Tevun-Krus #79 - LGBTQ+ SF

Home - A Short Story by @jinnis

Home

By jinnis

Hianka leans against the railing of the elevator platform and looks down into the busy spaceport. It feels like ages since she was here. While she is not a native of Tarameen station, it is the closest to a home she knows. At least if she goes by the definition of her human crewmate Bill.

"Home is where your heart is," he used to say, "and you know it by that warm, fuzzy feeling only a single place can give you."

While the three muscular tubes pumping acid fluids through Hianka's organism have nothing in common with the heart of human anatomy, she thinks she understands Bill's meaning. Even if fuzzy isn't an adjective she as a filarian associates with feelings. But in the end, Tarameen is the place she decided to return to after the war, weary and disillusioned.

The elevator platform lowers towards the arrival hall, and Hianka shivers despite the humid heat, suddenly unsure this was a wise decision. She could have gone to Kaki'lo teh with the rest of the squadron, hanging out on the purple beaches and get drunk enough to forget.

Forget the war, the cruelty of the last battle against the mindless drones, the losses—in particular the losses.

The temptation was there, but she knew it wouldn't be the same without Bill. Stupid human with his hang to heroics. Why did he have to get himself killed in that last skirmish? Sure, he saved the colony on a nondescript planet of the rim region—thousands of innocent settlers, families with children.

Still, the picture of his fighter blown apart by one of the last shots in the ending war, over a colony of an alien race not even breathing the same air as him... She remembers his last words to the squad, carved into her memory with the edge of his ageing voice. "Their race doesn't matter, and it never should. They deserve our help—we're their only hope."

And while she was condemned to watch from the carrier, he led the fatal counterattack.

Hianka sighs, glad the elevator reaches the ground level with a thump. At least the hustling crowd chases the picture of his body, ripped to pieces, being burnt up in the atmosphere with the fragments of his craft.

The exit signs guide her through the crowd. She moves faster than most with her long legs and only carrying a single bag with a few possessions. The war left no time to accumulate other souvenirs than memories.

Compared to the cramped carrier ship, the station offers her a sense of open space, the humid air adding to her comfort. She chooses to walk and ignores the crowded conveyor belts. The station hasn't changed much during the years of war, all the supplies prioritised for military use. She passes the hub café, an old favourite hangout, but resists the temptation to check if the scones are still the best of the quadrant.

What if they are not? It might hurt too much to learn of other friends lost and other dreams dissolved in the blurry mists of the past.

A brisk walk brings her to the commercial area. If Twly is still here and working the old shift, they should be at the shop right now. The memory of their last meeting sends a jolt of pain through Hianka's chest. She left in anger, following a dream of honour and glory. And while she stands by her decision, she knows she should have made up with Twly before enlisting.

The ghost of their last fight followed her across the galaxy. Back then she thought of their relationship as a fling, nothing more than an adventure, aware inter-species unions were frowned upon.

Out there in the dark, one learned to look past prejudice, to embrace loyalty regardless of race, gender, and other artificial separations. Fighting the killer drones forced did this to the soldiers of the Union.

And now the drones are gone, the war won, her patchwork group of colleagues fallen apart for good, Hianka feels empty. Too many lives lost, friends missing in action, maimed or gone insane. At least the declaration of peace didn't plunge the station into a state of celebration. But perhaps, the war was fought too far away and had become a rumour in the background of daily life.

Lost in heavy thoughts, she almost walks by the workshop. It got new paintwork, a bright blue not unlike the colour of her scales. The door stands ajar, and in the back, a black-clad manirilan speaks with a couple of sinnin customers. The trademark cap askew between rounded ears, the voice as melodic as remembered, Twly cracks a joke and laughs along with the sinninans.

Hianka's steps falter, her throat suddenly clogged with a clot of fear. She shouldn't have come. Twly seems happy, their eyes bright and their shiny pelt speaking of prosperity. She is about to leave when a call holds her back.

"Hianka, is that you? Oh my god, you changed so much." Twly's soft black eyes widen, and like in old times, Hianka has a hard time to tell if this is a sign of surprise or anger. She fears it must be the later. Self-conscious, she rubs the back of a hand over her jaw.

The war hasn't been kind to her. The countless sheddings in the ship's dry air left her former bright scales dull. It will take time to regrow several of her back-spines broken during fierce battles. And even if her body heals, her memory will carry the scars forever. But there is a reason she travelled across the galaxy.

"Twly. Yes, it's me. I—look, I know I was a disappointment, and what I did to you was unforgivable. Still, I wanted to tell you I'm sorry." A picture of Bill's brown eyes and wrinkled face flashes through her mind, and she thinks she can hear his chuckle. Of course, he would have been amused by her distress.

Twly's black eyes brim with liquid. They reach out a hand, claws retracted, and the soft pads cool on Hianka's dry scales. "The only thing that counts is that you're here."

And in the gentle embrace of her love, a part of the soldier's broken self comes home and finds healing.