Maverick

by Cheryl Brooks

  “Fewer people, I guess,” he admitted. “Still don’t get why you had to come here, though. There are places on Terra Minor where you’d be a thousand kilometers away from anybody.”

  “Tried that. Didn’t help.”

  The brow went up again, which was a fairly significant expression on a Zetithian whose straight brows were already slanted toward their temples. “You’re getting bad vibes from the freakin’ mountains?”

  “I have no idea, Larry. I just know it’s there. I can’t explain it any better than that. It’s like the land is in agony.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, half expecting the pain to put in another appearance. Fortunately, it didn’t. “What is it you wanted?”

  He sucked in a breath, seeming far less self-assured than he’d been mere moments before. “Look, I know you can’t read minds, but you can read emotions. You see, there’s this girl—”

  This time, Althea didn’t bother to suppress the growl. “Mother of the gods! You want me to tell you if this girl loves you for yourself or because you’re Zetithian?”

  “And rich,” he said, frowning. “That’s the part that’s bugging me the most. I mean, if I was a poor Zetithian, like both of our fathers were, it would be different. But I’m not someone’s slave. I’ve never been abused, and I’ve never missed a meal in my entire life—even if Mom did make us eat those cheap-ass Suerlin marching rations for months on end.”

  At the time, Althea had considered Suerlin food to be a form of abuse, so she knew exactly what he meant. Neither of them had been sold as slaves. They’d never had to fight for their lives, nor had they been orphans aboard a refugee ship for twenty-five years after their homeworld was destroyed. They’d had happy childhoods seeing the galaxy in ways most kids only dreamed about.

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to go with you to wherever this girl lives and act as a lie detector?” Seconds later, her jaw dropped as the most important aspect of any relationship with a Zetithian man reared its dangerous head. “Wait. Have you had sex with this girl?”

  “Well…no,” he admitted. “You know how it is with us Zetithian guys. We’re like a sex drug. One hit might not hook you for life, but women nearly always want more.”

  “Hmm… Maybe Terran women. Is she? Terran, I mean.”

  “Yeah. She’s really pretty, and I like her a lot—maybe even love her. I just want to be sure before I do anything stupid.”

  “Once you do the deed, I doubt she’d ever leave you for someone else, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I know that. But I want a woman to stay with me forever because she loves me. Not because I can wow her with my orgasmic joy juice.”

  Having evolved to entice their own relatively disinterested women, Zetithian males were irresistible to most other humanoid females, which, prior to the introduction of space travel to Zetith, hadn’t been an issue. But once women from other worlds got a taste of them, the level of jealousy the men inspired had ultimately resulted in the destruction of their homeworld and the near extinction of their species. Larry, like most of the surviving Zetithian males, had apparently chosen to exercise both caution and self-restraint when choosing a mate.

  Unfortunately, Althea suspected that the woman’s emotions weren’t the ones in question.

  “You know, that whole ‘I like her a lot—maybe even love her’ part strikes me as your main problem. I can’t help you with that, Larry. I can’t read you. Never could.”

  “But you could read her, couldn’t you? If your mother could read people instead of animals, I’d ask her, but she can’t, and you’re the only empath I know. Won’t you at least try?”

  “Can’t you tell from her scent?”

  “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Normally, I should be able to tell the difference between love and lust. But her scent is…confusing.”

  As far as he’d traveled to find her, Althea really couldn’t say no. Not to Larry anyway. She blew out a resigned sigh. “Where is she?”

  He winced. “Um, would you believe she’s on Rhylos?”

  I should’ve known…

  “Oh joy,” she said with a groan. “You know, this would’ve been a whole lot easier if you’d brought her along with you.”

  Larry gaped at her with dismay. “I couldn’t very well tell her why I was bringing her here, could I?”

  “Well, no,” she admitted. “Although I’m sure you could’ve come up with some sort of excuse.”

  “I would have, except she’s really busy at the orphanage right now—did I tell you she works there with Onca and Kim? That’s how we met.”

  “I see.”

  She did, actually. After Onca, their friend and fellow Zetithian, retired from the sex trade and married Kim, they’d turned the old Zetithian Palace brothel into a shelter for homeless orphans. Needless to say, the needs of those children far outweighed her own.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 2

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Larry was prepared for Althea’s reaction. After all, that was pretty much what everyone said when they first laid eyes on his ship. “Don’t worry. She’s got it where it counts.”

  “Uh-huh,” she drawled. “Sure she does.”

  “Come on now, Al. You know Mom wouldn’t let me fly around in a no-good ship. In fact, she’s the one who found it for me.”

  Jack had also taken it to the same Delfian mechanic who’d outfitted the Jolly Roger, which could outfly damn near any ship in the quadrant—a distinction Jack was not only very proud of, but went to great lengths to maintain and seldom missed an opportunity to demonstrate. Larry’s vessel, being smaller with less room to accommodate the supercharged stardrive components, came in a close second.

  “Hmm…” Althea studied the exterior, her gaze ultimately landing on the name painted above the main hatch. “The Three Stooges? Seriously? I mean, I get the reference, but what kind of a name is that for a ship?”

