Ar'Tok - Alana Khan

Chapter One

Star

I don’t need to look at the screens to know what time it is. My internal clock is counting down the seconds until my midnight comm.

I have ten minutes and a few seconds, give or take.

Over the past two months, I’ve developed quite the pre-comm routine. After neatening the bridge, although there’s never anything out of place, I check the coils on the heating/cooling system and ensure the solar panels are properly adjusted.

After my heavy boots clang down the metal steps to the hydroponics room, I turn off all the water valves for the night, then return to the bridge to double-check all the hardware readings. All systems are fine except the oxygenator, which has been throwing wonky readings for the past three months. When I inspect it, the unit is always functioning fine. I’ve concluded it’s the gauge that’s malfunctioning. But I keep a close eye on it anyway.

If I were a weaker person, I’d have pics of Ar’Tok emblazoned on every screen all day long so I could moon over him. But I don’t allow myself that luxury. Looking at him becomes even more special if I deny myself all day, and just turn the pictures on about five minutes before our comm.

Even though neither side of our vid-chat works, I check the mirror in the head and make sure my brown hair is pulled into a neat ponytail, then slide into the captain’s chair.

It’s hard to hide the smile on my face as I finally allow myself to fill every screen in the room with Ar’Tok’s handsome face.

We’ve been talking every night at 0000 for the past two months. Although I’ve never actually seen him, nor has he seen me, I’ve got a pretty good imagination.

He says he’s of the Simkin race, so I searched the Intergalactic Database for hours—many, many pleasurable hours—looking at his handsome race. I chose maybe fifty pictures of the most attractive males and watch them on an endless loop as we converse.

His race all have burnished bronze skin and thick almost-golden horns that rise from the top of their foreheads and curl back. They wear their hair in long dreads and have pointed ears. Their race exudes sexy, masculine energy that does interesting things to my body.

It’s ridiculous, I know, to moon over a male I’ll never have the opportunity to meet. But our talks are so exciting, and Ar’Tok’s voice is so deep and rumbly and irrefutably masculine that I’ll enjoy this small pleasure for as long as it lasts.

Every cell in my body lights up when the comm makes that almost-imperceptible click signaling a connection.

“Star?”

At the start of our relationship, I tried to ignore the delicious feelings swirling through my body from just the sound of his voice. Now, though, I close my eyes and let the warm sparks roll through me from head to toe.

“Hi, Ar’Tok. Tell me about your day.”

We play this game every night. I ask him about his day, and he answers in as few words as possible. Tonight he says, “I did my job. It’s not very exciting. How was your day?”

When it’s my turn at the game, I answer with just as much detail, “You know, more of the same. Just doing my best to keep the lights on.” I shrug as if he could see me.

And now we get to talk. Really talk. About nothing and everything. I’ve said more words to Ar’Tok in the last two months than I’ve spoken in the previous four years.

I never dreamed it could be this way with anyone. We talk endlessly about things I never thought I’d share.

“I had time to read most of the Philosophy of the Xantian Race, the book you mentioned yesterday,” he says. His voice is so low and intimate it awakens something deep inside me. I had bland sexual feelings before I met him, but for these last few months, I pay attention to the space between my legs during our conversations. Afterward, I notice how wet my panties are and how much I ache for . . . something.

“What did you think?” I ask.

He launches into a lengthy discussion of every aspect of the book. I’m the one who suggested he read it, yet it’s Ar’Tok who has so much to say about it—deep thoughts, conjectures, speculations, and hypotheses. We talk for almost an hour about the book and tangents and thoughts that we’ve never shared with another living soul.

Occasionally he places me on hold to do his job. He