Maverick Page 9

  Being that sought after must be hell.

  She’d never had to deal with that problem. Zetithian females were nearly impossible to seduce, and once that story circulated, most guys didn’t bother to try. Nevertheless, Althea had run across a few brave souls who’d been willing to give it a go. To date, none had succeeded.

  “Think I’ll do as Larry suggested and check out the pilot’s console.” She turned the chair around and set the washcloth in the cup holder.

  Curly was right. The controls really were idiotproof. Memorizing the location of each one might take a little while, but a lengthy orientation period was completely unnecessary. At the moment, however, about all she could do was stare at the console until the image was burned into her visual memory. With the course laid in for a rescue mission, now was not the time to fiddle with the settings.

  She turned around to find Brak with both eyes aimed right at her, one antenna vertical and the other horizontal. Clearly, he wasn’t one to be put off so easily.

  “Okay, Brak. What is it you want to say?”

  His gossamer wings rose and fell in a whispering sigh. “I dream about Larry’s hair. Combing through it with my upper appendages and letting it glide over my wings.”

  The mental image alone was enough to creep her out. “Brak—trust me on this one—as sharp as those barbs are, you’d probably end up cutting his hair rather than combing through it.”

  “I know.” His response combined a groan and a wail. “You see why this is so impossible?”

  “Yes, I believe I do.” Wincing, she bowed to the inevitable. “Would it help to talk about it?”

  “Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes…”

  Folding her arms, she leaned back in the chair. “Okay. What else do you like about him?”

  “Like? I don’t just like him. I love everything about him.” A soul burning in hell couldn’t have conveyed more torment.

  Althea had never experienced unrequited love. What she was feeling for Larry wasn’t love; like she’d said before, it was only chemistry. Out of sight—or scent range—out of mind. Sort of. Brak, on the other hand, seemed to be suffering from the real deal.

  “He’s kind, honest, handsome, and so wonderful. I don’t even know where to begin.”

  She pursed her lips. “What about those pointed ears? You probably don’t like them, do you?”

  “Oh, Althea,” Brak mourned. “You are so, so wrong.”

  She tried again. “Fangs?”

  He rustled his wings. “Awesome fangs.”

  “Ever hear him purr?”

  Brak’s antennae shot straight up. “Purr? What’s that?”

  “Oh, you know…that rumbling sound cats make when they’re feeling content.”

  “He can do that?”

  “Yep. All Zetithians can.” Males and females purred for different reasons. However, she deemed it prudent to skip over that part.

  “Never heard him do that.”

  Althea had. Although right now, she was beginning to wonder if she hadn’t imagined it.

  Brak moved several steps closer, his eyestalks stretched to the limit. “What would it take to make him purr?”

  Figuring she might as well tell him everything, she huffed out an exasperated breath. After all, it wasn’t as though he couldn’t ask the damn computer. Good ol’ Gal Friday probably knew everything there was to know about Zetithians. “Zetithian men purr to entice females.”

  Brak’s upright antennae and rigid eyestalks drooped instantly. “He will never purr for me, will he?”

  “Sorry, Brak. But I’m guessing he won’t.”

  His gloomy demeanor only lasted a moment. “Can you do it?” he asked eagerly. “Purr, I mean. I’d like to know what it sounds like.”

  She shook her head. “Not right now. I’d have to be in”—she stopped herself before blurting out the real reason—“the, um, right mood.”

  One antennae rose slightly. “Would that be enticed or sated?”

  She glared up at him. “You really don’t mince words, do you?”

  “Not when it comes to Larry. I haven’t been able to talk about him with anyone until you came onboard. You grew up with him, so you probably know him better than anyone. As I see it, I have to get all the information I can while I can.”

  Great. She was already trying to avoid being alone with Larry. Now she would be in for an interrogation every time he took a nap. “Yeah, well, don’t press your luck. I’m already starting to wish I’d never agreed to this conversation in the first place.”

