Waking up the next morning wasn't awkward at all. Just because Gruyère was the one closest to the door and the tent was too small to climb over her and Snillek had to pee. Nope. Not even a bit awkward. Do I wake her up? Should I wait a few minutes longer? What time is it?
After some more fidgeting, unable to wait any longer, Snillek poked at Gruyère's ribs.
"Muh… wha?"
"Morning. Let me out, please."
"Mmrph?" Gruyère half turned, blinking at her. "Oh. Right. Sorry."
They climbed around each other until Snillek could eel her way out of the tent. Not that she wanted to leave all that warmth and softness she'd had snuggled up against her all night, but needs must. When she returned from taking care of biological necessity, Gruyère had left the tent and started packing up the hover platform. Too bad. Snillek wouldn't have minded a few more minutes of warm.
Clear skies greeted her when she glanced toward the horizon, no haze, no fog, not a cloud, with the strange ghost image of mountains in the distance. Another day and they would be among those peaks. Here be dragons.
Bigger dragons, more accurately.
Snillek lifted her face to the morning, listening, scenting the air to check their immediate surroundings. Avians called good morning to each other across the plateaus. Occasional soft whirs of insect wings provided accompaniment. The breeze smelled of earth and rust—probably high iron content in the rocks—and… No. Vinegar, iron, and rot.
Movement caught the corner of Snillek's eye, a black, scuttling shape. She whirled and scooped up her vibra-halberd, the closest weapon to hand. "Gruyère! Scorparach!"
By the time Gruyère had run to her, Snillek had determined that the beastie was more than a hundred meters away and scuttling along without even a glance their way.
"Solitary." Gruyère nodded. "Trying to get to a good canyon that hasn't been hunted out. If we don't bother it, it'll leave us alone."
"If canyons get hunted out, why were there so farking many in the one we passed through?"
Gruyère's forehead crinkled. "There were a lot, weren't there? I should've tried to get a count."
"Negligent of you, not being able to count while they were trying to murder us." Snillek snorted but didn't take her eyes off the scorparach.
"It really was. My department chair's going to be furious. He'll take my head off." Gruyère shook her head in a frustrated way. She was serious.
Snillek lowered her halberd, frowning down at her companion. "If he tries, I'll be happy to drop him in the scorparach canyon alone, and he can do his own counting."
The grin that slowly spread across Gruyère's face was delighted and just a little evil. "That's an image that'll stay with me a good while."
"Good." Snillek nodded as they watched the scorparach scuttle over the next rise. "You shouldn't let people bully you like that."
"Easy to say when you're built like a launch shuttle," Gruyère muttered. "Who would ever bully you?"
Snillek turned from watching the scorparach continue to ignore them and started folding up her tent. "Kipcup did a pretty good job most days."
"I hope he's feeling better by the time we get back." Gruyère's eyes sparkled with laughter. "I have to meet this man. But to answer your question, it's a pretty classic predator-prey cycle. The prey population in an area goes up; more predators move in. The more predators there are, the faster the prey count goes down, and then the predators either die off or have to move on. They move on, the prey population rebounds."
"Uh-huh. Not something you could've mentioned before, maybe?"
Gruyère winced. "I didn't realize our timing would be that bad. Sorry. Can we go back to talking about Lord Kipcup?"
"Ha. No, he's more someone who has to be experienced. Me telling you about him just won't have the same impact."
He better be all right. Not knowing gnawed at Snillek, but it wasn't as if she could call and ask, since they'd traveled out of communications range. Tarribotia needed more comm satellites. That was something a princess could do, wasn't it? She'd have to look into that when they got back. Even a temporary reign should manage to do some good.
Inside ten minutes, they'd packed up camp and dressed for the day—Snillek in her armor, Gruyère in extra layers and gloves, since the air would only get colder as they traveled. Boots fastened down, hand on Gruyère's shoulder with the hover platform humming underneath their feet, it occurred to Snillek that this had quickly become disturbingly comfortable. While she wouldn't mind tooling around the planet with a pretty human indefinitely, with no one able to reach them, she reminded herself sternly that she had obligations. Ones she had, so far, really screwed up.
And I'm out here in no-person's land with still no idea how to unscrew things, chasing after something that might have vanished centuries ago.
Self-recrimination had to take a seat, though. She kept a sharp eye on their surroundings as they sped along. Right now, that was her one job, and screwing that up could put a horrifically permanent end to any other problems.
