Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine by Jeanne G'Fellers (the rosie project .txt) 📕

They have a legitimate complaint. Krell peered back toward the expanding base. The military had made itself too oppressive a presence for the agrarian mind. The Sarian base had almost tripled in size during the three passes she’d posted there. The rolling farmscapes of Saria Two’s only moon were fading into the starkness of a military compound. She wondered how different things would be if the Iralian threat didn’t exist.

Meditations complete, the day rapidly approaching, Krell focused on the critical tasks her new apprentice must accomplish. Would an inexperienced Kimshee be able to handle things effectively? Only time would tell. “So, LaRenna Belsas, let’s see who you’ve grown into.” Krell pulled a small data recorder from her pocket and flipped up the screen, scrolling until LaRenna’s records appeared. Nothing in particular stood out on the first few screens. There were only the standards: limited birth information, early schooling records—the usual. On the fifth screen, a weapons training log, Krell stopped. “Well, I’ll be.” She mused over what she saw. “If all goes well she’ll never have need of that skill.” The typical coursework of the Training Grounds appeared next. Above average scores, but nothing overly impressive, besides linguistics. Scores there indicated LaRenna’s astounding comprehension of all the Autlach dialects. The optional training proved fascinating as well. Advanced coursework in survival skills often proved the difference between life and death in the Kimshee trade. “Hmmm.” Krell read LaRenna’s disciplinary summary. “Belsas’s girl is every bit the spitfire I remember. Independence is one thing, recklessness quite another. We’ll see if she really has the makings of a Kimshee soon enough.”

The wake call blared its shrill alarm. Krell closed the recorder and leaned back, extending her arms above her head to remove the kinks. “And the day begins,” she sighed, twitching as a particularly deep scar complained about movement. “I’d best get going.” Cloak tight against the morning chill, she sprinted toward the Commons, pausing to brush the sand from her feet before she pulled on her boots. “Your recorder,” she grumbled, turning back. “It’s too damn early to think straight, much less socialize.” She snatched the recorder and returned to her run, scaling the rocky incline to the main path in three quick strides. “This Starnes fellow had best show.”

Chapter Six

Taelach witch, Taelach witch, cooking in the fire.

Taelach witch, Taelach witch, make the flames dance higher.

Your deadly eyes will burn away and never hurt again.

Taelach witch, Taelach witch, die in Autlach flames.

—Autlach children’s rhyme

“Starnes! Bring me another.” Brandoff Creiloff narrowed her sapphire blue eyes and pointed to her empty glass.

Starnes stopped sweeping. Scornful of her relentless badgering, he frowned, pulled a dirty rag from his apron pocket, and dabbed at his forehead. “Look, I’m not open yet. Why don’t you go upstairs and get some sleep while it’s quiet? You could use it.”

Her eyes now slitted, Brandoff’s pale, leathered face puckered ever so slightly. “You haven’t looked in a reflecting board lately have you, portly? Now get me the damn drink!”

Starnes took another wine crystal to the table and poured two glasses, sitting to draw from one while Brandoff guzzled hers in a single swig. “The Regional Patrol will have my hide if they find you here,” he pleaded between sips of the sweet brew. “Please, Brandoff, go upstairs.”

She slid her wiry bare feet slid into his lap, rubbing them into his groin. “You love the danger of having me down here,” she tempted in a low, seductive voice.

Starnes pulled her foot into his palm and began massaging the heel. Only rarely did a Taelach volunteer to have sex with an Autlach but the experience, Starnes had heard, was unforgettable.

“Besides,” purred Brandoff, “you’re being well paid for your services.”

Starnes snickered and gently kissed each toe of the foot he held. His hand inched across her ankle to rub on the lean paleness of her calf. “I don’t know if the pay counts for much, but the benefits could certainly be pleasant for us both.” He continued his massage, slowly sliding up her leg and underneath her leggings.

Brandoff let a quiet “hmmpfh” and tried to relax into the Autlach’s touch. When the sensation proved undesirable, she jerked from his hands and tugged the legging back down. “Enough.”

Infuriated, Starnes reached forward and grabbed her streaked hair. “Listen here, you stripe-headed witch, if you don’t want it then don’t lead me on like that.” He recaptured her leg and drew it back into his lap. Brandoff didn’t resist but smiled at him, her eyes glimmering amusement as a blinding pain shot down his arms. His hold loosened as he fell, taut with agony, to the floor.

“Cance would kill you if she even thought you’d tried this.” Brandoff’s upswept grin tensed. “Or maybe I’ll just do it myself. You’re not necessary to our plan. There are any number of holes we can work from.” She glanced away, releasing the painful mind phase that paralyzed him.

Starnes rose, arms cradled to his sides, not heeding the pain, only angered by it. “Don’t you threaten me! You know how easy it’d be for me to report you both. All I”—movement in the doorway stalled his speech.

“You must fancy a slow and torturous death, Barman Bane.” Cance Creiloff pulled back the heavy cloak hood enveloping her lean face Two long, crescent moon shaped marks twisted down her neck, giving the surrounding flesh a deathlike translucence.

“Dearest Cance.” Starnes put on his sweetest smile. “I meant no harm. Your blood sibling’s good looks can tend to overwhelm a man is all.”

“That so?” Cance sniffed, then glanced to her haggard twin. “What do you think of that, Brannie?”

“No Taelach with half a mind fucks an Aut man,” came the derider from the longer haired of the duo, “and your women come to us when they want things done right.” Brandoff spread two fingers and licked the space between them. “But Aut men are always