Maverick Page 5

  “That I am what?” Brak prompted.

  “Were about to molt or something,” Larry muttered, determined to keep from putting Althea’s suspicions into words. Hearing it from her was bad enough. Get it out in the open and no telling what would happen next.

  “And how would she know that?”

  “She can read emotions,” Larry replied. “You know…feelings? She’s better than a lie-detector droid. That’s why I need her. I thought you understood.”

  “She believes I am about to molt?”

  Larry nodded. “That’s what she said—although she wasn’t completely sure that was the real reason you’ve been so grumpy.”

  “I am not grumpy.” Brak folded his pincers across his thorax and snapped his head from side to side. “And her ability to read feelings is not as good as you think.”

  Larry arched a brow. “Oh really. What makes you say that?”

  “I am not preparing to molt. I won’t do that again for at least another year.” He ran a pincer over his shiny, ribbed thorax. “Can’t you tell?”

  He’d seen Brak prior to molting before. His entire exoskeleton grew dull and cracked, and his wings got really ragged. “Okay. So she was wrong about that. Maybe she doesn’t read Scorillians as well as other species.” Larry could only hope that was true. “But you have been acting weird lately. I’ve noticed it myself.”

  “Then I will try to behave more normally.”

  “But why—”

  “I do not wish to discuss it.” Rustling his wings, Brak turned back toward his control panel. “Plotting the new course around the nebula.” He tapped the panel a few times before announcing, “We will arrive at Palorka in one hundred and eighty-five point three standard hours.”

  “A little over a week, then,” Larry said after some rapid mental math. “That comsystem shouldn’t take very long to fix—no more than a day or two. What about the return trip to Rhylos?”

  Brak aimed one eye at Larry without bothering to move his head. “It’s always something, isn’t it?”

  Larry gaped at him in disbelief. “I ask a reasonable question, and you get all huffy. What’s gotten into you?”

  “I am perfectly well.” Brak waved a pincer in a dismissive fashion. “Carry on with the piloting before we crash into a star.”

  “Have I ever crashed into anything before?”

  “No. But things are different now. We have a distraction aboard.”

  “A distraction? Better not let her hear you say that. She has powers, you know. I’ve seen her make the ground open up and swallow a whole gang of Nedwut bounty hunters.”

  “S-swallow?” Once again, Brak’s antennae began to quiver.

  “Okay, so it didn’t exactly swallow them,” Larry admitted. “Just slowed them down long enough for Mom to get the drop on them. More like a large ditch than a canyon.”

  Brak’s antennae stretched straight up, only to branch out like a pair of fluffy antlers. “I didn’t think you Zetithians needed to fight Nedwuts anymore.”

  “We don’t. That happened years ago. Althea and I were only kids at the time.”

  “And now?” Brak prompted.

  “Her powers are a lot stronger.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ve also seen her make butterflies dance. Not sure what she could do to something as big as a Scorillian, but—”

  “Enough!” Brak yelled. “I shall treat her with the utmost respect.”

  Larry could recall several other examples of Althea’s astonishing—and occasionally terrifying—abilities but figured he didn’t need to go any further.

  “Yeah. Nearly everyone does—anyone with any sense, that is.”

  Chapter 5

  Having inherited a fair amount of his mother’s savvy, Larry had never been accused of lacking sense—common or otherwise. Nor had he ever had the misfortune of making Althea truly angry, and may the gods have mercy on anyone who did. Considering the utter mayhem he knew her to be capable of causing, her level of self-restraint was impressive. Either that or she simply didn’t wish to deal with the aftermath of wreaking havoc on an unsuspecting public.

  He hadn’t lied about what he’d witnessed, although he might’ve downplayed the implications. He recalled his mother’s words like it was yesterday.

  “Just a small ditch, Althea,” Jack had said. “Don’t go getting carried away just because they’re a bunch of scum-sucking Nedwut bounty hunters.”

  All she’d done was shove her hands forward, and a chasm had split the earth directly in front of the Nedwut gang. Everyone within range must’ve been momentarily deafened by the explosive clamor—Larry’s own pointed ears had certainly been ringing—but her expression had conveyed as much horror at what she’d done as it did any pain she might have felt. He suspected his mother had also seen her reaction, because she never asked Al to do anything like that again.

  Had her youth caused her to recoil the way she had? Or was it something else? Al hadn’t said a word to him about it at the time, and as far as he knew, she hadn’t confided in anyone else. Still, what she’d said about certain planets bothering her made more sense when viewed from that perspective. She’d said the land was in agony. Had she actually felt that planet’s pain when she ripped a hole in its surface?

  “She’d certainly be no use as a gardener.”

  Brak rotated an eye toward him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing,” Larry replied. “Just thinking out loud.”

  “Sure you don’t want to talk about it?” He sounded interested, even hopeful. As if being no use as a gardener automatically eliminated any female as a potential mate. Although how Brak could possibly expect that to be a mark in his own favor defied explanation or logic. It wasn’t as if Brak would ever actually eat fresh fruits or vegetables, much less try to grow them.

  Perhaps he would only do something so contrary to his nature for love.