  He lowered his head as though attempting to appear meek or at least contrite, which wasn’t an easy emotional display for a Scorillian to pull off. “Please forgive me. When it comes to Larry, I tend to get a little carried away.”

  “You aren’t the only one. Our entire planet was destroyed because Zetithian men were too irresistible for their own good.” She shrugged. “Although I suppose that was the women’s fault for being so uninterested in them.”

  “Perhaps.” Tilting his entire elongated body toward her until his huge green eyes were level with her own, he peered at her for a long moment. “You don’t strike me as being uninterested. What’s the matter with you?”

  Brak’s murderously sharp pincers were mere centimeters from her neck. He’d admitted that a sexual relationship with Larry was impossible, but was he obsessed enough to kill off any rivals? If so, Celeste definitely needed to steer clear of the Stooge—and Althea needed to watch her back.

  “That, my friend, is one very good question,” she replied. “If I ever find the answer, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Swiveling her chair to the left, she stood and stepped quickly out of pincer range. “In the meantime, can I bring you something from the galley? Maybe a nice, hot cheeseburger?”

  Brak nodded. “Only White Castles can relieve my despair. Might take more than one.”

  Althea was almost afraid to ask. “How many would you like?”

  “I dunno…” All four of his “knees” sagged, causing the tips of his wings to drag on the floor as he headed back to his station. “Better bring twelve to start with. I can always get more later.”

  Chapter 9

  Althea brought back the plateful of cheeseburgers and carried them over to the navigation station, only then realizing that the standard navigator’s chair had been replaced with an odd contraption that only a Scorillian could love. Suspended from two posts was a large sling that supported Brak’s lower body, allowing him to take the weight off his clawlike feet and free his pincers to adjust the controls. Slots on either side of the sling accommodated both sets of his hind legs.

  Gods forbid anyone else should have to play navigator while he was off duty.

  “Here you go, Brak. Chow down.”

  Brak rubbed his pincers together. “May the Maker bless you and your children and your children’s children and your children’s children’s children.”

  Assuming this was his way thanking her, she muttered, “You’re welcome,” and set the plate on the console’s contoured side table, noting that it also had a cup holder. “Did you want something to drink with that?”

  “No,” he replied. “If I take any liquids with them, they swell up uncomfortably in my stomach. But thank you for asking.”

  Althea was of the opinion that twelve cheeseburgers would do that to just about anyone without any assistance whatsoever, but Scorillian physiology wasn’t something she knew much about. Perhaps Friday could enlighten her on that species’ digestive peculiarities. “No problem. Guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

  “There is no need for you to go,” he said. “I like having company at dinner.”

  This should be interesting. “Okay.” Never having seen anyone eat twelve cheeseburgers at a sitting before, she sat down at the weapons console, which gave her a better view of the proceedings.

  Br
ak picked up one of the burgers and began to nibble at the bun while he tapped the controls with his other pincer. His mandibles were relatively large, but as tiny as his mouth was, Althea suspected this would take a long time.

  She was wrong. One hamburger disappeared so quickly, she was sure she’d imagined it. Brak picked up another one and kept right on tapping the screen.

  After a while, curiosity got the better of her. “Do the navigation controls require that much attention?”

  Brak’s pincers snapped together, neatly slicing the burger he held in half. The pieces fell back on the plate. “No. Our course remains set.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “Playing solitaire.” He aimed one eye at her. “I have beaten the game four thousand five hundred and fifty-six times.”

  She grimaced. “And here I thought living in the jungle was boring.”

  “Oh, Althea, you have no idea.” After selecting another burger, he began tapping and nibbling again. “Since I have been aboard this ship, I have played the game ten thousand six hundred and thirteen times.”

