VEKTAL
My mate collapses, and my khui slams against my chest in protest. I grab her before she can sink to the ground. “Georgie!”
“Please allow several minutes for recovery,” the strange voice coming from the walls intones.
I snarl at it, at the air. I don’t know where this faceless voice is coming from, but if it’s hurt my Georgie, I will tear this place down to its strange-looking rocks and scatter the pieces to the icy seas. I cradle my mate against my chest, unable to breathe out of fear. I place a hand over her heart, where she has no protective plating. She’s too soft and vulnerable, my poor human.
But it thumps steadily in her breast, and I exhale in relief. I press my lips to her strange, smooth forehead and hold her against me as the room becomes uncomfortably warm.
The disembodied voice speaks again. “Standby. Please indicate if you have questions for this unit. Otherwise, I will return to hibernation mode.”
I hold Georgie against me, stroking her hair, her face, her cool skin that cannot retain enough warmth for her to be comfortable. I ignore the strange voice, even though it’s now speaking my language. When Georgie jabbered at it in her tongue, it sent a red beam through her head and knocked her unconscious. I do not want it to do the same to me, so I narrow my eyes at the flashing lights and wait.
Georgie’s sleeping face turns to my chest and she nuzzles me. “Mmm.”
“Georgie?” I ask, touching her cheek. “Are you well?”
Her eyes blink open, and the pale, ugly white with a weak blue circle in the middle is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Oh. I hear you,” she says in my language. “Your words. They’re . . .” she thinks for a minute, and then a smile breaks across her face. “Wondrous.”
“How did you learn my language?” I ask her, shocked.
She tilts her head, her nose scrunching adorably for a moment. It’s as if she’s considering something. Then she smiles again. “The words are a bit different than the ones in my head. Maybe it’s the die-ha-lekt that the kom-pu-tohr has.” Some of her words aren’t mine. They make no sense.
“Kom-pu-tohr?” I ask.
Georgie gestures at the air. “The voice. The ship. It taught me.”
“Magic?” I ask dubiously. The only magic I know of is khui-magic, and it does not teach languages.
She giggles, the sound bright and glorious. Then her eyes grow a bit dull again, and she rubs her forehead. “Not magic,” she says. “Learning. I probably do not explain it right.” Her eyes close again, and she curls against my chest. “My head hurts. Will you hold me for a bit longer?”
“Always,” I tell her and cradle her close. My khui throbs in my chest, and for the moment, I am content. Full of questions and wonder, but content.
? ? ?
“Eat,” I urge my mate, offering her my rations.
Georgie makes a gagging noise and shakes her head. “That stuff burns my tongue. Even now, it’s making my eyes water.”
I peer at her small face, and she’s right; her pale eyes are weeping and glossy. Curious, I sniff the travel rations. They have a slightly spicy taste to them, but it’s meant to be pleasant, not choking. “Humans have weak tongues.”
“Gah!” She gives me an exasperated look. “We do not.”
“Weak tongues, weak eyes, weak bodies,” I murmur, enjoying the look of irritation on Georgie’s face. It’s such a pleasure to be able to speak to her—really speak to her—and to tease her. “Weak in many, many places . . . but a delicious cunt.”
Her face goes bright red, and she bats my arm with her good hand. A hint of a smile curves her mouth. “You are always thinking about sex, aren’t you?”
“It is difficult not to when my mate is so soft and beautiful.” I brush a finger down the curve of her cheek.
She looks sober at my words. “Vektal . . . I’m not your mate.”
“Yes, you are. My khui has chosen you. When you receive a khui, it will thrum for mine. Wait and see.”
She shakes her head. “Humans choose their mates. I haven’t chosen anyone. Not that you aren’t nice,” she tells me, giving me another soothing pat to the arm. “And not that I don’t care about you. It’s just that . . . mating should be a mutual decision.”
A mutual decision? Is she mad? Are humans mad? “It is not a decision. The khui chooses. It always knows.”
“But I don’t have a khui.”