Unwrapping Miss Milky Way Read online

  “Buttercup!” Charlie gently chastised. “Remember… I’m your friend, but I’m still a judge. As a former Miss Milky Way from two years ago, I’m not supposed to engage in this kind of talk with a contestant. And you shouldn’t be talking about these things with anyone else.”

  Buttercup sniffed and glanced away before continuing. “Miss Nova, Miss Pulsar, and Miss Singularity got the same treatment. We’ve been talking about it all week. They’re my roomies. It’s kind of hard not to kibitz amongst ourselves.”

  “Well, I’ll see what can be done. If there’s been any unfair treatment, I can certainly make sure points are added to your scores accordingly.”

  Buttercup shook her head in denial. “I-I only want what’s fair, Charlie. If I don’t place or win, that’s fine. I’ll accept the ruling. But it’s just not right to have biased men judging us when they were contestants in a male beauty pageant on Earth. Especially, since they act as though they’re as above us as the stars are above Oceanus. If they didn’t want to be here, then why did they accept the invitation to judge?”

  “I-I think it was a contractual requirement for their having taken runner-up positions,” Charlie explained, but quickly added, “that still doesn’t justify any untoward behavior. And I’ll certainly look into the matter.” She sighed and picked up her electronic score pad to make note of the incident for her own benefit. “Uh…you say the problem primarily existed with Captain Mann? I understand the other two gentlemen you mentioned are serving as his crewmen aboard an Oceanus starfighter called the Valiant.” She typed in a bit more information as she spoke.

  “That’s correct,” Buttercup asserted. “Their names are Gilla Eck’nor and Clitus Gart according to the judges’ biographies. Anyhow, as far as their contractual obligations go, you had the same responsibility they did. You were told to fulfill your judging requirement as a former Miss Milky Way, and I don’t see you or the other female judges acting so high-and-mighty. All except for Electra Galaxy, who seems awfully chummy with Captain Mann and his crew,” she said in an accusing tone. “They’re seen talking a lot to each other and schmoozing in the bar before Captain Mann takes his crewmen off to his ship each night after the judging is completed.”

  “Outside their biographies, you seem to know a lot about these men,” Charlie mused.

  “Well why not? They’ve been the talk of the entire pageant. At first, that yummy Valkyrian and his crew were the lusted-after dream men all the girls fancied. Of course, we daren’t approach them because of their judging positions. They’d have been hit on by a number of women in the contest but for their status. But now a lot of us have certainly changed our minds. The conceited, pompous—”

  “Okay,” Charlie interrupted, “I’ll look into this. But this conversation has to remain between us, Buttercup. I can’t check into something if it gets around I’m doing so. The people you’ve accused would just deny it and alter their behavior accordingly. If the media got a hold of it, the pageant’s reputation would be ruined and a lot of girls’ scores would be questioned. It’d be a huge mess.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve promised to fulfill my duties equitably, and I mean to make sure others do the same. Okay?”

  “Certainly. I’ll be as discreet as one of my pet barn mice,” Buttercup promised.

  Charlie stood when Buttercup did. She hugged the bovine woman and watched her lumber away. Then she turned her attention to Captain Datron Mann.

  She covertly kept her eyes on his body language for the next thirty minutes. Then she studied his crewmen.

  As a representative of Silka, Gilla Eck’nor’s pale appearance and lanky if muscular frame would appeal to many contestants, as Buttercup mentioned. Especially those who hailed from any number of watery worlds. The man’s expression waxed a bit pensive, but his kind, silvery eyes attested to his attentiveness. There didn’t seem to be any anger in his body language.

  Clitus Gart seemed equally focused on his judging duties. As a representative from Arborea, the red-headed, brawny male could have been a massive lumberjack from Earth. As with Gilla, Clitus’ expression seemed compassionate though he intermittently massaged his temples with his index fingers as if fighting off a looming headache. That small gesture might have been a show of peevishness. It could corroborate Buttercup’s claim to a small degree.

