Sexy Space Babes - Mechs, Maidens and Macaroons: Chapter Seventeen

For all that Mark owed Jelara a great deal for the help she’d given him since reaching Krenheim – keeping him from being scammed at the spaceport, making sure he was armed, and now stopping Sabine from just invading his apartment – there was no denying the fact that he felt… a little trepidatious as they pulled up in front of a run down looking warehouse somewhere in the docks.

He liked to think he trusted Jelara, truly, but he found himself fingering the holster of his pistol nonetheless as her rusted clunker of a truck pulled to a stop.

“You ok?” Jelara asked, glancing over at him as she cut the power to the engine.

As she did, the roll of what looked like duct tape she’d applied to her side to cover the gash she’d gained after her scuffle with Sabine glinted at him.

Which only made him feel more guilty for doubting her intentions.

“Just fine,” he responded instantly, forcing a grin.

Jelara’s visor lingered on him, her newly replaced faceplate seemingly staring into his soul, before she nodded and clambered out of her junker of a vehicle. Mark followed a moment later, though as he did, he found himself asking a question that had been bugging him on the ride over.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, doesn’t that hurt?” he asked, pointing toward the taped-up tear in her suit.

“A little,” she shrugged, before ‘smiling’ at him. “But don’t worry about your pretty little head about too much. We’re an Ulnus. We don’t bleed quite like you solid folk. Beyond that, it’s hardly the first time we’ve taped up this suit because someone clipped me with a blade. S’not even the first time we’ve had to do it this month. Your friend wasn’t trying to hurt us really anyway. Just get us to back off after we caught her off-guard – for all the good it did her.”

There was no missing the smugness in the last part of that statement, though Mark was rather more caught up on the fact that being knifed was apparently nothing special to the woman opposite him. If nothing else, that casual admission painted a rather vivid picture of her nightlife.

Or day job.

…Which he still knew next to nothing about. Mostly because she’d dodged the subject each time he’d carefully tried to broach the topic.

Still, he said nothing as he followed her to the warehouse’s front door. Though they’d barely made it a few steps before a dark figure emerged from a nearby alley.

Mark braced for… something, only to freeze as he found himself staring not at some manner of mugger, but a surprisingly youthful looking Shil’vati in casual clothes.

Sixteen, maybe seventeen. At least in human terms, he thought as she strode up to them.

Which made it all the more uncomfortable for him as her gold eyes raked over his body without an ounce of hesitation, a predatory glint in her eyes to accompany the cocksure grin she was wearing. The small acne-like spots on her face did little to detract from the presence of the knife on her belt though.

The Shil’vati opened her mouth to speak, likely to say something crass, but a small gurgle from Jelara had the newcomer think twice.

“Anyone tried to get in?” Jelara said without preamble to the newcomer – who took a few seconds before turning her attention from him to the Ulnus.

“Nope. Not after last time. Seems the Chiefs learned their lesson after you gave Hale that tittykicking,” the youth said, her voice dripping with cocky bravado.

She leaned against a nearby lamppost as she spoke, arms crossed in a manner she undoubtedly thought was ‘cool’.

All it did to Mark’s eyes was make clear the difference between a genuinely dangerous femme fatale like Jelara and a kid trying to imitate it.

“Good.” Jelara said, reaching into one of her suit’s pockets to flick a credit chit at the girl, which the Shil’vati caught with a deft snatch.

Though before she could tuck it into one of her own pockets, the girl glanced at him again – heisting just slightly. “You know, I’d… be willing to skip the payment this once if you’d let me have a little fun with-”

Jelara’s a gurgling growl cut whatever the youth had been about to say off at the knees.

“Chill, chill,” the purple skinned young woman said, raising her hands. “Just making a suggestion.”

“Well, don’t,” Jelara scoffed, before tugging Mark toward the warehouse door. Behind them, he heard the youth sigh.

“This one pays Mishmel and her ‘gang’ to keep an eye on this place,” Jelara explained as they walked. “Not enough that they’ll stop anyone from trying to break in, but enough that they’ll give us a heads up.”

“I’m familiar with the concept,” he said as he gently disentangled himself from the Ulnus’s grip.

Back on Earth, Francis stepping up after his parent’s passing had been enough to keep him out of trouble, but the chef had seen plenty of less fortunate orphans in Baltimore who’d grouped together in the aftermath of the invasion.

