The Itsy-Bitsy Spider

Lately around my house it  has been a game of music rooms. As one child moves out, the others upgrade to the bigger space. My youngest was going to wait until we painted her brother’s old room but a water leak forced her out early.

As she expanded into her new place, she decided she needed a better desk to work. Off we went to goodwill where hubby assured us it was 50% off Saturday. When we arrived, we realized it wasn’t 50% off Saturday, that was next week.

But since we were there, we looked around. And lo and behold, my daughter found a desk and a chair that would fit under it. She was worried that her thighs would brush the top making her uncomfortable.  Given that she is four feet 10.5 inches tall at 21 years of age, I sincerely doubted it, but she wanted to make certain, so make certain she did and we ended up with a office chair and a desk for 26.98. No tax.

Getting it home was no problem although we knew the 2 90degree turns maneuvering down the long hall to her bedroom would pose a few challenges. In the end, the hubby used the measuring tape to see if the desk would fit in through her window thus eliminating the hallway altogether. Thankfully, it did so after some moving of stuff inside her room, we got it inside.

Now, I’m sure you’re asking where the spiders come in. Well, I don’t know about your house, but once we open the windows after a season of them being closed there is an accumulation of dust and debris between the screen and the windows.

In her case there was also a spider. A spider she demanded I remove because it was gross. Dutifully, I picked it up by one of it’s legs and chased her across the room with it. After a startled shriek, she realized it was a fake spider. You see my son had decorated his window screen with about 30 black spiders because it was cool and not all of them made the move to his new room.

The culprit.

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Friday Funny—Links to Laugh Over

Since I’m running short on jokes, here are some links to make you smile.

A lovebird and her tail:

http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCRDWMIeA38nFA1OAsMh8Bag/videos

My favorite: Mutant Giant Spider Dog

For all the SciFi fans:

And because it’s Friday and you might have some time to kill, here are photos by Railroad Jack capturing America in the 1950s.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/blast_of_the_past/page1/

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Lent—A Host of Things to Give Up Unless…

One of my favorite things about Lent is the prospects of giving up something. Said no one. Ever.

For years, I gave up something on Ash Wednesday. Growing up it was usually Dr. Pepper and Nutty bars. Apparently 40 days isn’t long enough to make a change stick because I would resume my consumption of those things as soon as Easter hit.

Then there was the whole chicken, fish, red meat thing on Fridays that left me dazed and confused and irritated.

Still, I gave up these things as it was so very little asked of me until one day someone came up with a better idea. Instead of giving up something just for 40 days, why not make a change for the better in my life. I could give up a bad habit, or I could do something positive–help a stranger every day, reflect on one thing that made me happy today, or do something toward achieving a dream.

And so Lent to me is no longer a time to give up something small to reflect the great sacrifice that was made for me. No, it is about changing something in my life to make me a better person, a better steward of the planet, and a better citizen of the world.

While I cannot claim that I was transformed by a single Lenten event, I have become all of those things over the years. And, universe willing, I will continue to improve.

But I’m done with giving up the Dr. Pepper and Nutty bars. That doesn’t make me better, that makes me cranky:D

Until next time.

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Photos from the Glendale Chocolate Affaire

I just spent the weekend signing books and organizing workshops at the Glendale Chocolate Affaire. It was great fun and now all I want to do it sleep. So here are some photos from the event on Sunday.

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Tha’s me rocking a very short haircut.IMG_0287My friends Vijaya Schartz and Wendy Ely.

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Romantic Suspense authors Brenda Whiteside and KT Roberts/Carolyn Hughey
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Mystery author Taylor Michaels and fantasy author Arabella Thorne
IMG_0292Paranormal author Connie Flynn and one of my favorite sweet romance authors and fabulous friend Pam Tracy

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And the lovely ladies who sat in the sun while the temperature climbed to 80, Julianna Douglas and D.R. Randall.

A big thank you to everyone who came out and spoke to us.

Until next time.

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Friday Funny—Pin-up Paintings

Side-By-Side with the Photos that  inspired
them.

ATT00004-1 ATT00005-1 ATT00003-3 ATT00002-1 ATT00001-2

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A Day in the Life

This is one of my hubby’s favorite Beatle’s songs:

And I have to admit, it is mine too. Mostly because of the changes in tempo when you expect one thing and it changes into another.

Such is life as a writer. I wake up full of energy, ready to plug along on my manuscript and bam! I’m running to catch up on something else. 

