Page 3 of Adrift! (Cosmic Connections Cruise #2)

Ikaryo lingered in the hallway, certain Remy would come after him.

During the first two sunsets before they’d been hijacked, he’d noticed how she’d been so attuned to the music he’d selected for the mingling and matching activities.

All the Earther women who signed up with the Intergalactic Dating Agency declared themselves open to new experiences—it was kind of a prerequisite for alien romance, after all—but when he’d played an Egmelian love song, he’d seen how Remy lit up in a different way.

Egmelians expressed themselves in five genders and seven octaves, which made their love songs rather complicated, and his augments had caught the enchanted shimmer of her electrodermal response to the intertwining harmonies.

Obviously she felt strongly about some things even if she had openly stated her ambivalence about space speed dating.

But even with his lure of music, her door didn’t open again.

So much for his amplified vision. He hadn’t been able to see the energy anomaly, and he’d obviously not seen the real Remy McCoy.

But how did someone choose to leave their closed world, to seize the adventure of an alien romance, and then go hide in their locked room?

Of course there was that energy monster problem, not to mention being adrift.

And he knew the temptations of a few bulkheads and a lock or two.

Bothered by his mistake—after all, he’d been hired to cater to the passengers, and instead he’d chased one away—Ikaryo started down the hall. He needed to reset the salon before the dinner service.

If part of him wished he could stay locked up with the surly, red-haired Earther woman and a bottle of something real… He wasn’t going to turn his enhanced acuity on that impossibility.

Before he rounded the corner, Felicity called out to him, so he paused to let her catch up. Here was an Earther who did not hide, not from danger, not from her feelings.

Although he wasn’t comparing the two women. He had no reason to make note of their “emotional availability”, as the IDA brochure called it. Felicity was his colleague, and even if she wasn’t, he’d registered her body temperature changes when she and the captain were in proximity.

“Any troubles?” Felicity linked an arm through his, and their shared passenger data files synced as they headed for the salon.

He’d asked Remy a similar question. “Nothing unexpected.”

Felicity snorted out a breath. “Fair enough. Mariah offered to lead a knitting meditation circle.”

He considered the context of the translations offered by his implant. “Remy did ask about clean socks.” When Felicity laughed, a pleasant sound to his ears, he added, “But she declined to contribute to any entertainment.”

“I’m not surprised. She got cold feet the moment the hatch closed.”

“Is that why she asked about the socks?”

Felicity blinked at him. “Cold feet means wanting to renege on a commitment. You look so much like an Earther, I forget you’re not.”

He stared back. “All these augments and you forget?”

“If there is one thing Earthers are good at, it’s disregarding the obvious.”

Not wanting to disparage her species, he squeezed her arm in consolation and said, “Earthers also have coffee.”

“Good to know we can offer the universe something special.” When they reached the salon, she paused in the doorway. “Speaking of, we’ll have to see if Chef can synthesize some coffee bean equivalent. We don’t need caffeine withdrawals on top of a hijacking.”

They’d left the salon in a state of disarray, fleeing the anomaly for the safer confines of the lifepods.

Now, adrift in the dangerous Zarnax Zone, Captain Nehivar had decided evacuating passengers in the small, defenseless pods was too risky.

They’d stay together until they could restore the engines or make contact with rescuers.

But until then, the bar was very sticky.

He and Felicity swept through the salon, wiping and straightening. When Chef Styr arrived alongside the deck tech Griiek guiding a hover cart laden with meal bins, the four of them arranged the buffet as appealingly as felt appropriate under the circumstances.

This was what he’d been looking for when he signed on to the crew: a place to belong. He just wished it wasn’t under such desperate circumstances.

Although maybe such extremis was needed to bring people together.

Except for Remy McCoy, of course.

When Felicity straightened, her blue eyes wide and bright, Ikaryo glanced over his shoulder to see the captain striding through the salon doors.

The big Kufzasin male swept the room with an assessing, then approving glance.

Although that last might’ve been when he lingered on his cruise director.

Ikaryo exchanged his own more subtle glance with the other crew members, and while Griiek seemed oblivious to the undercurrents—which was understandable since Monbrakkans usually reproduced via parthenogenesis—the Elnd chef fluttered the edge of one phonoplast in amusement.

