"She told you that?"
"Sure did," Larry said with a nod of his curly head. "Said she didn't want to be responsible for a bunch of precocious boys." Larry seemed puzzled, adding, "What's precocious mean, anyway?"
"That's an English word which means that you're advanced for your age," Jack replied, "which is certainly true. I don't know many seven-year-olds who could do what you guys do. Must be a Zetithian thing."
"Nope. It's the Terran/Zetithian cross," Moe said knowledgeably. "'Least that's what Dad said."
"He only said that because he wants me to feel like I had something to do with it,"
Jack said roundly. "Don't believe everything he tells you." For her part, it was difficult not to take everything Cat said as the gospel truth. One glimpse of his long, lean body and beckoning smile would have her buying bridges in Brooklyn and lakes on Darconia in no time. Good thing he was so honest...
"I have never lied to our children," Cat insisted, his black eyes flashing with indignation. "They are very intelligent, and I believe it is because of you."
"I know you think that, Cat," Jack said impatiently, "and neither of us are what you'd call stupid, but I wasn't flying a ship at that age."
"Did you have the opportunity?" Cat countered. Moving closer, his eyes began to glow and Jack had no doubt that this was one disagreement he was going to win.
"Well, no," Jack admitted. "I don't suppose I did, but--"
"I have no doubt that you could have," her husband said firmly. "Therefore it is no surprise to me that our children can."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "You're sweet-talking me again, Kittycat. You want
something, don't you?"
Cat smiled wickedly. "Can you doubt it?" he said, beginning to purr.
"Maybe later," she said with a grin. Actually, there was no "maybe" about it. Jack knew he would work his magic on her just as he always did. He was completely
irresistible, and he knew it. Damn him.
Larry and Moe returned to their stations giggling. They knew a whole lot more
than their parents thought they did.
***
prepared. In a fit of pique, Hidar had not only refused to fix dinner but had also refused to explain what was what in the galley, so in some cases, Trag was forced to make a guess.
"I can't wait to get to Darconia," Rodan said, sitting down next to Micayla, who shifted away from him slightly. Though Rodan's stench had improved considerably since the ladies joined the crew--a side effect for which Trag was extremely grateful--Micayla obviously wasn't longing for a closer relationship, no matter what Rodan might have in mind.
"And why is that?" Micayla asked, cocking her head toward him. "Got a thing for big, scaly lizards?"
"No," Rodan replied. "You don't have to wear clothes on Darconia." Leering at her, he added, "And once you see me naked, you'll want me so bad you'll be down on your knees begging."
Micayla let out a sardonic laugh and rolled her eyes. "I doubt it, Rodan, but you can keep dreaming, if you like. I'm just not interested."
Rodan snickered. "You haven't seen me naked."
"And I hope I never do," she said smoothly, "though I'm not sure it would make any difference."
Rodan laughed and dug into his dinner, obviously not the least bit discouraged.
Trag was looking forward to visiting Darconia himself, partly for the chance to
see Kyra again, but mainly for the warmth. He'd spent years wishing for a cooler climate, only to discover that "cooler" meant he was uncomfortably cold most of the time. He also missed the freedom of being nude, and without missing a beat his mind made the leap to Kyra and how he'd teased her to stop wearing her long dresses and wear nothing but jewelry like the Darconian females did. She had finally given in but had never seemed very comfortable with it--no matter how terrific she might have looked.
Trag considered his two new shipmates carefully and decided that while Windura
might adopt the Darconian style eventually, he couldn't see Micayla ever doing it, no matter how hot it was. She wore that space station uniform as though perpetually
anticipating a formal inspection; everything tucked, buttoned, and zipped up tight. She wasn't what you'd call timid, though--the exchange between her and Rodan proved that--
but she did seem awfully quiet sometimes--even aloof--especially around Trag.
This irked Trag because she seemed able to talk to everyone else on board, which
didn't make a bit of sense. She was Zetithian, for heaven's sake! He ought to at least be able to talk to her. Peering at her surreptitiously across the dinner table, Trag pondered
this until he simply couldn't stand it anymore.
