Hostage To The Stars: A Sectors SF Romance by Veronica Scott

Author:Veronica Scott [Scott, Veronica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-06-06T18:30:00+00:00

After a repast of roasted marmint, Johnny was as relaxed as he ever got on a mission. Sitting with his back against a tree, facing the small fire, he retrieved a small piece of wood he’d set aside when building the fire and got his personal knife out of a pocket in his utilities. He turned the wood this way and that in the firelight, studying the grain and deciding what to carve, what creature the wood held trapped, waiting for his knife to free it. He began to see a bird, winging free over the mountains, wings spread to catch the wind. The knife felt good in his hand, curved, with a dip behind the main blade so he could get better control and rest his thumb, although this would be a short project. Why had he stopped whittling after leaving Mahjundar when the last mission ended?

Sara came to sit next to him, apparently fascinated. “What are you making?”

“An eagle, from my home world.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle and displayed the rudimentary beginning of the piece for her to see. “I haven’t carved anything in ages, so it may end up resembling a winged marmint and we’ll throw it in the fire.”

“We will not,” she said. “How did you learn to do this?”

“My grandfather taught me. This is his knife. We used to go fishing together when I was a kid, and whittle while we waited for the fish to bite.”

“May I see?” She held out her hand for the knife and he closed the blade before handing it over. Examining it as best she could in the firelight, she said, “I love the handle.”

“Polished bone.” He took it from her, reopened the tiniest blade from its resting place inside the handle, and made tiny cuts, trying to get the feathers right on the left wing. “This wood’s not ideal but it’s the best piece I’ve seen.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Trying to give the feathers on the wing varying depth, for a more realistic appearance.”

She sat and watched him work until eventually he realized she’d fallen asleep, leaning against the tree trunk. Putting his knife away and setting the half-carved eagle aside, he got out the sleeping mat and lifted her onto it before covering her with the blanket. Muttering, she curled up, pillowing her face on her hand.

Her face was so peaceful, so beautiful in the firelight; he had to fight the urge to kiss her cheek. Unfamiliar emotions welled up in his heart, almost painful in intensity. Thinking about the conversations they’d shared on this hike, the closeness growing between them was achingly tempting. Ms. Bridges was strictly off limits and he would remember the prohibition, no matter how involved his emotions became. He’d get her to safety, maybe give her the eagle carving to remember him by, if it turned out passably and walk away, as the regulations required.

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