The one holding my elbow has buzzed black hair paired with a prominent, sharp nose. It makes him look like a Roman marble statue come to life. When he doesn’t immediately release my arm, I yank my elbow out of his hand.
“No harm was done,” I say, quickly turning away from him, ready to get away from the condescending look in his eyes.
“Where’s the party?” one of the other human pilots sniggers. “You look like you’re ready for happy hour.”
I open my mouth to tell this guy exactly what I think of his tragic zip-up gray onesie when a sharp feminine voice cuts in. “Shut up, Johnson. You’re just mad because she’swayout of your league. Like next-galaxy-away out of your league.”
I look over and see an unfamiliar woman in one of the pilot uniforms. Her light brown hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and she is free of makeup. Her face is narrow with sharp, intelligent eyes that are gleaming with humor. She is walking down the corridor – amid the growing chaos, as if unaffected by outside factors – like a ship forging effortlessly through ice floes.
I admire her confident air. She’s exactly where she belongs and is comfortable in her skin. I guess it makes sense; being a fighter pilot isn’t for the timid. I imagine being a woman in that role would be even more so.
“Aw, come on, Shults. I’m a catch. The ladies love me!”
“The only thing the ladies love is when you leave,” Shults responds with a smirk.
“But I look so handsome in my flight suit,” Johnson says, flexing his arms like a bodybuilder.
“The only thing you look like is a bully’s best day ever,” I say with a grin, reveling in his look of pleased shock.
Johnson clasps his chest as if wounded. I shake my head at his antics. What a goofball. Shults gives me a nod of acknowledgment, which I return. The original pilot who grabbed my elbow is still looking me over with a small smirk. Pointedly ignoring him, I do take a moment to glance at his name stitched over his breast pocket. His name is Harrison. With a negligent wave over my head, I scurry ahead to find Rosie.
When I get to the entrance of the cargo hangar, I stop and look around at the chattering crowd. I finally spot Rosie standing on a riser with L’Forn, D’Annon, L’Corte, and Tabitha. I’ve done a few PR projects with Tabitha. Since I was cured of brain cancer and joined the Bride Program, I was an excellent candidate to give a couple of interviews and make a few promotional videos. I’m happy to put some goodwill out there for Cerasteans.
I dodge around a few clumps of people and make my way over to Rosie. As the liaison for the bride volunteers on the ship, Rosie is a combination of den mother, confidant, and support system for the women on board. She has this natural calm demeanor which puts me at ease, but right now, her jaw seems clenched with tension. If you didn’t know her, you wouldn’t even know she’s rattled, but I can tell.
When I approach her, she is murmuring to Tabitha and doesn’t notice my presence.
“Hey, Rosie,” I say quietly so as not to startle her. When she looks at me, I ask, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Is there something specific you need? The meeting is going to be starting soon.”
“Well… I wanted to ask if you plan to stay.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised you already know what’s going on,” Rosie says with an affectionate shake of her head. “Yes, I plan to stay as long as the Cerasteans need me here.”
“I’m also not going to be leaving, so I’m around if you want any help,” I say. “I bet the women are going to be freaking out after this. Maybe we could have a bride volunteer only meeting. They might feel more open asking questions without the Cerasteans around.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Rosie says. “A lot of them trust you, so maybe you can be around for support, help keep things calm.”
“Will do. What about you, Tabitha? Will you be staying too?”
“Absolutely. They are going to need a good PR team more than ever,” Tabitha says with a gleam in her blue eyes.
“I’ll check in with you guys after the announcement,” I say. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Looking over, I notice Maya and Sara standing across the room, looking nervous. Weaving through the crowd, I make my way over to my friends.
“Hey, are you guys okay? You look a little freaked out.”
“Yeah, just nervous about what’s happening. I’m a little scared to head out to the front lines,” Maya says.
“What? Why would you go? Shouldn’t you let the Cerasteans do the fighting?” I ask in shock.
“D’Avii says they are hoping to end this conflict quickly, but if it goes on for long, we can’t risk being separated. He’s addicted to my scent. Besides, as a scanning technician, I can help,” Maya says.
“Oh. I didn’t even think of that. What happens if a Cerastean gets separated from his mate? If they’re addicted to you, is it like withdrawal?”
Neither Sara nor Maya answer me, but they both look worried. Did they not consider this issue before they hooked up with their men? I mean, I’ve seen their mates, so I can’t exactly blame them if they let their lady bits do all their thinking for them. Talk about beefcakes. Although I personally prefer a leaner cut of meat.
