Martinez groaned, turning from handing the keys to the rental SUV to the clerk. A line nearly half a kilometer long of impatient aliens had formed; claws flared, tentacles undulated, and teeth bared.
“Sorry about the delay,” Martinez muttered, slinking out of the way.
It was not like it was his fault the alien manning the counter, had lost the record of him having rented the vehicle, causing him to have to prove he had through credit statements, his copy of the contract, and showing that he had the damn SUV.
Martinez slipped past the crowd on the thoroughfare and skirted the road's edge, allowing families and taxis to drop off and receive sentients from the Celna air/spaceport. Both were almost as densely populated as any street in Draun.
Martinez was already missing the solitude and calm of Nelya’s house—but the navy had assigned him to Draun, so he had to return on time. He would not want to be shipped off to the Iron Spire on Mars to serve brig time for going A.W.O.L(absent without leave).
If rumors about that Navy supermax were to be believed, being on bread and water aboard a starship was a far more pleasant fate.
Pausing before crossing the road and entering the main terminal, Martinez was amazed by the number of aliens in the small port. It was abuzz with sentients going to and from their destinations, paying one another no mind as they did.
Through the large glass windows, Martinez could see even more. If anything, the density inside increased, something that became all the more apparent once he had joined the hellish, flowing waves of aliens inside.
Martinez slowed his pace as he neared the shoreline of the ruckus crowd, scanning over it for his found family. The task was made simple because of the menagerie's treatment of them. The crowd gave the three Aviex in their midst a wide berth, letting Nelya’s bright yellow jacket and poofy pom pom hat stand out like the north star.
Martinez quickly adjusted his heading and moved through the turbulent crowd, never losing sight of Nelya. He navigated the crowd with practiced ease, a talent Draun and, more specifically, the Hospital there had taught him.
Breaching through the crowd and into the calm void to join them, Lysa was just wrapping up her goodbyes. She was hugging Kyroll tightly while he did the same; only the mangled half of his face was visible through his daughter's raven hair. If that side of his face was still emotive, without a doubt, it would be overflowing contentment—but alas, all Martinez could see was the slight upturn of his lip.
Before Martinez had recovered from stumbling through the crowd, Nelya had already grabbed hold of him, latching to him tighter than a person trying to break his rib through sheer machismo.
“Little Hunter, please don’t leave!” Nelya whined, pulling Martinez down to her level, hugging around his head, burying his head against her sweater and the plush build beneath. “You two just got here.”
Martinez could not deny that the time they had spent here had flown by, and despite his wish to stay, that was not possible. “Sorry, Kurenla,” Martinez replied, righting himself and returning the gesture, referring to Nelya with the Aviex word for Mother. “We have to go home.”
Calling her that apparently was both the correct and incorrect thing to do for the man. With more force than Martinez thought possible with her seam-splitting build, Nelya reengaged the hug around his chest, causing him to gasp.
“Gra'hu could get you a job here; Lysa could stay home with me, writing our days away. A big happy Kureal,” Nelya argued. If you could call her explaining, they would be the Aviex equivalent of an extended family unit an argument.
It was not like they all had not accepted that as reality, save for Kyroll, who likely needed more time to warm up to the thought.
“Kurenla, as heavenly as the sounds, Ruh'ah has to finish school,” Lysa interjected, patting Nelya’s shoulder.
“You are supposed to be on my side here,” Nelya complained, looking over her shoulder and sticking her tongue out at her daughter, earning a chuckle from both Lysa and Kyroll.
It was pleasant for such a mature woman that Nelya was so open with her feelings. Few sentients would be as expressive. Nelya was so willing to wear her heart on her sleeve that everyone knew what she intended.
“I am. However, I also informed you that I would not strong-arm Ruh'ah into moving here,” Lysa said before gesturing at Martinez. “That is up to him once he graduates.”
“Don’t worry, we will visit again. Just after I graduate,” Martinez added, not giving Nelya the chance to make a protest.
Without missing a beat, Nelya’s cunning and ability to move things to where she wanted shined brighter than the sun. “Are we not able to attend?” She said with a bit of sing-song begging while widening her pink eyes, mimicking the cutest kitten eyes he had ever seen.
“Of course you can,” Martinez chuckled, not needing the kitten begging; he would have invited them anyway.
“Thank you, Little Hunter. I can’t wait to see you two again,” Nelya replied, letting Martinez go but having not completed her onslaught of hugs.
She turned around and grabbed her daughter, who saw it coming this time and met her living ferocity without issue.
As they gave their final heartfelt goodbyes, Martinez turned to Kyroll and gave him a firm handshake.
“Take care of her,” Kyroll smirked, “I know you can.”
“I won't let you down,” Martinez nodded.
“Come on, Nelly. They will miss their flight if we keep them,” Kyroll said, going over to Nelya and Lysa.