Gruyère, too, kept a sharp eye out, but Snillek suspected her focus was on possibly interesting sightings instead of stuff that might want to eat them. Not that the two were mutually exclusive in all cases. By nearly noon, the mountains loomed closer and clear of the morning haze, a monstrous wall of jagged peaks, and Gruyère hadn't spotted anything worth slowing down for. Snillek wasn't sure whether she was disappointed or relieved about that.
"There's a flat spot ahead to stop for a break if you—"
Gruyère interrupted by smacking at the hand on her shoulder. "Look! Over there. Under that red-striped ledge."
It took a moment of Snillek staring intently at the ledge before she caught movement in the shadows. Something… slithered over the rock face? No. It didn't appear to be touching the rocks at all. It flitted from spot to spot, but she couldn't see any wings.
"Fine. I'll bite. What in all shells am I looking at?"
"A bumblebee dragon," Gruyère whispered, her eyes shining with excitement. She'd eased back on the throttle and circled back, easing toward the rock face.
Snillek tilted her head, watching her helmet readouts. This beastie was at least a meter long. "Little big for a bee, isn't it?" Were Earth bees that size?
"It's the wings, membranous ones more like an insect's and supporting that chubby body that doesn't look like it should be able to fly. Like a bumblebee."
"Hmm." Snillek, who had never seen a bumblebee and had no access to the nets to find an image, could only grumble, "If you say so."
Grouchy rejoinders aside, the little guy was ridiculously cute, with big, inquisitive eyes and scales in random groups of red, brown, and evening-sky blue. Unlike the moth dragons' scales, these didn't appear to change color, but the irregular patterns were a form of camouflage familiar to Snillek from the lizards and horn-beasts back home.
Gruyère nodded when she mentioned it. "Disruptive coloration. It's a defensive adaptation we see on a lot of planets. Oh, look! It's landing. Maybe it'll give us a chance to see what sex it is. I think it's primary penna, but I can't be sure yet."
"You're going to make me ask, aren't you?" Snillek glowered at the back of Gruyère's head.
"Hmm?" All Gruyère's attention was on the measuring device she'd pulled from her pocket.
"Fine." Snillek huffed and asked with exaggerated patience, "What do you mean, primary penna?"
Without glancing up from her readings, Gruyère answered softly, "As far as scientists have been able to determine, bumblebee dragons have five possible genders, five adults in every clutch family. And the genders assigned—primary and secondary penna and terram, and egg carrier—are educated guesses. That's how little we know. They could all be the same gender. But this little guy, his forewings are about a third longer than his hindwings, something we see more in individuals identified as primary penna."
"Huh." My own fault. Ask a scientist a question in their field, get a lecture.
As fascinating as it was to watch Gruyère at work, Snillek couldn't afford to lose focus in a place where deadly predators lived. Gruyère's murmurs and soft exclamations as she took readings and made observations faded into the background as Snillek kept watch on their surroundings. Insects trilled and buzzed. The occasional peep of small burrow dwellers came from below. The only scents were those of rock and dust, the faint, wet-wood scent of the little dragon, and Gruyère's own mix of unwashed human with a hint of spice. A scent Snillek was definitely not going to think about.
Except that telling herself not to think about it was like telling herself not to think about a bright-red fork. As soon as she did that, there was the fork, front and center.
Better to think about something else. Movement caught the edge of her vision. She glanced around, then up. "Hey. Should I worry about this big avian circling us?"
Squinting against the bright sky, Gruyère shaded her eyes with the hand holding her device. "Maybe. Looks like a Tarribotian condor. Could just be curious, but if it dives at us… well, they're not cute and fluffy."
"Noted."
Nope, nothing fluffy about that silhouette—no feathers on its wings, all hard lines and focused intent. The condor was after the bumblebee dragon, who hovered in front of Gruyère now, studying her as she studied him. Maybe he's a scientist, too. As long as they were in the way, the condor probably wouldn't try for dragon lunch. Probably being the operative word, and one Snillek didn't have much faith in.
Just as the bumblebee dragon hovered close enough for Gruyère to take measurements of his golden eyes, the condor shrieked. Snillek whirled as it folded its wings and plummeted straight toward them. She nearly seized her larger pistol, at the last moment changing the movement into a defensive strike, swinging her arm up to block the stooping raptor. The force of their collision nearly knocked her sideways, the condor screaming in frustrated rage, baring its impossibly wide mouth with its rows of needle-sharp teeth.
