Total pages in book: 175
Estimated words: 166095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 830(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 166095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 830(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
Zakoar rolls his eyes at me. “You really think this is about you?” Before I can answer, he gives me a derisive look, gesturing at the door. “She’s a human female. Think for a moment. Where on this station is she going to go?”
I blink, some of the wounded hurt in my chest dissipating. He’s…got a point.
“Is she stupid enough to run straight into danger?”
That makes me pause. “My fluffit? No. She’s smart. She’s not very brave, but she’s smart. And soft. Too soft. And far too trusting.” My tail lashes back and forth, and I knock a broken transistor off of the nearest shelf. “Did your assistant —”
“No,” he answers before I can finish the statement. “Tikosa wouldn’t.”
I know he wouldn’t. I’m just grasping at answers. The truth is, I turned my back on Dora for a brief moment and someone snatched her from under my nose. Everything inside me clenches up, and not in a good way.
My fluffit is in danger. Here I’ve been busting my ass trying to protect her, and I still failed. It’s going to turn out just like it did with Rhonda, and the thought fills me with pain. I can’t be enough for her, and I’m going to lose her before I even had her.
“Someone stole her,” Zakoar says unnecessarily. “What are you going to do?”
“Burn shit down,” I say, cracking my knuckles and pretending like this is fun instead of terrifying. “Pull the limbs off of anyone that touches my human.”
“’Your human —”
“We’ll dig into semantics later,” I say, pulling my blaster from my belt holster and heading for the door. “Time’s a-wasting.”
Sixteen
JAMEF
I haven’t really been around many humans before. Maybe once or twice when I was first starting out as a corsair, and the ship I served on sold a batch of them. Didn’t particularly sit right with me, the trading of living people. Reminds me too much of how the military would just ship us low-caste soldiers off as if we were playing pieces in a game, the sticks you toss away to set up the bigger pieces. Didn’t much like that then. Don’t like it much now, either.
It makes me lose a little respect for Bethiah, knowing she’s trading this human in. A bounty is one thing. Those are criminals. People that have done wrong and are evading the law. In a way, I’m helping the universe clean itself of the riffraff. But trading flesh for credits? It annoys me in a bone-deep sort of way. I watch the human as she sleeps on the couch that doubles as my bed, at the collar that I snapped. It hangs loose on her throat, the red light dull and broken. I should reach over and take it off of her, but I’m loath to touch her while she’s unconscious. Feels wrong.
So I move around my apartment, tidying things as I wait for her to awaken.
I watch her, too. Seen a lot of humans from afar, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to one. The extra finger on each hand doesn’t seem as repulsive as I once thought. It’s just different. The lack of a tail is unnerving, but the yellow hair is nice and she looks very soft to the touch. No wonder Bethiah licked her.
The human’s eyes flick open and they widen as she gazes at me. She freezes in place as our eyes meet, and I know she’s taking in my hideous appearance, the cybernetic eye, the replacement arm and shoulder that show through my form-fitting tunic. I wait for her to finish panicking so I can determine how to proceed.
When she remains frozen in place, I decide that she’s too scared to attack (wise) and will remain where she is, like a rodent that stills itself in times of danger, hoping predators will pass it by. I move across my small apartment towards the kitchen area and the food dispensers. “What can I get you to eat? Do you have any allergies?”
“W-where am I?” she asks, voice trembling.
“My apartment on station.” I study the noodle choices, but I don’t recall which ones humans like. Sweeter ones? The more sour flavors? I’m partial to chski noodles myself and the ultra-cheap brands, because they remind me of home. But she might have different tastes. “You like sour?”
She doesn’t answer, and when I look over, her frantic gaze is darting around my small apartment, as if she’s trying to figure out where she is. I can help with that. “You’re still on Three Nebulas,” I point out. “But I don’t live in a great area of the station, so if you bolt out that door, I can’t promise you won’t find yourself in the hands of another slave trader. And if you run, I’m not coming after. Take that for what it is, good or bad.” I pull a bowl out of the tiny cabinet above the dispenser, blow the dust out of it, and then set it in place. “Most bounty hunters tend to live on ship, but sometimes that gets quiet. Too quiet. I grew up in a barracks with a hundred other males, and sometimes the quiet gets to me. So I keep an apartment here on station when I need to be around people. Sometimes it’s enough just to hear other voices in the background. Makes you feel less adrift. You want sweet noodles, maybe?”