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)
Both of the men on the scaffolds sigh. "Keffing left," someone mutters. "My keffing arse."
I clear my throat. "I'm looking for Kazex. Is he around?"
All three aliens turn to look at me. Their faces seem strange after looking at Zhur constantly. They have strong, prominent noses like the mesakkah and heavy brows over dark eyes, but I've gotten rather used to Zhur's feline features. "He's inside," one says. "Does the sign look straight to you?"
I eyeball the sign. It's colorful, covered in writing, and indeed straight against the face of the building. "It's straight, but it's all wrong, if you ask me."
"We didn't ask you," mutters one of the ones holding the sign, only to be glared at by his buddy.
The one on the ground frowns at me. "What's wrong with it? Ruthie said we spelled the human words correctly."
"I mean, you did, but this is a human settlement, right?" When he blinks at me, I gesture at the sign. "Why is the English word so small? Aren't humans your target audience? You're just reminding us that we're second best on our own damn planet. You're treating us like an afterthought."
"You think the human writing should be big? But humans live here so they will know we are a cantina. It's those that come in through Port we are looking to catch the eye of."
I wrinkle my nose and make a face. "I mean, if your bar is going to be full of aliens, you're not going to have many human women in there. I'd say you picked the wrong location if you're catering to aliens. You should be near the spaceport and not here in town."
The alien on the ground runs a hand down his face. "So you're saying the sign is wrong."
"I'm saying if you want humans in your bar, maybe make it clear that it's a human bar."
"We want humans," one of the men holding the sign says. "Lots of humans. Pretty ones."
"Then you'd be better off putting a martini glass on your sign and not all that." I wiggle my fingers at the writing. "I'm not saying, I'm just saying."
The one standing next to me sighs, stroking his chin. "You have our thanks, human woman."
"I'm Maeve. Still looking for Kazex."
"Dopekh," he says, with a nod of his chin. "Tell the others you are helping me if they give you any trouble."
CHAPTER
SEVENTY-NINE
MAEVE
The interior of the cantina is a mess of boxes and furniture. There's a large area in the front that I assume will be for seating, and a long bar along the back, adjacent to a second room. I don't see anyone when I step into the dark interior, but I sure do hear them. Someone's singing in the back room, a song I don't recognize, and then a bottle crashes. "Sorry!" Then I hear the distinctive wobble sound that plas-film makes as I step over a mess of what look like metal chair legs all in a pile. There's more movement in the back room, and then I hear two women arguing from behind the bar, though I can't see anyone.
"The instructions show a screw here and here. Where's the screw?"
"They didn't send screws."
"Yes they did! They had to send screws. It's a kit."
"I'm telling you, there are no screws here, Ruth-Ann. I've looked twice."
I pick my way over to the bar even as I hear another crash in the back, and another called out "Sorry!"
"What the fuck are you doing, Salvotor?" one of the women calls.
"And have you seen the screws?" calls the other.
There's a packet of screws atop the bar. I pick them up and move around to the other side, and there I spot the women. One has shoulder-length sleek black hair and dark eyes, along with Asian heritage. She stabs her finger at the plas-film card, making it wobble again. "It says we need two screws for each leg."
The other woman has her back to me, but from my vantage point, I can see spiky, brightly colored short hair and a lot of earrings studding her ears. She wears a jumper similar to the ones that the men outside are wearing—some sort of uniform, I think. I knock on the countertop to announce my presence and hold up the bag of screws. "Hi there. I found these on the countertop?"
"See?" the black-haired one says with a triumphant look at the other. She scrambles over to my side and takes the bag of hardware from me. "I knew I wasn't wrong."
The other turns, and to my surprise, she has the same face as the dark-haired woman. Her hair is wildly different, and she's got piercings in her brows, her nose, and her lip, too. But the eyes are the same, as is the delicate point of the chin, and for a moment, I'm confused. The guys outside looked the same and now these women. Is there something I'm not aware of? I want to rub my eyes, but just then, a shorter, muscular guy with bluish skin comes out of the back room. He doesn't look like the others, thankfully. "So how many bottles broken is too many bottles?"