  Larry had heard that comment before too. “Did that before Moe and Curly decided they wanted ships of their own. Never got around to changing it, especially since I’d already had it registered. I tend to refer to it as the Stooge, but I’m probably the only one who does.”

  He stepped up to the hatch and keyed open the palm lock, then waited while two sections of the battered hull slid up like a pair of gull’s wings. “I’d thought of calling it the DeLorean, but that name was already taken. Guess Mom isn’t the only ship’s captain with a fondness for antiques.”

  This time, Althea didn’t even rise to the bait, which had Larry more than a little concerned. He’d always been able to make her laugh. Something was different. Something even a Zetithian with the occasional prescient vision couldn’t figure out.

  His concern was short-lived, however, because the other oddity of his starship chose to put in an appearance.

  “Mother of the gods,” Althea whispered. “You might have warned me.”

  To her credit, she hadn’t screamed, which was what most people did when they met his Scorillian navigator—or sidekick, as Brak preferred to be called, a preference he seldom failed to mention.

  After a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear, Larry beckoned to his partner. “Hey, Brak. C’mon out and meet Althea.”

  With a wave of his fluffy antennae, Brak minced down the gangplank, holding out a barbed appendage as he approached. “I am pleased to meet you, Althea. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Althea chose to tap the joint above Brak’s terminal pincer rather than shaking hands with the huge insect, a move that Larry considered to be quite prudent. “Nice to meet you, Brak. I haven’t heard one damn thing about you.”

  Brak’s antennae flattened as he rotated a bulbous eye toward Larry while keeping the other eye aimed at Althea. “There are times when I believe him to be asha
med of me.”

  “Not ashamed,” Larry said. “Just careful. If the Baradans had known you were on board, they might not have let us land.”

  Brak thrust his mandibles forward in a gesture Larry had only recently identified as a pout. If Althea could read Scorillians—and Larry honestly wasn’t sure she could—having her along for the ride would go a long way toward deciphering his shipmate’s moods. Although some of Brak’s emotions were probably best left in the dark.

  “You know I am not a carrier of the plague,” Brak whined. “Why does this unjust stigma persist?”

  Larry shrugged. “I can’t help you, Brak. Maybe if it was called something other than the Scorillian plague, you might be able to escape the connection, but it isn’t, so I guess you’re stuck with it.”

  “So annoying.” Brak nibbled the tip of his pincer like a nervous Nellie biting her fingernails. “Particularly since we Scorillians have so many other redeeming qualities.”

  “Yeah. So I’ve heard.”

  Brak displayed his annoyance with the usual crunching of his mandibles. “I’ll be in my quarters if I’m needed.” With a flutter of his translucent green wings, Brak did a quick about-face and retreated up the gangplank.

  Scorillians might have other attributes, but Brak’s ability to navigate a ship was Larry’s particular favorite. Brak claimed he could plot a course through a black hole and come out less than ten meters from his intended target on the other side. While that was an obvious exaggeration, he’d certainly never been lost—at least not to Larry’s knowledge.

  Larry’s own expertise was in deep space communications, and he was amassing a fair fortune by upgrading outdated comsystems. Since most manufacturers would rather replace a system than upgrade it, he was able to save his clients a considerable amount of money, and his popularity had grown along with his bank account. He didn’t even have to advertise. Word of mouth got him all the work he could handle.

  He’d been doing the same type of work even as a teenager aboard his parents’ ship, and while he could have set up shop somewhere, he wasn’t one to sit around and wait. So, like the tinkers in days of old, he traveled to wherever his services were needed, which was how he’d met Celeste.

  If he’d met her on the street in Rhylos’s brothel district, where sex pheromones were continuously pumped into the air, he would’ve discounted the attraction entirely. But they’d met when he’d stopped off at the orphanage to visit Onca and Kim. Since there were no airborne pheromones inside the Palace, the only enticement was Celeste’s own personal scent, which was alluring, if somewhat baffling.

  She was pretty too. Lush, curvy figure. Long, softly curling blond hair. Sparkling green eyes. Captivating smile. Yeah. She was very attractive, not to mention intelligent, witty, and charming. He just couldn’t decide whether he loved her. Perhaps he was wrong to go running off to find Althea—after all, hardly anyone consulted an empath before choosing a mate—but since he’d known Althea all his life, he saw no reason not to make use of her abilities. The truth was, with everything he’d seen and heard about how much trouble the sexual prowess of Zetithian males could cause, he didn’t trust himself. Or Celeste.

  “He is kinda moody,” Larry whispered as Brak disappeared through the hatch. “Think you can handle that?”

  Althea slung her oversized duffel bag over her shoulder and started up the gangplank. “I’m sure we’ll get along fine as long as I don’t have to share a bunk with him.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to do that.” Larry hurried after her. “This ship has room for a crew of six. Don’t need that many, of course, but there’s plenty of room for the three of us.”

  In the wake of that bit of babbling, Larry figured he’d better shut up until they got off the ground; otherwise, she might turn around and head straight back to the jungle. Althea might be a lifelong pal, but she was doing him an enormous favor by coming with him to Rhylos.

