Chapter One
Commander Krampasarian D’Marchandar stepped outside of his wrecked ship and sighed. A cold, wet substance was falling from the sky. Was there no end to the unpleasant surprises this primitive planet produced? He had already been horrified to discover that water dripped from the sky at random intervals, but this new substance was thicker. And colder. He shivered and returned to his ship to investigate.
After a quick search through his data files, he identified the new substance as snow - a phenomenon that would never have been permitted on Tandrok, the climate-controlled planet of his birth. Based on the information provided to him, the presence of snow could indicate the beginning of a cold season where it would appear with increasing frequency, covering the ground and leading to such terrible phenomena as ice storms and avalanches. Horrified at the prospect, he went to check on the progress of the microscopic nanites that were steadily, but very slowly, repairing the damaged sections of his ship.
Unfortunately, watching them work did not increase the speed with which they progressed, and eventually boredom drove him back to the bridge. Telling himself that it was his duty as a Tandroki commander to record the lifeforms he discovered, he turned on the feed from his drones. However, the eagerness with which he bent over the images was not entirely due to his scholarly inclinations. Would she appear today or would this disgusting snow keep her inside?
When his ship had first crash landed on K.R.S. Three, he had been too appalled to consider the possibility that the planet might be inhabited. The first few days had passed in a daze of horror, compounded by rage when he had discovered the distinct signs of sabotage. No doubt Commander Nicholsarian, his chief rival for the coveted position of Ambassador to Perchten, had been behind the disruption that had rendered his navigation systems useless before finally causing the explosion that had forced him to the surface of this primitive planet.
Once he had set the repair process in place - and realized how long it would take - he had turned his attention to the planet. His ship had crashed into a group of deplorably large and irregular landforms. Fortunately, the crash had half-buried his ship in the dirt of a small, flat area near the peak of one of the landforms, rather than plunging to the valley floor. Unfortunately, that meant that at some point he would most likely have to dig away some of the dirt. By hand.
He shuddered at the thought and returned to the contemplation of his surroundings. Only primitive, lower-level life forms existed in the vicinity of his ship, but as his boredom had increased, he had extended his survey and found additional life. Although still clearly primitive, they appeared to have some rudimentary level of intelligence. They constructed crude dwellings out of the materials surrounding them, engaged in trade, and exhibited communication skills.
Using drones disguised as native flying creatures, he began watching the small village at the base of his mountain. On the whole, he was not impressed. Their living conditions were primitive, and they relied on crude methods to cook, clean, and control their environment. What’s more, they frequently argued amongst themselves and did not treat each other with any level of respect. Of course, he had thought bitterly, while the Tandroki culture placed a great deal of emphasis on respect and manners, behind that polite surface just as much conflict existed. Given the fact that such a conflict had most likely led to his present predicament, he found a certain measure of appreciation for the openness of the villagers.
That did not, however, stop him from regarding them with some disdain. But since he had very little else to occupy his time, he began to spend a portion of each day watching the villagers. He grew interested enough that he prioritized fixing his translation system, downgrading some of the other repairs, simply so he could understand their primitive speech. Once that was accomplished, he was even more fascinated - and appalled - by their lifestyle.
And then, she appeared.
At first, he did not even realize that the newcomer was female, but the presence of a stranger in the marketplace had drawn his attention. The unfamiliar person was heavily cloaked, with a stooped posture, and seemed reliant on a wooden cane. As she moved amongst the stalls, his drones picked up whispers from the villagers.
“Witch.”
“Interfering old crone.”
“Stay away from her.”
This last was said by one of the males operating a stall to his bonded female – such a primitive concept – and she nodded her head obediently. But as he had already observed, the appearance of consent by a female meant very little. As soon as her male’s back was turned, she slipped away and went searching for the stranger.
The newcomer had seated herself on a small bench next to the tavern, tucked away from the majority of the marketplace, and set out a small array of pouches on a colorful cloth. The stall keeper’s wife edged up to her, casting a nervous eye over her shoulder to make sure that her husband was not watching.
“I need the potion, Jaelle,” she muttered.
“Aye? Still won’t leave you alone, eh?” the stranger said softly.
“No. Not even when I’m most likely to be fertile. I know it’s my duty to let him have his way, but I don’t need a fifth child right now.”
Jaelle quickly sorted through the pouches and handed one to the stall keeper’s wife. “You know the routine. A pinch in your tea every morning, then a week off once a month.”
The other woman pressed a small coin into her hand with a quick word of thanks and then disappeared back into the crowd. The so-called witch lifted her head to watch her departure, and for the first time, his drone could relay a picture of her face.
A tattered fringe of gray hair surrounded a heavily lined countenance, but he paid little attention to her features. All he could see were her eyes. Blue – as blue as the skies that covered this planet. But it was more than the arresting color that caught his attention. Intelligence sparked in those blue depths and he saw both compassion and sorrow in her gaze as she watched the stall-keeper’s wife disappear. After a quick, assessing survey of her surroundings, she dipped her head once more. He wanted to demand that she look back up. That she look at him.
As he watched in fascination, more people, mainly women, made their way to her bench. They stopped only briefly, usually after a nervous look around, then hurried away. Very few of them engaged in conversation with her. One exception was a stooped, old man, who hobbled over leaning on a cane, and procured some sort of cream. He then proceeded to settle down to chat. Was he trying to secure Jaelle’s interest?
Krampasarian found himself frowning. The elderly male was obviously unsuited for this female. He was relieved when she gently urged the old man on his way.
Within an hour, the cloth was empty, and Jaelle folded it up and placed it back in her basket. A basket that was now full of a variety of other items since many of her customers had offered trade goods instead of coins. As far as he could tell, she never set a price or disagreed with the offered payment and his Tandroki pride was offended by her failure to recognize the worth of her goods.
With her own sales complete, she proceeded to hobble around the marketplace and make some additional purchases of her own. Once she was in public view, her interactions were even briefer and occasionally accompanied by a sneer or a muttered insult. In a shocking reversion to his race’s own primitive background, Krampasarian’s claws threatened to emerge at the disparaging treatment. After he stared at his tingling fingertips in horror, he looked back at the screen and realized that she was gone. Where was she?