The Star Prince (12 page)

Crat. Why hadn't she insisted that the merchant include instructions? Her stupid error echoed every stumble she'd taken so far since leaving Mistraal. First her entire escape was witnessed. Then her star-speeder was confiscated on her first stopover in the frontier— with all her possessions aboard. And her one attempt to alleviate her misery had turned into a drunken escapade that ended with her coming aboard the Sun Devil— the one bright spot, she conceded, in a black hole of blunders.

She let out a long, weary breath and forced herself to face the woman in the mirror. Each one of her mistakes could have ended her dreams of freedom. But they hadn't. Nor would her slime-hued hacked-off locks, she vowed. The way she saw it, the chances of Dar security spotting her in a search had just diminished another stress-reducing iota.

Vigorously, she towel-dried her hair and tried to scrub the spots of brown from her forehead. Her hair looked somewhat better after she combed it off her forehead, but the fuzzy ends curled as they dried. She pressed them down, but they sprang up again. Defeated, she threw down her hands and dashed to the galley.

The noise and laughter pouring from the chamber spurred memories of the bustle of the dining hall in which she'd taken her meals with her family. It seemed she would not be able to stop missing them as easily as she'd cut her ties. Clutching her hands together, she waited for the heaviness in her chest to pass. Then she skulked through the hatch, hoping the crew was too engrossed in their meal to notice her hair.

Ian calmly folded his napkin and stood. It was a show of respect practiced by all Vash Nadah males when a woman entered a room, but not one she'd expected from an Earth dweller. Before she could ponder his behavior, conversation ceased. A few spoons clanked into bowls and Quin began choking. Gredda pounded him on the bade

"Her hair… " he sputtered.

Tee'ah was unable to resist the opportunity to torture the man. "I do have an extra box of hair color in my quarters. I planned to save it for a later date. However, perhaps I shall reserve it for you, my dear mechanic, should you decide to join me on the"— she winked— "wild side."

Red-faced, Quin wheezed something at her. Gredda and the others chuckled appreciatively.

As he pulled out her chair and seated her, Ian appeared thoroughly entertained. "Nice 'do," he said.

"I'd been wanting to try something different."

"It is that."

Smiling, she turned her attention to her meal. His gaze was totally without censure. Perhaps it meant that she was one step closer to being accepted as a member of his crew, green hair and all.

Chapter Nine

Gann found Lara in the Quillie's cockpit. She must not have heard him drop down from the ladder, for she remained as still as a statue, her petite dancer's body nestled in the pilot's chair as she stared out the enormous curving viewscreen at the bow. They were traveling at many times light speed, and had been for most of the day, racing toward Padma Eight, a boisterous little planet known for its cargo operation and where, according to Lara, pilots went looking when they needed a job. Gann hoped Princess Tee'ah would be one of them.

Lara brought her hands to her eyes and rubbed.

Noticing, Gann said, "You've been on duty long enough, Lara."

At the sound of his voice, she went rigid, but she did not turn around.

"It's my turn to watch the computer fly the ship," he added.

"My shift's not over," she returned coldly.

"It's been eight hours."

"I'll take eight more, then."

"You're a workaholic."

"Actually," she said, glancing at him with hollow, haunted eyes, "I'm an insomniac. You might as well go back to sleep, because I won't be able to."

He thought of suggesting a few mutually enjoyable activities that would certainly tire her, but he held his tongue. "So take a sleep-inducer. In eight hours I want you back here, on tracking duty, refreshed and ready to go."

"Bah. No drugs. That's a Vash weakness." Her tone was cold, but stopped short of overt disrespect.

"I said you're relieved of duty, Ros. Go to bed. That's an order."

"Fine." She stood with her back to him as her fingertips tapped over the navigation computer. "We're on course, on schedule. I show atmospheric entry on Padma Eight in sixteen-point-two standard hours." Without looking up, she pushed past him. I’ ll be back in eight."

Gann folded his arms across his chest. He had been raised to celebrate and appreciate the differences between men and women, but Lara was unlike any female he'd ever encountered. She was devoid of warmth, of softness, of anything he remotely associated with femininity.

