by Layla Nash
Frrar and Vaant traded a look, and Mrax’s eyes narrowed. It sounded too much like a practiced conversation, although he couldn’t figure out why. He tried to nip that in the bud before any of them got more steam. “Take Kolzz.”
“We need Kolzz on the Galaxos,” Trazzak said slowly. “In case something breaks.”
“Leave the Earther at the base and you won’t have nearly as much trouble with the engines,” Mrax muttered. “She’s caused more damage than the entire Alliance.”
Once again, the other Xaravians looked around at each other and Mrax felt like he’d missed something important.
“Funny you should say that,” Trazzak said. His scales remained a neutral green-blue with hints of pale orange-green. “I thought Rowan would be of benefit on Dablon Seven.”
Mrax shook his head but concentrated on the liquor. He needed to drink more. It might numb his frustrations with the rest of the Galaxos crew. He either needed to get laid or get in a good fight. He didn’t know which to search for – both could be found on the rebel base where they’d been docked, although he wasn’t sure which he’d regret less in the morning.
Vaant cleared his throat. “While I’ve no doubt she’s a talented engineer, she also has a proclivity for... chaos. And danger. And getting herself hurt and into difficult situations.”
“That’s an understatement,” Frrar said. “She’ll build you some amazing ships, if she survives long enough to get it done.”
The liquor warmed Mrax’s chest from the inside out. “That’s a big ‘if.’ She almost broke her fool neck after shocking herself unconscious just today.”
“That’s why we’ll need a medical officer,” Trazzak said.
Mrax looked up, a bad feeling brewing in his chest, and found all four of them watching him. He raised his eyebrows. “Maisy would be a great candidate.”
“You’re not tearing her away from Faryl,” Frrar said. “And the boy can’t go to Dablon Seven because his immune system isn’t strong enough. Which means...”
Mrax shook his head. “No. I’m the Galaxos medical officer. If we’re headed out into hostile territory to retrieve a couple of…cats, then I’m needed here. I’m sure there are medical facilities on Dablon.”
“You know there aren’t friendly facilities of any kind on Dablon,” Trazzak said quietly. “Just think about it. I would owe you a great debt, brother.”
Vaant propped his boots up and studied them instead of Mrax. “I won’t order you to go, but I will request that you do so. This is a vital mission and you will be a vital part of it.”
“Except no one can keep that crazy Earther from putting herself in harm’s way,” Mrax said. “Not even Trazzak’s mate can keep her from making stupid decisions. It’s like putting a sandsnake in your bed and being surprised when it bites you. That girl will get herself killed, and the rest of us along with her.”
Vrix’s head tilted as he studied Mrax, and something around the security officer’s eyes made Mrax think he was amused. “Trazzak’s mate can probably keep her in line, and if you distract Rowan with enough technology, she’ll be so focused on the different ships she won’t have time to cause trouble. If she’s going down a road toward danger, just point her toward a different ship.”
The rest of them chuckled and Mrax wondered what the hell was so funny—and why they all looked at him like he could control the Earther. “She doesn’t listen to Trazzak’s mate.”
“We will establish ground rules,” Trazzak said, as if it were just that easy to control the engineer. “I get the feeling she’ll want to go and poke around the boneyard, and it’ll be easier to help her adhere to the rules if we can threaten to drag her back to the Galaxos.”
Mrax poured himself more liquor. “You’re mad, brother.”
“Think about it,” Frrar said. “But they’re leaving tomorrow, so think fast.”
He grumbled and concentrated on the comforting sting of the drink. “You’ll have your answer tomorrow morning.”
“Good,” Vaant said. The captain turned his attention to Frrar. “The trial. What are we required to do to support the crew?”
Mrax’s mind wandered as their conversation went on about the pirates on the Sraibur and their detained captain. Neither the ship nor the crew could depart the rebel base until the trial was resolved; if Frrar’s brother Faros was found guilty, then there was the chance the crew would also be held accountable. Which meant Frrar could be held accountable, since he and Maisy were both on the ship when Faros attacked civilian transporters and broke the rebellion’s laws for uncontrolled quadrants.
