The door slid shut behind him. Thalia slammed her hand down on the control panel and locked it.
She had never shot anyone before, but she hoped that asshole would be the first.
Further exploration revealed the cabin to be as miserable as she first thought. The dead man’s pants fit her if she rolled up the cuffs and cinched the waist with a belt. The tunic could be altered with the needle and thread kit she kept in her backpack.
She stripped the bed and found a cleansing unit in the shared facilities down the hall.
Not knowing what duties Sue expected her to fulfill, she reasoned that the captain would let her know when it was time. Until then, she set about taking in the tunic on the sides, so she didn’t look so scrawny. Then again, being underestimated could work in her favor.
“Hey ho, it’s a pirate’s life for me,” she sang under her breath.
Havik
“Are you working on that thing again? You don’t even like watching films.” Ren held a bowl of noodles in one hand and an eating utensil in the other. He barely paused between bites to speak.
The internal components of the holographic projector spread across the table. Stabs lay curled in Havik’s lap, his mandibles absently chewing on the end of Havik’s braid. He tolerated the occasional tug as it was preferable to Stabs chasing that obnoxious ball.
“It is nothing. I simply upgraded the graphic processor, added more memory, and installed a new cooling system because the old fan was insufficient,” Havik said.
“Simply.”
Havik frowned. The whine of the fan diminished enjoyment while watching films. He did not see how it was unreasonable to want to enjoy using an entertainment device in the manner for which it had been designed.
Ren shoveled in another mouthful of noodles. “This flavor that Thalia ordered is rather good. Spicy poultry. Did you know that Terran poultry is descended from ancient megafauna, what they call terrible lizards? Now they are domestic livestock, and delicious.” He tilted back the bowl and drank the broth. “We should get one.”
“No, we should not,” Havik said, only half-listening.
“Don’t you want a terrible lizard? Admiral Stabs needs a playmate.”
“The ad—” Havik stopped him before he inadvertently acknowledged the fictitious rank. He removed Stabs from his lap and set the creature on the floor. “Stabs does not. And if this poultry is livestock, he will consume it.” The kumakre was a predator, after all.
Ren discarded his empty bowl and retrieved Stabs’ ball from the counter. Havik had placed it there because the noise the ball made when attacked incited the kumakre to attack again. He had concern that Stabs would play until the point of exhaustion.
“The kumakre is a beautiful predator and you bought him a toy,” Havik said.
Ren shook the ball and the bell rang. Stabs scuttled toward Ren, rearing back on his hind legs. Ren threw the ball out of the common room and down the corridor. It bounced off the wall with a hard ping before rolling on the floor.
Stabs took off, his claws scrabbling on the floor, no doubt digging into the surface for purchase.
“That is an insult to Stabs and yourself,” Havik said, disgust in his tone.
“He needs to practice hunting, since you claim you will release Stabs back into the wild.”
“I will.” Havik frowned. The kumakre had been his companion for years now. While he told himself that Stabs was not a pet, that assertion grew harder to believe now that the kumakre had a name and toys.
Ren did not need to state his disbelief. The wry look on his face said it all. “I will check the tracker signal while you play with the projector you care nothing for.”
“The flickering lights hurt Thalia’s eyes,” Havik muttered. Already compromised and requiring her to wear corrective lenses, he did not wish to further damage her eyesight.
“You have completed several such projects.”
Havik turned his attention to the circuit boards, ignoring Ren. Years of accumulated dust coated the older tech pieces. He dipped the boards in tubs of solvent and carefully brushed away the grime.
It meant nothing that he wanted to make the ship more comfortable. He did not do it for Thalia. That was a ludicrous notion. He had lived aboard the ship for two years and had already completed the major projects that kept the ship habitable and them alive. Now he had time for the smaller, quality of life tasks.
The bell jingled, growing louder and Stabs ran toward him. With his claws, the kumakre climbed his way up Havik’s leg and dropped the ball in his lap.
“No.”
Stabs’ tail rattled.
“This is demeaning to us both. You are a mighty warrior of the sands.”
His mandibles opened and closed, tasting the air, and his beady eyes glistened.
Havik could not refuse that face anything. “Once. Do not make this a habit.”
He tossed the ball down the corridor. Stabs dug his claws in before launching himself, the barbed tip of his tail scratching. Havik remained unconcerned as the kumakre was too young to have developed a potent venom, even if his skin did tingle from the scratch.
He returned his attention to the holographic projector. One day, when enough time had passed, he might admit that he upgraded the projector to please Thalia. When she returned to him—and he would do everything in his power to make that happen—he wanted to see her smile and know that his actions put it there. He would not admit this desire to Ren. He barely admitted the truth to himself.
On a small tablet screen, her favorite film played. The boring version too, not the more exciting version with slaying the undead. No fighting, no chases, and zero explosions, because he wanted the meaningless noise of Terran chatter because it reminded him of how she snuggled into him as they watched. Playing the film to fill the silence made her feel closer.
He missed Thalia. The ship was empty without her constant chatter and questions.
Stabs returned with the ball clutched in his maw.