He supposed it wasn’t too surprising to see the same sort of thing happening here on Krenheim too.

As they reached the warehouse, he watched as Jelara scanned a chit of some kind against a slightly worn looking sensor, a heavy bolt clunking open within a moment later. As the door swung open, he wasn’t too surprised to see that the interior was pitch black – even if it didn’t’ help the small feeling of trepidation he’d been feeling ever since Jelara had brought him out here.

He wanted to think the best of her – he really did!

But the spooky dark warehouse and street kid guards weren’t helping.

Still, he did nothing beyond let his hand hover unobtrusively at his side as the Ulnus reached inside to pull a lever near the door. Nothing happened for a moment, and he heard the Ulnus curse, before she lifted and pulled the lever again.

This time, the lights flickered on with a loud thunk, bathing the interior of the warehouse in sterile white.

Though calling it a hangar might have been more apt… as Mark found himself staring up at a twenty foot mech.

Oh, it was cobbled together, half-finished, with bare patches where the armor and weapons should have been, but it was awe-inspiring nonetheless.

And unlike the humanoid designs he’d seen at Vorn’s place, this looked like some kind of giant octopus. Or a crab.

Or an octopus-crab hybrid.

The massive machine’s segmented limbs lay sprawled out across the warehouse floor, exposed wiring glinted in the light, while a good dozen dull red optic stared blankly out from the mech’s bulbous core.

Weapons, parts and armor plating stood haphazardly stacked against the walls or hung on hooks in a way that’d be macabre if the thing within were alive.

As it was, the entire interior just looked cool as hell.

“Told you you’re not the only one with a secret,” Jelara burbled, her voice practically bubbling with pride.

“Holy shit,” Mark breathed finally. “How’d you even build this?”

Sure, it was scrappy looking and half-finished… but it was a mech.

An actual mech.

Jelara strode forward, scooping up a wrench from a nearby table. “Oh, that’s easy. All this one had to do was work three jobs for the last forty years while spending pretty much every weekend either here or prowling through the nearby scrapyard.”

Mark blinked, processing. Because that sounded important, but he couldn’t help but be hung up on…

 “Wait, you’re over forty?” he asked.

“Yes?” Jelara said as she spun around, her visor tilted and a hint of confusion in her tone. “Specifically, I’m fifty four.”

“Shil standard?” he pressed.

“No, Nighkru standard,” she replied, core rippling.

That was pretty much indistinguishable from earth standard. Shil’vati years were about one point three human years.

Huh… he’d thought Jelara was about his own age…

Sure, it wasn’t a problem if Jelara turned out to be older than he’d expected.

Not a problem at all.

“And how long do Ulnus live?” he asked.

“About three hundred years, Shil standard, if well cared for,” she said matter-of-factly. “By the standards of our people, this one is a young adult.”

Ah, he didn’t know why, but that made him feel better.

…Which was silly, it wasn’t like he had anything against dating an older woman… and yet…

“Ah, that’s good,” Mark muttered slowly.

Of course, he then got to enjoy the sight of Jelara shifting wildly in place, as a vibrant green seemed to form in the core of her otherwise blue form.

“Ah, how old are you, Mark?” she asked, voice carrying a notable tinge of trepidation. “You seemed surprised at this one being… older than forty. This one admits, they had assumed you to be of a similar age to us.”

“Twenty-one,” he said, grinning.

“Ah…” She slumped. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

He laughed, not quite willing to let her wallow in self-recrimination for too long. “Which makes me an adult by human standards. Like you, a young adult. We live to about a hundred.”

“Ah,” she burbled, the green dissipating as relief flooded through her form. “Like Shil. That… that’s good. Very good. I don’t need to report myself to the authorities.”

Mark just chuckled as he watched the alien come to terms with the fact that she’d not accidentally been turned into a cradle robber. At least, by their relative standards of social and physical development.

…Dating aliens could be complicated.

“So,” he said as he deliberately set about changing the subject. “You said you wanted a hand with something?”

“That this one does,” she seized almost gratefully on the new topic. “There’s a line this one needs feeding into a new weapon system, but it’d be a Herkur-load easier if we had a second set of hands to hold the panel in place while we work.”

