Nathalie Gray - Unclaimed.pdf - Nathalie Gray - widez2

An eRedSage Publishing Publication

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* * *

by Nathalie Gray

To My Reader:

This story of Max and Eddy made me wiggle in my seat, clench my teeth, ball my

ists and curse at the computer screen… then it made me sigh in contentment. I

hope it does all that for you too!

Unclaimed: Chapter 1

“Merry Christmas to me.”

Maxine raised her tofu-based, not-quite-the-taste-but-close-enough mug of

“eggnog” to the nav console in a toast and took a sip. With a shiver, she plopped

the mug down on the armrest of her swivel chair. Damn tofu. Everything she had

onboard was tofu-based. Well, except for her cargo….

But she wouldn’t try to eat that.

A fourth Christmas alone on her ship. It was enough to make a woman ask Santa

for very strange things to appear under her tree. Like men. A whole harem of them.

Company would be nice. She’d been so good all year. Mostly good. Um, good

enough. Well, anyway, Santa should take crazy deadlines, interstellar commerce

ups and downs, and lack of steady companionship into account if he meant to put

her on the Naughty Girls List.

Even a little token stocking stuffer would be nice. Maybe a candy cane shaped

like a penis on one end? That would be fun. Santa could make it as spicy as he

wanted too as long as there was a big red bow on it. Had to have a big red bow.

She threw a quick peek at her “tree” and snorted. All two feet of festive foil and

wire taped to the charts table. Half the lights no longer worked. Santa wouldn’t be

dropping anything big under that thing.

A chirp like a bird’s tweeted. She craned her neck to check what it was. A dis-

tress beacon. Oh, great. It tweeted again.

“Nuh-uh.”

Maxine retrieved her mug and buried her nose in it, trying to ignore the demand-

ing red light lashing on her nav console like an annoying little Rudolph. She didn’t

have time for distressed people. She had a drop to make. There’d be hell to pay,

too, if she didn’t make it in time. She barely made a proit as it was. Hence the

need for her special payload. She wasn’t happy dealing with slimy characters like

her newest client, nor proud of passing illegal goods between systems, but a wom-

an had to eat. And fuel her ship, and repair it, and save some for the future. Lots of

expenses and until recently, very little income.

Still, not answering a distress beacon meant a ine.

Only if I’m caught.

She took another sip of eggnog and grimaced.

Anyway, I can’t ‘cause I’m in my PJs and fuzzy slippers and it’s Christmas.

She picked lint from her slippers. She’d have to run the ship-wide vacuum again.

There’s probably another ship even closer and better equipped.

Um. None of her excuses stopped the distress signal pinging on her screen and

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