Crank wasn't the only one to yell. Even Ghwenn took issue with Jameson's command.
"Surely there is someone more suitable," she argued.
"Find someone else. I am not watching her lying little ass." Because it had to be tiny. Now that the hood had come down, he could see just how petite she was. Except for those eyes. Huge in her face. A bright contrast to her hair.
And a Driadalys, a fancy alien word for elf. They considered themselves a superior species, rarely intermarrying with the other sentient races. Rich because of the exclusivity of the items they produced from the more than a hundred terra-formed planets they'd taken over. Each ruled by a specific family.
The last thing Crank wanted was to deal with one. "I need to speak with you, Captain," he growled, stomping out of the airlock, waiting for Jameson to join him before slamming the door shut. Wouldn't do to have her hear him and the captain fighting.