The door slid open to reveal not Selik, but Tarak. The second-in-command ducked through the doorway with the careful precision of someone who’d learned to navigate spaces built for smaller species. He bowed politely to her.
“Mistress Corinne,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all. Please, come in.” She finished feeding Mikoz and wiped his face. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all. The commander wished me to provide some additional training modules for the young female—ones that cover more advanced subjects. He also asked me to inform you that training facilities are available should you wish to use them.”
“Training facilities?”
“For physical conditioning and self-defense instruction. The commander thought you and the young one might benefit from learning to protect yourselves.” His expression remained neutral, but something in his tone suggested this wasn’t merely a casual offer. “He can provide basic instruction in Cire combat techniques if you’re interested.”
Self-defense training. The practical part of her brain recognized the value immediately—two human females alone in an alien universe needed every advantage they could get. But the emotional part remembered her husband’s well-meaning attempts to teach her karate, and how she’d felt clumsy and foolish and utterly incompetent.
But then David’s training had been about forms and theory, abstract movements practiced in the safety of a suburban dojo, whereas she suspected that Selik would teach her things that mattered—like how to break a hold and how to survive.
“I’d like that,” she said. “When can we start?”
“Whenever you wish. The commander has cleared time in his schedule, although you will still need to conceal the infant when you leave these rooms.” Tarak moved towards the door, then paused. “One more thing. The commander has been making inquiries about suitable worlds for relocation. Places where a Cire warrior and his family might live quietly without unwanted attention.”
Her heart stuttered. His family.
“He wants us to stay with him,” she said quietly.
“Commander Selik does not make commitments lightly. When he gives his word, he honors it.” Tarak’s black eyes met hers directly. “But more than duty drives him now. I have known him for many years, and served under his command through battles that would have broken lesser males. I have never seen him like this.”
“Like what?”
“Hopeful.” The word hung in the air between them, weighted with significance. “He lost his family twenty years ago and he stopped believing in happiness. He stopped believing in futures that held anything beyond duty and survival. But you have changed that.”
The baby in her arms burped loudly, shattering the moment’s intensity. Tarak’s tail flicked in amusement, and he inclined his head.
“I’ll let the commander know you’re interested in training,” he said, and left before she could formulate a response.
Anya looked up from her data pad, expression unreadable. “He really likes you.”
“Tarak?”
“Selik, dummy.” The girl rolled her eyes. “Tarak basically just gave you his blessing. Which is a big deal, I think. Cire seem really into honor and loyalty and respecting chain of command.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been reading.” She waved the data pad. “Did you know his wife and daughter died in the Red Death?”
“Yes.”
“He told me when we built the crib.” Anya’s voice softened slightly. “He said his daughter would have liked me. That we’re both stubborn.”
“You are stubborn.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Fair point. She had bulldozed her way through a doctorate, a career, a marriage, and single motherhood through sheer determination and refusal to quit. Stubbornness ran in their makeshift family like a genetic trait.
“What else did you learn about Cire culture?” she asked.
Anya scrolled through her notes. “That their biology binds them to a partner for life.”
Cire biology which she did not have.
