by Susan Grant
“Lara, please,” Eston beseeched her.
Great Mother, how could he have pitied himself over being sent on a mission to retrieve a petulant princess? Things could be much worse: he could be a bankrupt cloaker, like Eston, stuck with Miss Sunshine here for company. “I don’t believe your partner feels the same as you,” he drawled.
The woman’s mouth tightened. She had very expressive eyes, Gann noted. In them, it was very easy to see every detail of his own painful demise, should she get her hands on him.
“Eston?” Gann prompted.
The cloaker’s mouth slid into a winning smile, revealing teeth that were surprisingly white and straight. “I told the truth. The Vash woman did go off planet,” he said. “For ten thousand credits more, I might know exactly how you can find her.”
Chapter Seven
While Tee ate breakfast and the crew prepared for the flight, Ian climbed down to the cargo hold, his place of choice when he needed to think.
“Lights,” he said. Held by a protective brace for space travel, his vintage 1990 Harley-Davidson Softtail glinted in the crisp illumination. He wheeled the hog to the rear of the hold where he stored his tools, then tried to lose himself in the mindless tasks of tinkering, tightening, and polishing.
You should have let her go, gotten yourself another pilot.
Yeah, but he also needed to follow Randall.
Now he was stuck with a pilot with a shaky past when he most required reliability in his crew and the ability to stay focused on his mission. He’d gone to Tee’s quarters fully intending to tell her that her position was temporary, that he intended to let her go as soon as he found another flyer. But somehow she’d plowed him under; that crazy mix of bravado, naivete, and grace under fire she exuded, it had totally snowed him. He’d stood there like a moron and let her wheedle him into letting her keep her job long-term. It wasn’t like the dependable Ian that everyone back home knew: the responsible son, the summa cum laude finance major, the guy his sister called Mr. Goody-two-shoes.
The pilot didn’t have a clue as to her effect on him—which was a good thing, because he hadn’t figured it out himself. No woman had ever affected him this way.
It was a moot point, anyway. It wasn’t as if he could have any relationship with this girl. Not only was she his pilot, but she had a shaky history and was a non-royal—and his Vash opponents in the Great Council were watching his every move, waiting for him to make just one misstep. No, Ian would marry the woman chosen for him. That was all he could do. He owed that much to Rom and his mother.
As for his attraction to Tee, it was likely tied in to the Vash belief that certain people had a mental and emotional affinity of thought. When such people paired up, their thoughts resonated, creating an immediate and powerful attraction. Which pretty much described what he felt with Tee. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she smelled, or the feel of her skin. Or the way she moved, and her humor and quick mind—the whole package.
Lust; that’s all it was.
His lips drew tight over his clenched teeth. He’d long prided himself on his ability to control his sexual urges. Sure he had them, had a lot of them. He’d slept with his share of women, but always within the context of a relationship, never as a mindless fling or one-night stand. It wasn’t easy taking that route, in fact it had damned near killed him a couple of times, but he’d dedicated his life to being everything his biological father was not. He’d been celibate for over five years now. Within the teachings of the Vash Nadah he had found the strength and guidance he needed to hold himself to his own high standards. Which was why this fascination with the pixie was as startling to him as it was inappropriate.
He opened a storage shelf and looked for a can of motor oil while his thoughts reeled back to his childhood in Arizona. He’d grown up watching his mother deal with his father’s adultery. Whether Jas’s loyalty went too far, or she’d ignored much of her husband’s behavior to keep the family intact, Ian could only guess, but by the time he reached manhood, he’d concluded that only those with despicably weak characters let testosterone guide their actions.
He shoved an opener into a can of oil, releasing a spray of viscous brown liquid. Great. Frowning, he grabbed a rag, wiped his hands, and slam-dunked the rag into the sterilizer. Maybe the pilot would prove herself undependable, like her predecessors. Dereliction of duty would make it easier to dismiss her…unless her pursuers solved his problem and got to her first.
