She nodded slowly, processing. “And you don’t want to bond me.”

  “Yes. It feels… profoundly unethical. Taking advantage of a genetically engineered imperative, a compulsion you cannot ignore, break, or resist, just to make my mission easier? It would be the height of hypocrisy.” I shrugged, the motion feeling inadequate. “Plus, I can already feel that I am a hair’s breadth from a necrotic deviation. I’ve read the classified briefs on what happens when a Maenad’s bond deviates. That’s the buried history of the technomancers. I will not be the source of that.”

  She seemed to be hanging on my every word, her food forgotten. “So you are tasked with protecting me, but you won’t bond me because you feel it’s wrong to take away my freedom, and you want to protect me from the danger you yourself pose if you lose control. Right?”

  I nodded and took another bite of my loaf just to have something to do. “That’s the summary, yes.”

  She smiled, a genuine, warm expression that felt like a punch to the gut. “Yeah. But I have two questions.”

  I chuckled, “Ask and I shall answer.”

  “The first question is, what if I want you to bond me?”

  I looked at her in pure, unadulterated confusion. “Is my information on the bond wrong? Why would you willingly throw away your freedom like that? You’ve fought tooth and nail for every scrap of autonomy you have.”

  She shook her head, her expression turning patient, like a teacher with a bright but misguided student. “You act like you understand bonding. I don’t think you do. Not really. What you are talking about is a forced bond, and yes, it’s awful, and a violation of the worst kind. Which leads me to my next question: Do you know what happens to the bondmate? The one who does the bonding, if it’s not a forced bond? If it’s chosen?”

  I shook my head, utterly captivated. “No. The texts are… vague on mutual bonds. Is this the best place to talk about it?” I gestured at the crowded, noisy mess hall.

  She smiled a little wickedly, a flash of the sly goblin she’d once pretended to be. “We could always talk about it in my room. Or yours.” She let the suggestion hang in the air between us.

  “Probably not a good idea,” I sighed, even as every cell in my body screamed that it was a fantastic idea. Was she actually flirting, or was this just her uniquely literal and innocent way of seeking privacy? The ambiguity was torture.

  She nodded slowly, the smile not fading. “Probably not. That’s often how you get a forced bond. It’s not always a bad thing… my grandparents were technically an accidental forced bond, but they were still happy because they probably would have bonded the right way anyway.” She looked at me, her head tilting. “Wait… I know our auras match on a metaphysical level, but do you actually think I’m attractive? Physically?”

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  I nodded, the motion jerky, and took a gulping swallow of water. “Yeah. You are literally one of the most profoundly beautiful women I have ever met.”

  She scowled, a flicker of genuine disbelief in her brilliant eyes. “Are you serious? Because I think you are a beautiful man, but I know that uhh… some other people don’t see it the same way. All they can see are your scars and your pain, not the strength it took to earn them or the man who carries them.”

  I looked at her, my confusion deepening. “No, by any objective standard and most subjective ones, you are pretty much ideal for a significant portion of human males. Of course, admittedly, we have a pretty broad category of what we consider ideal, but you fit into a… particularly appealing niche.”

  She raised an eyebrow, “A particularly appealing niche?”

  I nodded, “Yep. Many men prefer their women to look like they have built-in safety systems for sudden frontal impacts, or a convenient place to set a drink. That’s the… broader market. I’ve always been drawn to the other end of the spectrum. And you are squarely in my zone.” I immediately regretted the clumsy analogy, but it was too late.

  She nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. “Middie Princess said I looked like a stretched-out frog, but that was okay, because desperate men would go for anything. So far, that’s sort of true. The only person who’s shown interest is Dienne, and he flat-out admitted that he’d go for anything remotely female if he got bored enough, even the XO.”

  I couldn't help but chuckle. “Princess? Oh, Princeton! Right. Well, bear in mind that she’s considered… pleasant-looking, mostly because of standard-issue genemods. She’s probably jealous, but I was once told that I have tunnel vision. I think you might share that trait. You tend to stay in one or two areas of the ship, and the only reason that some of the crew haven’t… made their interest more known is… well… me.”

  “You?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

  I nodded and caught the eye of Dirk, a human trooper from Corellia’s squad who was walking from the chow line holding a tray. “Hey Dirk, got a second?”

  He ambled over, his eyes flicking nervously from me to Gabrielle and back again. “Top? What’s up?”

  “What do you think of Gabrielle here?” I asked, gesturing to her.

  He looked quickly at her, a flash of appreciation in his eyes that he instantly suppressed, then back at me with clear anxiety. “She’s uhh… she’s okay. Solid droner, I hear.”

  I sighed, “Can you pretend I am not here for a second? Honest opinion. I won’t be angry, and there will be no repercussions. Scout’s honor.”

  “You sure, Paladin?” he asked, his posture relaxing slightly.

  “Positive. Honest opinion.”

  He broke into a wide, lecherous grin. “Jeesh, top. If I didn’t think you and Jessica would kick the scrot out of me, I probably would never let her wear clothes. Or leave my lap. I’d want to lick the sweat off her butt, the tears from her eyes, and the mil--”

  “Okay. Thanks, Dirk.” I interrupted, “So why haven’t you asked her?”

  He chuckled, “Because of you, top. And now Jessica, we been doing things you wouldn’t believe with a pr….”

  I nodded, “Right. And why me?”

  He chuckled, “Because we ain’t idiots. You got your eye on her, and we figure if we even start talkin’ about her, you’ll nail down the deckplates using us as the nails. Although it might be worth it if I got to be the nail for her bo….”

  “Thanks for your input, Dirk. Enjoy your lunch.” I said, dismissing him firmly. He wandered off, chuckling to himself. I turned back to Gabrielle, who had gone very still, the green of her cheeks several shades darker. Her food had mysteriously vanished, consumed with a droner’s efficient speed. “Dirk is very… descriptive at times. Does that answer your question?”

  She nodded, not quite meeting my eyes for a moment. “It does. Quite thoroughly.”