  “No wonder you’re so crazy about Larry. I mean, he’s a nice guy and all, but he isn’t that wonderful. I think you’re suffering more from boredom and a lack of options than unrequited love.” Considering how easily he’d snipped a hamburger in half with his pincers, she deemed it best to avoid using the word crush lest he take offense and retaliate.

  “You may be right,” Brak said after devouring yet another sandwich. “But then, he never said this job would be exciting.”

  “Maybe not, but don’t you guys ever take a vacation?”

  “Sometimes,” he replied. “Depends on where we happen to be when the work requests slow down. Rhylos is okay—plenty to do there, and it’s more cosmopolitan than most worlds. Nor do they object to Scorillians. We are shunned on many planets, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.” She hesitated. “Celeste lives on Rhylos, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “Have you ever met her?”

  “Oh yes. She is quite lovely, but she isn’t anywhere near good enough for our Larry.”

  Althea bit back a smile at his use of our. “How so?”

  “She’s too nervous. Always upset about something or other. And she complains constantly. Always too hot or too cold. Plus, she only eats raw vegetables and fruit.” His tone suggested that this was the worst offense of all. “Don’t know how anyone could eat such food exclusively and remain alive.”

  Like the Baradans, Althea had been subsisting on a similar diet for some time. And so, if she remembered correctly, did the Darconians. If the huge dinosaur-like creatures could thrive on a vegetarian diet, she suspected any species could. “You really don’t like her, do you?”

  “No. I do not.”

  Considering the portrait Brak had painted of the girl, Althea was surprised Larry liked her. Then she remembered the hologram Friday had shown her. Clearly, some faults were easier to overlook when the woman in question was a gorgeous blond.

  “She also has a silly laugh,” he went on. “Sounds totally ridiculous.”

  Larry probably thought her giggles were cute, although they might be the sort of thing that would grate on the nerves after a while.

  “Hmm… Well, you can’t help who you fall in love with,” she said. “You of all people should know that.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” A chime sounded, and the cards on the screen began bouncing with joy. “Make that four thousand five hundred and fifty-seven wins.” He rotated that same eye toward her again. “You’re obviously good luck.”

  “I doubt it. My money’s on the White Castles.”

  “You may be right,” he said. “I shall play another game and see how it turns out.”

  “That’s my cue to get lost, huh?”

  “Oh no. You can stay. The hamburgers are gone.”

  Althea would’ve sworn he hadn’t eaten more than six, but empty plates didn’t lie—unless he’d stashed the leftovers somewhere. “I’m impressed. Want that drink now?”

  “No need. I shall play another game and test your ability to influence my luck.”

  “After playing ten thousand games, I’d say your skill had more to do with the outcome than luck.”

  “Not really. It takes at least thirty thousand games to develop any kind of strategy.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “A Viridian fellow I met on Tamiba Six,” Brak replied. “His numbers were in the millions. He never loses.”

  “I dunno. Seems like knowing you were always going to win would take all the fun out of playing the game.”

  “Ah, but he doesn’t play for fun. He plays for money.”

  “Oh really?” she drawled. “How much did he take you for?”

  “Forty credits. Would’ve been more, but I actually won a game in the second round.” Once again, the chime rang out, and the cards began bouncing around the screen. “Four thousand five hundred and fifty-eight wins,” he crowed. “If you’d been with me, I could’ve taken his slimy Viridian ass for thousands.” His antennae drooped. “Although you know what they say: Money can’t buy love.”

  “You wouldn’t want that kind of love anyway. Would you?”

  “Probably not. But I’d be willing to give it a go for a while.”

  Wouldn’t we all?

  Especially given that she’d never been in love. Too bad there was no such thing as experimental love. Trying the emotion on for size as it were. The trouble would be finding the right person to experiment with, which would be every bit as tough as finding someone for the real thing.

  Perhaps money really was the answer.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t even claim a lack of funds as the reason for her own unattached state. Granted, she’d never held a job, but in a bank somewhere in Earth’s New York City, her share of the trust fund derived from the wealth of the man responsible for destroying Zetith had been earning interest since she was six years old.

