Chapter 4
Tavryn
Fury rolls through me as I stalk from the living area to the cockpit.
The sound the sliding door makes as it closes behind me is incredibly unsatisfying.
Not for the first time I wish I’d had the foresight to install doors with hinges throughout the ship.
Slamming a door might have helped work out some of this rage.
As soon as I slump into the captain’s chair, Stells starts to cackle.
“Look at your face!” The screen in front of me flickers for a moment before displaying an unflattering candid shot of me.
Based on context and the murderous look on my face, I’m assuming it’s my reaction to her telling Banjo that I desperately need to get laid.
It does nothing to calm the storm of emotions brewing inside me.
“The pleasure I received from that must be better than any kind of sexual release.”
I ignore the second comment and attempt to grasp for the last strands of my dignity.
“You are my creation, and I will not be undermined like that.” I force the words out between gritted teeth.
Will Stells actually listen to me? Unlikely, but I still feel the need to exert some kind of authority over the situation.
“I was created by the United Federation of Otherworlders,” Stells says haughtily. “You lack the education to successfully construct such a flawless AI system.”
“I added you to my ship,” I amend, since she’s decided to get technical about things. “And I could just as easily remove you. Remember that the next time you’re tempted to advertise information about my life to other beings aboard my ship.”
The image of me quickly disappears, instead showing the map that’s currently tracking the location of the Triumph as it travels to its next destination.
Watching its journey calms me slightly. At least our job is still going well enough.
This little detour hasn’t put us too off track, even though we’re still floating right outside of Hurcaria’s atmosphere.
The silence between the two of us drags on for a long moment.
Eventually, Stells breaks it. “I apologize if what I said was out of line.” I roll my eyes.
It’s half an apology at best, but it’s still more than I usually get from her.
I let her continue. “I was merely offering a potential solution that seemed beneficial to both parties. It is not untrue that your long-running lack of companionship has begun to adversely impact your overall mood and demeanor. I’m concerned that there may be negative ramifications if you insist on continuing this way. ”
There’s nothing like your sentient AI system pointing out you’ve been in a dry spell.
The problem is, although she’s right, she doesn’t understand cultural intricacies around sex.
I don't even fully grasp what human norms are around the topic. They seem to be different depending on culture, religion, and personal preferences. Banjo, at least, doesn’t seem to have any of those issues.
If it wasn’t obvious enough by the way he openly ogled me, he’d said it plainly.
His straightforwardness is as surprising as it is refreshing.
Banjo is undeniably different from the dozen or so humans I’ve met before.
He doesn’t seem afraid of me in the slightest. So far, he’s treated me the same way he’d undoubtedly treat anyone else: with kindness and respect.
Even when I’d been clearly invading his privacy by going through his things, he barely even scolded me, and he’d been quick to forgive and move on.
I didn’t realize you could forgive someone who hadn’t even apologized to you, but that was exactly what Banjo did to me.
“You like him,” Stells said, her voice quiet, almost nervous, like she isn’t sure how I’d react.
“He’s a complication I do not need nor want.
” I sigh, slowly twisting the chair side to side as I try to formulate some sort of plan.
“The next item on our agenda is to drop off that delivery at Qauvela. It won’t be hard to get rid of him there.
He might even be able to convince someone to take him back to Earth. ”
Stells immediately points out how optimistic that idea is.
“Qauvela is a lawless expanse. The odds of Banjo securing passage before losing his life or his autonomy are low,” she reminds me.
“He will be bombarded unless you openly stake your claim on him. Your positive relationship with the Despot garners you enough respect to drive off any potential competitors.”
Stars, that was the nicest thing Stells ever said to me. She was actually implying I had done something well. “The delivery always takes a long time for you to unload. Last time you injured yourself doing it on your own.”
“Yes, but I can’t trust anyone in Qauvela to assist me.”
Calling Qauvela “lawless” is an understatement.
It’s a city of a ship that houses one of the most powerful criminal empires in the known universe.
The Despot, as they call him, rules with an iron fist, and it’s only Stells’ ability to break through the UFO’s wards around Earth that have put me in his good graces.
