would be like to have cocktails with this little brown female, then go to my cubicle afterwards together and watch her undress again. It surprised me to have such desire and it not even breeding season. And for a Human female, no less.
I tried to recall the female I had seen with Mishal at the hangar that night. She was small, like Gun Maid, built well. But I had only seen her in silhouette and, concentrate as I might, I could not correlate Gun Maid in my mind with Mishal and the Zentadon Homeland Movement. Fact was, I didn’t want her to be a traitor to her people. Hers was virtually the only friendly face aboard.
Foolish Zentadon. Part Zentadon, part Human, and neither one nor the other completely.
Instead of six weeks, as planned, the journey took three months because of a chance near-Blob encounter. I attempted to report the cause of the delay when the team revived out of cocooning. However, the Stealth turned into such a feverish hive of pre-mission activity that the Captain had only half an ear for me, figuratively. Everybody jumped out of the time-couches like oversleeping commuters late for work. Nervous energy and excitement flooded the Stealth. Chameleon uniforms were donned but not activated, weapons and equipment checked, then re-checked. Sergeant Shiva supervised the inventory and storage of rations and other gear aboard the tiny drop pod in the Stealth’s nose. Gun Maid had her radios and commo to prove out. As DRT-213’s ops and intel specialist, Gorilla downloaded mission updates, standard news summaries and EEI requirements from the mother ship’s computers, which he condensed on his palm comp for the Captain. It was he who discovered the time discrepancy. He scowled at the miniature screen.
“Captain Amalfi? Have you checked the date?”
The Captain consulted his internal chronometer. His body automatically adjusted it for time, temperature and OpPlan schedule.
“Three months! What the hell happened?”
“Captain, that is what I have been trying to …”
“Right, Sergeant Kadar. Save it.”
He ducked angrily out the connecting hatch into the dreadnought and rushed down the steel corridor toward the mother ship’s bridge and ops center, on his way to confront Lieutenant (advanced grade) Snork, the liaison officer. Ferret tagged along with him, casting back a look of reproval at me. Hey, what did a lowly Zentadon know?
I had already stowed my gear and weapons in the drop pod and donned patterned chameleons. I looked around to make sure I wasn’t noticed, then followed the commander and Ferret. They were already out of sight, but to a Sen, Captain Amalfi’s anger left a spoor as easy to follow as a blood trail for the giant predator fish in Galaxia’s oceans. I didn’t trust Lieutenant Snork, who had constantly gone out of his way during the three months to confront me on small matters. He as much as accused me of communicating telepathically with the enemy, of being the Blob plant who attempted to sabotage the
Tsutsumi
.
“Wherever you go as long as you’re aboard the
Tsutsumi,”
he promised, “you’re going to have a tail. Well …” He glared at where my appendage should be. “Well, you know what I mean. You’re going to have company watching you to make sure you follow the straight and narrow.”
“You are straight and narrow?” I asked innocently.
“Don’t be insolent, Sergeant. Need I remind you that I am a lieutenant, your superior, and that we do not trust you Zentadon?”
“I am half-Human. Do you half-trust me?”
Had my Talent for mind-reading been more refined, I would not have been compelled to sneak up to the door off the liaison office to hear what was being said. It was a distasteful scene inside between the Captain and Lieutenant Snork while Ferret watched. I sampled their emotions. Snork’s deceit and disingenuousness made me nauseous.
“The creature is weird,” he was saying. “He hardly said a word to anyone on the ship for three months. He just
I tried to recall the female I had seen with Mishal at the hangar that night. She was small, like Gun Maid, built well. But I had only seen her in silhouette and, concentrate as I might, I could not correlate Gun Maid in my mind with Mishal and the Zentadon Homeland Movement. Fact was, I didn’t want her to be a traitor to her people. Hers was virtually the only friendly face aboard.
Foolish Zentadon. Part Zentadon, part Human, and neither one nor the other completely.
Instead of six weeks, as planned, the journey took three months because of a chance near-Blob encounter. I attempted to report the cause of the delay when the team revived out of cocooning. However, the Stealth turned into such a feverish hive of pre-mission activity that the Captain had only half an ear for me, figuratively. Everybody jumped out of the time-couches like oversleeping commuters late for work. Nervous energy and excitement flooded the Stealth. Chameleon uniforms were donned but not activated, weapons and equipment checked, then re-checked. Sergeant Shiva supervised the inventory and storage of rations and other gear aboard the tiny drop pod in the Stealth’s nose. Gun Maid had her radios and commo to prove out. As DRT-213’s ops and intel specialist, Gorilla downloaded mission updates, standard news summaries and EEI requirements from the mother ship’s computers, which he condensed on his palm comp for the Captain. It was he who discovered the time discrepancy. He scowled at the miniature screen.
“Captain Amalfi? Have you checked the date?”
The Captain consulted his internal chronometer. His body automatically adjusted it for time, temperature and OpPlan schedule.
“Three months! What the hell happened?”
“Captain, that is what I have been trying to …”
“Right, Sergeant Kadar. Save it.”
He ducked angrily out the connecting hatch into the dreadnought and rushed down the steel corridor toward the mother ship’s bridge and ops center, on his way to confront Lieutenant (advanced grade) Snork, the liaison officer. Ferret tagged along with him, casting back a look of reproval at me. Hey, what did a lowly Zentadon know?
I had already stowed my gear and weapons in the drop pod and donned patterned chameleons. I looked around to make sure I wasn’t noticed, then followed the commander and Ferret. They were already out of sight, but to a Sen, Captain Amalfi’s anger left a spoor as easy to follow as a blood trail for the giant predator fish in Galaxia’s oceans. I didn’t trust Lieutenant Snork, who had constantly gone out of his way during the three months to confront me on small matters. He as much as accused me of communicating telepathically with the enemy, of being the Blob plant who attempted to sabotage the
Tsutsumi
.
“Wherever you go as long as you’re aboard the
Tsutsumi,”
he promised, “you’re going to have a tail. Well …” He glared at where my appendage should be. “Well, you know what I mean. You’re going to have company watching you to make sure you follow the straight and narrow.”
“You are straight and narrow?” I asked innocently.
“Don’t be insolent, Sergeant. Need I remind you that I am a lieutenant, your superior, and that we do not trust you Zentadon?”
“I am half-Human. Do you half-trust me?”
Had my Talent for mind-reading been more refined, I would not have been compelled to sneak up to the door off the liaison office to hear what was being said. It was a distasteful scene inside between the Captain and Lieutenant Snork while Ferret watched. I sampled their emotions. Snork’s deceit and disingenuousness made me nauseous.
“The creature is weird,” he was saying. “He hardly said a word to anyone on the ship for three months. He just
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