Virgin (5 page)

Proximity, pure and simple. As tall as he was, looking right into a woman’s face didn’t happen very often. Most females only came up to his chest, and some only to his waist. Drells were somewhere around his knees—not that he’d ever been able to figure out which of them was female. One of his passengers was a Drell this time, so he’d have to make a point of asking. The other two passengers were Kitnocks, and though they were nearly as tall as he, Dax had long since decided that the only way you could tell the sexes apart was by the color of the body stockings they wore to cover their spindly limbs; females wore blue, and males wore red. Always.

As they approached, Dax spotted three scantily clad Davordian hookers waiting with his motley trio of passengers. Except for their luminous blue eyes, Davordians looked essentially human, but Kitnocks and Drells were humanoid only in the respect that they each had two legs, two arms, and a head. If those girls had provided the necessary services, they were either the toughest hookers ever born or the most desperate.

One of the Kitnocks, Teke, inclined his tall, cylindrical head as he waved a hand in greeting. “These ladies heard we were shipping out with a Zetithian and wanted to know if you’d be interested—”

“I’m not,” Dax said, not bothering to wait for the rest of it.

“But they wanted to see if you had an aversion to blue eyes,” Teke said. “Apparently they’ve come to believe that this is a trait among Zetithians.”

“It’s not,” said Dax. “That’s Trag’s problem, not mine.”

“No, his problem is that he doesn’t like to fuck,” Waroun said, aiming a sucker-tipped thumb toward Dax. “I, on the other hand, would be happy to partake of anything you ladies have to offer.”

It might have been the light, but Dax could have sworn the hookers lost what little color they had in their fair-skinned faces.

“We have, um, other clients waiting,” one of the Davordians said, averting her eyes.

“That’s right,” the others chorused.

“Works every time,” Dax said under his breath as the hookers quickly withdrew.

***

Still recovering from her reaction to Dax, Ava barely registered this exchange. No one, not Russ or Lars or anyone else, had
ever
made her melt. She made herself a promise not to get that close to him again, but she also knew that on a long space voyage this might prove difficult—especially if it was a small ship. With no more passengers than he took on—not to mention their apparent lack of class and, at least in her case, funds—the odds were against him being the captain of a luxury space cruiser.

“We’ll make introductions later,” Waroun said. “Now, if you’ll all climb into the speeder, we’ll be on our way.”

Following Waroun’s gesture, Ava climbed into the backseat of the sleek speeder to sit next to the Drell. They were rude little rats as a rule, but she knew how to handle them. All you had to do was swear at a Drell, and they backed down instantly. Kitnocks were another problem altogether. These two were obviously male, and though she’d waited on plenty of them, she didn’t care for them at all. Their huge mouths made them look like caricatures drawn by children, and they had some very odd habits. Cracking their knuckles was the most annoying of these and was something they did constantly, unless they were holding something in their hands.

She’d heard that the knuckle cracking was a secret language among Kitnocks—and the fact that they mostly seemed to do this while among others of their kind made the rumor seem likely—but Ava had never been able to confirm this. Not that she cared. She’d always tried to avoid them in the past, but the best she could hope for in this instance was that their destination was nearby, because she was pretty sure that Rutara would be the last stop.

The Drell shifted over as Ava sat down—not away from her, but toward her, barely leaving her a place to sit, let alone allowing room for her sack. Obviously, the swearing would have to begin immediately. “Move the fuck over.”

The Drell screeched like a scalded cat and scrambled to the far side of the seat. “I merely wanted to—”

“I don’t give a damn.” She was watching Dax climb into the driver’s seat, noting that he looked as fabulous from the back as he did from the front. She briefly considered what he might have thought if their positions were reversed—though, given his aversion to “fucking,” she doubted that the sentiment would be mutual. She sat up straighter and gazed pointedly in another direction. She didn’t need to be getting the hots for a Zetithian. She’d heard about them. They were like highly addictive drugs; one hit and you were hooked. And besides, she’d had enough trouble with bad boys; there was no need to get hung up on another one.

And Lars had been a very bad boy. What
had
she been thinking? At the time, he’d seemed daring and handsome and dangerous and sexy. Now he was just ridiculous and mean. She should have known better, but if she didn’t get it back then, she certainly did now. She wasn’t going to hook up with another one. Maybe she
should
go back to Russ. He was a good man. Not terribly exciting, perhaps, but excitement was rapidly beginning to lose its appeal.

The last she’d heard from her mother—perhaps six months previously—led her to believe that Russ was still single. Hopefully he’d waited at least another six months, but even if he hadn’t, Rutara was still a better place to live than Luxaria. Glancing around at the dusty, weedy, unkempt excuse for a spaceport, she concluded that almost any place would be an improvement.

All that aside, it was time to sit her mother down and have the talk they’d both always managed to avoid. Why did her father leave, and where had he gone? What did her mother know about him, about Aquerei? What Lars had said brought up even more questions. If her father was really dead, did her mother know, and, if so, why hadn’t she told her?

Her attention drifted back to Dax. The Norludian sidekick was a definite drawback, but Dax was undeniably attractive, and at least he was clean. Not interested in romance, though, she reminded herself, and certainly not sex. As she gazed at his back, Ava was surprised to discover that what she had previously thought to be dreadlocks were actually very tight spiral curls, the front sections of which were pulled back into two long braids that hung down behind his ears. He drove the speeder with obvious expertise, but if he’d been concerned enough to spare her a glance over his shoulder, she hadn’t noticed it. No. Not interested in her
or
in romance. If anything, he’d ignored her even more pointedly since the melting episode.

He’d been purring, though, and Ava was pretty sure that meant something in a Zetithian. She should have asked the hookers, but it was too late for that now.

