The whistling winds prevent her from hearing the transpiring conversation of the males until she gets closer to her captain. She drops her eyes in disappointment. The most remarkable shots she’s ever made and they aren’t speaking of her.
“Commander Reynard, you must compliment Admiral Maxtin on his selection of weapons,” Youshon, the older Braeco’n, says as he peers through binoculars at the dead Mokarran. “With distance weapons we can attack Mokarran installations and remain safe.”
“You do have to have fine marksmen. The rifle won’t shoot itself.” Reynard keeps one hand with a thumb hooked on his gun belt just behind his weapon, ready for a quick draw.
“At least he acknowledged it takes a good shooter,” Kymberlynn taunts. “He’s expert with a pistol, but he’ll never hit a target like you with a rifle. Not to mention, my piloting rating’s twice his.”
Amye holds off on punching her sister before the Braeco’ns. They value barbaric strength, but not displayed in such a useless fashion. She wonders, if she did, whether the gods would even let her bloody her sister’s nose and mess up the perfect hair. Amye turns her head so the wind blows her own hair behind her head.
Kymberlynn’s locks stay perfectly in place and bouncy even in these gale-force winds. It could be because she stands in the windbreak of the petrified coral trees. Some millions of years ago this planet was nothing but ocean, and life teemed on this ridge. When the planet dried up, the thousand-year-old coral reefs dried and became a forest of brittle rock.
The wind seems to have little effect on Lieutenant Scott Beers. Handsome, strong with chiseled features, he destroys the typical image of a knuckle-dragging grease monkey.
Hidden in the coral near the Braeco’n vantage point, Amye finds the rifle crate.
“Don’t you just find him mesmeric?” Kymberlynn’s doe-like eyes widen with desire.
“Actually, no.” Amye opens a metallic rifle case. Two rifles rest inside with a blank spot for the weapon she carries.
“Genetics couldn’t produce a more perfect Osirian with the kind of stamina he brings.” Kymberlynn flushes with her thoughts.
“I don’t want to hear about it. It was bad enough I walked in on the two of you.” Amye removes an aerosol spray oiling the chamber. She wipes out the chemical, making the weapon look unfired.
“Then you know for an Osirian he’s huge.”
“Something so massive isn’t desirable. I want girth. Enough to be comfortable. Not shred me.” Amye secures the case.
“You’ve tried enough men to know what makes you comfortable,” Kymberlynn quips.
“What’s next, we try to yank out each other’s hair? Enjoying sex doesn’t make me a whore.” Amye changes the topic before her sister drives her to pound her. “Why are the Mokarran on this rock? This planet has no strategic value.”
“People who resist the Tri-Star Federation hide here. Enough reason for the Mokarran.” She closes the case and secures the hasps. She prepares herself to play the dutiful subservient female.
Amye presents the rifle in a bow to Youshon. Kymberlynn curtseys in respect behind her. Amye gives her the stink eye. She twists her face down away from Youshon’s scrutiny, glancing for her captain’s approval.
He’s such a young man. She’s not old. There’s only a year’s difference in their biological age. His birth age shouldn’t count since he spent a thousand years in cytogenetic sleep. Kymberlynn’s correct. He’s too young and inexperienced to be the commander of a special operations unit.
Youshon fondles the rifle, inspecting mechanical parts. Amye takes her place at her captain’s side, but slightly behind him. Braeco’n warriors resign females in their own culture to household duties and believe women have no place on the battlefield. Women aren’t confined to mere domestic chores, but fighting brings status to the men. Amye takes another step back so her captain doesn’t lose face. If anything, she and Kymberlynn should represent his ability as a warrior. To the Braeco’n, the greater the warrior, the more mates he’s allowed to procure. This way the next generation will be one of even greater warriors. In the Braeco’n convention, for someone so young to have two females and command a ship must mean he has achieved greatness among his fellow warriors.
“He’ll not understand the respect you offer.” Kymberlynn speaks low enough for only Amye to hear. “Without Australia to brief him, he has no idea about the customs of any of these non-Osirian species we encounter.”
Amye defends him. “Not everyone’s had the IMC courses in cross-cultural species customs. Some much-needed training did you a universe of good. Even with extra preparation, we were going to be stuck on Tartarus—forever.”
“Being stuck on a frozen ice ball was your prerogative, Little Sis. You’re the one who flunked. I was on the fast track to advanced piloting school,” Kymberlynn reminds her. “IMC fleet captain. One of the youngest.”
“So it’s my fault you got stuck on the mining colony?”
“I certainly got you to leave that rock. And you got to meet him.” Kymberlynn points at Reynard.
“He was on Tartarus for the Lieutenant, not us,” Amye points out.
“He was putting together a team of the best and the brightest. Scott’s mechanical genius made him a prime candidate for Admiral Maxtin’s Black Box missions. He just got a bonus picking up a top-level pilot…and what skill do you bring to the team?”
“If you hadn’t slept with Scott, he’d never have brought you along.”
“If the captain hadn’t seen a rockslide bury you, you’d be dead.” Kymberlynn shifts her tone. “Why were you in an off-limits passage?”
If it wouldn’t bring shame to him, she would rearrange Kymberlynn’s nose. Amye knows she blames her for preventing them from leaving Tartarus years ago. She blames Amye for
