Pirate: Space Gypsy Chronicles, #1 (7 page)

F
or once
, crazy dude didn’t mock her, a good thing because had he said something, she might have burst into tears. It hit her in that moment as she watched the Earth, her planet, her home, everything she knew, shrinking in the distance, that she’d reached the end of life as she knew it. No longer would she wake to an alarm to quickly shower and head in to work, spending her day delivering items until, exhausted, she got home and collapsed on her couch.

No more would she binge on Netflix and chips. Never again would she sink her teeth into a Big Mac or slurp a milkshake.

Everything I knew. Everything I was. Gone.

Perhaps she made a sound, or he sensed the sudden cracking of the dam holding her emotions at bay. Before she could completely crumble, he caught her in his arms and held her tight to his chest.

He didn’t say anything. There probably wasn’t anything he could have said to ease her grief as she realized, for all intents and purposes, that she’d died. There would be no returning to her old life. Uncertainty stretched ahead. It frightened, and it threatened to overwhelm and send her into a blubbering panic. Yet…at the same time, a voice within reminded this wasn’t the end.

I’m alive.
As she raised her head and sniffled, she reminded herself a new life beckoned, and who was to say it wouldn’t kick the ass out of her old one?

She’d already accomplished so much in life. Surviving a lonely childhood and not turning into a juvenile delinquent, despite the way the system shuffled her around. She’d finished school, not with straight A’s, but she passed. Got a job. Kind of had friends. Not many, but a few.

What would they think when they discovered she was gone? Would anyone truly care?

It almost made her want to cry again as she realized how little she truly left behind.

Not usually one to take comfort, she pushed away from Rafe’s chest, even as a part of her wanted to linger. She wasn’t dead after all, and the guy, while irritating as hell, was also freaking hot. Being a normal red-blooded woman meant she noted the silky skin of his bare upper body and the firm muscle under that skin.

So tempting, but not something she could deal with right now. With a runny nose and swollen eyes, she wasn’t feeling too romantic. And, besides, she was still mad at him.

This was all his fault.

She wiped at her cheeks and took a few deep breaths, composing herself. For once, he didn’t say a word, showing a strange understanding she wouldn’t have expected.

It took a few attempts to clear her tear-swollen throat before she could manage a hoarse, “Okay, crazy dude. I’m done with the waterworks. So, if you’re still willing to give me that tour, I’m ready.”

“Are you sure? Some of my ship’s parts are susceptible to rust.” If not for the quirk of his lips, she might have slugged him.

“And how do those parts react to blood?” She arched a brow. While not usually a violent person, he brought out the worst in her.

“That’s the spirit.” He smiled, and she really wished her heart wouldn’t hiccup when he did. “You’ll need that tough attitude where we’re going.”

“And where is that?” she asked as she followed him out of the bridge.

“Wherever the galactic winds and the wormholes take us.”

“You really need to work on your reassuring speeches.”

“It wasn’t meant to be reassuring,” he stated as they walked down the hall. “The universe is a dangerous place. The only thing that is certain is that nothing is ever safe.”

“Seems like a shitty life.”

“It depends on your attitude. Some see the danger as a reason to shut themselves away. To shield themselves from every possibility. Others like to court the danger for the thrill of discovery. Let me ask you, wench. Which group do you belong to?”

The answer should have been obvious. Who the hell wanted to play with fire? Yet, as a woman who’d played it safe all her life, it shocked her to realize that she’d felt more alive in the last hour or so than she could have ever imagined. She didn’t answer his question and, instead, posed one. “You said your command center is in the middle of the ship. How many levels is it?”

“Three. Above us are crew quarters.” He waved a hand over his head. “Below is one set of engines. The backup set is in the nose of the ship.” He tapped on the wall where conduits ran. “On the other side of this, spanning two levels and taking up the rear of the ship, is the cargo bay. The stairs behind us at the other end of this hall lead to it.”

His description didn’t do much to help build a picture in her mind. Her nose wrinkled. “You said nose. What shape is your ship anyhow? Is it round like a saucer?”