So what am I up to? I’m in the midst of writing another of the Love’s Great War series, set in Hope’s Pointe Michigan. My critique partner said it was dark. This from a woman who summoned a demon army. It is set during the First World War, even in the US hadn’t entered it just yet. The tag line is:

She’d rather live a lie then die an honest woman.

After which, in the queue in my head is the long awaited sequel to Blue Maneuver, called Blue versus Black. Rae is back with the Extraterrestrial Security Program and this time she’s going up against the Men in Black. Should be fun.

Then there are more books unspooling into Forever, but that’s another post. 

For now, as I try to write, my brain is split between the current work in progress and my three day signing event at the Glendale Chocolate Affaire starting on Friday. FMI: http://www.glendaleaz.com/events/chocolateaffaire.cfm#Directions Come out and see me, if you’re around.

Until next time.

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Meatless Mondays

It’s funny how we constantly reinvent the past. And while few people admit to liking history, we always seem to be reliving it.

Take the recent phenomenon called Meatless Mondays. The idea is to give up meat and start switching to a plant-based diet. There are valid dietary reasons for plant-based diets, but the one promoted most often is meatless diets are humane and that raising animals are a drain on the world’s resources.

I’m not about to open the blog to that debate. i know the statistics on both sides. And I know that both sides are lying to some degree. The situation on our world isn’t so easily solved, and solving the situation in such a matter does create new problems.

That said, we do enjoy meals without meat, some without any animal products at all.

But the origins of meatless days in the U.S. stems not from environmental concerns or even health concerns. The meatless days harken back to the Great War.

Yes, you read that right. Herbert C. Hoover, who for years managed the Commission for Relief in Belgium (and Northern France) which fed nearly 9 million people during the First World War, instituted programs to save food and give it to our fighting men and support women over seas. An Army, Navy, etc do run on their stomachs. Note: Herbert Hoover became the President of the United States as a result of his work during the War and was subsequently blamed for the Great Depression.

The full policies he instituted were:

Wheatless Mondays

Meatless Tuesdays

Workless Saturdays (I do not understand why pork is not considered meat, but there you go)

The program was called Hooverizing, which many today would think of as vacuuming.  There were also heatless days and the introduction to Daylight savings time to help conserve coal usage. Legal holidays on Monday during the winter (for coal saving) and Industrial shutdowns.

So there you have it. What’s old has become new again, just for a different reason. Until next time.

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Friday Funny—Today’s Attempt at Humor: Dear Abby

Dear Abby

DEAR ABBY ADMITTED SHE WAS AT A LOSS AS HOW TO ANSWER THE
FOLLOWING QUESTIONS:
(You can’t make up this stuff)

Dear Abby,
A couple of women moved in across the hall from me. One is a
middle-aged gym teacher and the other is a social worker in her
mid-twenties. These two women go everywhere together, and I’ve never
seen a man go into or leave their apartment. Do you think they could be
Lebanese?

Dear Abby,
What can I do about all the Sex, Nudity, Fowl Language and Violence on
my VCR?

Dear Abby,
I am a twenty-three year old liberated woman who has been on the pill
for two years. It’s getting expensive and I think my boyfriend should
share half the cost, but I don’t know him well enough to discuss money
with him.

Dear Abby,
I’ve suspected that my husband has been fooling around, and when
confronted with the evidence, he denied everything and said it would
never happen again.

Dear Abby,
Our son writes that he is taking Judo. Why would a boy who was raised
in a good Christian home turn against his own?

Dear Abby,
I joined the Navy to see the world. I’ve seen it. Now how do I get out?

Dear Abby,
My forty year old son has been paying a psychiatrist $50.00 an hour
every week for two and a half years. He must be crazy.

Dear Abby,
My mother is mean and short tempered I think she is going through
mental pause.

Dear Abby,
You told some woman whose husband had lost all interest in sex to send
him to a doctor. Well, my husband lost all interest in sex and he is a
doctor. Now what do I do?

Dear Abby,
I have a man I can’t trust. He cheats so much, I’m not even sure the
baby I’m carrying is his.

Remember, these people can vote…

We don’t stop laughing because we grow old;
we grow old because we stop laughing.

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Free Workshops-At the Glendale Chocolate Affaire

Friday and Saturday, February 6th and 7th, my local writing chapter is giving a series of workshops on writing. Best of all, they’re free. So come for the chocolate and the workshops.