"So, Micayla," he began. "You're from Earth, right? Any idea how you got there?"
***
surprise. Unfortunately, she now had to fight the urge not only to hiss at him, but to bite him as well. The desire to sink her teeth into his succulent flesh was almost
overwhelming. In fact, the only way she could answer his question without attacking him was to avoid looking at him entirely. "My family was being chased through a spaceport,"
she replied, staring down at her plate, "and my mother handed me off to a stranger--my stepmother, Rulie--and told her to keep me safe. She took me to Earth."
"And your real family?" he prompted. "Do you know what happened to them?"
"They were killed," Micayla said, still keeping her head down.
"I'm sorry about that," Trag said warmly. "I was lucky that way--Ty and I were captured and sold together. You must feel very lonely."
This sounded like another version of Rodan's approach, but rather than getting
into a lengthy discussion, Micayla opted to cut it short, replying with a terse affirmative.
She couldn't deny that she felt something for him--though she wasn't quite sure what it was--but talking to Trag made her uncomfortable. She didn't trust the unfamiliar reactions triggered by his presence.
"I'm surprised Jack never found you though," Trag went on. "She's put out the word all over the galaxy about what happened to Zetith and that the Nedwuts were
responsible. I can't believe you didn't know you were Zetithian."
"My stepmother did her best to keep me safe--from everyone," Micayla replied.
"If she heard anything about it, she would have assumed it was the bad guys looking for survivors."
"True," Trag agreed. "I'm not sure I would try to contact Jack if I'd been in hiding like that. Of course, Earth's a pretty safe place to hide--even from us."
Micayla's curiosity got the best of her. "What do you mean by that?"
"We can't land there," Rodan chimed in. "We're all undesirables." The emphasis he put on that last word, along with the accompanying chuckle, suggested that he was either proud of the fact or thought it was ridiculous--Micayla wasn't sure which.
"Can't go to Terra Minor either," said Trag. "The toughest immigration and landing regulations in the galaxy, though Lynx did get them to allow any Zetithians needing refuge to go there--with the exception of me because I've been hanging out with these guys."
"Which means we'll be considered undesirables too, I suppose," Windura said bleakly, "or murderers."
Micayla started to ask what she meant but then remembered Grekkor's accusation
implicating the two women in the death of the Norludian. "So we're outlaws now, huh?"
Micayla mused, shaking her head as she stabbed at the food on her plate. "Guess we'll be on the run until we can clear our names--which, under the circumstances, doesn't seem very likely." She paused with a forkful poised before her lips. "What is this anyway?
Fish?"
"Um, that's part of the problem," Trag said. "Hidar used to do all the cooking--I've
only recently started doing it myself--and there's some stuff in the stasis unit I'm not sure about. I thought it might be Kreater beast, but--"
"If it's Kreater beast, then it's okay," Windura said soothingly. "This is what it's supposed to taste like."
"Yes, but what if it isn't?" Micayla said, still scrutinizing the bit of meat on her fork.
"I guess outlaws like us can't be too choosy," Trag said with a shrug. He appeared nonchalant, but something in his tone of voice told Micayla that it had been the wrong subject to broach--maybe even worse than hissing at him. Then his expression clouded and she was sure of it. Way to go, Micayla.
"Hasn't killed us yet!" Rodan said cheerfully. Downing the last bit on his plate with gusto, he upended his bottle of ale, draining the contents before letting out a satisfied belch.
"I'm not sure you're the best one to judge, Rodan," Windura said. "Something tells me it would take more than rotten Kreater beast to kill you."
"He actually likes Hidar's cooking," Trag whispered to her, "if that tells you anything. It's nearly killed me several times."
"Well, I don't think this would kill anyone," Micayla said. "But I certainly wouldn't kill for it."
Trag's eyes darkened ominously. "I'd like to see you try figuring out what all that shit is," he snarled. "Maybe if you go rub Hidar's wings he'd tell you."
"I'd rather not," Micayla shot back.
"Well then lay off, Ice Queen."
Micayla knew she'd hurt his feelings, but the attack hardly seemed warranted. "Ice Queen?" she echoed indignantly. "And just what do you mean by that?"
