“Well, since she had a hand in perfecting the cloaking system, she did get her hands on it.”
I feel like I could burst with pride over my sweet, nerdy friend. But now is not the time. I need to focus on the situation at hand.
“What is going on? Everyone’s acting weird.” I tap my foot to make sure he knows I mean business.
L’Corte
Standingwith several members of the command council, we are waiting for the Hisk fleet to de-cloak when Trinh’s tantalizing scent teases my nose. Her scent reminds me of a sweet melon paired with an elemental mineral edge, like eating fruit in a strong ocean breeze. It is sharp, sweet, and powerful, just like her. It wraps around my senses, pulling me away from my fellow Cerasteans. Over the past months, her scent has engraved itself into my brain and won’t leave. Following her trail through the lounge, I find her pressed against the large windows staring out the empty expanse of space.
I should not be surprised that Trinh is here. She tends to involve herself in matters which do not concern her regularly. A few weeks ago, she tried to circumvent standard procedures for decontamination of organic matter by bringing in seeds for some flowering plants. Her explanation to me was that “everyone loves flowers”, and she didn’t see the problem with trying to convert an unused room in the ship into a garden.
Thankfully, one of the members in the Requisitions Office was able to alert me to the situation before she managed to introduce any pests or vermin onto our ship. After many hours of arguing, we were able to find a compromise regarding her plan to create a community garden.
If Trinh had just come to me in the first place to request a garden, we could have saved so much time and hassle. But she did not. As usual. Just like every other time I have reasonably pointed out that she should just talk to me first before she rushes into a new ‘project’, Trinh told me that it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
I’m beginning to loath that phrase.
Trinh is so intently staring out the window that she hasn’t noticed me yet. It gives me a rare chance to watch her unobserved. I have never seen her less than immaculately dressed, her hair smooth, her makeup perfect. It is evident she came to the lounge directly from her bed. Trinh’s sleepwear is a pair of shiny blue shorts and a button-up shirt that looks incredibly sleek and lustrous. My fingers twitch with the desire to touch the material and see if it is as silky as it appears.
My eyes are drawn down the length of her bare legs. For a being who is so tiny, Trinh has incredibly long legs, usually made longer by her ridiculous footwear. I don’t understand how she can get around so quickly wearing those ‘high-heels’, but I see her all the time, striding swiftly through the halls on the way to her next scheme. I love and hate Trinh’s heels in equal measure. They make it hard to think. Hearing the tap-tap-tapping of her heels, announcing her approach, always increases my heart rate. At the very least, they give me a warning to mentally prepare myself for whatever outlandish demand she has for me. The way they make her legs look… is a thought better left unexamined.
Thinking of her usual footwear, I glance down at Trinh’s feet. For the first time, I see her feet bare. They are so tiny I feel like I could cradle them in the palms of my hands. Her toenails are painted a lively, bright red. Until this moment, I would have said that toes can’t be cute, but it is undeniable that Trinh has adorable toes. Looking at them makes my hands sweat. I surreptitiously dry my damp palms on my uniform pants and step up next to Trinh to alert her of my presence.
Trinh looks like a sleep-rumpled child. I like seeing her like this. She seems almost innocent and unguarded. It never occurred to me until now that perhaps her clothes and makeup are a form of armor. I once overheard Trinh refer to makeup as her war paint. Much how a Cerastean would don a breastplate and gauntlets before a fight, perhaps she wears the makeup as a type of protection. Goodness knows, she battles with me several times a week, so the idea has merit.
When Trinh notices me standing next to her, she asks me what is happening. It is a sign of how shocked she must be that she didn’t couch the question as a demand for information. The Hisk ships de-cloak themselves, distracting us both from her enquiry.
When I explain that her friend Ally was part of the team who perfected the cloaking technology, Trinh’s scent fills with happiness and pride. Glancing over at me, Trinh’s grin quickly transforms into a narrow-eyed frown.
It is fascinating to watch how quickly Trinh switches thoughts. I imagine her mind is a chaos-filled place, somehow balancing hundreds of ideas simultaneously. The ships recloak, making Trinh yelp in shock. I explain that the vessels are just invisible and still in formation outside.
“What is going on? Everyone is acting weird,” she demands. I feel better knowing she has recovered from the shock already.
I open my mouth to respond but am distracted when I catch sight of the strange mask strapped across her forehead. The bizarre mask has the wordsResting my bitch faceemblazoned across it.
What could that possibly mean? I will have to check the human idioms report later to see if I can make sense of it.
“There is going to be an announcement tomorrow –” I start when a feminine voice calls out Trinh’s name. Both of us turn to see Trinh’s friends Maya and Laney approaching with their mated males trailing not far behind them. Their mates, Commander D’Avii and Scientific Officer L’Arc, have become insufferably smug since mating their brides. Intellectually, I understand their happiness and pride, but I have little patience for mated males pontificating on the wondrousness of their brides. It is tedious.
Trinh says I am a grump, and something called a ‘party pooper’. When I looked up the phrase, I was relieved to see it doesn’t mean what I initially assumed. However, she is not wrong. I have little patience for frivolity and idle chatter. For this reason, I’ve taken to avoiding mated males in social settings, since they only seem to be able to talk about their brides.
As Maya and Laney approach with happy squeals, I step aside to make room for them, ensuring I move farther away from their mates in case they are feeling ‘chatty’.
“Trinh, did you see that? It was so cool!” Laney exclaims. “We have so much to tell you. You won’t believe everything that’s going on.”
“Actually, L’Corte was about to explain everything to me. Weren’t you, L’Corte?” Trinh looks at me with an eyebrow raised in challenge.
I glance over and see both women smother grins behind their hands. I am well aware that many of the bride volunteers find our arguments entertaining. I believe they would find it less so if they spent any time on the receiving end of Trinh’s sharp tongue. Many of the males on this ship go out of their way to let Trinh have her way. I am one of the few up to the task of trying to rein her in. Her intentions are pure – she usually just tries to make the ship a more welcoming place for the bride volunteers – but Trinh doesn’t care for regulations or procedures. I often find myself in the position of having to explain the importance of rules to her.
It is not a task I relish, but I do what I must.
“Yes, I was just starting to explain the situation to Trinh,” I say. “This conversation may take a while. Would you like to move to my office or the bride volunteer lounge?”
“Your office is fine. Lead the way,” Trinh says imperiously.
“Are you sure, Trinh? We don’t mind explaining the situation to you,” Maya suggests.
Trinh points an accusing finger at me. “Yes, I’m sure. He’s going to tell me what the hell is going on here.”