And it roused his curiosity.

"All right, Miss Sunshine, what is it about me, or maybe men in general, that's so blasted distasteful to you?"

She turned. Her face conveyed an air of fragility, but the muscles flexing beneath the skin of her slender limbs indicated endurance and strength. Dim, bluish light illuminated the cockpit, bleaching her tawny complexion. "You have no idea, do you?"

"Why don't you enlighten me?"

The cavernous chamber in which they stood rang with mechanical emptiness, but it didn't come close to matching the desolation in her eyes. "This conversation falls outside the parameters of my job description. You hired me to track for you, not to be your friend."

"True," he replied.

"You pay me, I get my ship back. Then we go our separate ways. It's that simple. Don't ask for more than that, because you won't get it."

"You left out one very important element of your job description," Gann said.

"Did I?" Her proud stance faltered almost imperceptibly, but he was trained in such subtle clues and so he did not miss the change. He'd intended to tease her for leaving out any mention of finding the princess— the reason he'd hired her in the first place— but seeing the uncertainty tightening her features, he changed his mind.

Had Eston somehow implied to Lara that Gann might require more from her than tracking? Sex, perhaps? Though he couldn't imagine the cloaker being able to order her to give her body against her will. Sexual servitude was illegal and reviled by the Vash Nadah and merchant class alike, but rumors of it still abounded in the outermost reaches of the frontier.

"I was going to tease you," he said gently. "First you find the princess, then you get paid, then you get your ship back. It's that simple."

Her expression was as cold and as impenetrable as stone.

His hands folded over his chest, Gann looked out at the stars. "She could be anywhere by now," he said quietly, conjuring the young princess as she appeared in the holo-image, placing her in his mind's eye in the raw and dangerous worlds he remembered from his years in the frontier. "Her honor is at stake. It's my sworn duty to protect that honor."

"Her honor," the woman scoffed. "You mean her virginity, don't you?"

Her smirk threw him. It was clear she didn't share his courtly views of the princess. "It is my duty— and my wish— to defend her. She is a woman, and thus deserving of the highest respect."

"A treasure to be valued and protected," she finished for him.

"Yes, like you. Like all women. Beautiful and precious."

She glanced up sharply. "Please. Save your bad poetry for where it'll do you some good." She walked to the gangway leading from the cockpit.

He didn't understand how he'd insulted her with what he considered to be the greatest compliment: his awareness and appreciation of her femininity. "I adhere to the warrior's code. I trust you'll grow accustomed to my views by the end of the voyage," he called after her.

"I doubt that," she replied, turning. "As for finding your precious princess— believe me, Vash, nothing will please me more. In fact, I will now use my break to determine the best way to speed the process along."

Determination gleaming in her eyes, she pulled herself up the gangway and disappeared into the corridor leading to her quarters.

During the journey to Baresh, Tee'ah's confidence in her flying ability soared as her fear of being rounded up by her father's guards diminished. Driven, like a man possessed, Ian kept her— and the entire crew— to a grueling schedule, requiring her to be on duty almost constantly at the controls of the Sun Devil. Her hopes of getting to know the Earth dweller better succumbed to a string of long days and too-short nights— not to mention an almost complete lack of time alone with him.

Shortly before the scheduled arrival on Baresh, Tee'ah's alarm chime woke her from a deep dreamless sleep. Struggling out of bed she stumbled into the baggy flightsuit she'd borrowed from Push. She alternated between it, her new clothes from Grüma, and her brother's clothes. The handfuls of cold water she splashed onto her face would have to keep her functioning until she could get her hands on a good, dark, steaming cup of Earth coffee. Not only did the stuff taste like heaven, it did a far better job of waking her than the tock she was used to.

After a quick stop in the galley to pour herself a cup of Earth-brew from the pot Ian had already prepared, she hurried down the corridor. Only Ian, Muffin, and a grouchy-looking Quin awaited her in the dimly illuminated cockpit.

She sat in her piloting chair, snapped her coffee cup into its spill-proof holder, strapped in, and went to work. Her hands, now accustomed to the pre-launch routine, skimmed over the glowing, touch-activated control panel, her fingers flying as she entered arrival information into the computer.