He thought of the crazy Earther engineer instead of dwelling on the unfortunate trial. Despite the chaos she dragged along with her, she’d been calmer in the sick bay. Well, she’d been unconscious in the sick bay. Mrax wondered if she was ever really at peace; something in her eyes always looked frantic, desperate. Like when his youngest niece was exhausted to the point of delirium but refused to take a nap—she just kept moving to stay awake and eventually crashed wherever she crashed.
Seeing the Earther crash would not be good, especially on Dablon Seven in the middle of a spaceship boneyard. But there was another part of him that remembered her soft skin and the taut swell of her breasts under that flimsy shirt. The shape of the muscles in her arms and abdomen, the scent of her hair when it came loose from what the Earthers called a “ponytail.” He could see what the others found appealing about their Earther females—they were so delicate that it was easy to feel protective and fierce.
He frowned when he caught the laden silence around him, and looked at the others. “What?”
“Whatcha thinking about?” Vrix asked, one dark eyebrow arched. He nodded at Mrax’s scales, which had turned an unfortunate violet-orange: a curious mixture of lust and irritation.
Mrax scowled and gulped the rest of his drink. “Nothing.”
Vrix grinned wider. “You sure?”
“Go sodomize a sandsnake,” Mrax muttered. He shoved to his feet and stalked out, ignoring the calls and laughter that chased him out of the room.
He stalked back to the sick bay, snarling and snapping at anyone unlucky enough to cross his path, but even the mountain of work still ahead of him wasn’t enough to distract him from the memory of Rowan on the bed across the room.
Chapter 7
Rowan
Rowan paced in the canteen long after everyone else ate dinner. She didn’t like to eat around people; it felt too vulnerable and too competitive at the same time. With seven brothers, she had to fight to get every scrap of food she got growing up, and they’d never had a family dinner where people savored the food and carried on a conversation. They usually ate as fast as possible to get back to chores or make it to bed before the sun rose again.
It freaked her out in the Academy when the cadets all ate together and talked about their days and didn’t fly through their food in just a couple of minutes. She didn’t like it at all; she got in the habit of bringing a book or work to the table under the pretense that she was a slow reader and needed extra time. In reality it just made it easier to pretend she had more in common with the other cadets, instead of being the poor country relation who’d never been in a big city until she boarded her first spaceship.
So when she went to the canteen after all the Xaravians and the rest of the humans had eaten and dispersed back to their quarters or stations for the rest of the evening, Rowan brought along a manual for a new propulsion system she’d heard about from some of the other rebels. The manual held fascinating insights into how she could potentially improve the archaic system on the Galaxos. She paced as she read and chewed, unable to concentrate without some kind of movement.
She picked up another bite of her sandwich each time she made a lap, paging through the book as her gaze drifted over the schematics. It wouldn’t have taken that much to improve the Galaxos; she needed an hour or so in a spaceport with some junkers, and then she just needed someone to help balance the parts while she instal
led them. Easy-peasy, as Pop used to say.
Except nothing was ever easy-peasy on the farm.
Rowan frowned and paused near the sandwich as she flipped back and forth in the book, pondering a discrepancy between the installation instructions and the activation process. That shouldn’t...
“What in Newton’s apple are you doing now?”
She looked up as Jess appeared in the canteen. Rowan turned another page and made a mental note to research that discrepancy later. Maybe once she got all the parts and started installing them, the disconnect with the activation series would resolve itself. “I’m studying. And eating dinner.”
“And pacing like a mad scientist?”
Rowan didn’t quite roll her eyes, but she was damn close. “I didn’t go to the gym today. I need the PT.”
It was sort of true. She hadn’t gone to the gym, although she didn’t go very often anyway. She didn’t need the training or exercise, not when she spent most of her day climbing around and muscling heavy equipment into place.
