"The food is crap."

"Not arguing, but Doc likes it and there's always a market for kitchens. You're letting your prejudices cut into profits."

"It's not prejudice. I know the food they turn out is crap."

"And I know," his quartermaster grunted, "that these two'd probably work faster if you weren't peering over their shoulders."

"Sucks to be them."

In spite of the captain's presence, or maybe because of it, the two di'Taykan worked full out for almost two hours, creating a complex three-dimensional jigsaw of captured salvage in order to fit it into the available space. Finally, Almon sighed and said, "Cargo's locked and loaded, Captain."

"Noted." Cho raised his voice slightly; the comm pickups in the extension could be temperamental. "Huirre."

"Captain."

"Turn us toward home." They'd kick on the Susumi drive after he and Nat had the cargo sorted, separated the crap from the cream, and ditched the crap.

"Aye, sir. Home it is." The subtext-about fukking time-came through loud and clear, but they'd been roaming for a while, looking for a prize worth the trip, so he let it go.

"Cap and I going to fit in there?" Nat wondered, peering past Almon at his screen.

"No. Too tight." Almon turned just far enough to wink at her, a Human gesture the di'Taykan had wholeheartedly adopted. "Tight's good."

Nat winked back. "Not arguing, kid."

The di'Taykan were known as the most sexually indiscriminating species in known space, but tossing innuendo at Nat Forester put them above and beyond. Cho trusted Nat with his life, but he'd fuk Huirre first. And given that Huirre had been involved with a cartel that provided Human body parts to Krai kitchens, that was saying something.

"That's not so much tight as wall to fukking wall," Nat snorted, transferring her attention from Almon's screen to her own. "Crowded enough we'll have to use the eye for first sort." She called up the controls on her slate one-handed, then ran the hand back through short gray hair. "Eye gives me fukking vertigo. Let's just hope I don't puke."