Dawn just shakes her head. She's not smiling, which I'm grateful for. I don't much feel like laughing at the antics of the tribe at the moment. I feel like punching someone. A very specific someone with a long gray tail. "I don't know what to do, Dawn."
"Well, let's think through your options," she says calmly, rationally. "You can ask the healer to turn you into a zombie?—"
I shoot her an ugly look.
"Or you can bump uglies with an unpleasant guy and get it over with...or you can hold out and hope that you're the first one in known history where the khui just gives up."
I drum my fingers on my crossed arm as I pace, because I need some way to get all this frenetic energy out of my body. The heat pulsing through me tells me the way it would like to get rid of all this energy, but I ignore it. There's something in Dawn's words I find intriguing. "Known history...just because we don't know of someone whose khui turned off on its own doesn't mean it can't happen, right?"
Her brows go up and she shoots me a look.
I throw my hands up in the air. "I know! It's fucking stupid, but that's what I've got right now. Let me grasp at some straws."
"Grasp away, but just don't hurt yourself over it, okay?"
I keep pacing, because I simply don't know what else to do. A relationship hasn't been on my radar. The women on the beach outnumber the men, and I haven't had the slightest interest in any of the single men thatarehere. I'm still figuring out my place here in this new world, which is full of strangers and even stranger creatures. My jigsaw puzzle of memories hasn't given me a definitive answer of who I am. I'm having to learn the basics of how to function every day anew — how to make fire, how to sew, how to prepare the foods here. Nothing is easy.
Thinking about preparing food makes me think of Valmir and his escaping scorpions. I hate that warmth spreads through my chest at the thought. Ugh. It's artificial affection for a stranger I don't even like. I pound my fist over my chest as if I can somehow make my khui realize that.
We don't even like Valmir!I tell it.
CHAPTER 3
VALMIR
Rules.
Rules make everything so much easier to understand. Some of the clones woke up with their minds full of information. Regulations. Rules. Ask Chalath what the most effective leg move is in a gladiator battle between a moden and a praxiian and he'll immediately have the answer. His head is full of battle history and game variations and regulations. Skarr has all kinds of knowledge, too, and memories from his prior self. Kyth has indicated that he remembers a great deal as well. They have combat rules and weapon knowledge and champion rosters in their brains.
Some of us got nothing at all.
I have my name, and that's about it. I don't have a full set of rules in my brain. I don't have knowledge of the culture I come from, other than a few wisps of memory. I have almostnothing.
So when someone tells me a rule, I file it away carefully in my empty memories. I want to remember so I don't make the same mistake again.
I touched April without permission when I grabbed her hand, and she let me know that was against the rules. I appreciate this because it gives me a baseline. No touching withoutpermission. I will remember this. Not even a hand-touch is permissible.
"How do you fare this day, warrior?" growls a strange voice at me.
I turn away from the fire I've been staring into and frown at the human female with the vivid mane. Not her again. Her name is Daisy and every time she sees me, she tries to talk praxiian to me. I haven't told her that I did not get the language of my people. That the only language in my head is the galactic common we all speak, and the only way I can understand her snarls and growls is because of the implanted translator chip.
So I just glare at her. "How do I look like I'm faring?"
Daisy recoils from my nasty tone. "Not…well?"
"Correct. So go growl at someone else."
Her expression is crushed. "I just wanted to practice my praxiian so I don't get rusty."
"Go practice on Chalath." But I'm already mentally noting the growls she used, the huff of breath that punctuated each word. I might need that information later, and I have no rules for the praxiian language in my regrettably empty memories.
Another male appears, his long braid flying as he moves to stand directly in front of me, his lightly furred barrel chest heaving with anger. "Are you bothering my mate?"
"More like she's bothering me with all her talking." I toss a pebble into the fire and get to my feet. I'm not interested in feasting with these people. Food has never been a huge draw for me. It's fuel to survive on, and I refuse to let it become leverage that they can hold over my head. I'd much rather go down near the beach and see if I can pick up a whiff of April's scent.
Not that I want to do anything with it. I just need to breathe it in.
For reasons.