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attractive.”
    “That’s not what the ladies think.”
    She cuffed him in the back of the head.
    “Hey. What was that for?”
    “Because you’re an ass.”
    “An ass who needs to pilot this ship, so behave or I might just let you leave…through an airlock in space.”
    “You wouldn’t dare,” she huffed.
    “Try me.” At his passenger’s silence, he inwardly smiled. Point for me. He’d get another point once they cleared this planet—alive. He couldn’t wait for her thanks. Oral gratitude was the best.
    “Annabelle, what is the status on our power? Are we ready yet?”
    “The engines are at eighty-nine percent,” his computer replied. “We can commence the launch sequence. All exits have been sealed. The vessel is pressurized. A course has been plotted to the outer planets.”
    “What about that ship waiting for us above ground?” Rafe asked. He doubted it had left yet. It probably waited for him to pop out of the ground.
    “The enemy vessel is still present. Orders?”
    “Ensure the laser cannon is ready.” Screw the Grykko and their guild. If they weren’t going to play by the regular rules of the game and allow him to bribe them before shooting, then they deserved whatever he did next.
    “The rapid-fire weapons are fully functional. However, the canon is out of commission. It still requires reparation from the meteorite damage we took on our journey here.”
    He frowned. Was that recrimination he heard in Annabelle’s tone? There shouldn’t be. AIs weren’t programmed to have attitude, but someone apparently had forgotten to tell his onboard computer. Of late, she copped him attitude every chance she got.
    Time to take her in for a maintenance check, especially since his last four diagnostics had not found anything wrong with her. When he’d sent a service call in to the programming engineers, they dared to say he imagined the smirk in her tone. Let’s see if they re-evaluate that opinion when my fist meets their faces.
    As Rafe flicked switches and the rumble in his vessel increased, he was very aware of the woman at his back. “You might want to strap in,” he advised his passenger again. “This ride might get a little bumpy.” When he’d buried his ship months ago during a vicious storm, he’d made sure to cover it with firmly packed dirt. Now he needed his vessel to rise from that grave.
    “Where the hell am I supposed to sit?” she asked.
    “If it looks like a chair, then plop your ass into it. The straps are on the top part of the backrest. Bring them over your torso and buckle them between your legs.”
    He heard a creak as she found a spot and a grumble as she clicked the buckle into place. “I feel like a little kid in a car seat.”
    “The five-point harness system is a proven safety measure. Why do you think the patent was introduced to your Earth?” The appalling lack of regard the humans had for protecting their youth had forced the more softhearted members of the galactic council to interfere in their societal development.
    But now wasn’t the time to delve into the meddling of the Department for the Protection of Indigene Slow Societies—also known as PISS. Not to be mistaken for PISS OPH, the Pretentious Ideologist Secretive Society of Pompous Heirs.
    The entire ship shuddered and shook as it prepared to leave its hidden underground lair. With the press of a button, part of his armrest opened, a small panel sliding back so that a control lever could rise on each side. His hands clamped around them.
    “Are those joysticks? Are you seriously going to fly this thing yourself?”
    He didn’t take offense at her query. He’d spent enough time on Earth to have seen the movies, seen the human technology, and seen also their reliance on technology. They’d learn.
    Technology always failed at some point.
    In some things, it was best to remain hands-on. Computers, even very smart ones like Annabelle, were limited. Their free thinking, for all that it seemed innovative,