Gann laid five thousand credits on the cloaker’s desk. “Tell me where the woman went,” he said. “And with whom.” As he added the remaining five thousand, he saw Lara staring in amazement at the prodigious stack of credits now on the table.
Eston was much more at ease. “I saw her sharing drinks with an Earth dweller at old Garjha’s bar. Then she went off with the man.”
“Tell me about the Earth dweller,” Gann said.
“Young fellow. Odd-colored hair.” Eston grimaced. “Brown, like so many of them have. In case you’re wondering, he didn’t file destination coordinates with the port controller. I wish he had. Your little Vash owes me for my troubles; I’d have liked to know where she was headed.”
Gann mulled that over. “By now the ship could be anywhere.”
Eston smiled. “You’ll need a tracker to find them.”
Gann contemplated the cloaker. What the man said regarding hiring a tracker was true. He hadn’t been in the frontier in years, and not this far out for years beyond that. He needed someone who knew the territory. “I’m willing to pay good wages. If the hunt is successful, I’ll throw in a bonus. Do you have someone in mind, someone good?”
Eston smiled triumphantly. “She’s the best there is.”
At the same time it dawned on Gann, the woman in question realized whom Eston meant. She made a small choking noise. Her hand opened, releasing the tent flap she’d been holding in hopes that Gann would leave. “Eston,” she said in a hiss. “What are you doing?”
The man crossed the tent and took her by the hand, steering her to a private corner, but not out of Gann’s hearing range. “Lara, your ship’s impounded. I don’t have enough to get her out—even with what the Vash gave me. If you want your ship back, go with the Vash on his.”
Something akin to fear quenched the fire in her golden brown eyes. “Go to hell.”
Gann turned his back on the pair as they continued to argue in hushed tones. A pot of tock in the corner was nearly full. But he decided against pouring himself a cup. The couple obviously had few supplies left in the wake of the stiff fines they’d paid for cloaking a stolen Dar starspeeder. He decided to wait in silence.
Finally Eston pushed the sullen woman toward him. “Lara Ros, master tracker. She’ll take you where you need to go.”
The woman’s eyes were steely and cold. “I am going with you only so that I may recover my ship.” Her voice caught on those words, as if that ship meant more to her than any person. “My bonus will equal the fine I’ll have to pay.”
Gann’s doubts surged. This Lara’s attitude was as rotten as year-old oster eggs. He hoped it didn’t interfere with her ability to do a job, because he had no time to waste hunting for another tracker. “I’ll pay you what you need to free your ship—once the woman is in my custody.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll wait while you gather your things.”
She scowled at Eston as she walked past, her demeanor proud but unyielding. The cloaker smiled. “Tell me all about it when you get back.”
“Yeah, right.” The tent flap whooshed closed.
Only then did it hit Gann that he was stuck with Miss Sunshine. By the heavens, he thought, this voyage was going to prove very long indeed.
“I’ll stand for no more sleeping past your assigned rest period, Tee. Every one of the six crewmembers aboard this ship carries his own weight.” Admonishing Tee’ah as she sat in the pilot’s chair, Quin leaned toward her.
She reared back, but the headrest stopped her from retreating as f
ar as she’d like. After he’d spoken to her, Ian vanished to who-knew-where, Muffin headed into town, while Gredda and Push drank tock in the galley and went over files listing what goods were in the cargo hold. That had left Tee’ah alone with Quin, who delightedly used the time to lecture her on the ship’s rules and her duties, which he said included taking her turn in the galley to cook meals when her number came up—something she prayed wouldn’t be soon. She had never prepared a meal in her life. While cooking her own food was something she’d expected, and even looked forward to, dinner for six was something she’d never anticipated. Her sympathies went out to the crew.
Quin pursed his lips, scrutinizing her. “I hope that liquor you like to guzzle hasn’t eaten all your brain cells, because you’ll need a few for this.” He shoved a palmtop computer into her hands. “Here—your shipboard systems manual.” He tapped the palmtop with work-worn fingers. “You’ve done all right so far. But like I told the captain today—if you fly rough, I’m not fixing whatever you break without it first being docked from your pay. Got it?”
