Page 17 of Ice Planet Barbarians

It’s . . . not the worst place in the world to be. I mean, if I have my choice between the old cargo bay, alone in the snow, or snuggled next to the pussy-loving alien, I’m going to go with option number three.

I debate pretending to remain asleep, but there’s something big and hard prodding into my stomach that tells me that Vektal’s conscious, acutely aware of my presence, and far more generously equipped than any guy I’ve ever met.

I sit up, tugging the blankets around me. My breath fogs in the air, and I glance around the cave. Weak sunlight is pouring in through the door flap, and the fire has gone out. It’s bitterly cold unless I’m pressed next to Vektal, and the urge to crawl back against him and huddle for warmth is real and strong.

But he sits up and begins to adjust his clothing. “Vy droskh,” he tells me. I don’t know if that’s ‘good morning’ or ‘damn it’s cold’ or what. He gets up, and as he does, my stomach rumbles again.

Vektal squints at me.

“I know,” I say. “Trust me, I know.” It’s embarrassing for me, too.

He begins to unwrap the food from last night, but I make a face and shake my head. I mime that it burns my tongue. He chuckles and then makes a gesture that looks like a rocking baby, which puzzles me. I’m not following this conversation at all.

“Hungry,” I say. I rub my stomach and mime eating something. “Food?” Every inch of me feels like a mooch for finding a guy and then demanding he feed me, but ‘food’ is easier to mime than ‘if you’d give me a nice weapon I’d catch my own breakfast.’ For right now, we have to proceed in baby steps.

Vektal nods and begins to put on the gear he discarded overnight. He’s bare-chested this morning, and his pectorals are just as grimly fascinating as I suspected they would be. They’re like slabs of cold iron over his smoky blue chest. I remember the warm, suede-feel of his skin. He sure was nice to rub up against. I watch him dress, intrigued by the differences in our bodies. Over certain spots on his body, he has knobby ridges. They trail along the back of each arm to his elbow. The ridges glide down the center of his chest and smooth out somewhere between his pectorals and his navel. And his thighs have the bumpy, textured ridges, too. I wonder what purpose they’re for. They decorate his brow, too, and right down his nose.

He’s in a talky mood this morning, too. He holds a one-sided conversation with me as he slings his vest back over his chest and begins to tie his knives and blades back to their proper spots. I want to ask for one, but I don’t know his culture. Maybe it’s taboo for him to give me one and I’d insult him by asking. Right now I’m wary of pissing him off, because he’s the only lifeline I’ve got. I watch my breath fog in the air again as he continues talking, and I think of the girls at the ship, huddled together.

I hope they’re okay. God, I hope they’re okay. I need to get back to them today so they don’t worry. I can tell them what I’ve found . . .

Which, really, isn’t much. I’ve found face-eating fish that have stalks that look like bamboo. I’ve found a warm stream (full of the aforementioned face-eating fish), and I’ve found an alien that likes to eat pussy as a greeting.

All three things won’t help us get home. I haven’t found a city. I haven’t found another ship. I sure haven’t found anyone that speaks English. And to make matters worse, I’ve lost our only weapon. I’m not doing so hot at this save-the-day thing.

Vektal finishes tying his bags and pouches and then slips on boots. I sneak a peek at his toes just to satisfy my curiosity. Three large, splayed toes and a bony heel that was probably a fourth toe at some point in evolution. I probably wouldn’t be able to wear his boots either, and the thought depresses me as I shove my feet back into my uncomfortable stolen boots.

I stand and spots swim before my eyes. I weave, only to be pulled against a hard chest. He murmurs something in my ear and offers the food again, but I push it away. I’m not being picky. I cannot physically eat the stuff. I accept the water he pushes into my hand, and I drink it, but it’s not going to last me. Maybe I can convince Vektal to go back to where he captured me so I can hunt for my seaweed bars. At this point, I’m so hungry I’ll eat them even if they’ve turned into a block of ice overnight.

He leads me out of the cave, watching me as I follow him. A new powder has fallen overnight, and I look at the deeper snow with despair. So much for finding my old supplies.

Vektal gestures at his shoulders, bare of any sort of cloak since I’m wearing it. He kneels and indicates that I should climb onto his back and put my arms around his neck, piggy-back style. Well, this is humiliating. But I’m so tired and weak that I don’t protest. I put my arms around him and cling to his back, wrapping my legs around his waist. He pats one of the arms around his neck, says something soothing, and then he starts racing down the side of the mountain.

I’m stunned for a moment at how fast he is. He’s unaffected by the snow, his boots driving through the powder as if it’s nothing. He burns like a furnace inside, too, his skin so warm to the touch that the parts touching him are toasty warm and the parts exposed to the wind are like sticking a hand in a bucket of ice. It makes me burrow down even closer to his body once I realize he doesn’t need the cape at all. He’s just fine in this wintry landscape without it. So I push my head against his neck and press my cold face into his warm hair. He smells good, too.

Great, now I’ve got Stockholm syndrome.

He pushes down the mountainside, moving down the steep slopes as if they’re nothing. We pass through another copse of trees, and I realize for the first time that we’re heading the wrong way from the crash site. I haven’t been paying attention, dazed from hunger and cold. But this is wrong. Everyone up there is waiting for me, shivering and starving. I can’t leave them.

“Wait,” I say, tapping on his shoulder. “Vektal, wait!”

He pauses, and as he does, I slide off his back. I shiver immediately at the bitter cold, but I make him turn so I can point up the hill, back to the direction that I came. “We have to go that way and rescue the others.”

He shakes his head and points down the hill. In the direction he’s pointing, I can see thick trees and more greenery. He wants to go down the mountain.

But I can’t leave everyone behind. I insistently point back up. “Please. I need to go up there. There are more people. More women. They’re hungry and cold and don’t have anything.”

Vektal shakes his shaggy head and mimes eating. Then he points at the forest below us, down the snowy slopes.

I waver. Do I let him take me farther away to eat? Or do we immediately go up to the others and still starve? I hesitate. They probably already think something’s happened to me.

My stomach growls again. Vektal gives me an exasperated look. He says the food word again. “Kuuusk.”

I bite my lip, thinking. I glance back at the mountain. Everything in me says I need to insist. But I’m feeling so weak and starved. I can convince him to go back later, can’t I? Once I’ve gotten something to eat?

And won’t it be better to show up not empty handed?

With a heavy sigh, I look back at him. His glowing blue eyes seem to be burning holes into me. “Kusk then up the hill, okay? Let’s get enough kuusk for everyone.”

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