The Star Princess (34 page)

Ilana's voice gentled. "Before we knew it ourselves."

"Or wanted to admit it." Che's voice was equally tender. It made her want to believe that love could overcome the monumental obstacles they faced.

The chime sounded again. She left Ché soaking in the tub. In her bedroom, she opened the comm. A tiny projection of Ian beamed to an invisible midpoint between the unit and where she stood. She knew he saw a similar projection of her, on a planet light-years away. Every time she pondered the eons and eons-old technology that made the communication possible, her brain froze. It was easier on the mind if she thought of lag-free comm as simply another modern miracle, like steaming-hot showers, microwaves, and Advil.

With her suspicions and Che's fresh in her mind, she greeted Ian with a sassy smile. "I'd say good morning, Ian, but it must be the middle of the night there."

In fact, Ian did look tired. He had an enormous responsibility in his role as crown prince. Coupled with his upcoming wedding and her pestering him like this, no wonder he looked as if he could use eighteen straight hours of sleep. That, and a cold bottle of beer. "It'll be morning in five hours, so I guess that's close enough." His brown hair looked finger-combed, giving him that self-effacing, boyish charm that had always snared him women. And now that he was so buff from working out and playing Bajha, the contrast would make him even more irresistible, she thought with sisterly pride. But he had eyes only for his sweetie-pie of a fiancee, Tee'ah, and she was glad for that.

"I got your message. Congratulations on the new project, Ilana. Mom, Rom, Tee'ah— we're all excited about it."

"Yeah, well… thanks. So am I." She shrugged. "I bet none of you expected I'd turn out to be such a good ambassador."

"An ambassador of culture. I'll have to see about creating a position. Ilana Hamilton, Minister of Federation and Hollywood Affairs."

Normally, she'd give him hell over such a presumption, that she'd actually involve herself in politics, but if she were going to be living on Eireya and commuting to Earth, an official Trade Federation title might make her having a career more palatable to the traditionalist Vedlas. And it might give her more power to wield in her campaign to bring movies to the galactic masses.

"And Ché is willing to cooperate?" Ian asked pleasantly.

"Very much so." She tried to keep a straight face as she changed the subject. Gah, she wished she could tell him. Her secret was tearing her up. "About Linda's clearance… " She lowered her voice so Ché wouldn't hear. "The Vedlas' staff mucked it up. I'm particularly pissed at Che's advisor. Now Linda and I have to travel separately."

"I got Linda an expedited diplomatic passport," Ian said. "She's all set. It'll be available for download at the embassy on Friday. The error did come from the Vedlas' end. Her passport information wasn't lost, Ilana. It was deleted from the galactic database."

Ilana's throat felt suddenly dry. She imagined Klark typing away at a remote computer no one knew he had, using it to hack into the galactic database and cause chaos with her plans. "Deleted? Entirely? How did that happen?"

"I'm looking into it."

She sensed grimness in lan's tone. But she swallowed, nodding. "They did much better arranging the transportation. Both speeders are already here, at LA Galactic. Che's going to inspect them both before he leaves. Linda and 1 will go on the other as soon as we get her passport. I'll call you from the Wheel." She let out a breath. "And don't be too hard on Che's advisor. He might be bureaucratically challenged, but he helped us out, getting those speeders here so fast." She considered revealing her suspicions about Klark, but decided to keep her paranoia to herself. Klark was locked up. There was nowhere for him to go. And even if he did leave, by the time he got to Earth, she'd be gone, and by the time he reached the Wheel, she'd already be there, under Che's protection.

Instead, she used the remaining minutes of the call to tease her brother. "By the way, you haven't said a thing about me losing that bet we made."

"He hasn't married yet. We'll settle the wager when he does." Ian acted almost smug. It was nothing she could put her finger on, just a twin's instinct.

That was when she knew Ché was right. It was what she'd suspected all along. Ian wanted this, wanted them together, wanted to give the interest that was there from the day they first met the chance to grow into something more. If only Che's brother Klark felt the same way. But then she'd already have her fairytale ending when her gut told her that she was still far from the end of the book.

