Erik glared across the room at the couple who had just walked in, the tall slender Barion woman dressed down in her very grubbiest coveralls. And the huge, fur-covered male Chitzky, Van Gar, wearing the match for what Drew was wearing—right down to the grease and the "Garbage Scow" insignia over the upper right-hand pocket.
For some reason it always galled Erik to see her with that thing. Probably because he wasn't so sure that they weren't really a couple in the truest sense of the word. Of course, tonight their presence here was burning his britches for another reason.
"If you could excuse me a moment, I think I'll just go to the rest room and check on my toe." He rose, bowed low and made his way through the crowd once more.
"I don't trust him, Facto," Taralin said.
"Don't worry. All he cares about is money, and he's getting enough of that to keep him honest. He gets nothing until we reach Jabar. Then the transfer to his account will be made, and he'll get the second half of his money."
"He's stopped to talk to someone at the bar."
"Can you see who?"
Taralin squinted her eyes and shrugged. "Not through the smoke."
Facto laughed, and patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, we will not miss our meeting with Zarco."
"I hope not," she looked troubled. They had gone too far, and been through too much to fail now.
They saw him before he was halfway across the room, and waved broadly at him as if he were supposed to meet them there.
"Erik! Darling! What a pleasure bumping into you here," Drew drawled out. "Join us for drinks, won't you . . ."
"What are you playing at," Erik whispered angrily. "You've got an important shipment to deliver tomorrow . . ."
"We gottah eat," Drew said.
"Not here you don't," Erik said hotly.
"Why not?" Drew's curiosity was aroused. "Ya got a girl here daddy?" She yelled. "Mama's been waiten' home all night!"
"Shut up, you gaping renal pore," Erik hissed. "The clients are here, and I would rather they didn't see what morons they have entrusted their lives to. So pick your rude fucking asses up, and haul them outtah here before you get drunk and play a game of 'let's see how far we can pitch the bartender'."
The bartender's eyes got big, and he smiled his warmest smile at the two Salvagers.
"We only did that one time," Drewcila assured him sweetly.
"He was being a jerk," Van Gar added solemnly.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asked, smiling his most helpful smile.
"They're not staying," Erik assured him.
"I'll get you something in a carry out."
The bartender started mixing a drink in a take-out glass.
"On the house," he added.
"Now get up and go," Erik said.
Drewcila smiled and held out her hand. "What's it worth to ya?"
"Fucking bitch," Erik grumbled, digging into his pocket. He took out a handful of oval-shaped coins and handed them to her.
She took them, and stuffed them quickly into her own pocket.
"Now go."
"We have to wait for our drinks," Drew said sweetly.
"Here you are," the bartender put two drinks on the bar in front of the Salvagers.
"Thanks."
"It was a pleasure to serve you. Come back any time."
"Don't get drunk," Erik warned.
"That'll cost ya extra," Drew smiled back.
"You listen to me, Drew. You and this fur-ball had better be ready for takeoff in the morning, or . . ."
"Don't get yer panties in a wad, Erik. I'll be ready for takeoff. Just like I always am."
She patted Erik on the head, then linked her arm through Van Gar's. "Come, Van, I grow weary of this place."
Arm-in-arm, they sauntered out the front door.
Erik gritted his teeth together and headed back for his table. No one was there. Erik sighed. They probably got antsy and left.
"She'll be the death of me yet."
Drewcila and Van Gar walked down the crowded spaceport street, oblivious to the colorful night time crowd. They were busy counting the money Erik had just given them. Drew held it in her hand while the Chitzky counted it, neither of them being willing to trust the other with their free drink.
"Wow! Damn!" Van whistled.
"How much?" Drew asked.
"Twenty fucking iggys." Van breathed. Drew stuffed the money in her pocket quickly. But not before a hooker saw it.
"I'd do you for that, tall, dark and furry." The hooker called, following them down the street.
"Not interested," Van said.
The hooker ran around in front of them, so that they had to stop or run over her.
"I'd do you for that, hot babe."
"Bite me."
Drew elbowed around her and they started walking again.
"Would if you wanted me to," the hooker said, continuing in hot pursuit. "Do you both for twenty. That's a real bargain. Come on, what do you say? Two for the price of one. That's my final offer."
Drew stopped and Van Gar followed suit. Together they turned to face the determined whore. They looked at each other, then back at the whore.
"Nah," they said in unison, then turned and started walking again.
"Ah, come on! It's been a lousy night. Give a girl a break," she whined as she continued to follow them.
"We said we're not interested," Van said hotly.
"You don't have to be so mean," the whore shouted back.
Drew turned around. "Tell you what, honey. Go and boil your pussy for ten minutes, and then maybe we'll talk."
Drew gave her a little shove. "Now beat it."
"You'll be sorry!" The whore screamed over her shoulder as she took off running in the other direction.
"Not as sorry as we could have been!" Van shouted after her.
The Salvagers laughed and started on their way again. Their drinks were almost empty, and they were trying to pick a good dive in which to buy a refill, when two big human males crawled out of an alley in front of them.
"Suppose this is the sorry that slut was talking about?" Van whispered to Drew.
She smiled up at him. "Either that, or a welcoming committee for crabs."
