Embrace the Passion: Pets in Space 3

by Smith, S. E.

  “My kind are not space capable either,” Rocky told her, his head lifting from his folded front paws.

  “But you’ve had contact?” she asked, her head tilting a bit.

  “When I was abducted,” Rocky said.

  “That…could be a problem when we attempt to repatriate our passengers.” She half grinned and shook her head.

  “What?” Kraye asked.

  “It’s just—I’ve never been the little green man before.” Her gaze met his puzzled one, and she added, “Sorry. It’s an Earth joke. About first contact.” She followed this with a smile that apologized and asked for a smile in return. “If you’re interested, I’ll explain later.”

  Kraye nodded. He was most interested, and he liked the sound of later. She left and he looked at OxeroidR.

  With his opposable thumb, he gave him a digit up of encouragement.

  * * *

  City had eaten MREs in a foxhole while under fire. That, she decided, was more comfortable than this. Rita was in there pitching. She had provided some soft, elevator music so the lack of dinner conversation wasn’t painfully obvious. Everyone had their game face on—or in the case of the robot, he had his usual face on. On the surface, it was smooth and civilized as long as she didn’t look at the Harparian, at the head of the small table, ripping her dinner to pieces with beak and claw.

  The food dispenser had manufactured everyone’s food, based on nutritional needs and personal preference, but it was still unsettling to watch. For City, this was the closest she’d been to the over-sized bird since freeing her from a cage in the hold of a space pirate ship. The tuft of feathers over her eyes acted as a hood to a gaze that was deep and old, like a mysterious pool in a fantasy tale. If emotions stirred in the black and gold depths, City was not equipped to read them, though that gaze did make the hair lift on the back of her neck.

  A claw big enough to rip City’s face off lifted a chunk of food to a curved beak—one bigger than City’s hand with the fingers extended. She decided that watching the bird eat was bad for her appetite and shifted her attention to Joseph Faxton’s discreetly sympathetic presence. He was seated directly across from her and Kraye was on City’s left, with Bull at the other end of the table. Since Bull didn’t need to eat, Rocky was doing that for him. Both of Faxton’s team members were on his side of the table, though Dr. Dauwn didn’t look as thrilled as a biologist should, in her opinion. City hadn’t quite decided what to call Brittani St. Danniels, sitting not exactly demurely between Dauwn and Faxton. It felt a bit us versus them, but she didn’t mind.

  One of her Marine’s who had volunteered to act as steward for the meal, bent over Faxton’s shoulder and refilled his glass, then stepped back, coming to attention. City glanced around, noted that everyone who needed service had received it.

  “Thanks, Private Spencer. You can go,” and I wish I could go with you, she added to herself. The slight flicker of his lips told her he knew it. His last look was sympathetic. He’d have a tale to tell on the crew deck. She wasn’t sure if it would get easier or harder to get volunteers if they had more of these formal dinners. Not that she could blame Faxton. When he’d signed up to smooth the paths for the expedition, she’d bet real money he hadn’t planned on dinner with two of the scariest species in a couple of galaxies.

  Dr. Lowe Dauwn—bet he’d gotten teased a lot as a kid—was not the stereotypical scientist. He wasn’t even wearing glasses. His brown gaze was thoughtful and intelligent—which he’d have to be to make it onto the expedition. She did wonder about his light red shirt.

  Brittani—Ms. St. Danniels—was flaunting her red dress. Not wanting to be judgy, City assumed the blonde hair was natural and gave her credit for not wearing foxtrot heels on a spaceship. She had to be smart, too, to be here. Faxton would have to be extra careful, so she’d have earned her passage with her brains. City told herself that the way she was trying to chat with Kraye was a diplomat thing and not a girl thing.

  Facing the Harparian was OxeroidR—Bull—and Rocky. City thought she was used to the robot’s contained stillness. Maybe it was the setting that made it creepy again. His hands rested on the tabletop on either side of the munching squirrel. His eyes, she realized, feeling her own warning hackles rising, they weren’t moving side to side like they usually did. They were fixed on the Harparian.

