Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
I abandon my credits with Kazex and give up on the idea of a pet. My credits are gone for good, I suspect.
But then a few weeks later, I get a call on my comm system.
"Zebah says your package has been sent with a vendor by the name of Haina," Kazex's message says. "She'll bring it into Port next week, no questions asked. You're to go to room three-oh-seven in the dockworker apartments. The door will be left unlocked that day after the lunch hour, and you'll need to take the animal and its crate with you. Haina will deny all knowledge of this. Any questions...too bad."
There's no time for me to reply, which is annoying. Maybe I was a little too overly chatty the first time I talked to Kazex and he wants to avoid more conversation. Ah well.
I drift around for the next week in a happy haze of anticipation. What am I going to name my cat, I wonder. What kind of markings will it have? Boy or girl? If it's a boy, I have no idea what kind of name to give it. Chuckles, maybe. I read a book with a cat named Chuckles that was smart and clever. If it's a girl, maybe I'd call her Bitsy like my childhood cat.
I've almost decided on names when the day rolls around. I make a cute little bed out of an old plas-crate and fill it with fluffy blankets and a feather toy out of an old sock I made because cats love feathers. I set up a litter box out of dried husks from some of the veg I'm growing on the farm, and then there's nothing to do but wait.
A cat.
Company in the long, lonely nights here on Risda.
I'm so excited. I practically dance with nervousness as I stroll into town with an empty shopping satchel over my shoulder.
I hope my bag is big enough for his—or her!—crate.
CHAPTER
THREE
MAEVE
If there was a place in Port that could be qualified as “rougher,” it would definitely be the temporary housing for the dockworkers. They're a mixture of other races—blue dudes and cat dudes and orange dudes and all of them alien and terrifying. I know that they've all been vetted by Lord va'Rin, who owns this planet and wants to keep humans safe, but that doesn't help when the loitering men eye me as I approach the door.
Back home, I'd pretend to be talking to someone on my cellphone to make myself less of a target. But I don't have a cellphone here, and my panicky brain realizes I have to walk right past a group of alien men smoking the strange, long carcinogel sticks that look like they were inspired by Earth's bad habits. I smile brightly at them as I reach for the door. "I'm just delivering something. Don't mind me!"
"What's your name, pretty thing?" one of them asks. He's got orange skin and big rounded eyes that are creepy looking, even if he's trying to be nice (but I don't think he is).
"Nunya," I say, tugging the door open. As in, Nunya Business, jerk.
"You're pretty, Nunya."
"I'm going to tell your boss you said that," I reply, keeping my tone cheerful even though my heart is thumping in my throat. "He'll be happy to know you're so friendly to the locals."
The carcinogels go out and the alien men scatter quickly, nudging the orange one with surly looks. My bluff worked, hopefully, and they won't harass me any more. God, why is it that men suck on this end of the universe, too? I swear. Shouldering my bag, I step inside the apartments and into the shadows, waiting to see if someone comes in after me.
No one does.
I let out a sigh of relief and ponder the elevator in the building. Do I dare get stuck in a small room with another alien guy? I know this entire building is full of alien men. It's why it's been built on the edge of the Port docks instead of in town proper. They're supposed to be keeping their distance from us. And if we're smart, we keep our distance from them.
But I'm not smart, because I'm getting a pet cat delivered to me here.
"In and out, Maeve," I tell myself cheerfully, opting for the elevator after all. There's bound to be a security feed, right? "In and out, and go home and never come here again."
To my vast relief I make it to the third floor quickly...and then realize my problem. I don't know the alien number system, so I have no idea what door is 307. I pace down the hall, counting doors, and then try the handle of the one that might be seven. It's locked.
Rules that one out.
After that, I just start trying door handles, and it takes another two tries before I find one that opens. The apartment itself is dark, and it occurs to me that Simone's friend could be setting me up. I could be walking into a kidnapping plot and I'll find myself back in another human terrarium, pressing my nose to the glass and wishing to be back on this boring-ass planet. Fumbling next to the door, I look for a light switch, and find a knob that turns instead. Lights come on and I breathe a sigh of relief at the large crate in the center of the room.