Salvo: A Sci-Fi Romance (The Jekh Saga Book 3) Read online

  Luke waggled his eyebrows. “Well? We goin’?

  Shit.

  Owen couldn’t think of a good reason to say no. He raked his hand through his uncombed hair and shrugged. “Might as well.”

  Luke slapped his back and pushed back from the table. “That’s my boy! Going out on adventures, just like old times.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  “Stop worrying, man. You worry too much.”

  “Just that simple, huh? Stop worrying?”

  “It is if you want it to be.”

  Maybe he’s right. Mind over matter.

  Owen gestured toward the door. If he was back late for lunch, Ais would just have cope. She wasn’t going to starve in a couple of hours, and he did have some food stashed away in his kitchen. Nothing as good as what was in the farmhouse, but certainly edible and mostly nutritious.

  By the time he stood back from the table, he’d mostly convinced himself that he was doing the right thing…or at least, a thing that wouldn’t blow up in his face.

  “That’s four bodies,” Trigrian announced. “That’s all I can fit in the flyer unless someone wants to cling to the floor. Can’t take the truck. The farmhands are harvesting today. If they weren’t, I’d tell you to drive yourselves.”

  “Four’s cozy, but fine.” Luke slung an arm around Owen’s shoulders and gave him a shake. “This is great, right? The Musketeers, together again.”

  “Seriously?” Owen scoffed, then laughed. He couldn’t believe how inordinately excited Luke was. He was almost like a kid waiting in line to ride a roller coaster for the first time. “You’ve been itching for adventure?”

  Luke shrugged. “I guess I’m wired for action. We were always up to something back in the day, and I don’t think I ever grew out of that need for a rush. Besides.” Luke’s insufferable white grin went big as a crescent moon. “I couldn’t bear to think that you were out here in the armpit of outer space having all the fun by yourself.”

  “Fun? Is that the right word? You’re talking about an illegal immigrant who has to sleep with a gun under his pillow in case trespassers jump him while he sleeps. ‘Fun’ isn’t the word I would have picked to describe life here.”

  “You’ve got folks sneaking up on you while you sleep? You didn’t tell me that.”

  “When did I have a chance?” Owen asked. “In the grand scheme of things, our trespasser issues weren’t important. I figured if I could only send you a few lines of data securely, I’d send queries about things you could actually do something about.”

  “Logical.”

  “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said that word to me without scoffing.”

  Luke was one of the most intelligent men Owen knew, but he’d often accused Owen of relying too much on intellect and not enough of instinct. Owen sometimes wished he had Luke’s ability to comfortably take risks, but Owen was too cerebral and, perhaps, too obsessed with needing to manage outcomes. He needed to know how things would end. Surprises unsettled him more than was probably normal for a man of thirty and some change.

  He followed Trigrian and Luke through the kitchen’s side door. They walked the smooth dirt path toward the outbuilding where the Beshnis stored their conveyances and Court’s spiteful chickens. The brood should have been laying several dozen eggs per day, according to the Terran lady she’d bought the pullets from. Erin was lucky to get twelve eggs out of the nests each morning. Mimi—their maternal grandmother—had suggested in her last holo-call that the birds were stressed.

  Court had patted down a new patch of gray hair near her temple and said, “Oh, they are, huh? Poor little birdies don’t have a sweet enough life with their copious piles of grain and their warm coops, huh?”

  Mimi had sighed her vexation and suggested they move the chickens at their earliest convenience.

  Court had said, “Nope.”

  Trigrian had assured Mimi that they would, but of course he would have. Both he and Murki were still trying to ingratiate themselves with the McGarrys and Carmichaels back on Earth on the off chance they ever met the brood in person. They wanted to be liked.

  Owen thought the men were insane.

  Trigrian powered up the hover-flyer’s doors, and Marco whistled low.

  “Smooth. Still got nothing like that on Earth.”

