She couldn’t hold back a long sigh or the pathetic truth, not that it mattered now. “In my defense, the IDA security was for shit. I barely know anything about computers—and I know minus nothing about alien computers—but I still managed to weasel my way in even after they denied my application.”
And hadn’tthatbeen a shocker. She’d been peeved at being rejected for what, at the time, she’d believed was a long-distance, all-expense paid, “exotic” matchmaking vacation—and she’d rather desperately needed to beveryfar away at the time. So she’d crudely blundered her way into the IDA trip, only to discover that she was headedvery, veryfar away, not overseas but into outer space, to hook up with fucking-kidding-me for-real aliens.
Not little green-gray men either, but huge, hulking, virile, blue-bronze monster males who—so it turned out—were secretly even more desperate than she’d been. It would’ve been laughable, really…if she hadn’t been so desperate.
She sighed again. “You only paid for a half-dozen brides, but you got an extra one free. Would’ve been a deal.” A deal if it hadn’t been her, of course.
Still idly strumming, Sil angled the mug of tea between his tusks and took a drink. Such focus. And his gaze never wavered from her. “I did a little Big Sky hacking myself. And you’re right about their security. Teq was rather disapproving.”
She snorted at the thought of the imposingly huge orc crusher being “rather” anything. Even his commitment to his new Earther wife-mate was colossal.
Sil tilted his antennae toward her and abruptly stopped playing. “Do you want to know why your IDA application was discarded?”
“No, I do not.” Oh, she was so lying. Of course she was curious. And couldn’t leave well enough alone. That had always been one of her biggest mistakes, in addition to everything else. “But tell me anyway.”
He sat back, still focused on her with those opalescent eyes and those feathery antennae. “According to the algorithm analysis, while your electrobiochemistry as an Earther meets all the prerequisites for matching with orcs, your personality profile was judged to be too closed, suspicious, and untrusting to handle the revelation of alien existence.”
As she spun her mug in a slow circle, the tea sloshed. “Not entirely wrong. Although again in my defense, I feel that way about all sentient life.”
He made a low humming noise that she’d learned to identify as orc amusement. The universal translator that he’d rigged up for her—since she hadn’t gotten one from the IDA outpost, due to her hacking and sneaking and all—handled most of the verbal communications well enough. And she’d always been pretty good with nonverbal communication, having learned her first lesson at the back of her uncle’s hand and passing every test thereafter with at least a B+ with only a point or two off for minor bruising, just to keep her on her toes.
“That explains the low score in helping others also noted in your profile.”
Unaccountably stung, she pushed the tea away from her. “I helped Oliver. I told you about Dorn’s nefarious plans and I helped stop him from stealing the rock.”
“Maybe you are more than you seem.” Sil’s pale gray gaze was both too soft and yet too sharp. “I know what that’s like.”
She snorted. “Oh yeah. Cry to me about all the ways the little brother of a king is misunderstood and maligned.”
His antennae stiffened, probably most people wouldn’t have seen it, but she was always watching. “Mag and I aren’t just brothers. We’re twins.”
She blinked in surprise, momentarily diverted by the revelation. “So why is he king and you’re not? Orcs are hatched, right? If the egg just cracks open, it’s not like he was born first or anything.”
“Hatched at the same moment, yes. But you can’t have missed the difference between us.”
She sat back to match his stance and gave him the same intense attention he’d been aiming at her.
Sil was bigger than her—even though she outclassed the other women by four inches in all directions—but he was markedly smaller than the other orcs and much smaller than his brother, the apex, right down to his shorter tusks. Where the orcs were morphologically broad and bulky, Sil was tall but lean. His torso—bared by the orc-standard uniform that was like some mutant cargo pant/utility kilt with a dozen pockets—didn’t even sport the ritual glyph that the orcs inscribed on themselves to indicate rank, and that just so happened to emphasize their heaving pecs in an interesting way.
Not that Kinsley had been interested inthatway. But whether Mag had gotten all the food and nurturing instead of Sil or if it was some other factor, she couldn’t really blame the other orcs for choosing the magnificent brother over the relatively minuscule one.
“It’s not just my size and strength,” he said, as if he were reading her mind. “I wasn’t hatched with any of the instincts that keep theDeepWanderfunctioning and flying.” His antennae drooped. “No one needs a stone singer when they are starving.”
She didn’t need to know this any more than she needed to know why the IDA had rejected her. And still her mouth moved as if on its own, which was another of her many mistakes: “What’s a stone singer?”
She’d seen him with his alien synthetar. And while she had to admit his voice was compelling—deep and echoing—she could believe that singing wasn’t much use for a space salvage crew.
“Some of my people used to be able to emit ultrasonic sonorants that atomically altered microcrystalline mineral structures. Basically, they could carve crystal with their voices.”
When he paused, as if expecting a response, she said, “Oh.”
“But the exact techniques for sonoscrying were lost when we left our homeworld.”
Losing a home and being cast adrift without any useful life hacks… Yeah, that she did understand, and she wasn’t even thinking about her mistake with the IDA.
But since she had zero interest in sharing mistakes that hadn’t even been hers, she just said “oh” again.
Which was apparently all the encouragement he needed, because he continued, “Speaking of stones, I’m fascinated by Roxy.”
