Pirate: Space Gypsy Chronicles, #1 (14 page)

“That’s actually quite brilliant then,” she murmured, peering behind them, her tone thoughtful.

The narrow corridors they used meant they passed close to the beings also about their business. Following the signage, Rafe located the mechanical shop, where he ordered parts, plus some. He also made sure to complain loudly about, “Piece of junk. Can’t go two galaxies without something breaking down.”

The mechanic, a one-eyed fellow with more metal parts than flesh, grunted. “That’s how it is with the older ones. But at least you can fix it. These newer vessels...” The fellow spat something wet and thick onto the floor. It sizzled. “They have a sensor blow and you’re waiting way too long for a replacement.”

“Say, have you worked much with the AI units? The ones coming out of Sylika?” Rafe posed casually.

“More and more ships are getting them.”

“Have you heard of any problems with them?”

The mechanic’s one eye narrowed; the other, an orb that swirled with color, fixed him. “Problem how?”

“Attitude problem, as in talking back. Doing stuff without being ordered.”

“They are programmed to be autonomous. It allows ships to run with smaller crews as they monitor all aspects of the ship.”

“Anything more than that?”

“Are you having a problem?” the mechanic asked. “I could take a look.”

Let him on to his ship to hook directly to the computer? That was asking a lot of trust and his gut said hell no. “Nope. No problem. I was thinking of getting one, but you know, you hear rumors.”

The reply to that was a grunt.

Perhaps his issue with Annabelle was an anomaly. Or perhaps he overreacted, not used to having a machine that spoke to him as a person.

“How long to get those parts delivered? A few hura?”

“Most of it, yes, a few hura, but the refrigeration unit could take longer.”

That made him frown. He’d not planned on lingering. “See what you can do. I need that piece of junk outfitted.”

Only when they left did Emma lean close. “The
Annabelle
isn’t that bad. Why act like she is?”

Such naivety. He still had to teach her the basics. “If you own a luxury car with all the bells and whistles, do you go around bad neighborhoods bragging about it?” He arched a brow as he waited for her reply.

It was mumbled. “Good point.”

Yes, another point for him because he was great. So great he missed the body that darted from the shadows and yanked Emma away from him before he could move!

Okay, he didn’t miss it. He totally saw it, but he let it happen. Emma needed to respect the danger here and he totally wanted to see what would happen next.

And if he had to step in and play hero? Didn’t Earth girls always reward them?

S
hock
more than anything kept Emma from screaming when something grabbed her. Even when she managed to suck in a lungful of air, she refrained from yelling.

Act cool.

Easier said than done seeing as how the strangest creature stood before her. Shriveled, much like a prune, and yet red, redder than a tomato overripe on a vine, a woman, or at least a female by the looks of it. And, yes, Emma was sure because the sex seemed pretty clear by the four breasts dangling, covered only in the barest scraps of material. The entire ensemble lacked fabric and decency. It made studiously keeping her gaze on the stranger’s face most important.

What an interesting visage. The face appeared long, the forehead sloping back and turning into a horn. The horn itself curled around and bore striations, the different colors striping it. The eyes, pure black and unblinking.

Fingers tipped in long fingernails, sharp and dagger-like, gripped Emma, a firm grip that belied the skinny arm. “Xgfhdgrhsghrthttjfht.”

A high-fluted stream of words emerged from a mouth with ebony glossed lips, so thin they barely existed. Teeth glinted as if sheened in metal, as the strange woman babbled at Rafe, her free hand gesticulating.

For his part, he didn’t seem too concerned, and he shook his head numerous times before finally saying, “Speak English that my companion might hear what you have to say.”

The incomprehensible gibberish switched instantly into something Emma could understand, although the husky British accent threw her.

“I must have this female. How much to sell her?”

“Sell me?” Emma yanked at her arm, but the shriveled lady held on. “I am not for sale.”

Dark eyes fixed her. “Silence, girl. You were not given permission to speak.”

“Excuse me?” Emma drew herself tall and glared down at the crone, who didn’t seem daunted at all. Then again, given her surprising wiry strength, Emma had to wonder who would win in a wrestling match.

Emma caught Rafe shaking his head at her. “Let me handle this, wench.” He addressed the crone. “The female is not for sale.”

“Nonsense. All things have a price. Name it.”

“The girl is not for sale, and you will remove your hand from my property before I remove it for you.” The words were spoken with a hard undertone, one that clearly stated he wouldn’t hesitate to use violence.

“The girl is not marked.”

“Not anywhere you can see,” he countered.

The crone’s black eyes, made blacker with heavy eyeliner, narrowed. “She is your mate?”

“No.”

“Then you can sell. Whatever price you want.”

“You heard him. I’m not for sale.” Emma finally yanked her arm free and tucked herself close to Rafe. Not for the first time, she had to admit perhaps coming here wasn’t the brightest idea.

