The Uncertain Scientist (The Lost Planet 4)

One of them is leaned back in a chair with long hair tied up with a strip of cloth. There’s a devil-may-care glint to his gaze, even from all the way across the room. He reminds me of a cowboy I saw in a film once. He wiggles his eyebrows at me when he notices me staring.

“I could keep you company if you’re lonely,” he says, grinning and baring his double fangs.

The one beside him elbows him. “Leave her alone, Theron. You’re scaring her.”

“Maybe your ugly nog is scaring her, Hadrian,” Theron charges back, elbowing him.

Not wanting to let them think I can be so easily intimidated, I keep my expression carefully schooled as though seeing them doesn’t faze me in the slightest.

Next to the bickering boys, another alien has a tray of mangled metal he’s studying intently. He’s the only one of the group who hasn’t noticed me. His long hair is slightly unkempt and he’s got streaks of what I can only imagine to be grease along his high arching cheekbones. Despite the rising chatter from his companions, his attention is solely on the gadget in his hands. I’m drawn the most to him as I can relate to his laser-focus on his work. I’m the same way when I’m in the thick of an experiment. Sometimes the only thing that matters is getting the desired results.

“Oz. Oz. Ozzzz,” Hadrian barks out. “You gonna eat that?”

Oz absently pushes his plate toward Theron and Hadrian, all the while never looking up.

As I wonder what he’s working on, my train of thought shifts from the tinkerer to Avrell—the scientist who I hold most at fault for what’s happened to me. Had he been the same way? Had his desperation for his experiment to be a success combined with his need to help save his people caused him to forget I was a person instead of just a subject? There’s a certain amount of objectivity you have to have when your test subjects aren’t inanimate objects. I, more than anyone, should know that.

“Haven’t you figured out how to grow anything that don’t taste like rogshite?” Hadrian taunts the guy at the end.

He’s tense and thrumming with anger that he barely keeps a lid on. The two loudmouths—Hadrian and Theron—laugh good-naturedly while the angry one vibrates with fury.

“When’s the last time you killed us fresh meat?” Oz says absently, never looking up but directing his comment to Hadrian. “Oh, that’s right, you’re too busy pining over the females you can’t have.”

Theron snorts, slapping the table. The one on the end cracks a smile.

“What Galen grows in his lab has kept us fed on many hard solars,” Oz says, clearly the only levelheaded adult in the group. “Go mess with Breccan. I’m sure he’d love to take you to the mats and thump your nog in a few good times.”

At the mention of Breccan giving Hadrian an old-fashioned beat down, Hadrian scowls. This only amuses Theron more because he laughs so hard he nearly falls off his chair. Galen no longer seems irritated and leans in to ask Oz about what he’s working on.

Molly arrives with a big smile and a bowl spilling over with brightly-colored candy, saving me from going down the path of forgiveness and understanding. I’m still much too damn pissed off, confused, and in the throes of upheaval to consider either.

I study the bowl dubiously. “Are you sure about this?” I ask. “They aren’t poisonous, are they?”

Molly’s giggle is infectious, and I can’t help but smile. Which then makes me frown. Dammit, how does she do that?

“No, they taste kind of like caramel candies or butterscotch. Trust me, they’re so good. You’ll love them.”

Shrugging, I pop one into my mouth and moan around it as the sweetness explodes over my tongue. Meals here are somewhat sparse as the aliens can only cook whatever they can grow—which isn’t much. But it’s not only the rare treat of sugar I’m savoring, it’s also because the salty sweet caramel flavor tastes just like Sayer had smelled when I had my face buried in his throat.

I lick at the candy as Molly is called over to the group of aliens across the cafeteria.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, but I can barely hear her.

The suit they provided is too hot, and too tight. I want to rip it off and replace it with the hard weight of Sayer’s body instead. No, that’s not right. I don’t want him. I press my fingers into my eyes and try to concentrate, but all that does is intensify the fantasy.

“You okay, honey?” Molly asks.

“What is happening to me?” I moan, thankful the candy has finally melted away.

She takes a seat beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I can’t imagine how confusing and frightening this is for you. I was plum scared out of my wits when they woke me up from cryosleep and I wasn’t even pregnant at the time. You’ve got all kinds of hormones and pheromones raging through your system and that doesn’t even scratch the surface.”