Page 14 of Warrior
“I’m the war chief of the Bardaga, Daisy. Of course, I have an assassination list."
I would swear Daicon was smiling.
“Well, just as long as I’m not on it.” I was fairly certain—and definitely hoped—he was teasing.
"No, Daisy. You will never be on the list.”
His voice was light, not breaking the playful mood between us, but the earnestness of his words felt like an embrace. I felt myself succumb to the warmth radiating from him, my eyelids growing heavy as his steady breathing lulled me into a peaceful slumber.
Chapter 5
Daicon
Muscle memory never fades.
I lifted the boulder, and my shoulders tensed, waiting for a strike that didn’t come—at least this time.
Mining for the sasjasian crystals is backbreaking work, even for someone as big and strong as me. The lifespan of most sentenced to the drudgery of the mines is no more than seven years. I’d lasted twenty, mostly for spite. After Enslak died, I'd survived for vengeance. They never found the guards I killed. Their bones occupied the same pit that served as a grave for my fellow miners. I killed them one by one, saving the guard that killed Enslak until I could make him scream, begging for the same life he cruelly stole from my friend.
Perhaps that’s why they use younglings in this mine. It kept the fear of uprising small and manageable. Younglings did not possess the strength to fight back. But I could fight for them, and I would.
Sweat drenched my brow by the time I got the rock re-situated in the wall. At a distance, the avalanche of stones appeared unchanged—which is exactly what I wanted. Only a practiced eye could tell my progress. Not that I expected anyone to inspect my handiwork. In the week I’d been in the mine, only one guard crossed my path, and he was so preoccupied he walked right by where I hid in the shadows. I had no qualmsabout killing the guards, save how it would upset Daisy. For that alone, I stayed my hand from what would be an easy kill.
I did not expect to escape this place without killing. I hoped Daisy would understand. By my reckoning, it would take another few weeks to dig through to the other side of the tunnel. After that, it was a matter of recon to strategize the best escape plan. A plan where Daisy and the younglings didn’t face risk. And if I had to kill every single guard on this moon to get them to safety—so, be it.
Truthfully, instead of killing the guards, I would rather find an opportunity to capture one. There are questions regarding this mine that need to be answered.
First off, exactly what are the younglings mining?
Not sasjasian crystals. Those weighed upwards of three hundred kilograms apiece, much too heavy, and cumbersome for tiny bodies to maneuver.
Not precious stones either, from the looks of the tunnels I'd seen. We found gems in black, gray, or white stone with a baked appearance. The stone walls surrounding me as I traveled toward the common area were course-grained, varying from orange to deep brown. They held no color striations, which suggested that nothing valuable hid beneath the surface. Ewok reported mining soft, white stones, but definitely not salis. Those mines often appeared so white it resembles a frozen tundra.
Perhaps some other tunnel might yield insight. I might ask Daisy to accompany me on a scouting mission after dinner.
Daisy.
The thought of her never strayed far from my mind. I’m consumed with her, although I don’t want to admit it. All day, as I whittled away at the rock standing between me and freedom, I heard her laughter in the ping of my axe against the stone. How joyously she tended to the younglings, her patience, and voicelike siren songs that call them closer and make them eager to be nearby. Her warped sense of humor, her laugh like a breeze that wrapped around me and tickled my chest. Her bizarre food concoctions were some of the most delicious I’d ever eaten. Even now, the pull toward the common room proved less about my rumbling stomach and more about the desire not to stay away too long.
Just like Daisy had burrowed under my skin and taken hold, the tiny Kerzak had as well. The youngling held none of the cruel traits common to his species. His was bright and kind, his love and protectiveness toward Daisy garnered my respect. My favorite time of day is after dinner when we three cleaned dishes together. The kitchen always retained warmth from cooking, holding the scent of spices from our meal. To entertain us, Daisy told fantastical stories of heroes and epic adventures.
The stories continued as Daisy and I retired for the night. My pallet seemed to grow smaller and smaller each passing day. She talked slowly, dreamily, pausing occasionally, as if searching for words to describe the scene in her mind. I’m entranced by every word falling from her lips, no matter the subject. When Daisy falls asleep mid-sentence, as she does most nights, her gentle breathing lulled me into slumber.
I like her. Perhaps a little too much. More than once I’d awoken to find my cock hardening merely from the sound of her sleeping.
I will not allow myself to dwell on these feelings.
I am a Vaktaire warrior—war chief of the Bardaga. My mission is to rescue Daisy, nothing more. She will find happiness in Tau Ceti and have a new life and mate while I return to my duties aboard the Bardaga as is meant to be.
Why, then, does my throat constrict and chest feel heavy whenever I imagine her thousands of light years away? Whydoes the idea of her finding another mate make my stomach clench and ache while a red haze filled my vision?
I rounded the corner, expecting to find exhausted younglings dropping off the tools from a day of work, only to be met by a sea of blankets spread out on the ground, occupied by happy and relaxed beings. The aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the common area. A row of baskets sat along the wall just to the right of the stone steps leading up to the kitchen. Each child took turns reaching into the woven baskets, retrieving small packages, and returning to their blankets.
“We’re having a picnic,” Daisy announced with a smile as I drew near to the blanket she shared with Ewok. Already a selection of meat, bread, and drink occupied the center of the rough-hewn cloth, more than enough for the three of us.
“Pick-nick?” I repeated the word slowly, recognizing the familiarity although having never spoken it before. It reminded me of the Romvesian wordpixaitaire,which meant to torture with sharp jabs of a knife.I hoped the Earth word referred to something more pleasant.
“It’s where you get to eat on the ground,” Ewok explained, breadcrumbs littering the fur on his chin.