Jess, who was too observant by half, didn’t buy it. “You shouldn’t have gone to the gym because you stopped your own heart today. Sit down for a sec, Rowan, and eat the rest of your sandwich. I need to talk to you about something.”
Rowan eyed her; that was never a good sign. Usually when someone needed to talk to her about something, it meant she was in trouble, someone was dying, or bills came due and there wasn’t any money for them. She sank very slowly onto one of the chairs near her plate, and put the book page-down on the table. “Ooookay.”
“It’s not bad,” Jess said, a smile finally breaking free from her serious demeanor. Rowan hadn’t quite been able to place what kind of cultural attaché Jess was, though she was starting to expect it was the kind of cultural attaché who didn’t do much attaché-ing. “I have a favor to ask.”
“If you’re going to ask me not to work on the engines again, I can tell you—”
“No, it’s not that.” Jess frowned and moved the sandwich closer to her. “Eat, damn it. You’ve lost weight the last few months, you maniac.” She waited until Rowan took a grudging bite before going on. “I need your help with more engines, actually. More work. Identifying good ships and getting them working again.”
Well, that sounded like a dream come true. Which meant it was probably a trap or a lie or a scam of some kind. She braced for the worst. “Okay.”
Jess chuckled and leaned back in her chair after ordering a hot chocolate from the auto-order device in the table. Isla and Griggs apparently bugged their Xaravians over not having real chocolate so much that the ship made a special detour to a spaceport that stocked it. It smelled heavenly, but Rowan hadn’t tried any. It was probably better not to have it and get used to the taste, since it would be easier that way when they ran out. She wouldn’t know what she was missing.
Jess played with the end of her braid and studied Rowan a little too closely for comfort. “Here’s the thing. Trazzak and I are going back to Dablon Seven to tear that boneyard apart, and we need an engineer to help figure out how the hell to pick the right ships and get them moving again. We need someone who can sort through the waste and figure out which ships will benefit the rebellion the most. I figured that was you.”
“Trazzak doesn’t want to take Frrar?” Rowan tried to guard her enthusiasm, so she wouldn’t be disappointed when things changed.
“Frrar is staying here with Maisy and the kid.” Jess inhaled from the hot chocolate and made a pleased sound.
“So I’m the only real option.”
Jess eyed her. “No, that’s not how it is. I’d rather have you along than Frrar. He’s too straitlaced. He doesn’t have the creativity you do.”
Rowan took another bite to buy herself some time. Already her leg jiggled with excess energy. She needed to move. Fatigue and exhaustion crept in around her; if she didn’t keep moving, she’d end up passing out right there in the canteen. So she chewed faster and figured she could agree with Jess and change her mind later, or fake an injury or something. “Yeah, I can go. As much fun as it will be to be the third wheel while you and Trazzak are making out.”
The corner of Jess’s mouth quirked up. “Well, the good news is that you’ll be the fourth wheel. Mrax is going with us in case there are any medical emergencies.”
“You mean he’s coming because I’m coming and you think I’ll get myself killed or injured?”
The smile grew. “I definitely don’t think that, but Trazzak might have guessed that keeping you alive would be a challenge.”
Rowan rolled her eyes and shoved to her feet. “Sure. Just keep them out of my way, Jess. I don’t need a fucking lecture every time I touch something metal or a little bit quantum. If they’re going to be following me around and warning me away from stuff, it’s not going to work.”
The cultural attaché looked pensive more than offended. “I don’t think they will, and I’ll talk to Trazzak to make sure. It’s just…They’re overprotective, Rowan. They’re not used to women taking risks like we do; it sounds like Xaravian women don’t travel in space but stay home to defend against whatever crazy-ass animals they’ve got running around on the home planet.”
“That’s Trazzak’s excuse. Doesn’t excuse that Mrax thinks he can tell me what to do.” Rowan kept pacing even when Jess made irritated noises and turned in a circle to follow Rowan’s progress. “He lectured me today. Tried to order me around. I won’t put up with it.”