Nelya looked at Kyroll and likely was about to argue the point, wanting to insist her dear daughter stay but giving the man a point; he knew Nelya. Kyroll snaked an arm between Nelya and Lysa, twisting her around and planting a kiss on his wife's lips, leaning down over her.
Martinez had never seen how Lysa melts in his arms, but now he thinks he knows what it looks like. In the span of one second, Nelya went from as stiff as a board to clutching Kyroll’s shirt, lightly moaning against him, letting him support her as they leaned down.
“I guess we should,” Nelya breathed once the little kiss broke, and Kyroll stood her up and wrapped his arm around her waist.
Lysa and Martinez glanced at each other, neither willing to admit aloud how uncanny the similarities between their relationship and the older couple's were—but they knew.
After another short round of pleasantries, Nelya and Kyroll left, letting Martinez and Lysa get checked in and board the shuttle.
To Martinez’s surprise, the airline did not care that he had a gun now. The weapon just had to be unloaded and in his checked bag. It seems Kyrolls's shakey idea of legality was genuine when he told Martinez about the legality of owning the JKL. The airline representative just wanted to see his Military, GU, or LE ID to confirm he could own it.
Once the dynamic duo were settled in their seats, Lysa lay against Martinez and immediately fell asleep, leaving Martinez to stew in his emotions about what was to come once he returned home.
It was odd; the two times he had returned to Earth after enlisting, returning home was joyous–but Draun was melancholic.
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Martinez had hardly thought about work, Shiksie, patients, or the incident since arriving in Celna. But now that he was en route to Draun, it was at the forefront of his mind; the same was true of an expected enemy brief, which made him think of what injuries he would be dealing with.
Martinez was not worried about getting in trouble for throttling Shiksie; she was molesting him and causing a S.H.A.R.P(sexual harassment and rape prevention) officer's worst nightmare.
The only way Martinez could see any backlash befalling him would be if Shiksie had gotten an aneurysm from slamming into the fridge.
“Fuck,” Martinez muttered, realizing this was the first time after texting Ivron he had thought of possible injuries she could have sustained.
In all the chaos and emotions of that night, he did not even consider that she could have died from the impact he gave her. Telling Ivorn was not enough. Shiksie could have sustained a fractured skull, TBI, internal hemorrhaging, or countless other life-changing injuries.
Had he abandoned her after hurting her? Martinez had no idea how he would cope if that were the case. Yeah, he was not a doctor and did not have the Hippocratic oath—he had something else: the Corpsman's oath.
“I shall do all within my power to show in myself an example of all that is honorable and good throughout my Naval career!” The words of his instructors roared in his mind.
Martinez had said those words like gospel for months in training and afterward at every promotion and follow-on school. Had he fallen so far as to abandon Shikise when she was not only in need but also harmed?
He had beat the fuck out of Marines but still stitched them up, had a beer with and told them it was ok. But he ran away and left Shiksie alone.
The sight of her crying and belting herself as he ran flashed in his mind. If Martinez could take it back, he would—but what else should he have done? He was panicking.
What if that was the last he would have seen of her? She could have died, and he had not for one moment thought of her.
If something happened after leaving her there, Martinez might as well give up on medicine, and he would not deserve to see another patient again.
Martinez’s imagination ran rampant, and he imagined his kind, quirky, and gentle mentor changed because of his actions: stuck with crutches, unable to speak, paralyzed, or even dead—all because of him.
Those thoughts haunted him, clawing at his mind like a razor blade until he reached Lysa’s house in the afternoon.
“Shall I see you tomorrow?” Lysa asked, turning around in the afternoon sun, the light flaring against her raven hair, making her look positively angelic. The only thing since the flight started to pull Martinez back down to earth—or Renoral in this case.
“Maybe,” Martinez replied with a shaky answer.
“Are you positive?” Lysa purred, playfully plucking at his shirt button and fluttering her four blood-red eyes.
“I want to see how studying and work go,” Martinez loathfully choked out.
Lysa lost her flirty attitude and stared at Martinez, studying his expression. It was enigmatic. Her love looked nervous and sad yet had a painful grimace, like someone was driving nails under his skin.
“Are you still upset about Shiksie?” Lysa sighed, knowing Martinez likely said work and studying so as not to name-drop the Farun’se woman.
Martinez froze momentarily when Lysa mentioned Shiksie but quickly recovered and attempted to deflect. “It’s not about that.”
“Oh! Then what might it be?” Lysa pressed, challenging the obvious attempt at avoiding being candid.
“Well, you know, it’s just getting back, getting into the swing of things, and—” Martinez started to trail off, listing things about their daily routines they would be resuming.
If the subject matter were less meaningful to him, Lysa would find the idea of drowning herself in word soup comedic, but in this case, it was annoying.
With each addition, Martinez’s answers became less logical and grew in mundanity. By the time Lysa stopped him, he was going on about folding his laundry.