  Nah. Not worth thinking about.

  Then again, if Brak was in the mood for conversation, Larry might be able to use that to his advantage. “I’ll talk about that when you talk about what’s bothering you.” While this would be a fair trade, it was also relatively unlikely.

  A flick of Brak’s antennae confirmed this assumption.

  “Mm-hmm. Thought so.” Taking a page from Althea’s book, Larry changed the subject. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have bothered, but if he didn’t do something to improve Brak’s mood quickly, this was going to be one long damn trip. “Think you’ll actually get off the ship when we land on Palorka?”

  “Perhaps. They are not quite so”—the Scorillian tilted his triangular head a full one-eighty—“exclusive as the Baradans.”

  “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘discriminatory,’ or maybe even ‘prejudiced.’”

  “Neither of which are very nice words.” Apparently, the forward-thrusted mandibles thing also doubled as a moue of distaste, particularly when accompanied by flattened antennae and an aggrieved tone.

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  “You at least don’t feel that way.” Once again, the hopeful note was back.

  Larry shrugged. “If I did, you wouldn’t be here. Besides, we Zetithians know what it means to be persecuted. Wouldn’t wish that on anyone, with the possible exception of Nedwut bounty hunters, and I’m not even sure about them.”

  He’d been seven years old when the death of their nemesis stopped payment on the five-thousand-credit bounty placed on every Zetithian male’s head. Having grown up watching his mother blast Nedwuts on sight to keep them from killing her husband and sons had given Larry an aversion to that particular species. Any others he might have disliked had to earn that distinction on their own.

  Palorkans being one of a select few. Not that he had any problem upgrading comsystems for them, particularly since he charged them a little more than he
did anyone else. Their quarrelsome natures made even landing on Palorka a bit risky, so he felt it was justified. He’d used that justification before and had come away with the distinct impression that Palorkans were not only proud of their short tempers, but they considered it an honor to fork over what was essentially hazard pay. He wouldn’t have thought honor would mean much to them, but there were always a few decent sorts in every gang of miscreants.

  “Our very existence seems to offend some species,” Brak said. “I have never understood that. We are decent and law-abiding. We work hard and live long. Why should anyone hate us?”

  “Could be the insect thing,” Larry suggested. “Mammals tend to be annoyed by bugs as a general rule, and since you guys are way too big to step on, the next best thing is avoidance.”

  “I find a few other species to be quite repulsive. Don’t go out of my way to step on them, though.”

  Althea strolled onto the bridge. “So, is there anything aside from White Castles in the stasis unit?”

  Larry frowned. “What are you talking about? There’s tons of other stuff.”

  “Nothing that I can see.” Althea scratched the tip of her ear. “If there is, it must be buried pretty deep.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Larry peered at Brak. “Did you by any chance take any deliveries while we were on Barada?”

  “Why, whatever do you mean?” Brak made a big show of tapping various icons on the navigation console, despite having locked in the course half an hour ago.

  “You know exactly what I mean,” Larry said ominously.

  Brak sniffed, which was difficult, because he didn’t actually have lungs—or nostrils. Larry suspected rapid antennae movement made the sound, but thus far, it had always happened too fast for him to be sure.

  “I know of your fondness for them, so I arranged to have a large supply delivered to us on Barada Seven.” The fact that Brak loved White Castle hamburgers above all things couldn’t possibly have played a part in his decision.

  “Why, Brak, that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.”

  Brak’s antennae plumed to unprecedented size and fluffiness. “Better than saving your h—Zetithian ass on Alpha Norplud?”

  “Maybe even better than that.” Larry caught Althea’s gaze, knowing that she too had heard the beginnings of what was undoubtedly the word hot in reference to his ass. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard his posterior described in that manner, but never by an insect.

  “You know, Brak,” she said reflectively, “you’re absolutely right. He really does have a nice ass. But then, he always did.”

  “Oh, so you agree!” Seeming delighted to have discovered an ally, Brak waved a pincer at Althea. “I have always thought—”

  This time, Larry was watching, so he was able to correlate the sniff with the whipping motion of Brak’s antennae. But that wasn’t what interested him.

  She thinks I have a nice ass? Althea? Seriously?

  If asked, he would have said that Al didn’t have any more interest in male anatomy than the average Zetithian female, which is to say very little. They couldn’t even reproduce without a Zetithian male, which was probably why there’d never been a bounty on them—not that the Nedwuts hadn’t used any they ran across for target practice.

  “Thought what?” Folding his arms, Larry leaned back in the captain’s chair and spun it around to face his two shipmates. Stretching out a leg, he rested his heel on the floor, using it to swivel the chair back and forth.

  Brak’s movement was more subtle. He aimed one eye at Larry and fixed the other green orb on Althea. “Clearly, neither of you can be trusted with a confidence. Or a slip of the tongue.”

  “If you had a tongue, which you don’t,” Larry observed. “You know, you aren’t supposed to talk about someone’s ass when they can hear you. You’re supposed to be more discreet—whisper about it over coffee or later on at the gym. You don’t say it to their face.”

