Tamed By the Alien Pirate by Celia Kyle Page 0,6
bought at the last market we went to. She listens politely, nodding here and there, and her smile continues widening until it becomes an amused grin. She must be enjoying the details of my prototype; that prompts me to delve even deeper into the minutia of electron repulsion and attraction, and the practical aspects of applying iron-tight theory to the weapons we have aboard.
“Isn’t the armory back there?” she asks, interrupting me mid-sentence. Pointing at the door we’ve just walked past with one thumb, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, the slight tilt of her hips enough to wipe my mind clean of theoretical considerations.
“You’re right. That’s the armory.” Only now noticing the panel announcing the door as Armory C, I turn on my heels and follow after her. I input the access codes into the wall-mounted panel and then wait as the reinforced door slides back into its partition on the wall.
The moment we step into the room, the door closes behind us, the locking mechanism activating automatically. A set of bright lights flood the room, illuminating the clean workbenches occupying the center of the room. The walls are lined with weapon lockers, an assortment of high-grade weaponry and tactical gear stacked behind the metallic webbed doors.
“So, this is what I was talking about,” I continue, deactivating the security circuitry and opening the lockers. I grab my custom beam pistol, enjoying the way its polished grip fits against my palm, and proudly set it down on one of the work benches. “I’ve modified the grip, since there isn’t much of a recoil, and added protective lining to the muzzle. The power packs have modified electromagnetic components that…”
I trail off, realizing Thrase doesn’t seem as excited about the beam upgrades as I am. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I find myself scratching the skin under my neck, an uncomfortable itch settling there.
“Sorry, I tend to get carried away,” I tell her, and then watch as she raises one eyebrow, her smile never leaving her lips. “I didn’t mean to ramble and bore you.”
“You weren’t boring me.” Reaching for the pistol, she holds it up in front of her face. “Your ramblings are… interesting. I like hearing you speak. It’s been a while since I’ve talked with someone who cares about doing things the right way. Besides, you seem to have done a good job with this, assuming it works the way you intend it to. Electromagnetic components aren’t exactly the easiest components to mod.”
“It’ll work,” I say, and I finally find it in me to return her smile. I shouldn’t have been worried with boring her. Someone as bright as Thrase wouldn’t be bored with a lengthy discussion on atomic theory and its practical applications, only energized by it. At least, I know that’s the case with me. “I also enjoy the way you speak, Thrase. It’s good to have someone around who keeps up with what I’m saying.”
“I think I can do more than just keep up with you.” She chuckles then and shakes her head, a few locks of hair tumbling over her face. She brushes them away, tucking them over one ear, and I feel my insides clenching as I watch that motion of hers. It’s as if she’s moving in slow motion, the way her fingers flex and brush against her face almost hypnotic. Maybe that’s normal when it comes to a jalshagar.
Reminding myself that I don’t know if that’s the case here, I just push those thoughts to the back of my mind and focus on the task at hand. Methodically, I start removing the gear we’ll need from the lockers and laying it down on the work benches.
I do away with the high-powered rifles and heavy tactical vests and settle on light weaponry and adaptive vests that can be easily worn under normal clothing. They won’t be enough to stop a bullet, but the fabric is strong enough to stop a knife from cutting into the flesh. On the streets of K’Patel, it’ll be more important to blend with the crowd than to roll in looking like an armored tank.
“How am I supposed to wear this?” Thrase asks me as she struggles with her vest. Nothing more than a shirt made of synthetic polymer fabric, its protective qualities depend on the material being worn in direct contact with the skin. Thrase, of course, is trying to wear it over her blouse.
“You have to wear your blouse over it,” I tell her. “The