“No. Think of it more as a triangle or a prism. Studies by aerodynamic engineers have proven that the best power efficiency comes from vessels with pointed sterns.”

“So no round UFO?” How disappointing. “What about little green men?”

“I already told you they exist, but given their blatant lack of regard for secrecy when studying your kind, they’ve been banned from Earth.”

She halted in the hall. “Hold on. I thought you were joking before. You mean they’re real?”

“Most of the legends and rumors that have been bandied about over the centuries have a grain of truth in them. PISS has done its best to—”

“Piss?”

“The Department for the Protection of Indigene Slow Societies. They are tasked with ensuring that your planet develops at a normal pace.”

“So they’re supposed to protect us from aliens? That makes no sense because I thought you told me our president was an alien. Or were you lying?” Her eyes narrowed.

“An exception was made because, if we continue to allow your race free rein, you’ll destroy the planet within the next fifty years. Given planets with actual livable ecosystems are rather rare, it was felt that some intervention was required. But, again, discreetly. There are many things about your planet that would surprise you, wench.”

“I have a name, you know.”

“You don’t look like a Stan.”

“Because I’m an Emma.”

“Emma…” He spoke her name as if he tested it, rolling it off his tongue. He shook his head. “Nice, but I think I shall stick to wench.”

“Then don’t be surprised if I stick to calling you jerk.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

As she tried to absorb all the details around her, she was struck once again by the bare-boned appearance of his ship. “I’m surprised everything is so exposed. In the movies—”

He snorted. “Comparing reality to the artistic imagination of your media is foolish. While some vessels have a sleek interior appearance, where the ‘bare bones,’ as you call it, are hidden by veneers, in truth, most working vessels such as this one, indeed most vessels not designated for pleasure, are owned by captains who do not have the money or resources to waste on making them pretty. Weight and size are a consideration on any ship, as are accessibility and functionality. You look at this and see it as raw and unfinished. I look around and see efficient use of space. Easy access if repairs are needed.”

“You said size. I saw that storage area you had below. It was huge.” A few tractor-trailers huge and stacked with pallets.

“The cargo hold is the largest space on this ship out of necessity. If we couldn’t carry a reasonable amount of goods, then we wouldn’t make a profit.” He stopped at an open doorway and gestured inside. “This is our medical room. Should you injure yourself, come here.”

Emma peeked within, not that there was much to see. The room wasn’t large by any means, only slightly bigger than a closet. She noted a series of closed drawers and panels inset within the walls with grooves for handles and, in the middle of the space, a rectangular metal island. “Are you the ship’s doctor too?”

“My medical aid stops at bandages.” He pointed at a round ball suspended from the ceiling. “That is our onboard physician. It’s not the newest model; however, it is capable of repairing and diagnosing basic ailments and injuries.”

“And what about the things it can’t fix?” she asked. Although it seemed better than the one foster mother she had who believed castor oil fixed everything. It didn’t, but it sure kept her from constipation.

“If the medical unit can’t fix it, then I’d suggest prayer.”

The reply surprised Emma. “Don’t you have hospitals in space?”

He leaned against the wall in the hall and shook his head. “Nothing that can be reached quick enough to make a difference. There are hospices on the settled planets. Some of them very advanced. However, if your ailment is life threatening, then you’ll probably die in the time it takes to reach them.” He shrugged. “The universe is a vast place, and we are but tiny specks traveling it.”

“But didn’t you say you had wormholes to cut the trip travel time?”

“If you can get to one, even then wormholes are not precise. The slightest miscalculation and you can find yourself hundreds of galaxies away from your destination, if you emerge at all.”

She frowned at him. “You are really not selling this whole galaxy thing very well. If it’s so dangerous, then why don’t you just settle on a planet and stop hopping around?”

“That would be a great solution, except for one thing. Viable planets already have inhabitants. While visitors are welcome, settlers, especially my kind, are not welcome.” He pushed away from the wall and continued down the long hall, ignoring two doors.

“Why aren’t you welcome?” she asked.