"Hey, fur ball, where ya get off puttin' down our whore?" The bigger one gritted out through yellow teeth.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will only piss me off," Van Gar sneered back.
"So, ya wanna get smart, do ya?" The smaller one cracked his knuckles.
"Why? Are you guys teachers?" Drew asked facetiously.
"Give us the money, and maybe we'll let ya live," the big one snarled.
"Get the fuck outtah my face, and maybe I'll let you live," Van Gar answered with a smile.
At six-six, and carrying two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle-bound flesh, wrapped in a protective coating of fur, there weren't many things in the universe that intimidated the Chitzky.
"Now, now," Drew chided, clicking her tongue. "Can't we find a peaceful solution? After all, the universe would be a much nicer place if people would just talk things out instead of always resorting to violence . . ."
"You've gottah be kidding, lady," the bigger one said.
"You interrupted me when I was talking!" Drew screamed as she took a step closer to him. "I hate it when people do that!" She kicked him in the balls as hard as she could, and he collapsed, screaming in agony. Then she kicked him in the head for good measure.
Without waiting for the other man's reaction, Van Gar landed a power punch to his face, and he hit the sidewalk next to his friend, out cold.
Meanwhile, Drew was finishing her lesson, punctuating her speech with solid kicks to her victim's ribs.
"What I was going to say before you so rudely interrupted me, was that people should learn to dwell in peace with one another. That we should nurture each other instead of always destroying each other."
Her speech finished, she quit kicking him, and she and Van Gar started back down the street without a backwards glance.
"Well, the whore was right," Drew said.
"Huh?"
"I am sorry. Sorry that I didn't hit that diseased bitch first."
"Amen, Sister." Van Gar laughed.
Drew took his hand. She liked the way it felt—all warm and hairy. He squeezed her hand till it was almost uncomfortable, and she warmed with the familiar feel of it.
"Hey, Chitzky. Why don't you find your own kind!" Someone screamed from the safety of a crowded bar. Van started to drop Drew's hand, but she held his tighter.
"Fuck em," she said.
"Fucking jerk," Van mumbled. "Hell, it might have been Erik. He makes no bones about the way he feels about me."
"Erik's human, Van. You know how they are. They hate everybody."
"It's not just the humans, Drew. Not with the Chitskys. We no longer have a home world, and because of that all races look down on us."
"Aw! Come on, Van. We're supposed ta be havin' a good time. You're not going ta start that poor-down-trodden-Chitzky crap again, are you? So you don't have a planet. Whoopy shit. Some people will find any reason to whine. Now snap out of it. We're celebrating, remember? Fuck Erik. The only reason Erik doesn't like you is because you have hair everywhere, and he doesn't even have it on his head."
Van Gar laughed and followed her into the first of a series of ten bars.
Drew held her head between her hands and tried to make the screens in front of her come into focus. Through the fog of pain, she was about to decide that there really was such a thing as having too good a time.
Van set a steaming cup of liquid in front of her.
"I told you not to drink that Get Outtah the Truck Bitch. You get sick every time you drink them.
"I am aware of that, Van Gar." Drew spoke carefully, so she wouldn't wake up the sharp pains in her head again. "After all, you only said 'I told you so' seven hundred times last night while I was throwing up my liver and spleen."
"Well, that's seven hundred and one, then." He worked at keeping the smile off his face. "I've just about got the mess cleaned up now."
"I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Drown in vomit?" Van suggested.
"What a pleasant thought," Drew said with a snarl.
She let her head flop on the console in front of her, and then fought the wave of nausea that washed over her.
"Oh! Please! There couldn't possibly be anything left in my stomach. Oh, never again, Van. Tell me. Did I make an ass of myself?"
"No more than usual."
"Did I dance naked anywhere?"
"Just topless. No one seemed to notice."
"That's always comforting. Did we have sex?"
"No," Van said with a laugh. "Not unless you consider holding your head outtah the toilet to be fore-play."
"You will tell me if we ever have sex, won't you? I mean, I'd hate not knowing." She groaned loudly. "Oh, God, Van! I wish I would just die and get it over with."
"No such luck, babe. Drink your medicine, you'll feel better. I'm going to go finish cleaning up the mess."
"Oh, that's right. We couldn't have the ship messy when the royal bitch gets here. Go ahead—abandon me in my hour of need . . ."
"Your hour of need was about three o'clock this morning. Why have you already decided to hate this woman?" Van Gar pushed the cup closer to Drew, and she picked up her head and made a face at the smell.
"There's just something that galls me about the thought of royalty. The idea that someone is better than me simply by right of their birth. Like being born is something you have any say in. I mean, what happens? Does a sperm scream out, 'No! no. Don't put me in that wretched pussy, I want to go in that Royal cunt!' I don't fucking think so."
Van Gar laughed. "You're a twisted bitch, Drew." Still laughing, he left to go finish cleaning up the ship.
Drew waited till he was out of sight, then she stumbled over to the disposal chute and tossed the Chitsky's hang-over remedy away. Then she went back and sat down.
"I feel better already," she mumbled, looking at the empty cup.
She decided that no matter how hard it might be, she was not going to let Erik know she was hung-over.
"So! You must be Drewcila Qwah," declared a booming male voice.