  Electra Galaxy—the pale-haired, aristocratic Earth siren—didn’t escape perusal, either. The great pageant diva had a rather tight smile pasted on her face. Her hands were clasped a little too firmly in her lap, and her body seemed far too rigid. It was almost as if the regal-looking woman would rather be somewhere else.

  Charlie nodded. Her mind was made up. Although no psych major, she didn’t have to be to use common sense and old-fashioned instinct. Her surveillance really wasn’t warranted, but she’d wanted one last chance to change her mind. Now all the evidence added up.

  Buttercup didn’t know she’d already received numerous complaints—particularly referring to Captain Mann’s behavior—to ignore them would be inappropriate. In fact, the contestants had accused the bronze captain as behaving quite viciously. Gilla, Clitus, and Electra’s mannerisms notwithstanding, Datron Mann’s rude abruptness required an immediate response. She meant to see he got one.

  As her duties were over for the evening, she took up a stance near the refreshment table and simply stood there as if she had nothing better to do than relax. What she saw, in regards to Captain Mann, royally pissed her off.

  Poor Buttercup. Nobody deserves that kind of treatment!

  ****

  Datron tried. Deities existing in the universe—in every known venue of worship—would surely forgive him. But he simply couldn’t tolerate much more. He kept his patience only by remembering he actually had done worse things than judge a beauty pageant.

  The next contestant walked his way. She was a tall, cool-looking pink female with flaming red hair and vivacious blue eyes. His score pad informed him she came from Betelgeuse, in the Orion sector.

  He stood as she approached and held out a chair for her. In this day and age, some men wouldn’t have displayed the old-fashioned courtesy, but he was trying to behave a bit more chivalrous than most.

  Men from his world were nothing if not polite.

  He took his seat again and tried to ignore the incessant pounding in his head. “Uh, good evening,” he consulted his electronic score pad again, “Miss Orion’s Belt. Are you enjoying the pageant so far?” A sudden, more intense pain shot through his skull. He ran one hand across his face to curtail a desire to put his forehead on the cool tabletop.

  “Thank you, Captain Mann. I’m so pleased to meet you,” the girl said, as she situated herself in the chair.

  “Why don’t I address you by your real name?” Datron suggested. “After all, you could be Miss Milky Way by tomorrow night. I’d like to get to know the real you instead of what some title implies,” he instructed.

  “Well, my name is on the score pad,” the Orion girl suggested, pointing to the object he held.

  Datron knew that. But his blinding head wouldn’t let him read anything but the blanks he was supposed to be filling in, not the finer print concerning her biography. And, his job was to get to know her. A title told him nothing about this woman’s character. A name was much more informal and opened the way to conversation. “Please, just tell me your name,” he insisted.

  “Uh, okay…my name is Candy…Candy Corn,” she supplied.

  He sighed loudly and shook his head in consternation. If he heard one more stupid alias he’d surely go insane. Why couldn’t these women give their real names? Why did they insist on putting together pseudonyms their pageant coaches told them would be more alluring or cute than their real monikers? But he persevered and let her have her way. “Okay… Miss Corn…why don’t you tell me a little about your home world?”

  “Well, Betelgeuse is roughly two parsecs from Bellatrix. Our world is a Class M, oxygen-breathing planet. The primary language, as it is on
a lot of planets, is Earth English. The mean temperature is twenty-two degrees Kudios. And we have a very mild, tropical climate with an average rainfall of forty-seven quip-kicks each solar cycle. Our exports include spectacular foliage that’s used in the floral industries on half a dozen worlds including Earth, Mars Colony, and Oceanus. We also collect and export luxuria juice from the large coitus plants on our world. This, of course, is manufactured into personal lubricant for—”

  Datron held up one hand to stop her. “No, uh…forgive me…but I wasn’t after a memorized recital of your world’s statistics, as enticing as they were about to become. I just wanted to know your experiences of your home. What you think of where you live? Okay?”

  “Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, I hadn’t rehearsed anything like that,” she dumbly admitted.