  It did make her wonder about how the Harparian had been captured and why. What was out there that could take the raptor down? That was a scary thought, one that put some more fade on her appetite. And on the heels of that thought…had she been captured? She sure didn’t act or look like the others they’d freed. Menace and mystery wrapped around her like an invisible mist. All the others had been various levels of stressed and shell-shocked.

  She might be glad that Bull was keeping both opticals on the big bird.

  Faxton was also pushing his food around his plate, his fork not making that many trips to his mouth. He might be nervous, or maybe diplomats had to keep their mouths free for talking. Had he learned anything from his time with the Harparian? No surprise the Expedition hoped to learn more about all the freed prisoners and their worlds, and possibly open diplomatic relations with some of them, but City wasn’t on the need-to-know list, unless it affected mission security. Would Faxton tell her or recognize a risk if he saw it?

  He faced her across the table, giving her the opportunity to study him without looking like she was studying him. He was a nice looking man, with an aura of calm confidence that made an interesting contrast to the bird’s—and his assistant. If he was quaking inside, it didn’t show on his smoothly polite face or in his gray eyes.

  Faxton gave up on pretending to eat by setting aside his fork. He glanced at the bird, then smiled at City. “I don’t think I heard where you hail from, Sergeant?”

  His tone was diplomatic glass. His question earned her a prolonged look from Brittani. City had no doubt the lady was smart but was she wise to take this mission? There wasn’t even a whiff of anything between her and Faxton, but they were trained to find out things, not give them away.

  City set her fork down. She didn’t mind giving up on her dinner. “Wyoming, sir.”

  “Call me Joe, please.” Before she could respond, he added, “I drove across Wyoming once. It was a long, bleak drive.”

  Caro chuckled. “I’m from the north, the pretty part,” though after her time in space, she’d be happy to see any part of it.

  “The pretty part?” Kraye joined the conversation, though his tone sounded rough after Faxton’s smooth delivery.

  City gave him a slight smile. “Southern Wyoming is part of the plains, low rolling hills and desert, or inclined that way.”

  Britanni’s smile at Kraye did not reach her eyes. “What’s your home like?” Her lashes did a sweep, but her gaze, though curious, had some targeting to it.

  “I live on the Najer.”

  City, sensing something in the briefness of the answer, cut in before Britanni could ask anything else. “Where are you from, Ms. St. Danniels?” Why did that extra “n” make her name more annoying?

  “California, Sergeant.”

  “It’s a beautiful state, too. You have beaches and mountains.” She turned her gaze to Faxton. “I love mountains.”

  The Harparian’s gaze turned toward her. “There are mountains on your world?”

  Faxton’s hand curved around his cup. “I used to be able to name all the major mountain ranges, but alas…”

  “Do they soar? Are they high?” The question was quietly intense.

  “Very,” City said.

  “Some reach so high in our atmosphere humans can’t climb them without carrying oxygen,” Faxton told her.

  City sensed an extra level of alert from Faxton, and followed his lead by watching the bird as they waited for her response. City sensed she wanted more…on the height? But how did she explain altitude when they didn’t have a common measure of it?

  Even the biologist was frowning.

  W
ith a slight grimace, City lifted her hands, so they were about a foot apart. “This is what we call one foot. If you added together five thousand two hundred and eighty of these that is one mile. Our highest mountain is almost thirty thousand of our miles.” Would the largeness of the numbers give her a frame of reference?

  The raptor lifted a claw, moving it between City’s hands as if assessing that distance and possibly calculating.

  “Your highest mountain would be one of the lower peaks on my world.” Her beak lifted, her gaze seemed to be seeing past all of them, past this ship to those mountains.

  “You miss them,” City said without thinking. “You miss home.”

  The beak, the gaze turned toward her again. She nodded. “How long?”