“Yes. I do,” Tee’ah replied. Her tone was cool but not cold. As a professional starpilot she refused, no matter how much the man baited her, to bicker with her mechanic, wrench-wielding demon that he was.
She was thankful when Quin skulked off without further provocation. With the palmtop nestled in her hands, she relaxed against the contoured pilot’s chair. Her chair. She could grow used to the sound of that, she thought as she accessed the data stored on the little computer and began studying the lengthy shipboard systems manual.
But, as she waited for Ian to come back to take her to Grüma’s marketplace, her attention drifted to the miles of sunlit, forested hills outside the ship’s forward viewscreen. True, viewscreens in late-model starships weren’t transparent and displayed only what the computer “saw,” but it was obvious the day was lovely. The idea of being closed inside smothered her with a sensation of claustrophobia. She’d spent too much of her life gazing longingly out of windows; it was her time to be on the outside. She’d await Ian there.
She checked her hip pocket for credits, her laser pistol, and the personal comm unit Ian required her to carry. Across the cockpit, Quin crouched on his knees. His head was buried in an open panel underneath the comm station and tools glinted near his boots. The mechanic had been working since they’d landed, muttering about “bad luck” and “suspicious damage.” She doubted that cutting short her studying of the ship’s systems would make his mood any worse. “I will see you later, Quin.”
As she rushed down the gangway from the cockpit, Ian exited the cargo hold. “Ready?” he asked.
His words were interrupted by a shout: “Tee! Halt!” Quin clambered down the gangway. Red-faced, he looked as if he was ready to vent all the outrage in his rancorous little soul. “You’re confined to the ship.”
“She’s on probation,” Ian corrected. “Not confinement.”
“But, sir. I thought you said we had to keep an eye on her.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her. I’m taking her to the market.”
“Quin’s worried about the remaining quantity of functional brain cells in my head,” Tee said dryly.
The mechanic scowled at her. “Do me a favor, starpilot; don’t go losing any more today.” He hoisted himself up the gangway and stomped back to his repairs.
After watching him go, Ian turned and dropped a cap and a pair of eye-shaders into Tee’ah’s hands. “A makeshift disguise,” he said.
The crown of the cap was decorated with Earth runes: A.S.U., and a mean-looking little red man with horns and a tail. “Thank you. Is this Quin? It rather reminds me of him.”
To her delight, her employer laughed. “Meet the Sun Devil, the Arizona State University mascot and my ship’s namesake.” He seemed to search for a suitable English-to-Basic translation. “A.S.U. is where I received my higher education on Earth.”
Tee touched her fingertips to the emblem on the cap. Earth and its inhabitants symbolized all she hoped for in her new life: unconventionality and brash independence. “It will be an honor to wear it,” she said. Proudly, she wedged the hat onto her wretched hair—or what was left of it—and led the way down the entry ramp.
She walked with Ian along a dirt path leading away from the ship. The breeze held a slight chill, but it was sweet with the scent of sun-warmed pine and mild enough to warrant leaving off the thermal-control sewn into the inside lining of her brother’s shirt. Inhaling, she angled her face into the sun, an intense blue-white pearl so different from Mistraal’s oversized golden star. The sunshine complimented the hues of the lavender sky and a forest of conifers that was broken only by frothy streams and a few outcroppings of bald rocks.
Ian spoke companionably as they walked, picking up pebbles occasionally and tossing them into the dense undergrowth lining the trail. “So. You and Quin aren’t best friends yet.”
She rolled her eyes. “If he could inventory and keep track of my brain cells, he would.”
“The truth is, I need you, Tee, and he knows it. We’ve lost three pilots to alcohol. And don’t forget—you were drunk when I hired you.”
“I don’t drink…that much.” I don’t drink at all, she longed to tell him. But she had a questionable past to maintain.
“Carn used to say that, too. Then he killed himself with the stuff.”
Her hand flew to the wings on her chest. Likely they’d belonged to her predecessor. The thought made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “I’m sorry,” she said.
