The Star Prince (9 page)

"Didn't you think the Dars would miss their ship?"

Her cheeks burned. "Well. They have it back now."

"True."

"I intended to keep it only until I saved enough for a down payment on a vessel of my own. I would have returned it. Eventually." Nervously she tried the contents of her mug, more out of a desire to appear relaxed than to quench her thirst. But the beverage tasted heavenly, and she brought the mug to her lips for another drink.

Ian leaned forward, balancing his forearms on his thighs. "Did you talk at length to anyone on Blunder besides me and the bartender?"

"Only the cloaker I hired. The only way Dar security would know that I boarded your ship is if the cloaker saw me go with you and Dar security forced it out of him."

"Forced?" Ian gave a quick laugh. "He'd volunteer the information in a heartbeat if it meant reducing his fine."

Tee'ah felt her heart jump. "I had to give him thousands of credits as insurance against those fines. I don't think he's one to want to help the authorities." She prayed that was so.

Ian shoved one hand through his hair. His misgivings regarding rescuing her were evident in the shadows under his eyes. She felt bad. He'd saved her; he didn't deserve the risk she was bringing him. The least she could do was make him feel comfortable about keeping her aboard his ship. "All right," she said. "Let's assume the cloaker talked, then. And with a few judicious bribes and maybe a few threats, Dar security used what they learned from him to find out which ship belonged to you, the Earth dweller. We didn't file destination coordinates with the space controller, correct?" She took a steadying breath. "So the only data available to them would have been our initial routing. Even if they retrieved, deciphered, and downloaded our routing, without knowing our destination they'd have lost us when we jumped to hyperspace."

Ian nodded, as if he agreed with her reasoning. "I've already had a look around the city," he said. "There were no Dars."

"Then the cloaker held his tongue, yes?"

"I hope so." Her employer tipped his mug toward his mouth and drained the contents. Then he set the cup on the floor between his boots. When he focused on her, his gaze was penetrating. His voice was low. "As part of my crew, you're going to see and do some things you don't understand. The less you know, the better, if you know what I mean."

Tee'ah wasn't sure she did, but she nodded nonetheless.

"I sell Earth goods on the black market. That means I go where I want, see whom I want, and stay as long or short as I want. I don't make a lot of money, but enough to afford a few luxuries and to support my ship and crew."

He searched her face for shock, perhaps, or distaste. But that's not what Tee'ah felt at all. She envied his life of independence and freedom.

"If the Trade police wanted to," he continued, "they could easily fine me out of business. Or arrest me. So I make it a point not to attract their attention."

"I don't care to attract anyone's attention, either."

He considered her statement. "That's true. You're on the run."

She gulped her coffee and scalded her throat.

He paused, then shrugged. "Well, so are half the people in the frontier I suppose." He gave her a curious look. "I saw the way the soldiers acted when they combed the bars on Blunder looking for you. They were friendly. More importantly, they had their pistols in their holsters. Right away I knew you weren't dangerous." He regarded her steadily. "But what are you, Tee?"

Her reluctance to explain sat between them like a Tjhu'nami shield, thick and silent. It was clear that he sensed her hesitation. Compassion filled his greenish-gray eyes. Curiosity, too. Which unnerved her. If she were careless in what she revealed about herself, he'd grow more suspicious than he already was. And she couldn't afford that, couldn't risk the chance of anyone— especially a black-market merchant— discovering who she was. She'd eluded her father's men last time, but there was no guarantee she'd escape the next. After the sometimes terrifying yet exhilarating days since leaving home, she was certain that she never wanted to be trapped in the sheltered isolation of her old life again.

With that in mind, she chose the frankest reply of all. "I'm not what I was."

He kept silent, as if hoping she'd volunteer more. She didn't. But neither did he. Perhaps he recognized that pressing her for information would lead to questions about his own activities. Perhaps there were other reasons.

He regarded her for a moment longer before he stepped into the corridor. "By the way, I need you ready to fly."

"Again?" She'd already figured that going back to bed wouldn't be possible, but another flight so soon after the last? She gritted her teeth against her aching head. "Of course, Captain, To where?"

"To Baresh. Have you been there?"

"No. I have never heard of it."

"That makes two of us. A respectable portion of the galaxy's trillidium is taken out of the Bareshti Mines, from what I'm told." He hesitated, as if gauging what to tell her. "I learned this morning that my competitor is headed there. I want to find out why he's interested in the place."

"When do we leave?"

He must have sensed the anticipation in her tone as well as her fatigue. He replied with a slightly apologetic smile. "This afternoon. Quin's working on some repairs— today the environmental control system's giving us trouble. Tomorrow, who knows?" he added irritably. "So get finished dressing and get something to eat."

She stopped him before he left the room. "Is there a market nearby?"

"Yes. About a mile away."

"Excellent. I need to go shopping."

"I see." He scrutinized her. "For what, exactly?"

She fought an evil urge to say, "Whiskey." Instead she pointed to her stained, ill-fitting outfit. "I need new uniforms, extra clothing, and a way to replace the toiletries I left on my ship."