Saturday 10AM—Connie Flynn
Workshp: FALL BACK IN LOVE WITH YOUR WRITING

Let’s Take Back the Fun

One day you decide to do what many people say they will but never do –

write a novel. Then you do it and realize writing fiction is the most amazing thing you’ve ever done. You’re in the honeymoon stage. Then one day, the love begins to wane. Using a series of exercises we will locate that moment in time when writing stopped being fun and take steps to reverse it. Although these can help with writer’s block, they are focused on getting back the joy of writing by helping you remember and reignite that original love.

11AM—Pam Tracy
Workshop:Title: Help! Commas and More are Running Amok in my Manuscript.

As a college professor of English, as well as a multi-published author, commas give me no grief.  Do they give you grief?  They don’t need to. Also, what is the difference between proof-reading, editing, and revising?  And, just how many different sentence types are there?  And, can I start my sentence with an and?  Let me help you with the very basic of writing tools and even show you how to look at the page as a whole.

Noon-Deena Remiel
Workshop: CRAFTING THE BLACK MOMENT

Learn why and how we send our characters through the dark side of Hell to reach their happily ever after. Don’t worry! Your characters will forgive you! Have tablets, notebooks, and writing implements ready to work.

1PM-Cathy McDavid and Kris Tualla
Workshop: The Grass isn’t Always Greener

You’ve made it, you’re published. Whether you’ve chosen the traditional or independent route, you’re there! Raking in the royalties with that one, three, or ten books under your belt. Life couldn’t be better. Or, can it? In fact, maybe you never thought it was going to be this hard. Best selling and award winning authors Cathy McDavid (traditional) and Kris Tualla (independent) will give you a candid, honest and sometimes humorous look at both sides of the fence from two different perspectives, along with a little advice on how to “greenify” that grass.

2PM—Erin Quinn
Workshop: What to Expect When You’re Expecting ( . . . to be a writer). 

A candid conversation about the many steps and stages in the journey to becoming a published author.

3PM-Caris Roane
Workshop: “The Complete Author: From Muse to Manuscript to Marketing” 

       

          Join Caris Roane in a workshop detailing the path from book concept to completed manuscript to the challenging task of finding your readers. In this workshop, Caris presents a host of reference materials and offers guidance from 30-plus years of writing and publishing experience. Dream on!

4PM—Sara Fujimura
Workshop: Music to Massage the Muse

 

Do you suffer from writer’s block? Learn how to get unstuck by using music to paint vivid pictures in your creative brain. From techno to classical to movie theme songs, I have music guaranteed to inspire even the most petulant of muses. This is a hands-on, interactive workshop, so bring your favorite writing gear.

Sunday Workshops
Noon Workshop- Wendy Ely
Workshop: Making Characters Unique

Tips on how to use voice, motivation, and setting to have the reader remember your characters long after the book ends.

1PM-Vijaya Schartz
Workshop: The Care and Feeding of An Author Website

With all the social media spreading the words about your books and your life, is an author website still relevant? Who needs one and who doesn’t? What should it include? Can you hold it on a blog site? Should you pay to have one designed for you? Is it worth the cost? What should an author website look like for maximum impact? How to make it reader friendly, new technology friendly. Come and learn what to do according to your personal and professional needs, and what pitfalls to avoid.

2PM—Carolyn Hughey
Workshop: Shake that Booty!

Join in the fun of this interactive workshop on Body Language that will help you tap into your characters’ feelings or help you figure out that complicated guy in your life!

3PM—Butterscotch Martini Girls
Workshop: Author Life Support

From first draft to published book, learn the ins and outs of what separates published authors from those who want to write.

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Syn-En: Ghost World, Chapter 5

syn-en6 copyChapter 5

“I can lick your itchy belly.”

“Hmm?” Wiggling against the pillow propping up her back, Nell added another note to the tablet. A lot of species wouldn’t be happy with her taking over the administration arm of the Alliance. Too bad. The time from collection to input was a week or longer.

More than enough time to lose the war.

And give a traitor time to cover his tracks.

“Nell?”

Blinking, she glanced at the Amarook.

Ash crouched at the foot of the bed. Spittle collected in gossamer webs on his fangs and glistened on her destroyed left boot. “My saliva has many healing properties.”

He thumped his tail, blue eyes pleading.

She rested the tablet screen against her chest. “I am aware of its abilities.”

She’d even used it to treat others. And come home from the sick bay reeking of blood and rancid meat. Maybe if the Amarooks brushed their teeth after eating their prey whole, the saliva wouldn’t smell quite so bad.