He whirled, suddenly enough that she couldn’t stop fast, and she almost bounced off his chest. “You ask this as if it was a simple answer when it’s not. On your planet, you are all descended from the same basic race, and yet you cannot share the space. You fight amongst each other, destroying and killing, in the name of gaining or taking territory. What makes you think it is different elsewhere? The viable planets already have dwellers. They already fight and squabble to keep what they have. The universe is not a kind place where people share. No one cares the Rhomanii are without a home, which is why we keep searching for the one we lost.”

“How did you—”

Before she could finish her query, he whirled on his heel with a snapped, “Enough. I agreed to give you a tour, not a history lesson.”

She wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “But how else am I supposed to learn if I can’t get you to answer?”

“Talk to Annabelle.”

Talk to his ship? Not a bad idea. Chances were the on-board computer wouldn’t give her the runaround when it came to answers.

Having reached the end of the hall, he clambered up some stairs. She followed, grumbling. “Where are the elevators? For a supposed advanced species, your ship seems pretty lacking.”

He stood waiting for her at the top, not out of breath at all, the jerk.

“This is not, as I’ve mentioned before, a pleasure cruiser, so space is at a premium. Frivolous items like an elevator take room, and power. Both of which are in short supply. Add to the fact that we’re often weeks, and in some cases, months traveling between planets and way stations, and exercise is needed to prevent muscle atrophy. Stairs are helpful in that regard.”

“But what if I like my ass fat?” she muttered under her breath as she followed his taut buns.

He heard and replied. “I’m sure we can find a way to keep you deliciously plump.” The wink he tossed over his shoulder brought heat to her cheeks.

With a closed fist, he banged on a door. “We are now on the upper level. This here is the supplies locker. Clothing, bedding, and toiletries. Although I might caution using some of them as they were not tested on human skin.”

He strode a few paces and pointed to the next door. “Bathing facilities and bodily waste management.”

“So you at least have toilets?” What a relief.

“Not exactly, but you’ll adapt.”

How ominous sounding. Before she could peek in the room and see what he meant, he was moving onwards. Through the next open door, he stepped in, and she followed.

“This is the recreation and culinary area for the crew.”

She peeked around, noting another screen on the wall, this one blank. A countertop bolted to the wall played table to the stools lining it, which were also affixed to the floor. In the center of the room were several yoga-like balls, about waist high, appearing to be made of a rubbery gray material. She poked at one, and her finger created a dimple in the surface. “What are these?”

“Chairs.” To demonstrate, he flopped into one, the round shape flattening and adapting to his body. “These are base models, though, so don’t expect any heated massages.”

She pivoted to take in more of the area, but there was nothing else to see. Not even a fridge or stove. Then again, this was a spaceship. Chances were he had some kind of food replicator machine just like the Jetsons. “How do we eat? Is there a button to press?”

“All food stores are kept in these cabinets.” He hooked his fingers in an indent on the wall, a yank pulling the door open. Inside sat rows of silver-foiled packages.

He pulled one out and ripped off the top of it before holding it out to her.

“How do you cook it?”

“You don’t. Welcome to the joys of space rations. They don’t taste like much, but each package is chock full of the nutrients needed for a biological entity to survive.”

Grasping the packet from him, she peered down at the gray mush. “It doesn’t look very good.”

“Looks don’t matter in this case. It doesn’t spoil, it takes very little room, it provides adequate nutrition, and it’s cheap.”

Perhaps it tasted better than it looked. She dipped a finger in and drew it out covered in the gray goop.

Don’t eat it.
What if he was trying to poison her? Never mind that him poisoning her made no sense. She just didn’t want to eat it.

“It’s not going to kill you,” he said with a sigh. “Give me that.” He grabbed the foil packet from her and, tilting his head back, held the packet over his mouth before squeezing it. A sinuous glop emerged and dropped into the open orifice. He didn’t chew—why bother when it was already paste?—and swallowed.

He arched a brow. “See? No biggie. Just fuel for the body.”

Fuel. Right. Before she could talk herself out of it, she shoved her finger in her mouth. The goo didn’t make her gag. It didn’t make her smile either. It did nothing. It was flavorless paste that she swallowed.