Ché hired a private anti-terrorist security firm to scour both starspeeders from top to bottom. While he questioned the starpilots— both skilled, reliable men he had seen before— the security team crawled through every crevice onboard the speeders. They even tore into several sealed containers of food and water. When he was sure both the pilots and the ships were worthy of transporting his wife-to-be, he returned to Ilana, who was waiting patiently and none too happily on the tarmac. "Which one would you like?"

Her eyes lit up. "I get to pick?"

"I will always give you a choice."

Her eyes became a smokier blue, the way they looked when something he said particularly touched her. But he meant it as truth, not as a frivolous lover's comment. As long as the circumstances were normal, and her safety was not at risk, he would never try to control her. For him the joy of their relationship was its unpredictable nature, and the mental challenge her spirit presented him. If he'd wanted a meek and compliant wife, he'd have done as his family asked.

Ilana slid an arm around his waist. "I'll take the one named Patience, if that's how it translates."

"It does."

"Good. I'll need it. And you've got Arrogance of Eireya." She squeezed him. "How could I in good faith take that from you?"

He laughed. "It translates to Pride of Eireya, not arrogance."

"If you say they're distinct and separate qualities, I guess I will, too," she teased.

Ché pulled her hard against him. Outside the gleaming silver speeders, the starpilots waited at attention, discreetly off to the side, allowing Ché his private goodbye. He brought his hands to her face, framing it. Shaking his head, he held her gaze. "Somehow I have fallen hopelessly and irreparably in love with you."

She made a small sound of surprise, and her blue eyes turned the color of the mist-strewn sky above. "Me, too."

He dragged her into another fierce hug. No matter the ups and downs of their relationship, he thought, he would always know where he stood with her. No guessing. He did not like to guess.

Ilana cleared her throat, as if struggling against powerful emotion. She spoke against his chest. "Go," she whispered. "Do what you have to do. I'll be there, at the Wheel, waiting."

"I thought you were 'not the waiting type,'" he said with gentle humor.

"I'm not." She lifted her head. Her eyes sparkled with love and tears. "You got a one-time good deal. Don't blow it."

"Slang," he complained, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks. As their smiles faded, their gazes held. He willed her the strength to do what he knew was difficult for hen waiting, believing, trusting that he would follow through on his promises.

Once more he drew her close, and she hugged him back with all her might, laying her head against his shoulder. Whispering to her, he circled his hand on her back. "Only you can give up hope. No one can take it from you, if you do not let go. It is what my ancestors learned when all seemed lost. Through the darkest times, they never lost their faith."

He could feel her trembling, this strong woman, and that endeared her to him even more. He kissed her, drawing away slowly.

Tears glinted in her eyes as she dragged her fingertips along his cheek. The caress raised tiny bumps on his skin. "I'll keep the faith, Ché. And you— be the diplomat you were bom to be, and make the entire Federation bow to your will."

His fingers were slow in leaving hers, dragging over her warm palm as he stepped away. They may have taken my title of crown prince, but they will not take the woman I love."

He turned away, walking slowly at first, expressing his reluctance at leaving her behind. But as he commenced the climb up the boarding ramp, his strides lengthened. Bow to his will the Federation would. Devotion and determination were what made a man a Vash Nadah, and Ché, Prince of the Vedlas, was Vash Nadah to the very core.

Klark sat close behind the starpilot on the sea-raptor class starfighter he'd commandeered, a surprisingly easy feat. The Vedla hangars were guarded lightly. After all, who would dare steal from a Vedla?

Klark chuckled. Leaning forward, he spoke quietly into the young man's ear. "Keep your hands on the steering yoke, and do not remove them."

The blade he pressed into the pilot's throat rode the bob of a swallow. "Yes, my lord."

Klark didn't care to abuse a loyal Vedla soldier in such a way, but even his hostage starpilot would understand why he'd had to do it soon enough. Now, with the blade at the starpilot's neck and the ion pistol he'd wrested from the startled man at the ready, Klark made certain he'd be light-years away by the time someone entered his quarters and discovered that he was gone.

