Page 34 of Star Champion

“Fever. Great Mother. I’m aghast to hear that a man can die from an infection a mere fifteen-minute walk from starships capable of light-speed travel.”

She felt his horror-struck sympathy like a physical touch. “Aye, it’s true.”

“How did he know about seas? Was he from the off-worlds?”

“No. He learned from being told, like me. Also at the arcades. He watched vids and told me about them.”

“So, you never saw a sea. Your father never saw a sea. Yet, he was able to teach the concept, and you have excelled to extraordinary levels employing it. Incredible.” There was a brief, deep, and contemplative gap in the conversation. Then, he said, “I think you’re ready to play Mr. Skeet. Lights!”

The illumination came up slowly, allowing her eyes to adjust. Sir Klark removed his glasses. Yonson Skeet joined them in the ring. “You gave Sea Kestrel all the secrets to defeating me, eh, sir? Just don’t share anything with Team Sienna, Kes. That’s the B’kah’s team.” He was busy fastening the neck clasps of his beautiful bajha suit, his outfit as clean and bright as his broad grin that dimpled both cheeks. A galactic celebrity. His boyish charm was disarming, the kind of demeanor designed to make a person let down their guard.

It would not work on her. This was the match that mattered, and Skeet had no intention of letting her win it. Not that she expected to, but there would be no allowances like there were with Xirri, no handicapping the game. Skeet’s reputation as the captain of a pro team, and his ego, was on the line if she beat him at his own game. Despite all of it, she had to fight to win.

They took their places, headgear on, blindfolds off. She worked to rein in her runaway heartbeat and screaming nerves as all her dreams and doubts came crashing together at once.

I’m ready, Da. Guide me.

“Lights!” Sir Klark shouted, and plunged the ring into darkness. But the word “lights” did not have a chance to fade in her ears before Yonson Skeet came at her, fast and hard.

CHAPTER10

Jemmbarely evaded Skeet’s swing and almost did not make it out of his way before his sens-sword skittered along her left hip, hissing, but far from her chest plate.

She almost stumbled in her haste to put distance between them, both mental and physical. This was Skeet’s domain, and he made sure she heard that loud and clear from the first seconds of the match.

As she fought to regain her poise and take control as she was long accustomed to doing, Skeet used his sens-sword to swat her backside. The cog! Body hits were considered fouls and poor sportsmanship in regulation play. He wanted to unbalance her and steal her composure. But she held her emotions in check with as steely a grip as she did her sens-sword.

She reeled away and swatted him back, feeling exhilaration return.

Silence.

No cheering or laughing. No thunderous stomping. Just her rough breathing and pounding heartbeat she was so desperate to keep muted. It was unnerving not hearing the crowd’s reaction. It hit her then that she loved the cheers and noise as much as she did the sport itself. She had come to expect hearing the crowd’s reaction to her moves. Without it she was alone with her opponent.

Jemm glided away from the pro, away…away, diving deep as if into a body of water, imagining tiny streams of vanishing bubbles the only trace of her presence left behind. By the time Skeet would sense that trace, she would be where he would not find her.

But Skeet followed her in and out of the infinite place that only bajha players and a few other lucky souls knew well. It brought back a poignant memory of playing bajha with her father.He’s as good as Da. A blur of swordplay, bursts of air, an almost blurted-out curse from her, the stealthy padding of Skeet’s boots against the cushioned floor. It went on and on, the longest and most rigorous match she had ever played.

Yonson Skeet kept command of the contest from beginning to almost the end, when he appeared to her, unexpectedly, for a fraction of a breath. His lingering scent, the heat of his skin, and she knew she had him, those racing seconds that felt like forever as she felt him coming about, his sens-sword whooshing through the air, a well-planted boot, and then her shock as his sens-sword landed in the center of her chest, mocking any prospect she had held of tagging him.

Sparks heated her face and blazed in the darkness, but Skeet kept pressing forward, forcing her to skip backward, making his victory over her a chest-pounding, primitive roar of a statement, the aggressive, bajha version of ripping out and eating an enemy’s heart.

“Lights!”

The illumination came up slowly yet was somehow blinding. Blinking, gasping, Jemm fell to one knee, her head bowed, the taste of defeat on her tongue for the first time.

She fought the crushing weight of disappointment that settled on her chest and squeezed her heart, putting an uncomfortable pressure behind her tired eyes. She had thought she might do all right, but he had defeated her so soundly, grinding her under his heel and then some. Only a fool would think she could have risen straight out of the back-alley bajha circuit to compete with the pros. A fool like her. With dreams always too big to be feasible. Ma and Button would never know what she almost won for them, but Nico would.

She peeled off her gloves, but wore her pride in the set of her shoulders and her composure in measured breaths as a pair of boots appeared in front of her. “I want to thank ya for the opportunity to try out, Sir Klark,” she said, as deeply as she could manage with her disappointment squeezing her throat. On one knee, she looked up at theVashwith a cheerful smile, even though it was not what she felt on the inside. It was good to be gracious, even though she would never see this magnificent man again, his starship, his players, or crew.

Sir Klark reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. His golden eyes were as warm as dome-rise on the badlands. “You think I’m sending you home without an offer?” he purred in his smooth brogue.

She tugged off her helmet and tried to make sense of the bewilderment in his eyes. “I know the kind of players ya need for your team. I’m flattered ya thought I had a chance, though.”

“I have every intention of inviting you to play for Team Eireya, Kes. I thought that much was obvious.”

It took every ounce of restraint not to let loose and scream. “You do?”

“Of course! I could not be more pleased. You played an excellent match—against my best player. In fact, for a moment there at the end I thought you had him. It had me on the edge of my seat. Oh, and when you slapped him back…” Sir Klark clapped his hands. “Bravo.”

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