Then she said, "I've sent our request for docking to Baresh control." She fought back a yawn. "I don't know what time of day it is where we're landing, but I hope someone's awake enough to clear us."

"Doesn't matter." Ian snapped his safety harness into the receptacle between his knees. "We're docking no matter what."

A few tousled locks of dark brown hair flopped over his forehead, and faint lines of weariness were etched on either side of his mouth. But counteracting his fatigue was tension.

Strange. As she understood it, they were chasing after a competitor of his named Randall. But sometimes Ian acted as if the fate of the entire galaxy depended on this mission. Perhaps there was more to it than he let on. She found it odd that no one in the crew had spoken about selling the goods in the cargo hold. They'd told her they were traders, but she was beginning to have her doubts.

Gredda marched into the cockpit, her thick gleaming blond braid draped over one bare shoulder. "I am ready," she announced, sounding entirely too chipper for the early hour. Push, the assistant cargo handler, stumbled in after her and took his seat. While they buckled in, Tee'ah finished loading the data the ship's navigation computer needed to guide the Sun Devil to the colonized asteroid's surface. Most of the time, she flew arrivals by hand, for the pleasure of it as well as skill-honing practice. Tonight, due to fatigue and the hundreds of smaller deadly asteroids in the area, she'd decided to let the automatic flyer do the job. A tired pilot's best friend, she'd heard Mistraal's cargo pilots call it.

A trail of green lights danced across the control panel before her. She sat up straight. "We're cleared to dock."

The front viewscreen showed nothing but a star-filled void; it was deceptively empty. However, three-dimensional, temperature enhanced images on her instruments warned of innumerable asteroids ahead.

A mining colony in the middle of an asteroid field… The ore that was gleaned from the rock here was obviously deemed more important than human life and safety.

The huge space-boulders tumbled past, a few, like the one they'd just passed had glinting lights: mining colonies attached to their surfaces like glittering ticks. Just as she reached for her cooling cup of coffee, Tee'ah felt an odd vibration from somewhere under her seat. The Sun Devil banked right and several items not secured properly skidded off a shelf and clattered to the floor. She grabbed hold of the control yoke, then a sharp jolt set off a klaxon, telling her what she already knew: the computer was no longer steering the ship through the asteroids. She was.

"Hang on," she shouted.

Her heart drummed a staccato beat, but her hands held the controls, and the ship, steady. Guided by the images on her instruments, she chose which way to turn to avoid the asteroids, though she didn't weave between them as precisely as the computer might have.

She thought of the day she'd docked the cargo freighter on Mistraal. Captain Riss had been there, ready to offer her instruction— or take over if need be. Tonight there was no one watching over her. Only her skill could get the ship safely past danger.

Her stomach squeezed tightly. Concentrate.

At last the flight path smoothed out, and she made the transition from asteroid dodging to final approach. Moments later, she docked in their assigned spot, an enclosed berth connected by a pressurized tube leading into an immense habitation dome. Bar-esh.

Slumping back in her seat, she blew a stream of air out of her mouth. "Well, then," she told Ian. "Docking complete."

Quin muttered a silent prayer of thanks and unbuckled from his seat. Then Gredda and Push thumped a few thankful, hearty pats on her back before they left to check for bounced-around goods in the cargo bay.

Ian's gray-green eyes glowed. "I could use a crowbar to pry my hands from these armrests. But that was some flying, Ace."

She smiled with pleasure at his compliment. "The appropriate starpilot response would be— it was nothing."

"No." His voice softened a fraction. "You're really something."

They regarded each other in the star-drenched shadows. Reflected in Ian's eyes was a capable and adventurous woman— not a too-often-reproached king's daughter who had laughed too hard, talked too much, and escaped into daydreams always more vivid than her life. No, in the Earth dweller's gaze she saw only her marvelous transformation.

Princess Tee'ah Dar had disappeared. Pilot Tee was here to stay.

While the pixie busied herself with after-landing checks, Ian sat up, elbows on his knees, and ran his fingers through his hair. They'd narrowly missed plowing head-on into that asteroid!