Page 8 of Sunastara & the Venusian
When the Argosian rolled onto his back, taking his tree trunk arm with him, air flooded my lungs. “Much better.”Without much grace, I slid off the bed, thrilled that all my pieces and parts seemed to be functioning normally. “I’ll just find my clothes and be on my?—”
“You will not find them,” he rumbled with a sleepy smirk. Golden tattoos embellished his broad chest and firm stomach—a scythe, harvest moons glowing over a field of grain, exquisitely detailed seeds—images meant to pay tribute to the agricultural life that drove his planet’s economy.
“I can see that,” I said, looking around his room. “Happen to know where they are?”
“You do not remember?” His smirk stretched into a full-fledged grin. “They got…messy. We sent them to the laundry.”
I blinked. I did not, in fact, remember. And didn’t particularly want to. “Super.”
Scratching his chest between his stunning pectorals, he said, “Argos makes a strong drink. Do not be ashamed.”
“Did we…? Did I…?” I forced down a swallow.
He shook his head. “You and I had much fun times, but we did not join. We were notworthyof each other.”
A profound relief buckled my knees.Worthy, on Argos—where males tended to outweigh females by one hundred kilos or more—referred to the way body parts might or might not fit together between two partners. I offered a silent prayer of gratitude to the gods of fermentation for blessing me with complete amnesia of the evaluation of ourworth.
“I guess anatomy strikes again, eh?” I said, snatching his yellow coveralls from the bed—the preferred outfit for all Argosians for reasons I’ve never quite understood—and wrapping them around me like a robe.
“Those are mine.” His deep voice reverberated through my ribcage.
“Well, I can’t walk back to my pod naked, can I? I’m sure you understand. I’ll have my assistant return your…garmentto you straight away. You have my word.” I reached out awkwardly to pat his big toe, which he wiggled under my palm. Then I straightened, tied his coverall arms into a bow around my chest, and recited my customary closing remarks. “I trust you are enjoying your stay aboard theIgnisar. And I sincerely hope you will look no further than LunaCorp for all your future holiday and interplanetary travel needs.”
Giving him a curt nod, I scampered from his room while he chuckled, shaking his gigantic, golden-tattooed head.
Holdingup the too-long legs of the Argosian’s coveralls, I tried my level best not to trip over them on my way into the staff elevator. Never empty when I wanted it to be, the elevator was packed full of two exhausted-looking, sunglasses-wearing Ulaperians who’d likely just finished their shift at the Voyager Club, one quad-armed room attendant from Gorbulon-7—two of those arms busy teasing his hair up to the ceiling—and one way too good-looking Blurvan, who I was fairly certain worked at one of the bars on deck thirty-six. The Blurvan, leaning his humanoid torso against the back wall of the elevator while his gelatinous lower half jiggled, took one look at my outfit, arched his brow, and asked, “Rough night?”
Mashing the button for deck twelve, I muttered, “No rougher than usual,” and wished for the thousandth time that I had more privacy on this ship. Yes, I knew my lifechoices were sometimes questionable, but why did everyone else have to know it too? Maybe if that Blurvan had been through a fraction of what I’d been through, he’d understand. Maybe he’d be ashamed of that smug, judgmental expression on his face. But then he popped his pecs, twice, and I realized…probably not.
Scurrying out of the elevator toward the staff quarters, I smiled stiffly at a duo of hopping Vorpol maintenance technicians. When one of them asked the other, “Is she wearing Argosian coveralls?” I ducked my head and double-timed it toward my pod.
Scowling deeply, Elanie stood in front of my door, her arms crossed under her perfect bionic cleavage. “Staff meeting is in ten minutes. I hope it was worth it.”
Artificial intelligence with DNA spliced between the wires, all bionics were designed to emulate the peak physical characteristics of their particular species. Elanie, for example—with her silky brown hair, straight nose, and big brown doe eyes—always looked as fresh as spring rain. While I, on the other hand, probably looked like the refuse compactor on jettison day. It was certainly how I felt.
“Is that a pair of Argosian coveralls?” A look of pure horror overtook Elanie as she realized what species I’d shacked up with last night.
Always endeavoring to project the appearance of having my shit together, even though I rarely did, I replied, “It is, and it wascompletelyworth it.”
“An Argosian? Sunny, you could have been killed.”
Blowing air loudly through my lips—even though she was right—I waved her off.
She placed her hand on her hip. “You are not a sex worker, Sunny. You are a hospitality specialist. You do not need to sleep with all these males?—”
“And females,” I interjected with a raised finger, sliding past her into my room.
“—to be good at your job.”
“At the risk of shocking your bionic sensibilities so thoroughly you’ll need a full factory reset, I will only say this.” Throwing off my coveralls robe to put on something more appropriate for a work meeting, I winked. “Life is far too short not to do what you love as often as you can.”
Her eye roll was monumental. “You have nine minutes.”
Slinging on a pair of kitten heels, I tucked a white button-down into a black pencil skirt, pinched my cheeks, then waved a hand over my body. “Yes?”
Elanie frowned. “No. Your hair looks like a trestal’s nest.”
“Right.” Running water over my hands, I wetted down my short, jagged blond hair, then ducked underneath my quikDri. “Better?”
