Page 12 of Star Prince

“Hey, kid,” he called.

She remained face down on the counter, her forehead resting on her knuckles.Like Carn.Fear squeezed his gut. Even if she was an experienced drinker, the toxicity of frontier brews varied tremendously. She had drunk only two glasses, but the percentage of alcohol to her body weight could be dangerously high. And Mandarian whiskey was notorious for the quickness with which it was metabolized. The girl might not have known that.

He gave her shoulder a shake. Her head lolled to the side, exposing her slender throat—and her pulse. Relief rippled through him.

“Come on, I was enjoying the conversation,” he said, massaging the back of her neck. Her smooth skin was damp from perspiration and warm to the touch. Sighing, she flexed her fingers, using her hands as a pillow. Her lips curved into a blissful smile, but her eyes remained closed.

Ian gave a quick, pained laugh. “I can’t believe this is happening. Thirty seconds in my employ, and she’s already unconscious.”

The bartender jolted awake, snuffling and scratching his scalp.

“Like every other pilot I’ve hired,” Ian told him, as if he or anyone on this miserable rock cared. He downed the rest of his tock,wishing for once that he had chosen a stronger drink. “I feel like Bill Murray inGroundhog Day.”

The bartender blinked uncomprehendingly.

“An old Earth movie,” Ian explained, though itwas probably futile. “This guy wakes up to the same day over and over. He’s trapped until he finally learns from his mistakes.” Watching the ice melt in the bottom of his glass, he scowled. “Tell me I’m not doomed to hire one liquor-loving space jockey after another.”

The thought was downright depressing. He would never prove to theVash—to Rom—that he had what it took to rule the galaxy if he couldn’t even master the basics of commanding a starship, including hiring and maintaining a crew. He had best turn things around, right here, right now.

“On your feet, Miss Tee,” he said briskly. “I have an appointment on Grüma I’d like to keep.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her away from the counter. It took a moment to untangle her long legs from the stool. Dragging her away from the bar, he supported her with one arm hooked around her waist. Her legs wobbled under her weight, indicating the extent to which the liquor was mucking up her system. How she had survived in the frontier with such a low tolerance for alcohol, he had no idea.

“Wait, Earth-dweller,” the bartender called out.

Ian turned around, Tee heavy in his arms. The bartender’s yellow-brown eyes were watery, but a new glint suggested he was more alert than before.

“Watch your back,” the man rasped.

“Why?” Ian asked carefully. “Is someone following me?”

The bartender coughed into his hand.

“Who is it, old man? Who’s after me?”

The man waved vaguely across the outdoor bar toward the docks.

Unease trickled down Ian’s spine. “This isn’t helping my paranoia any,” he muttered, scanning the crowd.

But the bartender’s moment of lucidity—if that was even what it was—had ended. He took a soiled rag from his pocket and began wiping the countertop, contentedly engaged in another one of his solitary conversations.

Despite the iffy source, Ian decided to consider the warning valid. He would brief the crew and launch as soon as he could get this pilot sobered up.

He urged her to walk faster. “After listening to what that old space-hand just said, I think it’s time we got the hell out of Dodge.”

The girl’s eyes opened to slits. “Hmm?” She lifted her head, clutching the wings he had given her to her chest.

“Sorry. I slip into English sometimes,” he said. “Welcome back. We’re on the way to the ship.”

Her eyes flew open, and she dug her heels into the dirt. “To where?”

“My ship. I hired you, remember?”

She pulled away from him and clumsily fished out her pistol.

Ian’s hands shot up. “Put that away!”

She scrutinized her plasma pistol with some consternation,as if trying to remember what to do with it. Then she dropped her right arm, pointing the deadly weapon south. Her speech was a bit slurred. “Not so fast. How do I know you’re really a starship captain—that you’re hiring me to fly and not for”— she blushed furiously— “for sex?”

She waved the gun at his waist, and he resisted the potent urge to cover his balls. Never in his life had he seen anything like this pistol-toting pixie, her chin jutting out, her eyes accusing him of unspeakable perversions.

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