Page 67 of Star Champion

There was a ripple of chuckles. “We are kidnapping you,” Xirri said. “We’ll leave a ransom note,” he joked to more laughter.

Skeet patted her on the back. Again she thought of how much he resembled Nico, but in a clean and wholesome way. He dropped his voice low. “The staff would let him know, but I’ll send Sir Klark a message, personally. Don’t worry, we would never leave him to think something bad happened to you—or any of us.” He was the voice of reason in all this. He was the leader and team captain after all. He would make sure nothing truly untoward happened to her.

“Aye, then. Wait here.” She stalked to her quarters to change. She had not slept there in weeks, spending the nights with Klark in his huge, soft bed, making love, then falling asleep wrapped in his strong arms.

Socializing was he? A governor’s reception? Well, well. It must be pretty swanky if the pros were left out. And her, too. But she was good enough to warm his bed, apparently. Funny how that worked.

She bolted the door to her room to keep out any wandering teammates. The deadbolt was massive. It clicked heavily into place, as if it were designed in the Dark Years to keep the warlords out. Perfect.

It did not feel as strange as it once did, donning men’s clothing. She selected one of the fancy outfits for which she had been fitted but had not yet worn, choosing what best matched how the pros were dressed. She might as well get used to it. There would be soirees aplenty in months to come, but Klark would be running cover for her at them, helping to keep their secret safe. Tonight, she was on her own, and it felt like a new adventure. On Barésh she enjoyed the occasional night out with ale, music, and dancing. As long as her teammates had discarded their plans to set her up with a woman, the evening should prove enjoyable, a respite after so many weeks of hard work.

She checked her appearance one last time in the mirror then returned to the great room. They greeted her with brotherly applause, whistles, and hoots.

“Look at you! The ladies won’t be able to resist our handsome young Kes tonight.” Xirri’s declaration produced a round of hearty, testosterone-laden male laughter—and ended for good her hopes that other females would not be part of the night’s events.

Klark was the star attraction in a manicured garden full of people who were important to the team and to him as the owner but with whom he did not enjoy being around. They were pleasant enough, and supportive of the team’s presence on Chéyasenn, but they were dull. After so long away from his palace life, he had forgotten just how mind-numbing such events could be.

Despite his dedication to duty as the team owner, and understanding that the governor’s reception was a much-anticipated annual event, he found himself noting the crawl of time before he could return home to his sweet Baréshti lass.

Luckily, he was able to go through the motions in robot fashion. He had been trained in such affairs from birth; good manners and small talk were rote and second nature. Ingrained in his DNA. He laughed in the right places, said the right things, chose the correct utensils from a daunting array of them, nibbled the polite amount of hors d’oeuvres, while commenting expertly on the fine wines and liqueurs offered. He knew how to use charm to deflect flirtation and, sometimes, bold sexual interest from the females in attendance, while not causing offense. But when it came to the topic of the phenomenal newcomer, Kes Aves, he ventured into uncharted waters.

Training center rumors of her talent had spread into the city and reached the fans. Everyone wanted to know more. It just so happened it was Klark’s pet subject. He felt himself come alive as he regaled the invited sports reporters andVashsociety columnists alike with descriptions of the young commoner’s talent. It was the thrill of the sport that gave him a certain rush, yes, but his feelings for the woman behind the masquerade blended with it all. It lit him up from the inside out whenever he spoke of her. The striking change in his demeanor translated to enthusiasm. Theirs. He had never thought of himself as a promoter, but he had become exactly that. The press conferences he had conducted via vid feed from the retreat center with Jemm, Skeet, and assorted teammates to appease them had served only to hone their curiosity. They wanted to see the new player in the flesh. But when it came time to finally take Team Eireya’s slum-bred secret weapon public, he wanted to set the time and the place.

Jemm and her escorts from Team Eireya piled out of a speeder in downtown Chéyasenn City. “We’ll take care of you, Kes. Just relax and have a good time,” Xirri said. His walk was a bit unsteady as he slung his arm over her shoulders. He smelled of cologne, new leather boots, and “hooch”. She could smell the sharp scent of the liquor on all the pros, but Xirri had probably consumed more than the rest of them on the speeder ride over, passing around the bottle as they soared low over the forest.

Jemm’s mouth still tasted of the foul brew. At least this drink was not known to be fatal (as far as she knew), but it was potent. What little she had sipped left her slightly lightheaded. She was careful to leave her teammates under the impression that she had imbibed more than she had. She knew how to swill without actually doing so. It was one more useful skill learned from her hardscrabble life growing up on Barésh that helped her survive then, and would help her survive now.

Skeet deftly removed Xirri’s arm from Jemm, and draped it over his shoulders instead. “No more hooch for you.”

“Aw, you’re getting old, my friend.”

“Maybe so, but if you want to help show Kes a good time, you don’t want to pass out before all your plans come to fruition, do you?”

Plans? Fruition?

But the questions dissolved in her excitement for everything she saw: the lights, the sounds, the smells. The peace of the trees, she loved it. But the cells in her body seemed to awaken and vibrate with the smells and sounds of urban life.

The white buildings of Chéyasenn City were even more beautiful up close. Free of grime, broken windows, and clotheslines of tattered laundry hanging limply from every available spot, they were towering spires of pearlescent perfection. They glowed, literally, from within, thanks to tech embedded in the building material. At night they made the city glow as in the light from full moons.

Local citizens filled the streets with the same happy, bustling energy she had first noticed on Klark’s ship. All noticed the bajha athletes in their midst. This was a team town, but the presence of galactic celebrities like Yonson Skeet was thrilling nonetheless. Women flirted with the pros at every opportunity. It left Jemm to observe her own gender from behind the blind of appearing male. It was funny and fascinating at the same time—until a pair of teenage girls fell in step with Jemm. “You’re new,” one said, walking too close for Jemm’s liking. They smelled of perfume, and their garb was finer than anything she had ever owned on Barésh.

“He’s the new one! The new player. Kes Aves,” said her friend.

Together the girls squealed, drawing more attention. Fans swarmed around Jemm like processors around freshly delivered ore.

Then suddenly her teammates were there, placing their bodies between Jemm and the fans. The soft press of lips landed on Jemm’s cheek before her teammates propelled her away.

“They’re too young for you,” Muse said.

“Kes is too young,” argued Sorrowman Li, a big, round, fleshy man who was somehow as swift and nimble as a scamper in the ring. “For everything!”

“Save yourself for the real prize tonight, Kes,” Xirri said with a chuckle. “Unless you prefer threesomes.”

Jemm glared at him. “No one needs a threesome when the one you’re with is good enough.”

The men whooped at that. “That is true. Nothing compares to a good woman who knows how to take care of her man,” Muse said, pounding her on the back. He sniffed at her. “What do they have you using for shampoo over at that monastery anyway? It smells like flowers.”

Her heart almost catapulted out of her chest. Into her mind burst an image of Klark kissing her, his fingers buried in her hair, then his lips, his voice passion-roughened. “You smell like flowers…” She had to dress in menswear, aye, but the servants in their kindness had stocked soaps and creams for her that were exquisitely feminine. She would have thought the pool water washed away any residual scent. But it had not. Luckily, Muse moved away, and in the next instant seemed to have forgotten all about it.

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