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

Mark adjusted the strap of his duffel bag as he collected it from the waiting trolley, the weight of it grounding him as he stepped off the ramp and onto another world.

Krenheim.

The dock was a sprawling mass of metal, chaos and motion - bathed in the flickering glow of neon signs that pulsed in a way that made the whole city feel… alive.

He paused at the foot of the ramp, letting the scene wash over him. Maybe it was the afterglow of his time with Sabine, but the whole world felt more vivid and vibrant than Earth had just a few weeks ago.

The older French woman really had been a wake-up call for him.

She’d also been as good as her word. The last week had been… educational. His cheeks warmed at the thought. Indeed, their farewell, spent tangled in her sheets merely one hour ago, had been the point where she’d deemed him ‘adequate’.

Personally, he liked to think that given the state she’d been in by the end, he’d been more than adequate – but if merely being adequate left an opportunity open for future lessons, he was happy to be labeled as such.

It was a shame she’d had to stay behind to talk to the captain about some business deal while he departed. He’d half-hoped to see her one last time as he disembarked. But the ache of her absence was faint, drowned out by the sheer everything of Krenheim.

The planet was supposedly an ice world, given how far it was from its sun, and he’d been braced for a biting chill. Instead, the temperature inside the massive domed city was downright tropical, a humid warmth that clung to his skin. It made for a bizarre contrast to the perpetual twilight beyond the dome’s transparent panels, where he could quite easily make out the silhouettes of distant glaciers.

That, and the fact that the city itself was almost entirely bereft of a ‘day cycle’ – existing in a constant state of ‘night’.

It was both hot and dark.

A move that Sabine had said was entirely for the benefit of the city’s many holographic advertisers, the neon signage standing out starkly against the darkness. Indeed, the entire city was a riot of vivid colors - blues, pinks, and greens splashed across every surface, turning the dock into something straight out of a cyberpunk-esque fever dream.

Holograms danced overhead: a towering Shil’vati man giving the whole city a flirtatious wink as he advertised some casino or other, while a sleek mecha circled opposite him advertising an upcoming match. Across from them, smaller, a hologram of a Nighkru spewed fire – actual fire - from her throat after drinking down some kind of liquor.

And that was just some of the many advertisements he could see. It was like the entire city was promising him everything and anything he might ever desire.

Underneath it all, moving through the shadows of the many casinos, brothels and warehouses, were people. They thronged the docks, a kaleidoscope of species. Purple Shil’vati, furry Rakiri – even a trio of Helkam argued loudly over a datapad. But for every race he recognized, there were a dozen he didn’t. Some tall. Some small. All moving with the frenetic energy of a city that apparently never slept.

It was… a lot.

Overwhelming, exhilarating, and just a touch terrifying.

Mark tightened his grip on his bag, the familiar weight of his cookware inside a reminder of why he was here.

The crowd jostled around him as he stepped off the ramp, boots clanging against the metal dock. The air smelled of ozone, sweat, and something sweet – likely street food from one of the nearby stalls.

Voices overlapped in a dozen languages, Shil’vati’s guttural cadence mixing with the chirps and growls of others. With that said, there was no denying that Shil seemed to be the primary tongue – even when neither participant in a given conversation were Shil.

Say what you would about the Imperium’s expansionist ways, they’d made their mark on interstellar society as a whole. Much as a French man and a Japanese man would likely speak English between each other – as that would be both of their second tongues – the same was true for Shil out in space.

Or at least, that was true here on Krenheim and much of the Periphery.

As he had the thought, a floating drone whirred past, scanning the crowd and Mark instinctively felt his head slip down, a habit born from years of checkpoints back on Earth… before realizing he really had no need to out here.

The thought amused him, so much so that it took him a second to realize someone was calling his name.

“Mark Reynolds?” a voice called in heavily accented Shil, yet smooth and overly friendly beneath it, cutting through the din.

He turned, surprised at being addressed – and struggled not to recoil in surprise.