  Trigrian shrugged, sweeping his violet gaze across the sleek, silver, teardrop-shaped vehicle. “I imagine our flyers would be much more advanced now had the Terrans not come. This one’s aged about twenty-five Jekh years. Amy traded for it several years ago. The Terran owner couldn’t figure out how to work the starter and figured she’d only be able to sell the parts for scrap.”

  “I heard about these things,” Luke said, climbing in. “They’ve got a couple of them in labs back on Earth. They’ve taken them apart and put them back together again and again but can’t figure out how to start them.”

  “That’s because they’re looking for mechanical revelations instead of programming ones.” Owen climbed into the backseat after him, groaning upon realizing he’d be in the middle of a Cipriani sandwich. “Just like old times,” he muttered.

  Marco squeezed in beside him, actually pushing Owen a bit more rightward, not that there’d been room there to spare.

  Most men stopped growing at around twenty-two. Marco had stopped growing at seventeen. He’d been six feet six inches tall and two hundred pounds. Owen suspected that at thirty, Marco weighed a little more. He certainly hadn’t slimmed down any.

  “We gonna be able to get this thing off the ground?” Luke asked, laughing.

  Trigrian powered the doors down, licked the pad of his thumb, and then pressed the digit to the starter. “Sure.”

  Owen pinched the bridge of his nose and ground his teeth. Nothing good ever came of Trigrian using that too-cheerful tone.

  “Probably, anyway. Court, Murki, and I flew this thing all the way from Buinet with the dog and a fully loaded cargo compartment. The manufacturer’s specifications say this model can transport four grown men plus their baggage.”

  Marco shifted a little lower and crowded his legs into the space in front of Owen’s. “Yeah? Jekhan men?”

  “We actually tend to be taller than your men on average.”

  “You must like being in each other’s space.” Marco cut Owen an impudent look. “No offense. Love you like a brother, but my SUV back in Boston has bucket seats for this exact reason.”

  Luke leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow at his “little” brother. “How the hell are ya gonna be as big as Paul Bunyan and have personal space issues?”

  Marco grunted. “Take that up with Ma and Pop. They made me.”

  Trigrian got the hover turbines powered up and the flyer a couple of feet off the barn floor.

  In his left periphery, Owen could see chicken feathers flying. He pinched the bridge of his nose again. Those chickens needed to start earning their keeps or Court was going to go on a neck-wringing spree.

  “This is great, you know?” Luke asked as Trigrian brought the flyer into an ascent smooth enough to convince Owen that the thing wouldn’t buckle under their collective weights. “Nobody gets to explore the unknown like this anymore.”

  “You’ve been reading too much sci-fi,” Owen muttered. He gave up on trying to respect personal space boundaries and let his legs spread open a bit to either side of him.

  Marco grunted.

  Luke said nothing, but he probably wouldn’t have given a shit. He and Owen had been in far more intimate situations before, both dressed and undressed. They’d shared a lot of things during childhood, and well after they’d outgrown the stage, too. As kids, they shared toys and trouble. As men, they shared women. The arrangement had always worked out well. Luke was good at snaring them, and Owen was good at making sure they didn’t cling.

  “Nah, I don’t have time to read fiction anymore,” Luke said. “You feed me truth that’s crazier than most shit people find fit to publish nowadays. But think a
bout it, man. You showed up here not knowing what to expect on a planet filled with ruthless aliens.”

  Trigrian gave his throat an aggressive clearing.

  “No offense, dude,” Luke said, putting up his hands in mock defeat. “I guess you’re all right if Court’s boinkin’ ya.”

  Trigrian threw him an eloquent look over his shoulder before setting his gaze on the path ahead. They were approaching the perimeter of the property. “Boinkin’?”

  “You know.” Marco mimicked the sound of mattress springs creaking. “Doing the horizontal tarantella.”

  “The what?”

  “Don’t ask,” Owen said.

  “The Jetsons had us all thinking we’d have flying cars by now,” Marco said.

  “The who?” Trigrian asked.

  “A comic, futuristic, mid-century Terran cartoon,” Owen said. “Maybe you could watch with Kerry. I don’t remember the show being particularly subversive.”

