Total pages in book: 175
Estimated words: 166095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 830(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 166095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 830(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
I’m starting to recognize the signs, and I’m annoyed by it. And when she moves faster down the hall, my annoyance grows. I grab her swishing tail so I don’t lose track of her, but also to remind her that I’m following behind her and she doesn’t choke me with the lead on the collar.
It’s the wrong thing to do. Bethiah halts in her tracks so quickly that I crash into her back. She stops in place and slowly turns around, staring at me. “Did you just grab my tail, fluffit?”
This feels dangerous. “Um…yes?”
Someone titters nearby. Her eyes narrow. She stares at me, long and hard. You could hear a pin drop on the station.
“Is tail grabbing a bad thing?” I ask in a small voice.
“Very.”
“Maybe you should spank me, then.” I lift my chin, trying to be brave (or at least pretending to be).
She leans in, her eyes a little wild. Her ear jewelry glints in the station light and the gleam of her horns makes her seem all metal and suddenly very hard. When she tips a hard finger under my chin and forces me to look up, I shiver. “You want me to pull your pants down and spank you here in front of everyone, fluffit? You like being on display?”
Eeek. No, I don’t. Why did I dare Bethiah? She’s crazy enough to do such a thing. “I’d settle for knowing where it is we’re going and you walking slow enough so I can keep up,” I joke. “Maybe save the spanking for later in private.”
She tilts her head, considering me, and for a long moment, I really do think she’s going to pull my pants down in front of all these aliens crowding the station. Instead, she slides a hand around my collar and gently tugs me toward her. “Oh, fluffit,” she croons. “If you wanted more attention from me, all you had to do was say so. I’ll give you everything you want.”
Oh no. This feels like a trap.
She leans in closer. “As for us, we’re going to visit Zakoar’s body shop.”
Twelve
DORA
We’re going to a body shop? For me? It sounds…strange. But I trust Bethiah, and if she wants to take me to a repair place, I assume there has to be a reason. Maybe the junky-looking old ship needs to be outfitted with something specific for a human? I don’t know anything about space travel so this could be entirely routine.
And yet…this is Bethiah. I’m starting to learn that she does nothing routine.
I follow behind her closely, resisting the urge to ask a million questions. She knows I’m a clone and my memory is in pieces. If there’s something important, I’m sure she’ll tell me.
But as we turn down another hall and come into an area that’s filled with music and I see a scantily clad woman dancing in a window, I’m starting to wonder if Bethiah didn’t maybe get distracted from her to-do list. She pauses in front of the window, giving the feathered female gyrating behind the glass an interested look.
I nudge her. “Hey, um, Bethiah? Can I ask you something?”
“Not sure.” She tilts her head, studying the dancer even closer.
“Um…not sure what?”
“If they have feathers everywhere.” She bends over and peers at the female. In turn, the female turns and squats, wriggling suggestively and showing us everything. “Oh, well, that answers that,” Bethiah says with a chuckle, and slides a credit through a slit in the glass. The female immediately scoops it up and turns around, shaking her feathered backside at us.
Scandalized, I flush hot. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask.”
“Then what were you going to ask?” She tilts her head in the other direction as the female grabs one of her ankles and lifts it high in the air. “Kef me, she’s limber.”
“Oh please,” I huff. “Anyone can do that. Can we focus?”
Now Bethiah turns towards me. “You can do that, fluffit?”
“Does it really matter right now?” I edge closer to her, touching the collar around my neck. “Wasn’t there an agenda today? Aren’t we supposed to be checking in with your guild?”
“Oh, that? I already did that.” She taps the glass when the bird-woman looks away, as if trying to get her attention again.
“Um…you did? When?” I glance around, because I don’t recall that happening. Is it possible that someone followed us? That she’s been communicating with them and I didn’t realize? “Did I miss something?”
“Obviously. You think she’s a squawker?”
I wrinkle my nose at my companion. “Don’t be crass.”
“Is that gross?” She turns and leans against the glass, eyeing me. “I thought it’d be more crass if I asked if you were a squawker.”
“I have no idea if I am or not,” I admit. “I don’t have any memories of that sort of thing.”
“Now that’s a shame.” Bethiah tsks, slides the dancer another credit chip, and then saunters away.