Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“Well, Zina,” he emphasizes my name, and this makes me think I was supposed to use some kind of honorific—but, oops! too late—“come on over here. Let’s see how you compare.”
“I compare just fine.” My tone is saucy. I’m sure this is inappropriate, but I don’t care. At this moment, I just want to enjoy our interaction and not think of the future.
“To the standards.” He gives me a look, and gestures to a seat in front of a console. “Take a seat and start the program. We’ll run you through a series of simple simulations just to test your reflexes for foveal and peripheral vision. Then we’ll work on response stimuli.” All I hear is “blah blah blah look at my strong back blah blah.”
“Yes,” I agree, forcing myself not to touch his shoulders. Run my hands down those triceps and squeeze. “Absolutely.”
He snorts. “Go ahead. Start.”
I sit down and look at the screen. We both wait. A few seconds go by. I turn to look up at him questioningly.
“You need to touch the place where it says “start”. He leans in over my shoulder and I almost squeak when I feel the heat from his immense body approach mine.
My neck tingles where he’s leaning over.
“If you’re not sure, it’s the huge bar that says START. That one, that’s red, and about five inches by five inches. Right in front of your face. Blinking.”
He pauses. “I’m told you can cipher, so…”
“Oh, that one. Sure. With my finger?”
He makes another sound. “Unless you prefer to use another appendage, yes, your finger will be acceptable.”
“I’ve never done this before,” I explain, darting a glance at him.
Oh, so close. His face is so close to mine. I can feel his breath on my cheek, and it tickles. In a good way.
“You don’t say.” His voice is dry. Wow, he’s got quite a good grasp of sarcasm, for a non-human.
I take a deep breath. Tap the screen gingerly. “I did it.” I smile. “Look, it’s starting. See?”
He sighs. “Yes.”
“I mean, I know you can’t see, see. But you can tell, with your sensor things, right?” I sense things myself. Right now, I’m intuiting that it’s all right to tease him a little bit about his vision.
I might not be an expert at much, but Mother Earth, living as a slave has led me to develop my intuition about beings’ motivations and feelings—it keeps me safe. And I’m not usually wrong.
“Yes. Please direct your eyes back to the screen. The sim has started.”
“So it has.”
On the screen, information flashes. It’s telling me to push certain buttons when various lights flash.
Oops, missed one. An, there’s another. Another miss. Hmm.
I get a few, then sneak a glance at Tarek.
His lips are pursed.
“How am I doing?” I twist in my chair to look at him.
He checks his comm. “Well, according to the adaptive results, the program wants to know if you’re sentient, or if a child or small animal, perhaps a pet bird, is pushing random buttons.”
“I’m doing better than that.” I scowl and turn back to the screen. “Could a Kantu bird do this?” I raise my hand with a flourish and tap.
Then I focus, trying to accustom myself to the strange novelty of this device. Of working with a screen. My heart pounds and my stomach pulses with each beat, and I think I might need to vomit.
All joking aside, I’m no good at this, and I know it. Why, oh why, did I say this was a passion?
Behind me, Tarek makes a noise, and I remember: This is why. I’m here because even though I know it’s a bad idea and it’s not going to work out, being near Tarek is exciting. Fun. And frankly, I don’t have anything else. And even more importantly, it takes my mind away from the pain and uncertainty of being separated from Enya.
Tarek
Good stars. In all my solar cycles I’ve never seen a being do this magnificently badly on the test. But veck, this little human looks adorable, leaning forward, lips pursed, eyes narrowed in concentration. She’s giving it her all, I have to admit.
Based on the sensor map I’ve created of her body, I notice that her Zandian gown clings to her curves in all the right places. Her breasts swell, perky and round, and I think about how her nipples might feel in my mouth. Under my tongue.
I growl and turn aside to discreetly adjust my cock. I need to stop thinking about her this way; it was a mistake on the ship, and it absolutely cannot happen again. For one thing, I don’t want to give her any ideas. I can’t have her long-term, so it’s not a good idea to torture myself.
I should just tell her she’s not a fit, and send her away. Be done with it.