“That’s not what I meant,” I start to say, but then Krish is asking Curran about the different foods on their plates, and I’m left sitting there with my mouth open and wondering how I got myself roped into babysitting three gigantic male aliens. Again. Or still. Whichever.
“You know, you are a very attractive woman, Commander. Even without some of your more obvious assets,” Curran jokes after we escort the trio of males back to their quarters and leave them behind.
“Don’t make me punch you in your dangerously vulnerable genitalia,” I reply tartly. The soldiers passing us in the hallwaygive us strange looks but refrain from saying anything. Most of them have learned that Curran and I share a particular sense of humor, even if they don’t always understand it.
I let out a heavy sigh as we reach the connecting hallway for our separate quarters. “What a fucking mess this has all turned out to be,” I murmur.
“I know. We spent so much time and effort planning this raid, and Lianov was going to be your big score,” Curran says gently.
“It’ll be fine. The Fixers will get it done. It will just be a little less satisfying to not get to see that smug bastard’s face when we slam the bars on him for good.”
“Speaking of which, what did you do with what was left of him?”
I grimace. “Had the med team collect as much as possible. It’s in storage just in case there are any demands for cellular identification.”
“Well, it’s not like anyone could identify him any other way,” Curran says with a shrug. “You going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I say. “It’ll be nice to sleep in my own rack.”
“Me too,” Curran replies. “Assuming Yuva isn’t sprawled all over the bed. He has a tendency to spread when I’m gone more than a night or two.”
“Tell him I said hi,” I say with a chuckle before turning down the hall towards my quarters.
“Will do. G’night, Commander.”
I give Curran a wave and then disappear around the corner.
Chapter Eleven: Zann
Davix opted to stay in our quarters rather than joining Krish and me in the medical bay, but not before expressing his displeasure with our decision repeatedly. I have rarely seen him so agitated about anything, but he is adamant that we cannot trust the humans or Commander Corrina. I am still reserving judgement, but Krish is far less concerned.
Speaking of Krish, I glance towards him. He is lying on a metal bed – he is the only one of us who really fits on one. I have settled into a sitting position on the floor and am leaning against a cabinet while I wait my turn to be examined. Wenschel, the medical woman who helped Alek back on the ship, is gently poking and prodding Krish and asking many, many questions. She is small like Corrina, but slimmer and less rounded, with yellow-gold hair and large brown eyes.
“How do you not know how old you are?” she is asking.
Krish’s tail flicks indifferently. “What difference does it make if I have 40 or 50 or 60 years? I was a kit, then an adult, and now I am a genzu.”
“Wait, genzu? What’s that? It doesn’t translate,” Wenschel says eagerly.
“Genzu. Past the age to reproduce. When we can no longer fertilize our females, we leave behind our cities and nest broods so that younger males can hatch their own young.”
“Hatch? Like an egg?
Krish nods. “Females birth the eggs, but males guard over the eggs until they grow and mature and are ready to hatch.” He smiles proudly. “My brood brothers and I hatched many kits before we became genzu.”
“This is so wild,” Wenschel says. “In some ways, you are so much like us in physiology, but in other ways you are so drastically different. It really is fascinating.”
“I agree,” Krish says. “I am enjoying learning all the many differences between my species and yours.”
Wenschel bares her teeth in a grin. “Wait until you encounter some of the other species outside the base.”
“There are other species outside the base?” I ask, suddenly interested in the conversation.
“Oh yeah,” Wenschel replies enthusiastically. “Commander is pushing for more recruitment among other species to the Consortium Force here, but historically this base has only had human soldiers.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
“Oh,” Wenschel says. She frowns and suddenly glances away. “Some humans are, um, less tolerant of individual differences.But not the Commander,” she adds hurriedly. “She’s honestly the reason I requested assignment to Azuris.”
