Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
I both love and hate him for that choice.
I've moved on and created a life for myself on this strange alien planet amongst the other refugee humans. I create things for them out of scrap, things from home, things that humans want and aliens don't understand. I'm happy enough.
But then the alien I can't forget...returns.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER
ONE
BRUX
“Brux. Hey, Brux.”
I ignore the voice calling me and continue attaching the load of metal to the crane. It’s been a long day, and the rain on this planet, while balmy, has slowed our job down. I’m in charge of keeping things on schedule and right now we’re two days behind. The rich guy who asked for an extension on his space port won’t mind, but my employer certainly will. He’ll note it in my file, and I’ll have to bid less when it comes to my next job. Doesn’t matter that the crew is untrained or that the weather has held us up or that a shipment was late. I’m supposed to handle the project regardless. I’m supposed to make sure it hits costs.
If it means I work a little harder than the others, or longer hours, so be it. I’m the one in charge.
“Brux. Hey, Brux—”
Kef me.
“Hey Brux—”
“What,” I growl, my voice rumbling across the platform as I turn. “What, Jonnas? What. The. Kef. Is. It.”
The smaller szzt male grins at me, his eyes bright. He bares his teeth in a smile and nods at the edge of the platform. “You see this?”
I glance over. I see several of the crew standing around and watching something in the distance instead of working, all right. Mentally, I’m adding up all the extra hours that I’m going to have to put in if they keep standing around. “I’m not seeing a lot getting done.”
“Meal break,” Jonnas says, unruffled by my sour mood. “You come look, too. You’ll like what you see. It’s a nice show. Real nice.”
I eye the group and notice that even my most hard-working crew members are standing on the edge of the platform, watching whatever is going on over there. One praxiian elbows the other, exchanging grins, and that decides me. I might as well see what’s going on so I can break it up. Hopefully it’s not another animal. A couple of weeks back, one of the meat-stock wandered out of a pasture near the edge of the small town here and managed to make its way to the space port. It was captured safely, but not before shitting all over several platforms. I made two of the crew clean it up, but they bitched about it for days, to the point that I was ready to fire them both just to get them to shut the kef up.
I loop the cable onto a steel post and make sure it’s secured before abandoning my workstation. “Fine. Show me.”
Jonnas smirks and races back over to the group, and I push my way through them to see what the fuss is about.
There, at the edge of the platform, is the junk pile of scraps left over from the job. It’s full of component bits, broken equipment, and pieces of metal that inevitably have to be cut down to size or re-fitted. It’s normal for every job site. I’ve been with building and repair crews for over ten years now, and there’s always a scrap pile that’s cleaned up at the end of the job.
I’m also not surprised to see someone’s picking through it.
I am surprised to see that it looks female, with a very curvy bottom sticking up in the air.
Jonnas elbows me as my gaze lands on the female. She’s bent over, her ass high as she tugs on a heavy, busted circuit board and mutters to herself. Human, I judge by the size and shape. She’s wearing a floppy straw hat that covers her head and neck from the sun, and it’s impossible to see her face…but there’s no mistaking that backside and the curve of the hips.
Definitely female.
And my crew are loving the sight of this. Most of them are like me—unmated, the dregs of a particular station or another. Males that get jobs based on strength and hard work rather than skill and connections. They love to ogle a pretty female—or a pretty male, really—and as a result, most jobs have rules that ensure that the oversexed crew avoids any females in the vicinity. This job on Risda III is no different. Here, actually, the rules are stricter than most. This planet is owned by the highest of elites, Lord va’Rin, the head of his house. My ancestry doesn’t even come close to the soil beneath his boots. I’m just mesakkah station trash. But this guy is powerful, with a good name, unimaginable wealth, and the right connections.
He’s also got a human fetish. From what I understand, this whole planet is a playland for all the humans he’s collecting. Whatever. Everyone has their kinks. None of my business.
Jonnas nudges me with his elbow. “Nice view, eh?”
My crew doesn’t know that I have a sore spot when it comes to humans, or else they’d be doing their best to ignore this one. “You should be working.”