Page 67 of Space Daddy and a Boy Called Twink

Twink had captured one of Sheila’s drones—the Chihuahua. He was a tiny thing, but his bark carried with it a threat, as though he’d take on all of us without issue. It made me uneasy to let Twink hold him, yet he was the only one who could quiet the tiny dog’s rage. If I got too close to my boyfriend, he would bark once again, as though guarding Twink with his life.

How could such a tiny thing be so brave and so very stupid?

Even amid Twink soothing the tiny beast, I detected tension between Twink and Powerbottom, but he and his human friendskept quiet. Whatever happened between them could wait; first they needed to recover from the shock of the attack.

And now Twink, Powerbottom, Eric, and I settled on a circular sofa with Eric assessing the different tentacle rests. Kryton had an impressive ship—far more spacious than mine, less exposed equipment, more furnishings for comfort. Justice officers tended to have nicer ships, as they were considered higher ranking than members of our exploratory council.

“Very tiny, cute guy,” Twink said, rubbing noses with the Chihuahua. “Think I’ll call him Pluto.”

Pluto must’ve sensed I was uncomfortable with Twink naming him because he growled at me, as if to silence any objection.

“She’s in a chamber now,” Kryton said as he rejoined us. In the time he’d taken to get there and back, he’d already transformed into his human body, same as me, and he’d thrown on a pair of white shorts that barely covered much of anything. He handed me a pair of pants.

“Thank you,” I said, pushing to my feet.

“It’s no problem,” he said. “Consider them a gift, from one Furker to another.”

He used the name I’d provided Twink with for our species, so I figured Twink must’ve shared this at some point during their rescue.

I still held Twink’s hand, and I didn’t want to release it, even to put on pants, not after everything that happened. Not when I’d almost lost him. But I forced myself to release Twink’s hold so I could get dressed. Not that I was particularly bothered, but it was apparent that Powerbottom and Eric were struggling to look anywhere other than my crotch.

As I slipped them on, Kryton’s gaze met Powerbottom’s, and he winked.

“Um…I think we need some answers,” Powerbottom said.

“Powerbottom is right,” I added. “There are a lot of details we have to cover.”

“Powerbottom?” Eric asked.

“Powerbottom?” Kryton followed, a broad grin stretching across his face.

I was annoyed by this distraction. I had too much to think about other than some horny Furker’s mating impulses. “There will be surveillance footage of what happened in a Tier 5 territory.”

“Already taken care of. Before the attack, I used our tech so all recording devices displayed a wolf in a dress performing a more plausible scenario, and when I joined our trio of humans, the recordings will show us simply running into the parking garage across the street.”

“People were there,” Eric chimed in. “They’ll tell others what they saw.”

“A mass delusion. Not uncommon among your species, and by the time word gets around, there will be so many conflicting accounts, no one will know what to believe. But none of you will have any footage of what happened, so if you are interviewed, simply say that you hid in the parking garage until the event came to an end.”

“Thank you,” Twink said.

“I’m sure the feds will still be suspicious. There’s already been enough activity on this planet that they’ve got an ear to the ground for us, but at least they won’t have any evidence linked to us specifically.”

“And they’ll leave Twink alone?” I pressed.

“From what transpired, I doubt they’ll think much other than he was a lucky individual in the mix, so as long as we can prevent any other instances from arising, we should be fine.”

That likely wouldn’t be an issue, especially with Sheila captured.

“Oh, yes,” Kryton added before playing with his arm cuff. The drone appeared at his side, opening, and he pulled a syringe from it. “I believe this belongs to you. Don’t need a human coming across alien tech, violating intergalactic law.”

He handed me the syringe, which I returned to Twink’s backpack as I asked one of the more pressing questions weighing on my mind. “So how did you know what was going on?”

“The Justice Department received two signals—one for distress and the other alerting of illegal alien activity.”

So, I had effectively repaired my communications panel.

“It was from a Furker,” he went on, “so I began tracking as soon as I received my orders, and my tech helped me detect the alien activity, leading me to the café.”