Page 19 of Her Alien Cyborgs (The Drift: Haven Colony #10)

Sleep eluded Kalan all night, and he wasn’t happy about it.

The only thing that helped his mood was the knowledge that no one else on the Gambit had slept any better than he had.

He knew that because his enhanced hearing let him hear Hezza’s soft exclamations and curses as she read through the contents of the data stick they’d given her.

She’d let Fyr’enth know she wanted privacy to review the files, and he’d relayed the information to him.

Did it sting that she didn’t tell him directly? Yes, but he also knew that was self-inflicted pain. She was giving him space because that’s what he needed.

He still didn’t like it.

Since she was staying in her cabin, their nightly routine had gone out the airlock. Instead of preparing and sharing the evening meal, she’d sent a request to the food dispenser through the ship’s AI, and then had one of the bots deliver it to her door.

She’d taught them how to use the dispenser, so it wasn’t like they’d go hungry, but the food hadn’t tasted as good. They’d eaten in silence, cleaned up, and gone back to their own cabins.

He hadn’t liked that, either.

Since coming aboard, they’d spent every night on the makeshift bed in Hezza’s cabin. Last night was the first time he’d gone to bed alone. He’d lasted an hour before getting up and opening his cabin door.

Fyr’enth’s was already open, which told him that his brother was having the same issue. They weren’t used to being alone. In the beginning, several pairs of cyborgs had been in their cell block. Over time, that number had decreased, but even at the end, the two of them had shared a cell.

Worse, he didn’t have Hezza within reach.

He couldn’t believe how quickly he’d adjusted to her presence.

Not just in in his bed but in his life. She could soothe his nightmares with a touch or a softly murmured word, and her smile banished even his darkest thoughts to the back of his mind, at least for a while.

Without her, his mind drifted, conjuring memories of his former life.

Recollections of forgotten pain. The faces of the other research subjects.

Did they have names, too? He’d never know, because most of them were gone.

Every time one of them was taken, he’d wonder if this would be the last time he saw them.

When the one they took was Fyr’enth, the fear would twist his guts into knots.

They’d always sent the same message to each other at those moments. “Be strong.”

Even that had been a risk, but it was better than saying nothing.

A few hours before the ship switched over to daytime mode, Fyr’enth asked, “Do you miss her, too?”

“Yeah.”

He could actually sense his clone’s annoyance through their link. “Then fix it.”

“Got any idea how? It’s not like we got uploads on relationships.”

“No fraxxing clue. But maybe when we get to Haven, we can ask if they have something like that.”

“Understanding your mate, made simple,” Kalan joked.

“For you? They’d have to make it really simple. Small words and lots of pictures.”

“ Fraxx you.” He flipped off his brother, not caring that he couldn’t see the gesture.

After that, he settled down a little. Enough to shake off the grasping hands of the past and start untangling the feelings tripping him up in the present.

By the time the lights in the corridor came on, he still had a lot to think about, but now he knew where to start.

Breakfast .

“Hey, ship, what breakfast foods does Hezza make the most?” he asked. The AI wouldn’t understand if he asked it what her favorite foods were, but it could tell him which ones she made often.

“Do you wish for me to include the previous four days in my data set? There has been a marked increase in the consumption of such foods since she added you to the crew roster.”

“Good point. Leave the last few days out. She was cooking for us, not for herself.”

“Here is the list of foods. I have ranked them with the most commonly requested at the top.”

A list appeared on a screen affixed to the bulkhead in front of him. Bacon. Eggs, with a notation that scrambled was the most common variation requested. Toast was next on the list, and the last item was baked beans.

He read the last line again. Beans ? Time to clarify things with the AI. “Are you sure about that last one? Alyssa, I mean, Hezza, claims she’s not a fan of vegetables in general.”

“My data is correct. Baked beans is a dish made with legumes slow cooked in a tomato-based sauce.”

Okay, that made more sense. Actually, it sounded delicious.

“Since she hadn’t made those yet, he’d surprise her with some.

He’d heard her claim several times that the food dispenser always messed up the bacon, but he knew how she liked it.

Crispy but not crunchy with a bit of give.

How hard could it be to do that himself?

The food dispenser could handle the rest.

