Free Pirate: Space Gypsy Chronicles, #1 by Eve Langlais Page B

not a kind place where people share. No one cares the Rhomanii are without a home, which is why we keep searching for the one we lost.”
    “How did you—”
    Before she could finish her query, he whirled on his heel with a snapped, “Enough. I agreed to give you a tour, not a history lesson.”
    She wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “But how else am I supposed to learn if I can’t get you to answer?”
    “Talk to Annabelle.”
    Talk to his ship? Not a bad idea. Chances were the on-board computer wouldn’t give her the runaround when it came to answers.
    Having reached the end of the hall, he clambered up some stairs. She followed, grumbling. “Where are the elevators? For a supposed advanced species, your ship seems pretty lacking.”
    He stood waiting for her at the top, not out of breath at all, the jerk.
    “This is not, as I’ve mentioned before, a pleasure cruiser, so space is at a premium. Frivolous items like an elevator take room, and power. Both of which are in short supply. Add to the fact that we’re often weeks, and in some cases, months traveling between planets and way stations, and exercise is needed to prevent muscle atrophy. Stairs are helpful in that regard.”
    “But what if I like my ass fat?” she muttered under her breath as she followed his taut buns.
    He heard and replied. “I’m sure we can find a way to keep you deliciously plump.” The wink he tossed over his shoulder brought heat to her cheeks.
    With a closed fist, he banged on a door. “We are now on the upper level. This here is the supplies locker. Clothing, bedding, and toiletries. Although I might caution using some of them as they were not tested on human skin.”
    He strode a few paces and pointed to the next door. “Bathing facilities and bodily waste management.”
    “So you at least have toilets?” What a relief.
    “Not exactly, but you’ll adapt.”
    How ominous sounding. Before she could peek in the room and see what he meant, he was moving onwards. Through the next open door, he stepped in, and she followed.
    “This is the recreation and culinary area for the crew.”
    She peeked around, noting another screen on the wall, this one blank. A countertop bolted to the wall played table to the stools lining it, which were also affixed to the floor. In the center of the room were several yoga-like balls, about waist high, appearing to be made of a rubbery gray material. She poked at one, and her finger created a dimple in the surface. “What are these?”
    “Chairs.” To demonstrate, he flopped into one, the round shape flattening and adapting to his body. “These are base models, though, so don’t expect any heated massages.”
    She pivoted to take in more of the area, but there was nothing else to see. Not even a fridge or stove. Then again, this was a spaceship. Chances were he had some kind of food replicator machine just like the Jetsons. “How do we eat? Is there a button to press?”
    “All food stores are kept in these cabinets.” He hooked his fingers in an indent on the wall, a yank pulling the door open. Inside sat rows of silver-foiled packages.
    He pulled one out and ripped off the top of it before holding it out to her.
    “How do you cook it?”
    “You don’t. Welcome to the joys of space rations. They don’t taste like much, but each package is chock full of the nutrients needed for a biological entity to survive.”
    Grasping the packet from him, she peered down at the gray mush. “It doesn’t look very good.”
    “Looks don’t matter in this case. It doesn’t spoil, it takes very little room, it provides adequate nutrition, and it’s cheap.”
    Perhaps it tasted better than it looked. She dipped a finger in and drew it out covered in the gray goop.
    Don’t eat it. What if he was trying to poison her? Never mind that him poisoning her made no sense. She just didn’t want to eat it.
    “It’s not going to kill you,” he said with a sigh. “Give me that.” He grabbed the