a little more juju

Koca awoke, as she always did, at the ungodly hour of four in the morning. Spending twenty years in the military had instilled that within her, and over a decade after leaving her homeland behind her, it was a habit she couldn’t break, no matter how hard she tried. She sat up and swung her legs off the side of the bed and stretched her arms upward with a slight pleasant groan. Her knees ached, but she shoved herself up despite their creaking protests. Running at least two miles a day for physical training had wreaked havoc on her lower joints, and she had to wear pressure socks to keep the bunion on her left foot at bay. Neither of those issues kept her from completing her daily routine of stretching, calisthenics, and cardio, however, even though they probably should have. Tremany had, on more than one occasion, expressed concern for her well being, bu she usually shrugged it off and went about her business.

Still sluggish from sleep, she battled with a tank top and drawstring shorts, an image she was sure would have amused Tremany greatly had he been awake, and fathered her hair in a ponytail. She prepared herself to drop to the floor for ten sets of pushups but caught Tremany’s movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head and smiled as his body voluntarily adjusted itself, his midnight blue skin markings on full display. The man was such a sound sleeper that even Tulay’s infrequent attempts at making his own breakfast rarely, if ever, disturbed Tremany, even if said attempts included pots banging and loud Oshawan swearing at his own incompetence at cooking eggs.

If anyone had told her she’d be sharing a bed with a Kuwahine, she’d have either laughed heartily or throttled whoever dared suggest the idea. No self-respecting Claudite would ever look outside their own people for a mate. Even though the Kuwahine were near-human, they looked even more alien than others: tattoo-like patterns creeping like vines all over their skin and expressive pupils that were only rimmed by an iris like an eclipse. Tremany’s hint of eye color matched his markings, so it was nearly impossible to see the differentiation between them, unless you were up close, as Koca had been. The Kuwahine were notoriously secretive people, keeping to themselves even among their own, and they had a word for close friends and family: kehuanolanoen, or “those who are the halo of my eyes.”

Lowering herself into plank position, Koca breezed through six sets of pushups with a few breaths between each, but the final four were giving her trouble. She slowed her pace, which only seemed to make it harder, and she silently cursed the natural aging process. There was a time when she could easily execute twenty sets, fueled by youth and hefty competition from other cadets, but she supposed that was past her now, even if she could outlift Tulay on any given day. When she finally finished, Koca peeled herself off the floor, coming nearly face-to-face with Tremany.

“You could take a day off from those, you know,” he said playfully. “It wouldn’t hurt you to sleep in.”

She smirked and went straight into jumping jacks. “I could, but you wouldn’t know what to do if I did.”

“It’d be a shock, of course, but I’d adjust.”

It only took her thirty minutes to complete her exercises, but she was dripping in sweat by the end. Every muscle in her body was energized, even if they were simultaneously shooting angry pains through her nervous system. She grabbed a towel from the wall and wiped her face, and as she walked by the bed, Tremany grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward him.

“These are clean sheets!” she laughed as he nibbled the side ofh er neck.

“We can wash them again, kehuani,” he whispered in her ear before following a line of gentle kisses down to her collarbone.

She closed her eyes, relishing every sensation in her body: the slight soreness in her muscles, the soft touch of Tremany’s skin to hers, the warm, moist air coming from her lover’s mouth, sending tingles in every direction. She felt his hand creeping slowly down her thigh and fought the urge to simply take control and mount him.

The restraint wasn’t needed, however, as the sharp raps on the door startled both of them out of the moment.

“Hey, Boss Lady!”

Tremany rolled his eyes and growled, rolling onto his back.

“We’re a little busy, Tulay-brin!” shouted Koca irritably. What the boy was doing up was beyond her. It was difficult enough to rouse him at a reasonable hour.

“I heard the noises,” he shot back, “but you got a message from a Guardian. Looks important.”

Koca sighed loudly and went to open the hatch. She yanked the door upward to find Tulay holding a datapad on the lower floor. If she hadn’t been furious, Tulay’s nervous grimace would have been comical, but as it was, his reaction to her unkempt appearance only annoyed her further.

“Didn’t I fire you before for reading my personal messages?” she asked, climbing down the ladder.

