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stations cater to a rough crowd. You would stick out sorely among them. Remember what happened on that planet? I can’t allow it.”
Dyre hid his smile as the Zonian did his work for him, forbidding Betty. He already knew her well enough to guess this wouldn’t go over well.
“Nowhere is safe. And I want to check things out too. I’ll wear a cloak and stick close to you.”
“You should wait until we land on a more civilized planet to explore,” the Zonian argued.
“And maybe miss out on a chance to find a man?” Betty taunted.
Dyre almost growled. She had one. I just need to make the moment right.
Perhaps this plan wasn’t the right one after all.
Then he saw her sly smile as Zista appeared to ponder her words. And reject them. “You do require a breeding partner, but it’s still too dangerous. I will scout out any potentials for you. If I find some compatible specimens, then I will gather their information and we can arrange a safe meeting on board.”
A sensible decision, one Dyre could tell Betty didn’t like at all. Her lips pressed into a tight line. “This trip sucks.”
“You were warned before volunteering that this would happen. Humans are too rare for you to roam freely,” Zista explained, and, judging by her exasperated tone, not for the first time.
With a muttered, “No fair,” Betty spun on her heel and stalked out.
“You know she’s probably going to disobey,” Dyre remarked.
Zista sighed. “Of course she is. She’s stubborn that way. But I suspect you already knew that.”
“Yes. And rest assured, I plan to shadow her steps and keep her out of trouble.” Not one hundred percent true. He’d let her get in a little trouble, then save her from it.
The docking of his ship to the space station went without a hitch. Betty returned and took a seat on the bridge, lips pursed in a pout. She even managed a less than sincere, “Have fun,” as he and Zista departed.
Dyre hid a grin.
With a large knife strapped to her hip, Zista strode off his ship and quickly melted into the crowd of aliens. Dyre, wearing a heavy cloak that he donned just before exiting, also blended in, but he didn’t go far. Inching his way to a wall, where he possessed a clear view of his ship’s portal that led into the large bay, he waited and watched.
He counted to three hundred and eleven before the doorway for the tube connecting his vessel to the space station slid open and a head poked out. With her features concealed via a dark scarf wrapped around her head with only openings for her eyes and mouth, Betty made an attempt at camouflage, yet her all-too-human eyes and pink shell lips easily gave her away.
Betty stepped gingerly onto the space station deck, and he noted the rest of her attire. Baggy trousers, dark combat boots, and a long trench coat. A decent disguise, but her hesitancy garnered attention.
Weakness acted as a magnet for the less scrupulous. He noticed more than a few aliens taking an interest and dogging her steps as she chose a direction to wander in. This would be easier than expected, and quick. It wouldn’t take long before someone made their move, and Dyre would be ready to step in and save her. A hero for his damsel. A splendid plan.
With a jaunty step, Dyre left his post and followed her. For protection, he wore a broadsword strapped to his back and a holster around his hips. While he wore a long cloak, it was specially made to allow him to keep one hand on the grip of his pistol. Only the suicidal, or insane, would dare venture around unarmed.
The space stations that dotted the galaxies were varied as to rules, and patrons. Some were run with tight laws enforced by mercenaries who would shoot first and take your ship. Others had no laws at all, letting the various visitors battle it out and forcing the winner to pay for damages.
This place fell in the middle, organized enough to show some civility, but rough enough that posturing and strength were needed lest a
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