The circuitous route they were taking made no sense to Ava, aside from the fact that they were avoiding a lot of traffic by going that way. She suspected that Dax and Waroun might be trying to throw off anyone tailing them; Dax took several quick turns that nearly threw her into the Drell’s lap—a circumstance which was apparently as distasteful to the Drell as it was to Ava. This led her to believe that her fellow passengers might be even shadier than they looked—either that, or Dax didn’t ever want to lay eyes on Lars again. Since this was also Ava’s intention, she didn’t voice any complaints.

Arriving at the spaceport, Dax flew the speeder over to one of the ships berthed there—a sleek Rutaran Runabout called the
Valorcry
, which at least appeared to be spaceworthy. There were larger vessels, but given Luxaria’s reputation, not many people were willing to bring their big, expensive ships down to the surface, preferring to arrive in shuttles instead. Many of those that
had
landed were so dilapidated, it was a wonder they’d survived atmospheric reentry.

Dax hopped out of the speeder after bringing it to a halt and paid off the two Davordian boys who had apparently been hired to keep an eye on it for him. He deposited ten credits in the meter box and then swiped his identchip. The force field crackled briefly before losing power.

It costs ten credits to berth a ship, and yet he’s only charging me twenty-five to take me to Rutara? It doesn’t make sense!
Dax hadn’t said, but Ava wondered if she wasn’t going to have to cough up more money before it was all over. Perhaps part of her ticket was to be paid by cleaning up after the other passengers, who were undoubtedly paying more than she was. This prospect didn’t alter her determination to get back home, however; being on a ship with these guys couldn’t possibly be any worse than living with Lars.

Dax palmed open the lock on the hatch and, as the gangplank lowered to the ground, motioned for his passengers to board.

As Ava climbed the steps, she was astonished by the sight that met her eyes. The ship was not only serviceable, it was downright posh. Luxurious appointments were everywhere, from ornately carved glowstone lamps set on gleaming tables to soft leather seats strategically placed about the main deck. There were paintings firmly attached to the walls, and plush carpeting covered the floors. Without thinking, Ava scraped her shoes on the steps before entering.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” she remarked as Dax came aboard.

Dax shrugged. “It was like this when I got it—belonged to a drug dealer.”

“Oh, let me guess,” Ava said dryly. “You won it in a game of
kartoosk
, right?”

“Not exactly,” Dax replied. “Since he was the one responsible for destroying my world, his assets were divided up among the remaining Zetithians after his death. This was his personal transport ship.”

Ava’s eyes swept the interior once again. “He must’ve been worth a bundle.”

“You could say that,” Dax said with apparent disinterest. “Everyone have a seat here in the lounge. We’ll be taking off shortly.”

Dax started to head toward the bridge but paused to address the Kitnocks and the Drell. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear: This lady is not to be harassed while she’s aboard my ship.” The intimidating glare that accompanied this directive had Ava’s fellow passengers each nodding vigorously. The Drell scurried over to one of the chairs, climbed up in it, and folded his furry hands in his lap. The Kitnocks both cracked their knuckles a few times but otherwise remained silent.

“The captain’s pretty tough, huh?” Ava remarked as Dax and Waroun departed. Taking a seat near the hatch, she set her bag down beside her. “My name is Ava,” she said by way of introduction.

“I am Teke,” said one of the Kitnocks.

“And I am called Diokut,” said the other.

At first, given that they were both wearing identical red body stockings, Ava couldn’t tell them apart, but upon closer observance, she decided that Teke must be older than Diokut; the tiny tufts of hair sticking straight up from the top of his head were a salt and pepper mixture, whereas Diokut’s hair was red—and not just auburn either. It was
really
red, like a candied apple. Their skin was a sickly-looking greenish brown, but she knew from experience that this was typical and not indicative of illness. She wasn’t so sure about the Drell, who identified himself as Quinn.

Quinn was covered in coarse, unkempt gray hair that grew all the way down to his feet, and since the only thing you could see on him were his eyes and his mouth, he had no need of any clothing whatsoever. Even his hands and feet were hairy, and as smelly as he was, if it had been Ava’s ship, she would have scanned him for parasites before allowing him to board. She was trying to decide how to casually request that he have a bath when the engines fired up. After only a brief warm-up, the ship lifted off from the docking bay.

Ava hadn’t been on very many starships, but this one definitely had the smoothest ride of them all. The various ornaments didn’t budge a bit.

They hadn’t been airborne for long when a dome-shaped droid with numerous arms hovered in with drinks. The Kitnocks each received a tall glass of a purple beverage, which Ava recognized as Morovian ale, but the thick orange stuff given to Quinn was a mystery. Approaching Ava, the droid held out a glass of water.

“Guess this means I’m definitely in economy class,” she muttered. The surprising thing was that it didn’t seem to be ordinary water. In addition to being significantly more refreshing, she could have sworn it made her hair grow a few centimeters—or something. Either way, it seemed to… move. She could feel it. The droid responded with a single satisfied beep.

After giving them all the opportunity to consume their drinks, the droid started in on Quinn with a brush and a vacuum cleaning attachment. When the Drell began to protest, Teke put out a hand to calm him. “Please, do us all a favor, Quinn, and just sit still.”

“Are you saying I should submit to this?” Quinn demanded. “I am not in need of grooming!”

“Well, obviously the droid thinks you are, and we agree,” Teke said, indicating himself and Diokut. “Don’t you, Ava?”

Ava nodded in reply, afraid to say more. Drells could be very touchy, and this one was already ticked. Quinn almost went ballistic when the droid began spraying him with foam and then sucking it off with its vacuum cleaner “arm,” but Waroun chose that moment to enter the lounge.

“Ah, very good, Kots,” he said to the droid. “I was hoping you’d do that soon.”