The First Nova I See Tonight by Jason Kilgore (the false prince .txt) 📕

partner onto his bunk and laid him down. "You look like you've been chewed up by a Horlkan and spit out."

Yiorgos gave a wan smile. "I'm still better looking than you."

Dirken scrutinized Yiorgos's right arm, the one with the plasma saber. The mechanisms seemed intact.

He bend down close to Yiorgos's ear. "We've got a way out of here, and somewhere to hide out — when you've recovered."

"Oh, good," Yiorgos said. "Another of your brilliant plans." He coughed several times, then, rolling over, added, "I think I still have a few centimeters of my body that aren't broken yet."

CHAPTER TEN

BANSHEE CRY

Dirken sat on his bunk with his back against the wall, listening to the sounds of the ship and feeling its vibrations.

Every starship had its routines, even those that lacked the annoying chimes and shift changes of the United Worlds "Silver Fleet." Though there wasn't a star or the rotation of a planet to set a day/night cycle, and every species had their own circadian rhythm, there was still a cadence to the crew and their activities. There was a natural ebb and flow of movement. At certain times, voices grew quieter. Steps grew lighter. And those who weren't needed for ship duty found themselves easing into bunks, electro-stimulant cushions, cocoons, or whatever the species in question slept in, as others awakened. Machinery grew quiet as their users left them for rest, so the vibrations through the decks and bulkheads grew quiet, too, then resumed noises as new hands started operating them.

And so Dirken sat and listened, waiting for the right moment to make their escape.

In his right hand he held his lucky Rigellian runestone. He rolled it around absentmindedly with his thumb as he listened to the ship. Then he looked down at it. Brown with green, glistening specks. Smooth. Irregular. Ovoid. He'd found the stone in some ruins during a mission to Rigel C and one of its worlds. Engraved on one side of the stone was a rune from an ancient Rigellian culture. The rune resembled a Chinese character — a collection of straight lines and swirls that, if you squinted, looked vaguely like a pinup girl wearing a conical hat. "Luck" is what it stood for, according to a hoary Rigellian wizardess he'd consulted who'd laughed maniacally at him, the mouth at the top of her pear-shaped head emitting a warbling "Lululululululu!"

Yiorgos had slept for hours after his interrogation as his body rested and his mechanical systems repaired themselves in what ways they could. Now he sat in his bunk performing his Netfolding ritual. His head was bent in meditation, eyes half open and focused on the holographic Sphere of Unity projected into cupped hands.

Dirken watched as Eow went through some sort of martial arts kata in her cell, the series of moves performed in slow motion. Now arms were outstretched as she dipped into a bow. Then she swept upward, leg raised, into an upright stance. She turned, bent, and extended her claws, then sliced the air. Her slim muscles pulsed under the fur as she held each position. Her eyes were half-closed. Breasts rose and fell with careful breaths. The line of her flexing, muscular thighs rose in a steady curve to her firm ass as she turned. And then she was facing him, dipping low, the tightly-adhered clothing revealing the intoxicating arc of her crotch.

He looked up to her face and saw that she watched him with those amethyst eyes. He didn't look away. She kept eye contact as she lowered and made a sweep with her hand in a clawing motion, exhaled, then turned into a stance, her tail moving the other direction to aide in balance. Then she swept the ground as if picking up a staff, turned away, and lunged forward.

It was a sultry dance he could watch for hours and never grow bored. Indeed, it was a talent that could make her a very profitable living in a thousand night clubs across the galaxy, particularly if that thin outfit happened to slip off….

He noticed her fur seemed perfect, unblemished, except for a small, oval blank patch at the back of her neck had the same suede appearance as her palms.

Yiorgos muttered, "Let it be joined," signaling the end of his Netfolding. The projection ended, the Sphere of Unity disappeared, and he opened his eyes all the way. He turned and looked at Dirken. The organic part of his face was a giant bruise. Dirken figured his own was much the same.

"Well, Dirk?"

Dirken knew what he meant. He nodded to the cyborg. The ship had grown quiet enough. It was time to make their escape.

"Eow," Dirken said. "Time."

The Ananak drew her kata to a close, her left hand held in a stiff upright salute at her chest, her right hand clawed down by her thigh. Then she nodded her agreement, a smile playing over her lips as her gaze swept down over his body.

He returned the gaze, imagining her athletic form in his hands. Oh, what he would give for a night with her… if they both survived this, that is.

Dirken closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself, then he got up from the bunk and nonchalantly stepped over to the door of the cell, making himself as wide as he could, arms at his sides, blocking much of the view from the surveillance system.

He heard the clicking and whirring of Yiorgos's arm transforming, then the reverberation of his plasma saber kicking on. A split second later came the metallic whoosh of him cutting through the bunk supports.

"Now!" Yiorgos barked, and Dirken stepped aside. The bunk went sliding past him, turned sideways, just narrow enough to pass through the bars, and slammed into the surveillance system.

The metal bunk contacted the projecting electrocution needles. Electricity arced across all the components as it shorted out and the system went down, the lights on it flickering and going dark before the electrical arcing stopped. The bright