Rivers of Orion by Dana Kelly (a court of thorns and roses ebook free .TXT) 📕

“Definitely,” said Orin, and they shook. He felt her body resonate with his, and he tilted his head slightly. “It’s water under the bridge.”

Edison performed a basic physical. “Well, you’re in perfect health, despite having no lungs and no discernable pulse in this state.” He saved his scans and jotted down several notes. “If you’re willing, I’d be grateful if you stopped by sick bay after breakfast so I can update my findings. You’d make a fascinating case study.”

“Sure, I can do that,” said Orin.

Misaki ran her fingertips up Orin’s arm and along his chest, pausing at the spiral disk spinning at the top of his sternum. “I can almost feel it turning,” she said, and she set her palm over the miniature stellar body. “No, I can feel it!”

“Can I see?” asked Sturmhardt.

Orin shied away. “Can we do this later? Or never?”

“Let the man be,” said Malmoradan. “Shona, where’s his shirt?”

“I wasn’t sure what to bring,” she said, and she gazed, wonderstruck by Orin’s chest.

“Sure, you weren’t,” Malmoradan chuckled, and he draped a shop towel over Orin’s shoulders.

“Orin, why don’t you stop by your room and grab a shirt, then come meet us on the mess deck,” said Casey. “It’s about time for chow.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”

◆◆◆

Crew and passengers gathered on the mess deck, where Cajun served up bowls of piping hot jambalaya. “This here’s fifolet’s jambalaya,” he said. “It’s extra spicy, and there’s Beysyte royal shrimp in there to purple it up. Authentic-like, too. None o’ that imitation muddle, ya hear?” He set a bowl before Krané. “Special for you. Kep’ the spice, but left the shrimp alone.”

“Thank you, John,” said Krané. “A fine taste of home, I’m sure.”

“Hope ya like it.” Returning his attention to everyone else, Cajun took a deep breath and grinned. “Takin’ some edibles over to April, now. Don’t wait on me, hear? Eat up!” He exited the mess deck with a steaming-hot bowl in one hand and a pouch of water in the other.

Shona leaned over to Mike. “This is one of his traditions,” she said. “First meal on this side of the gate, Cajun always whips up a pot of fifolet’s jambalaya.”

Mike grimaced. “Real Beysyte shrimp, huh?”

“Yeah, I know what you’re gonna say, but he found a way to make them taste good. Really good.” She nudged him. “Try it, you’ll love it. I gar-own-tee.”

Mike laughed. “Has Cajun ever heard you do that?”

“No way,” said Shona.

With his fork in hand, Mike prodded his food. “How’s the goop factor?”

“There’s none if you eat it fast enough. Speaking of which,” she said, and she placed a big bite in her mouth. A moment later, she closed her eyes and savored the taste as she chewed. “Wow, that’s good.”

Cajun returned at that moment, and he waved his finger at Mike. “Eat up! Else the nightmare’ll put a gris-gris on ya.”

“A gris-gris?” asked Mike. “Is that like a curse?”

“Not like,” said Cajun. “It is a curse!”

“I don’t believe in curses,” said Mike, and he took a bite. “Ooh, that’s hot,” he breathed. “Very hot.” With some effort, he managed to chew and swallow, and he paused to let his mouth settle down. “Wow, that’s excellent. Thank you!”

Cajun nodded, pleased. “Now ya makin’ some sense.”

“See? I told you you’d love it,” said Shona.

The conversation wandered as they all dined together.

After everyone had eaten their fill, Casey dismissed Cajun, and most of the diners returned to their rooms. Casey stepped into the galley for cleanup, and Orin brought her a dishpan filled with bowls. “Where should I set these?” he asked.

Casey pointed to the counter. “Thanks, but you’re my guest. I got this.”

“I’d like to help,” he said.

She shrugged. “In that case, thanks.”

“Plus, it’ll give us some time to talk,” he said, and he returned to the table to gather stray dinnerware.

“Talk about what?” asked Casey.

Orin set a pile of utensils down on the counter. “I sensed something down in the hangar after the transition.” He opened the front panel of a machine that looked like a dishwasher from the outside. “I was hoping you could shed some light on what I felt.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be much help, but I’m happy to offer what insight I can,” said Casey.

He paused to scan the galley. “Where’s the sponge? And the soap?”

“That’s not how it’s done, not on a ship this small.” Casey retrieved a thick, damp sheet from a box of thick, damp sheets. “Same thing as the hygienic wipes in your quarters, but these are reserved for the stovetop and the counters.” She pointed at the machine he stood before. “That’s a dry scrubber, for the dishes. Just load it and close it.”

“No water?” asked Orin.

Casey shook her head. “No pipes, so no water.”

He regarded her questioningly. “Then how do the showers work?”

“There’s a filter in the drain, and a tank in the overhead,” she said.

“So we’re showering in our own filth,” said Orin.

Casey laughed. “You’d think, but it’s a really good filter.” After they finished loading the dry scrubber, Orin pushed it closed, and he straightened his T-shirt. A red light turned on under a cursive logo, and the machine hummed quietly.

“So, what did you feel down in the hangar?” asked Casey, and she wiped off her hands.

“April told me only binaries have nightmare bodies, but I can’t shake this feeling that you have one too,” said Orin. “I don’t know why, because you don’t look any different, but standing this close to you, I feel it even stronger than ever.”

“Ah,” said Casey, and she glanced away. “I guess someone was bound to figure it out, sooner or later.” She leaned against the counter. “You’re right about me. This is my nightmare body, but it’s also my primary body. I’m a homunculus. I’m Cassie’s homunculus.”

“What’s a homunculus?” asked Orin.

“You’ve heard of creatures that can break off parts of themselves,