“Yeah, but this wasn’t to your personal account,” he retorted as she snatched the datapad out of his hands. His sleepy eyes were still red, and she wanted to mock his bed hair but decided against it. She didn’t really want to engage with him right now. “And don’t be so damned grumpy. It’s not like you guys don’t sex it up all the time.”

Koca turned her head slowly, for dramatic effect, and flared her nostrils. It was much too early for him to be this cheeky.

“Sorry.” He raised his hands and diverted his eyes to the wall.

She quickly pulled up the message, which was indeed from a Guardian. They’d utilized her services beffore, but it had been years, before Tulay joined their crew.

Their last interaction hadn’t necessarily been the best. The Scholar who had hired the Barbary to carry her to a conference in Sain Barthon had thrown a fit when Koca informed her that the ship didn’t have a smaller shuttle car to take her to the main building and had tried to cheat her out of a full payment, declaring that she had deducted funds that she was forced to use to hire a taxi. Koca was eventually paid by the Council, and it was no surprise to her when she later discovered that many other ships had declined the job because of this Scholar’s rather uppity reputation. Koca hadn’t sworn off working for the Guardians again, but she hadn’t sought them out since.

To Captain Koca Murat Reis:

I hope that this message finds you well, and it is under advisement that I contact you in effort to obtain reliable, safe transportation aboard your vessel. You have come highly recommended by several airship captains that simply cannot accommodate the length of contract I am requesting. If you would please contact me at your earliest convenience, I would greatly appreciate it, and I hope to hear fro myou soon.

Sincerely,

Mason Alderic, Scholar

She read the message a few times, trying to figure out how Tulay had thought this was urgent, and pressed her lips together tightly.

“Convince me why I shouldn’t just toss you out on your ass this very moment.”

“What?” Tulay raised the left corner of his upper lip. “It’s a job! We don’t have anything lined up! Oh, come on, Koca!”

The young pilot huffed and grabbed the datapad. He muttered something in Oshawan, and Koca thought to herself that he should be thankful she didn’t understand his language just yet. Unlike most Northeastern tongues, Oshawan wasn’t based on what was spoken during the Third Empire; it seemed to be in a whole class by itself. Even Tulay had a hard time translating properly, since they seemed to speak primarily in metaphors that related only to Oshawa and its culture.

Tremany dropped down from the captain’s cabin, fully dressed in his mechanic’s overalls, and shrugged.

“Damn that child,” cursed Koca in Claudite.

“We’ve got plenty of time,” Tremany assured her and then winked playfully. “You should probably hop in the shower, though.”

She smiled and shook her head. “While I’m in there, go ahead and get breakfast started before Tulay nearly sets the whole kitchen on fire. Again.”

Most mornings, Koca would cook for the three of them, a skill she’d learned as a punishment for her regular insubordination during her early years in the military, but Tremany was the one who truly enjoyed cooking. He was also of the ilk that, once he opened his eyes, he was fully awake for the rest of the day. She envied that ability more than she cared to admit; it would have been useful when she had been younger.

Koca rubbed her eyes as she went down the hallway to the restroom. The Barbary‘s shower was not necessarily the worst she’d ever used, a title that would have to go to the barracks bathroom while she was in basic training on the tiny island of Festra. The facilities aboard the ship at least had consistent water pressure. As long as the toilet flushed, the sink ran, and the shower took off grime, she and the boys would be fine.

Dropping her dirty clothes to the floor, she stepped into the small stall and activated the leaking showerhead. She massaged her shoulders as the lukewarm water trickled down her back. After surviving long years of malfunctioning bathrooms aboard under-repaired ships, she had learned to prefer tepid temperatures. The military of the Claudi atoll spent nearly the same amount of time training their soldiers as they did reminding them of the former glory of the islands. They were proud that the Empire had considered them formidable allies, even if it had been over two millennia since it could claim such a thing. Koca had never paid it much mind and had even dismissed their rhetoric openly – an act that was often met with yet another evening scrubbing the galley – but then again, she hadn’t ever wanted to climb the ranks by pruning the delicate feathers of her superiors’ egos.

