Maverick

by Cheryl Brooks

  “Only when I calculate that relaying specific information would have lasting negative repercussions. I am programmed to be more tactful than many other computers, but even I have my limits.”

  “And Keplok exceeded them?”

  “In less than a nanosecond.”

  “Wow. That’s pretty fast.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Chapter 19

  Feeling a bit peckish after such a vigorous sexual interlude, Althea headed for the galley after stopping by her quarters to freshen up.

  To her surprise, she found Keplok standing by the stasis unit, staring at a sealed package as though it contained explosives—or at the very least poison.

  He glanced up as she entered. “What is a”—he peered at the label—“double jalapeño cheeseburger?”

  “Health food,” she replied. “You probably wouldn’t like it.” Since this was Althea’s favorite dish in the entire galaxy, she opted to stretch the truth a bit. Once he got a taste of them, she might never get another.

  “I suspected as much after Larsan told me to eat one.” He gestured toward the pantry shelves. “I notice you do not have any Statzeelian entrees in stock.”

  “That shouldn’t come as a surprise. Not only is Statzeel a bajillion light-years from here, we didn’t exactly have time to plan for your visit.”

  His only reply was a slight twitch of one eyebrow, which, in Althea’s opinion, was an improvement over many of the remarks he’d made thus far.

  Unfortunately, this situation was going to require more conversation with the dratted man than she would’ve liked. She blew out a resigned sigh. “What sort of things do Statzeelians eat?”

  He shrugged. “Mostly vegetables and fruit. We eat very little meat. Cake if we can get it.”

  “Cake? Seriously? What flavor?” Given Statzeel’s remote location, she doubted it was chocolate. Larry’s mom had made a fortune spreading cacao across the galaxy—the processed varieties as well as the raw beans—but she’d only been to Statzeel once. Even if she’d sold a boatload while she was there, unless the Statzeelians were now growing their own, their supply would’ve run out long ago.

  The look he gave her suggested he deemed her addled, and her empathic impression backed that up. “Shrepple, of course. Unfortunately, it is not available year-round. Its season is quite short.”

  She nodded as though she understood, which, not too surprisingly, she didn’t. “I see. Never eaten anything called shrepple—at least not that I can recall. If you’ll tell me what it tastes like, maybe we can come up with something similar.”

  His withering glance didn’t bode well. “It tastes like shrepple. I know of no other comparison.”

  “Fruit or vegetable?”

  “Fruit.”

  “Sweet or savory?”

  “I do not know savory. It is sweet.”

  “Juicy or crunchy?”

  “Juicy.”

  That characteristic only ruled out half the fruits with which Althea was familiar and less than half of the varieties she’d seen in the ship’s stasis unit. “Hmm… You might have to try a few fruits and see which comes the closest to shrepple. Or we could ask Friday.” Glancing upward, she addressed the sensor. “What about it, Friday? Any idea what shrepple tastes like?”

  “Shrepple is only listed in my database as a type of Statzeelian tree fruit,” the computer replied. “There are no comparisons to other fruits.”

  “Kinda figured that,” Althea said. Redirecting her attention to Keplok, she continued, “Why don’t you try the zucchini and kale casserole? You’d probably like that.” It really wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Add in enough olive oil, basil, and Parmesan cheese, and anything would taste good. “Or if you prefer something hot and spicy, you might try the chicken vindaloo.”

  Althea hadn’t noticed any cake in the unit, but she knew there were sufficient ingredients to make one. That is, once the shrepple mystery was solved.

  She almost said as much aloud, until she remembered to whom she was speaking. Get Keplok’s hopes up, and he would probably hound her mercilessly until she made the right kind of cake or she clobbered him. Somehow, she suspected the clobbering outcome would be the first to occur.

  She held out her hand. “If you don’t want them, I’ll take those jalapeño cheeseburgers. I’m on a strict diet, so that’s mostly what I eat.”

  He handed over the burgers with apparent relief. “I shall attempt to find something more suitable to my palate.” With an expression somewhere between chagrin and exasperation, he muttered, “Since Dartula has refused to help me.”

  “Go for it.” Althea popped the package into the microwave and pushed the two-second option—which she’d already determined heated two double cheeseburgers to the perfect temperature—hoping Keplok was paying attention.

  Two seconds later, she transferred the package to a plate and poured herself a glass of unsweetened iced tea. She then took a seat on the far side of the table before opening the wrapper, knowing that if Keplok were to get a whiff of her dinner, he might recognize her ploy for what it was.

  She considered taking her meal in her quarters but decided that might be pushing the deception a little too far. Even so, she made a point of wrinkling her nose as she took the first bite, rather than the blissful smile such tempting delights normally inspired.

  Larry had certainly given her something else to smile—and purr—about. Whether they were truly mated or not, the man could give a woman some serious joy. The standard Zetithian pickup line was “Come, mate with me, my love, and I will give you joy unlike any you have ever known.” Larry might not have said it, but he had certainly done it.

