Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine

open. “We’ll add you to the identification program tomorrow.” She tossed her sandy cape onto its hook then placed a partially filled water urn to heat. “Put your bag in the corner and have a seat.”
LaRenna obliged, flopping her spent body into a chair. Her head held an indefinable ache, one she wasn’t sure came from exhaustion or from the hunger that twisted her insides. Not that it needed labeling; both needs would be met soon enough. She pulled off her boots and rubbed her swollen feet, flinching as she touched the new Kimshee symbol gracing the upper third of her right foot.
Krell bent close to examine the reddened tattoo. “Marks hurt at first, don’t they? Guess that’s why most of us get our family ones when we’re too small to remember. It’ll heal soon enough. Leave your boots off the rest of the evening so it can air. That’ll help speed the process.” Drawing her eyes upward, she noticed the hunger-wrenched expression on LaRenna’s face. “Bet you’re starving. I’ll run down to the main level galley and bring back something for us both. Why don’t you clean up and change while I’m gone?”
LaRenna nodded and watched the First Kimshee depart. She wondered if she truly looked and smelled bad enough to warrant the suggestion of bathing. Krell was probably just thinking of her personal comfort, she assured herself, and removed her travel-grimed uniform.
The warmth of the tub offered to take away some of the journey’s stress so LaRenna sank deeply into it, submerging her head to wet her hair, then letting the water float it freely. She took the soaping stone and cleaned head to toe, proclaiming all the while that the mineral-laden waters of Langus would never make her feel clean enough.
The hiss of the hatchway and the unmistakable aroma of nourishment alerted her to her mentor’s return. Driven by the smell, she dried quickly, wrapped her head in the same towel, then slid a lightweight service tunic and leggings over her feminine shape.
Krell had moved the worktable to the center of the room, neatly arranged the food on it and was pouring two cups of tea when LaRenna emerged from the bathing chamber.
“Better?” Krell cast her a warm smile.
“Much,” replied LaRenna, reclaiming her space at the table. She took the cup Krell offered and sipped, the inside of her mouth puckering from the lack of sweetener.
“Ferntree tea, hope you like it.” Krell chuckled when the bitterness caused her mouth to draw in a similar fashion. “Sorry, but I’m out of sweetener at present. It can be hard to obtain at times. I believe sweet root is the only crop Langus doesn’t grow.” She sat across from LaRenna and lounged back, one elbow on the chair arm, head leaning on her fist, picking at her dinner as she considered LaRenna at length. She was incredibly beautiful, that was a certainty. But, as an adult child of Belsas, she was a far cry from what Krell had expected. Maybe size had caused her surprise. LaRenna was nearly the same height as when Krell had last seen her over ten passes ago. Oh, she’d filled out nicely enough, any Taelach with half a libido would admit to that. LaRenna had taken graceful curves to the extreme, developing an hourglass figure: full chest and pleasing hips sculpted at the center by a narrow waist. Surely, she surmised as LaRenna became aware of the intense gaze she was receiving, their former meetings and pure physical attraction were to blame for the sense of familiarity.
LaRenna finished her meal, flushed her disposable dish down the waste tube, then cleaned and sheathed her boot knife. She yawned deeply then, stifling a burp with the back of her hand, and collapsed in her seat. “Thank you. That was wonderful.”
“Starvation is what made it edible. Most anything’s preferable to transport rations.” Krell chortled as she tossed remains of her meal in the tube. The condition of the eating blade was a direct reflection of one’s personal habits in the Taelach culture, so Krell cleaned hers to a gleam. Then, well accustomed to the bitterness, she poured more tea, then asked LaRenna if she desired the same. The soft sounds of someone in a deep slumber were the only reply. Fatigue had won its battle. “Poor girl,” whispered Krell, carefully removing the towel from LaRenna’s damp ringlets. “The food did you in.” She unfolded a platform and bedding roll, then placed the blanket over LaRenna, running her fingers lightly over the young woman’s arms. LaRenna’s form was solid, forcing Krell to admit error in assuming her career choice had been poor. She was tough—a neat little package of muscle and intelligence, ideal for a Kimshee. Krell now looked forward to their first lessons, but that would simply have to wait until morning.
Krell wrapped in her cloak and crept out the door. Loose ends needed her attention. One of the sentry commanders was about to receive an after-hours visitor. Starnes needed a boost in business and that was precisely what he was going to get.

Chapter Ten
The mind of the masses is a rusted, barnacle-ridden vessel, free of most logical thought, heavy with pack instincts. High surge in either direction divides the pack and the ship capsizes to the lean of the majority, survivors clinging to the bottom side. A direct puncture to the hull and the pack drowns as a whole, leaving no one to bear witness to the captain’s sabotage.
—Taelach wisdom
Rain threatened the horizon, dampening the lights in a small valley not far from the Sarian military facilities. An angry but surprisingly quiet crowd had gathered, ears turned to a lone speaker in their midst.
“Brothers!” Cance Creiloff stood on a small boulder. A head over the tallest in attendance and paler than most, she looked a bit out of place but fit in unlike Brandoff, who was necessarily absent. Forced weight gain and male clothing put her above casual suspicion so she stood