of his eyes. His beef wasn’t with the Sympaticon, even if he did look like a giant rat in his current form. “Any plans for where to go next?”
“What? You don’t like this house?” Temfilk plopped down on a nearby overstuffed chair, raising a small cloud of dust as he did so. “I think it’s quite homey, myself.”
The Racks apparently thought so too. They were already curled up in a pile in the corner, the only evidence of their recent exertions being their heaving respirations. Klara sat in a rickety chair at an equally wobbly table, bouncing her fist against her upper lip in a display of impatience or concern—Moe couldn’t tell which.
Moe pulled up another chair, testing it for stability before gingerly taking a seat at the table. “Plotting our next move?”
The glare she shot him should’ve raised welts. However, her reply was reasonably mild given the circumstances. “Trying to,” she replied. “Right now, I’m open to suggestions.”
Her attitude was understandable. Clearly, this was the first time she and her cohorts had ever been attacked in their lair. Something was different now, an extra grain of sand that tipped the scales…
“It’s me, isn’t it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m the reason this Pelarus has upped the ante—possibly to the point of offering a larger reward for your capture.”
Her expression went from skeptical to concerned in the space of three heartbeats. “I did have to pay that last Nedwut pack more than I ever have before. But I still don’t understand why that would have anything to do with you being here.”
Moe leaned back in his chair with even more trepidation than when he’d sat down. “Plenty of people saw you guys carry me out of that bar. Word that you had captured a Zetithian male may have gotten back to Pelarus.”
“Why would that matter?”
If there was a way to explain his reasoning without sounding like a conceited asshole, Moe hadn’t hit on it yet. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “It’s because of the difference between Zetithian women and those of other species.”
She arched a brow. “And that would be…?”
“For a Zetithian woman, only a Zetithian man will do. The mating works fine the other way around—females of most species are attracted to us—but Zetithian men have a tough time enticing their own women. Males of other species don’t stand a chance. I’m guessing Pelarus knows that and sees me as a clear and present danger to his plans for you.”
“He never stood a chance to begin with,” she snapped. “I made that quite plain long before you showed up.”
“But my being here puts added pressure on him to succeed,” Moe went on with increasing conviction. “Before you and I met, the chances of you mating with anyone else on this entire world were essentially nil. Now that an unmated Zetithian male of roughly your own age has joined your gang, the odds against Pelarus are insurmountable.”
“Unless someone kills you,” Temfilk pointed out. “If what you’re suggesting is true, there’s probably a bigger price on your head than there is on hers, and it might even be higher if you’re dead.”
Moe exhaled sharply. “Yeah. That idea occurred to me, too.” He fixed his gaze on Klara, waiting patiently for the inevitable accusation that he was too damn cocky for his own good.
For several moments, all he received from her was one unreadable sidelong glance.
“Okay,” she finally said. “None of us is safe now. You can’t even show your face at the spaceport. The only one of us who could get away with anything is Nex.”
A smile stole across Moe’s lips as his head tilted to one side, seemingly of its own accord. “Nex, have you ever seen this Pelarus guy?”
“Lots of times,” Nexbit replied. “Only from a distance, though.”
Moe nodded slowly. “Think you could duplicate him well enough to convince the spaceport officials?”
“Maybe.” Nexbit scratched the side of his head, which had already returned to its resting state. “I can do Terrans well enough, and they aren’t much different from Vessonians, although I don’t know what either of them are like beneath their clothing. I can do the forehead ridges and slanted ears without any trouble, and as I recall, he has wavy blond hair that’s starting to gray on the sides.” As he spoke, the characteristics he mentioned gradually began to appear. “The trick will be finding clothing that could pass for his. Like most rich bastards, he’s a pretty snappy dresser—lots of jewels and long,