The Choosing (The Pruxnae Book 1) (10 page)

They docked with
the repair station early the next day, shipboard time, and shuttled to the
surface on a ratty clunker that needed a good scrub and a tune-up.

Ziri stood next
to him, feet braced against the shuttle’s maneuvers, one hand wrapped around a
loop protruding from the ceiling. Her other hand held his, squeezing it from
time to time. As soon as she’d learned she’d be going with him planet-side,
she’d thrown her arms around his neck and laughed, her eyes round and bright
under her delicately arched eyebrows.

If she’d blinked
since then, he hadn’t caught it. She stared around the filthy shuttle pod as if
it were the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. Nothing deterred her
curiosity, not the mutant glaring at her from across the shuttle or the
shuttle’s rough landing or the layer upon layer of clothes he’d dressed her in,
covering every bit of her body except the strip of her face around her
expressive eyes.

He’d earned a
glare for that and enough angry words to turn his amusement into a disgruntled
sigh. She was Pruxnæ now and no Pruxnæ, male or female, young or old, went out
among strangers with her features showing. It just wasn’t done, and for good
reason, though he could hardly explain that to her. Instead, he’d dressed in light
clothing and pulled on full body armor over it, hoping she’d get the hint when
he fastened the helmet around his head.

They disembarked
at the landing port and followed the sparse crowd of new arrivals into the
trading post, an open-air market lining several blocks on the outskirts of
Irix, Lodem’s largest city. The sun hung high in the sky, shining down through
the thin atmosphere, spreading its meager warmth to the city’s residents.

Ziri dragged him
along behind her, darting from stall to stall along the main strip, clucking
her tongue over the array of goods offered for sale. The shopkeepers raised
hopeful eyes to him and shrank back under the sharp shakes of his head. Repairs
first, maybe a hot meal made with fresh meat and vegetables. After, well, they’d
see.

He pulled her to
a halt outside the first repair shop they passed and haggled with the owner
over parts and prices and the amount of time needed to refit the outer airlock.
When he was satisfied with the arrangement, Ryn peeled his glove off and offered
a credit chit and his thumbprint for payment.

Ziri looked on,
her unblinking eyes absorbing every detail of the transaction, from the
cleaning bot zooming over the floor sucking dust and debris into its recesses
to the owner’s long, braided hair, buxom chest, and inviting smile. She tucked
her hand into his and followed him out of the shop, then pulled him into a
nearby alley, empty of people.

“What is it,
Ziri?” he asked.

“Tuh, tuh, tuh.”

She tugged him
deeper into the alley and faced a wall, pressing one side of her body against
his. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly against him,
hiding her from the people passing by the alley’s entrance.

She peeled off
one glove, unfastened the knee-length, hooded jacket she wore, and dug a tiny,
black drawstring pouch out of the waistband of her pants. A sigh lifted her
shoulders. Her gaze lifted to his, uncertainty replacing the excitement that
had hummed out of her since their landing. She pressed the pouch into his free
hand and closed his fingers around it.

He risked a
glance over his shoulder. A skinny boy of no more than ten stood at the mouth
of the alley, staring into it at them. Ryn growled, putting enough menace
behind the sound to frighten off a herd of stampeding winyu. The boy scampered
off, his bare feet a blur against the dirt street.

Ryn turned back
to Ziri and the half-expectant, half-worried look she wore, opened the pouch,
and poured the contents into his gloved hand. A handful of red jewels glinted
in his palm, their deeply colored internal starbursts shimmering in the
sunlight. He hissed in a breath. “Where did you get these?”

Ziri’s eyebrows
furrowed. She shook her head and closed his fingers around the jewels, her eyes
pleading with him for… He shrugged off the irritation at his lack of
understanding as his mind raced. One of these jewels had to be worth a small
fortune. Did Ziri know that? And why had she given them to him in the first
place? Did she want him to trade them for vud or…?

He glanced
sharply at her. These jewels had to be more than enough to get her back home,
and she’d given them to him. For some reason that was beyond him, she’d placed
the means of her escape in his hands, trusting him to, what? Secure
transportation for her?