Couldn't you have been a nice, regular raptor with a beak? Gah.
With a flap of its great, membranous wings, the condor righted and sank the claws of both feet into Snillek's armored forearm. Instead of scraping along the titanium-poly, all eight talons bit right through the armor into Snillek's arm. Pain and instinct took over as she bellowed and punched the condor in the face. Its head snapped back, then it shook itself and gave her a completely affronted look before freeing its talons and winging away with the remains of its dignity.
Snillek turned to find Gruyère gaping at her in shock. "You didn't shoot it."
"You didn't want me shooting random wildlife."
"Yes, but… your arm."
"That. Yes." Snillek assessed the blood seeping out through the holes in her vambrace. "I've had worse. But my armor hasn't. Stupid armor-piercing alien raptor."
"Your planet, highness. You can't call them aliens." Gruyère had probably meant it as a joke, but her brown skin had gone ashen. Blood was most likely not a regular part of her day.
"Where's the little guy?"
"The dragon?" Gruyère frowned as she looked around for the bumblebee dragon. "He must've been scared off. That's all right. It was a good sighting. We need… um, to stop somewhere and see how badly you're bleeding."
"It's not that bad."
"You're dripping." Gruyère's voice climbed a full octave. "First good plateau I see."
Yes, fine. A steady ensemble of blood drops were pinging a chorus on the hover platform's floor, and if it made Gruyère less anxious, stopping wouldn't harm anything. Snillek was still grumbling internally when a strange buzzing invaded her thoughts. At first she thought the platform had picked up a stray vibration in its gyroscopes, but no, the sound came from behind them.
When she turned, she found the source—a whirring of shining wings. "Huh. We're being followed."
"What?" Gruyère jerked half around in alarm.
"Eyes forward. You're still driving." Snillek put her hand atop Gruyère's scalp and gently turned her head. "It's your bumblebee friend. He's decided to tag along."
"That's… didn't expect that. I guess he's curious about us, too."
"Or he has a thing for hover platforms."
Whatever the reasons careening around in his little wedge-shaped head, the bumblebee dragon followed them to the plateau Gruyère selected and settled on a nearby rock when they landed. He kept his distance while Snillek found her own rock where she could sit and wrestle off the damaged vambrace, and Gruyère rummaged in the hover platform's compartment for the med kit. As soon as she moved away, the little dragon buzzed over to the platform to examine it, sniffing and crooning, tapping here and there with his claws, until he finally settled on the floor of the platform, sitting straight and prim with his tail curled around his front feet.
"Aren't you the proper little gentleman?" Snillek couldn't help a chuckle when he tilted his head quizzically. "Yes, you."
"Are you talking to yourself?" Gruyère muttered into the med kit.
"No, the wildlife. He's… cute."
Gruyère's raised her head and swung her braids out of her eyes. "Paladin Snillek. Did you just call a Tarribotian creature cute?"
"Maybe." Snillek gestured at their visitor. "Kinda hard not to when he's making hatchling eyes at us."
She carefully ignored Gruyère's too-serious expression, and Gruyère ignored her ignoring, but only for a moment. Then all their attention turned to freeing Snillek's undersleeve from the puncture wounds—Gruyère with lip-biting concentration, since it was tricky, and Snillek with barely restrained snarling, since it was rotted uncomfortable.
"My armorer's going to throw a fit." Snillek peered up at the sky through the holes in the titanium-poly.
Gruyère made a face while tugging a bit of cloth out of a puncture. "That's what you're worried about? You have holes in your arm, and you're worried your armorer's going to yell?"
"It's not supposed to be breachable with anything short of a military-grade armor-piercing projectile."
"Really?" Tapping the tweezers against her palm, Gruyère had her thinky face back on. "It's too bad… Do you mind if I take vid of the talon damage before you pack it away? One of my colleagues researching native raptors is going to be just shook over this."
Snillek put the vambrace down and raised a brow ridge. "Now I feel like I should be selling it to the highest academic bidder. So you didn't know the condors could do that?"
"We knew their talons are bone breakers, but we didn't know the extent of it." Gruyère glanced up from fishing disinfectant out of the med kit and shrugged. "It's not like zoologists run around in super-special paladin armor."
