Page 44 of My Alien Bughead
“Yes, sir.”
Once Omni has taken his assigned group aside, Zarkan sizes up the remaining crowd. “Which of you have actually fired a rifle before?”
Our three peacekeepers raise their hands. The rest shuffle their feet, avoiding Zarkan’s eyes. When someone quietly asks if shooting in virtual reality counts, Zarkan heaves a sigh. “Gods help us. Tareq, Faelin! Basic combat lesson for these lot. Just teach them how to hold a rifle and how to shoot without killing themselves or the person standing next to them. I bet they’ll be the most attentive students you’ve ever had.”
Faelin glowers but doesn’t protest, offering Zarkan a quiet “yes, sir” before approaching the startled crowd. Tareq doesn’t seem much happier to be here but at least he doesn’t glare at the people with open hostility.
“Um, Captain?” I approach Zarkan, not sure if it’s a good idea to distract him now but I need to know if D’Aakh is alright. “Is D’Aakh…?”
“He’s alive.” Zarkan graces me with a sincere smile, a stark contrast to his glaring from before. “Thank you for saving his life, Lucía. He’s doing better now but he isn’t in any condition to join us.”
Raising my brows, I watch as a smaller, sleeker shuttle passes through the docking gate. I don’t need to see inside to guess who’s piloting it. “Are you sure about that?”
When Zarkan sees the shuttle, his curse is colorful, to say the least. I follow as he strides toward the second landing pad, arriving just as the shuttle door opens. D’Aakh stands in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame and looking like he’s just been through an ore grinder. Twice.
“I ordered you to stay back on the ship,” Zarkan rumbles.
“Oh, did you? I must have misheard you.” D’Aakh’s grin turns into a grimace as he tries to exit the shuttle, trips over his own feet, then has to catch himself on the doorframe again. “Fuck,” he mutters, wincing as he drags his sorry ass out of the shuttle. “Well,” he says once he finally manages to keep his balance, “I’m here and I’m not going back.”
With his arms crossed in front of his chest, Zarkan continues to glare at D’Aakh. “Where did you get the rifle? We didn’t leave any in the armory.”
D’Aakh sighs and leans against the shuttle. “In my room.”
“Oh, really? What else did you get from your room?”
I’m confused by the question but D’Aakh seems to know immediately what Zarkan is referring to. His shoulders slump. “Nothing, Captain. I brought Z’Ree in with me and surrendered everything to her. There’s nothing left.”
Oh, they’re talking about the stimsticks.
When Zarkan doesn’t reply, hurt flashes through D’Aakh’s expression. “What, you want me to empty my pockets? I don’t know how else to convince you I’m not lying.”
I’m far from proficient in reading Lakhartan facial expressions—not that their scales allow them too many—but I get the feeling Zarkan is reliving his own bad memories. Memories which must be connected to drugs somehow. That’s why he’s so deeply affected by what D’Aakh did.
Was Zarkan a user? Or someone close to him? It’s not my place to ask and I don’t think his crew knows, either. He’s the kind of person who keeps even the people he cares deeply about at arm’s length.
Wanting to break the tension between them, I insert myself into the conversation, hoping I won’t get yelled at. “Actually, Captain, I could really use D’Aakh’s help with something.”
“He’s hardly in condition to be helping anyone,” Zarkan objects.
“He’d just be sitting in one of our workshops giving me instructions. Nothing physically taxing. I’ll keep an eye on him and make sure he stays out of trouble.”
Zarkan’s expression finally relaxes a little and he snorts, “I’d really like to see that. Fine, then. You want him, he’s yours. D’Aakh? You follow her orders to the letter, or I’ll kick your stupid ass. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” D’Aakh says, smothering a grin.
Zarkan storms away, muttering something about “idiots” and “being too old for this shit”. Once he’s out of hearing range, D’Aakh grins at me. “Well, ma’am? What are your orders?”
My frustratingly confusing feelings return with avengeance. The urge to punch D’Aakh warring with the equally intense desire to kiss him. Since I’m relieved he’s alive even though he looks like he’s about to keel over any second, I choose to kiss him. I can always hit him later.
He’s trembling all over but his lips are as soft and warm as ever. I keep the kiss mostly chaste, not because I’m worried about someone seeing us, but because I don’t want to put anymore strain on D’Aakh’s struggling heart.
Pulling back slightly, D’Aakh eyes me with confusion. “That’s…not what I expected.”
Smacking his shoulder, I grumble, “This what you expected? You’re such an idiot. Can you even walk?”
“Well, I expected you wouldn’t even talk to me and yes, I can walk. As long as I can lean against a wall or…something.” He hesitates as he looks around and realizes that we’re in the middle of the spacious docking area and the nearest wall is at least fifty yards away.
“Uh-huh. Perfect. I’m so glad the reinforcements have arrived,” I snicker. “Lean against me, bughead.”