Then again, she’d tried adding floral scents and peppermint to the gelatinous goo with no success. Maybe the stench was part of its magic.

“No licking.” Reclining on the bed beside her, Bei set his hand on her stomach. His eyes were black as pitch as he worked inside the WA. “If her belly’s itchy, I will treat it.”

“It is my baby, too.” Ash’s eyes narrowed and he hunkered down and stripped the top of her boot from the sole.

Nell cleared her throat. If they started peeing to mark their territory, she was out of here. “My belly isn’t itchy.”

Bei’s lips twitched. His attention stuck to her left fingers scratching the side of her stomach.

“I’m tickling the baby’s foot.” She patted the small lump sticking against her belly. “They use my bladder as a trampoline, so I tickle their feet.”

“Except that is an elbow.” His palm pressed her flattened belly button. “One foot is up here.”

“Smartypants.” Here she was volunteering for the most boring job as his administrative assistant, and he was correcting her. She focused on the Amarook. “And I know your saliva has healing properties. That’s why the fermites leave it behind when they fix our shoes.”

“You leave it on purpose?” A muscle flexed in Bei’s jaw.

She shrugged. Technically, leaving the drool was against her orders, but Doc thought it might be a good idea, and the fermites had taken that as an order.

“But I have no need of it.” Blue crept into Bei’s eyes. “You could take it out of my boots when you repair them. Instead my systems spend time scrubbing the smell so I can’t be tracked by the odor.”

“Poor baby.” Leaning over, she pressed her lips to his.

Just when his lips softened, the rumble of the shuttle’s nacelles switched from a hum to a deep-throated vibration. They would dock with the mother ship, soon.

With a sigh, she pulled back. “Doc said Amarook drool is good for internal organs as well as external ones. And you still have a few of them.”

Besides, he was responsible for this pregnancy. He could smell like chickcharney heads for a little bit.

Abandoning the boot, Ash crept along her leg. The four fingers in one hand tapped against the others. “Human babies like to be tickled?”

“No.”

“Yes.” Nell spoke over her husband. He’d been shocked when she’d first tickled him. Then annoyed that his upgrades and synthetic skin didn’t prevent the sensitivity. It was one of her favorite things about him. Other than the rest of him. Tickling was his Kryptonite. “But not too much, and only when they’re about a year or so old.”

Ash reached out his thin arms and caressed her stomach. “Where are babies ticklish?”

“The usual spots.” She sat up on the bed. In a swirl of glitter, fermites dissolved her mangled boot and reformed it on her foot. Cold leached the warmth from the ball of her foot when the atomic-sized machines reconstituted the drool. A chill traveled down her spine. Her babies had better be very healthy, or Doc was about to have his upgrades relocated to where the sun doesn’t shine.

Ash set his chin on her thigh. “Behind the ears and above the tail?”

His eyes widened in an innocent plea.

The base of her skull heated. Her husband was no doubt warning her not to give into such blatant manipulation. She scratched the Amarook behind the ear. “Human tickle spots vary from person to person.”

Leaning into her touch, Ash closed his eyes.

“Most babies are ticklish under the chin.” She moved her hand to scratch there.

The Amarook stretched out his neck, giving her better access.

Bei’s hold on her belly tightened.

He could be so jealous. She winked at him and mouthed, later.

His hand crept just a little higher. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Her breasts tingled. “You better hold more than my promise.” A lot more. She hadn’t forgotten their interrupted interlude in the corridor. His kisses had made her promises. Promises that hadn’t been kept on the way to the mining base. She sobered. More than administrative tasks waited for her back on the spaceship.

A soft whine filled the cabin as the landing gear deployed.

She tapped Ash on the shoulder. “Roll over.”

The canine obliged. “Babies know the best places to be tickled.”

“Most babies tend to be ticklish there.” Nell trailed her fingers through his silky fur before scratching along his ribs.

Ash squirmed until she hit the right spot on the soft part of his belly. His leg thumped, kicking Bei’s boots. Giggles bubbled through the room. “Stop. Don’t stop. Stop.”

Bei added his fingers to hers.

Both of Ash’s legs kicked in time to the rubs. “Yes. Yes. Humans are the best pets!”

She grinned at her husband. How would he like being called a pet?

He smiled back. “Everyone has their uses.”

The shuttle landed in a sigh of thrusters. A soft rap sounded on their cabin door.

“Enter.” Bei patted the Amarook’s belly, smoothing the fur.

When the door snicked open, Medic Brooklyn stuck his head inside. A first aid kit rested against his leg. “Everything alright in here?”

