Chapter 2 #2
“Yeah, rougher than I’d like.” There was no point dancing around it.
She’d hit the deck hard. A hydraulic line for a Wren-class wasn’t going to be sitting in anyone’s spares box out here.
She’d need the whole assembly. “Managed to fuc-mess up the port landing strut. I need a hydraulic cylinder… Mark IV or compatible. Secondary power relay and a fuel line coupling as well, if you’ve got it? ”
Barker blew out a breath through her teeth. “Coupling I can probably do, got a box of bits in the back. But a cylinder?” She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “We run light. Don’t think I got anything like that on board.”
Cait’s stomach dropped. “Mark III maybe? I can make it work.”
“Don’t have it, love. Sorry.” Barker jerked her chin toward the far end of the dock, where a heavy lifter sat with its ramp firmly up and its running lights off.
“Miller over there won’t even answer a knock.
But there’s another Bluebird heavy due in…
the Ironwraith. They carry a full maintenance bay. ”
Cait perked up. “When?”
Barker shrugged. “Two days. Maybe three if the ion storms pick up.”
Two days.
Turning away, Cait looked out over the heat-blasted dock and ran some very fast numbers. Two days meant missing her launch window, and missing the window meant the penalty clause kicked in. If that happened, the numbers would go red in a way that would wipe out any profit margin from this run.
Well, fuc-fudge.
Right, she needed a change of plan, so she ran through the contingencies in her head.
Could she patch the line? No, that wouldn’t work.
All the repair kits that she had were for wear or for a line that had been torn, not clean sliced like that.
And she couldn’t take off with the hydraulic damaged.
That was a fast way to spread herself across the landing pad and become someone else’s recovery problem.
“Bad news?”
Oh fudge. She’d almost forgotten the alien hottie.
She turned. He’d moved to lean against Barker’s hull like he paid docking fees on it, arms folded over his chest, and his ankles crossed. She’d never seen a manspread while standing. It would have been impressive if she wasn’t so pissed off at the moment.
The problem was he wasn’t watching the ships or anything sensible.
He was watching her.
“Logistics,” she said with a shrug. “Nothing you’d understand.”
“I’m a quick learner.”
Pushing off the hull, he moved toward her. Silently, like a predator circling her. A guy that size should make some sound, surely? Physics should have insisted on it. “What if I can get it?”
She went still and looked him over properly. Heavy boots, worn in. Dark cargo pants. His shirt was open to the waist, giving her a good look at a stomach that was all hard, stacked muscle.
He let her look.
“You know where to source a hydraulic cylinder for a Wren-class on a penal colony?” she said, keeping her voice light, “because unless you’ve got illegal salvage stashed somewhere real creative, that seems unlikely.”
“I might.”
“That’s not a yes.”
“It’s not a no either.”
The easy charm dropped off his face completely and what replaced it had an edge to it, sharper and more considered. “How about a bet?”
Do not engage with this being. Fred’s response was immediate. I am updating the threat assessment.
She ignored him. “Bets have stakes. What do I get when you lose?”
Something moved in the alien’s eyes. “If I can’t deliver the part by sundown tomorrow, I cover your penalty clause. Full lost revenue for the missed window.”
Everything in her went very quiet.
“And if you win?”
He stepped closer, a different kind of heat from the sun rolling off him. Her chin came up.
“A kiss.”
Oh, for the love of—
No, Cait, Fred said, his voice appalled. Unauthorized biological interface. We have no data on where that mouth has been.
Shut up, Fred.
She stared at him.
That was it. A kiss. One kiss, a few seconds, and then she could get on with her day.
It was a very small price against a penalty clause that would bleed her dry.
But, it was also obviously a trap, and she was going to do it anyway because the penalty clause would kill her and she was not sitting on hot slabcrete for two days waiting for someone else to fix her life.
She put her hand out.
“Deal.”
He took it. His palm was rough and calloused, his fingers closing around hers, swallowing her hand completely. A shiver rolled down her spine, but she ignored it. She absolutely did not have time for that kind of thing.
“Sundown tomorrow,” she said, and was pleased her voice stayed level. She got her hand back before it could develop opinions about being held. “Delivery to my ship.”
“I’ll be there.” His voice had dropped, low and entirely too comfortable. “Don’t go anywhere, Red.”
She turned on her heel and walked away before she did anything else stupid.
Cortisol elevated, Fred informed her, the smugness in his tone frankly unacceptable for an AI. Heart rate ninety-four. I am noting this in the mission log as a tactical error.
I know, Fred.
She did. She was on a prison world, she’d just staked her dignity on a machine part, and she had absolutely no idea what the big alien actually wanted.
She knew what he’d said he wanted, but she didn’t buy it for a second.
Men who looked like that and moved like that didn’t barter for a kiss from a woman who looked like her.
But the money was real… the part might be real. She really needed the part to be real. She pulled her comp off her belt as she reached the shade of the H4-RPY’s wing.
Scrolling down the parts list, she found the hydraulic cylinder listing and marked it Pending.
They’d have to see if the alien hottie could pull off the impossible.