The reasons Tarribotian zoologists didn't go out in the field much became clearer every day. Soft little humans without proper armaments and protective gear didn't stand a chance.
A now-familiar buzz sounded from the hover platform as the bumblebee dragon flew a few tentative lengths closer to them. He stopped to sniff at Gruyère's pack, but most likely since her food was all sealed, it didn't hold his attention long. He pranced the last few feet—actually pranced—and took up his polite sitting position again, no more than a meter to Gruyère's right.
"No fear at all. Which isn't great, since humans can be dangerous." Gruyère shook her head and waved both hands at him. "Shoo. Go away. You can't make yourself comfortable with us."
He jumped back, startled into hovering, but instead of flying away, the little dragon just dodged Gruyère's attempts to scare him off and ended up sitting primly again right where he'd started.
"I think he disagrees with you." Snillek hid her smile and shrugged when Gruyère glared at her. "We're just something different. Let him stay. Maybe he's a scientist, too."
Gruyère snorted but left the dragon alone in favor of spraying disinfectant that stung like all the fire ezkats in all the nests back home. "All right, Mr. Scientist Dragon, you can stay," she muttered as she covered Snillek's arm in more med-skin than was strictly necessary. "Mr. Mortimer McSciencepants."
The bumblebee dragon answered her with a little trill.
"I'm going to tell all of your university colleagues that you named the wildlife Mortimer."
"You better not, or I'll let you walk home."
Snillek tilted her head and squinted at Gruyère. "That makes no sense. Since I wouldn't be able to tell them until after we got back."
That only received a disgruntled sound as Gruyère repacked the med kit.
"I'm sure you'd think of something." Teasing was fine, but Snillek had never been as conscious of possibly taking it too far. Bit of a nuisance, having to worry about how people felt, but she found she did care about hurting Gruyère's feelings, and it went beyond having to rely on her for transport. "Ah… thank you. For the arm. You didn't have t—"
"Stop." Gruyère held up a hand, then closed the med kit with a forceful snick. "One, you protecting us—Mortimer and me—got you hurt. Two, we're traveling together, so we take care of each other. Three, it's just what people should do."
"I've offended you. Papa's always saying I have the diplomatic skills of a stone egg."
Gruyère scrubbed both hands over her face, her voice weary and thick. "I'm sorry. I'm tired. And it's hard to tell if you're making fun of me. With most people, it's not hard to tell at all."
"Rotted shells." Snillek slid off her rock to kneel beside Gruyère and took her hands gently, careful of her claws. "People are in the habit of making fun of you, are they? Dreamer. Idealist. I can see how that might be. But when I tease you, it's just that. I'm not trying to embarrass you or make you feel wrong or lacking. And I'm very sorry if my incompetent attempts at humor did any of those things."
"Okay. Yeah… okay," Gruyère said softly as she ran her thumbs over the backs of Snillek's hands. "I think I knew that. You're not like that. It's… hard when the faculty committee laughs at your proposals. They keep me on because my work in the lab is good work. But I'm still the department joke."
Snillek risked lifting those small, clever hands one at a time to kiss Gruyère's fingers, a smile tugging at her lips. "Well. They're just going to have to choke on their laughs when you bring back the data from this trip, aren't they?"
"I guess so," Gruyère whispered, though her eyes were wide and fixated on their joined hands, her lips parted as if in wonder.
Oh, fark it. In for a grain, in for a kilo. Snillek gripped Gruyère's hands more firmly and leaned in, watching Gruyère's dark eyes for any signs of distress, waiting for any tug that meant she was trying to move away. Neither happened. Instead, Gruyère rose up on her knees and leaned closer.
When their lips met, they both drew in a sharp breath, and Snillek had to wonder if Gruyère's was due to surprise or something else. Human lips were soft… so soft, like kissing flowers, except the flowers would have to be warm and plump and… Abandon metaphor. It's getting too weird.
Weird comparisons aside, the velvet warmth sent electric jolts through Snillek and heated her blood in a way nothing had in years. She pulled back with a sigh to find Gruyère giving her a shy smile.
"Think we can manage in your tent?"
Snillek gave the thought serious consideration. "Yes. Carefully. And only if you agree to one thing."
The wary light was back in Gruyère's eyes. "What?"
"Mortimer stays outside."
Relief washed through her when Gruyère snorted a laugh. I may get the hang of this after all.