"Understood. I'll take you after breakfast."

She stared at him as he stood and strode away, uncertain what she had gotten herself into. The Earth dweller was an enigma, like no one she'd ever known or been exposed to. Certainly he was up to no good. Danger and excitement were a way of life for him.

And it appeared she was going along for the ride.

"Is this the way you treat your best repo pilot?" a woman shouted. "Wait. I'm your only repo pilot. I want what you owe me. Now. Every last blasted credit!"

Gann Truelenne stood in the shadows outside a faded tent in a row of seedy shops on Donavan's Blunder. He'd journeyed here immediately after leaving Rom and Jas on Sienna, intent on questioning the cloaker who had tried to help Princess Tee'ah camouflage her speeder. But from within the tent, an argument raged.

"Lara, there's no money left to recover your ship. None. Dar security fined me into oblivion. But I'll make good on what I owe you; I swear it. Give me more time."

" 'Give' you?" The woman spat the words with contempt. "I don't give anything to anyone. Not even you, Eston. You know that." The female's voice turned sullen. "I needed the credits to pay the landing fees on that disgusting rock, Kabasten. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been there. Now they've impounded my ship! Damn it, Eston, it's the only thing I have, and you know it."

Gann detected a slight thickening in the woman's voice. "Where am I supposed to go?" she asked. "Would you tell me? How am I supposed to make a living now? Damn you, Eston!"

Something heavy crashed to the floor and shattered. Gann winced.

"Lara— "

"The next one will hit the target; I swear it," the female said in a hiss. "All this has happened because you helped that spoiled little Vash Nadah. How could you? After all you know about them!"

Against his better judgment, Gann pushed aside the tent flap and walked in. Broken pottery crunched under his boots. "Good day to you." Smiling, he glanced around the disorganized tent, looking for hints, items of clothing, anything that might indicate that the princess had been there.

"Vash scum."

The woman, Lara, had directed her remark at him. Her honey brown eyes full of fire, her chest heaving, Lara glared at him. Her voice was low and venomous. "I despise the Vash. Every… last… one."

Her ferocity caught Gann off guard. At forty-five standard years, he'd seen his share of the darker side of life; he'd fought in an unpopular, protracted war— the only conflict since the inception of the Vash Nadah— and subsequently accompanied its instigator, Rom B'kah, into exile. Gann was no stranger to bitterness and anger in all their forms. But never had he seen hatred displayed with such intensity and passion as that expressed by this woman. Which was truly saddening, for apart from her animosity she was fascinating to behold. What a waste that such a beauty could be filled with such ill will.

From nearby, the cloaker's cheery voice shattered the awkwardness in the room. "Good day to you, sir," he sang out, his expression eager. "Do you need your ship cloaked, perhaps?"

"Let's just say that I need your expertise."

"Expertise, my eye." The woman's mouth dipped in a sneer as she looked him over from head to boots. Stripped naked, he doubted he would have felt more exposed to her scrutiny.

She leaned against one of the support poles, her arms folded over her chest. Although her skin was as smooth as a twenty-year-old girl's, her eyes looked eighty. He'd place her age somewhere in between— mid-thirties, he guessed, a good decade younger than himself. Her black one-piece outfit was utilitarian and unisex, like her tawny neck-length hair, a contrast to the dainty jewelry sparkling on her ears and wrists. "So… the Vash Nadah didn't extort enough credits from Eston their first time," she taunted. "They had to send you back for more. That's why you're here, isn't it? Admit it, Vash."

Gann decided to ignore the moody little fireball. To his mild amusement, he saw that it infuriated her. "The Vash woman you were fined for helping is a runaway," he told the cloaker. "Her family fears for her welfare, and sent me here on their behalf so that they may be reunited with her swiftly and safely. I'm not here to punish you or to coerce you, but to reward you."

The woman choked out a laugh.

"Generously," Gann said, as if he hadn't heard. "If you cooperate and give me information leading to where I can find the woman." One by one he laid currency cards on the cloaker's desk until the equivalent of five thousand credits fanned out over the alloy top.

Shoulders held stiffly, the woman named Lara walked to a small ion-burner and poured a cup of tock. An intricately patterned silver band slid down her wrist. The workmanship was exquisite and matched the braided ring adorning her left ear. She sipped silently, her slender back toward him. "Don't waste your time, Eston," she snarled. "I'd trust a desert snake before I'd trust a Vash Nadah."

Eston cast her a pleading glance before he regarded Gann with interest. "I may be able to help you," he said, and waggled his eyebrows pointedly at the credits.

"Excellent." Gann allocated a thousand more to his cause. There were times when Rom's bottomless fortune came in handy, he thought. "You told Dar security that the woman disappeared off planet while you labored aboard her speeder. Is that true?"

"Don't you dare accuse us of lying." The woman's voice squeezed out past her gritted teeth. She strode to the tent flap and shoved it open, allowing a steamy, sickly-smelling breeze to seep inside. "You don't belong in the frontier. None of you Vash do. Get out!"

"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 Soft-tail 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.