“I know.” Jess held her hands up. “I can’t explain it, it’s just something they do. Trazzak did the same thing to me before I ever even kissed him.”
Rowan stumbled to a halt. She didn’t dare look at Jess. She couldn’t mean... “You don’t think there’s any reason that Mrax might…you know.”
“Think you’re sexy and try to make out with you?” Jess teased.
Rowan’s face ached with heat. “You can’t be serious.”
“I don’t know, babe. I’m not a mind reader. He’s awful grumpy, though. I didn’t think he was your type.”
“They’re all grumpy,” Rowan muttered. “And I don’t have a type.”
“Everyone has a type.” Jess leaned back and put her boots up on the chair Rowan had vacated. She sipped her chocolate but eyed Rowan. “What were your boyfriends like growing up and at the Academy?”
Rowan cleared her throat and started to pace again. It was a humiliating thing to admit. She was damn near twenty-seven and she’d never…She’d never had time, or so she liked to think. Another possibility scared her too much—she was unlovable and unattractive, and no man would ever try to kiss her or even ask her to dinner. Or coffee. She’d settle for a shared hot beverage. “You know. Normal.”
Jess abruptly sat forward, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. “Rowan MacLeod, you’ve had a boyfriend, haven’t you?”
She didn’t want to get defensive. She really didn’t. But her voice still sounded too sharp and uncomfortable. “No, I haven’t. Okay? I haven’t. I’m a freak of nature and no one will ever ask me out or want to make out with me. That’s it. You’ve found me out.”
Rowan wanted to flee, to get back to engineering so she could mess around with the stability core, since machines didn’t hurt her like that. Machines didn’t reject her. The laws of physics didn’t just change their mind. Except for quantum stuff. That was as unpredictable as most males.
Jess got up and caught her shoulders. “Hon, calm down. I’m not judging you. I think it’s sweet. You’re a little quirky and it’s important to wait until you find the right person. Believe me, it’s better to not have those regrets.” And from the look on her face, she meant it.
It helped Rowan feel a little better, but that didn’t solve the immediate problem. “Regardless, I’m not interested. I don’t even want to joke about it. And if you tell anyone a word of this, I swear I’ll rig up your quarters so you never have a moment’s peace.”
“Okay, okay.” Jess laughed and went back to get her hot chocolate. “I’ll leav
e you alone. We’re departing tomorrow after lunch, so just…don’t change anything in the engines before then, okay? Save the tinkering for when we get to Dablon Seven.”
Rowan grumbled and picked her book back up, waving the attaché away. “Go away. I won’t mess with the engines if you leave me alone.”
“Done and done.” Jess waved over her shoulder and disappeared.
Rowan stared at where she’d gone, for a moment too tired to move. Maybe Jess was right, that she just needed to find the right person to fit her... quirkiness. She shook her head and started pacing again. Not too many men wanted to put up with quirky. They liked women like Isla and Jess, and even the rough-tough Griggs. Not a nervous weirdo like Rowan.
Chapter 8
Mrax
Mrax frowned from the moment he agreed to go with Trazzak until he walked onto the small attack ship that separated from the Galaxos to take them all to Dablon Seven. The Galaxos took them most of the way, but the much larger, well-known ship couldn’t land on Dablon without drawing a great deal of negative attention. A single fighter could glide in and out of Dablon’s atmosphere without too many questions.
Trazzak guided the ship on the descent through the hazy atmosphere around the planet, and Mrax kept his attention on one of the screens that showed him the outside view. The moment he stepped on the ship, a strange tension filled the air between him and Rowan. He couldn’t explain it except perhaps that Trazzak or another of his crewmates told the girl what he’d said about her being a disaster. He didn’t waste much thought on it, or so he told himself. It didn’t really matter what the girl thought; they wouldn’t spend much time around each other once this particular mission was over, and he could deal with a week or so of awkwardness.
He frowned at Trazzak’s back and said, “So where exactly is this boneyard?”