Page 48 of Lorran
“I am capturing the opportunity. It is not bad. The atmosphere is breathable. You may go without the helmet.”
Wyn tossed her satchel over her shoulder and followed Lorran and Mylomon down the ramp. She didn’t question why they still wore the armor. Shit happens. Be prepared.
Salt hung in the air. They must be close to the beach. Wyn spun around. Gray buildings—classic Mahdfel design—formed a straight line and seemed to be dug into the ground, like a ditch. Tall grass covered the rooftops. If the ocean were nearby, the sound would be blocked by the subterranean buildings.
Wyn had a bounce to her step that had nothing to do with gravity. So far, her experience hadn’t been the luxurious cruise she’d envisioned. It was better.
She glanced at Lorran, helmet off and the breeze fluttering his hair.
Definitely better.
An older Mahdfel male and the child waited for them. With his slower gait, Wyn questioned again if the man was Mahdfel. He was Sangrin with a plum complexion, horns gone gray with short salt and pepper hair. The child, though, was definitely Mahdfel, and Wyn wasn’t sure how she could tell the difference. He seemed to vibrate with energy, head swiveling between the adults as he asked questions.
They followed a wide paved lane, broken into disjointed pieces by vegetation, that sloped down toward the main body of the base. The child kept glancing behind at Wyn.
She waved.
“What happened to your horns? Were you in an accident?” he asked.
“I don’t have horns. I’m human,” she answered.
He narrowed his eyes, like he didn’t believe her. “I think you were in an accident.”
“I’m Wyn. What’s your name?”
“Mikah.”
“Is your accident why you’re brown?”
The older man placed his hand on the back of Mikah’s neck and steered him forward. “Enough of that now. The female is Terran, from Earth.”
Wyn didn’t mind the impertinent questions. “No, sweetie. Melanin is why I’m this color. Lots of humans look like me.”
Mikah looked as if he had more to ask, but the older man kept a tight grip on the back of his neck, not cruelly but clearly driving him forward. The older man glanced over his shoulder, the sunlight catching his pale eyes, and winked at her.
Lorran growled, a feral sound that caught her by surprise.
The older man ambled on, unconcerned.
No one spoke until they spotted a woman waiting near an open door. Sangrin, silver chains decorated the dark horns curling back from her head. She lifted her chin, as if trying to project strength. She had the same blade-like nose as Mikah. This had to be his mother.
“Warlord Paax—” Mylomon started.
“Where is my mate?” the woman asked.
“Saavi,” the older man said, “these males responded to our distress call.”
“Yes, I made the connection. They have seen what remains ofSRV-P11and traced us here, weeks too late to be of actual help. Now, where is my mate? Or did you leave him?”
“We have the body. It is in the shuttle,” Mylomon said.
“We do not have the capability here for a proper cremation. We will burn my mate at sunset.” Saavi turned sharply on her heel and disappeared inside.
Wyn looked at Lorran, unsure what just happened.
The older man sighed. “Come along. Once we are through decontamination, I will show you where you can sleep, then we can see what can be done about your ship.”
They entered a featureless white room. A computerized voice, garbled from age and indecipherable, was all the warning she had before the door sealed. A blue light swept the room twice. Wyn shielded her eyes with her hand.
