I had a fondness, though, for historic Paris. I’d tried to talk my parents into building an Eiffel Tower replica in the palace garden some years back.
“Yes, a crew,” the woman repeated, tapping her foot as her gaze darted around. She was obviously used to being on guard, accustomed to sussing out trouble. She cocked her head, squinting slightly as if listening to something intently.
She was human, a full-blood and a late-generation off-worlder, and she was using the dialect lilts of what we’d call junker pirates. I wouldn’t be surprised if she dropped a bit of salvager slang and tossed back a pint of starshine, a barely potable beverage fermented in big copper reservoirs that was so potent it was basically an illegal substance across the known universe. Junkers excelled at making that particular poison.
I tossed Morph and then Evik quick glances. We worked well together, but only because we made a plan, executed said plan, and then we ‘got the hell out of Dodge’, as they said in Old-Earth-speak.
“We’re not exactly the types.” I smiled at her, knowing my mouth would spread just a little too wide to look exactly human. And if she peeked behind my ears, she’d see the three small, sharp lines. Flaps, opening and closing gently. A mutation, after years of interspecies breeding. The air on my home planet had a higher concentration of carbon dioxide than Earth. Adaptation came with the territory.
No. Evik made a single click, agreeing with me. I tried to ignore the accompanying scent wafting from the Chilchek.
Morpheus said nothing.
The girl crossed her arms and frowned, a little wrinkle forming between her perfectly formed eyebrows.
“Blue, just wait a minute.” The woman bit her lower lip, shuffling her feet uncomfortably. Then she squared her shoulders and tried to look tough. She’d have managed it too, if she wasn’t shorter than literally everyone around her and had the kind of face you program into a pleasure unit to get your space rocks off to. Nebula-blue eyes, pink pouting lips, and long sunrise-gold hair swept over her shoulder in a tight braid. It took all my willpower not to stare at her hungrily, given that the tight black suit left little to the imagination. If her breasts were that pert beneath the Kevlar…
Maybe I wouldn’t mind being on a ship with her. Close quarters. Only so much to do. Eventually, we’d run out of things to talk about. And then, I might see exactly what she looked like underneath the tight suit.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, fingers playing with the miniature atomizer sewn into the inner seam. Even the best security officers typically missed that hidden dandy. It had gotten me out of a fair few scuffles. I didn’t think I’d need it now; the woman seemed like she could hold her own in a fight, but not against three of us. Besides, I’d rather see her cuffed in my bed versus cuffed in a Galaxia police cell.
“Wait, listen. I can make it worth your while. Just hear me out.” Her ocean gaze passed over each of our faces, hope and hopelessness alternating in her expression.
“No crew.” Morpheus sat back down, his iridescent flight prosthetics brushing the floor with a cringey screech. Automatically, he raised them a fraction, tucking the lower two wings higher beneath the uppers.
“Blue, dammit, just hold on.” She pressed her index finger to her right ear momentarily, as if that could block out the noise that was distracting her. She took a step forward, a taint of desperation seeping into her speech, though she quickly controlled herself again. “Look, I’m alone. I have no one. I can’t get back home, and I need to survive here. I’ve been making ends meet, selling enough to get by, but if I had a crew, I know I could turn a profit that would make your gambling take look like table scraps. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. I’ve got the chops and I’ve got one hell of a ship.”
“You’re trying to build your cocoon in the wrong tree, lady.” Morpheus didn’t even look at her when he spoke, two of his four jointed arms wrapped around a steaming mug of fish oil. He’d eat about anything smaller than he was, which opened up a wide damn world of cuisine, but he’d found aquatic fare to be his favorite. Which meant eating with him smelled like a fish market back home.
I shrugged, glancing away from Morpheus and back at the woman. Evik had been quiet since his singular ‘no’ earlier.
“Look, Morph’s got a nose for these things. If he’s not interested—”
She cut me off, taking another step forward so that she was so close I could smell her. Floral notes and spice. If she smelled like that, I couldn’t help but wonder what she tasted like.
“Well, I’ve got a nose for conmen and I know the way to the security deck.”
“You threatening us?” I took a step forward, and even though I should be pissed, I couldn’t help but feel a thrill run through me. Sexy. Stubborn. And apparently balls of brass.
My kind of woman.
“So what if I am?” Her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly as she spoke.
I couldn’t help myself, I smiled.
“You think this is funny?” She closed her eyes, sighing. “Blue, I know what I’m doing.”
“Who the hell are you talking to?” I leaned back against the bar casually, even as a pang of jealousy shot through me. You know, since I had a right to be jealous over a woman I’d just met.
She half-turned away from us, whispering to some unseen entity. Her side profile was… delicious.
Evik clicked beside me and he placed a curved claw on my shoulder. Chilcheks don’t exactly read your mind, but they feel your emotions. And not all can do it, and some can barely do it, and then there’s the rarity that can really do
