Page 51 of Naughty List Delivery
There’s a pause. “Jaxson, please tell me you haven’t hired your pirate boyfriend as muscle.”
“I haven’t hired my pirate boyfriend as muscle,” Noomi says dutifully. Then she grins. “I’ve hired my reformed pirate mate as my security partner.”
The silence stretches long enough that I start to wonder if the connection has been lost.
“Mother?” Noomi asks. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” Mother says in that tone she uses when she’s processing impossible courier complications. “I’m just... calculating insurance premiums. Your mate. As in, permanent Felaxian bonding mate?”
“As in territorial alien who just gave up his ship to follow me into legitimate work,” Noomi confirms, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Complete with protective instincts that should make your risk assessments very interesting.”
“Well,” Mother says, and I can hear the grudging approval creeping into her voice. “At least this one’s proven he can handle himself in a crisis. And Captain Kraine, I assume you’re listening to this conversation?”
“Hello, Mother,” I say, leaning closer to the comm unit. “Thank you for taking care of her these past three years.”
“Thank you for keeping her alive,” Mother replies with characteristic bluntness. “Multiple times, according to Luzrak’s reports. Though I understand congratulations are in order.”
“On what?” Noomi asks suspiciously.
“On managing to have a relationship conversation that lasted longer than five minutes without someone disappearing into the night,” Mother says dryly. “Luzrak mentioned you two have a history of dramatic exits.”
Noomi’s cheeks turn pink. “We’ve worked through our communication issues.”
“Good. Because I don’t have time to send rescue teams every time you two have a lovers’ quarrel.”
Before either of us can respond, PIP’s cheerful voice cuts through the comm channel: “Mother! Mother! Are we having a status meeting? Because I have SO much to report about the Christmas delivery statistics and also Jaxson and Captain Kraine’s medical bay activities!”
The silence that follows this announcement is deafening.
“PIP,” Noomi says carefully, “what exactly do you mean by medical bay activities?”
“Well, according to the ship’s environmental systems, there’s been a 340% increase in oxygen consumption in Medical Bay 3, elevated temperature readings, and several instances of equipment being moved in patterns that don’t match standard medical procedures! Also, someone keeps overriding the privacy locks, which is very interesting from a data analysis perspective!”
I bury my face in my hands while Noomi makes a strangled sound that might be laughter or mortification.
“PIP,” Mother says in the tone of someone who’s dealt with this exact situation before, “we’ve discussed the importance of not analyzing personal data without permission.”
“But it’s such interesting data! Did you know that Felaxian biology shows measurable changes in—”
“PIP!” both Noomi and Mother say simultaneously.
“Right, right. Personal privacy. Very important. I’ll just... file this data under ‘Do Not Discuss’ along with all the information about that time Jinny accidentally broadcast her poetry readings to the entire—”
“PIP,” Mother interrupts with steel in her voice, “focus on the Christmas delivery report. Now.”
“Oh yes! Excellent suggestion! The final statistics are remarkable—99.7% successful delivery rate across seventeen star systems, with family reunion satisfaction ratings averaging 9.8 out of 10! The galaxy-wide response has been so positive that three additional sectors have requested inclusion in next year’s program!”
“Good,” Mother says with satisfaction. “Actual results instead of gossip.”
“And Captain Kraine’s heroic actions have been cited in no fewer than forty-seven official reports! I’ve compiled a comprehensive database of commendations, news articles, and what appears to be several marriage proposals from admirers across the galaxy!”
“Marriage proposals?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh yes! Apparently, the ‘reformed pirate with a heart of gold’ narrative is very popular in certain demographic groups. I have a detailed analysis of the responses if you’d like to—”
“Pass,” I say quickly, while Noomi tries to muffle her laughter.
“PIP,” Mother says with characteristic bluntness, “send me that Christmas delivery report and quit broadcasting personal information. Some of us have actual work to do.”