A cosmic connection, just like the brochure promised.

“I wanted to be here when the passengers come for the meal, in case there are any questions,” Nehivar said in his rumbling voice.

Considering he’d been reluctant to interact with their guests earlier, Ikaryo wondered how much of that change was due to the sunny cruise director.

“Before they arrive, let’s review supplies and available power. ”

Ikaryo sent his updated inventory to their common data access and scanned Chef’s additions.

They’d worked closely together on the evening’s menu before the launch; now they’d need to be prepared to stretch their provisions over an unknown time period.

He considered the numbers again. No one would go hungry tonight, but…

The implants in his arm strained and he realized both his hands were balled into fists. Very deliberately, he set his hands on top of the cleared bar, relaxing them as the first of the passengers wandered in.

They still looked shocked and shaky as they filed past him to collect beverages to go with their meals.

His usually pulsar-steady fingers twitched again, remembering how he’d supported Remy.

In her sleek dress and heeled shoes, she’d looked elegant and statuesque, like an exotic work of art in a style he’d never seen.

But her bare skin under his fingers had felt achingly familiar, a fantasy half remembered.

Where was she? She’d kept to herself while they’d sheltered in the lifepod, just like she hadn’t mingled during the first part of the cruise. Felicity had said Remy regretted accepting the ticket, but why?

Not that he had any reason to ask. Painstakingly, he stacked his glassware a little higher around him.

The captain and Felicity circled among the guests who’d settled on the plush couches around the salon, and Ikaryo half tuned to their official apologies and assurances.

He was about to suggest to them that he go check on any missing passengers (which was only Remy) when she appeared in the salon doorway.

Cold feet. Felicity had said it wasn’t a literal Earther expression, but Remy had fabricated a pair of soft, oversized foot coverings in place of the heeled shoes.

She marched directly up to his bar. “I know it’s all fake synthequer, but I need a drink.”

Since there were basic food services in the staterooms, he knew she was actually looking for more than that.

Almost all species that traveled beyond their planetary systems were sociobiologically communal beings since the inherently individualistic ones weren’t able to create the complex systems required to achieve spaceflight.

Closed worlds like her Earth were caught somewhere between, not yet fully demonstrating their ability to muster the group effort required to reach the stars.

But here she was, and looking none too happy about it.

What kept her stuck?

Snagging a large glass goblet, he poured a few shots from several bottles with one hand while the other hand diluted the yellowish fusion with a mixer from the bar dispenser. Under the weight of her attention, he wielded his tongs with an extra flourish to add a small red seed.

The drink fizzed, small bubbles combining violently into a large iridescent eruption that rose all the way to the rim of the goblet and then past it, towering almost to the height of Remy’s nose as if it might overflow…only to pop into silvery nothingness.

He poured the cheery orange remnants of the completed reaction into a more reasonably sized mug and nudged it toward her. At the movement, a few last bubbles dimpled the surface before subsiding.

She blinked at the drink and then at him. “Wow. What a show.”

“For you and your”—he peered over the edge of the bar—“fuzzy orange socks.”

She crossed one foot atop the other, balancing awkwardly. “I wanted something besides my heels. Just in case we have to run away again.”

She meant run away from the anomaly, of course. So why did he get the sense she was escaping more than that?

While he considered her, she took a drink and then peered into the mug. “What is this?”

“A restorative tonic from my homeworld. It’s not quite the traditional recipe—a lot more bubbles in this one—but it’s close enough, and these cinder fruits won’t last.”

She took another sip. “It’s good. Not too sweet. Did you invent all the other clever drinks tonight?”

He wasn’t surprised she appreciated the hint of bitters. “Yes. Chef Styr told me to go wild.” He smiled the Earther-style expression that had been in the IDA employee orientation materials. “We were supposed to impress the guests on our virgin voyage, to make sure everyone has maximum fun.”

She pulled up one of the stools and propped herself over the mug, her shoulders sagging. “It’s interesting to see an Elnd chef. They don’t even have mouths to eat with.”

