I give her a small wave, not to disturb Calix and Grace, then head down to the barn where I know I’ll find Molly, her daughter, Quinlan, and their other set of twins, Tiva and Tarlo. The twin boys are eight revolutions old and are always by their mother’s side, usually in the barn. At one time, we only had Eileen, but now our barn has grown to include several more rogcows—that we’re not allowed to eat unless we want to get castrated according to Molly—and several other creatures meant for consumption but now act as pets.
“Smells rekking awful in here,” I grumble, pinching my nose as I peek in. “Did something die?”
Molly’s boisterous laugh echoes through the cavernous room. Tiva and Tarlo both nod, each of them holding their noses.
“Quinlan’s cabroat.” Molly points to the guilty looking beast with yellow fur and glassy green eyes. “We found Billy nursin’ from one of the rogcows this mornin’. Turns out, darlin’, that if a cabroat drinks rogcow milk, it runs right through ’em!” She snorts out a laugh and then waves the air in front of her because she no doubt got a lungful of the horrendous scent.
Billy brays at me as if to explain. I don’t know cabroat speak, nor do I care to stick around any longer than I have to.
Quinlan, squatted down beside Billy, shakes her nog. “It was an accident, Mama. Billy’s just always so hungry.” She starts cooing to the beast like the females do their newborn mortlings. “It’s okay, Billy. I’m going to nurse you back to health.” She strokes his middle horn. “There, there, little one.”
Billy brays pitifully.
“Bad Billy,” Tarlo says. “Now you smell like Tiva.”
“Mama,” Tiva whines. “Tarlo’s bein’ mean.”
“Tarlo,” Molly chides. “Be nice or I’m gonna have your daddy give you a stern talkin’ to.”
For as terrifying as Draven can be, his children all have him tamed and docile. It’s quite humorous.
“Keep me posted on Billy’s improvement,” I manage to choke out, making a rude, hasty escape.
It’s not until I’m deeper into the tunnel system that I finally suck in untainted air. Voices can be heard in the Command Center. Well, one voice in particular.
Hadrian sits at the head of the table, his boots propped up on the surface, yammering away to Draven, who stands sentry near the doorway. Jareth and Oz are at the far end of the room, both wearing comms units as they work on their project. They’ve been developing a radio system that will reach beyond the prison, perhaps farther into the unknown crevices on this planet, where there may be more undiscovered life.
“…and then this sabrevipe comes out of nowhere, Draven. Just saunters over to me. I swear, that beast could hear my thoughts. You should have seen his face,” Hadrian exclaims. “And then it just turned and walked away. Like we didn’t just have a moment.”
“How big was it again?” Draven asks, scarred eyebrow lifted in question.
“Massive. The biggest damn one I’ve ever seen.”
Draven smirks. “Sure, Hadrian. It just walked right off and didn’t try to bite off your nog.”
“Get out of my chair,” I grunt out to Hadrian. “And doesn’t Lyric ever call you out on your tall tales?”
“It’s not a tale if it’s true,” Hadrian argues, pulling his feet off the table and standing. “Quinn says it’s ‘history’ and ought to be recorded.”
“Like that one time a big bird nearly ate you?” Lyric asks, entering the room. “Sorry, Commander, but that one was true.”
Hadrian puffs out his chest. “Told you.”
Lyric walks over to him and he pulls her into his arms, kissing the top of her nog.
“What’s on today’s agenda?” I ask, dropping into my seat, still warm from Hadrian’s rump.
Draven steps forward. “A new proposal.”
Me and Hadrian exchange a surprised look. Draven mostly stays back and lets us do all the talking. He follows orders without question. If he’s bringing up something, it must be important to him, which means I’ll take it seriously and won’t question it. My curiosity has me nodding.
“Dude,” Vendar Thomas booms, his deep voice thundering as he enters with Sokko, “get your shit together, man. My dad says we get to skip class to join the meeting. Don’t screw this up, rekker.”
Lyric shakes her nog. “I swear. Between Hadrian and Zoe…”
Vendar Thomas has quite the “potty mouth” as Molly says, preferring to use a hybrid of curse words he’s learned from both Hadrian and Zoe.
Sokko rubs at his eyes, still half asleep. “Dude, it’s early.”
I don’t understand this whole dude thing, but apparently they learned this word from Kev.
“Dudes,” I say, motioning at the table. “Have a seat.”
Sokko cringes. “Pops, it sounds so lame when you say dude.”
Hadrian snorts. “So lame. I totally agree with you there, kid.”
Draven grunts, which has both Sokko and Vendar Thomas straightening.
“Draven, take the lead here,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Let’s hear it.”