Dragon's Isolation - Miranda Martin Page 0,19

he can do to imitate Illadon.

Now there’s a handful! Calista must pull her hair out trying to channel that boy’s energy. It drives me nuts handling Malcolm after he’s been around Illadon, I can’t imagine having to handle him.

“Which way, Mommy?” Malcolm asks.

“Let’s go towards the bivo pens,” I say.

“Good idea,” he agrees.

We walk together quietly. My shoulders are tense, and a headache is forming. I roll my shoulders trying to ease the tension, but it returns as fast as it goes. I’m trying to look everywhere at the same time in case he’s somewhere along our route. The suns drop lower and lower as we walk, but nothing. Not a sign of him.

The airlock comes into view ahead. We keep moving until we’re in shouting distance of the guard. It’s a guy I know there. He used to be a pilot, like me. He’s an asshole, or he was. I haven’t talked to him much since the crash. Weird, there’s not that many of us survivors, yet I’ve managed not to see this guy in what, a year?

“Draker,” I call out.

It would have to be him, wouldn’t it? Of all the men on the ship who survived the crash and made it here, it would be the one I had the biggest rivalry with.

“Ow, Mommy,” Malcolm yelps, and only now do I realize I’ve tightened my grip on his hand.

“Sorry, baby,” I say softly.

Draker looks up, pushing off the stool he’s sitting on while doing guard duty at the door. He looks down the street, staring into the dim light until I see recognition dawn on his face.

“I’ll be damned,” he says. “Stancher?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Long time, no see.”

“Long time is right,” he says. “Been what, a year?”

“Probably,” I say. “You know, time flies when you’re having fun.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” he counters. “Heard you made it right on to the Lady General’s private Council. You ain’t changed a bit, have you?”

Gritting my teeth, I let his insults pass. He hasn’t changed a bit.

“Have you seen Shidan?” I ask.

“Shi-who?” he asks.

“Shi-dan,” I say. “Zmaj, about this tall?”

“Oh you mean Shit-zon,” he says, and follows up with a mean snicker.

“This guy is not nice,” Malcolm says.

“No, honey, he’s not,” I say under my breath. “Right, have you seen him?”

He’s trying to provoke me the same as he used to do on the ship. I’m not going to play into his mind games. I’ve walked that road and it doesn’t go anywhere useful.

“Not for hours,” he says. “He unloaded the delivery and tended to those overgrown, hairy-ass cows we’re tending out there, then came through here after. He did seem a bit confused, but who knows with his kind.”

“He seemed confused?” I ask.

This ass was probably a Gershom supporter. He’s that kind of jerk and obviously more than a bit racist, or xenophobic since we’re talking about hating aliens. Probably a better term for it. Or, in simplest terms, he’s an asshole. I pull Malcolm closer to my side.

“Right, didn’t seem right in the head,” he says, running his hand over his close shaved hair.

My stomach is a hard knot and cold creeps out from my core and across my limbs.

“Which way did he go?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice calm.

Malcolm grips my leg tight. Draker grins and shakes his head.

“That way,” he says pointing his finger behind me.

“Did you see if he turned off?” I ask.

“What do I look like, the Zmaj police?”

“Draker,” I say, throat so tight it makes my voice sound like a growl.

Draker holds his hands up in front of himself and shakes his head. “Hey Stancher, keep it cool. No need for your hot-headed tactics. I wasn’t really watching, but I think he might have turned off to the left about three blocks down.”

“Thanks,” I say, turning away.

“You know,” he says. “He’s not too bad of a guy, for an alien. You could do worse.”

I narrow my eyes at him and try to figure out his game. He smiles and it looks genuine.

“Nothing more,” he says, sitting back on the stool. “The old days are gone. This is our world, and you always did need a strong man to tame that wild streak.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say.

“Good, it was meant as one,” he says.

Shaking my head, I turn and walk in the direction he indicated. People can change, some at least. The old Draker never would have even given me that much niceness. He’s still an asshole, but that’s