“Are you sure you don’t wish to rid yourself of her? She seems rather impertinent. I have clients who would cure her of that habit.”

He lifted a brow. “But that would ruin her finest attribute. Now, if you don’t mind, fair dame, we have business to attend to.”

“If you change your mind, come find Paschatta. Even better, come see me without the girl. It has been a long while since a traveler has graced my bed.” The not-so-subtle Paschatta tossed Rafe a lascivious wink and a lick of her lips. The forked purple tongue appeared wet with slime.

Oh gross. Emma might have thrown up a bit in her mouth.

With a wiggle of hips, narrow and comprised of three buttocks, each crack flossed by string to hold the loincloth skirt in the front, the scary crone left them.

Rafe began walking again, and she hurried to keep up.

“What the hell was all that about?” she asked. “What was she talking about? Buying me and the fact I wasn’t marked?”

“The societies you will encounter follow different rules. In most of them, as I’ve tried to explain before, women have little rights.”

“She’s a woman, of some sort. She seems to have some rights.”

“On this space station, she managed to carve herself a base of power. But she will be a rarity. In most cases, you’ll discover women are bargaining chips. Property.”

“Women are slaves!” Shocked, she stopped dead, and something bumped into her from behind. Without thinking, she rammed her elbow back, only to have it sink into something fleshy.

“Jsggdsrttg.” An angry exclamation had her tossing a look over her shoulder at the rotund thing behind her. He. It. Whatever, seemed most put out by her action.

“Don’t you give me attitude. You bumped into me!” she snapped.

The translucent skin, covering a jelly-like body, turned a vivid pink. “May your drinks contain spit,” it announced before snail sliding around her and up the hall to a grand stone arch.

“That was gross and uncalled for,” she muttered.

“Not really. I think he liked you. That was a compliment among his people.”

“Gross. Just gross. Maybe you were right. I should stay on the ship. I don’t think I’m ready for this yet.”

“Too late now, wench. You insisted on letting everyone know you were here, which means by my side is probably the safest spot for you. We won’t linger, though. Once we get the things we came for, we’ll depart.”

“Are we almost at the market?”

“Close. We’re about to enter the original way station. It started out as an asteroid, but, over the eons, was built upon. A long time ago, this was a very busy place. Much busier than you see now. But when the star in the next galaxy over went nova, trade routes shifted.”

She peered at the stone arch as they passed underneath. “They built the space station around an asteroid? Is it safe?”

“As safe as anything in space.”

“How long are we going to be here anyhow?”

“As long as it takes.”

“Thank you, oh king of vague answers.”

“It’s not vague. It’s honest. I’ve not been here in some time, so locations for things might have changed. Therefore, any estimate would be a guess.”

“Well, I don’t care how long it takes to get there, so long as it’s somewhere there’s food.” She rubbed her belly. “Kind of getting hungry.” And she could smell something good. Roasted meat and strange spices. It made her mouth water.

“Very well. We shall eat.” He huffed as if put out by her request.

A snort blew past her lips. “Don’t even try that. I know you’re dying for some of what we smell too.”

“But you asked first, so I win.”

“Not everything is a competition.”

“Are you sure of that?”

They traversed the stone arch and, after a short walk through a wide stone tunnel that had passages branching off from it, emerged into the belly of the asteroid. Hollowed out, it was like stepping into a giant dome, but a dome filled from the ground up with buildings, most of them appearing like shipping containers stacked on top of each other. It looked precariously balanced.

A wave of noise washed over her as the muffling effect of the stone tunnel disappeared. The tantalizing scent of roasting meet was joined by other fragrances, a plethora of them. So much to see, touch, taste, feel. All new. All so very different. It overwhelmed.

She staggered to a stop, panting slightly.

“Keep moving,” he muttered. A hand in the middle of her back propelled her forward.

She stumbled but recovered. “You could have just asked. No reason to shove.”

“If you don’t want me to do anything, then don’t look like such a tourist. Right now, people think you’re of my people and, as such, off-limits.”

“I still don’t see how my being from Earth changes things. Why would I be more valuable? We’re the same. Even you said so.”

“Not quite. And now is not the time to explain.”

When would he find the time? He certainly hadn’t in the time they traveled, a time she couldn’t even gauge since, in space, they didn’t use the hours and days system she knew. They used something Rafe called the Galactic Standard, and while the units were different, in a nutshell, tics were seconds. Mynths for minutes. Hura for hours and dees for days.

Some of the terminology made her think of pig Latin for some reason. It freaked her out to realize just how much of her world was intertwined with Rafe’s. So many similarities. But also many more differences.

There was a lot more activity inside the dome, as opposed to the rings outside of it. The lower level resembled a wild bazaar with tables set out in a jagged line, their lengths buried by merchandise. Some items proved easily recognizable. Bolts of fabrics in shimmering colors. Baskets with alien versions of fruits and vegetables, many appealing enough visually that she wouldn’t have minded trying a bite.

