that embarrassment turning her skin a pretty shade of pink and warming her core temperature?

Perhaps my mean hu-nim will recognize my greatness after all.

She is a smart creature, so surely she must see it?

From what I have been told, hu-nim males are inferior to Aprixians in every way. Smaller, weaker, have less control of themselves, but there are good ones. Stee-vee has made sure to tell me this. She is like my little sister now that she has mated to Marrec. Marrec is not my brother by blood, but he is much like my family. I get most of my hu-nim information from B’rook since Stee-vee returned to Aprix with Marrec, but I wish An-nana would teach me instead. B’rook is nice, but she does not bring me the same joy that being in An-nana’s presence does.

When our ship lands with a soft thud, I instruct my hu-nim companion to remain still. I must get out first and take a scan of the area before I trust it to be safe.

The air here is clean and crisp, much like the air around the so-roar-itee dwelling. There isn’t the same stench of death that radiates around the more destroyed city areas. As I do a scan of our surroundings, my boots softly dig into the plush grass under my feet. This stretch of land appears relatively untouched.

Logically, I understand why. It is secluded; only a small number of hu-nims resided here before their disease breakout.

Once I am sure that I smell no other hu-nims, and no zom-bays lurking near, I move to help An-nana out of the ship. I have never been more grateful that hu-nims are short than I am now. Lifting her in and out of our ship is going to be one of my favorite things about this trip.

“I have you,” I say, my words firm and my devotion unwavering as I carry her out of the ship. She seems to believe me, relaxing as I move to set her feet onto the ground. She should believe me; I will never let An-nana fall.

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