A snake-woman of some sort stood a few paces away, eying him with a wide smile, her brown scales glistening in the low light of the docks. And as she slithered over, it was all he could do not to recoil.

Not out of any sort of innate xenophobia, but something about a giant snake – even one possessing arms – just made some part of his monkey-hindbrain want to scream.

It was a sentiment he tried to wrestle down.

“Yeah?” Mark said warily, swallowing down his momentary trepidation as he shifted his bag to his other shoulder.

The Snake woman’s smile widened. “Ah, I thought so! I’m Terek, your guide. I have been sent to fetch you and guide you to your accommodations in the city.”  She gestured expansively at the city. “Krenheim can be a bit of a Kren warren for newcomers.”

Oh, that was… good to hear. He’d been told there’d been someone waiting to pick him up at the docks and he was glad they’d found him so quickly.

“Great!” he said. “I’ll admit I was a little worried about getting lost just getting out of the docks.”

“A perfectly normal response to our fair city, I assure you.” Terek hissed in what he thought might have been a laugh. “Fortunately, with me here, you should be fine. Here, let me get your bag.”

She slithered closer, reaching for Mark’s luggage. Mark was about to oblige when another voice interrupted.

“This one would advise against that if they were you.”

Though to call it a voice was perhaps a bit of a misnomer. It was a strange thing to hear. Like the words weren’t coming from a mouth, but rather like a river or a pond had just bubbled and gushed in such a way so as to make the correct sounds to approximate words.

It wasn’t unpleasant – actually it was quite melodic – but it didn’t sound… human. Or even like any other alien he’d met. And as Mark turned, he saw why.

A figure, clearly the one who spoke, stood nearby – clad in a sleek black bodysuit that covered her from head to toe. Yet what really caught Mark’s eye were the transparent panels along. Because through them, he could see not flesh, but a sort of translucent blue jelly-like substance that shifted and bubbled with the figure’s movements.

It was a bit like looking at a water-balloon – albeit one that had shaped itself in a… decidedly feminine manner.

Sleek. Dangerous. Lithe.

It wasn’t lost on him that the transparent portions of the suit were located in places a person might find titillating. At least, he knew he did, as his eyes tracked over the strips of transparent material around the figure’s thighs, navel and shoulders.

Hell, there’s even a boob-window, he thought absently.

A feature he was a little ashamed to admit he focused on that before he did the ‘face’. Though to call it a face wasn’t quite apt, given the being was utterly featureless behind the clear visor of her suit - yet there was no mistaking the disdain in her posture and ‘expression’ as she regarded the snake woman.

Which reminded him of what she’d just said, he instinctively took a step back – from both women.

Terek, for her part, had frozen, hand still outstretched. “This isn’t any of your business, Jelara.”

“It wasn’t.” The jelly-woman, or Jelara, tilted her head, her voice carrying a mocking edge. “Until this one decided it was. Something about seeing you today put this one in a foul mood. So, this one is spoiling your hunt. Piss off and take your cheap little tag-reader with you.”

A tag-reader?

Wait a minute, that sounded like…

 “She read your name off your luggage with it,” Jelara confirmed, looking over at him for the first time.

At least, he assumed she was looking at him. She’d turned her head in his direction, but there were no eyes that he could see.

Still, he found himself flanking down at his bag, the electronic tag blinking faintly. Son of a bitch. He’d heard of scams like this back on Earth - crooks using baggage labels to skim info and trick people - but he’d thought the electronic tag would prevent that. That was supposed to be the damn thing’s purpose!

His pulse quickened, anger mixing with embarrassment.

“She likely intends to lead you into the city before either scamming you through her associates or simply robbing you herself. This one knows because they suffered a similar fate when they first arrived on this world.”

Mark’s stomach churned, but anger was the overriding emotion at play right now. “Is that so?”

Terek flinched back a little as the human eyed her. “She’s lying! I’m just trying to help-”

“Your employer,” Mark snapped, channeling the steel he’d learned from years dodging Shil checkpoints. “I feel stupid for not asking that before, but I know that those details weren’t on my baggage tag. If you were really sent to collect me, you’d know who they are.”