His casual shrug belied deeper feelings on the subject. “Between us, I’m sure we can think of some recreational activities that don’t include alcohol.”
He bent over to scoop up more pebbles. As she stared at his strong back and tight backside, outrageously wanton and explicit thoughts overtook her. When I want sex, I don’t have to buy it.
“Well”—she blushed hard—“I am open to sampling new and varied methods of enjoyment.”
But how new and how varied? She wasn’t sure. She was a virgin, yes, but she’d received instruction in the art of lovemaking from her toddler years. As a female Vash she’d been part of discussions, done reading, heard comparisons of techniques by experienced teachers. All her questions had been answered honestly and completely, or she’d been given the appropriate literature. Her brothers, on the other hand, had accumulated actual physical experience as teenagers with the palace courtesans. They’d been taught skills designed to bring their future wives pleasure, to ultimately strengthen each of their marriages.
The foundation of society is family. Sexuality enhances spirituality, said the Treatise of Trade. It was an integral part of her culture, and her faith. Tee’ah had expected to be a virgin on her wedding day, now that the marriage was off, there was no requirement to remain untouched. Was there?
Oblivious to her speculation, Ian shrugged off his black leather outer garment and anchored it over one shoulder with his index finger. The short-sleeved shirt he wore beneath was tight enough to glimpse the flexing of his stomach muscles as he strode beside her. The end of a thin gold chain disappeared into his shirt. Otherwise, he wore no skin jewelry, which was so fashionable of late, and no other adornment. And no Vash signet ring, she noted—another sign that she wasn’t keeping company with the one Earth dweller she needed to avoid at all cost. She couldn’t imagine the crown prince being without the trappings of his rank.
She steered the conversation back toward safer ground. “What will we find at the marketplace?”
“Just about anything you’d want—most of it illegal as heck.” He acted as if he assumed she’d seen the like before. Perhaps she hadn’t yet, but in a month or two, she’d undoubtedly be a veteran of such emporiums of unauthorized merchandise.
“Are the goods dangerous, then?”
He smiled. “No. Only hard to come by. Especially Earth beer, salt, coffee”—he rubbed his faded indigo pants—“and blue jeans.”
“I would thi
nk, since Grüma is so close to Earth, that those products would be easy to find.”
“Not when the Trade Federation ships them directly from Earth to the central galaxy, bypassing the frontier. By the time the products are transported back here and offered for sale—if they ever are—the price is beyond the average person’s reach.”
He didn’t sound enamored of the Federation. She wondered what he’d think if he knew who he’d hired—one of the daughters of its heads.
The path toward Grüma’s largest city took them into a thick grove of trees. A cool, damp hush enveloped them, the air soaked with the scent of ferns and pine.
“We’re almost there,” Ian said. She could hear the sounds of urban life ahead, though she could still see no signs of it. “Stay close in case your Dar friends show up. I’ve got pressing business to take care of later; it wouldn’t do to lose you now.”
She focused her eyes on the sun-dappled path before them. Ian might not want to lose her, but if her father committed fully to bringing her home, Tee’ah wondered if there would be anything Ian could do to stop him.
Chapter Eight
The streets of downtown Grüma radiated outward from a central plaza teeming with people: men, women, and even a few children. All had lighter complexions than Tee’ah, as well as the pale blond hair and brown eyes common to the merchant class. Tee’ah hoped her Earth-dweller facade was convincing enough. There wasn’t much she could do about her golden skin, but eye-shaders hid her pale irises, and only a few bits of her trademark Vash coppery dark-blond hair stuck out from under her cap.
As she walked across the plaza with Ian, no one gave them more than a glance. Anticipation quickened her steps. She’d never had the opportunity to be anonymous, to bargain with a vendor who wasn’t fearful about insulting a princess by asking too high a price for inferior merchandise. When she’d visited the market outside the palace gates on Mistraal, it was in the protective company of her handmaidens or her parents and their usual entourage. Here, someone might actually attempt to cheat her. Her spirits soared. Let them try!