“Well, I’ve got a pair of hands,” he said. “I can’t promise much else where anything technical is concerned.”

She laughed. “Hands are all this one needs. Come on, gloves are over here.”

 ----------------------------

“Would you two stop glaring at each other already!?” Kalia finally snapped.

Across from her, shrouded by the low light of the hangar, sat her two closest friends. And they were her friends.

They just weren’t friends with each other.

And the crate turned improvised table in front of them had been turned into a metaphorical battlefield over the last hour, with the discarded takeaway containers and data pads sat upon it serving as casualties in the ongoing war.

“We’re supposed to be talking about finally getting out from under my mother’s thumb – not indulging your ongoing rivalry turned relationship drama!” Vorn scowled, her black eyes flicking between the Pesrin mechanic and the Nighkru manager.

At first, she’d been content to leave the matter alone. Deeps, she’d even derived some amusement from their bickering at first. It’d been subtle enough. A glance. A smirk. A scowl. The occasional snipe.

Nothing too out of the ordinary for the two – and something that usually settled down quickly enough once the trio actually got down to work.

This time though, it seemed the issue between them was not so easily ignored in favor of doing their actual jobs. And Kalia could only deal with so much passive-aggressive sniping.

Her teenage years had been full of enough of that to last her a lifetime.

So, she’d officially had enough.

Saria, being herself, simply shrugged, twirling her pick-sticks with a deliberate nonchalance.

“No idea what you’re on about Kal. I’m not glaring,” she said. “That’s all Tens.”

Well, she wasn’t lying. Most of the glaring had come from Tenir. Indeed, the hated nickname had elicited a searing bout of it from the normally cool Nighkru.

“Okay,” Kalia said, interrupting whatever Tenir had been about to fire back with. “Then stop acting smug, Saria. And Tenir, you stop glaring.”

“She-”

Vorn’s gaze pinned the Nighkru. “Yes, she slept with Mark after you did. Because, great shocker, the boy from the ‘sex planet’ who slept with you on the first date and explicitly said he wants to keep things casual, apparently likes to sleep around. And, Saria, being Saria, immediately took advantage of that opportunity.”

Tenir’s frown deepened, as her fingers tightened around a crumpled takeout container. Saria’s grin widened, her heavy breasts shifting as she leaned back, practically preening.

“Damn right I did,” she chuffed..

Though that didn’t last long, as Kalia whirled on her. “And you, stop acting so damn smug about it. Him sleeping with you doesn’t mean you’re the ancestor’s gift to men. It just means he’s… easy.”

Saria winced, her ears flattening against her head, mouth open, as if Kalia’s words had struck her feminine ego square in the chest.

Which, in a way it had.

 “Look, I agreed to hire on a human because they’re the flavor of the month. But if neither of you can handle a human guy doing the thing you were both hoping he’d do when I said I’d hire one on, then break it off. Or I’ll get involved and make you both break it off.”

“No!” Saria and Tenir cried in unison, their voices echoing off the hangar’s plasteel walls.

Which immediately made them exchange a quick, embarrassed glance before they both huffed.

“Then grow up,” Kalia said, her tone softening but firm. “It’s not like you’re being forced into the same harem. So suck it up and accept that the human is going to do the human thing. And for ancestor’s sake help me with this!”

She gestured at the datapad on the crate, its screen glowing with financial projections and sponsor contracts.

Both women went silent, their grudging nods barely perceptible.

Finally, Tenir smoothed her tunic, her silver eyes regaining their professional sheen as she leaned forward to tap at a nearby data-pad. Saria did the same, albeit by picking one up and sitting back.

Kalia, for her part, exhaled in relief, now that they were finally focusing on their latest problem - her mother’s latest attempt to yank her from the gladiator circuit and back into the family’s corporate empire.

It was mostly just threats for the moment, but there was a finality to them that suggested Kalia’s time as a gladiator was swiftly reaching its expiration date.

All because her mother wanted an heir.

She sighed, honestly, sometimes it was enough to make the woman wish she came from a ‘normal’ family.

If her father had had other wives rather than an ongoing stream of illicit mistresses, she’d have had sisters to foist the role of being ‘heir’ on.

Instead, her mother’s monogamous marriage - some trendy nonsense at the time - had left Kalia as the sole heir and child.

