Page 5 of Escape Velocity

“Am I illegal cargo?”

He hated the directness of the question, but he wasn’t going to lie to her. “Yes.”

“Maybe I am no better off than I was on Naxion.”

He tried to put himself in her position. She must feel like she’d leaped from a nest of snakes—perhaps into a cave of spiders.

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Somehow, she maintained her composure as she waited for his response.

“We’ll figure that out when we get back to Danalon.”

“Danalon is your planet?”

“My home planet, yes. I travel through the seven worlds—hauling cargo.”

“Cargo. Like when men on my planet take goats to market?”

He winced. “Not usually anything alive.”

She watched his reactions carefully. It appeared he did not like the assignment of transporting a slave from Naxion. Because he thought it was immoral? Or because it was too much trouble, now that he realized what he’d stepped into.

Whichever it was, she was stuck with him for now. Stuck with him while she was on this ship because she had no idea how to fly it. She was totally dependent on him. But perhaps that situation would change.

What would he want her to do? Just be herself? She didn’t even know what that was anymore because she was playing a part—based on her experiences, her expectations and her fears. She had been helpless for so long. In the clank of a cone bug’s jaws, everything had changed. But how—exactly?

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Max wanted to tell his passenger to trust him, but he couldn’t get the words out because Rafe had put him in an impossible situation.

She sat with her hands clasped in her lap. “I see I am a problem for you.”

“Let’s not make any judgments until we find out the situation,” he said, silently cursing Rafe Cortez.

Trying to change the subject, he said, “I’m Maxwell—Max Cassidy. Your name is Kawanda.”

She gave a mirthless laugh. “No. That is the word for worthless slave.”

He suppressed a curse. “What is your name?”

“I lost my name when I was forced into slavery.”

“What was your name?”

Her voice turned hard. “I will not take it back. That girl is dead.”

“I have to call you something.”

Did he sense defiance in her voice when she said, “You can choose.”

He thought about alternatives. Once he had had a sister. She had died long ago, and he wasn’t going to borrow her name. But she had loved tending her flower garden. Her favorite blossom had been the delicate Amber Lily. And the flower had another meaning, too.

“Amber,” he finally said.

“Was she someone you loved?” she asked in a soft voice.

“No.”

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