Page 17 of The Alien's Stolen Rebel

A crash behind me had me spin around. An inspection panel below the foodmaker lay on the deck, obviously the source of the noise. Beside it, Rachel lay on her back, her head and shoulders buried in the machine.

“What are you doing down there?” I asked, confused.

“Engineer’s daughter, remember? He taught me a lot of stuff back before the senate stuck a crown on his head. I may not be qualified to work on a Vehn maker, but it’s an antique. I know enough to make some adjustments.”

A snap, the sharp smell of ozone, and a yelp told me she was exaggerating, at least slightly.

“Fuck.”The profanity relieved my concern before I had the chance to act on it. Swearing meant she wasn’t seriously injured. “Ow, fuck, shit. Do you have a tool kit or something?”

I laughed. Perhaps I ought to have restrained myself, but I couldn’t catch it in time. A loudthunksound came from the innards of the ship as Rachel tried to sit up.

“Motherfucker,”she cursed again. “You try and do better if you can. This thing is fiddly, over-engineered, and obsolete.”

“No, no,” I said, pulling my tools from my belt and sliding it to her hand. “This is far more entertaining.”

“Asshole.” From context, I assumed that was an insult—as a reference to anatomy, it made no sense.

But she took the kit when I pushed it into a questing hand, and couldn’t control a pleased noise. No surprise there; if there’s one thing I insist on having the best of, it’s tools.

Technically, it’s a thieves’ kit, not an engineer’s, but there’s a lot of overlap. Stealing a ship means getting access to the systems and seizing control. No point in capturing a ship that you can’t fly.

Of course, the number of tools I might need was vast, so rather than trying to carry all of them, my kit was a portable maker. Expensive, but it let me carry every tool at once, and to a human engineer, it was a miracle. I smiled at the joyful noises from the hatch, leaned against the nearest counter, and watched Rachel’s legs as she worked.

It didn’t take her long to get what she needed. The foodmaker rumbled to life, extruding…mush. And a powder. No, two powders: both white, but of different consistencies.

It took me a moment before I understood, and then I clapped my hands joyfully.Ingredients! Rather than making a meal, she’s making the component parts of one.It was an ingenious solution. By definition, the ingredients were simpler than the result.

Simple enough that, even on low power, the machine would provide an endless supply of them. Not the best quality, perhaps, but it was good enough to work with.

Despite decades of neglect, the stove heated almost instantly. Cooking with equipment intended for an emperor had its advantages. Everything here was of the highest quality imaginable.

Today, it would serve a pirate and a runaway bride instead of the elite of a galaxy spanning empire. A grin spread across my face as I heated a pan and started thinking about what I could make from these supplies.

11

RACHEL

Iemerged from the machinery to the smells of cooking. Kreel stood by a small stove, humming under his breath as he worked.

I rose quietly, not wanting to disturb him. Hopefully, he’d found ingredients he recognized among the ones I’d activated. It wasn’t like I knew anything about them, after all—I’d been working from a list of numbers, and I’d simply activated everything with a low energy cost to create. Foodmakers always have the basics in their code, even if they’re not available on their own.

I’d expected to cook something simple with whatever ingredients came pouring out. It turned out my kidnapper/rescuer/whatever-he-was had other ideas.Deliciousideas, from the smell.

He turned his head to grin at me and nod across the galley. “The table extends from the wall there. Would you mind?”

I didn’t, so I pulled the section of wall he pointed to, and sure enough, a narrow table slid out. Chairs rose from the floor to meet it, and by the time it locked in place, Kreel had something ready to serve.

“What is this?” I asked, taking a bowl and looking at it curiously. Fried flakes of some dark substance, a wedge-shaped piece of crispy, golden stuff, a reddish sauce, all topped with a light dusting of powder. I had no idea what any of it was, though I knew all the ingredients were safe.

It smelled lovely, it looked good, and my stomach rumbled. I still prodded it dubiously with a spoon.

Kreel laughed, handing me a glass of water. No more complicated drink was available, but that was okay with me. Alcohol and Kreel sounded like a dangerous combination. Ireallydidn’t need my inhibitions lowered around him.

His intense gold eyes locked on me, the power of his gaze holding me still. I bit my lip, my pulse racing, and hoped he didn’t know what my blush meant. Silver lips smiled at me, expectant, and I remembered our kiss. How good it had felt.

How badly I wanted more.

With a quick, decisive movement, I stabbed the wedge with my spoon. The outer layer parted with a satisfying crunch, revealing a creamy interior that gave off a wonderful smell. Meeting Kreel’s eyes, I raised the spoon to my lips and took a tentative bite.

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