Cyber Witch

Chapter 3.2 - Bubba

[Zach]

Avia was famished — not surprising since she missed a few meals since I bagged her — and she wolfed down the meal pack I prepared for her. We sat across from each other at the small galley table. Avia definitely didn't have the refined table manners or picky palate of elite society, nor, I thought, did she desire that.

I took a swig from a brown bottle, then tilted it toward her. "Want one? It's Ceti Ale."

"No thanks," she replied, one cheek bulging with food. "I don't drink. Alcohol messes with my cybernetics." As I continued gazing at her, Avia turned her eyes up to me and narrowed them. "What?"

"Just trying to figure you out," I responded. "Like, why are you taking this so well?" So far, there have been no screaming tantrums, violent outbursts, or acts of defiance, just a grumpy attitude. "What are you up to?"

"I'm not taking it well. Just don't have any better options right now," she mumbled while chewing. "Don't get me wrong. I appreciate not being on my way to a cyber hell. So, what else have you not figured out about me?"

"Hmm... Well, why hadn't the infamous Cyber Witch turned to a life of crime, I mean, besides evading arrest and stealing from my operating account? Many of your fellow Aberrants turned bad."

"Not my style. And I don't like being labeled Aberrant as if some deviant monster."

"Fair enough," I responded, nodding. "Cyber-enhanced, perhaps?"

"Just plain Avia. I never asked to be cyber anything." Her voice had a cutting edge.

"I understand."

"No, you don't!" Avia hissed with bared teeth, slamming down her fork. "You have no idea! You were born an elite of the Elites, Zach, and everything was handed to you on a silver platter, even if you didn't appreciate it."

"Well, you seem to know everything about me," I huffed, anger responding to anger. She didn't know all I went through.

Her voice softened. "I know everything about you available through the info-web, and some things not. There is one thing I am curious about, though."

"What is that?"

"Who is Bubba? A lot of your ex-girlfriends didn't like him, but you seem to."

As if on cue with a swirling tail, in sauntered my black cat like he owned the place, which he kinda did. About twice the size of a normal housecat, Bubba was a rare and valuable breed of Star Cat, which were originally bred during the early days of space exploration to handle the rigors. Like all of his kind, he sported a star-shaped white mark on his forehead, hence the name. They were highly sought after, earning their keep by hunting the inevitable vermin, warning of small pressure leaks, and were believed to bring good fortune on perilous journeys. But Star Cats also had an independent streak and a nasty temperament — you didn't choose them, they chose you. Several of the women I brought on my ship suffered a hiss and swipe of sharp claws, ruining my carnal plans.

"This is Bubba," I answered, sweeping my arm toward the cat. He mewed in return.

Avia's face brightened as she rose. "Oh, he is adorable!"

As she kneeled down and reached out to Bubba, I jumped up in warning, holding out a hand. "Avia, no! He doesn't like strangers. He--"

But Bubba didn't lash out, instead just the opposite, rubbing back and forth against Avia's legs and letting her stroke soft fur. My mouth gaped as she dropped to a cross-legged sitting position on the floor, leaning back against a wall, and Bubba settled into her lap. The cat let out satisfied rumbles as she scratched behind his ears.