"That you're cold as ice?" Trag suggested. "The kind of girl who can make men's dicks shrivel up with one glance--or should I say, one hiss?"
Micayla stared at him in disbelief. All she'd done was question the menu--and
even he'd admitted he wasn't sure what it was. It shouldn't have been enough to set him off, unless he was a whole lot more sensitive than any other man she'd ever met. Without warning, her temper flared. "Well, you can just keep your shriveled-up cock to yourself, Trag," she spat out. "I don't want it!"
"Yeah, well, maybe I will--Mick," Trag said with a sneer. Pushing away from the table, he left without another word. Rodan followed in his wake, though somewhat
sheepishly, Micayla thought. Perhaps Rodan would think twice about pursuing her if the shriveling effect was widespread.
"Guess it's up to us to do the dishes," Windura observed, "seeing as how you've managed to run the guys off." With an exasperated shake of her head, she went on, "What is it with you two? One minute you seem to be getting along fine and then, wham! You're at each other's throats!"
"Guess I made him mad when I asked about the food," Micayla muttered. "It was all downhill after that."
"You could be a little nicer to him, you know," Windura chided. "I mean, I could understand if you couldn't stand the sight of him, but--"
"That's just it," Micayla moaned. "I can't stand the sight of him!"
"He's even more gorgeous than you are," Windura said frankly. "What's the
matter? Are you jealous?"
"No," she insisted. "I'm not! I just, well, all I have to do is look at him and I want to bite him or at least snarl at him. It's all I can do to control it. It's very strange."
"That is weird," Windura agreed. "Glad you can keep from biting him, though.
With those fangs of yours, you'd probably have him bleeding to death with one bite. Of course, that would give me an excuse to baby him a little."
Micayla's eyes widened. "You want to baby him?"
"The truth?" Windura stood up and faced Micayla squarely. "I'd like to do just about anything with him. I'm not picky. I'd take whatever I could get."
"Really?"
"Yeah, really," Windura replied. "Is that so hard to believe? I mean, he's a nice guy and he's gorgeous. What's not to like?"
Micayla was hard-pressed to reply. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I can't really say I don't like him--I don't know him well enough for that--it's just this compulsion I feel to scratch his eyes out just for looking in my direction. But at the same time, I can't take my eyes off of him--like the first time I saw him."
"Well, do me a favor and keep your claws out of him," Windura said. "I don't want him all ripped up."
Lerotan walked in just then seeming a bit harassed. "I got busy updating my logs,"
he began but stopped short at the sight of the empty plates. "Don't tell me I missed dinner!"
"We saved you a plate," Windura said, setting it down on the table.
Lerotan looked at it suspiciously, his raised eyebrow wrinkling the tattoo at his temple. "What is it?"
"We don't know," Micayla replied. "But it might be Kreater beast."
"Really?" he asked tipping up the plate. "Looks sort of like it--but then, I'll eat just about anything." Pulling up a chair he sat down and picked up his fork. "By the way, I passed Trag just now. Mind telling me why he looks like he wants to kill someone?"
"Probably because he does," Windura said. "Micayla pissed him off."
"Picked on his cooking, did you?" Lerotan said genially.
"Well, not exactly..." Micayla replied. "I just wanted to know what it was. Things deteriorated after that."
Lerotan folded his hands piously and gazed upward. "May the gods deliver me
from sensitive cooks."
"And sensitive cats," Windura added sagely.
"Especially sensitive cats," Lerotan agreed.
"Go on," Windura said to her friend. "I'll finish this up."
"Hold on a second," Lerotan said. "As I recall, you ladies boarded my ship without any luggage. There are some women's clothes stored down in the hold. One of the men can show you where they are. Help yourself to anything you want."
"Thanks," said Windura. With a barely suppressed smile, she added, "I can't imagine how someone like you could have wound up with clothes but no females to go with them."
Lerotan shrugged. "You collect lots of things in my business. Some you need, some you keep in the hope that you might need them someday."
"Not a lot of room for extras on a ship, though," Windura commented.
"True," Lerotan agreed. "You just have to decide what's most important to you."