here?”
“Ha. No. I mean, yes, I know she’s on this ship though she’s hiding somewhere. But she’s not supposed to be here. I don’t know how or why. Perhaps she was somehow forced on board? We’ll have to watch for her. As far as I know, no MeMoMe has ever left Sicar, until now. But...enough talk. I’ll leave you to get dressed. Those are your pajamas I put on you, I guess?”
She blushed hot. It had been him. “Yes.”
“Come out when you’re ready. The midday meal is in an hour. We’re on Riptide standard time already. There’s only Dresdek, me, and you, to get this ship running properly again. We’re still doing repairs. If you want to help, I can find stuff for you to do. Okay?”
She nodded.
He sat up straighter, with those big hands on his thighs. The gray ship’s pants, standard-issue heavy cloth, made his legs look like pillars. Torgeir was far bigger than her. She liked that in a man.
Having Torgeir in bed with her might do more than rock her world.
“See you out there.”
The door closed behind him.
The healing wounds across the front of her ankles reminded her of who she was inside. A plain human might’ve torn her legs off doing what she had.
Would he mind? Did he know how close she was to cyborg status? She was worrying over crap that might never be an issue. He might not like her that much. Maybe he’d rather take Dresdek to bed? Or a squid monster from the planet who-knows-what?
She let herself fall backward onto the bed so she was flat on her back staring at the ceiling.
Interplanetary relationships were going to be hell to figure.
*****
Slowly, over the next few days, she figured out where she fit in, what she could do to help. Not a lot. The ship had ample food supplies and air and the ship’s mess could be automated. The food the robot chef produced beat anything she made by ten. She wasn’t up on ship mechanics but she could hand over stuff. So she found herself following Torgeir about being a general fetch-it person.
She had healed so fast it’d worried her, but apparently that was standard if you could afford the best. The police doctor had access to the best, at least when it concerned cuts, bruises, and strains.
On the third day, Dresdek was off attaching some hull structures so a repair bot could rig a temporary skin over the missile-created hole, while she helped Torgeir with the back-up cybernetic brain for the fuel system. He sat before the waist-high console, in the middle of the room, peering at the innards. A square of surface from the console had been removed so he could replace some slightly frazzled brain cards.
His hand appeared at his shoulder. “Next.”
She handed him another of the thumb-sized things. It was a clear bluish plas-g with some shiny stuff embedded. “Last one.”
“Yup.”
She grinned. Saying yup instead of the alien yes was a mannerism he’d seemingly adopted since knowing her. Something bugged her about how he held the card. She put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to look, tugging automatically at the skirt she wore. It rode up way too high, almost to her butt but then she’d known that.
When she’d considered what to wear this morning, something provocative had been her first pick. Torgeir brought out her inner slut. Shamefully. But no one apart from the three of them would see or know, so she’d said to Hell with it and put it on.
“Upside down again,” she whispered.
“It is?” He stared at it and turned it around.
“Yes. It is.”
“Half these things are way too old to be allowed on most ships.” He used the tool loupe that lay on the console. “You’re right. Second one today.” He slotted it into place then half-turned to look up at her. “How did you spot it?”
“Um. I just...do?” The man’s gaze never faltered and she tumbled into an awareness of his near vicinity, the heat of his body, and the solidness of his muscles under her palm. A high, thin note sang in her ears.
His chin had
“Ha. No. I mean, yes, I know she’s on this ship though she’s hiding somewhere. But she’s not supposed to be here. I don’t know how or why. Perhaps she was somehow forced on board? We’ll have to watch for her. As far as I know, no MeMoMe has ever left Sicar, until now. But...enough talk. I’ll leave you to get dressed. Those are your pajamas I put on you, I guess?”
She blushed hot. It had been him. “Yes.”
“Come out when you’re ready. The midday meal is in an hour. We’re on Riptide standard time already. There’s only Dresdek, me, and you, to get this ship running properly again. We’re still doing repairs. If you want to help, I can find stuff for you to do. Okay?”
She nodded.
He sat up straighter, with those big hands on his thighs. The gray ship’s pants, standard-issue heavy cloth, made his legs look like pillars. Torgeir was far bigger than her. She liked that in a man.
Having Torgeir in bed with her might do more than rock her world.
“See you out there.”
The door closed behind him.
The healing wounds across the front of her ankles reminded her of who she was inside. A plain human might’ve torn her legs off doing what she had.
Would he mind? Did he know how close she was to cyborg status? She was worrying over crap that might never be an issue. He might not like her that much. Maybe he’d rather take Dresdek to bed? Or a squid monster from the planet who-knows-what?
She let herself fall backward onto the bed so she was flat on her back staring at the ceiling.
Interplanetary relationships were going to be hell to figure.
*****
Slowly, over the next few days, she figured out where she fit in, what she could do to help. Not a lot. The ship had ample food supplies and air and the ship’s mess could be automated. The food the robot chef produced beat anything she made by ten. She wasn’t up on ship mechanics but she could hand over stuff. So she found herself following Torgeir about being a general fetch-it person.
She had healed so fast it’d worried her, but apparently that was standard if you could afford the best. The police doctor had access to the best, at least when it concerned cuts, bruises, and strains.
On the third day, Dresdek was off attaching some hull structures so a repair bot could rig a temporary skin over the missile-created hole, while she helped Torgeir with the back-up cybernetic brain for the fuel system. He sat before the waist-high console, in the middle of the room, peering at the innards. A square of surface from the console had been removed so he could replace some slightly frazzled brain cards.
His hand appeared at his shoulder. “Next.”
She handed him another of the thumb-sized things. It was a clear bluish plas-g with some shiny stuff embedded. “Last one.”
“Yup.”
She grinned. Saying yup instead of the alien yes was a mannerism he’d seemingly adopted since knowing her. Something bugged her about how he held the card. She put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to look, tugging automatically at the skirt she wore. It rode up way too high, almost to her butt but then she’d known that.
When she’d considered what to wear this morning, something provocative had been her first pick. Torgeir brought out her inner slut. Shamefully. But no one apart from the three of them would see or know, so she’d said to Hell with it and put it on.
“Upside down again,” she whispered.
“It is?” He stared at it and turned it around.
“Yes. It is.”
“Half these things are way too old to be allowed on most ships.” He used the tool loupe that lay on the console. “You’re right. Second one today.” He slotted it into place then half-turned to look up at her. “How did you spot it?”
“Um. I just...do?” The man’s gaze never faltered and she tumbled into an awareness of his near vicinity, the heat of his body, and the solidness of his muscles under her palm. A high, thin note sang in her ears.
His chin had
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