  “Ah. I’ll query the film database when we return, then.” Once more he glanced over his shoulder, but at Marco rather than Luke. “Owen has unraveled the DNA locks in flyer technology, by the way. I’m sure given enough spare components, he could build something airworthy within a few weeks. We’re not quite ready to let him pull the coding from this one. There are still too many desperate Terrans in the area looking to make a quick credit, and old as this thing is, it’d be worth a fortune with the security lock broken.”

  “Oh, you’re killin’ me.” Luke gave Owen a punch to the arm as well as those beaming grins that were some combination of mischief and brotherly pride. “The guys back at work have been in a fucking tizzy about Jekhan technology for decades, and here you are, on the planet for like a year, and you’ve already got shit figured out?”

  Owen shrugged. “Knowing which questions to ask helps.”

  “Also, having people willing to answer them,” Trigrian said.

  Owen grunted. He recognized his privilege in that regard. He was a McGarry, and Jekhans trusted the McGarry name even without having met the people who had it.

  Granddad had been a notorious advocate for the Jekhan people being left the hell alone. Of course, that hadn’t happened, but still, his name had traveled to Jekh along with the first Terran ground forces. He was revered like some kind of confirmed saint by the Jekhan Alliance, which Grandma McGarry found perplexing.

  “He’s gonna go gettin’ too big for his britches,” she’d said during her last chat with Owen and his sisters.

  Brenna had tweeted a link to one of Granddad’s so-called “public service announcements.” They were terse, instructive appeals meant to coach the Jekhans out of hiding. “There are more of you than there are of us,” he’d said in the last one. “Don’t you want to go home?”

  Obviously, people did. The news coming from Buinet was that many were lurking nearby, waiting for the remaining Terran law enforcement officers to turn their backs. Most had no weapons or any talent for using them, so avoiding conflict was still a priority.

  “I couldn’t even get him to take a phone call from my mother back when we first got married,” Grandma had said, “and now he’s talkin’ to folks on camera?” She’d shaken her head, but she’d been smiling as she did. With as long as she’d been waiting for him to go home to her, she couldn’t really get too upset about the minor shit.

  “The cottage we’re passing now,” Trigrian pointed to the right, “is the old hunter’s cottage. When my parents were alive, they always employed a young gentleman who’d hunt game on the property. He’d provide us with meat, and also kept larger animals out of the crops. Owen lives there now.”

  Both Ciprianis leaned toward the right window.

  Owen kept still, hoping not to put a spotlight on his curiosity. Luke was too intelligent by half and would have honed in on Owen’s interest like a dog to a meaty bone. He still saw her, and that meant the Ciprianis certainly did, too.

  Ais was at the window with hands pressed to the glass.

  The flyer’s engines were some of the quietest Owen had ever studied. She couldn’t have possibly heard the approach until they were very close. She was just there. Waiting, and likely for him.

  Fuck.

  He massaged the bridge of his nose and looked at one Cipriani, then the other.

  “Holy shit,” Luke said. “This thing runs like a dream. None of the grass on either side of the path is even moving.

  Owen furrowed his brow. They weren’t paying any attention to the house. Their gazes went from the grass, to Trigrian, and their discussion to the efficiency of the flyer’s turbines.

  Owen looked back through the window at the cottage shrinking behind them and wondered if Ais had identified the flyer going by or if she’d only registered the blur of the silver paint.

  Seeing her at the window looking out at the world she couldn’t be in was like having some rampaging beast claw at his insides. Her being there, looking, coveting, reminded him too much of the last invalid he’d let worry him to distraction. So many times when they were teens and young men, he’d left Michael behind. Michael had been too weak to go out, and too tired for the company, anyway. But he should have stayed with Mike toward the end, whether his brother had been tired or not just so Owen could spend the time with him. Just so he could have been there.

  Facing forward, he shoved a hand through his hair again and tugged.

