survived without Fort’een’s help? Outnumbered and alone, would Fort’een survive? Connell spared a glance behind him to ensure Pearl’s safety, then whispered a prayer for his family, his heart warming even in the cool, rainy evening to discover that, unbeknownst to him, he, a cast-off soldier, and a child whose origins were still unknown, had somehow formed the thing he’d always wanted most in the world. Granted, his family didn’t quite match the villagers’ notions, but it suited him just fine.
Towards dawn the roaring faded, the creatures moving farther away. Through early morning fog a lone figure approached. Even as Connell watched, Fort’een’s amazing suit shifted and changed, bloody spatters disappearing, ripped fabric mending itself. Ignoring any possible reprimands from the others, Connell rushed forward. “Fort’een!” he cried. “Are you hurt?”
“My suit mends my body,” the man replied, raising his visor to bestow another kiss. “How fare you and Pearl?”
The man had just saved an entire village of people, and only two of them mattered. Connell’s heart swelled. “We’re fine.”
Fort’een looked past Connell to the midwife holding the baby. “Take her,” he told Connell. “Let’s go home.”
Home. The word had never held much meaning for Connell. Now it meant everything.
They took the child and trudged back to their cottage, Connell uncaring that he and his—partner?—left behind a small fortune in terror pelts.
“Daughter,” Connell said. “Daugh-ter.”
“Daughter,” Fort’een repeated.
“That’s right.” Connell pointed at Fort’een. “You father, Pearl daughter.”
The vacant expression came over Fort’een’s face that indicated he’d disappeared into his mind to communicate with his helmet. His eyes refocused after a minute. “What are you?”
I am yours for the taking sat poised on Connell’s tongue, though he dared not say the words. The baby gurgled and waved her chubby legs and arms, distracting the man and saving Connell from having to answer.
What am I, indeed?
Once more, Connell lay awake. So many times he’d visited the garden alone to relieve tension. Did Fort’een have the same urges, and if so, how did he alleviate them, or did his miraculous suit tend those needs as well?
Outside the window Fort’een shuffled restlessly on his cliffside perch. Did the man get lonely sitting out there all by himself at night? Since he didn’t sleep, maybe they should defy village custom and keep Pearl themselves at night.
A low moan carried on the breeze. What? Was Fort’een okay? Connell pulled on his pants and hurried to the cliff. “Is something wrong?”
Silence. After a long pause Fort’een whispered, “I miss…”
Connell had never considered that Fort’een might have left a lover behind. The moonlight washed over the man, his features vulnerable even while fully armored. Connell eased down beside the soldier. “I’m sorry. You loved someone?”
“Loved?” Confusion passed over Fort’een’s face, gone a moment later. “Not loved. At night, I… soldiers… we.” Even in the low light of the waning moons the man’s blue eyes shone. He raised his visor. “We took comfort from each other,” he finally said. “Suit is not the same.”
“Oh?” Connell absorbed the meaning. “Oh!” His eyes locked with the soldier’s. They moved as one, lips connecting. A gasp of surprise gave Connell his opening to dive his tongue inside Fort’een’s mouth. Ever since he’d first arrived on New Wailea to discover the hard notions of the colonists, he’d despaired of ever experiencing the physical pleasures he’d found with other young men at the export station where he’d waited patiently for an immigration opening. He’d snapped up the first opportunity, overlooking the requirements and a carefully worded call for “breeding stock.” Small colonies had little use for those not inclined to increase the genetic pool to prevent inbreeding.
Fort’een drew back. “But I cannot ask that of my commander.”
“Your… your what?” While the soldier’s vocabulary skills had grown over time, he still missed the odd word on occasion.
“You are my commander, my colonel. I cannot…”
“Colonel?” Only then did Connell recognize the subtle inflection that wasn’t “Connell” as he’d always believed, but “Colonel”, a soldierly rank. He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m not your colonel, I’m a civi… civil…” Drat! Now words failed Connell.
“Civilian?” Fort’een offered.
“Yes, a civilian. Connell is my name, not a rank.”
The soldier flashed a brief, barely perceptible smile and began to descend again. Connell stopped him. “Your name? Is it really Fort’een, or is that some kind of military name too?”
“Fourteen. My comrades were Thirteen, Fifteen, and Twenty-seven.”
A number? All this time Connell had been calling the man by a number? “Don’t you have a real name? A name given to you