The Blarmling Dilemma (Hearts in Orbit Book 1)

by S. C. Mitchell

  Phoebe took a quick look around the flight deck to see if she saw any other immediate problems. Her eyes were drawn to the naked body floating toward the back hatch. The bounty hunter hung, unmoving in the stillness. Blood trailed from a cut along the right side of his head, floating away and separating into droplets that hung in the air.

  Focusing her attention on his handsome face and the seeping wound, Phoebe pushed off, gliding toward the body.

  “Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead,” she repeated as she came toward the man. Even though it would make her life easier, she hoped he would be okay. No one should die like this.

  Her concern for him caused her to over push, her trajectory taking her over and past him. Phoebe grabbed at his wrist and ended up dragging him with her toward the back wall of the cabin. Her heart thundered strongly in her ears as she struggled to gain control of her flight.

  She hit the wall and bounced, the bounty hunter’s body slamming into her. A mountain of warm flesh and taut muscle connected with her and wrapped around her. She took a deep breath and pulled herself from the edge of panic. Beneath her fingers she felt the strong beat of his pulse where she held his wrist and noted the man’s chest rising and falling. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was only unconscious.

  Phoebe twisted around to check him for any other wounds, and found herself between his body and the floor just as the gravity kicked in. With a heavy thud she landed on the deck. Rigel’s heavy body came crashing down on top of her. The massive, muscular, and completely naked form sprawled over her, pinning her helplessly to the floor.

  Chapter 5

  A mountain of tawny flesh and lean muscle lay atop Phoebe.

  Phat photons, this guy is heavy. How much solid muscle does a guy need? And this was at only half-G.

  Well, there was no guarantee of that. The way this ship was working, the gravity could be anything. She doubted it had seen a maintenance dock in the past two years.

  Phoebe pushed on one of his thighs trying to slide herself out from under him. Something slid down the side of her neck. She froze.

  That couldn’t possibly be . . . I mean they don’t get that big . . . do they?

  She pushed back farther and it slid around her cheek and hung in front of her eyes.

  My God, he’s not even . . . awake!

  Phoebe managed to wiggle and squirm her way out from under the bounty hunter. She stood for long moments, just breathing hard and looking down at him. His shoulders had to be a meter wide, yet his torso tapered to a trim waist and an incredibly firm looking, dimpled butt.

  I should probably stop gawking at him and maybe help him.

  The gash on the side of his head had stopped streaming blood and was now a purpling mess of coagulated goo. Checking his pulse again, Phoebe found a firm, steady beat. She spotted a med-kit strapped to the wall, and pulled it down. After cleansing the gash with a steri-pad, she sprayed a layer of synthskin to cover the wound. It was all she could think of to do for him.

  Now what?

  She tried to roll him over, but he was too heavy.

  First no gravity, now too much. Maybe she could adjust the gravity generator down lower, to make the body easier to move.

  She heard Lart’s clicks and looked up to see the Blarmling waving and pointing at the control panel. He twisted one of the dials and the gravity started to lessen.

  “Thanks, Lart.” Now she was sure the Blarmlings could read her thoughts. They certainly couldn’t have known what a gravity generator looked like.

  Oolo hummed softly as she groomed herself and Lart. Their time in zero-G had made a mess of their long silver fur coats, tufts, and strands sticking every-which-way. Oolo had always seemed the more meticulous of the two. Lart huffed, but didn’t seem to mind the attention.

  As the gravity stabilized in the ship, Phoebe found it easy to flip Rigel over, slide her arms under his back and legs, and pick him up. His skin was like warm, buttery leather, and there was a minty, clean scent to his body. It had been a long time since she’d been this close to a naked man. The sensual nature of her situation hit Phoebe on a visceral level. Her core clenched in passionate hunger.

  “Gods Phoebe. You’re such a fool at times.” She berated herself. She really needed to start thinking with the logical side of her brain.

  Now, where to take him? His bedchamber or the cell cot?

  Taking a deep breath, she attempted to ignore how good his warm skin felt in her hands. She failed. Her mind conjured up a number of scenarios, some of which raised a hot blush on her cheeks, but in the end logic won and she decided to put him in the cell, make him comfortable, and lock the door. It would be safer . . . for both of them.

  Phoebe ran her hand through the coarse hair on the bounty hunter’s chest.

  Okay, how many times am I going to check his heartbeat before I admit I’m just doing it for fun?

  She’d managed to wrangle him onto the cell bunk and put a sheet over his lower midsection. It was just too distracting. He was breathing easy and would probably wake soon. She needed to get out and lock the door. Pulling her gaze away from his sculpted abs and muscular chest, she forced herself to leave, closing and securing the steel-glass door.

  She took a deep breath and plunked herself in the pilot’s chair.

  “Okay, now what?”

  The computer readout gave statistics about the freak ion storm that had just rolled through the sector. Even if the bounty hunter’s comnet had been clean, and alarms properly set, they wouldn’t have had enough warning to avoid the disaster. The thing had come out of nowhere.

  The back of her neck tingled with awareness. It could have all ended here. They were lucky to be alive.

