For eight years, Saffron Savage has been stuck on a dilapidated zoo-planet on the outskirts of the galaxy. Her mountains of overdue student loans make it impossible to afford the cost of leaving, and her sleazy coworkers force her to work demoralizing jobs on a daily basis. Desperate to escape, she hatches a scheme that might just be crazy enough to work: steal the zoo’s rare, two-headed llama and sell it to the highest bidder.

When the poorly planned theft lands Saffron and her stolen companion as unwitting stowaways on an outbound ship, she must pose as an animal rights activist on a mission to return the animal to its home planet. To her surprise, the ride comes with some perks – instant chemistry with Captain Michael Reyes and burgeoning friendships with the ship’s motley, animal-loving crew. Other than the lie that’s snowballing out of control, Saffron finds herself settling into this quirky, ship-bound life.
If only the buyer wasn’t the most notorious, cut-throat mob boss in the galaxy. Or there wasn’t a warrant out for her arrest.

The Galactic Zookeeper’s Guide to Heists and Husbandry is a fast-paced space romp about second chances, rediscovering purpose, and finding family in unexpected places.

I wheel into action, a plan springing to mind that very instant. “Ah. You know,” I say to the person behind me in line. “I think my llama needs to use the restroom. Excuse me.”

I try to smile politely, but it turns out a little too much like a grimace. The woman eagerly scootches over to one side.

“Yoo-hoo,” she calls. As if my talking to her were the only invitation needed to open the floodgates of her curiosity. “Isn’t that a umemeh?”

She asked the question so loudly I believe the entire bloody station has heard it.

I force a chuckle. It’s been a while since I’ve laughed casually, so it sounds demented. “No, lady. Of course not! That species is endangered. This right here is a llama with a genetic defect. Two heads. Poor thing was unwanted by his mother,” the lady’s face wears an expression of doubt, so I press my point home with forced lightness in my voice. “No umemeh’s today. Sorry to disappoint.”

I tug the umemeh along more forcefully towards the garbage bay, which is adjacent to the port entrance. I already smell terrible. Hiding out in literal garbage shouldn’t be a problem, right? At least, until the heat is gone.

There’s a security officer posted in front of the large rolling garage door that opens to the dump. Why the voids would they post a security guard by the garbage? Is there that much stolen crap flying through the Horse’s Ass?

Well, actually. Yeah. That makes sense.

The security officer stares at my animal for a long time, chewing thoughtfully.

Please just let me through, I pray. Please just let me through.

“That an umemeh?” He finally asks.

“Ah. Nope! Just a llama.” I wait, but the guy hasn’t moved a muscle. “…A llama that needs to take a piss.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, he’s been my seeing-guide-llama for the last eight years,” I say, making it up as I go along. Between the sunglasses and hoodie and the grey scarf wrapped around my neck, my lie may actually be passable.

Except that if an umemeh were a guidance animal, their owner would have died a thousand times by now. Also, I’m pretty sure pretending to be blind is a new low for me. “I can always tell when he has to take a piss,” I add lamely.

“Not that! I meant the llama part. Don’t umemeh’s have two heads?”

“Well, I had them engineer a second head onto this one to help with the seeing stuff,” I retort.

I can’t help but cast a glance at the police activity around the Cricket. One of the officers by the ship is staring directly at us, scratching his head. Shitshitshit.

I turn to the garbage-bay bouncer with fire in my veins. “Look, mister—”

“That’s officer!” He interrupts with a kind-hearted smile. “My name’s Officer Dan.”

“Okay, look, Officer Dan.” I put my hands on my hips. “Llamas can hold their piss for three days. But when they’ve got to go, they’ve got to go. So, if you could just let me through?”

He still appears skeptical. And he should, because it’s all total bullshit. I mean, umemeh’s can hold their piss for three days, but llamas? They piss every three to six hours.

“Look,” I add. “You can follow me in and keep asking about… Fred here. But if we stand out here any longer, one of us is going to be mopping llama urine off a half-mile of space terminal.”