Free Kicking Ashe by Pauline Baird Jones Page B

this cooking lesson.
    Confirmation she was right came when he withdrew, furling himself into a compact core that made her spine feel like it was melting.
    Bana pushed a stool toward her. “Sit before you fall.”
    Ashe didn’t have anything left to argue, not if she wanted to take the two steps to the stool. She dropped down, grabbing the edge of the table to keep from tumbling off.
    “Thank you.” Darkness wavered at the edges of her field of vision.
    Bana ignored her, passing out of Ashe’s narrowing sightline. Normally Ashe didn’t like having her back to anyone—let alone a stranger—but now it was all she could do to stay conscious. Sounds came to her in waves, ending with a thump as a bowl and spoon thumped down in front of her. A cup of something to drink and a thick slice of bread followed before Ashe could get her fingers around the spoon. It was a relief when Bana sat across from her and began cutting vegetables with a seriously fine knife.
    “Eat.” Bana pointed at the bowl with the knife.
    Unsure if this were a threat or not, Ashe leaned down, needing the shortest distance possible between spoon and mouth. She didn’t want to risk spilling even a drop of the fragrant broth. She didn’t shovel it in, though she wished she had the strength. She paused after the second mouthful to say, “It’s most pleasing. Thank you.”
    Bana’s nod might have been a bit pleased. Hard to know anything through the fog that used to be her brain. In between the sounds of the knife hitting wood, Ashe cleaned her bowl and drank what turned out to be water. Still hungry, but she felt better, felt strength flowing back into her muscles—and a sense of surprise that the food was so excellent. She shook that off—not sure why it should surprise her—and used the last piece of bread to clean out the soup bowl. As if she sensed Ashe could use more, Bana refilled everything.
    Before Ashe could thank her again, she said, “You can’t help me if you can’t stand.”
    The second round went slower into her mouth, her thoughts cleared and the dark edges of oblivion faded as if they’d never been. Lurch stayed furled at her core, probably to make sure she got what she needed first.
    “You are feeling better?” Bana asked as Ashe finished the last of the second round.
    She nodded, felt a need to say, “I have had a difficult—” how long had it been since she left the time base? “—time.”
    “And you are very far from home.”
    Ashe paused, the cup of water just short of her mouth, her brows arching in a question she didn’t know how to frame.
    “Cadir told me you are Garradian.”
    “Yes.” Nice of her not to use the word “claim” or imply it with her tone. Ashe swallowed. “This isn’t Keltinar.” It might have been a bit of question. “So you are not home either.”
    “But I’m not alone.” She paused. “And lost.”
    She didn’t need Lurch to remind her to be careful. Kindness could mask deceit. Ashe knew this. She was vulnerable, dangerously so. This she also knew. Not that Bana felt kind. Curious yes, kind, no.
    Bana tipped her head to one side. “Your color is better.”
    Ashe’s brows arched again, this time in surprise. Her skin color seemed to bother Shan more than a little.
    “It’s not the color,” Bana said, as if Ashe has asked, “it’s the fact that you are an alien that troubles the Commander.”
    “But your people have had contact with aliens before me.”
    “Contact with the Garradians is more legend and myth.” Bana hesitated. “The Grenardians were leaving this galaxy when we had brief contact with them.”
    If this were the old time line, then she was in a time not long after the Dusan-Gadi War. But this wasn’t the old time line, so she was left wondering how much had changed and how much remained the same. The tech seemed too good for what she recalled of the old time line. Did that mean they were ahead of themselves or in the past somewhere?
    “Otherwise contact might