A little surprised she’d identified the chef’s species, he nodded. “Chef Styr says lacking a certain capacity is no reason not to learn and enjoy the experience with others.” He wiped a cleaning cloth across the bar though it wasn’t necessary at the moment. “So why did you give up your music?”

She choked on another sip of the tonic, the freckles across her cheeks brighter as she flushed. “I didn’t…” Then she paused, her green eyes narrowing. “I didn’t give up music. Music was just done with me.” The pain in her voice was thicker than all his bitter syrups.

He wanted to reach across the bar, but the way she clenched both hands on her mug, pulling it close, left no room for any other touch. “I don’t know much Earther music beyond what I have in the ship’s entertainment system. If it bothers you, I can remove it. The universe has many other songs.”

After a moment, the set of her shoulders eased. “That’s why I signed up with the IDA.”

Her tone wavered, and his translator flagged her comment as potentially a question. “Not just running away then?”

Her face scrunched. “Maybe a little? I needed something different—and this has been very different.”

Gently, he noted, “More of those differences you’re seeking can be found over there, with the other IDA guests.”

Leaning back, she shook her head hard enough that her red hair lashed around her shoulders. “No thanks. I already told Felicity, turns out I wasn’t quite ready for such a big step.” Her mouth twisted again, this time almost a smile. “So I’m just going to hide here with you, okay?”

That…shouldn’t make his pulse glitch. His augments tempered most variations in his biological processes. Also, she was a guest and he was staff, and the employee handbook expressly prohibited such involvements.

But since his job involved making the passengers happy…

“If you are only ready to take fuzzy orange steps, that’s a start.”

Her breath was weaker than a derisive snort but stronger than a despondent sigh, at least according to his translator.

After another sip, she rallied with raised eyebrows. “So are you the ship’s unofficial therapist or what?”

“Just the bartender.”

“Of pretend drinks.” Then she winced as if stung by her own sharpness. “Which are really good.”

Part of him wanted to pull back—even farther than the barricade of glassware and professional distance—but his augmented arm was already reaching under the bar for a small flask. Straightening, he tipped it halfway above her mug, waiting for her consent.

She pursed her lips to one side. “That the real stuff?”

“An essence from my own collection.”

Her exhalation this time was definitely a snort. “So you are allowed to flirt with the passengers?”

“Not beyond industry standards.”

A snort plus a sigh. “Lay it on me. That means—”

“I can surmise.” He angled the flask enough for just a few drops.

A fragrance like metallic spice expanded between them. No sweetness for her.

Her nose twitched when she took a sip. “It matches your eyes.”

Why was he watching her so closely? He capped the flask, hiding his tension in the nonchalant movement. “Do you like it? The flavor, I mean.”

After another drink, she paused just long enough that he suspected he wasn’t hiding his tension at all. “It’s…different.”

“Like Chef, I’m intrigued by how differences are perceived.”

“Your enhancements must give you an edge.”

“Mostly they’ve just kept me alive.”

She froze with the mug halfway to her mouth, her cheeks blanching with dismay. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to seem like I was prying.”

With precise calibration, he aligned the flask with the other aromatics.

“It’s fine. I am not self-conscious about my augments.

They could be reengineered and integrated less obviously, but I never bothered.

” He rested his hand on the bar, like it was just another tool.

“They’re a reminder that I’ve survived.”

To his surprise, she set the mug aside to take his hand, gently swiveling it upward to reveal the interface of tech to flesh that had rebuilt his arm.

Responding unexpectedly to the contact, electricity shimmered through the circuitry.

An errant electron flared up farther, following the inscriptions in his organic skin.

“That’s beautiful.”

In her slightly husky voice, the comment rippled through him with more power than seemed warranted. And he couldn’t stop the brighter spark that zinged visibly over his skin.

Abruptly, Remy released him. “Thanks for the drink. I should probably…” She waved one hand behind her.

She’d wanted to avoid the others until this little moment with him, and now she was fleeing him as well.

But he’d been hired to serve drinks; it wasn’t his job to convince anyone to fall in love with an alien.

And he certainly wasn’t here to fall in love with an alien himself.