Gredda and Push, the cargo handlers, peered into the galley from the corridor. Ian made another around of introductions.
Dressed in a brown leather sleeveless jerkin with studded straps crisscrossing over a tight woolen chemise, Gredda looked like a mythical Viking queen. She crossed her impressive arms over equally impressive breasts, her skin glistening with grease smudges and perspiration from a long session loading cargo. "A female flyer this time," she said approvingly.
Tee acknowledged Gredda with a smile that quickly faded. Much paler now, she lifted an unsteady hand to her cap and plucked it off her head.
Quin stared. "By the heavens, what happened to her hair?"
Tee's expression could have frozen plasma fuel. "Do you have a problem with the way I look?"
Quin sized her up. "What if I do? I doubt looks matter much in the places you frequent."
Ian whistled softly as the two exchanged heated glares.
When Quin returned to the stove, Tee sank into obvious misery. She was perspiring, even in the cooler air, and a greenish pallor bleached her face. Ian had experienced the morning-afters of enough fraternity parties to know how she was feeling. Mandarian whiskey meant a quick buzz and a killer hangover.
"Drink up," he coaxed, handing her cup of tock. I REFUSE TO ENGAGE IN A BATTLE OF WITS WITH AN UNARMED PERSON, the mug read. He hadn't chosen it deliberately, but it seemed somehow appropriate. Although, he had to admit that Tee had done a hell of a job negotiating her salary, despite her inebriated condition.
She lifted the cup, sniffed at the liquid, then lowered it Her voice quavered. "I— I need your lavatory."
Ian plucked her off the bench, steering her toward the lav in the corridor. She waved him away, and the door hissed closed. Waiting for her to exit, he leaned against the bulkhead, folding his arms over his chest.
Quin stepped in front of him, hands spread. "Captain, listen, save us all a bit of trouble and haul her back to the nearest drinking hold. Another pilot will come along."
"Another pilot is not going to come along, Quin."
Quin's attention swerved to Muffin. "Didn't you say you fly?"
Muffin's fists closed and the sinewy muscles in his neck flexed. "I flew a combat mission in the war. It was part of a raid to free Queen Jasmine. The young lad I was paired with took a shot in the abdomen. I got him off Brevdah Three, but"— regret darkened his eyes— "he bled to death during our escape. I haven't wanted to pilot a craft since. You wouldn't want me to try now."
From inside the lavatory came the swish of water in the hygiene sink. Then Tee emerged, her choppy hair slicked back from her pale forehead, her baggy clothes hanging in wrinkled folds, making her appear more gaunt than slender. Grayish shadows under her eyes added to her air of fragility, turning the once-enchanting pixie into a forlorn waif.
She passed them, her gait faltering but still proud as she made her way back to the galley.
Ian spoke in undertones, preempting his mechanic's protest. "She'll have to do, Quin. Randall's on Grüma, and we're going after him."
Quin's jaw moved back and forth, a sure indication that he was pondering their predicament.
Ian jerked his thumb toward the galley. The pixie was definitely a sight, dressed in her dusty old clothes, her short red-gold hair sprouting in all directions. But something inside him lightened inexplicably every time he looked at her. "Now that she's purged her system, we'll fill her with tock"
Referring to Tee as if she were another bulky piece of shipboard equipment appeared to comfort the mechanic. "All right, Captain. After launch, I'll allow her some downtime to bring her back to maximum efficiency."
"That's it, Quin," Ian said with a smile. "Now we're talking."
After a prolonged private conversation with his men, the handsome Earth dweller returned to the galley. Tee'ah gave a small moan as the room tilted.
"When was the last time you had a meal?" he asked.
"It's
Dressed in a brown leather sleeveless jerkin with studded straps crisscrossing over a tight woolen chemise, Gredda looked like a mythical Viking queen. She crossed her impressive arms over equally impressive breasts, her skin glistening with grease smudges and perspiration from a long session loading cargo. "A female flyer this time," she said approvingly.
Tee acknowledged Gredda with a smile that quickly faded. Much paler now, she lifted an unsteady hand to her cap and plucked it off her head.
Quin stared. "By the heavens, what happened to her hair?"
Tee's expression could have frozen plasma fuel. "Do you have a problem with the way I look?"
Quin sized her up. "What if I do? I doubt looks matter much in the places you frequent."
Ian whistled softly as the two exchanged heated glares.
When Quin returned to the stove, Tee sank into obvious misery. She was perspiring, even in the cooler air, and a greenish pallor bleached her face. Ian had experienced the morning-afters of enough fraternity parties to know how she was feeling. Mandarian whiskey meant a quick buzz and a killer hangover.
"Drink up," he coaxed, handing her cup of tock. I REFUSE TO ENGAGE IN A BATTLE OF WITS WITH AN UNARMED PERSON, the mug read. He hadn't chosen it deliberately, but it seemed somehow appropriate. Although, he had to admit that Tee had done a hell of a job negotiating her salary, despite her inebriated condition.
She lifted the cup, sniffed at the liquid, then lowered it Her voice quavered. "I— I need your lavatory."
Ian plucked her off the bench, steering her toward the lav in the corridor. She waved him away, and the door hissed closed. Waiting for her to exit, he leaned against the bulkhead, folding his arms over his chest.
Quin stepped in front of him, hands spread. "Captain, listen, save us all a bit of trouble and haul her back to the nearest drinking hold. Another pilot will come along."
"Another pilot is not going to come along, Quin."
Quin's attention swerved to Muffin. "Didn't you say you fly?"
Muffin's fists closed and the sinewy muscles in his neck flexed. "I flew a combat mission in the war. It was part of a raid to free Queen Jasmine. The young lad I was paired with took a shot in the abdomen. I got him off Brevdah Three, but"— regret darkened his eyes— "he bled to death during our escape. I haven't wanted to pilot a craft since. You wouldn't want me to try now."
From inside the lavatory came the swish of water in the hygiene sink. Then Tee emerged, her choppy hair slicked back from her pale forehead, her baggy clothes hanging in wrinkled folds, making her appear more gaunt than slender. Grayish shadows under her eyes added to her air of fragility, turning the once-enchanting pixie into a forlorn waif.
She passed them, her gait faltering but still proud as she made her way back to the galley.
Ian spoke in undertones, preempting his mechanic's protest. "She'll have to do, Quin. Randall's on Grüma, and we're going after him."
Quin's jaw moved back and forth, a sure indication that he was pondering their predicament.
Ian jerked his thumb toward the galley. The pixie was definitely a sight, dressed in her dusty old clothes, her short red-gold hair sprouting in all directions. But something inside him lightened inexplicably every time he looked at her. "Now that she's purged her system, we'll fill her with tock"
Referring to Tee as if she were another bulky piece of shipboard equipment appeared to comfort the mechanic. "All right, Captain. After launch, I'll allow her some downtime to bring her back to maximum efficiency."
"That's it, Quin," Ian said with a smile. "Now we're talking."
After a prolonged private conversation with his men, the handsome Earth dweller returned to the galley. Tee'ah gave a small moan as the room tilted.
"When was the last time you had a meal?" he asked.
"It's
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