Hunted By the Alien Pirate by Celia Kyle Page 0,65
once again, knocking tools onto the deck plating with a great clatter. “And failure is never an option when your job is overseeing devices, which, when improperly tuned, could mean the painful deaths of every Kilgari and human on this ship.”
“But—but the diagnostic machine says it’s within normal parameters.” Vahn holds the boxlike scanner in front of him like a shield. I snatch it away and send it hurtling across the access room to smash into pieces against the bulkhead.
“I don’t give a damn what the diagnostic machine says. You will get this up to my specifications, which do not allow for this grotesque deviation.”
“Grotesque Deviation?” Vahn and Kelk exchange glances.
“Yes, you have adjusted the influx control valve to .000012 microns, when it’s supposed to be .00001 microns.”
“But…” Kelk swallows hard. “But that’s barely a significant difference at all.”
“Yeah, and it’s well within normal…” Vahn closes his mouth after I narrow my gaze in his direction. He clears his throat and tries another tact. “What I mean to say is, it won’t make any difference when we’re firing.”
“And how do you know that it’s off without even looking at a diagnostic box?” Kelk crosses his arms over his chest, and a moment later Vahn does the same.
“Yeah, how do you know?”
I start chuckling, though I am aware my eyes glitter like black diamonds. The two blanch and take a reflexive step back.
“First of all, I don’t need a diagnostic box to tell you’ve done a piss poor job on your calibration. All I have to do is look at the plasma coil itself. If you had tuned it to my precise specifications, there would be only .00035 seconds between flashes. There are .00037.”
“But—”
“Silence!” I slam my fist against the casing again, knocking the rest of their tools down. “You were about to say ‘but what difference does that make?’ Am I right?”
Vahn nods, and a moment later Kelk does as well.
“Well, let me tell you what kind of difference that makes. During a firefight, if the enemy has their shields tuned to within a matrix threshold of one hundred to one hundred twenty-one quarks per second, there’s a .000002 percent chance that the whole thing will overload and cause a catastrophic cascade reaction, blowing out the entire starboard side gamma emitter array. Is that what you want? To cripple the Ancestral Queen and leave us vulnerable to enemy attack? Well?”
My comm makes a chime, reminding me I have a meeting scheduled on the bridge with the rest of the senior staff. Good. We should be getting close to M’Kal, which means we’re that much closer to finding Lokyer.
Lokyer was a good kid, a little bit of a smart mouth on him but a good kid. When we thought he was dead, I took it like a blow to the gut. Finding out he was alive created hope that was tempered by the fact he’s likely being tortured even as we speak. So finding him is of the utmost priority.
“I’ve a meeting to attend. You two will remain here until this plasma coil is tuned precisely to my specifications. Is that clear?”
“But, without the diagnostic box it could take all day.”
“So go requisition another one from Montier. Or better yet, learn to do without one.”
“Easy for you to say. We’re not all Mr. Millimeter.”
I scowl at him until he has the good sense to look at his feet. True, I often dicker about adjustments most see as minor, but they simply haven’t thought things through to sufficient levels.
A great Terran philosopher known as Murphy said anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the most inopportune time. Well, the best way to avoid that is to make sure nothing can go wrong in the first place. That’s why you tune your plasma coils precisely, just in case the worst happens.
Speaking of the worst happening… I find my progress to the bridge impeded. Not by blast doors or armed mercenaries, but by a far more daunting foe I am powerless against. Two of my own crew mates stand before me—and one of them is a superior officer.
Grantian is our first mate, and while he’s no doubt supposed to be on his way to the same meeting I am to attend, he’s a bit preoccupied at the moment. His preoccupation takes the form of his jalshagar, Lamira, a human woman of great character and beauty.
Normally I don’t have a problem with either of them, but at the moment they’ve turned this critical junction into their own personal adult holovid studio. Okay, that’s exaggerating a bit. They’re both fully clothed, but this is definitely not an all-audiences display.
Grantian has gathered Lamira into his muscular arms, pressing her tightly against his body as they kiss passionately. And I do mean passionately. Loudly, too. Not just the lip smacking, but grunts and coos and moans.
From time to time they pause, gaze into each other’s eyes, and get these gigantic grins, but then they dive right back into it. Fortunately, and perhaps unfortunately as well, they can’t see me from my current position around the corner, peering through a ventilation screen.
“We have to stop. The meeting’s probably already started,” she says amid giggles.
You think?
“I know. I know. Just one more kiss…”
And they’re off again. No hurry or anything, you two. There’s only a crewman to be rescued. Please take your time.
“What a lewd and wanton display. They should keep such things confined to their quarters.”
My knees grow weak, and my mouth is suddenly dry because I recognize the voice behind me. Thrase comes up to stand by my side, and I avoid looking right into the large umber eyes behind her spectacles because I find when I do, I can’t concentrate on anything at all.
Her honey blonde hair swishes behind her shoulders as she shakes her head and tsks at our engaged crewmates. Thrase does not wear a lot of cosmetics as some human women do, but she doesn’t really need to. She is simply beautiful, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my fated mate.
Or at least, I strongly suspect she is. Or I just want her to be. I have yet to confirm it with a kiss, and given how our respective duties keep us at different parts of the ship it doesn’t seem likely I will get the opportunity. From the curve of her generous hips to the swell of her bust—human women have them all the time, not just during nursing—I think I would probably be attracted even if she weren’t brilliant and possibly my jalshagar.
Not that I’m going to tell her that at the moment. I do feel the need to stand up for Grantian and Lamira, however.
“Such passionate displays are not uncommon for two fated mates, Thrase. Try to keep that in mind.”
“Fated mates?” Thrase arches an eyebrow at me, and her gaze runs up and down my body. I have taken off my outer brocade coat and am clad in a sleeveless shirt since the plasma conduit access room is rather warm. Is it my imagination, or is she spending an inordinate amount of time staring at my chest? “Really, Zander, I thought an intellectual such as yourself wouldn’t buy into that metaphysical mumbo jumbo.”
“It’s not, as you so quaintly put it, mumbo jumbo, Thrase. In fact, there have been studies conducted by Kilgari scientists—”
“Yes, yes.” She holds a hand up to forestall me, her eyes focused on Grantian and Lamira. Lamira lets out a very, ah, enthusiastic moan when Grantian grabs her by the buttocks. “I’m sure there’s some sort of chemical reaction, much like the one that goes on when humans think they are in love, but that doesn’t prove it’s fate, or karma, or something else ridiculous. Just compatible genes expressing themselves in the most embarrassing way possible.”
“You… you don’t believe in love?” I can’t keep the disappointment out of my tone, though it embarrasses me terribly.
“Of course I don’t. It’s just a biological condition, one brought on to perpetuate progeny and to blind good sense.”
Solair’s voice booms over the all ship hail, startling all four of us.
“Attention, senior officers… apparently you’ve forgotten that we had a meeting on the bridge scheduled to start… oh, five minutes ago. Please report here at your earliest convenience.”
Lamira giggles and pats Grantian on the chest.
“You got me in trouble.”
“I got you in trouble? You kissed me first—”
They continue to banter as they head up the corridor, and after a moment, Thrase and I follow.
“Finally. Perhaps now something of interest will actually happen.”
She walks ahead of me, and I shamefully admit my eyes are focused on her rounded rear when I respond.
“Yes, perhaps we will get to the, ah, bottom of things.”
Don’t I wish.