Terek hesitated, glancing between Mark and Jel’ara. “I’m… a freelance agent. I simply take people where they’re supposed to go.”

Yeah, that smelled like bullshit to him.

“Yeah, I think it’d be better if I made my own way,” he said firmly.

The snake-woman paused, something dangerous flashing in her eyes. For just a moment Mark felt his hindbrain scream again, but he stood his ground as the alien tensed. For just a moment, he thought she’d do… something, despite the crowd around them, but she hesitated after glancing over his shoulder.

Muttering a final curse in a language he didn’t recognize, the alien turned and melted into the crowd, her glowing jacket and scales vanishing among the throng.

Mark let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Thanks,” he said, turning to Jelara. “I owe you one.”

As he did, he noticed that her hand had moved to her belt, where a rather intimidating pistol sat. He suddenly had some idea as to what made the snake hesitate.

The jelly woman waved that hand dismissively as she removed it from her holster. “This one needs no thanks. They were telling the truth when they said that it was a whim. Seeing Terek scam newcomer after newcomer gets tiring eventually.”

Her featureless face studied him, unblinking. “You’re human, right?”

“Yeah,” Mark admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Surprised you knew that.”

Mark’s gaze lingered on Jelara’s bodysuit as the adrenaline from the encounter with Terek began to fade. Up close, he now realized the suit was actually far rougher than he’d initially thought.

While it had clearly originally been a single seamless piece, parts of it now sported patches of new materials, each segment betraying signs of wear and repair. Some areas were actually reinforced with what looked like some kind of mismatched plasteel plate.

The transparent portions especially, had clearly not been a part of the original design. Instead it looked as if someone had cut away sections of the suit and patched in the transparent sheets.

As he stared, the jelly-like substance beneath - her actual body he confirmed -shifted restlessly beneath those windows.

“This one makes a point of knowing about any species that might end up here,” she said somewhat cryptically. “Just as you should have prepared for arriving here. To that end, this one advises you get a gun. Doesn’t have to be fancy, or even functional. You just something to flash when the next Terek tries their luck.”

Mark sighed. “I’d actually been planning on doing exactly that.” He wasn’t lying. Sabine had given him the same advice. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t expecting to get jumped by a scam artist right off the ramp.”

Jel’ara’s laugh was a wet, gurgling sound. “That’s Krenheim for you.”

Something on her wrist beaped, and she turned. “Alright, looks like this one’s cargo is ready to be unloaded. So they will part ways with you now. Watch your back, human. This one would hate to see a cute young thing like you come to a bad end.”

“T-thanks!” he called after her as she walked away.

She didn’t look back, hips swaying in a way that was clearly intentional as she disappeared into the crowd.

Mark stood there for a moment, before the dock’s noise crashed back over him.

For just a moment, he felt terribly alone and far from home.

It passed though. He’d come here expecting an adventure – and a little danger was part of that. He wasn’t about to be spooked by some slimy scammer. He’d survived years on a planet under occupation, he could definitely deal with this.

He just needed to be a little more wary.

With that in mind, he adjusted his bag, double-checking the zipper. His cookware was still there, the familiar weight of it a small comfort.

Losing that would’ve been a gut punch.

He pulled out his omni-pad, double checking the instructions his client’s manager had sent. They hadn’t changed. The guide was supposed to meet him at Dock 17 Curb-Side pickup, which was a few hundred meters from where he was currently stood.

When Terek arrived, he’d simply assumed she’d chosen instead to come out and meet him. That was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

He started walking, weaving through the crowd, keeping his bag close. The air was thick with scents - grilled meat, alien spices, the faint tang of coolant from a nearby ship.

He’d admit that normally, the former item would have been of interest to him, but for the moment it was the furthest thing from his mid.

A group of Pesrin cut across his path, their tails flicking as they chattered in low growls. One glanced at him, and he tensed as her amber eyes narrowed, but they moved on without a word. Letting out a breath, Mark continued on.

