Page 48 of Star Champion

CHAPTER15

“That timepiece,”Prince Klark said, reaching for it. “I’ve seen it before.”

“It was my great-grandfather’s, originally,” she explained in a hoarse voice. “My Da wore it every day of his life. When he died, he passed it to me.”

“Nico’s girlfriend wore this.” He cupped it in his hand, testing its substantial weight, reading the inscription on the back—The Unexpected Brings Opportunity—maybe even noting that the hands were frozen, because she had never gotten around to getting it repaired. “Details like that, I notice them. Is this timepiece yours, then? Or hers?”

She knew he hoped she would say, “Hers,” or, “Mine, but I let her borrow it,” so his suspicions could be erased.

“It’s both.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Jemm.”

Disbelief flared in his eyes. “What?”

She stood tall even though inside she was shaking. “Aye, it’s true. You came back that night to give me the salve, but I’d already changed back into my street clothes and brushed out my hair. So Nico pretended I was his girlfriend so ya would not recognize me. After that, I went home and cut my hair off.”

He leaned forward as much as he recoiled at her words, as if he wanted to believe her admission as much as he wanted to deny it. His gaze slid up her long body, pausing on her chest, her throat, then her lips, before continuing up to her butchered hair. “Great Mother…”

He dropped the timepiece into the bag and shoved to his feet, stalking past her like a large angry predator that might spring an attack at any moment. “I knew it. All along, something didn’t seem right.” He paced angrily. “I recognized your scent. When I saw you with Nico I thought it was familiar. Then again when you showed up at the ship, I recognized it. But I dismissed it.” He paused to scrutinize her then shook his head. “Impossible…”

“I assure ya, sir, I’m a lass, through and through. But I sure ain’t stripping down to prove it.”

His eyes riveted on her with brief, piercing interest. Her face felt suddenly hot. Blushing—her? Crag him.

Then he tore the towel off his neck and threw it into a container of soiled laundry. “I meant a female who can play bajha with your skill. That’s what is impossible.”

“I’ve already proved it ain’t.”

“I’ll give you that.” His laugh was quick, bitter, and lacking any mirth whatsoever.

“I was a tug driver—for the mines. One of only two females who hauled trailers of ore. It took muscle, aye. That’s why more men did the job than women. But bajha is different. The key to being good at it isn’t brawn.” She tapped her head. “It’s the mind. It’s more about mental power than physical. Raw intuition over brute strength.”

“It’s about honor,” he said flatly. “We play bajha to honor our warrior past. Not to disrespect it, Kes. Or Jemm. Whatever your name really is.”

“I’m sorry ya think I bring dishonor to the sport. I tried very hard to do the opposite.”

He rocked back on his heels and exhaled loudly. The crease between his brows was at an all-time depth. His lips formed a grim, angry line as he dragged both hands over his hair. He was not interested in negotiating; his views would not change because she was handy with a sens-sword. In his stuffy, oppressive culture, females were hidden away and protected, as if that somehow atoned for the fact that most of their women were raped, enslaved, and killed by barbaric hoards in the Dark Years. Even now, with the danger of that world long past, their women were not allowed to step into the bajha ring. Eleven thousand years of habit had made some pretty deep grooves in time’s road.

“Our agreement is cancelled, obviously,” he said, appearing to succeed in a heroic effort to calm down. It turned him into a cool, aloof stranger, and that about killed her. “But, here…” He pulled a pile of credits of various denominations from his pocket and thrust them at her. “Take them.”

She recoiled. “Keep it. Time is money, and I wasted yours. I never meant to. I never thought past playing in the clubs. I never thought you’d come along and make the offer ya did. I got swept along in the fantasy of it all. I forgot who I was.”

“I would imagine it’s quite a lot to forget—that you are a woman.” His eyes were stony, his tone mocking.

“I forgot about my principles. That trickery isn’t in my nature. I did it for my family. My Da wanted to get all of us off Barésh, but he died before he could make it happen. So, I took over his dream. I knew it’d take years to save up enough to buy starship tickets. Decades. But my Ma, she… She may not have that kind of time. But if I earned extra playing bajha, I figured I could get us all out sooner…” Her explanation petered out when she saw he had averted his eyes, his jaw hardening. “But, I guess there ain’t no shortcuts to dreams.”

His expression was now so frigid that trying to explain herself any further would be like slamming her soul against a wall of ice. She replaced the towel and the soap and returned to her gear bag, yanking the zipper closed. Then she paused one last time to soak in the sight of a real galactic royal only inches away, committing Sir Klark to memory for the long years to come, knowing she would never forget him or the opportunity he had offered. Or, his kind heart. It would be a story to tell Button’s children someday, whom she desperately prayed would not have to be born on this festering space rock.

She hefted her bag’s long strap over her shoulder. “I hope ya win the Galactic Cup. I’ll be watching on the vids. Cheering on Skeet and Xirri. The entire team.”

He answered with a dismissive wave, sending her on her way like any other upper-class cog did with a trill rat like her. Hot blood rushed into her head, her heart kicking in indignation. He could blame her all he wanted for her deceit, and she would not argue, but treat her like she was no more than badlands grit?

“Don’t do that,” she snapped.

Hands on his lean hips, his biceps bunching, he looked down his aristocratic nose at her. “Don’t do what, pray tell?”

“Pretending like I’m nothing. Well,I amsomething to ya—more than something. I almost beat your two best players. If I’d had a few more matches to polish up, by the dome, I know I’d have finished them off. Are ya really gonna let me walk away?” She paused for a breath or two, daring him to take a chance on her, but his expression remained aloof, his gaze frosty. “You are, aren’t ya? You’re gonna let me walk away—your next champion—all because my body parts violate your antiquated Federation dogma. It gets my blood to boiling just thinking about it.”

She drew the bag strap closer to her body to give her shaking hands something to do. She was grateful that her husky voice remained steady. “I’d rather have my life than a royal’s any day, boxed in by all your rules. I might not have much but at least I’ve got the hope of freedom. I’ll find a way off Barésh. Aye, I’ll find a way.”

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