  “Sorry,” Brak said, sounding as stiff as his exoskeleton. “My mistake.”

  “Me too,” Althea said. “I’m sorry for encouraging you.”

  It occurred to Larry that he probably shouldn’t have discouraged either of them, because for some inexplicable reason, he was fascinated by Althea’s opinions. Not that he had any interest in her as a lover. Celeste’s opinion of his ass was the only one that mattered.

  The only reason we’re here at all.

  That he’d needed a reminder said a lot about his attachment to Celeste. Then again, he’d known Althea all his life. Her opinion was bound to be worth something, particularly since she’d grown up with several litters of Zetithian boys. Granted, she hadn’t seen any of the others in four years, but she talked like she’d made these sorts of observations prior to her departure.

  She should’ve had sisters. He’d never thought about how being the only girl might have affected her. Not that there was a damn thing he could do about it now—or ever could have, for that matter. He and his brothers had certainly talked about girls enough, although never Althea, mainly because they were afraid of what she would do if she ever found out. Her mother was a prime example of why crossing swords with a Mordrial witch was a very bad idea. He’d known that from a very young age, and no son of Jack Tshevnoe could ever be accused of underestimating a female of any species.

  Althea winked at Brak. “We’ll talk more about his ass later.”

  “Actually, considering that Brak and I are both male, we should be the ones discussing your ‘hot Zetithian ass’ whenever you’re not around.”

  “Touché.” She aimed a questioning glance at Larry. “So, since we’ll have to eat our way through a mountain of them before we can get to anything else, I take it the White Castles are no longer off limits?”

  Larry waved a hand and spun back toward his flight console. “Eat as many as you like, Al. The bug will get into them if you don’t.”

  Althea stifled a giggle, but Brak, interestingly enough, didn’t even bother to try. “Ha, ha, ha,” he chortled, displaying the first evidence of genuine mirth since the “Celeste affair” began. He even fluttered his wings. “Good one, Captain.”

  Larry sighed. This might not turn out to be such a bad trip after all.

  * * *

  Larry really did have a nice ass. But then, most Zetithian guys did. He was no different from his brothers—or her brothers, come to think of it. Naturally tall and lean with muscles that were sleek rather than bulky, they were all perfect specimens of sheer masculine beauty. She’d seen enough girls drool over them to know it was true, whether she shared their opinion or not.

  Speaking of drooling, she must’ve been hungrier for hamburgers than she’d thought, because her mouth was watering like crazy, which wasn’t surprising since she’d eaten nothing but fruit for the past four years. Swallowing with an effort, she headed back to the galley.

  She’d been happy to hear Brak laugh, even if it was a “bug” joke. He probably got a lot of those. Hopefully Larry knew where to draw the line, particularly in light of all the cat jokes they’d heard over the years. Although with his mother around, most people never told more than one. One of the toughest women in the galaxy, Jack Tshevnoe had left a trail of Nedwut bodies in her wake before they were finally able to take out Mr. Big and the bounty hunters stopped coming.

  Life aboard the starship Jolly Roger had been much quieter—not to mention safer—after that, but they still managed to stumble across the occasional adventure in the course of their travels. As a trader whose business took them on trade routes that stretched all the way to Darconia and back again, Jack kept right on roaming the galaxy and amassing a fortune, somehow managing to have three litters of Zetithian babies along the way.

  Althea wouldn’t have traded her life with Jack, Cat, and their sons for anything, and neither would her parents. But all things had to end at some point, and child
ren usually left home eventually. Althea knew she hadn’t exactly outshone the others when it came to earning a livelihood. In fact, she’d never earned so much as a triplak until she sold one of her pictures to a Baradan woman who asked her to draw a portrait of her daughter. Althea had done her best to make the girl appear more attractive, but there wasn’t a whole lot to be done in that respect. Her mother was pleased, though.

  After pulling a package of hamburgers from the stasis unit, she nuked them in the microwave, then took a bite of the first hot food she’d eaten in four years. Her blissful sigh proved why those little square hamburgers had been in production for over a thousand years. They were just plain scrumptious.

  In the next instant, her mind’s eye filled with meat of a different kind, albeit every bit as tasty: Larry’s neck. Despite being partially hidden by his long, curly black hair, the column of muscle and bone rising from the low collar of his black T-shirt was every bit as fine as his ass. Especially at the base where his neck curved to meld with his powerful shoulder muscles.

  She blinked.

  I’m drooling again.

  Larry’s neck had never made her drool before. Nor had she ever compared notes on the desirable nature of his buns with a giant praying mantis. If this kept up, she’d be checking out the bulge in his groin next. The gods only knew what Brak would have to say about that.

  Clearly, she’d been in the jungle too long.

  Four years among skinny orange toads would do that to a girl. Even a Zetithian Mordrial witch who had to hold out for The One—the one man who could father her children.

  Larry couldn’t be that man. She’d known him all her life. Sure, they’d always been best friends, but he’d never affected her like this. Nor had he ever acted as though he had any romantic or sexual interest in her. Especially not now when he already had a girlfriend, someone he felt strongly enough about to seek out an empath to assure him that he’d found his one true love.