Ash scrambled to his feet and leapt to the floor. He snuffled Brooklyn’s shoes. “I was getting belly rubs. Do you give belly rubs?”

Brooklyn distracted the pup by scratching him behind the ears. “I could, if I had an Amarook of my very own.”

“I could give you my sister, Sidet.” Tail thumping, Ash leaned against the medic. “But she farts when excited. A lot. So she cannot sneak up on her prey. Perhaps if you repair her, she will stay with you and even allow you to hunt with her.”

Brooklyn opened his mouth and closed it.

The base of Nell’s neck tingled. Obviously, the Syn-En was trying to figure out how to take the offer of an Amarook with flatulence. “That is very generous of you, Ash. But I believe your sister wishes to bond with Ensign Richmond.”

The nineteen-year-old Syn-En didn’t mind the smell. She had her olfactory sensors tune it out. Her Human boyfriend was another matter and had forced the pup to drink all sorts of concoctions.

“I couldn’t take a pup from another soldier.” Brooklyn’s shoulders sagged in relief, then his attention stuck to her stomach.

“She’s been prioritizing her new duties as head of administration.” Bei scooted off the foot of the bed and rose. In two strides, he stood in front of her and held out his hand.

She set her hand in his. Her skin prickled with awareness. Maybe they could make a slight detour on the way to sick bay for her check-up. She wasn’t feeling the least bit sleepy, so there was no chance her brain would take a vacation without the rest of her body. “I would like to speak with Guenoc before we see Doc.”

“Are you unwell, Nell Stafford?” Omest’s pale face hovered behind Brooklyn’s shoulder. He had to be part vampire the way he moved so silently.

Nell mentally smacked herself. She should have expected the lanky alien to be skulking about. “I am well.”

“Ah. Then it must be your time.” His lips peeled back, exposing rows of sharp fangs. The better to eat you with, my dear.

Nell shook the Little Red Riding Hood line from her head. The Picaroon had been nothing but kind to her. He couldn’t help it if he looked like the stuff of nightmares. She opened her mouth to correct his misinterpretation of why she was seeing Doc Cabo.

“She felt a twinge on the mining base.” Tugging her to her feet, Bei hugged her against his chest. “There haven’t been any contractions since we returned to the shuttle.”

Great, now he’s making me sound like a Chicken Little, giving false alarms. She elbowed him in the side.

He held her a little tighter. “It’s just a precaution.”

Omest rested his pointed chin on his steepled fingers. “Of course. Of course. Perhaps if you tell me why you wish to see Guenoc, I could do this small thing for you and you could rest your mind.”

The vampire-like alien fastened his emerald gaze upon her.

Nell gripped Bei’s hand and clamped her lips together. If he was trying to glamour her into giving up her free will…

“My wife will be handling some administrative duties until the babies are born.” Bei scooted her closer to the exit. “As such she wanted the satchel of papers Guenoc picked up on the mining base.”

An unholy light blazed in Omest’s eyes. He stood straighter until his black hair nearly brushed the ceiling. “It would be my pleasure to tell Guenoc that Nell will be assuming these new duties. Whenever I complain about the rate their reports take to reach our desk, the Plenipotens always bluster about confirming data and such. I doubt they pass along half the information they record in their ledgers.”

Brooklyn studied his fingernails while Ash chewed on the buckle of his boots.

Nell knew the two species didn’t care for the other, but Omest had practically accused the pencil pusher of being a spy.

Bei nudged her hip.

And apparently, her husband was okay with it. Fine, but if things erupted into verbal sparring during the weekly Alliance meetings, she wasn’t going to attend anymore. “If you could talk to Guenoc for me, Omest, that would be great.”

Just great. Maybe she’d even get him some flair for his black shirt. She flashed him a thumbs-up.

After a small bow, he disappeared from her cabin doorway.

Bei fisted the back of her shirt, stopping her from leaving. “It will be interesting to compare the printed copies to the electronic transmissions.”

So her hubby did want her to play Mata Hari. Good to know her spying had his blessing.

The Dumbo-earred alien had taken a different shuttle from the mining base. After getting her super-freak on in the ancient Meek observation room, she didn’t blame him for avoiding her. Superpowers weren’t for wimps. “Guenoc had plenty of time to get rid of any damning evidence.”

“Exactly, but is he hiding anything?” Bei cocked his head before ushering her from the cabin. Ash bounded ahead.