Other tables held strange objects. Statues of impossible creatures. Pictures of unbelievable landscapes. And cages, filled with chittering creatures the likes of which she’d never imagined.

“Are those animals for sale? Do people keep pets in space?” She was particularly intrigued by the fluffy white ball with one giant blinking eye—until it bared pointed teeth and hissed.

“Those creatures are for food. The pet menageries are on the higher levels and are only for those with plenty of credits to spare. Pets are a luxury out here.”

Food? She pressed her lips tight at the thought of it.
This isn’t any worse than chicken or fish, or even steak at the grocery store.

Speaking of food, the mouthwatering aroma of cooking meat halted her before a man turning and basting skewers of meat in a big hearth.

“Please tell me we can eat that.” Because she really, really wanted something with flavor.

“If you wanted meat on a stick, I could have accommodated.” Subtlety wasn’t something Rafe believed in.

“Stop making everything about sex,” she hissed.

“No.” He turned from her to the meat vendor. In short order, they each had a metal prong, the end wrapped in fabric to protect from the heat.

Skewer in hand, Emma eyed it. It occurred to her that she didn’t know what kind of meat it held. Chances were, though, it wasn’t from Earth.

“What’s wrong? Too hot?” Not worried at all about the origins of the protein on his stick, Rafe paused in between bites to question.

She waggled it. “It’s alien meat.”

“No. Out here, it’s just meat. Eat it.”

“But—”

His voice dropped an octave. “Eat. It. You don’t want to look out of place or insult the merchant.”

“If I die of food poisoning, I’m haunting you,” she warned. She angled the skewer close and inhaled. The mouth-watering scent tickled over her taste buds. It truly smelled divine.

Opening her mouth, she popped the tip in and grabbed the first chunk before she could talk herself out of it.

Sweet heaven. The meat was so tender she could chew it with ease. The spices hit all the right spots, drawing forth a happy hum of contentment. All too soon the first yummy piece was swallowed. Time for another. And another.

Rafe remarked, “I think I’m getting jealous.”

She paused her humming and cracked open a single eye. “You should be. I’ve never had anything more incredible.”

“Is that a challenge?” His lips quirked.

“You won’t win. This”—she waved her almost empty wand of meat—“is really, really good.”

“I’ll ask you again later after you’ve tasted my meat. Then we’ll see if you still feel the same way.”

Maybe she’d let him try. Exactly how much longer would she deny him? She’d already held him off longer than any other guy. Way longer, which begged the question, why did she keep fighting?

Because she liked him more than any other guy she’d met.

Compared to other men she’d lusted after, Rafe had the capability of truly hurting her. And not just because he could abandon Emma to her fate on one of these remote space stations, but because losing him, as a person, and friend, would hurt. She’d developed feelings for him, feelings that might not survive him ditching her later on.

But…if I don’t act, he could move on.
Did she want to see someone else honing in on her chance?

Done eating, they handed the skewers back to the vendor, who shouted angrily at them.

“What the hell is his problem?” she asked.

“Nothing. He was thanking us.”

“Really?” she asked, craning to peek over her shoulder.

“No. Actually, he offered me a discount if I’d sell you to him. He’s catering a big wedding shortly, and he thinks you’d taste great as the main course.”

“That is not funny.” And her stomach wrenched as she wondered what that delicious meat she’d eaten contained. “Where to next?”

Belly full, she didn’t care what errands they had left to run. Personally, she wouldn’t have minded a nap.

“I need to see someone.” He didn’t elaborate on who. He took the lead, seeming to know where he wanted to go. Rafe didn’t pause at any of the stalls, and she couldn’t help but turn her head, trying to catch all the sights. When he finally did stop, she gaped at the surprising display before her. “Are those jeans?”

Not just denim pants, but cotton and silk and other clothing that clearly came from Earth, along with some stuff that clearly didn’t. What they all had in common was they were made to fit her two-legged shape—although she noted more than a few rotund specimens checking out the flowered tube tops.

Rafe engaged in a heated debate with the shopkeeper, a swarthy human-looking fellow, whose only alien addition was the horns on his forehead.

Freaking horns. She made sure to keep her jaw snapped shut. As weird went, he wasn’t all that different from her, which was perhaps what made the ivory horns with the sharpened tips so riveting.

She dropped her gaze to the wares on the table lest he catch her staring and gore her with them. A vivid imagination was a cruel mistress.

With a final bark, Rafe spit in his hand, as did the shopkeeper, and they slapped them together. Rafe then turned to Emma. “Pick out a wardrobe. Anything you need. They are going to charge it to the ship’s account.”

A practical girl, Emma asked, “Is this coming out of my paycheck?”

“It’s not stuff for me.”

“But as your employee, I should have a uniform.”

“This”—he waved his hand over the table—“is not a uniform. Hence, I should not have to pay for it.”