Wearing nothing but a towel, Koca returned to her quarters and clothed herself in her usual outfit of breeches, tall boots, and her red captain’s jacket over a light tunic. Like many of her possessions, the jacket was merely a holdover from her military days, and she actually filled it out better now than she did back then. She’d removed most of the patches except for her captain’s bars that were inconspicuously displayed on the collar. At least that one still meant something to her.

When she entered the galley, Tremany had almost finished breakfast and had dropped a sample of grits onto a plate in front of Tulay.

“It needs fish,” Tulay complained. “Maybe some hartay?”

Tremany rolled his eyes. “Do you have any in your back pocket?”

Tulay slumped back into his chair with a pout. “Damn, I miss fish.”

“You can always go back to Oshawa,” offered Koca as she sat next to the kid.

“No, thanks,” he said with a sneer.

Tremany fixed up three plates of grits, some type of cabbage, and perfectly prepared eggs, and set them up in front of the others before turning off the burners and taking a seat beside Koca. They ate in silence, save for Tulay’s sloppy chomping, like they did every morning, until their plates were clean and it was time to truly begin the day.

Tulay begrudgingly cleaned the dishes and the cooking area, and Tremany retrieved his welding helmet from the cargo hold. He’d noticed a few imperfections on the exterior when they’d landed and had assured Koca it was just preventative maintenance. He knew exactly what this ship meant to her.

When she’d first purchased it from a Claudite junkyard, it was called the Mahali, the Claudite word for the ocean at high tide, and she had toyed with the idea of simply letting it be. But when Tremany had spoken Kuwahine while he was working on one of its engines, he spat, “barbary” at it – “stubbornly difficult.” Koca found it hilarious and altered its official registry the next day. The ship nearly constantly lived up to its namesake, like an ornery old woman, but her captain wouldn’t change it for the world, even if she could rest easier.

Koca made her way to the cockpit and sat in what was usually Tulay’s chair, one he’d had Tremany modify to recline, scrolling through her messages and deliberately avoiding rereading the one from the Scholar. She wasn’t sure why she was hesitating at responding; she didn’t even know the amount of time she’d be under a contract or if the pay would make it worth it. Tulay wasn’t wrong when he said they didn’t have any current job offers, but she also knew that freelance transport was a feast or famine sort of thing. At times, she was having to turn down hefty payloads because of her schedule, and at others, she or one of the boys would troll marketplaces for anything that might cover basic expenses. She wasn’t necessarily in a rush; the last job they completed had paid enough to where she wouldn’t need to look for anything for a few weeks, at least, but that wasn’t reason enough to decline the Scholar.

Something told her she might be getting into something deeper than it seemed.

She finally reopened the message and reread it slowly. He seemed educated, of course, as all Scholars seemed to be, if not needlessly wordy. She had never understood some people’s insistence on speaking formally. As long as her words were clear, why did it matter if it wasn’t crafted like some noble’s announcement or had a few expletives? But the Scholar seemed sincere and his request didn’t have any of the red flags she’d missed in her last Guardian encounter, like an overemphasis on private quarters or gourmet meals. Koca stared at the message for a few minutes before she tapped on the screen to respond.

To Scholar Alderic:

What is the job?

Koca

It was short and to the point, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. If he felt offended by its curtness, that would be his problem.

She closed the moitor and looked out of the window at the now rising sun, illuminating the Ano Liosian skyline with a soft golden pink. She couldn’t quite explain it, but as she stared at the horizon, she knew that her life was about to change. She almost regretted sending the message; it would have been so easily to delete and go on with her regular routine. It was done now, though, and it wasn’t as if she’d given him an answer either way. She could easily back out at any time.

All of her thoughts stopped when a dripping wet rag flew past her head and splatted on the Barbary‘s control panel. Koca spun around to see an aghast Tulay, seemingly frozen mid-stride with eyes held open by invisible vises. Tremany stood a few feet away from him with a similar expression on his face.

“Trem – he … uh, I didn’t …” Tulay backed away and fumbled for the handle on the door.

“You’re fired, Tulay-brin,” snarled Koca as she slowly rose from the chair. Even with about thirty extra years on her, she could still catch him.