  Checking the damage logs, she knew she had a bit of cleanup to do. The port side thrusters were a tangled mass of metal, and the gandisol leak in the main fuel compressor had turned into a full-fledged gusher. Other, smaller repairs were already being addressed by the ship’s decades-old maintenance bot, but Phoebe would have to repair the thrusters and the fuel compressor herself. Such major repairs were beyond the capacities of the ancient bot.

  She closed the gandisol tank valve to preserve the remaining supply. It meant she’d be unable to use the hyper-drive, or even maneuver the ship, but it was the lesser of two evils. She found a small cache of parts in the storage bay, but ended up cannibalizing the rear deflector shield array for the parts she needed. If they had to run from a pirate ship, they would probably be toast, but there was no other way to get the ship functioning again.

  She slipped into the ship’s spacewalk suit. It was far too big for her, obviously sized for Rigel, and felt more like a tent, but she needed to spacewalk to finish the repairs. Fear warred with fascination at the thought of floating in space, and her fear was reflected in the faces of the Blarmlings.

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured them, as they followed her into the airlock. The tone of their clicks and whistles had taken on a concerned note. She ushered them out of the airlock and tried to send calming thoughts their way. That seemed to settle them.

  I’ve spacewalked before. She had, a few times, though never in such dire circumstances.

  The airlock door clanged shut, and she secured the tether, then hit the button to open the outer hatch.

  The suit filled with warm air, as the glory of space opened up around her. It was like being inside an inflated balloon, the suit was so big. At least the wrist straps worked, keeping her hands secured in the gloves.

  Floating weightless, with the expanse of space all around her, took her breath away, but she really didn’t have time to enjoy the scenery. There was work to do.

  The cobbled together fuel compressor flow valve easily fit into place. The hose was a little shorter than she would have liked and had to be stretched to reach the connector, but she clamped it tight.
It looked like it would hold . . . for now. The thruster took a bit of fumbling in the oversized gloves to get into place, the fit was off for some reason she couldn’t ascertain, but she managed to match the polarity indicators, even if it was a bit off center. The ship would pull a bit to port, but at least it would fly. In any case, it would need a complete maintenance and refitting service once they hit a starport.

  She took one last glance around, taking a moment to savor the experience of floating in space, before reentering the bounty hunter’s ship. Her ship was nowhere in sight. Being smaller and lighter, it could have been blown to the other side of the quadrant. That ZP-2 cost Phoebe a large volume of credits, and she had clothes and personal belongings on it she would miss. She sure hoped someone honest stumbled upon the ship, and dragged it to a friendly starport.

  Lart met her as she exited the airlock. He clicked and whistled, motioning her back toward the flight deck. But his tone seemed relaxed . . . almost delighted.

  “I told you I was in no danger,” she said, shaking her head. She wished she understood what the creature was trying to tell her.

  “What in Saturn’s rings are you doing to my ship?”

  Ah, the bounty hunter has awakened.

  She came around the corner of the cell and saw the man pacing. “I’m trying to make this piece of flotsam flyable again.”

  He’d knotted a towel around his waist like a kilt, but was still otherwise naked. “Let me out of here.” There was a noticeable bulge that tented the towel in the area of his crotch. Phoebe had to struggle to keep her eyes above his waistline.

  “I don’t think so.” She turned toward the control panel, and away from that finely toned body and the distraction it was causing her. “Doesn’t feel so good being on the other side, does it?”

  “Damn it, Miss Callista, this won’t help you at all.”

  The hell it wouldn’t. She could use his ship to get the Blarmlings back to Blarm. At least then they’d have a chance. Being sent back to U.R.T. was a death sentence for the poor creatures. After they were safe, it didn’t matter what happened to her. She’d release the bounty hunter and give him back his ship. She’d have to face the music sooner or later anyway. In any case, there was no reason not to be friendly.

  “You can call me Phoebe. Glad to know ya.”

  The man appeared to go into a slow simmer. “Miss Callista. Are you going to let me out of here?”

  Phoebe couldn’t help but smile. The poor man.

  “Eventually,” she offered. “Maybe.”

  Oolo made her way toward the steel-glass door of the cell, clicking and whistling. Her phrases seemed longer, more determined, than what she’d used when trying to converse with Phoebe.

  Rigel started to smile, nodding as if he understood what Oolo was saying, then to Phoebe’s complete surprise, the bounty hunter started clicking and whistling right back at her.

  “Seriously? You speak Blarm? You understand what they’re saying?”

  He shrugged. “I was marooned for over a year on their lovely planet. Got to know the locals really well. I never met these two though.”

  He continued his exchange with Oolo, nodding and smiling. His eyes brightened and he seemed more relaxed when he looked back at Phoebe.

  “So these are the biological specimens you stole from U.R.T.?”

  “They’re not biological specimens . . . they’re people!” She probably said it louder than she had to, but there it was—he could take it or leave it.

  The man chuckled and raised his hands. “Sister, you’re lecturing to the galactic choral ensemble.”

