Page 66 of Star Champion

CHAPTER20

The season openerwas days away. Team Eireya would go up against the Lesok clan’s team. Klark was in Chéyasenn City—seeing to “team business”, he said, leaving Jemm to do as she wished. After a long run along the scenic trails in the forest behind the retreat center, she stripped down to her swim shorts and midriff and dove into the deep end of the swimming pool intent on completing as many laps as she had the stamina to swim. The exercise helped quell her nerves and blunt her nearly constant giddy anticipation.

She was excited.

She was also terrified.

The water enveloped her like darkness in a bajha arena, soothing her, steadying her, before she surfaced and stroked to the far end.I am ready. Klark had told her the same, many times. No one on Team Eireya had been able to beat her, not Raff Xirri, much to his boggled dismay, and not even the fan darling Yonson Skeet, her team captain. She had studied the players on the Lesok team with Klark, and also alone, when he was immersed in scouring the Treatise of Trade. He had not stopped his relentless hunt for the elusive guidance that would allow her to do with the Trade Federation’s blessing what she would soon do without it: being the first female to compete in Galactic League bajha.

Only, no one but he would know it.

At the far side of the pool, she flipped heels over head as Klark had taught her and swam back. Back and forth, she stroked, entering a trance of sorts, the swimming soothing her mind and body. With the noise of water rushing past her ears, she missed the whine of the speeder until it soared low over the retreat center.

She stopped, treading water in the center of the pool as the craft cast a shadow over the pool and lawn. Klark was back early. She dried off, snatched her shirt and trousers off a hook, and skipped up the stairs to the main level. At the back door, she collided with a staff member. His arms were as full of bulky clothing as his eyes were with concern. “It is not His Highness in the speeder.”

“What?” Instantly, her heart kicked hard in her rib cage. “Who then?”

“Your teammates, Mr. Aves. Five of them.”

Which ones? What were they doing here? She riffled through the day’s plans in her head. No matches were scheduled with Klark away from home. But voices and laughter from inside told her that the pros had already invaded the building. There was no time to make it to her quarters without being seen. Then she understood why the servant unloaded the bundled clothing into her arms.

“I’ll be in the meditation room, changing,” she said. “Don’t let them outside. Distract them with snacks and drinks.”

“We already are, Mr. Aves.”

She thanked him with a curt nod and hurried to the hut where she and Klark had made love the first time. The servant’s quick action and genuine concern reflected the entire household’s understanding that her identity as a woman was not known by anyone outside the household. Nor could it be. Their loyalty lifted her.

She layered on padded underclothing and combed her hair away from her face. By the time she tugged on her boots and returned to the house, Raff Xirri was at the back door, eating from a handful of shimmer chips. “I found him,” he called over his shoulder.

Yonson Skeet and Garlan Muse appeared around the corner. Two other players, Arlo Heddad and Sorrowman Li came from other areas of the great room. All five players were dressed for an evening out on the town—dark gray trousers and boots, stylish shirts of various colors with crisp high collars and pointed cuffs nipped at the wrists with Team Eireya cufflinks—ebony gemstones inset with the team emblem of a raptor in silver metal, probably trillidium. Some had styled their hair with iridescent cream. Heddad’s neck displayed subtle sea-blue glow-tats in an intricate, undulating design depicting a breaking wave. Most of the Eireyan players sported tattoos of either the sea, raptors, or both, somewhere on their bodies, although conservative league rules did not permit any to be visible during play. They smelled like soap, cologne, and men. Her teammates were a handsome crew.

Servants wandered amongst the pros, offering bowls of croppers and shimmer chips. The massive runes denoting the Warrior’s Code loomed in the background, punctuating the prohibition against Jemm playing bajha (while ironically permitting these men she had defeated to do so).

“Hello,” she said. “I didn’t know you were coming today. Sir Klark isn’t here.”

“We know.” Xirri’s thick brows wobbled as he winked at her. “While the ketta-cat’s away, the scampers will play.”

Jemm’s uneasy gaze swerved to Skeet, her anchor when it came to Xirri’s unpredictability. Skeet gave her his most charming smile. “We’ve come to rescue you from your monkish existence while our esteemed owner socializes with the city’s elite.”

Socializes? She supposed that fell under the classification of team business. Nonetheless an image of Klark suavely sipping expensive drinks while making small talk with Chéyasenn’s ruling class flitted through her mind. He was comfortable in a world she did not belong to, or ever would. No wonder he had gone without her. “He had team business to see to in the city.”

“He’s at the governor’s reception,” Xirri explained.

Klark had told her nothing about it. She nixed her miffed expression before any of the men saw it.

“But we’re here to take you out for a real party,” Xirri said and smiled.

“We promised to show you the city, and that’s what we’ll do,” Muse added. “Get changed and let’s go.”

“Your nicer duds,” Xirri advised.

Jemm was suddenly aware of her loose, off-white shirt hanging over her baggy trousers. While the fabric itself was costly, she knew, the style wasn’t going to turn heads. “I thank ya for thinking of me, but—”

“You can come willingly, young Kes, or you can resist,” Xirri said. “Either way, you’re coming.”

Crat. This was going to be an invitation she could not decline, or she risked revealing her secret before the season had a chance to begin. Yet, this was as much of a rite of passage as her first match against the team’s players. She was one of them now, these men. Her teammates. They liked and respected her. They had played many matches against each other, and shared a number of dinners. She had no choice but to go out with them.

Maybe she wanted to. She grinned as the smart-alecky Jemm of old surfaced. She had worked hard at refining herself, her speech and manners, to suit Federation expectations, but nowhere did it say she could not have a little fun with the team now and again. “I’ll go, but with one condition. If Sir Klark returns to find me missing, there’ll be hell to pay. He’ll think I’ve been kidnapped.”

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