It took him a while to get the food dispenser programmed for everything, and he had to override the portion sizes to make sure there was enough for everyone.

A single loaf of bread wouldn’t make that much toast. Would it?

His language database gave him several definitions of what a loaf was, but none of them sounded that large.

“Ship, where does she keep the bacon?” he asked once the food dispenser had started on the meal.

“In the refrigeration unit. Lower left shelf,” the AI replied. “Do you wish for me to increase ventilation in the galley?”

“Lower left, got it. Why would you increase the airflow?”

The ship’s AI made a soft humming sound but didn’t reply. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear it didn’t want to answer his question.

“Ship?” he prompted.

“On more than one occasion, members of the crew who have attempted to cook have created situations that produced large amounts of airborne particulates. Specifically carbonized foodstuffs.”

“You mean they burned their food.”

“Correct.”

“I’m not going to burn the bacon.” Hezza would not be happy if he ruined one of her favorite meals.

The AI didn’t respond, so he continued his prep.

He retrieved the bacon and the same frying pan he’d seen her using the first time she’d cooked for them.

He set the pan down on the stovetop, and then poked at the controls until a red light came on as a round section of the surface started to heat up.

It took him several minutes to separate enough bacon from the main block. By then the pan seemed relatively hot, so he dropped a handful of the meat strips inside.

The meat hissed and sizzled a surprising amount, but it settled down fairly quickly. While it cooked, he went looking for the tool Hezza had used to move the bacon around when she cooked. A spathel? Sapucla? He checked his language files. Ah. A spatula. An odd name for something so simple.

He found what he was looking for in a cupboard and turned back to the bacon.

The sizzling had started again, this time accompanied by a popping noise. He hurried back to the stove and poked at the slices.

The meat hissed at him like an angry animal and hot gobs of fat spattered everywhere. Some landed on his bare chest.

“Ow!” he yelped and swiped at the affected scales.

Annoyed, he prodded the bacon again. Hezza hadn’t had this issue.

This time, some of it stuck to the pan, so he tried to pry it loose with the spatula-thing.

The result was more hissing, more spitting, and more burns. Worse, the pan was starting to smoke a little. He would not admit the AI was right about his cooking skills and ask it to activate the ventilation in the galley. No. He could deal with this.

He spread his wings slightly, using them to fan the air and hopefully dispel the smoke.

The bacon wasn’t forming the neat, crisp strips they had when Hezza cooked. Instead, they were clumped together. The ends looked almost done, but the middle was still raw.

Fraxx .

“Need a hand, Cutie?” An amused female voice came from somewhere behind him.

“You’re ruining my surprise.” He turned his head to smile at Hezza.

Instead of her usual ship suit, she’d chosen to wear a pair of soft, gray pants that hugged her legs and hips.

Her top was dark red and sleeveless with only a pair of thin straps that crossed over her shoulders.

Her slicked-back hair was damp from a shower, but she didn’t look refreshed.

Her eyes were puffy, and the lines on her face were more pronounced.

“And, yes, I think I need some help.”

She joined him at the stovetop. When she held out her hand, he gave her the spatula but stayed where he was. He wanted to see what she did to fix this mess.

“The trick with bacon is to lay each strip separately from the start. It also helps if you do it before the pan gets too hot.” She pointed to the controls. “You have the setting too high.”

She changed something on the controls, and the red light turned amber. Then she used a fork and the spatula to pull the strips apart. He’d added too many to fit into the pan the way she did it, so she set some of it aside to cook once the first batch was done.

He expected to feel embarrassed or defensive about his screw-up, but he didn’t.

The moment she had appeared, he began to feel better.

Had he fraxxed up breakfast? Yes. But it was easier to move past than he’d expected.

Unlike the ones who’d created him and forever tried to push him past his limits, she didn’t have expectations. She simply accepted him.

It was a new feeling, and he liked it.

The food dispenser dropped two more slices of buttered toast onto a surprisingly full plate.

Hezza nodded toward the machine. “How much toast did you ask for?”

“I’m not sure. How much toast is in a loaf?”

She laughed, and the sound wrapped around his soul like a caress. “More than we can eat. Looks like we’re having bacon sandwiches for lunch today.”

“Sounds good to me.”