Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
So I guess I can’t complain about a quiet bed parked in the middle of an un-private room. I just worry that the size of the bed and the lack of privacy means that I’ll be on my back and servicing again. I don’t want to—god, I don’t want to—but if it’s only me and that filthy, rag-covered alien here on this asteroid, what can I do?
I like to think that I’ll fight, but honestly, the fight was beaten out of me long ago.
More likely, I’ll just endure it, suck up my feelings, maybe have a good cry, and then keep on surviving as best I can.
With those unpleasant thoughts drifting through my head, I lie down and begin to read my tattered copy of Outlander once again. I read a few chapters as Sleipnir snuggles against me, all warm heat and supple cat body, and then I doze. When I wake up, my book’s on the floor, Sleipnir is missing, and I have to pee something fierce.
I glance around, feeling lonely and isolated, and go to find a bathroom. Even aliens have to use the toilet, so there has to be one of some kind. I wander down unfamiliar-looking halls, crowded with broken junk and old containers, afraid to touch anything. Even the doors don’t exactly look like any sort of bathroom door I know of, and I worry I could open the wrong sort of thing and tumble into a broken airlock. I cross my arms tightly and decide to go looking for Sleipnir or my host—whichever I find first.
There’s a low sound of clanging, of metal on metal, and I follow it down the junk-strewn hall, pushing aside low-hanging tubes that dangle from the ceiling. Up ahead, there’s a large room filled with more junk, but there’s also a good-sized table and a light. In front of the light, the goggle-wearing alien hammers at a metal sheet, making an ungodly amount of noise.
I take a few steps inside the room and wave awkwardly.
He looks up at me. His lip curls, and then he goes back to work, hammering.
CLANG. CLANG.
Er, okay. I move a few steps closer, shouting to be heard over the metallic racket. “Can I talk to you about the bathroom situation?”
He drops his tools as if in disgust, putting his hands on his hips. “Oh. So now you want to talk about it?”
“Um…yes?” I’m a little startled at his viciousness. Why is he being such a prick? Some people hate humans for no reason, but surely the brothers wouldn’t leave me here if that’s the case?
The male alien just shakes his head, picking up his hammer and putting aside the sheet of metal. “You’ve got some keffing nerve. That’s all I’ll say. Don’t they teach you humans manners back where you’re from?”
I bristle. Okay, it seems I was wrong, and this guy is just an unrepentant asshole. “I could say the same about you. Why are you being so nasty to me?”
“Me nasty?” He snorts. “That’s rich.”
Jesus Christ, who peed in this guy’s cereal? “Listen, jerk—”
“Jerrok,” he snaps.
“What?”
“My name is Jerrok not ‘jerk.’”
Clearly there’s a miscommunication here. “Jerk” fits him a hell of a lot more, though. “I didn’t come out here to pick a fight,” I say stiffly. “I just need to know where the facilities are, since I’m going to be living here for the next few weeks.” When he doesn’t move, I intensify my glare. “Would you rather I just pee in a damn corner?”
He looks up, jaw hardening. Maybe he’s realizing this isn’t a conversation he’s going to win. He knows he has to show me the bathroom, right? He takes a menacing step toward me, and I cringe backward, anticipating a slap or a shove of some kind—
But he only moves right past me and down a second hall, which has a door with vaguely familiar markings on it. He slams the damn thing open and gestures at it. “I expect you to use the keffing thing.”
“Why…else would I ask where the bathroom was?”
“And stay out of my way,” he adds, gesturing at the larger room with his equipment in it. “Touch nothing in here. In fact, don’t touch anything outside of your room.”
“Not even the bathroom?” I ask, unable to resist lobbing back a sarcastic bolt.
“You know what I mean, human.” He stomps over to his workbench and turns his back to me.
Not for the first time today, I wonder if it’s too late for Adiron, Mathiras and Kaspar to turn around and come get me.
9
JERROK
I come from a long line of junkers. The un’Rok family has always been station trash. I know some people are bothered by narrow, metallic halls and the scent of recycled air, but it’s comforting to me. I prefer it.
I definitely prefer it to people.