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?? CHAPTER 19 ??
Ryle
Maysee decides to sleep on her discovery. Just one more night before presenting it to the leader of her group.
I have faith in her assessments, though, so I sit my crew down around our nightly fires and explain to them what she’s discovered. She sent me copies of her photos, and I distribute them to all of our devices as well.
“Is it not better to take more precautions than necessary and be safe, than to risk being wrong out in the open?” Shorek asks.
“Prepare how, though?” Zoxsym asks. “Tie down the ship and huddle within? Hope we aren’t flooded?”
It’s a good question. I idly flip through Maysee’s photos. The writing can’t help us. I suppose with time we could decode it somewhat, but within her projected timeframe, it would be impossible. There were many illustrations, though. Many images of life upon this planet. Perhaps there’s a clue within?
The crew have other things on their minds, though.
“Have you mated her yet?” Amcyth asks. Teeth are bared as they grin in anticipation.
“Not yet,” I say, and they grumble. “Do not grumble. I believe I have won her over. She is just shy. And very distracted trying to save everyone’s skin, you know.”
“We are eager to know what happens,” Amcyth says. The others hoot and elbow him. He drops his head and laughs. “I know how it happens. Quit it! You know what I mean.”
Yes. Are there more changes? I am bigger than the rest of the males now. Stronger, faster. I am aware of her presence, wherever she is, always. When we finally mate, will there be other changes? We don’t know. Riom never had a chance to tell us. We don’t know if he lived long enough to find out.
“What were you doing in the grass today? When we caught you?” Wroz asks.
“Kissing,” I say, and I realize that I do have some of the information they’ve been hungering for. “Humans like it when you press your mouths together.” Not something the SexTrons ever taught us back home. “It is... wonderful. But hard to describe.”
They lean in closer. “Try!”
?????
I leave them sitting around the firepit mashing their lips against their own hands. Some of us do have work to do. Styt and Draxyk weave experimental rope from the tall grasses. Craxyn leaves us to check on Trecol, still in a coma in the human ship. Wroz returned to our ship to continue coaxing the human computers into communicating with our systems. He works closely with one of Maysee’s friends - the very pale one with the red hair, and I wonder, are there more pairings in our future?
I lie down in my makeshift hut and examine my mate’s photos. I sense her nearby. The human voices carry on the wind. I wish I could go to her and sweep her away, have her to myself, but I know that she wouldn’t like that. She has a lot on her mind and a lot of work to do, and my presence still makes many of the humans anxious.
But I will send her more pictures of my parts this evening. Whether they arouse her or they make her laugh makes no difference to me, as long as they bring her some form of uplift and cheer.
I’m hard as soon as the idea occurs to me, so I set aside my work and flip up my kilt. Thinking about my mate always does this to me - makes it impossible to focus on anything else but the image of her smile, the memory of her soft skin, her hot little gasps...
Much to my surprise, just as I’ve taken myself in my hand, Maysee’s face appears. She peers into my hut, squeaks, and immediately darts out of view, shouting “sorry!” over her shoulder.
I laugh as I give chase. “Return to me, Maysee!” I call. I catch her before she can step out of the riverbed. She giggles as I lift her from the ground, arms wrapped around her waist. I bury my nose in her hair and breathe in.
“Put me down, you brute,” she laughs, kicking lightly at my shins. I kiss her neck instead. She quiets and runs her fingertips along my forearms.
“Stay this night,” I whisper into her ear. “My Maysee.”
She shivers. “I like when you say that.”
“Mine,” I say, nuzzling her neck. I walk us back to my hut. She clings to me as I crouch beneath the shelter, placing her down before me. I’m really sticking half out from under the thing. If I squeeze in any further, I’ll knock the entire structure down. “Sorry,” I say. “Small room.”
“It’s great,” she says. “It’s almost a house!”
“Howse?” I bring up the translator and add the word. “What is this?”
“It’s like, a small building where a family lives.”
“Family.” That one’s in the translator, but I haven’t wrapped my head around the concept yet. This howse idea is strange to me, too. It sounds nothing like the world I know - growing up and living in barracks in a compound full of nothing but soldiers. We were exposed to outside worlds only through interactions with the staff, who were a variety of alien species.
