Crank wasn’t the only one to yell. Even Ghwenn took issue with Jameson’s command.

“Surely there is someone more suitable,” she argued.

“Find someone else. I am not watching her lying little ass.” Because it had to be tiny. Now that the hood had come down, he could see just how petite she was. Except for those eyes. Huge in her face. A bright contrast to her hair.

And a Driadalys, a fancy alien word for elf. They considered themselves a superior species, rarely intermarrying with the other sentient races. Rich because of the exclusivity of the items they produced from the more than a hundred terra-formed planets they’d taken over. Each ruled by a specific family.

The last thing Crank wanted was to deal with one. “I need to speak with you, Captain,” he growled, stomping out of the airlock, waiting for Jameson to join him before slamming the door shut. Wouldn’t do to have her hear him and the captain fighting.

“I can’t be watching over her while still attending my duties,” Crank retorted.

“As you so kindly pointed out, she can wrap most of the minds on this ship around her little finger.”

“I am sure there’s others who could fight it off.” For all he knew, it was his bots making him immune. One of his staff might be just as good. He wasn’t the only one with the nanotechnology. There were three others.

“Could be there is someone. But here’s the other problem. She’s a female Driadalys. With mental powers. Which means she’s worth a fortune.”

“Only to a specific kind of buyer,” Crank said, still reeling from his surprise that Jameson would even think of selling another person. Even an elf. “Did you want some names that might be interested?” Because he knew folk.

“I am not saying we should sell her,” Jameson exclaimed. “Fuck me, I know you still hate me for what happened, but give me some fucking credit.”

“I don’t hate you.” As much anymore. However, Crank still blamed the man for making him live instead of letting him die with his wife. “And don’t get your boxers in a knot. You’re the one who said she was worth a lot.”

“She is, which might be a huge temptation to someone else. Whereas I know you. You’d never sell another soul.”

He wouldn’t. Crank had this thing about slavery…

“Some say the Driadalys don’t have a soul. It’s why they live so long.” Kind of like Crank. He’d lost most of his soul when his wife Sky died—and much of his fleshly body, too. Now he had mechanical parts with a guarantee that they would never wear out.

Not even his ticking heart.

“Even if you don’t like the Driadalys, I know you wouldn’t sell her, not after Fxoria.”

Damn Jameson for reminding him. Who could forget the cages and the pleas of those captured? Releasing them and then giving them weapons pleased him almost as much as the screams of their captors.

“There’s other people you trust. It doesn’t have to be me.” Crank didn’t want to be chained to the elf.

“What if you and I are the only ones who are exempt from her power?”

“I am not staying locked in a room with her for two days.”

“Never said you had to. You want to drag her on your rounds, go ahead, but you’ll have to watch her closely. Make sure she doesn’t stir up trouble in the minds of the crew.”

“Worried about a mutiny?” Crank smirked. “If that ever happens, it won’t be because of a sly elf maid, I guarantee you that. We are one.” The rallying cry from when the cyborgs back in the late twenty-second century revolted against their human masters. That was long ended, though. Now they co-existed, with humans becoming cyborg by choice and not because of military experiments.

Jameson clapped him on the back. “Nice try. I know you’ll never be the one to lead a mutiny.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“I am sure because then you’d have to deal with all the crew’s problems and they’d call you sir.”

“They already do.” Crank grimaced. “But you are right about the problems. You can keep the job. Bad enough wrangling the grunts down here, I don’t need your soft upper deck crew to handle, too.”

Jameson offered him a faint smile. “So it’s settled then. You’ll watch the stowaway.”

“Aye. But I won’t like it.” And neither would she. After the captain left, he attended to a few matters before returning to the air lock. He wasn’t in a hurry.

He opened the door and found the elf standing a few feet within, features set in a cross expression, arms folded over her chest.

“About time you returned. Have you made a decision? Will you grant me asylum?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, pixie.”

“I am not a pixie! Do you see wings?” She pointed to her back.

“Take off your robe if you want to prove it.”

“I am not denuding myself for your entertainment.”

“And you’re deluding yourself if you think I actually want to see you naked. You’re not my type.”

“Neither are you,” she hotly retorted.

“Sure are hot tempered like a pixie.”

Her expression turned icy. “You are rude.”

“What can I say?” Crank bared his teeth in his version of a smile. “You bring out the best in me, pixie.” Yes, he goaded her deliberately.

