Sea of Stars(18)

 I’m surprised when three females alight from the trift, pausing on the gangway. They’re each taller than me by just a few inches, with longer white-blond hair than mine and varying shades of blue eyes, but otherwise, in form and in feature, their likeness to me is undeniable.

 A very masculine-looking blond male appears behind them. He’s a golden god of a man—heaven-faced, cut from stone, and maybe just as lovable. He leans near to one of them, saying something to her in a low tone before he nuzzles her cheek. She doesn’t turn her lips to his or respond to his affection. She’s cold and distant. Her demeanor bothers him; he frowns at her, but takes her arm solicitously and leads her ahead, helping her navigate the steps.

 She reminds me of a queen bee. Her pale blond hair is piled high on her head with a mass of intricate braids down her back. Her elaborate dress has to weigh a ton. It’s not the least bit practical, with a flowing train of rich brocade silk and a corsetlike rib breaker. The neckline plunges in a deep vee, lined with sharp points that could be the stingers of drones she’s killed. The dress has to hurt like hell, but she carries it as if it were her skin.

 As I watch the pair together, I wonder, Is that her Brotherhood consort? Her cult-master who simultaneously owns and worships her? She seems so very important to him: owned by the drones and unable to fly away without them following her—forever. I can’t imagine a worse fate than to be a queen-slave.

 The other two priestesses follow closely behind her arm in arm. They each have similar style dresses as the Bee, but only one has an exaggerated collar of stiff, swanlike feathers: the Bird. The other has a high, round orchid-colored collar: the Flower. Two more handsome, chisel-cut blond males trail them, engaging in sedate conversation like old friends.

 I have no choice but to follow them. I thrust forward, joining their party as they converge in a solemn chamber filled with several embryonic vessels. It’s not hard to ascertain that this is a medical room and these steely pods are the equivalent of Manus’s shark tank back on Ethar. Uniformed personnel stand far back from them, almost in reverence at their presence.

 A small discussion commences about which one he’s in. A stuttering worker shows them to a particular unit. The six figures gather around this unit. The Flower breaks away from her friend, the Bird, and lays her hand on the lid. The coffinlike capsule opens, emitting a pressurized hiss. I ghost-move around the open lid so that I can see who is in it, but a part of me already knows.

 It’s Kyon. Unconscious. Naked. Damn my eyes!

 The beautiful flowerlike woman with the full, petal-pink lips places her hand on Kyon’s broad chest. She covers the angry red stab wound I gave him. His masculine, steam-shovel jaw tenses. Blood raises the color in his cheeks. Readouts on the lid of his pod go ballistic. His eyes open wide, the irises of which shine pure silver. When his mouth falls open, that same silver light emits from deep within him, gray embers from a blast furnace.

 When she removes her hand, there is a thin silver scar in place of the angry wound. The Flower glances behind her with a radiant smile to one of the granite-cut men she arrived with, but that stone won’t notice her. She loses some of her smile.

 The Bee flutters forward, helping Kyon to sit up. He does so awkwardly, which is very uncharacteristic of him. He rubs his blue eyes, trying to clear his head. His blond hair is pulled back from his face and tied so that it doesn’t fall into his eyes when he slumps forward. He’s weak, I think, but I don’t have a moment of guilt about it.

 “How do you feel?” the Bee asks. Her fingers rest on his shoulder, covering the dark military tattoo that interconnects to form circles there. The tattoo spans his neck, chest, and abdomen, stopping where his hip forms one angle of a dramatic vee.

 Kyon ignores her, choosing instead to gaze over her shoulder at the Bee’s consort. “Chandrum, was Kricket brought to Alameeda? Is she here?”

 Chandrum shakes his head. “She’s still with them. The extraction was a failure.”

 Kyon growls. “What’s being done?”

 “There is a new plan,” Chandrum offers as he watches the Bee wring her hands.

 “Tell me,” Kyon insists.

 “In due course,” he says before looking over his shoulder and snapping his fingers. A medical attendant rushes forward with a blanket, forcing the Bee to step back from her post.

 The Bird looks in my direction, piercing me with her eyes. She sniffs the air and says, “She listens now. Your Kricket.”

 “I feel her too,” the Bee agrees.