  “Miss Corn, I’m not after what you memorized. Just tell me how you feel about where you live?”

  “But…m-my contest trainer didn’t instruct me on how to say anything like that.”

  Datron dragged one hand through his hair, almost dislodging the mass from the clip at the nape of his neck. “Just be spontaneous,” he blurted. “You have a brain. I know you do. Just tell me what you think and not what someone told you to say.”

  Candy put her hand to her face and blinked rapidly against the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

  Datron recognized the telltale tremble of her brightly green painted lips and tried a softer approach. “Look, I’m not angry with you. But your world’s ambassadors sent aid to no less than eight planets last solar year. A thousand of your people volunteered to help Tulipian Plague victims requiring medical assistance. Your planet is one of the most benevolent in the known galaxy. Tell me about these things. Explain to me how your world took in a thousand orphans from the plague after it was finally contained. Tell me what goes into that kind of magnificent gesture. Or, if that subject is too painful for you to recount, you might take a different approach and describe the lush green valleys of your planet. You could tell me about the wondrous creatures living there and how watching a migrating flock of purple Plumaria birds makes you feel when you see them.”

  “I-I never thought a-about any of that,” she emptily responded.

  “Well, tell me what you do think about. When your pageant trainer isn’t anywhere near and can’t tell you how to respond,” he sternly instructed.

  “I-I think about how to apply body glitter so it sparkles in the light just the right way. I’ve been told I have a bodacious cleavage and should show it off,” she offered while thrusting her D-size cups forward.

  “Creator’s balls!” he gasped and tried to contain the pain in his head once more. “All right, Miss Corn,” he slowly finalized, “That’ll be all. Thank you for your time.”

  “B-but you haven’t heard me recite a poem I memorized…just for you,” she whimpered.

  He took heart and lifted his head “Poetry? Okay…now we’re getting somewhere. Please…go on,” he implored.

  She finally smiled. “Okay…here goes,” she cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “In the entire universe, roses remain red…and orchids are still purple…but nothin’s sweet as you, you’re like maple surple!”

  Datron wanted to smash his head into the hull of his starfighter. He’d actually leaned forward expectantly during the first half of her slowly spoken ditty expecting some deep philosophical view on planetary similarities and the kinship all worlds shared. Maple frickin’ surple indeed!

  “Thank you, Miss Corn. That most certainly will be all,” he bit out.

  Candy shot out of her chair and ran.

  ****

  In the hour following, Charlie witnessed a rather shallow display of frustrated male testosterone in action.

  Datron Mann lagged far behind on his judging schedule, primarily because of his own actions. He stopped repeatedly between interviews, talked to other judges, stalled, and did anything else but his assigned task. He frequently passed his hand over his forehead as if in pain, and scowled at everyone as though he’d rather be any other place in the known universe. What she could hear of his competition questions was worse than his posturing.

  He queried the women abruptly and dismissed them discourteously. Something was either horrifically wrong, or he was the rudest male she’d ever come across. Sadly, his current behavior remained at odds with the gentle man who’d so won the hearts of Earthlings two years ago.

  The Datron Mann she’d seen back then had stood on the stage during the Mr. Interstellar Feller pageant in Los Angeles, and smiled and beguiled his way into the hearts of billions of women. He’d openly displayed a cute heart tattoo on his left butt cheek during the swimsuit competition, and that silly, boyish act made him seem like an impish, oversized Cupid who didn’t take himself too seriously. That was when her heart had been smitten by the big, bronzed giant—just like all the other women around her.

  She’d remembered that night as one of the best in her life. And now, with so little of her life left, she became exceedingly disappointed in him. He didn’t deserve his runner-up title if his current actions were true-to-form. He couldn’t be bothered by any pretense of joy. It struck her the right circumstances needed to be employed so his conduct would stop.

  Then an idea hit her.