  She couldn’t help wondering if Dartula had ever made love with a Zetithian man. Given Keplok’s attitude, he was the least likely candidate, although Althea still wasn’t sure why he’d hissed at Dartula. Even though it was the exact opposite of normal Zetithian mating behavior, she couldn’t help thinking it was significant. She hadn’t picked up any lover-like vibes from him, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Plenty of people didn’t realize they were in love until it was too late. The touch of regret she’d sensed from him only moments before could mean anything from being disappointed that Dartula wasn’t waiting on him hand and foot to remorse for his recent outburst.

  After noting that he’d chosen the vindaloo, which she knew from experience was fiery enough to melt a heat shield, she watched him warm it up in the microwave. He managed the procedure without any difficulty, proving that while he might expect Dartula to provide his meals, he wasn’t entirely incapable of feeding himself.

  “You know, if you were a little nicer to Dartula, you two might get along better.”

  “I am nice to her.”

  Althea snorted. “If that’s what you call nice, I’d hate to see your version of nasty. After what you said to her earlier, I’m not surprised she won’t cook for you.” Not that nuking a vindaloo took much effort. She would’ve done it for anyone else. However, in Keplok’s case, not helping him was a matter of principle.

  “I was…distraught at having hissed at her.”

  “Distraught? You sure have a strange way of showing it.” All Althea had sensed was his anger, although the possibility did exist that he was angry with himself rather than Dartula. “I’ve never met a man with worse interpersonal skills.”

  After a sniff of the tea, he poured himself a glass of water. “That is unfair. Cylopeans and Herpatronians are far more unpleasant than I am.”

  She nearly choked on a jalapeño. “That isn’t saying a whole helluva lot. But if you want to compare yourself to those creeps, you go right ahead.”

  Instead of the retort she expected, he took an inordinate amount of time to select a fork. Thus equipped, he sat down at the table. Interestingly enough, he chose the seat directly across from her. “I am well aware that most o
ther species consider Statzeelian males to be offensive.”

  “Yes, but you’re only half Statzeelian, and Zetithian guys are notoriously even-tempered. I would’ve thought you’d be an improvement.”

  He opened the vindaloo container and dumped the contents onto his plate. “Perhaps my Statzeelian blood is stronger.”

  “That’s possible, although, generally speaking, you can’t tell a half-breed Zetithian from a purebred. The fact that you and Dartula have six fingers on each hand and very flat noses suggests that those Statzeelian traits are dominant. Perhaps the volatile temper in males is also dominant—which is unfortunate.” She considered the flat noses to be unfortunate as well but didn’t want to press her luck by mentioning it. He’d been relatively civil up to this point, and she would rather he stayed that way.

  “I did say I was distraught.”

  “Yes, you did, but—” She gasped as he popped a generous forkful of the peppery chicken into his mouth. “Be careful with that stuff.”

  He chewed, swallowed, and then reached for the water. “It is very spicy,” he said after a long drink. “But good.”

  “I like it too, but you’ll probably need a bowl of ice cream when you’re finished. Trust me, only ice cream can kill a vindaloo.”

  She waited a beat for his inevitable question.

  “What is ice cream?”

  * * *

  Althea chuckled as she and Larry settled in for the night. “You should’ve seen the way Keplok wolfed down a dish of ice cream after eating chicken vindaloo. He tried to be cool about it, but his mouth had to have been on fire.”

  “Yeah. I’ve had to chase that vindaloo with ice cream a time or two myself.” He laughed. “Gives me the perfect excuse to have dessert.” He stroked her hair where it lay against her back, creating a tickling sensation that was no less sensual for being comforting. “Did he say anything about Dartula?”

  “Yeah. He actually believes he’s being nice to her. The best I can tell, he really likes her. A lot. He just won’t admit it.”

  Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close to his side. “Is that an observation or an empathic impression?”

  Resting her head on his chest, she inhaled his scent while delighting in the desire curling up from the depths of her body. “Both, actually. The way she acts, she’s never been too taken with him. He seems to understand her attitude toward him. But he sure doesn’t like it.”

  “I can’t say I blame him. I might be a bit testy if you were to dislike me as much as she evidently detests him. Although after what he said about never finding her attractive, I wouldn’t have been too surprised to find him murdered in his bed.”

  “No kidding. I was tempted to do the deed on her behalf.”

  Laughter reverberated through his chest. “Guess I’d better keep on your good side.”

  Larry had never said anything remotely hateful to her in his life, not even in jest. She couldn’t imagine that he ever would. “I don’t think you need to worry about that. I wouldn’t hurt a hair on your head.”

  “Hmm…well, my hair feels fine. However, you do have a tendency to bite me on the neck.”

  “Yes, but you like that.”

  “I do,” he admitted, albeit somewhat ruefully. “Seems sort of weird, but there it is.”

  She cleared her throat. “Do I need to bite you now?”

  “Nope. No need for that.”

  “But you aren’t purring.”

  “No need for that, either.” He turned his head toward her and sniffed. “You already smell incredible.”

  “As in your dick is hard?”

  “Amazingly hard. And drooling joy juice all over the place.” His breath was warm on her face as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Want to taste it?”

  She sighed with mock resignation. “If it’ll keep the sheets clean. I just changed them today.”

  “If that’s the only reason you can give, I guess it’ll have to do. Although, I can think of a better excuse.”

