“You’ve already knocked over a bucket of urine. The last thing I need is you getting sick and puking all over the place,” she said.
The mention of sickness reminded him about the sneeze. He scrutinized her for signs of illness. She appeared healthy—even more robust than in the morning.
“No more sneezes?” he asked.
“None you need to worry about.”
That didn’t sound reassuring, but with a fatalism, he realized there was nothing he could do about it.Just my luck I’ll escape and then die of an Earth disease like Admiral Drek.
They ate in silence for a while.
“What do you intend to do with me?” he asked.
She took a long time before replying, “I don’t know.”
“You could let me go,” he suggested.
“So you could kill me?”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
She snorted.
“You’re going to keep me forever?”
“I haven’t decided what to do.”
You could kill me.He refrained from suggesting that option, although objectively, for her, it was the best one.
“Did you have a good day?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“There was nobody around—like I said.”
“No. Not so far.” She tucked her hair behind her ears, drawing his attention to the long, gleaming tresses. He itched to touch her hair and see if it was as soft as it looked. Progg groomed their coarse, quill-like hair into a strip over the top and the back of their skulls.
“Do the Progg return to the towns they’ve already been through?” she asked.
“Generally…not,” he replied cautiously. The situation was complicated, and surprisingly, he cared about her safety. “But you should remain vigilant in case someone passes by.”
She blinked. “You sound like you’re warning me.”
“Like you said, if something happens to you, I’ll starve to death. I wish to keep my meal provider alive,” he replied. He had the means to free himself now. What happened to her didn’t matter. Except, it did.
“Your concern is touching.”
No, it was disconcerting. One did not sympathize or empathize with the enemy—even if a takeover campaign had been aborted. Especially not then.
Danger to her and others, although greatly reduced, still existed. Ground forces didn’t revisit areas they had cleansed, unless they had reason to believe stragglers remained, which rarely occurred because the Progg were thorough.Do it once, do it right.However, the unexpected retreat had left a wake of uncertainty and chaos.
An unknown number of Progg remained on Earth, their frame of mind and intentions a mystery. Would they follow their last set of orders? Had they even gotten the same communique he had? As the admiral’s chief aide, he enjoyed a status the rank and file did not have.
A certain number might have deserted their posts before or after the retreat. The GM never admitted publicly to desertions, but having worked alongside Admiral Drek, Grav knew it was a problem. However, just because a man deserted didn’t mean he’d be friendly to humans. While some deserters were conscientious objectors opposed to the cleansing, others were scofflaws and cowards unsuited to military service.
He studied his guard, fascinated by the vibrancy of her hair and how her mouth and throat moved when she chewed and swallowed. Her particular scent, growing more enticing, wafted across the chamber.
It surrounded him, beckoned him to inhale and record the aroma as an indelible memory. A Progg’s hypersensitive olfaction was an atavistic remnant harkening to One Million PT, the pre-tech era. On smell alone, he could track her, locate her wherever she went. Thankfully, he found the odor pleasant. Too pleasant—but he avoided dwelling on his emotional reaction.
