Page 27 of Taken to Heimo
I shake off the thought and draw up the recording device, signaling it to make a note at the viron so that when I return this report with my recommendations to Miari, the Evras and the biologists, they’ll know what I’m talking about.
I clear my throat. “Viron would be well suited for the human palate. It’s a purple, hearty root, rich in vitaminsandprotein. It can be prepared in a variety of ways and would make an excellent complement to…”
Whoosh. The door opens. My muscles fire with tension. My core melts. My shame starts to flap its wings and fly away.
I blink many times and pause the recording. Without looking over my shoulder at him, I say, “You can stay like you do every lunar, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
Silence. It’s eerie. But after a bated breath, I hear the door glide closed and his heavy feet pad over the floor to the seat I prepared for him.
I hear him ruffle the blanket I placed there — another crisp werro-fiber sheet — and itch with the urge to look back at him. I want to see his face, his expression, what he’s wearing. Mostly, I want to shout at him for taking my virginity even though it was my idea and he tried to stop me more than once.
Maybe, it didn’t work. Maybe my virginity’s still intact and he needs to try again just like he promised.
I press play. “Complement to the wild rice as a staple diet. Like the rice, the viron grows underground and can survive with very little water. Perfect for colony soil. My recommendation is that we begin with viron and see how it takes before moving on to other tubers. This way, we can ensure that the colony has the ability to produce a well-balanced meal for every inhabitant, even if something were ever to block or delay the next import from Illyria.”
I hit send and move on to the next task quickly. I have dozens of them that I need to get to with relative urgency. I’m acting as the Rakukanna, of sorts, while she’s absent, and despite the fact that the universe is changing with the kit she’s about to bring into it, the universe is also not standing still. Things are still happening and so much is going on in the colony, it’s hard to keep up with everything.
I send three more crop recommendations through to the Evras, as well as a list of food supplies we’d like to see imported. I also update the list with items we no longer need — the acidic krell shrub that wassupposedto resemble a leafy green ended up hospitalizing three humans.
I’m about to move onto my next task when behind me, Krisxox’s low voice says, “You liked the viron?”
I tense. His voice is almost as seductive as his scent. “Hexa. I enjoyed it.”
“Xhivey,” he grumbles. “Then you should suggest the Ickeron. We have trouble growing it on all planets except Cxrian. Grows on a vine above ground and needs direct sunlight. It’s three times the size of a viron and has more flavor.”
I consider, too distracted by the fact that he gave me a good suggestion to even realize that he gave me a suggestion at all. “Water intake?” I say, scanning the list as I search for the item.
“Little.”
“Oh hexa,” I say, arriving at it. “I had considered this before, but it’s covered in these thorns. They’re poisonous.”
“Hexa, but your humans don’t skin these. You get Echalhas to do it. You ordered a herd for breeding and milking, correct?”
I nod, turn and look at him. “Hexa.”
He shrugs one shoulder and quickly looks away. “Then you grow your Ickeron in their pen. They eat the skins and leave the gourds behind. Your humans can collect them.”
My lips part. I search for something to say. Something to make the brutal pounding of my heartsslow. Because right now it feels like even though my heart is gone, I’ve been given a replacement. Two of them.
And they hate humans.
Or at least, they’re supposed to.
I swivel back around and make a quick recording with Krisxox’s suggestion. As I move on, I quietly say over my shoulder, “Thank you for your help.”
He just grunts and offers neither answer nor explanation.
Next, is the arduous business of explaining to Voraxia’s city engineer, Rehurion, why the Tri-God congregation is unhappy with the proposal to rebuild the Tri-God center for worship. The center is built directly on top of fragments of the shattered Antikythera satellite and my congregation reveres them.
Again, as soon as I’ve finished speaking, Krisxox buts in. “How many are you?”
“Verax.” The word jerks out of me. I…shouldn’t have answered at all. I shouldn’t have placed the blanket for him on the stool in the corner. I…shouldn’t be breathing in his sweet citrus, the one scent in the universe that acts as an immediate balm to my soul and chases all doubt away.
“In your Tri-God? How many of you are there who worship it?”
“Hm. Well, there are one thousand seven hundred and four humans in the colony — soon to be one thousand seven hundred and five — and of those, I’d say about two-thirds are worshippers of the Tri-God, but only about half of those are devout like my family is.”
I go back to my holo screen and draw up the file I was last working on deciphering. Found in one of Mathilda’s many boxes as a scrap of folded parchment, I scanned it and have been devoting a considerable amount of time and energy to it. The script is one that puzzled me. It’sMeero,the language of the Niahhorru pirates.
