Page 16 of Bounty Hunter's Match

“Of course.” His lips curved slightly. “Like my research on human customs?”

“Exactly.” I quickened my pace. “The restaurant’s this way.”

The Renthian establishment occupied a prime spot overlooking the station’s artificial sun. Floating platforms drifted above us, each surrounded by a privacy field that shifted colors like soap bubbles.

The host - a Renthian whose bioluminescent patterns spelled out “Welcome” in six languages - led us to a platform that rose smoothly into the air.

“Your server will arrive shortly,” they said, their patterns rearranging to display the drink menu. “Please enjoy the atmospheric calibration period.”

I settled into my seat, trying not to notice how the platform’s size meant Barek sat close enough that his knee brushed mine. “So. Security plans.”

“For the Gala.” He picked up his menu, which flickered and adjusted to Vinduthi color spectrum preferences. “Professional discussion only.”

“Obviously.” I studied my own menu. “Though speaking of professional matters, I noticed you’ve acquired several new pamphlets lately.”

“Intelligence gathering.”

“Including ‘Cross-Species Dating: A Beginner’s Guide’?”

His ears twitched. “Thorough research is important.”

“Very thorough.” I took a sip of water. “The twins mentioned you’ve been asking about human courtship customs.”

“The twins talk too much.”

“It’s their job.” I glanced up to find him watching me. “Like it’s my job to notice behavioral patterns.”

“And what patterns have you noticed?”

The platform drifted higher, giving us a view of the station’s curved horizon. Stars glittered beyond the atmospheric shields. “You tell me, bounty hunter. You’re the one studying dating guides.”

He growled softly. “Bishop...”

“Yes?”

“Stop analyzing me.”

“Can’t help it. Professional hazard.” I smiled. “Like how you can’t help tracking exits and analyzing threats. Speaking of which - your left hand keeps twitching toward your belt. Hidden weapon?”

“Standard precaution.”

“Even in a civilian restaurant?”

“Especially in civilian restaurants.” He shifted, and suddenly his thigh pressed against mine. “Civilian locations are often targeted for-”

“If you say ‘classified,’ I’m ordering you the Fanaith special.”

His nose wrinkled. “The fermented seaweed dish?”

“With extra brine.”

The server - another Renthian whose patterns now displayed food specialties - arrived before he could respond. I ordered something relatively safe-sounding. Barek chose what looked like meat, carefully pronouncing the Renthian name.

“You speak Renthian?”

“Basic phrases.” He watched the server drift away. “Useful for tracking targets through different sectors.”

“And here I thought you might be trying to impress me.”

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