  “Oh, and what’s that?”

  “Snard is really sweet. Or so I’ve been told.”

  “I’ve heard that too. I’m thinking maybe I should try to suck you off again. I feel like I’m missing something.”

  Once again, his chest shook with laughter. “Hey, don’t let me stop you.”

  “Okay. I’ll give it a try. Just hope I can stand all the orgasms.” Hers she could stand. The combination of his and hers was what had her worried. She knew circumventing that response was possible. All she had to do was focus on sucking his dick and block out everything else.

  Easier said than done.

  Larry threw back the covers to reveal a nicely ruffled penis that appeared to be in dire need of attention. “There you go, Al. I’d tell you to knock yourself out, but I’d really rather you didn’t.”

  Considering what happened the last time she’d tried it, knocking herself out was a distinct possibility. “Same here.” Taking him in her hand, she marveled at the thick, strong length of him. “You really do have a nice cock.”

  “I’m glad you think so. You have a nice everything.”

  “Sweet.”

  He grinned. “Yes, I am.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Inhaling deeply, she took the plunge.

  As before, he tasted marvelous—a flavor that reflected his unique scent, albeit much stronger than what could be detected by simply breathing it in. Up close, he was as intoxicating as liquor and as delectable as chocolate. Only this time, his reaction didn’t seem as strong as her own pleasure. Not yet, anyway.

  Then it occurred to her that blocking his emotions might be counterproductive. If she focused on what felt best to him, she would not only be more effective, she might be able to make him come before her own orgasms overwhelmed her.

  With that goal in mind, she did her best to provide maximum stimulation between orgasms.

  Her focus paid off. After her third climax, she increased the speed, and then, on the merest whim—or was it a mental suggestion of his own?—began fondling his balls.

  “That did it,” he gasped as the first jet of snard flowed over her tongue.

  He really was sweet—shockingly so—but that tasty treat was only the beginning. As the effect of his snard took hold, heat flowed from the small of her back to weave throughout her body in gossamer strands of soothing warmth. Once again, the orange lights pulsed through her consciousness, numerous at first, then steadily dissolving into a colorful, flowing stream. With her spirit now even lighter than before, she felt as though she were drifting through space, weightless and serene.

  Sighing, she rolled onto her back, one arm snug against his side, the other flung out across the sheets.

  “So, how was the snard?” he asked after a bit.

  “Very sweet and highly effective.” It had certainly affected her voice, reducing it to a hoarse whisper.

  “Want some more?”

  She made a feeble attempt to wave a hand, amazed that she was able to move at all. “Maybe later. I’m good for now.”

  “Okay,” he said, chuckling. “But you know where to bite me if you change your mind.”

  * * *

  The remainder of the voyage to Palorka was relatively peaceful. Larry hadn’t needed to break up any fights between the Statzeelian pair, and figuring out Dartula’s strategy for avoiding Keplok didn’t take a rocket scientist. Given Friday’s dislike of Keplok, all Dartula would have to do was ask the computer where he was whenever she wanted to leave her quarters. He suspected their collaboration went even further, because Dartula not only seemed to know where he was, she also knew what he was doing.

  “He’s in his quarters listening to music,” Dartula said in answer to his question when he chanced upon her in the corridor. “Probably trying to learn some new material for his band.”

&nb
sp; Knowing that the Stooge’s database was stocked with his mother’s—and his—favorite tunes dating back to Earth’s earliest recordings, Larry doubted Keplok would find anything truly “new.”

  “New to him, perhaps. Some of those songs are at least a thousand years old.”

  “Doesn’t matter, as long as he finds something better than what he and his band usually play. I can’t really even call it music. As far as I’m concerned, it’s nothing but noise, and the way he screams out the lyrics makes it impossible to understand a single word.”

  “Not one for ballads and love songs, huh? No telling what he’ll find—might even stumble on something you’d like. Mom always said Old Earth songs were the best, and I agree. Seems like all anyone does these days is remake the classics, and remakes are never as good as the originals.”

  Given the limited entertainment options aboard the Jolly Roger, it was no wonder his mother’s taste in music and films had rubbed off on her children—and Tisana’s kids as well. Larry updated the music files on the Stooge periodically, but the oldies were still his favorites, and he could sing along with most of them.

  “I don’t know why I care what they play,” she said slowly. “I don’t have to listen if I don’t want to. It’s not as if he were my brother or my—” She quite literally bit off the next word, sinking her fangs into her lower lip. “Never mind. He can play anything he likes as long as I don’t have to listen to it—or him.”

  “Been avoiding him, haven’t you?”

  “Do you blame me?”

  “Not really, but you won’t be able to avoid him much longer. We’re only about four hours out from Palorka. You might have disparate tastes in music, but you’re on this rescue mission together, so you’re going to have to figure out how to cooperate.”

  She sighed. “I wish we could, but we’re an even worse mix than oil and water.” With a rueful wag of her head, she added, “I should never have agreed to come with him. I’d rather be back home in the jungle, fighting off hordes of swergs and giant mosquitoes.”

  “I’ve heard about that jungle from my parents, and I can’t believe you’re serious.”