After I’m done picking up everything and bringing it into the galley, I move back to my chair.
Beckett is still seated, but now she’s twiddling with a bunch of knobs and pressing buttons.
Does she know what she’s doing? Does she care? Somehow, I doubt it.
“Did you know the ship is an alien artifact?” I mention as casually as I can. I want to add, So pressing random buttons might not be such a good idea because who the fuck knows what will happen—but I don’t want to set her off. Some （rhetorical） buttons even I know not to push.
“Cool.” She keeps right on fiddling.
Not taking the hint, then. “Where the hell is everyone?” I mutter. Complaining about the others seems a much safer route to take than questioning her piloting prowess.
“Bed.”
“Yeah, well, if I’m awake, then they should be, too.”
“I doubt they see it like that.”
“I am the captain.”
“Of course you are.” She says it like it’s a pat on the head, but I’m still too hungover to take offense. Especially when she adds, “You want me to wake the others up?”
“Hell, yeah.” I appreciate the offer—and the time alone to regroup. Except she doesn’t head out to get them. Instead, she just presses another button.
“Rise and shine, everyone.” I hear her voice, but simultaneously it comes through some sort of comms system. It’s really loud, and it echoes all over the ship. “Your captain has called a meeting on the bridge in ten minutes. Be here or…” She gives a shrug.
“So you’re getting the hang of flying this thing, then?” I ask.
She considers the question for a moment; I can see her trying to concentrate. She presses a finger to her forehead, then gives a quick nod. “Sort of. Mostly, she does it herself—who do you think flew her all night? And so far, when I’ve put in coordinates, she’s followed them. But I’m just waiting for us to have a difference of opinion. I’m pretty sure I’ll come out on the losing side.”
“You think the ship might have an opinion?” That’s seriously screwed up. Is she having me on?
“Well, you did just point out she’s an alien artifact.”
“You think that makes her sentient?” I ask.
She snorts. “I think that makes her something we don’t understand.”
I consider that for a second. “Good point.”
“And there’s another thing. That solar flare that took out an entire town but saved your ass back on Askkandia? The princess seems convinced it came from the Starlight.”
I dismiss the idea right away. “That’s impossible.”
“That’s what I said, but after what we just saw…” She shrugs. “I’m willing to keep an open mind.”
That’s because she still has one. I’m pretty sure mine was pickled last night, along with the rest of me.
Before I can get my aching head to think about anything else, Rain appears, looking as bright and chirpy as ever.
Her gaze goes directly to Beckett, and she hurries over, totally ignoring me. “You didn’t come back last night and hang out with us,” she says. “I missed you.”
I whistle under my breath. Sooo that’s how things are. Interesting. The little priestess is obviously braver than me.
Beckett shrugs. “I was tired.”
Rain frowns but doesn’t say anything else.
“Don’t you have a headache?” I ask Rain. She put away an awful lot of gerjgin last night for such a little thing.
“Oh, sorry, Ian. I didn’t see you there.”
Of course not. Because, apparently, I’m fucking invisible as long as Beckett is around.
She smiles like a little ray of fucking sunshine. “My head is fine, thank you. In fact, I feel really good.”
But before I can ask anything else, like how that’s humanly possible, Merrick appears in the doorway. “I’m glad one of us does.”
He’s squinting out of bloodshot eyes, and he looks a little green around the gills.
Good. I hate suffering alone.
“Are you all right?” Rain asks him.
“I’ll live.” He doesn’t sound as though that’s necessarily a good thing.
Max and Gage appear next, Max carrying a tray with a steaming jug of something I hope is coffee and a bunch of mugs. He puts it on the floor, and we all help ourselves. Except Merrick, who looks like he’s seriously contemplating puking.
“The head’s that way,” I tell him, pointing to the nearest bathroom as I lean against the console behind me and breathe in the steaming coffee. A few cups of this, and I might actually feel human again. Maybe.
I give it a couple more minutes—and another cup of coffee—before I ask, “Anyone know where Kali is?” I try to sound unconcerned.
“She’s still asleep,” Rain replies. “She woke up briefly, rolled over, said it was too early, and went back to snoring. You want me to get her?”
“I’ll go.”
I swallow the last of my coffee, then pour a fresh cup and head out. But I can feel everyone’s gazes on me, so I turn and give them my best don’t-fuck-with-me stare.
No one looks impressed, which doesn’t surprise me. “What?” I growl.
Everyone else has the good sense to look away—even Max. But not Beckett. She just lifts a brow before commenting, “We’re all just wondering what the princess did to deserve coffee in bed.”
Max sniggers.
I ignore them both and head for the room the princess and priestess are sharing. The door is open, but there’s no sign of Kali, except for one foot sticking out from beneath a mound of blankets.
I clear my throat. Nothing.
I knock on the open door.
Still nothing.
“Kali!”
“Go away.”
“I’ve brought coffee.” I move closer to the bed and wave it near where I think her nose—and the rest of her face—might be.
Not that I know if she even likes coffee. I realize I don’t know anything about Kali except that she’s a princess and has a lot more gumption than I originally gave her credit for. Well, that and the fact that she is absolutely, positively not like me—or anyone else I’ve met before.
Eventually, she lowers the blanket and peers up at me, silver eyes gleaming. “Put it on the table and go,” she tells me in full princess mode.
At first, it annoyed the crap out of me every time she used that tone, but now I kind of like it. Whenever it comes out, it means I get to mess with her.
Which is why I stroll toward the bed instead of doing what she said.
“If you want it,” I tell her, “you’ll have to come and get it.”
“I can’t,” she whines. “My head hurts.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have drunk so much of my gerjgin, then.”
“Your gerjgin?” She snorts and then groans. “Paid for with my buttons.”
She’s got a point. But not a very good one. “If you want any say in what we do next”—not that it’s up for discussion—“then you’ll be at that meeting. Two minutes.”
I turn and walk away, taking the coffee with me. She had her chance at it, and now it’s mine.