He returned the
jewels to the pouch and tucked them into the waistband of her pants. If she
wanted to go home, she could find another way, but by Wode, he wouldn’t help
her.

Her eyes slid
shut and her head bowed, and his heart sank, lodging in his gut with a
sickening thud. That’s what she’d wanted. And here he’d begun to hope she was
learning to want him.

She jerked the
scarf covering her face down and retrieved the pouch, holding it in her hand in
the shelter created by their bodies and the wall they faced. “Sweepers.”

Her voice was
tight and thin, and for a tick, he thought she might cry again. A broken sigh
shuddered out of her. He tucked her closer to his side, willing her to find
some small measure of comfort within his embrace.

“Airlock.” Her
lips pressed into a firm line. “Kitchen.” She plucked at her clothes, a
helpless expression on her face. She shook her head and said, “No Ziri. Ryn.
Ziri yes?”

And at last he
understood. She wanted her own clothes, wanted to pay for her own food, and,
the gods have mercy, she wanted to help him pay for the
Yarinska
’s
repairs. He almost refused outright. A man who couldn’t provide for his woman
wasn’t a man at all. Hadn’t Gared taught him as much? Even if everything he
owned except the
Yarinska
would become hers upon their marriage, he was
still the provider. She managed, he worked. That was the Pruxnæ way. The
arrangement had served his adoptive people well for generations, and yet…

A tiny kernel of
hope flared to life within him as an idea materialized in his mind. There was a
way they could both get what they wanted, but he needed to find an advocate, a
reputable one that would deal fairly with both of them. And, he needed to find
a trader willing to exchange credits for the jewels Ziri pressed into his hand.

Triumph surged
through him. She’d unknowingly handed him the very thing he needed to keep her.
How upset would she be when she found out her fate had been sealed by her own
hand? By the time he told her, after the Choosing joined her life securely with
his, would she still care or would their union be enough to smooth over her
anger?

He tucked the
jewels into their pouch and hid them inside his armor where they’d be safe from
sticky fingers and shady smiles. He claimed her hand with his and led her into
the hustle and bustle of Irix’ trading post, his satisfied grin hidden behind
the dark anonymity of his helmet.

* * *

The scurrying
throng of the alien city’s midday residents fascinated Ziri. She held onto Ryn
with one hand as they passed through it, her eyes roaming over a stall holding
bolts of brightly colored fabric, another displaying finely made jewelry, and a
third where feathered creatures with viciously sharp talons gazed regally
through the wooden slats of their cages. Were they for eating or gaming?

Ryn hurried her
past the stall. She twisted around in time to see the stall’s owner yank one of
the creatures out and wring its neck.

Ziri wrinkled
her nose. Definitely for eating, then.

She’d never been
off Tersi before and rarely wandered into the larger cities there except to visit
her parents or for shopping. Arden Hollow, with its slower pace and friendly
faces, had always suited her just fine. Still, when she did travel, she enjoyed
it, savoring the different customs and cultures mingling in the streets around
her, even on Tersi where the four major cultures varied only slightly one from
the other.

This place was
little different. True, the variety of faces ranged farther. Humans, mutants,
and aliens walked shoulder by shoulder, rarely sending a cross-eyed glance at one
another in spite of the differences separating their species. But the haggle of
buyers and shopkeepers, the bold splashes of color, the mixture of sounds
foreign and familiar. Those were very much the same as the markets she’d
enjoyed back home.

The urge to go shopping
had tempted her, so much so that she’d given half her stash of gullet stones to
Ryn, some for repairs and stores, yes, but some so she could purchase a memento
of this wonderful place, a keepsake to add to the small collection housed on a
shelf in her living room.