Many beings on Qauvela know that and would kill for the opportunity to take what I’ve rightfully earned.
“You could trust Banjo.” To assist me on Qauvela, or is Stells hinting at more? The former is the only thing I’ll allow myself to consider. “He seems strong, if nothing else. And I doubt he could or would concoct a scheme to weaken you in front of the Despot.”
“True.” I let out a breath before straightening in my seat. Maybe Banjo can be useful to me after all. “To Qauvela we go.”
I spend the next several hours hiding in the cockpit, pretending like my presence is necessary to ensure a smooth flight.
It’s not. Even before powerful AI systems like Stells were invented, the autopilot on most ships were capable of decent navigation.
I mostly only take over for fun or when we’re in a situation that calls for quick reflexes or out of the box thinking.
Banjo must have found some way to entertain himself. I assume if he’s getting into mischief, Stells will warn me.
“You can’t stay here forever, you know,” Stells tells me. As if on cue, my stomach begins to rumble. “Don’t worry about the human. He’s on the loveseat playing his guitar. He’s been there for the majority of the time you’ve been in here.”
I glance at the screen that plots our route.
Stells continues before I can even try to come up with an excuse to stay.
“I can ensure we remain on route, and I promise to alert you if there are any issues that require your expertise. Now go. You’re bringing down the mood, and I have to say, I am not a fan. ”
“Fine,” I sigh, forcing myself up out of my chair. The door slides open silently, revealing Banjo sitting exactly where Stells said he was. What she had failed to mention was that he’s clothed in nothing but his undergarments.
I’d attempted to arrange the furniture in the room to help break up the open space, and the couch sits facing away from the entrance to the cockpit.
Apparently, Banjo decided to help himself to a shower while I was away.
My eyes roam over his still damp curls and down the broad expanse of his back. This is not good. Not good at all.
“Excuse me,” I bark. I had intended to at least try to play nice, I really had, but his near nakedness makes me feel a heat below my stomach that I desperately don’t want to acknowledge.
Acting hostile is the only way I know to cover it.
“Is there a reason you're undressed, or do you just lack any sense of respect for me and my space?”
Banjo jerks when I call out to him, his head whipping towards me.
Looks like I caught him by surprise. Good.
“Oh, uh, well,” he stammers. His cheeks are still pink from his time on Hurcaria, but they’re flushing an even darker shade now.
“You mighta realized this when you were lookin’ through my stuff, but I didn’t quite get the memo on what we were supposed to be packin’. ”
He glances down at his lap. “I figured we’d be gettin’ new alien clothes or whatever, so…” He turns back to me, giving me a sheepish smile. “This is all I got. My outfit already smelt a little ripe before I got to that fire planet.”
“Hurcaria,” I correct. He stares at me blankly, one hand coming up to scratch behind his right ear.
“Excuse me?” he asks. “I think this translator thing must be on the fritz cause I don’t got no idea what you just said.”
“Hurcaria,” I repeat more slowly, enunciating each syllable so he can catch them more easily.
“It’s the planet they dropped you off on.
” The urge to look him over becomes too strong, and I finally succumb.
I can’t see all of him because of the way he’s looking over the back of the couch at me, but I can see more than enough.
Banjo looks like someone who’s done a lot of heavy lifting.
That’s definitely something I can appreciate.
“I can’t believe you didn’t pack any clothes. ”
“I packed boxers! Those are clothes!” Banjo insists. “Though I kinda wished I’d packed more pairs. When I found out there wasn’t washing on the ship, I started turning ‘em inside out.” I audibly gag at that revelation. Banjo doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.
“You got a way to wash clothes on here? ‘Cause I could use it. And maybe somethin’ I can borrow in the meantime?” This time, it’s Banjo looking me over. He doesn’t seem to be disappointed. “Although you’re a little smaller ‘en me, I bet you got somethin’ I can make work.”
I honestly don’t even know where to begin on responding to that. Actually, yes, I do. “If you’re sitting on my sofa in dirty underwear that’s been turned inside out, I swear I’ll turn this ship around and go right back to Hurcaria.”