  She had money and plenty of it. So far, however, it hadn’t done her a bit of good. Perhaps she needed to spread it around a little. Go back to Rhylos and throw expensive parties and hobnob with the rich and famous.

  Nah. Not my style.

  On the other hand, with a little seed money, she might be able to help Brak become rich enough to attract a Scorillian he liked better than Larry. There were always beautiful people of both sexes and practically every species hanging all over the high rollers in the casino district on Rhylos. Get him into a game with her standing beside him for luck, and who knew what might happen?

  Hmm…

  * * *

  Larry might’ve gone to bed, but as he’d anticipated, he wasn’t sleeping particularly well. Why would Al want to get rid of him? Sure, she’d retreated to Barada to avoid having dozens of other people’s emotions banging around in her head, but he was the one person she couldn’t read. There had to be another reason. Did she want to talk to Brak? Alone? Why in the world would she want to do that?

  You’re imagining things.

  But the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he wasn’t imagining anything. He didn’t think it was because she didn’t like the way he piloted the ship. He’d already told her she could fly it herself if she wanted to. No doubt about it, she was trying to avoid him.

  He flipped over for the umpteenth time. At this rate, his long curly hair was going to be a mass of knots by the time he finally fell asleep. If indeed he ever did.

  I need a shot of tequila.

  Unfortunately, tequila would only knock him out for about an hour before it wore off and he woke up again. The other more significant problem with that idea was that he didn’t have any liquor on board. A stasis unit filled with cheeseburgers was bad enough. If Brak ever started bingeing and drinking, there’d really be no liv
ing with him.

  In the next instant, he sat bolt upright in bed as it occurred to him that maybe Al couldn’t stand to be around him because she didn’t know what he was feeling.

  He’d never considered that to be a problem before, and the best he could recall, neither had she. Why would it bother her now?

  It’s because I was purring.

  He fell back on the bed with a thud.

  She thinks I was trying to entice her.

  And he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. The purring had just…happened. It wasn’t intentional at all, only a gut reaction to her tears. Initially, he’d thought ignoring the episode was for the best. Now he was beginning to wonder if talking about it might be a good thing—clear the air, so to speak. All he had to do was figure out the best way to broach the subject.

  Three hours later, no closer to a solution, he finally fell asleep.

  * * *

  Althea was sitting at the pilot’s console playing Edraitian roulette with the computer when Larry stumbled onto the bridge.

  “Holy Hektat!” he exclaimed. “Where the devil are we?”

  She tapped the screen. “Eight point seven light-years from JR-51.” With another tap on the screen, she resumed her game. “You’ve been asleep for almost twelve hours.”

  “Really? I never sleep that long. No wonder my brain is so foggy.” Several moments passed before he realized that Brak was nowhere in sight. “You’re flying this thing all by yourself?”

  Instead of being offended by his outburst, she merely nodded. “Brak was sleepy after eating too many cheeseburgers, so I suggested he lie down for a while. With the course laid in, I didn’t think it would be a problem, although I’m glad you’re finally awake. I’m getting sort of drowsy myself.” She peered at him curiously. “Holy Hektat? Never heard that one before.”

  “That’s the Scorillian’s god,” Larry said. “Although they hardly ever call him anything but ‘my Maker.’ Saying ‘Hektat’ is something of a taboo among their kind.”

  “And you know this how?” she prompted.

  He shrugged. “Brak got pretty drunk when we were on some planet or other—I forget where exactly—but suffice it to say, he can’t handle his liquor no matter where it comes from. Anyway, I got the impression Scorillians have to really be riled before they’ll actually say the name. I like it because it sounds nicer than saying ‘holy shit’ or some of the stuff Mom always says, and on most worlds, nobody pays any attention, even though Brak fusses every time he hears me say it. It rolls off the tongue rather nicely.”