Brooklyn clasped his hands behind his back as he waited to follow them. “I found a few discrepancies in the reports, but nothing major. Nothing that would make the Alliance vulnerable.”

Nell snorted. With the Meek on their side, nothing could make the Alliance vulnerable. They were the most powerful beings in the universe. She scratched her stomach. And she carried one of them. She took her place as the filling in the Syn-En sandwich. Her husband thought he was protecting her by always having her under guard. Little did he know that he was protecting himself. She knew he would die to keep her safe. Knew it, and would do anything to prevent it.

Including agree to an alliance with an iffy partner. One who’d shown her Bei’s death to coerce her into accepting their lopsided terms.

She pushed the thoughts aside. One thing at a time. “We’ll go after the discrepancies by chasing down the copies they keep of all their reports. Just send me a list of all the dates and times. I don’t want to waste time manually scanning duplicate data.”

Bei glanced at her over his shoulder. “When you see the report, it will automatically upload into the CIC. You don’t have to read or manually upload anything.”

“I don’t? Cool.” She’d loved her scanner at her long ago job back on Earth, except for when it didn’t work.

Bei held his arms against his body and dropped to the crew compartment below. He held up his arms to her.

Like she was going to jump. Gripping the railing, she descended the ladder. “That leads us to the second way to unmask the traitor. I’ll collect all the reports every night and upload them, eliminating all delays.”

Brooklyn landed with a soft thud behind her. “How does that expose the traitor?”

The medic had a computer for a brain and he hadn’t made the connection? Maybe she was suffering the after-effects of being brain dead. “Because if any reports of attacks on our convoys go missing or are delayed, we’ll know where to look.”

Bei kissed her cheek. “What movie did that nugget come from?”

“I do have original ideas, you know.” Although…. Had she seen it in a movie?

On their right, Mechanic Montgomery Smith stormed out of the engine room. A vein throbbed at his ebony temple. “You’re being ridiculous, Syd. Humans fought wars long before the Syn-En were created.”

Shang’hai stomped after him. Twisted wire held the Chief Engineer’s pink braids away from her face. “Dammit, Monty, you’re a mechanic, not a soldier. Drilling on a low gravity moon is not the same as fighting a battle.”

“Did I say it was? No, I did not.” Catching sight of Nell, Monty rolled his eyes. “Come find me when your circuits aren’t overheated.”

“My circuits are just fine, you…you two bit wrench monkey.”

Monty yanked his practice staff from where it rested near the bench seat and thundered down the aisle. “With that attitude, don’t expect my wrench anywhere near your bolts until you apologize.”

Nell winced. Oh, boy.

Bei ducked his head.

Shang’hai raised her chin when she spied them. She pinned Nell with a glare. “You should tell him Nell Stafford isn’t Human, so he stops thinking he can do what we do.”

“Oh! Hey, that’s not a nice thing to say.” Cold air washed inside Nell’s open mouth. Just because Shang’hai was upset didn’t mean she could take it out on Nell.

“Commander.” Steel clanged around the word when Bei snapped it off.

Shang’hai inhaled sharply then nodded. “My apologies, Nell Stafford. I just don’t want him getting hurt.”

Nell jerked her chin once and continued down the crew compartment to the ramp. She could be big about it. But not big enough to comfort the woman who just said she wasn’t Human. She didn’t need to draw any more attention to herself.

Bei paused at the top of the ramp, then swore softly.

Rising on tiptoe, she peered over his shoulder. “Just what did you say when you contacted Doc, Brooklyn?”

Doc stood at the bottom of the ramp beside a gurney. A large red and white first aid kit rested on the white sheets draping the bed. Ash’s parents, Iggy and Elvis, sat next to it. The pups lined up beside them. Aliens and Humans stood in clumps beside idling vehicles, raw ore in cars, and crates of supplies.

Everyone stared at her.

Silence reigned as they seemed to catch their breath.

Behind her, Brooklyn cleared his throat. “The Admiral didn’t want to alarm anyone who might be tapping into the transmission, so I said I’d detected an anomaly and that you should be inspected when we return.”

“So long as no one over-reacted.”

Neither man moved.

Sarcasm was wasted on logic processors. Taking a deep breath, she hooked her arm through her husband’s and walked down the ramp. “False alarm folks. The babies aren’t coming. I just overreacted.”

She patted her stomach for good measure, hoping their little ears got the message. Then she pinched his bicep.

“And for the record, dear. If I ever have to play the little woman again, you’ll wake from your next sleep cycle without your arms and legs, and people will call you Bob.”

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