Sprawled in Kaspar’s chair, Bethiah points at me with approval. “I knew there was a reason these idiots followed you.”
“Hey,” Adiron says, frowning.
“Dora and Ruthann have been through a lot,” Bethiah says with a shrug. “We can’t build their trust if we send them back into slavery, for however short a period of time. They need to be kept out of this as much as possible.”
Zebah is leaning against Zoey’s old station, her arms crossed, and she rolls her eyes at Bethiah’s words. “You just want them to love you.”
“I’m team human, what can I say?” Bethiah smooths a hand over one of her shiny horns mockingly, pretending to preen. “Don’t be jealous.”
“I’m not jealous!”
Kef, it’s like herding children sometimes with this group. “I think Bethiah is right. We can’t ask them to put themselves in danger. This has to be just us. That means the Little Sister stays out of range of any sorts of weapons they have, and we figure out a way to get on that ship.” I give Adiron an apologetic look. “And that means the pilot is staying out of reach of any danger, too.”
“Awwwww,” Adiron groans.
“I think Mathiras’s plan is the best,” Helen suggests, her voice bright and sweet amidst the groaning and bickering of the others. She’s seated on my lap, because she likes to sit with me, and my tail is curled around her waist because, well, she’s mine. Her fingers lightly touch it now and then, sending tingles of awareness directly to my shaft. “I’m supposed to be rare, right? So they’re going to want me back. We could have Matty play like he found me at a marketplace and heard this was where you buy more like me. Since they’re slavers, it’s not as if it’s a lie.”
“And then what?” Zebah asks. “Do we invite them onto the Sister and hope they don’t murder us all? Take over whatever craft they send our way?”
“No,” I say, covering Helen’s hand when she starts to actively stroke my tail. “We can’t bring them back to the Sister. We’ll have to go to them.”
“What are Zebah and I supposed to do?” Bethiah asks. “Sit around on the bridge with our thumbs up our tails and wait for you to come back?”
“Can you think of a reason why two mesakkah females would be accompanying me?”
They exchange a look and Zebah sighs. “No.”
“All right, then.”
Adiron raises a hand, frowning. “Uh, I hate to be the one to point this out, but if it’s the same slaver, he already knows your face, right, Matty?”
Kef. He’s not wrong. “It might not be the same slaver.”
“But it might be,” Zebah points out. “Helen’s appearance can be modified slightly because she’s a clone. We give her different hair and a dress and they’ll think she’s just another product. But we need a new face to sell her, and it can’t be yours.”
“It can’t be yours either,” I protest. “You and Bethiah were both with me.”
We all turn to look at Adiron.
My brother grins widely and rubs his hands together. “All right, now I get some action.”
I’m starting to hate this plan. I love my brother, but I’m not sure I trust him with the most precious thing in the universe—Helen. “I should be at her side if she’s putting herself in danger.”
“You just said yourself that you can’t,” Adiron points out. “I can be your big dumb corsair looking to make a few easy credits.”
“He’s got the big dumb already,” Zebah mutters.
Adi grins at her. “You’re just jealous because I get to break heads and you don’t.”
Bethiah grunts. “I’m jealous of that, too.”
I like this less and less. In fact, I actively hate it, but Helen’s watching me closely, waiting for my verdict. It makes sense. We have several false identification records for the Little Sister and can roll our systems over to a different one so they don’t know it’s the same ship. Adiron is my brother, but our features are different enough that he doesn’t specifically look like me unless you’re hunting for similarities. He can pretend to be a clueless slaver who’s lucked into a fortune with Helen and looking to increase it. It makes sense.
I still hate it.
CHAPTER 83
HELEN
I tilt my head, eyeing my new hair and trying to decide if I like it or not. Instead of a long, flowing ponytail or a high bun, my lavender hair now barely brushes my shoulders in what Dora calls a “bob.” Parted down the middle, it falls in a smooth line to the middle of my neck and the frills of my ears poke out from the middle of the strands. It looks pretty, I decide, and hand the mirror back to Dora. “I like it. I’ve never had my hairs cut before.”
“Just one hair,” Dora says with a little smile. “When you get a cut, you say it’s just one hair. And it’s a good look on you. It makes your eyes look big and bright, and it emphasizes your shoulders.”