His grin widened to a smile that changed his hard features from merely devastatingly handsome right through to supernova apocalypse. Yeah, obviously designed to melt a poor little woman’s brain until she did everything that he suggested.
“This heat… Awful, isn’t it?” he commented, not breaking eye contact. “Tends to make most people homicidal. Usually not the pretty ones, though.”
Her eye roll was so impressive, they nearly rolled out of her skull. The pretty ones… Really? He was really going for it like that?
Scan complete. No weapons detected. Fred informed her. No threat markers. He doesn’t even have a knife on him. Who walks around a penal colony without a knife?
An idiot or someone who didn’t need one. Neither option made her feel better.
Threat assessment. Physically, significant. Motivationally, unclear. I still recommend the cannon. Small warning shot. Take a toe off.
We are not shooting him, Fred.
He is very annoying.
He’s annoying me, too. But we can’t shoot people just for being annoying.
Submitting a request to review this policy.
She gave Handsome Alien Hottie the smile she reserved for customs officials. “I’m busy,” she said. “So unless you’ve got a hydraulic cylinder for a Wren-class hauler in your pocket, I’ve got places to be.”
Stepping around him, she headed for the mid-size hauler across the slabcrete. Purposely, she didn’t look back, but he followed her anyway. The footsteps behind her were unhurried, heavy, and even.
She bit the inside of her cheek. For fuc-fudge’s sake. Assholes like him were so predictable. He’d filed her under playing hard to get and hadn’t even considered that she might just be busy. Which was insulting, really. She had a repair list the length of her arm and not enough time to get through half of it before her departure window tomorrow. She absolutely did not have time for whatever the hell this was.
He’s flanking, Fred commented. I could charge the hull plating. Just enough to discourage.
She almost rolled her eyes.
We’re not anywhere near the ship, Fred. So how are you going to shock him?
There was a pause. Good point. I could shoot him instead. The cannon is still charged.
She sighed. We are not shooting or shocking the locals.
Submitting a second request to review this policy.
The heat was absolutely murderous. Sweat tracked down her spine and the air tasted like hot fuel and baked metal, but beside her, the big alien moved like none of it touched him. He wasn’t sweating, he wasn’t even breathing harder. He just looked bored, and she hated him a little for that. Maybe more than a little.
The mid-size hauler sat ahead with her ramp down, a strip of shade under the port wing that looked like the most beautiful thing Cait had seen all morning. The pilot, another woman, was crouched in it. She swore as she fought a crate latch, looking entirely unimpressed with the universe. She glanced up as Cait walked over, eyes sliding immediately to the male behind her, then back again.
“Hey there,” Cait said, stepping into the shade and immediately feeling something close to human again. “Rhenn. Off the H4-RPY.”
The woman straightened up, easing weight off one leg. Bad knee, by the look of it. “Barker. Bluebird Transport. Heard you come in earlier. Sounded like a rough one.”
“Yeah, rougher than I’d like.” There was no point dancing around it. She’d hit the deck hard. A hydraulic line for a Wren-class wasn’t going to be sitting in anyone’s spares box out here. She’d need the whole assembly. “Managed to fuc-mess up the port landing strut. I need a hydraulic cylinder… Mark IV or compatible. Secondary power relay and a fuel line coupling as well, if you’ve got it?”
Barker blew out a breath through her teeth. “Coupling I can probably do, got a box of bits in the back. But a cylinder?” She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “We run light. Don’t think I got anything like that on board.”
Cait’s stomach dropped. “Mark III maybe? I can make it work.”
“Don’t have it, love. Sorry.” Barker jerked her chin toward the far end of the dock, where a heavy lifter sat with its ramp firmly up and its running lights off. “Miller over there won’t even answer a knock. But there’s another Bluebird heavy due in… the Ironwraith. They carry a full maintenance bay.”
Cait perked up. “When?”
Barker shrugged. “Two days. Maybe three if the ion storms pick up.”
Two days.