“Ruh’ah—please cease. I know you must be nervous about meeting up with Shiksie again; considering how you are behaving, it must be niggling you,” Lysa said, draping her arms on Martinez’s shoulders and pulling herself against him.
Nearly instinctually, Martinez wrapped his firm hands around her hips, holding Lysa in place. “Am I that obvious?”
“Just to me. I know you too well, just as you do me,” Lysa whispered into Martinez’s ear, her warm breath rolling past his neck, the beatific care of it seeping into him.
They stood silent for several seconds while Martinez quantified what he needed to say. Each enjoyed the truth in the statement of knowing the other so well. However, Lysa has been a bit more challenging for Humans to read in the last few weeks. It was not impossible, but Martinez had to adapt to her mood swings.
“I figured you would be furious if I mentioned needing to talk to her,” Martinez admitted, moving a hand up Lysa’s back, bringing her into a half hug. “You did say you would skin her alive.”
A smirk crawled up on Lysa’s lips, thankfully not visible to Martinez—she would have looked psychotic. “I did, but she is essential to your life, career, and schooling. I cannot demand you abandon her altogether—that seems a bit—selfish on my part.”
Lysa stepped back and let the cold winter air fill the gap between them. “Could you please seek counsel on how to confront her? Perhaps seek out Ivorn or possibly the doctor?”
Martinez was already planning on getting one of them to broker a meeting between them to help clear the air. Lord knew he had no plans to ever be alone again with Shiksie. It was not because Martinez felt like she was a danger to him; no, Martinez could slaughter Shiksie if push came to shove.
He just felt violated. A line had been crossed, and there was no return to what the world once was. All they could do now was adapt to the new battle space.
“I will ask them,” Martinez assured.
“Marvelous; tell me how it goes, Ruh'ah,” Lysa purred, kissing Martinez’s cheek and leaving a trace of her black lipstick just over his stubble.
—--
The walk from Lysa’s house to Martinez’s apartment was not far, only clocking in at a second over fifteen kilometers. Martinez ran further than that most mornings. But with everything going on in Martinez’s mind, it felt like he was back on Mars and conducting the Joli Rouge again.
The Joli Rouge, a French term for pretty red, was the cumulative event for Corpsmen in the Human Navy. It consisted of three tribulating days of constant marching, triage, physical training, and ruck marches, all against the backdrop of the Rouge desert.
With confronting Shiksie on the horizon, Martinez could not deny the conflict brewing inside him.
Had he not been clear enough? Was staying at Shiksies despite knowing she had set a trap a stupid idea? Each question rolled in his mind and conjured up a thousand ways to solve the issue. But that was all in hindsight and only made the Human feel more guilty as if he had failed one of his only friends.
“God fucking dammit,” Martinez muttered, kicking a rock into a bush, a small animal scurrying out and chirping angrily at him.
“Well fuck you too,” Martinez said, flipping the squirrel thing off, wanting to tell something to pound sand, even if it's just a random animal.
Once the beast had returned to the bush and Martinez felt no more vindicated, he continued to stew alone in his thoughts—specifically on the incident.
How the hell was he supposed to know the usually level-headed woman would have come onto him like a bitch in heat? He doubted anyone would have ever pictured prim and proper Shiksie doing that. It was so out of the left field it might as well have been an ambush.
Who would blame him for panicking and throttling her? Other than himself, that is.
As if Martinez did not hate himself enough for all the missteps that led to the schism between himself and his mentor, his understanding of the fallout was about to shift from guilt to being unable to deny his culpability.
Once Martinez reached the floor of his apartment, his onus was laid to bear, not in the form of a body or anything he had ever encountered. This time, it was just simple brown boxes. Stacked neatly in front of his door were dozens of boxes, each with his name written in oh-so-familiar, print-like handwriting.
Martinez drew his knife and sliced open one of the boxes, wondering what Shiksie could have dropped off. They were all filled to the brim with the notebooks Shiksie had him use to study from. The same ones she read regularly and had used to pass her college classes several years ago.
At first, Martinez wondered why she had left her notes with him until he started to move the boxes out of the way of the door and found the note taped to his door.
Reaching up with a trembling hand and pulling it down, Martinez swallowed his spit, fearing the absolute worst. While being in the military made him jumpy about suicide, it was for a damn good reason; this would not be the first final goodbye he had to read—and every fiber of him prayed the gut reaction the Navy built into him was wrong.
But seeing the uncharacteristically shaky text on the paper, it was as if the worst parts of his fears had been manifested into reality.
The scrawl was short and to the point and read like it was written by someone about to suck start a shotgun.
Henry, I enjoyed our time together. I hope you did as well. I pray you do well in life. I wish it did not have to end this way. Please forget about me for your sake.
Your friend
-Shiksie
Martinez sucked in a breath and dropped the note; pulling out his datapad, he texted Shiksie, telling her he was coming over right now, before running back out into the cold Draun evening.