Page 34 of Havik: Warlord Brides
By the time she crawled into the massive bed, exhaustion made her limbs heavy. She tossed and turned to get comfortable at the end of such a long day, but sleep remained elusive.
Too much had happened.
The day started with her desperate not to be sent back to Earth, and now she had a job of sorts, to hunt down the human traffickers. She was glad to be part of the mission, even if her role was bait. On top of all that, she was on a rickety old ship with two strangers. Anything could happen. What if they weren’t the good guys the warlord thought they were? Hell, how could she trust the warlord? The alien’s crew had rescued her from being a permanent icicle but…
No buts. The Mahdfel’s reputation preceded them. When they gave their word, they meant it. Shit got done. Even if they were a little too rule-abiding for Thalia’s tastes.
She was safe with Havik and Ren. Everything else in her life was a huge freaking question mark, but that she knew with certainty.
Scratching sounded at the door. Probably that kama-thing come to nibble on her while she slept.
“Go away.” She rolled over, determined to ignore it.
More scratching followed by a whine.
“Fine.” She stomped across the room and huffed as the door opened.
The animal looked up at her and rattled its tail, then scurried across the floor, directly into the bed. Standing on her pillow, it turned around in a circle before settling down in a tight curl.
“Not a pet, my ass,” she said. Sitting at the edge of the bed, she arranged the cover to make a little nest for the cutie. “If you stay, no eating me. Not cool.”
* * *
The cold woke her.That, and Lieutenant Stabs’ claws digging into her stomach as he—she? Thalia had no idea—clung to her for warmth.
Groggy and shivering, Thalia found the blanket floating above her and herself floating a good foot above the bed. Startled, she tried to sit up but spun in place, slowly turning like a roast on a spit. She closed her eyes, fighting dizziness. The blanket tangled around her legs. There had to be something she could do.
The straps.
Thalia thrashed her arms until she came in contact with the nylon straps. Holding on for dear life, she stopped her rotisserie spinning and righted herself. She kicked the blanket free and it drifted slowly across the room.
“Computer,” she said. It chimed in response. “What is happening?”
“Gravity is currently offline. Restoring gravity function is advised,” the computer said in a flat tone.
“Ya think?” she muttered.
Worries about gravity coming back online and her slamming back down onto the mattress made sleep impossible. She had spent the last two days in her cabin, being ignored by Havik and Ren, only emerging for food and the bathroom.
If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well try to be helpful. No reason to sit and continue to do nothing. Thalia fumbled to get on a pair of stretchy pants and her shoes. Pulling the shoes on sent her into another rotisserie-style spin.
Not cool. Good thing she didn’t get motion sick.
Her glasses floated above the dresser.
Thalia frowned, knowing she’d never be able to keep them on her face, and when gravity came back, she didn’t want them lying in the middle of the floor, waiting to be stepped on. If they broke, who knows how long she’d wait to get a replacement pair? Those might as well have been the last pair of glasses in the universe, as far as she was concerned. Carefully, she pulled herself across the room, clutching straps and furniture, until she reached the dresser and secured the glasses in the top drawer for safe keeping.
She experimented with moving about the cabin, pushing off walls and aware of how her arms and legs sent her off course. By the time she made it to the corridor, she felt confident enough that she might be of assistance. Sure, the gravity was offline, which was a mechanical problem and she knew nothing about mechanics or spaceships. She could fetch tools and hold stuff, though. Basically, that’s what she did for Doc.
The computer directed her to the front of the ship. The corridor widened into an open space. Monitors and important-looking machines lined the walls, the screens all blurred to her eyes and illegible. In the center of the room was a cluster of four vinyl orange chairs around a pillar. Green stuff bubbled inside the pillar, and the buckle and straps of the safety harnesses, which normally dangled from the chairs, floated above.
Thalia grabbed a strap and pulled herself to the chair. Age had worn the orange vinyl thin. She knew the fabric was probably a super high-tech composite blend of nanocarbon and other indestructible material, but it was glossy andorange,not even a nice orange, like sweet apricots or summer sunsets. This was the deep, burnt orange of tacky nightclubs that forever stank of weed and was sticky no matter how many times you wiped it down.
Vinyl. Totally vinyl.
Floor panels had been removed and were secured attached to the wall. Muttering and clanging drifted from the void below. On his belly, Havik dangled over the edge. One hand gripped the edge while his legs drifted up, along with the length of his braid. His tail flicked from side to side, as if annoyed.
His tail.
