Page 28 of Shellshock

The room, however, was spinning.

Hydration.

He burst into the bathroom to drink from the sink, letting time slip by in dark bursts of oblivion. It was a merciful space. If anyone saw him like this, he’d be a little embarrassed.

Of course, he’d just been in public.

Everyonesaw him like this.

And Lucca was next.

Finding his footing, he flipped the communication board to her frequency. Her ship floated on the other side of the wide window.

He wondered to all the stars what went on inside that ship. Something completely bizarre, he could feel it.

His latest theory was that therewasno Lucca. The pink ship’s computer system was alive and curious—which was why she wouldn’t send him pictures. It explained why she grew offended by his cavalier treatment of his own machines. It wouldn’t be ideal, but he was open-minded. He could have a relationship with a sentient spaceship.

“Lucca.”

The speaker made acrshcrshsound. Soft blankets and collecting darkness. It didn’t support the AI theory at all.

“Cal?” Her voice was raspy. She sounded delightfully sleepy.

A smile spread across his face and for a few wonderful seconds, he felt only his spark’s response to her. Her proximity was soothing. “Did I wake you?” he asked. “Sorry about that.” He wasn’t truly sorry, not at all. He lived for her sleepy voice. And… the sounds of her shifting around under bedsheets put inappropriate images front and center in his mind.

“I don’t mind, Cal.”

Her voice had warmed and focused, telling him she was awake enough to talk to him. “How was your night?” she asked. “Are we trapped here forever?”

For a moment, he wasn’t listening. The faint edge of sleep roughened her voice, distracting him.

“Cal?”

She would definitely sound like that if they coupled. His eyes widened as he violently filedthatidea away until later. Not letting the alcohol win this early. “Morwong wants me here for a month. I don’t think that’s possible. And I got kicked out of the bar.”

“Oh?”

He turned to his own bed and flopped facedown on top of it, tracing his hand over the sheets. What would it be like to have her there? How would her skin feel against his fingers?

Soft. He imagined she would be soft.

No shell. Squishy skin. Vulgar and pink and soft. Whywas he imagining these things about her?

He rephrased his summary, careful to keep his stray thoughts from entering the conversation. “My friends gave me crap for having my ship impounded.”

“Is that… a good night or a bad one?”

“Nnh?” He shrugged, ambivalent.

“Why did you get kicked out?”

“Well… don’t be mad.”

He could hear her brow arching. “Don’t be mad?”

“I played in the fighting ring.”

“Cal.” There was that admonishing edge in her voice, but it wasn’t yet full-blown stern Lucca.

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