Page 21 of Whispers of the Void

“If you want to sneak off for time in one of the brothels or gambling houses, I’ll be fine on my own.” I tell him. “I don’t want to stop you from enjoying your time off.”

“I don’t have any time off. My mission is to gather intelligence on this sector.”

“Oh. That’s no fun.”

“I’ll have plenty of fun once we’re home.” I can’t see his face, but I hear the smirk in his voice nonetheless.

“Are you mated? Married? What’s common on your planet?”

“We mate. And no, I’m not mated. It’s becoming more and more rare to find a true mate bond.”

“Do you have to be mated to reproduce?”

“No. It helps, though.” He’s quiet for a moment. “What about you? Are you allowed to…”

“Mate? Fuck?” I offer when he trails off. “Yes. My friend Torre and I tried to be more than friends. Ultimately, she and I decided we were better off as friends. Though we occasionally scratch the itch for each other.”

“Are you not interested in males, then?”

“No, I am,” I say thoughtfully. “I just haven’t been around any long enough to develop that sort of relationship. Not that humans need love or a mating bond to enjoy sex. I just find that in order to want sex, I have to enjoy my partner on a platonic level, too. I can’t get that by meeting a male in one of the bars on Calindrea when we’re allowed to go to the surface for several hours at a time.”

“That makes sense.” He pauses as we come upon the outskirts of the city. “Stay close. I don’t want to offend you, but these outposts are dangerous, and you are defenseless.”

“I promise.” I step closer to him. “Can you smell Raiz on me?”

“From light years away.” Humor bleeds into his voice. “No one will doubt that you’re under his protection.”

We enter the city through a maze of tents, some completely closed while others are open with types of food and goods from all over the galaxy. There are displays of banned weapons and tables full of illicit drugs, just completely out in the open. I’m beginning to understand why they were hesitant to let me out here.

We get curious glances as we wind our way toward the city center, where the tents give way to ramshackle buildings and a square with a well in the center. A line of beings with empty buckets winds around the open area. A male with two long, curling tusks stands sentry at the front of the line, taking money from those waiting to fill their buckets.

“Water should be free,” I murmur to Altis. “No one should have to pay for the very thing necessary for all life in the universe.”

“I don’t disagree,” he replies. “But be careful what you say here. There are ears all over the place. They won’t hesitate to attempt to make an example of you.”

“I’m not afraid.” I stop as I notice the tusked male pull a knife from his boot and drive it into the belly of one of those in line. “How can you just pass by and not do anything?”

“We have no authority here.”

“Are you not the strongest here?” I bait him knowingly.

“We are,” he growls. “At least from what I see.”

He guides me into a pub. The scent of cheap alcohol and who knows what type of foods combine into a staggering stench. I’m grateful to be shrouded in one Raiz’s cloaks, his scent blocks most of the others out as I shrink back.

“What are we doing here?”

“Gathering intel.” He pulls out a barstool for me before sitting in the one beside it. “Stay covered.” He drops the hood of his cloak back and orders two glasses of galactic whiskey for us.

Even with my translation skills, I have trouble making out any specific conversation. Human hearing is notoriously weak compared to many species across the universe. We are not the weakest or least intelligent, but our senses leave a lot to be desired.

The bartender, a beautiful horned creature, sets our drinks in front of us and walks off, swishing her tail and smiling at the customers to our left. I pick up my glass and bring it to my lips. The familiar burn trails down my throat to my stomach, leaving me warm from the inside out. This particular whiskey was formulated to be consumed by nearly every known species. It’s entirely synthetic but gets the job done.

“You should slow down. That pour was for a Zeahiri not a human,” Altis says quietly.

I knock the rest of the glass back, just to spite him. I might work for the Omnium Order, but I’m not a member. I can, and do, drink like a woman my age might in any other place in the galaxy.

“Those hands don’t look Zeahirian.”

---