Fortunately, the overhead signage was in Shil’vati script – along with two others -  so he had no trouble reading them. Still, it felt like forever and the work of a few moments to reach the curb side pickup point – where a number of rather posh looking cars were waiting.

They didn’t hover anymore than most Shil vehicles did, to his slight disappointment, but they looked fancy all the same.

The same went for the driver, who was stood next to the vehicle. A Shil’vati female who definitely looked more professional than the snake woman that had just tried to scam him.

For one thing, her sleek black bodysuit was polished to a mirror sheen. Interestingly, unlike the Imperial Armor he was familiar with, this set had a number of armored plates layered over the top. There was also no holster for the sidearm on her thigh, instead it looked like it had been mag-locked there.

She noticed him quickly as he approached, her featureless helm showing only her mouth as she sized him up.

“Mark Reynolds?” she asked, voice clipped.

“That’s me,” he said, offering a cautious nod.

She tapped her omni-pad, confirming something, then turned to open the car door, revealing a positively plush interior. “A pleasure. I’m your transport to Ms. Vorns estate.”

Mark hesitated, his most recent brush with another ‘guide’ still fresh in his mind. But the driver’s armor bore a crest - a stylized mecha fist clutching a star, matching the one in the header of his instructions.

If this was another scammer, well, they’d put in a lot more work than the last.

Deciding there was nothing else for it, he climbed into the back.

“Thanks,” he said quickly.

There was a momentary pause, before she responded.

“No problem,” she said, before the door slid shut with a soft hiss.

Sinking back into the comfortable seats, he noted that the interior was all leather and chrome. About as far a cry from the cramped shuttles he’d endured on the ride over here as one could get.

“Swanky,” he murmured to himself.

He felt a little silly about it, but he’d been determined to enjoy this trip as much as he could when he stepped off the ramp of the Trenva’s Grace, and he wasn’t about to let a little thing like the possibility of being abducted barely thirty seconds on-planet be enough to ruin that.

So, he settled into the seat, enjoying the sensation of ‘wealth’ that came with being in such a swanky car.

Ahead, he heard more than saw the front door slam shut through the divider, the driver climbing in. In moments, the vehicle hummed to life gliding smoothly into the city’s traffic.

---------------------

“So, any recommendations on where I can pick up a gun around here? I had… an experience at the docks that suggested I should get one sooner rather than later.”

His driver, the Shil’vati woman whose name he’d since learned was Nendra, hummed in thought as he leaned over where the divider had once been.

Admittedly, he could admit it felt a little odd, just chatting with a Shil like this… but he’d been bored.

If there was one thing he’d learned about Krenheim in the last hour, was that it had a lot of traffic. Of both the vehicle and foot-based variety. And some part of him couldn’t help but wonder if the latter option might have been faster as their vehicle slowly edged forward.

So, he’d tapped on the divider and she’d lowered it with a curious glance. Admittedly, he’d sort of expected her to brush him off when he’d asked if there were any decent places to eat around here, but she’d humored his questions, her responses clipped at first but warming over time.

“Probably not a bad idea if you’re going to be here a while. If you want something reliable but cheap, head to Tark’s Outfitters, maybe three klicks west of the main strip. Stocks everything from stun-pistols to slug-throwers.” She paused. “Just… don’t go waving anything you get around. If someone comes up to you, just show them you’re armed. Don’t start… making a scene of it. Hand on a pistol is a warning. Drawing it’s a threat that requires a response.”

“Noted,” Mark said, filing the name away. “Appreciate the tip.”

She nodded, though before he could ask anything else, the car turned a corner – and suddenly the traffic that had been so prevalent just seemed to disappear as a large pair of imposing security gates opened to allow them entrance to a massive housing estate.

He stared open mouthed as the cyberpunk dystopia suddenly shifted to something straight out of Beverly hills.

“Upside,” the woman said without shifting her gaze from the road. “Folk around here pay to keep things… tidy.”