Though I suppose it doesn’t matter in the end, she thought. S’not like she’d be more likely to have popped out a second child if dad had other women – and she’d only let the kid borne from her blood be heir to the business.

That said heir had less than no interest in said business was ultimately irrelevant to the older woman.

With that in mind, Kalia’s ongoing plans only grew more important.

“How’d negotiations with the Narmor rep go?” she asked finally, turning to Tenir, eager to shift the conversation to something productive.

Tenir straightened. “Decently. The Narmor Collective’s willing to risk stepping on your mother’s toes by taking up the role of sponsoring you – but only if you win the Harcup. With that said, now that they’re on board, between them and Nakmor, we’d have enough to cover expenses for you to go independent – if barely.”

Right, and all she had to do was win one of the planet’s most sought after tournaments.

No pressure.

“And Leltil will lend us one of their Lilean-line mechs?” she confirmed, making the Nighkru nod.

Across from them, Saria frowned, her ears twitching as she scrolled through the Narmor contract on her own datapad. “What’s this bullshit? We need to exclusively use Narmor anti-grav for the mech? I’m sorry, but that’s just not doable. Not at our level.”

Kalia winced – she’d missed that – even as Tenir glared at her opposite number. “It was non-negotiable. If Narmor was going to sign on with us, they want to be able slap the ‘Narmor exclusive’ slogan on our stable.”

Saria’s tail lashed, her claws tapping the crate. “Narmor’s budget gear won’t cut it against top-tier mechs.”

Personally, Kalia was on Saria’s side.

But she could make it work.

Hopefully.

Still, she felt no need to interrupt this time as the bickering flared anew, because at least it was about work this time, not Mark.

…And it was possible that if Saria got Tenir worked up enough, the Nighkru might be incentivized to go back to the negotiating table with Narmor and pull off a miracle. Sure, it was unlikely, but it’d happened before.

Few things got Tenir worked up like Saria.

Which was good, because while Tenir was a decent enough manager and negotiator normally, she wasn’t really at her best unless she was sufficiently fired up. It tended to make her push that little bit harder in ways she’d normally be too risk averse to do.

 Actually, with that in mind, Kalia couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Mark.

Because sleeping with Saria had clearly gotten the Nighkru… fired up. And Tenir getting fired up had only made Saria get more fired up – when before she doubtless would have been content simply to rub her ‘conquest’ in the Nighkru’s face.

Now though, the Persin would be interested not just in scoring a point over her rival, but winning over the Nighkru.

“…Well, whatever,” she murmured imperceptibly to herself.

So long as it didn’t roll over onto their work, it wasn’t Kalia’s problem. They were big girls. And the human was an adult.

More to the point, he’d been the one to kick this off by sleeping with both of them, so he could deal with the consequences of them both going after him in full.

Idly, that thought had her wondering if she’d end up invited to someone’s wedding before the year was up - because that was going to be the natural endgame for the inevitable game of one-upmanship that was about to unfold.

…Despite the human’s self-proclaimed desire to keep things casual.

Casual, she thought with a smirk. What a notion.

Tenir didn’t do casual - and Saria refused to lose to Tenir.

As evidenced by the dual shouts of “You frigid cunt!” and “You overgrown furball!”

The heiress ducked with practiced ease as the argument between her two friends inevitably escalated to the throwing of things that were heavy enough to be felt but not hurt.

Like half-filled takeaway containers.

And, as she sat back to watch the ensuing battle, she pitied the human.

—--------------

Mark hummed happily to himself as he held a light up for Jelara to screw something in. Watching her work was actually kind of soothing. Honestly, it’d helped him come to terms with the upset that Sabine’s presence had thrown into his otherwise newfound stress free existence.

Well, he thought with a certain clarity. I just need to help her with this one thing, then I can get back to it.

Yeah, one ‘mission’ and he could get back to casual fornication with thirsty aliens, interspersed with the occasional bout of incredibly well paid bit of cooking.

I still have that date I promised Saria coming up - and I also want to finally have a game of that… Dragons and Dwarves thing Tenir helped me with.

Yeah, that sounded like a good way to unwind after dealing with Sabine. Maybe he’d even have another ‘guys night’ with Vrenal since he accidentally soured the last one…