  At least his ship wasn’t crawling with critters, unless Althea lumped Scorillians into that category. He didn’t think she would, especially considering a Scorillian had saved the life of one of the few surviving pureblood Zetithian females, although she wouldn’t have been the first to shun the species as a whole. Brak was intelligent and walked upright, albeit on four legs, but with a triangular head perched on a long, narrow neck and wings that extended well beyond his slender thorax, he looked like a giant praying mantis. The barbs on the undersides of his forearms could saw through pretty much anything short of titanium, with the result that most intelligent beings—and all of the stupider ones—tended to avoid him like, well…like the Scorillian plague.

  “Not too bad on the inside,” Althea commented as she surveyed the main deck, which was clean and functional rather than luxurious.

  “It’s home,” he said with a shrug, then nodded toward the passageway to the crew quarters. “Your room is down this way.”

  During the flight to Barada Seven, Larry had done his best to make her quarters habitable, and while he hoped she would have no cause for complaint, he doubted that anyone who’d lived in a tree house for the past four years would be very choosy.

  Even so, he was unprepared for her reaction when he opened the door and waved her inside.

  “Wow, Larry. You really outdid yourself on the décor.” Crossing to the bed, she stooped and ran a hand over the floral bedspread. “This looks just like my room on the Jolly Roger.”

  Larry frowned. “Really? Is that good or bad?”

  “Good, I think—either that or it shows a sad lack of imagination.”

  “Let’s stick with good. Wouldn’t want you to think I lack imagination.” He hadn’t intended to duplicate her former bedroom. All he’d done was pick up a few things that reminded him of her—paintings of forests and flowers with bed linens to match. “Don’t know why I did it like that. Just wanted you to be comfortable, I guess.”

  “I’m sure I will be.”

  Her smile was genuine enough for him to actually believe her, causing a flush of pleasure to warm his face. “Want to see the rest of the ship?”

  “Sure.” She tossed her bag on the bed. “Might as well learn my way around.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t until they’d made the tour of the bridge and the galley when a suspicion surfaced in Althea’s mind—one she wished had never come up for air—which was that he’d had her quarters done over for his new girlfriend.

  Why that should have saddened her, she couldn’t have said, but the feeling crept in and refused to leave.

  The reason for her sadness couldn’t have been jealousy. After all, Larry was like a brother to her, and as such, he could fall in love with whomever he chose. She should’ve been happy for him—and she was, really. Was she only sad because he’d found love and she hadn’t?

  Possibly. He obviously hadn’t given up the way she had, although to say she’d given up was something of an exaggeration. She was simply taking a break from all the noise. She’d told herself that a thousand times. But was that the real reason she’d retreated to the jungles of Barada Seven?

  “Who does the cooking?” she blurted out, grasping at the first diversion that came to mind.

  “I do,” Larry replied. “For myself, anyway. I’d be dead in a week if I let Brak cook my meals.”

  “Can’t boil water?”

  He shook his head. “If that were all, I could probably teach him. He’s really into junk food and fried stuff. Honestly, you’d think an insect would prefer a healthier diet.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “Healthy? You must be forgetting all the nasty stuff that draws flies.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that.” His lips formed a moue of distaste. “Makes sense, though. Even if it is kinda gross. Guess I should be thankful he doesn’t like rotten fruit.” His eyes took on a contemplative glow. “Doesn’t like fruit at all, actually.”

  “H
e wouldn’t last long on Barada,” she said. “They’re all dedicated vegetarians.”

  The glow from Larry’s pupils sparked into flame. “Damn. I’d better check the stasis unit to see what’s missing. He’s had his eye on my stash of White Castles for a while now.”

  “Don’t you two share the food?”

  “Of course we do. But he’s already wolfed down his share of the cheeseburgers. He’s not getting the rest of them.”

  Althea giggled. “You sound just like your mother.”

  “Yeah, well, there are worse things,” he said, laughing along with her. “I happen to like my mom.”

  “So do I.” A note of sadness slipped into her voice. “I miss her—and all you guys. Seems like everything changes as we get older.”

  “I guess so.” His smoldering gaze met hers and held it as every trace of mirth vanished from his face. “I figured we’d all grow up eventually, but I never thought you’d run off and leave us like that.”

  “You’re one to talk,” she shot back, a tad defensively. “You went off on your own ship with only a Scorillian for company.”

  “Yes, but I actually visit my family once in a while. Geez, Al. Four years and not a single word from you?”

  Althea didn’t need to be an empath to feel his pain. The anguish was right there in his facial expression, the sag of his shoulders, and the wistful note in his voice.

  “I know it sounds strange, but it didn’t feel like four years to me. Time took on a rhythm of its own and sort of carried me along. Besides, sending deep space coms from Barada isn’t exactly easy.”

  He exhaled sharply. “If you’d bothered to ask me before you left—which you didn’t—I could’ve given you a comsystem with an extended battery life and a range that would reach any planet in the quadrant. But no, you had to run off to hide in the jungle where no one could find you.”

  “You found me.”

  “Only because I needed you, Al. Not because I missed you.”