He could see that, not just in the expansive nature of the mansions and gardens they were rolling past, but because he could see an actual, honest to god, exo just behind the gate they’d come through. The hulking nine-foot beast of metal looked like an Iron Man suit on steroids as its red optics swept over the car.

Nine feet tall and sporting a shoulder mounted cannon big enough for him to fit his fist inside, Mark’s could easily admit his stomach tightened as they went past.

He’d seen vids of those things online – and he knew they were bristling with enough firepower to shred a small platoon.

“Fuck me,” he said as they pulled away from the death machine. “They don’t do things by halves.”

The driver hummed in agreement, before they turned again, pulling into the driveway of one of the mansions – though he could only see the roof of it over the massive plasteel wall covering the thing.

Where other houses opted for bars that better allowed the owners to show off their home – and therefore wealth – this house seemed more concerned with security and privacy than ostentatiousness.

Not that it wasn’t ostentatious, as Nendra rolled down her window and extended her arm toward a scanner mounted on the gate, the device chirping, the massive plasteel barrier sliding open to reveal the estate beyond.

“Fuck me,” he murmured for a second time in as many minutes.

The sprawling mansion was impressive, but what really drew his eye was the structure next to it. Just as big, if not bigger, than the house, it looked like some sort of hangar, the massive doors large enough to admit anything short of a space shuttle.

Unfortunately, they were currently closed, so he couldn’t peak inside.

“Huh, so this is where I’ll be working for the next six months. Do you guys have a lot of staff here?” he asked as the car rolled forward.

Nendra’s eyes flicked to him in the rearview, her expression turning slightly guarded. “We have a full time security staff, though I hope you’ll understand if I keep the exact number of those on-site secret for the time being.”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t really my focus. I was mostly just curious as to how many people I’ll be cooking for.”

His contract stated that while he was Kalia’s personal chef, he was technically cooking for the ‘household’. And if there were as many people living here as he suspected, that might complicate things for him somewhat.

“Well, aside from security,” the driver continued, relaxing slightly. “The only other live-in staff member is Saria. Kalia’s chief engineer.”

“Really?”

She shrugged. “I specified live-in. Place like this still needs a lot of upkeep, so we’ve got folks coming and going at all hours. Her manager, fitness trainers, chefs like you, gardeners, cleaners. It’s a revolving door. Which as you can imagine, can be a bit of a headache for security.”

Right, so this was more like a celebrity’s mansion than a noble’s estate.

“Given she paid a lot of money to get you shipped all the way out here, you’ll probably be cooking for a lot of her guests though.”

He nodded absently. That was well within his expectations.

The car pulled up to the mansion’s front entrance, a wide set of steps leading to a door that looked more like a vault than anything welcoming. Nendra killed the engine and stepped out, circling to open his door with a practiced motion. It was actually a little funny to see, how she so easily shifted from gruff driver to professional chauffer the moment she was back in ‘public’.

Mark thanked her, climbed out as he slung his duffel over his shoulder, the familiar clink of his cookware grounding him as his boots hit the pavement.

“If it pleases you, you may head to the front door,” Nendra said, already moving back toward the driver’s side. “Press the beeper once and someone will be out to recieve you soon.”

She paused, her posture stiffening for a moment, like she wasn’t sure if she should say more.

“It’ll probably be Saria, given Vorn’s currently at a match with her manager. You… might need to press the buzzer more than once,” she added, almost awkwardly, as if trying to offer some reassurance. “If no one answers after a few minutes, don’t walk over to the hangar. Don’t move from here. Once I return the car to the vehicle pool, I’ll pop my head out to see you’ve been let in. If you haven’t, I’ll let you in myself.”

Right. Don’t go near the hangar.

“Got it. Stay away from the big building and don’t go looking through the windows to see if anyone’s home.” He threw in a quick wink, just to see what she’d do.

“I’m serious!” she said as her cheeks darkened, a deep purple flush spreading across her face as she ducked her head, muttering something unintelligible before hurrying back to the car.

