evaded only through desperate speed and frantic
inventiveness. When he’d gripped her arms with bruising force and pulled her
against his bulging-muscled body, his pale, blue eyes had flashed with fixated
arousal, as if he was possessed or suffering from space madness.
Gods, she missed her mother…and had counted on her far more
than she’d realized. Her mom was world-wise and vicious as venom. In her
childish innocence, Achelle had believed her mother would always be there for
her, that she would never have to fend for herself. They had planned to make a
new life—one where her mom would have a respectable job and Achelle could
finish her education—on a newly founded planet at the edge of the galaxy. To
lose her one family member unexpectedly had left Achelle in an almost comatose
state for thousands of light-years. Until, that is, the captain expressed his
false regret and forcefully “offered” his protection if she took a new position
as his sexual companion.
Yeah, screw that. Achelle would rather jump out an airlock
than jump in Captain Grab-Ass’ bed.
A metallic chirp sounded when she breached the transparent
shield door and walked in to the trendy clothing store called Spaced. The
inside was small and the clothing shelves mostly empty. She appeared to be the
only customer. With a sigh, she approached the purchase station and waited for
a curvaceous redhead to acknowledge her.
With a sniff, the woman turned and looked Achelle up and
down with bored, unimpressed eyes. “Something I can help you with, Mar?” she
asked, using the common, polite term for “Miss” when her body language and
voice were anything but polite.
Achelle lifted her chin and smiled. “Hello. I’m looking for
a sales position and—”
“Sorry,” the woman interrupted, sounding anything but. “We
don’t have any openings. If you come back at the beginning of traveling season,
we might have a position available.”
Right. As if Achelle could simply wait around for three
months. The woman was either an idiot or unkind. “Can you tell me if anyone
else is hiring on the station?”
“Misty’s had an advert up last time I dined there. It’s the
restaurant in the four-hundred curve of the ring.”
Well, at least I have a lead , Achelle thought as she
left Spaced and quickly walked away. Realizing she wasn’t blending, she forced
herself to slow to the same speed of the foot traffic and refused to look over
her shoulder as the crowd flowed like a humanoid river down the metallic bed of
the walkway. Overhead, in blazing block letters a sign read Three Hundred
Circle.
Not far to go , she thought, blinking at the bright
sign and promptly tripping over a squat, rusted-out trash bot.
The bot, no bigger than her head, righted itself on crooked
legs, lifted its angular head and spit a greasy, green residue all over her
slim ankles and old shoes. She kicked the bot away from her but the
sharp-smelling slime worked like acid, eating through her skirt and shoes to
burn her skin.
“Hey!” shouted a short man with an oblong head full of
tangled hair. Unshaven and gruff-looking, he stood in front of the shield door
of a ship strip-down shop that was pretending to be a repair shop. “That bot’s
private property. If you damage it, you’ll pay for repairs.”
Not wanting to draw more attention to herself, Achelle
bolted into a nearby alley to jerk off her shoes and rip off the bottom of her
worn skirt. She threw them away from her, panting with pain. Raw chemical burns
festered on the tops of her feet, her ankles and the tips of her fingers.
Stupid bot…stupid her for tripping over the damn thing.
Trash bots used an acidic fluid to decompose the trash they ingested and didn’t
hesitate to use the fluid in self-defense protocols. Never mind the fact that
the little bot belonged to ship thieves.
Back on Earth, she’d seen a team of four thieves strip a
stolen ship of all its valuable parts in less than five minutes. Then they
inventiveness. When he’d gripped her arms with bruising force and pulled her
against his bulging-muscled body, his pale, blue eyes had flashed with fixated
arousal, as if he was possessed or suffering from space madness.
Gods, she missed her mother…and had counted on her far more
than she’d realized. Her mom was world-wise and vicious as venom. In her
childish innocence, Achelle had believed her mother would always be there for
her, that she would never have to fend for herself. They had planned to make a
new life—one where her mom would have a respectable job and Achelle could
finish her education—on a newly founded planet at the edge of the galaxy. To
lose her one family member unexpectedly had left Achelle in an almost comatose
state for thousands of light-years. Until, that is, the captain expressed his
false regret and forcefully “offered” his protection if she took a new position
as his sexual companion.
Yeah, screw that. Achelle would rather jump out an airlock
than jump in Captain Grab-Ass’ bed.
A metallic chirp sounded when she breached the transparent
shield door and walked in to the trendy clothing store called Spaced. The
inside was small and the clothing shelves mostly empty. She appeared to be the
only customer. With a sigh, she approached the purchase station and waited for
a curvaceous redhead to acknowledge her.
With a sniff, the woman turned and looked Achelle up and
down with bored, unimpressed eyes. “Something I can help you with, Mar?” she
asked, using the common, polite term for “Miss” when her body language and
voice were anything but polite.
Achelle lifted her chin and smiled. “Hello. I’m looking for
a sales position and—”
“Sorry,” the woman interrupted, sounding anything but. “We
don’t have any openings. If you come back at the beginning of traveling season,
we might have a position available.”
Right. As if Achelle could simply wait around for three
months. The woman was either an idiot or unkind. “Can you tell me if anyone
else is hiring on the station?”
“Misty’s had an advert up last time I dined there. It’s the
restaurant in the four-hundred curve of the ring.”
Well, at least I have a lead , Achelle thought as she
left Spaced and quickly walked away. Realizing she wasn’t blending, she forced
herself to slow to the same speed of the foot traffic and refused to look over
her shoulder as the crowd flowed like a humanoid river down the metallic bed of
the walkway. Overhead, in blazing block letters a sign read Three Hundred
Circle.
Not far to go , she thought, blinking at the bright
sign and promptly tripping over a squat, rusted-out trash bot.
The bot, no bigger than her head, righted itself on crooked
legs, lifted its angular head and spit a greasy, green residue all over her
slim ankles and old shoes. She kicked the bot away from her but the
sharp-smelling slime worked like acid, eating through her skirt and shoes to
burn her skin.
“Hey!” shouted a short man with an oblong head full of
tangled hair. Unshaven and gruff-looking, he stood in front of the shield door
of a ship strip-down shop that was pretending to be a repair shop. “That bot’s
private property. If you damage it, you’ll pay for repairs.”
Not wanting to draw more attention to herself, Achelle
bolted into a nearby alley to jerk off her shoes and rip off the bottom of her
worn skirt. She threw them away from her, panting with pain. Raw chemical burns
festered on the tops of her feet, her ankles and the tips of her fingers.
Stupid bot…stupid her for tripping over the damn thing.
Trash bots used an acidic fluid to decompose the trash they ingested and didn’t
hesitate to use the fluid in self-defense protocols. Never mind the fact that
the little bot belonged to ship thieves.
Back on Earth, she’d seen a team of four thieves strip a
stolen ship of all its valuable parts in less than five minutes. Then they
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