Free Warrior's Valor by Gun Brooke

said, and ran toward the shelters. He returned with an antisensor blanket. “Here we go.” He spread it over the drill bit. “I suppose we can examine it more tomorrow.”
    â€œGood thinking. We still have a lot to do tonight. We can discuss the importance and potential implications then.” She turned to Dwyn. “That was too close.”
    â€œIt was important,” Dwyn said. “I felt safe with Mogghy.”
    â€œThat isn’t the point. Not even Mogghy can see in the dark.” She was annoyed and had just realized that soon they would share very cramped quarters. “The crew has erected a makeshift latrine behind the largest tree. Can you find your way, or do you need me to escort you?”
    Dwyn drew a very audible breath. “I think I can find my way to the toilet.”
    â€œGood. Don’t wander off. Ours is the shelter in the center.”
    â€œAll right. See you there.”
    It was so dark now that she could barely make out Dwyn’s contours as she disappeared toward the latrine. In the meantime, Emeron made one more round among her crew. She needed to use the facility as well, and then she would climb into a bedroll next to Dwyn Izontro.

    *

    Dwyn ran a portable sanitizer over her upper body, fatigue making the small rod nearly slip in her hands. Kneeling on the bedroll, she wanted to eradicate the grime that had accumulated during the eventful day, and she tried to hurry, expecting Emeron to join her in the restricted shelter any minute. Stiff and aching, she put the rod down and pulled a retrospun linen shirt from her back-strap security carrier, shivering now in the cool night air.
    A rustling sound behind her made her flinch and hold the shirt in front of her, suddenly shy, which was unusual for her. She had grown up on a spaceship inhabited by at least ten people at a time, all very casual about nakedness and what they considered natural. Only when she left for Iminestria to continue her studies had she found out the hard way that people in general weren’t that open-minded.
    Recalling how she’d walked through the dormitory with only a towel around her waist, and the stares and whispers that followed, still made her wince. The dormitory matron had even lectured her, the woman clearly appalled at Dwyn’s “immoral display,” as she put it. Matron insisted that she make a public apology, since the university had strict rules of conduct and an even stricter dress code. She would rather not dwell on this complete humiliation, but it still affected her. She now held the shirt in front of her and kept her back to Emeron.
    â€œOh, sorry. You all right?” Emeron’s husky voice seemed an octave lower as she crawled onto her bedroll. “Thanks for arranging stuff in here.” Emeron squinted at Dwyn. “You look tired. Long day, huh?”
    â€œYes.” How the hell am I going to get the shirt on without embarrassing her?
    â€œI’m pretty exhausted too,” Emeron admitted, and tugged at the fastening of her uniform. The jacket was buckled with heavy metal clasps and, to Dwyn’s surprise, it lost all cohesion when the clasps were undone and literally fell off Emeron’s broad shoulders. Underneath, she wore a black, form-fitted, retrospun linen shirt that emphasized her upper body. She was muscular, yet lean, with long arms, and carried herself with lethal grace. Utterly sexy . Dwyn groaned at her undisciplined thought process and fiddled with her shirt.
    â€œYou sure you’re all right?” Emeron focused her glance. “What’s that on your back?”
    She leaned in to look and Dwyn inhaled her scent—musk, something fruity, and a deep indistinguishable fragrance that she couldn’t identify. “I don’t know,” she managed, and turned her head to try and see what Emeron was talking about.
    â€œA large bruise. It even broke the skin. We need to take care of this, Dwyn.”