AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Just passing the time before we climb into the death trap?” I ask, looking through my eyelashes at Taraven.
“The death trap…?” Malix frowns.
“Ravik’szephtan,” Taraven explains. “He’s been forming a bond with one of the younger creatures, but we don’t necessarily trust it yet.”
“I don’t like the idea of not trusting our pilot,” Malix says, his frown deepening.
“You and me both,” I mutter. I take a big swig of the drink, gulping it down without bothering to taste it—even though I’m sure it’s delicious. “But don’t worry; I’m sure Ravik willtrynot to kill us.”
“And Ravik is a skilled pilot,” Taraven cuts in. “He’s just been…troubled lately.”
Malix nods. “Who wouldn’t be, given the circumstances?”
He crosses his arms and stares down at the floor, his brow furrowed. The Lyran guardsman looks a little green around the gills—literally. His fringe is paler than usual, a sickly green instead of his normal turquoise.
“Looks likeyoucould use a drink,” I say. “Taraven?”
“He keeps saying no,” Taraven shrugs.
“Really?” I ask. “What—are you scared?”
Malix scowls. “Not scared; disciplined.”
“Hey—sorry,” I say, raising the hand not holding a glass. “Not trying to give you shit.”
“I don’t know what that—”
“Not trying to insult you,” I clarify. “Just being friendly.”
Malix’s defensiveness drops, and he lowers his hands to the desk behind him. “I’m…well, I suppose I could try it,” he says. “I can’t say I’ve ever indulged.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You live in Saga and you’ve never had a drink?” I ask. “Isn’t it like…the nightclub capital of Logos?”
“It isthecapital of Logos, and the center of Lyran civilization,” Malix says. “I would hardly say it is best known for its nightclubs.”
“Actually, I’ve heard this too,” Taraven says.
“From where?” Malix asks.
Taraven points at me and I laugh.
“Hey, I have it on good authority that the nightclubs in Saga—especially in the Terran Quarter—are fun as hell,” I say. “You can trust me on this.”
“And where areyougetting your information?” Malix probes.
I pause,hisname almost crossing my lips for the first time in five years.
“You’re distracting from the question,” I say. “C’mon—just a single drink for good luck on our mission. If you hate it, you never have to try it again.”
Malix looks from me to Taraven, who gives him a helpless shrug.
“She usually gets what she wants,” Taraven says.
I don’t think he means anything by it, but heat blooms in the pit of my stomach, racing along my nerves. I reach up to rub the back of my neck in an attempt to get rid of my goosebumps, hoping the two aliens with me can’t smell how that made me feel.
Or maybe they can, and maybe it works.
Because Malix caves.