  “Until we get to your planet?” City asked.

  “Until we reach Teuhhopse, yes.”

  It hadn’t been hard to show the raptor a small unit of measurement, but a unit of time? Without realizing it, she looked toward the robot and Kraye for help.

  “You speak Standard,” Bull said. “Do you use any Standard measurements for counting the passing of time?”

  Her head shook. “We count time and distance by flight.” Her wings lifted, sweeping so wide their tips brushed the opposite walls and a breeze ruffled City’s hair.

  “Are your people space capable?” Kraye asked.

  “We fly toward the stars but we do not reach for them.”

  Somewhat cryptic. City pulled out the tablet that was her link with Rita when City was not close to ship controls. “Rita, can you give us a holo of where we are and our various destinations?”

  Of course, Sergeant. Her voice through the intercom was less brisk than on the bridge.

  The holo appeared in the middle of the table, turning slowly.

  “That’s Emissary,” she said. “We’re just passing through the void between the two galaxies, between your region of space, and the Garradian space. We should reach the edge of your galaxy by ship morning.” She stopped. This still wasn’t helping them show her how long it would take. Maybe Rita could rig a time holo for the raptor’s quarters and she could observe time’s passage. Who wouldn’t like clock-watching a flight through space? She didn’t rub the place between her eyes where a headache was trying to dig in. “Our flight plan takes us to the Testudinians’ world first. They are the closest to the boundary and we’re hoping to get some up-to-date intel from them and from scanning as widely as possible.” Could she, was she getting a feel for the distance by looking at the holo? “The Sulian Nebos and Cygninains are from sister planets.”

  “Actually,” Dr. Dauwn piped up, “one appears to be the moon of the other.”

  “We will be able to accomplish both repatriations in one to two ship days,” Bull said.

  “You can’t be more specific?” Britanni asked.

  “It is not possible to predict dirt side time,” Bull said, his tone not changing at all.

  Faxton smiled. “I suspect we’re the problem with your calculation.” He turned toward the Harparian. “We are hoping to find out more about each species’ home world.”

  “Why would you care?” Her tone was not more menacing than it had been, but City was close enough to sense her suspicion.

  “We are a curious people,” Faxton said, his friendly tone not altering either.

  “I see.”

  It did not sound like she did, but City figured it was a good time to move on. She indicated the holo. “The Pinyains and the Erinaceines are from the same planet, so that shouldn’t take more than a ship day for repatriation. How fast we can move between locations depends on local conditions.” She didn’t mention this was about the comet drive. There were certain phenomena in space where the comet drive was not safe. “Your planet is the deepest into this region, so…” her voice trailed off.

  “We should make good time. This is a fine ship,” Faxton said, smoothly. “A fast ship.”

  The Harparian looked at City, as if for confirmation. She nodded. “Depending on conditions, it can make good progress.”

  Would the raptor be content to be last to get home? She had the claws to make them do what she wanted though Bull would likely try to stop her. Maybe. All roads led back to one question. Who could she trust? This trip had happened because the robots had insisted it must. None of them wanted to get in a slug-fest with the killer robots, so here they were.

  “There is much danger in the stars. The ship on which I was held, engaged in battles.”

  Had it? Well, that wasn’t exactly a surprise. They had been pirates, bad guys.

  “She is correct,” Bull said. “This region of space is not well controlled by a central authority.”

  “We have a technology that should let us hide when necessary.” Would it be effective, though? The pirate ship had gotten its claws on some Garradian tech that had caused their side problems during the last action. But this ship was supposed to be better, possibly the best the Garradians had ever had. Which begged the question why had they left it behind? If you were fleeing a galaxy, wouldn’t you take your best ship or ships?