  He’d done what he had to based on what he knew to be right. Ais couldn’t be out in the world. She was a danger to herself and to others, and if no one else was going to rein her in, he would.

  He had to.

  She’d thank him later.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Glad to see you in town, McGarry,” came the sound of Kurt Killion’s voice behind Owen. “I’ve got a special gift for you.”

  Before Owen could completely back out of the meet-shop, the Terran farmer thrust a furry, wriggling mass upon him.

  “What the fuck?” Owen muttered.

  “All yours,” Kurt said.

  “What?”

  With everything that was happening on the farm, Owen was a little slower on the uptake than usual, but he should have made a faster connection that long, pink tongue, plus fur, plus whiskered snout equaled dog. That was elementary math. Kerry could have done that math, and she wasn’t even two yet.

  “Oh, shit,” Luke said with a laugh. “Is that a puppy or a scouring pad?” He leaned in close to the thing Owen was half-holding and squinted. “Aww, look at the fuzzy widdle thing.”

  “Fuck,” Owen spat. He brought the puppy up to eye level, registered the familiar brown nose and curious brown eyes, and groaned. “I’m guessing he’s one of Jerry’s.”

  “Free of charge,” Kurt said flatly.

  “Great,” Owen said, equally deadpan.

  “You had to know we wouldn’t let you completely off the hook.”

  “I’m sure if Courtney had any idea that Jerry would roam so far, she would have kept a better eye on him.”

  “Jerry?” Marco cocked up an eyebrow. “You mean Mike’s dog?”

  “Yeah.” Owen nestled the puppy into the crook of his arm and said a silent prayer that the dog had already been walked or taken to the papers or whatever people did with puppies. Courtney’s dog, Jerry, had belonged to Michael before he’d died. He’d been a service dog that had been trained to get Michael help if he passed out unexpectedly or fell. At the end, though, Michael had locked himself in his room, and away from his pet. When she’d broken into his apartment, Court had found Jerry barking at the bedroom door and Michael’s panic button deactivated.

  “You should be happy I’m only forcing the one on ya,” Kurt said. “The rest will probably be bigger like Molly. They looked more Shepherd than…” He waved a dismissive hand. “Well, whatever Jerry is.”

  “Terrier spaniel.”

  “Poor little bastard.”

  Luke took the puppy and gave his paw a little high-five. “Your daddy got some German Shepherd action, little dude. Play on,
playa.”

  Owen rolled his eyes and continued into the store and gathering space the locals called the “meet-shop.” It was owned by Dorro, but run by his Terran son-in-law, Allan Rowe. Allan had been amongst the first soldiers on the ground in Jekh, and had deserted his unit. Many of the Terran men, Kurt included, had similar stories. They’d all been taken in by Jekhan families. In exchange for giving them homes, the deserters kept strangers from harassing the natives.

  Over his shoulder, Owen called out to Kurt, “I’m sure Court will want to get him neutered at her earliest convenience.”

  “Not a bad idea, but I wouldn’t be too hasty. Doggy gene pool is shallow around here. Might want to wait and see if there’s a bitch willing to give him a litter.” Barking with laugher, Kurt gave a lazy salute and shuffled across the boulevard toward his kid and his hover-truck.

  Owen had made his way to the back of the store before Luke and Marco caught up.

  “This place is great,” Marco said excitedly. He’d already found a six-pack of the local brew. Gitanan beer wasn’t the strongest stuff Owen had ever consumed, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Most Jekhans didn’t drink with the goal of intoxication, though Owen certainly did.

  What’s the point, otherwise?

  Owen grunted, then bent to rummage into the crate of assorted plumbing components.

  “Is this the alien equivalent of Wal-Mart?” Luke asked. He scratched the puppy behind the ears as he glanced around the expansive space.

  Owen squinted at a flange, and decided that he’d have to make the part work. There were no options. “The Little Gitano version, anyway. There were larger retail spaces—more like what you’re used to—in Buinet, but those were obviously Terran-owned.”

  “Who owns this place?”