Her father had
always told her that if she found herself in need, she should exchange the
stones for local money or credits, whatever worked best to keep her safe. She’d
always scoffed. Gullet stones were of little value on Tersi, hardly worth the
trouble of slitting open the sand leeches they were found in. They were
beautiful, though. Over time, Ziri had collected enough of the smaller stones
to have a choker made out of them. Ryn hadn’t snagged it when he’d raided her
home, but he
had
taken the framed vids of her family where she’d hidden
a handful of thumbnail-sized gullet stones for safekeeping.

She might scoff
at her father’s advice, but she wasn’t foolish enough to completely ignore it.
Those were supposed to be her emergency fund in case she ever had to flee
Tersi. Kidnapping didn’t count as fleeing. That didn’t negate the need for warm
clothing, a healthier variety of food, and a safe ship. She hadn’t understood a
word of the reports Ryn had gotten detailing the damage the Belnyin had done to
his ship. She’d seen his face afterward, though, that grim, hopeless look, and
she’d seen the airlock. The best way to get back home was to make sure the ship
flying them held together. That’s the only reason she’d offered him so many
gullet stones, certainly not because she was coming to enjoy his smiles, and
absolutely not because she was beginning to care about him.

That wouldn’t do
at all.

The scarf around
her face slipped down a notch. Ziri tugged it back up over her nose and held it
there with one gloved hand. Covering oneself must be a religious custom among
Ryn’s people. It was the only reason she could think of for his insistence. She’d
complied, afraid he’d confine her to his ship if she didn’t, and was glad she
had. Otherwise, she might’ve missed the sights and sounds and smells of this
lovely market.

Ryn stopped in
front of a tiny shop nestled between a book seller and some kind of eatery,
tucked the hood of her coat more firmly over her head, and patted his chest,
murmuring softly in his guttural language. She nodded. Him doing the talking
was fine with her. It’s not like she could communicate with anybody anyway,
even if she wanted to. She hadn’t once caught a familiar word among the many
languages spoken around her.

The interior of
the shop was crowded with what most people would consider junk. Ziri peered
cautiously around, her head lowered, hiding her interest from the greasy
shopkeeper holding court behind a time-dulled plasteen counter. Ryn stepped
forward and began the long haggling process with the rotund man while she
catalogued curiosities. A black metal oil lamp with an orange sheen rested on a
low shelf next to a crudely made clay pot. Fingerprints marred the pot’s
glazing. Ziri nearly clucked, remembering her promise to Ryn only after her
tongue had already touched the roof of her mouth. If the master potter in Arden
Hollow saw that, he’d smash it to the ground and stand scowling over the maker
as a new pot was thrown and formed on the potter’s wheel.

Farther down, a
four-legged creature fashioned of delicately wrought silver metal reared on its
hind legs. A single, pointed horn protruded from its forehead. Ooo. That would
make a lovely keepsake. Her foot twitched in the heavy boot Ryn had forced her
into. Ziri reluctantly stifled her impulse to examine the fragile sculpture up
close and heaved a silent sigh. Following Ryn’s lead was harder than she’d
thought it would be. When was the last time she’d reined in her natural
instinct for somebody else? At work, sure. Book Ends was Mag’s and there the
shopkeeper ruled supreme, but in her personal life? Not since she was a child
scampering about her parents’ knees.

Ziri cut a
side-eyed glance at Ryn from beneath the hood’s shadow. His voice was hard and
his words lacked the familiar roughness of his native language. Galactic Basic,
maybe? She’d never learned. Her parents had. Then again, they used it on a
regular basis thanks to her father’s position with Tersi’s premier.

The shopkeeper’s
words acquired an oily tone. Ryn leaned slightly forward, menace emanating from
every line of his armored form, backed up by the blasters strapped to his hips.
He held out his hand and the shopkeeper, somewhat grudgingly, it seemed, placed
a credit chit into the gloved palm. Ryn nodded, tucked the chit away, and
guided Ziri out of the shop with a firm hand on her back.

They twisted
through the streets, strolling around stalls Ziri distinctly remembered passing
by on their way into the market. She frowned at Ryn’s broad back. She’d hoped
they’d have time for some decent shopping before they returned to his ship, but
how could she communicate that with her limited grasp of his language?