The door slid shut with a hiss, and the vehicle glided off toward the mech bay, leaving him alone at the foot of the steps.

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. He’d definitely missed an opportunity not teasing her while they were in the car.

Ah well, he’d see her around the place, no doubt.

Climbing up the steps to the door, he located the buzzed and pressed it once, a soft beep echoing from the other side of the entrance.

Then he waited.

No response.

The seconds stretched into a minute.

He hit the buzzer again, another beep cutting through the quiet.

Still nothing.

Just as he was debating a third press, a muffled voice growled from the other side of the door, sharp and irritated.

“I told you to leave the food at the gate! Security grabs it, not me! What’s so hard about that?”

Mark’s eyebrows twitched, but as he opened his mouth to respond, the voice kept going, growing closer, accompanied by the soft thud of footsteps against the floor.

“Every damn time with you delivery types,” the voice grumbled, now just behind the door. “Can’t follow simple instructions. Gotta drag me out of a perfectly good nap for this nonsense.”

The door hissed open with a pneumatic whine, and Mark’s brain stalled for a moment as he took in the figure before him.

A rather short Pesrin stood there, a frown on her face and her brown fur mussed in places, like the cat-like woman had just rolled out of bed.

That, in and of itself wasn’t too surprising – if one ignored the fact that it was somewhere between later afternoon to early evening.

No, what really caught his eyes were her clothes - if you could call them that.

They were a chaotic mess, barely clinging to her voluptuous frame. A loose, sleeveless crop top, torn at one shoulder, hung precariously, one strap sliding down her arm, exposing more of her generous chest than it covered.

Now, even if that weren’t the case, he’d have been able to tell that she wasn’t wearing a bra, given the way her nipples stood out against the thin material of her shirt.

Beyond that, a pair of loose shorts, frayed at the hem, sat low on her hips, revealing a sliver of slightly pudgy midriff and the faint curve of her pelvis.

Her tail flicked lazily behind her, the tip twitching with irritation, and her amber eyes squinted against the neon light, pupils narrowing as they locked onto him.

Which was when she in turn froze, her scowl softening into wide-eyed surprise.

Her ears, previously pinned back, perked up, and her tail stilled for a moment before giving a slow, curious flick.

“Well, damn,” she purred, her voice dropping from annoyed to something warmer, almost playful.

She leaned against the doorframe, one clawed hand resting on her hip, pushing her chest out just a bit more—whether intentional or not, Mark couldn’t tell.

“I’ve no idea what species you are, but you’re a step up from the usual delivery gals. Pappo’s got some kind of special feature going on by hiring cute delivery boys?”

Mark blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden shift.

Her gaze roamed over him, unapologetic. Her lips curled into a crooked grin, showing a hint of sharp canines.

Though now that she wasn’t scowling at him, he could see the faint smudge of what looked like engine grease on her cheek, and what looked like tiny flecks of metal shavings in her fur.

“Uh, thanks?” he managed, adjusting his bag’s strap to buy a second. “I’m human, if that’s what you’re asking. But I’m not a delivery guy.”

Her grin faltered, and she tilted her head, ears twitching.

“No food?” She glanced past him, as if expecting a hover-cart piled with takeout to materialize. Then her nose wrinkled, sniffing the air, and her frown deepened. “Then what’s the deal? You selling something? Because pretty or not, I’m not in the mood for a pitch. Actually, if you aren’t food delivery, how’d you even get past security?”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. Her bluntness was amusing, given was clearly still half-asleep. That her gyrations were doing… interesting things to her body, certainly helped.

“Not selling anything,” he assured. “I’m the new chef. Markus. Vorn brought me all the way out here from Earth.

The Pesrin  - Saria, he assumed, based on Nendra’s mention of the engineer - froze again, her amber eyes blinking rapidly.

“Ah…” She fumbled for the omni-pad slung loosely at her hip, nearly dropping it as she swiped at the screen with a claw. “Oh, shit. That was today?”