  Acting on her own wasn’t her place. She should go to the contest coordinators and report his comportment as well as that of his crewmen. But she hadn’t actually seen anything Clitus Gart or Gilla Eck’nor did to warrant concern. Their behavior might be deemed a bit terse, but they were at least courteous. They listened, whether they approved what was being said or not. Certainly, they were acting more angelic than the big bully who looked the part, but who apparently had a pompous heart of stone.

  She rallied her five foot frame and marched toward Datron. If he thought his interview duties were over, he’d better think again.

  Hurricane Charlie was about to hit his particular coastline!

  Chapter Two

  Captain Datron Mann, as a male enforcement officer, did not have the right to act disparagingly toward the contestants. The captain was supposed to judge based on what was presented, not on what he personally desired in a woman.

  Although he hadn’t come out and said anything ungallant, his ultra-harried expression relayed more than words ever could. His barely concealed resentment over the situation in which he found himself was unkind. He, like Electra Galaxy and his two crewmen, had probably found a few of the competitors sadly lacking in the IQ department.

  Okay, she had to admit, these women weren’t rocket scientists like her. But she hadn’t found them vicious or cruel and the fact they weren’t was important. Most folks didn’t go out of their way to hurt other people. Those who did were bottom feeders.

  Datron Mann’s behavior only emphasized his opinion had to be right, women must come up to his personal standards. They weren’t worthy in and of themselves. Well, she planned to change his way of thinking.

  Looking at his mighty, gladiator-like chest―bare because nothing would fit over his spectacular, weight-lifter’s back and his two silver-white wings―she was certain the women in the room had been too damned impressed with his image to officially complain. Indeed, she found it hard not to be impressed herself. His bronzed skin, megalithic biceps, long blond hair, and square, hero’s jaw were all too captivating. Even in the muted light of the ballroom, the shining glare of challenge in his chocolate-colored eyes, and the disdainful smirk on his full, luscious lips was noticeable. The man almost dared a woman of mystery and fascination to make his night. She saw him stand and drag his hands through his long, shimmering hair, displacing the clip holding it back. The thick mane swept over his shoulders the way sunlight streams across the landscape during daybreak. And when he lifted his arms to attend to the long mass, his bulging thigh muscles pushed ominously against his tight black uniform pants. Other more intimate parts of his body became just as notably outlined—a fact he probably knew and used to his advantage. F
rom his shiny, tall enforcer boots to his golden tresses and the tips of his magnificent white wings, the man resembled a vision of angelic glory.

  Charlie found herself glancing away just to keep his overwhelming presence from disarming her the way it had all the other women staring covetously in his direction. As she’d already noted, his behavior belied his cherubic image.

  She quickly shook off admiring speculations and put her little plan into action. Wing man could just get over himself and his unfair opinions of her gender. No woman need come up to any man’s standards. She owed the other ladies in the room a score.

  Her belief in the goodness of womankind demanded action. Furthermore, she really wanted to metaphorically tweak this guy’s feathers.

  She straightened her gown and pasted on what she hoped was a sultry, seductive expression. Using her best runway sway—a saunter she’d learned specifically for the Miss Milky Way pageant two years ago—she undulated to where Captain Datron Mann stood. Despite eyeing her while she moved, there were no signs of intrigue or expectation in his gaze. Not even any desire.

  Instead, the man rolled his eyes heavenward as if inwardly spurning the fact that he might have to judge one more contestant. Exactly what she hoped he’d assume, since the judges weren’t wearing any identification. A rule inserted to keep the tactless media sources from seeking out adjudicators and questioning them about their scores. In Datron’s case however, all the women knew who he was. No identifying nametag was necessary. In fact, she’d heard the girls twittering all week about who’d get to be interviewed by ‘that big luscious piece of Valkyrian beef’.

  ****

  Datron sat back down and tried, with all his heart, to look interested. But that was one attribute he simply couldn’t dredge from any part of his brain or body. The young beauty walking toward him was different from the other women. Impossibly small and with a look of Earth about her. Next to his six-feet-six inches―using Earth measurements currently all the rage―he quickly noted she would only come up to his pectorals, and only because she wore extremely high-heeled sandals.