  “We’re going in as low profile as possible.” That was one reason they weren’t using the comet drive’s top speed for their initial insertion. They were trying to balance energy use with stealth, and they didn’t know what kind of a signature the comet drive left in its wake. Rita had believed their current speed was optimal for both speed and stealth. They hoped both, combined with their weaponry, would give them the edge they needed. Their mission would take them deep into the mostly unknown and what they did know, well, as Bull had told them, it wasn’t optimal.

  “I will try to explain our concept of time to you,” Faxton offered. “Perhaps we can exchange information about both our peoples during this journey?”

  It was a question carefully couched in diplomatic cotton. There was a long pause.

  “Perhaps,” she said.

  Faxton’s gaze met hers across the table. His shrug was almost imperceptible. No surprise the scary bird had trust issues. What would be a surprise? That none of them had them.

  3

  They’d crossed into Kraye’s region of space as the Emissary signaled ship’s morning and Rita deployed the day’s playlist. They did not count time in morning or night on the Najer. They belonged to no planet, so planet time held no meaning for them. For Kraye, his time was divided by work, food and rest, unless they were in a space port. Only then did they adopt dirt side time.

  He assumed ship time was related to some military protocol required by Caro’s leaders.

  He had always had the choice to clean up aboard the Najer. As the ship’s only human, he was also the only one who needed the water supply. He’d attended to his hygiene needs, learning from study and by observation when they were in space docks. His interest in Caro, and noting how the people around her conducted themselves, had added to his knowledge on many levels.

  Water requirements aboard the Emissary were tighter, but he used his ration to freshen up before heading to the bridge for his scheduled shift. Despite being early, he found Caro already there. He knew what Caro knew. Rita, the AI, could have flown them there and back without anyone ever being on the bridge. He was used to being superfluous. This did not change his sense of obligation to do as Caro did, and monitor the ship’s functions. His Captain had told him once that human eyes and human instincts had their place. This had proved to be true on a number of occasions.

  Though Caro smiled and greeted him, he sensed the difference, concluding that being on shift was not the same as being on duty. This he could understand. The bridge was a place of business. But if they spent their off-duty meal times with the Harparian and the diplomat’s team, his chances of observing Caro’s possible female responses would not be optimal. It was not as if he could stare at her without others noticing. It was challenging enough that OxeroidR had noticed his interest and felt he needed help. The squirrel, well, he did not wish to think about his advice. He may have been raised by robots
, but he knew better than to indicate romantic interest by dropping his pants.

  Call me Joe, the diplomat had said. His mien was smooth, polished. Kraye had encountered many like him during his dockside interactions. He was less oily than most. Kraye might have sought opportunities to speak with him. He was the first human male non-business contact that Kraye had had since he’d been delivered from slavery by the captain of the Najer.

  This rescue had occurred many years ago, but it was only recently he’d found himself thinking about that day and wondering why the Captain had done what he did. Kraye could have asked, but he was not certain he would like the answer.

  He had hoped that this journey would be an opportunity to spend time with Caro, to get to know her. Prior to launch, it had seemed like more than enough time to discover if they could be more than friends. After last night, he was not sure several seasons of travel would be enough.

  Watching Caro interact with other humans had only increased his confusion. Caro had appeared to respond to Faxton, but then she’d smiled at the doctor. And the woman, she’d displayed many of the signs he’d been told to look for, but was she interested in the doctor or Faxton? He supposed, he thought glumly, there would be more advice coming from OxeroidR and Rocky.

  Clearly, connections could be built by talking about where they had come from, but he suspected his past would kill conversation, not build connections.

  Nothing worth having, the Captain had told him more than once, is acquired without risk and effort. What was it that he risked by trying to get closer to Caro? His mind said there was no risk, but the pain in his chest disagreed. Without being obvious, he could see her hands out of the side of his eyes, could see them, small and competent as they worked the controls.

  “We dropped out of comet drive about an hour before the wake up call,” she said. “We’re a few hours out from the Testudinians planet. This should be a quick drop but—”

  The side long look, the grin she added, caught the breath in his chest. “They are not…swift creatures.”