The alert had not yet gone out about his escape— or if it had, it was being handled as a private, internal crisis. He would hear the transmissions when and if a Federation-wide search commenced. But no matter how the Vedlas chose to handle his escape, Klark was on his way. His throbbing neck-wound pounded out a staccato beat of anticipation.

Soon the starfighter would leave the sprawling do-main of Eireyan space. Klark watched his home star shrink to a pinpoint of light. "Now," he murmured.

With a blade pressed to his throat, the starpilot made transmissions that gained the ship clearance beyond the commercial space lanes, and into interstellar space where it could accelerate to greater-than-light speeds, arguably the greatest gift of technology left to the galaxy's modern humans from the lost civilization that predated history and spawned them all. But to Klark, the incredible speed was a gift of a more personal nature. It would allow him to rendezvous with the Earth princess before Hoe or anyone else stole from him that long-awaited, singular satisfaction.

Only two men knew the identity of the second speeder, the one that would carry the Earth princess, the one Klark would snare as soon as it left Earth space, stealing that victory from Hoe. How could he fail? With the speeder's identification entered into his starfighter's computer, the commandeered war craft would track her down like a hungry night-shark.

Klark whispered to himself, and to the starpilot's consternation— it seemed he frightened the poor fellow, as he did most everyone else: "Soon, my little princess, soon. And then I will arrive to escort you to your destiny."

At that, Klark began to laugh. He'd always had the most delightful way of phrasing things.

Chapter Twenty-two

Muffin whistled as he trimmed the hedge along the walkway at Coast Municipal Airport. Ché was no longer on Earth; there was no need for Muffin to re port to work. He could have quit, but somehow he didn't. What kind of signal would that send to Copper? He wanted her to see in him a man of responsibility, a man with a good work ethic, a man whom a woman could trust to be a good provider, not one who abandoned an agreement he had made with an employer, regardless of the situation. Certainly, he had no intention of keeping his job at the airport, but it anchored his waning time on Earth with a feeling of "normal life." A life he'd once scoffed at, but that now had become more and more enticing. He would put in his notice to quit, just like any other employee, once he decided what he wanted to do. He was working up the courage to ask Copper if she wanted to continue seeing him. She might not, once he told her who he really was. But he would not do that until his charge, Princess Ilana, was safely offworld.

"Hey, Big Boy," he heard Copper call out. "I brought us lunch."

Muffin turned to find her, dressed in a water-and-soap-splattered jumpsuit that told him she'd been working hard all morning washing airplanes. In her hands was a plastic cooler. Copper, he discovered, made lunches from the heavens. He wheeled his cart into the tool shed and locked it. Then they sat at one of the "picnic tables," as Copper called them, to eat their meal. The buzz of light planes filled the background. The sun was bright and warm. It turned Copper's round checks pink, and Muffin could count a few new freckles. She looked happy.

Eating silently, he enjoyed watching her. She simply smiled, already used to his quiet nature. "Have another." She passed him a roast beef sandwich. She'd layered the meat with a tongue-searing sauce that he found delicious. He ate hungrily, his stomach nowhere near full. But luckily, there was more. Copper had brought boiled eggs, apples, grapes, a block of cheese, a variety of cold drinks, and a confection called "brownies" for dessert. Copper always served dessert. And when he took her out to eat, she always ordered it. It indicated a sweet and generous nature, his mother, had always insisted, a lover of desserts herself. Muffin would have to tell his mother, next time he called home to Thorme, just how right she was.

When they'd eaten their fill, they sat drowsily at the table. "It's such a pretty day. I don't want to go back to work," Copper complained.

He wished she didn't have to. He'd rather spend the day in her company. But reluctantly they cleaned up after themselves and trudged back to their jobs, planning to meet after work, as was their routine. She had just left when Muffin's private comm chimed— a rare and rapid ring that was a signal for an emergency.

Adrenaline rushed to his muscles. He whipped out the comm and fled with it to the tool shed, slamming the door closed and locking it. It was dark, and the air was thick with the odor of grass clippings. But he was alone.

"Where is my sister?" he heard Ian bellow through the tiny communicator.

"Ahh… " Muffin wasn't sure. "Packing her bags?"