Her hands flung in a gesture of irritation. “You are unbelievable. I demand to deal with someone else.”

“Demand all you like. You’re stuck with me. Captain’s orders.”

She shook her head. “That won’t do. I shall speak with him.”

“Or you could try shutting your mouth and not being a pain in the ass about it. You’re alive. Against my recommendation, I might add.”

“Why must you be so terribly boorish?”

“Part of my charm. Now, if you’re done busting my balls, are you coming with me? Or are you going to stand there bitching some more? Because if you’re just going to be harping away, then I can leave for a few more hours.”

Her lips pressed tight. “There is no other choice?”

There was always another choice. There was a red button thirteen inches to his left that would quickly solve his problem. But then he’d have to write a report about it. Listen to some bitching. Just wasn’t worth the trouble.

Yet.

“Captain ordered me to watch you, so we’re both stuck,” he drawled. “I’m gonna tell you right now, I don’t recommend you try anything. No mind games with me or my crew. No killing me in my sleep or poisoning my food.”

“I am not a criminal,” she retorted hotly.

“Funny because you were hiding like one. Let’s go.”

He gestured her ahead of him, wanting her in his line of sight as they weaved through the various humming components of the ship’s engine. A vessel this size had many different sections to control the various aspects. Engines for travel were only part of it. Heating and oxygenation of the vessel had their own sector. Food and item replication needed machines to pump the raw materials to the units. Gravity, that had its own mechanism. In a ship that housed the population of a small town, a good portion of the vessel was turned over to simple operation.

And nestled within the various components, crew quarters.

Crank didn’t need to slap his hand on any console for the door to his room to open. It slid sideways into the wall at his approach.

He gestured. “Get in.”

She strode inside, the skirt of her cloak billowing with each step. She went a few paces and stopped.

“This room appears occupied.”

“Yup.”

She whirled. “Are these your quarters?

“Yup.” He stepped farther in. The door slid shut behind him. It would now only open for him.

“Where am I to reside?”

“Here.” Was she slow?

“There is only one bed.”

“Yup.” He ignored her as he moved past. He had a routine after he completed his work shift for the day, and even alien pixies stowing aboard wouldn’t keep him from it. Routine kept him sane during the tough days.

He stripped off his shirt and flung it into the recycling unit. Rather than wash clothing and waste resources on board, items like crew uniforms were dumped and broken down into the raw particles needed to create the ensemble anew.

A gasp erupted behind him. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“You would rape a guest seeking asylum?”

He shot a glance over his shoulder. “You’re not a guest.” As for rape…his cock only worked for one woman.

“Don’t you dare touch me.” The command hammered at his head, threaded with panic. Finally, something other than the arrogance she’d shown thus far.

He ignored the mental shoving. Just like he ignored her sensibilities. Let her think he would do something. Maybe she’d show a little more respect. She should be afraid.

Some days Crank scared himself.

He kicked off his work boots, the one thing he didn’t recycle. He’d bought them from an actual cobbler. They were specially made, and worn in. Much more comfortable than the stuff the clothing unit could produce.

His hands went to the waistband of his pants. He began to slide them down.

“This is most unseemly.”

“Then stop looking. Ain’t no one forcing you to ogle my body.” She wouldn’t ogle for long. The scars were a living reminder he’d lost his pretty days.

“You were in an accident.” The bold statement confirmed she still stared.

Worse. She’d remarked on his scars. His shame.

He clenched his fists. He’d punched people for less. The urge to lash out pulsed inside him. Only one thing stopped him. Given her diminutive size, he’d kill her if he hit her.

Without replying, he entered the bathing chamber, sealing it shut behind him. Knowing there was nothing in that room she could use against him. He took his time under the decontamination rays, spinning slowly, letting them bathe every inch of his skin. Some preferred the feel of recycled water sluicing them. Inefficient waste. The invisible waves of particle energy that kissed his naked skin did much more to remove debris from the body. What it didn’t do was remove turmoil from the mind.

His daily routine wasn’t calming him as usual. He remained all too aware she lurked in the other room.

Probably looking for an exit.

She wouldn’t find one. Crank had modified his room well during those absent hours. Removed all possible weaponry. Reprogrammed the door and the communications access in his room to his voice only.

The only thing she could do was order food and clothing.

So imagine his surprise when he exited his bathing chamber to see her doing the one thing he’d never counted on.

Sleeping in his bed.