Page 8 of 20% Stud 80% Muffin
What was his name? Makir?
Yes, Makir. His name was next on the list that puddled around my feet. His mane fanned out and reached the center of his back, and when he turned his hand to check the time on his wristport, he showed off smooth blue palms. Everywhere else he was uncovered appeared to be furred in my favorite color: blueprint blue.
One of the reasons I had studied architecture, I often joked with Ginger, was because of the stacks of blueprints old world architects’ desks used to be buried in. Little did I know that I would end up with a similar stack of papers on my own messy desk.
Makir’s long, thin, fur-tipped tail coiled around his waist and hugged him as he approached the table where I sat, widening at the base where it breached the jumpsuit he wore. His silver eyes met mine, then flashed to lavender so quickly I wasn’t entirely sure it had happened before his gaze immediately slid to the floor. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something familiar about him.
How could that be? My mind had turned to jelly.
I’d never met an alien before my interview, and not face to face until I’d set foot on the shuttle to this planet. I snapped my fingers.
Makir jolted, his eyes glued to my fingers.
He was the same species as the pair depicted on the brochures Ginger had force-fed me weekly for the last couple of years.
I jerked upright and bumped the table that acted as my desk, sending a shower of papers flying over Makir. I thrust my hand out in the worst unreciprocatedhandshake ever as my notes floated down. My tingling skin drove away rational behavior, and before I had control of my voice, I barked, “Archbuilder Geo.”
JayJay’s brow ridges furrowed as if to ask ‘What’s wrong with you?’
I gave myself a mental smack. How stupid could I get? I knew handshakes were not universally acceptable greetings.
My new client took two strides backward and fully clamped his arms to his sides. His focus turned to his pant legs, which were caked in pink mud and matched my office’s unfinished floor. I dropped my hand and gripped the edge of my desk until my knuckles turned white.
Stop acting like a clown.
Everything I’d learned about respecting the customs of different species had flown out of my head. Still, for some reason, I yearned to know how soft the fur on the back of his hands was. The prickly sensation doubled under my skin.
“I’m Makir,” he muttered as his tail snapped behind him. “I have an appointment about my dwelling and hovery.” He paused, then stood tall—well over a foot taller than me—and after he spoke, his tail abruptly stilled as if forced. His eyes met my nose and rose no higher. I wanted to see the silver again.
My stomach pitched and soured the same way it had on the two-week shuttle to Tern. Once gravity had been reinstated, I’d stopped puking and acclimatized. Still, every time the shuttle had stopped to pick up colonizers for Yurstille, my stomach had dipped and hollowed, threatening to spill once more.
“I have drawn up some ideas.” Makir pressed the button on his wristport, displaying the images he had worked up. Into the air, he projected what looked like a well-planned mechanic’s shop with bay doors, and a bedroom and kitchen appeared hastily added, as if an afterthought.
“What type of material is this?” JayJay’s slow drawl eased some of the tension as he pointed to what looked like windows to me.
Makir shifted onto the balls of his feet, and his tense shoulders dropped as he focused on his plans. “I’ve yet to retrieve them, but my last trip to the wastelands uncovered sheets of lamar. I can supply them. If you can install them.”
The room filled with an enticing juniper scent. Inhaling, I settled back in my chair, my hands loose in my lap.
JayJay’s lawnmower-like laugh echoed through the bare-bones office. “Rock Dweller building crews can install anything.”
I thrust out my chest. “And now that a human is in charge, no job is impossible.”
Fuck, could I have sounded any more arrogant?
JayJay’s head whipped toward me, but he said nothing. I tried again, leaning across the table to inhale more of Makir’s fragrant juniper scent, but the tingling under my skin undermined coherent thought.
“What I mean is humans have a long history of building incredible things. The Great Pyramids used thousands of enslaved people…” I stalled, quickly backtracking, searching for a better example. I swallowed hard. “Coast-to-coast railways crisscross the largest continents on Earth. Oppressed minorities built most…”
My subconscious was working against me. Obviously, there were some repressed emotions I was dealing with at the moment, now that I was one of the smaller species and the lone human around. Formal hierarchy on Tern was nonexistent. A hodgepodge of species across the Reiner System had answered the call to recolonize. But if shit hit the fan, razor-sharp teeth and boulder-sized muscles would out-compete any skills I had to offer.
“Maybe you best stop there, boss man,” JayJay said, widening his eyes, and Makir stepped farther away.
Makir muttered under his breath, barely audible, “Great, the new archbuilder comes from a long line of power-hungry alphas.”
Instead of digging myself into a deeper hole, I forced my butt back into my chair and loosened my hands in my lap. I filled my nose with the juniper scent saturating the room. Like a balm, it soothed the prickling itch under my skin, drawing me into a trance-like state.
Typically the taskmaster, I kept meetings on time. My foreman tended to get carried away digging into the minutiae of what the dwelling owners wanted. But today, I would have happily let JayJay and Makir carry on if it meant I could openly observe this blue alien. When he relaxed, the fluid grace of his tail was beautiful to my eyes, and his voice lulled me into complacency. The more I watched him, the more I wanted to know him. Was the fur tip of his tail silky? Or was it brittle and impossible to run my fingers through, like Cameron’s gelled hair?
