her.
She nodded and choked back the tears, then moved beside M and clutched him. He slid a single arm around her waist and worked the controls, readying our ship and the station to receive me.
I pressed my arms into my sides. “Ready.”
C HAPTER 9
I STOOD STILL in the space station’s transporter room and focused on the room’s contents to make my nausea cease. An older version of M’s control panel and chair undulated like the monitor and door, growing and shrinking abnormally. I snapped my eyes closed, picturing the room without the wacky effects. I breathed in the sting of cleaning solution and hint of Samarian roses, mentally walking the layout from the oversized door to the low ceiling and tall, narrow windows.
My stomach lurched again and I gripped the satin edges of my sleeves. There’d been a glitch the last time I’d used this station, like the machinery had a lag in the delivery of all my bits and parts. I was surprised it hadn’t been fixed.
This time, it took a full minute for my stomach to settle. The delay had requiring more time with each use this year, and I’d forgotten to mention it. Sensors picked up my vitals and I waited for the air mixture shift and forceful rush of oxygen into the room. Other than the belly flutters, I didn’t feel the typical light-headedness of arriving. Maybe they’d done some repairs since my last visit to this side of the universe, and hadn’t known to fix the transporter.
“Transport successful.” M’s voice reverberated off the walls. I relayed the lag.
“I’ll report the bug. Not sure who’s in charge of—”
“That’d be me,” a deep voice interrupted from behind the console off to my left. I strained to catch a glimpse of him but a silver metal wall blocked my field of vision. Against the wall, holos of a flight crew stood awaiting any instructions I might have. I’d forgotten about this feature, so revolutionary back when they’d built this and now a useless outdated feature. I studied the captain and his crew as they flickered in their faux attentiveness, wondering if I could ask them to escort Dirk off the station.
I sighed, knowing I was my own solution. Once my intestines felt normal, I stepped off the transporter, dragging the heavy train of silks behind me. “Excuse me?”
“I’m in charge of upkeep,” the voice said again, then he appeared—the one and only Dirk Battleship. I’d spent too much time with Fransín’s dancers last night; he mimicked them and their humanoid features. In my research, I hadn't bothered with where Dirk had originated from, probably crawled from a hole on Tipper and insinuated himself neatly into the colonies before becoming a galactic mechanic and personal whore to females everywhere.
Every detail about Dirk was unappealing. From his reputation to his broad shoulders that were too wide to fit in a controller chair, eyes so pale blue Mercev’s seven suns would have scalded them within seconds, a square jaw that would have dislodged a Twilip headdress, long muscular legs that would have cramped on a Bevi hike. Dressed in a thickly padded mechanic’s jumpsuit, he was about my height, which made his thickly muscled arms ridiculously out of proportion; whatever his species, it was a bizarrely functional one. The sleeves of his jumpsuit strained with the pressure of his body beneath—the orange material matched the color of my third robe, yet clashed ridiculously with the shade of his skin, the bronzed brown of a Foley sunrise. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, which made me uneasy. Between the transport and my lingering emotions, I had enough to worry about.
“Great.” I smiled politely and stepped around him, giving him a wide berth. “Will you be long? I’m meeting someone.” I swallowed and clutched my fingers together at my belly, wanting him to take the hint and hightail it to his ship. “It’s a private function.”
He smirked and raked his gaze down my dress, then back up,
She nodded and choked back the tears, then moved beside M and clutched him. He slid a single arm around her waist and worked the controls, readying our ship and the station to receive me.
I pressed my arms into my sides. “Ready.”
C HAPTER 9
I STOOD STILL in the space station’s transporter room and focused on the room’s contents to make my nausea cease. An older version of M’s control panel and chair undulated like the monitor and door, growing and shrinking abnormally. I snapped my eyes closed, picturing the room without the wacky effects. I breathed in the sting of cleaning solution and hint of Samarian roses, mentally walking the layout from the oversized door to the low ceiling and tall, narrow windows.
My stomach lurched again and I gripped the satin edges of my sleeves. There’d been a glitch the last time I’d used this station, like the machinery had a lag in the delivery of all my bits and parts. I was surprised it hadn’t been fixed.
This time, it took a full minute for my stomach to settle. The delay had requiring more time with each use this year, and I’d forgotten to mention it. Sensors picked up my vitals and I waited for the air mixture shift and forceful rush of oxygen into the room. Other than the belly flutters, I didn’t feel the typical light-headedness of arriving. Maybe they’d done some repairs since my last visit to this side of the universe, and hadn’t known to fix the transporter.
“Transport successful.” M’s voice reverberated off the walls. I relayed the lag.
“I’ll report the bug. Not sure who’s in charge of—”
“That’d be me,” a deep voice interrupted from behind the console off to my left. I strained to catch a glimpse of him but a silver metal wall blocked my field of vision. Against the wall, holos of a flight crew stood awaiting any instructions I might have. I’d forgotten about this feature, so revolutionary back when they’d built this and now a useless outdated feature. I studied the captain and his crew as they flickered in their faux attentiveness, wondering if I could ask them to escort Dirk off the station.
I sighed, knowing I was my own solution. Once my intestines felt normal, I stepped off the transporter, dragging the heavy train of silks behind me. “Excuse me?”
“I’m in charge of upkeep,” the voice said again, then he appeared—the one and only Dirk Battleship. I’d spent too much time with Fransín’s dancers last night; he mimicked them and their humanoid features. In my research, I hadn't bothered with where Dirk had originated from, probably crawled from a hole on Tipper and insinuated himself neatly into the colonies before becoming a galactic mechanic and personal whore to females everywhere.
Every detail about Dirk was unappealing. From his reputation to his broad shoulders that were too wide to fit in a controller chair, eyes so pale blue Mercev’s seven suns would have scalded them within seconds, a square jaw that would have dislodged a Twilip headdress, long muscular legs that would have cramped on a Bevi hike. Dressed in a thickly padded mechanic’s jumpsuit, he was about my height, which made his thickly muscled arms ridiculously out of proportion; whatever his species, it was a bizarrely functional one. The sleeves of his jumpsuit strained with the pressure of his body beneath—the orange material matched the color of my third robe, yet clashed ridiculously with the shade of his skin, the bronzed brown of a Foley sunrise. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, which made me uneasy. Between the transport and my lingering emotions, I had enough to worry about.
“Great.” I smiled politely and stepped around him, giving him a wide berth. “Will you be long? I’m meeting someone.” I swallowed and clutched my fingers together at my belly, wanting him to take the hint and hightail it to his ship. “It’s a private function.”
He smirked and raked his gaze down my dress, then back up,
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