  “Look.” Phoebe collapsed into the pilot’s chair. “Once I get Oolo and Lart safely back to Blarm, I’ll give you back your ship and surrender. But not before! You’ll still get your reward, I promise. I just can’t let them be sent back.”

  “Phoebe, listen to me.” His eyes reflected concern. “Let me out. I’ll help you. If I had known what you were wanted for, I’d have let you go.”

  She wanted to believe him, but just couldn’t trust him. There was too much at stake.

  Before she could answer, Oolo chimed in, clicking to the bounty hunter in the Blarmling’s strange language.

  He shrugged as he listened. “Well, of course she can’t trust me. Why should she? She doesn’t know me.”

  The bounty hunter sighed and sat down on the bunk shaking his head. “Okay, have it your way, but . . . can I at least get a pair of pants?”

  Chapter 6

  Rigel sighed. How the hell did he get himself into these situations? One thing his year on Blarm taught him. The little creatures didn’t know how to lie.

  Oolo told him all about how Phoebe rescued her and Lart. A soft heart was the only thing the girl was really guilty of. Hell, he’d have done the same thing in her situation. There was no way he could or would turn her in to the authorities, which meant he was out the fifty thousand credits.

  Frack!

  Phoebe had repaired the ships thrusters, and fixed that annoying gandisol leak. She even managed to get his computer system running faster, and his printer working again. She was really something. Competent, committed, and drop dead sexy.

  Maybe it was fortunate he was locked in his own cell, with a steel-glass door between them, or he’d probably do something bold . . . and embarrassing.

  “Food,” Phoebe said, echoing his earlier remark as she slid a plate of lacto-protein through the access panel of the cell door.

  Rigel took the plate and plopped it down on the table while checking the ship’s position on the touch panel display. His eyes on the view screen, he sat on the fold down bench seat, while plotting their trajectory. Yup, they were still on course for Blarm, using all the proper jumps to retain a low profile. Add resourceful and tenacious to her list of attributes.

  He absently shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth. Savory excellence filled his senses, and enticed his taste buds. The zesty tang of grilled Tolandian land beast, spiced to perfection, rolled off his tongue. How the hell had she managed to prepare this from his food producer?

  Taken by surprise, he was suddenly aware of the savory aromas emanating from the foodstuffs on his plate. His gaze jumped from the computer screen to the delectable, garnished meal on his plate, and then to the woman who’d prepared it.

  Phoebe stood, bent over the control panel, offering an incredible view of her ass. Her tight fitting flight-suit suggested a nicely toned figure. Rigel had trouble pulling his thoughts away from the drawer full of scanty, lacey undergarments that was now tumbling away across the quadrant in her abandoned ship. His mind created an image of just what she might have on under that ship-suit.

  Pulling his gaze away from Phoebe’s sexy posterior, he forced himself to concentrate on the wonderful meal before him. Letting his thoughts wonder in erotic directions was bound to get him in trouble. Standing, he adjusted the crotch of his pants, which suddenly seemed to be fitting a bit too snug, then sat back down and dug in to the first meal he could remember enjoying in years.

  Lart wondered over to the cell door to chatter at him, basically asking why he just didn’t have sex with Phoebe and get it over with. Blarmlings had a much more open and direct way of viewing sex and relationships. Certain aspects of human interaction didn’t translate well, and Rigel had no idea where to even begin to explain the situation to Lart. In the end, he used the locked door between them as his excuse. That, at least, was a concept the Blarmling could understand.

  He finished eating, and folded up the workstation to bring down the bunk. As he stretched out, he realized his worries and cares were gone. Because of the Blarmlings he knew he could trust Phoebe, his food was now excellent, and he had time to kick back and rest for a bit. His incarceration was beginning to feel more like a vacation.

  Phoebe finished the new connec
tion run, between the hover coils and the control panel. She’d spotted the frayed wiring while fixing the gravity control.

  Is there nothing on this ship that doesn’t need repair?

  Well, she supposed the bounty hunter didn’t make a lot of money. The important systems seemed more or less intact. Still, the ship was responding to her manipulations. She’d already shaved a few hours off her expected arrival time on Blarm.

  Once there, and the Blarmlings safe, she could turn herself over to Rigel. The bounty on her should help him set his ship right again.

  She glanced into the cell. Rigel lay stretched out on the bunk. A slight snore filtered out of the steel-glass doorway. His cleaned plate sat on the shelf behind the cell door access panel. She smiled. He seemed like a nice guy. Rougher than the guys she was used to on the inner planets. Most of them were more cerebral, intellectual . . . softer. She’d convinced herself that was what she was looking for in a prospective mate but when she looked at Rigel, she wondered.

  Still, he was a spacer. He’d done time on the prison planets. Whatever planet he’d been originally from had probably disowned him, making him use the Theiler System as his place of origin. No planet wanted to own up to a criminal.

  She wondered what he’d done? Why he’d been incarcerated? Technically, she was a criminal now, and pretty sure she’d be sent to a Theiler planet after her trial. When released, she’d probably be considered a spacer too. Despite her father’s wealth and position, her home world would probably disown her as well. It was common practice.