Page 49 of Star Champion

Without a backward glance, she left the locker room to trek back to the city. No boots thumped behind her as she exited the tubes for the docks. What did she expect—that he would change his mind? He was a prince, second in line for a throne. He would be the laughingstock of theVash Nadahif he signed a woman to his team.

Using bajha techniques, she made her mind go blank. It hurt too much to think about what she had lost.

As soon as Kes left the locker room, Klark turned to the wall and slapped his hands against the cold, tiled wall, keeping them pressed there, fingers spread, willing his hands to serve as anchors to prevent him from going after her.

Sea Kestrel, a female.

A woman!

No mere woman, either. He remembered her as Jemm, the errant Nico’s alleged girlfriend: her long, strong, lean body and the graceful way she moved; that swaying, tempting bottom as she walked away; her wavy hair wild and loose—all but begging for his fingers to be tangled in it as he made love to her.

Damnation. The mental image alone made his body react and his blood run hot. Yet, this same female to which he was so attracted played bajha far better than he ever could. He had come to respect her as an unbelievably talented athlete, had let down his guard around her as a friend, and now she was a beautiful woman, as well? In his world, such disparate qualities could not apply to any one person. Yet, together, they added up to Jemm.

The ship’s comm chimed. Klark shoved away from the wall. “What is it?”

“Your Highness.” It was the starpilot Kuentin on the viewscreen. “Mr. Skeet and Mr. Xirri have arrived safely back aboard their tour ship.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Kuentin.” Klark inhaled a stabilizing breath.

“As well, we just heard from the Barésh Port Control. We are a go for a midnight departure.”

“Very good.” Klark nodded, and the screen went blank. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To escape this god-awful space rock?

Not withouther.

He yanked on fresh clothing and hurried from the locker room. His stride radiated purpose, even though on the inside he was still spinning like a faulty navigational gyro, struggling to realign himself with the bombshell dropped on him. The inscription on Jemm’s timepiece read,The Unexpected Brings Opportunity. It was one of the more important teachings of the Treatise of Trade. Jemm Aves, AKA Sea Kestrel, was nothing if not unexpected. But also an opportunity.

Like hell if he was going to let a player that good slip through his fingers.

The arena was silent, save for the muffled thuds of his steps. Usually, he could find peace there, in the solitude, but as he followed the railing encircling the ring, he envisioned Sea Kestrel shadowing him as he paced around the perimeter. She had displayed so much natural instinct and powerful intuition in the ability to track him that Klark sometimes wondered if she could see in the dark.

Or into his dark soul.

He set his jaw and plunged on ahead. In the dining room a server was in the midst of setting the table with an afternoon tock service for two: a pitcher filled with piping-hot tock, the ubiquitous caffeinated beverage, along with breads, fruit, pastries, and a pair of mugs. But in his mind’s eye he saw a platter of ice chips containing live seafood, and the memory of Sea Kestrel’s—Jemm’s—green-and-gold eyes opening wide at the sight. He could hear her swearing as Skeet smashed a runaway dab with a plate, and then all of them laughing. But as he bypassed the dining table it seemed so empty of life and energy it was hard to fathom the moment ever happened.

But indeed it had. He had spent two solid days with Jemm with only the few short night hours apart: sharing meals, training her, joining her on the mats to push themselves to the limits of their physical endurance, studying vids of pro bajha matches until their eyes were bleary. Two days laughing with her—and at her, pushing, goading, encouraging, demanding the best from her. Telling her things, he had never admitted to anyone else.

“Well,I amsomething to ya—more than something…”

Her observation was truer than she might realize. Now that he knew she was a woman, it made sense why their developing friendship had felt like more. He had never experienced anything like it.

“Will Mr. Aves be joining you for tock, Your Highness?” the server inquired, surprised to see Klark about to exit through the glass doors.

“No.” Klark’s tone was clipped. “Nor will I be partaking. Offer it to the crew.”

He cut through the flight deck area. “Possible schedule change,” he alerted the starpilots. “I’ll be in the city, and may be late returning.” Many curious eyes told him the whole crew must have wondered at Sea Kestrel’s sudden departure.

The impacts of Klark’s boots resounded on the gangway. By the time he exited the tubes he had accelerated into a lope. It was growing dark. Foul smog and moisture blurred the city’s harsh edges. He came to a winded halt in the center of the port, turning in a slow circle to scan the busy area. Jemm was nowhere to be seen. If he knew her like he thought he did, without her driving job to provide a source of income, she would waste no time returning to the clubs and a money stream. He started toward a fleet of hovercars for hire when, on the far side of the port where the wide road narrowed, he spied a tall, slender bajha player in a baggy suit.

She wasn’t walking. She was racing.

He would have to sprint to keep her in sight.

This was the moment of decision—to turn around, to let her go. He was supposed to be abiding by the terms of his early release from house arrest. He was fairly certain “good behavior” did not include dashing through a hardscrabble neighborhood in the slums of a mining colony to chase down a female dive-bar sword swinger.

To hell with that.

Every molecule in his body told him that going after Jemm was the right choice. It was like playing bajha and knowing your opponent’s chest plate would be there at the completion of your blind thrust.

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