Mark raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly to catch a glimpse of her screen, though he couldn’t make out the text from this angle. “Seems so.”

Saria’s ears flattened briefly, and she muttered something under her breath in her native tongue - a string of growls that sounded suspiciously like cursing.

“Ugh. Vorn’s gonna be pissed at me.” She tapped the omni-pad a few more times, her claws clicking against the glass, then let out a low groan, before she looked back up at him, eyes pleading. “Look, can we, pretend I was all sophisticated and shit when I answered the door?”

He smiled, shrugging. “Sure, you were the height of class.”

She nodded, relief pervading her. “Good. Good. I begged her to let me be the one to give you the tour instead of security and she-”

She twitched again, her tail going straight like a bowline. “Ah, can you forget I said that last bit too?”

He tried not to laugh. “What bit?”

“You’re a holy spirit human,” she murmured. “Right, well, I suppose I should invite you in. For what it’s worth, sorry for… all this.”

She gestured at herself. “Vorn needed a quick loadout change before she went out tonight. We got some new info on her opponent. Unfortunately, that meant I spent all last night riding herd on the refit gantry. I’d just finally settled down for a nap after you showed up. Also why I forgot you were coming.”

“S’fine,” he said. “Really. I get it.”

“A holy spirit,” the girl repeated as she moved to let him inside. “Though now I’ll be having words with those bitches in security, given they clearly remembered – and they have cams in the house.”

They did? He supposed that didn’t surprise him too much, but it was something to keep in mind going forward.

Saria straightened, brushing a hand through her fur in a half-hearted attempt to smooth it, though it only made the crop top slip further down her shoulder. She didn’t seem to notice - or care.

He stepped inside, finding the interior as plush and ostentatious as he’d been expecting. Some kind of fancy stone covered everything, carved with fancy filigree. Paintings of what looked like some kind of modern art lined the walls. There was even a fountain, flanked by two sets of stairs leading up to the second floor just inside the foyer.

It was impressive, he’d admit. Sure, his more humble upbringing almost required him to regard it all with some level of working-class disdain, but the fact of the matter was that whoever had designed the place had done an excellent job.

“So, you’re Saria, right? The engineer?”

“That’s me,” she said, flashing that crooked grin again. Her tail flicked closer, brushing the edge of his boot. “Saria, chief wrench-turner for Vorn’s mecha and her right hand woman -  no matter what that snake Tenir says. It’s my job to keep her rigs purring.”

Whatever else she was about to say was interrupted by the sound of a loud rumble that seemed to emanate from her gut.

It was actually quite impressive, though rather than be embarreassed like a human woman might – or even a human man for that matter – she just laughed.

“Speaking of purring…” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a teasing lilt. “Any chance you cook as good as you look, Mark? Because I’m starving. And it looks like my delivery’s not going to be arriving any time soon.”

“There was a bit of traffic on the way here,” he said.

“Probably another labor riot,” she groaned. “I’ll be probably be lucky if my delivery person hasn’t stopped to join in.” She paused to eye him. “Not that I’d have any issue with that. Person’s got a fight for their portion of soup after all.”

Mark just shrugged, even as he got some idea that whatever she was talking about was something of a relevant bit of politics here.

“Well, if she’s busy elsewhere, I’d like to think I’d be able to step in for her.” Ha! Step in? He was about to blow whatever takeaway place she’d been ordering from out of the water. “Just show me to the kitchen.”

Her ears perked up, and she actually licked her lips.  “Oh, I think we’re going to get along great, Mark.”

Feeling a little daring, he reached forward to idly pluck a bit of metal shaving from the fur on her shoulder.

“I’d like that, Saria.” He smiled down at her, enjoying the way her ears twitched and her tail went rigid again. “I’d like to think my tenure here will be… satisfying for all of us.”

“Y-yeah,” she said, before turning to march further into the house. “This way.”

Though as she did, he caught just a hint of her speaking under her breath.

“…Bite marks alive… the holonet didn’t lie for once.”

He had to bite down a laugh.