Page 9 of Star Prince

She swiped off her cap, and shoved it into her back pocket. Where she had worn the hat, her hair was molded to her scalp. But the bottom strands were beginning to curl, exposing her ears to the harsh sun. She attempted to tidy up, using her fingers as a comb—then stopped herself, hands in midair. Heavens, what did it matter what she looked like? In fact, she thought wryly, the more she resembled the other grubby traders around here, the better. Less chance of being recognized, for one thing.

She scrubbed her scalp until her hair stood on end, and then smiled as she crossed the plaza with deliciously full strides. She was a free woman now, a soon-to-be galactic explorer. Joining the foreign trader for a frosty glass of tockwould merely be the first nibble of adventure before she devoured the full feast.

Chapter Three

“A pleasant day to you!”

At the sound of the too-cheery female voice, Ian slid his hands off the bar and pushed himself upright. The last thing he needed was another solicitation from one of Blunder’s overenthusiastic pleasure servers. The women were independent contractors who profited from consensual sex, but he didn’t partake of their services—unlike every other trader on this godforsaken rock, it seemed. Even if he did, he doubted a round of brainless, bought-and-paid-for sex would keep him from steeping himself in misery over the knowledge that Senator Randall was on Grüma, and he was stuck here.

“Find someone else,” he snapped, turning around. “I’m not interested.”

The sweet-faced sprite gawking at him took a stepback. The wounded look in her wide golden eyes made him feel like a total jerk.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I thought you were…someone else.”

“No offense taken.” She chose the stool to his left, smoothing her dusty black pants as if she were dressed in a gown instead of baggy clothes that could have been borrowed from an older brother. A bulge in her right pocket hinted at a pistol-sized weapon. Yet everything else about her indicated a cultivated upbringing—her impeccable posture, the way she clasped her hands primly atop the bar. He couldn’t figure out the hairstyle, though. A few red-blond strands clung to her ears and jaw. The rest was spiky and looked as if it’d been hacked away with a machete. A dull machete. Distantly, he hoped he never found himself sitting in her barber’s chair.

“I saw you, didn’t I?” he asked. “About an hour ago. You were wearing a cap.”

“Yes.” Proudly she added, “You nodded at me.”

“Right...” He folded his arms over his chest and drummed his fingers on his biceps.

She contemplated him in wonder, then shyly averted her gaze. Fidgeting, she appeared to be searching for words to fill the silence. Finally she said, “I imagine the tock’squite good here.”

He suppressed a smile. He had no idea where the cute pixie hailed from, but she was proving damned near worth her weight in gold in entertainment value. A whole minute had passed since he had lastdwelled on where—or how—he was going to find another pilot.

“Had worse to drink,” he admitted. “But it sure beats the company.” He jerked his thumb toward the bartender, who gave a shuddering snore, startling himself half-awake. Immediately the man started asking questions—and then giving himself muttered answers.

The pixie tipped her head to the side and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “I believe he’s seen the back end of one too many freighters.”

Ian laughed. The girl’s sense of humor was a welcome bonus on a day in which he felt about as light-hearted as a half-ton pickup. “Bartender! Bring the lady a...” He shot her a questioning glance.

“Tock.Iced, if you please.”

The bartender started awake, grunted, then unsteadily made his way to the chiller, chatting to himself all the way there. Mumbling, he opened the door and withdrew one frosty mug. Frozen water vapor rose in white streamers, evaporating instantly in the hot air. In a display of unexpected agility, he filled the glass with tockand slid it along the bar.

Ian caught the mug and handed it to his new companion. Then he propped his chin on his palm and studied her as she sipped from it. “So…what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

A smile lit her face. “An Earth expression! That’s where you’re from, is it not?”

“They call Blunder the crossroads of the galaxy,” he said carefully.

The ends of her mouth lifted in a cryptic smile. Then she raised her glass. He watched her take a long, thirsty drink. She hadn’t answered his question, he thought. But neither had he answered hers.

Companionably, they people-watched in silence. But his eyes kept going back to her. She pretended not to notice, but he knew she was aware of his scrutiny by the color that crept into her cheeks. For a crazy instant, he pictured himself back in Tempe, Arizona, and they had just met in one of the places near the campus. He hadn’t thought of his college days in ages, and when he had, it was because he missed football and burgers, not the simple, taken-for-granted freedom of taking a woman out on a date. But it was easy to imagine bringing this woman along on a road trip to the canyon. His Harley. The open road. Her slender arms wrapped around his waist—

“Crat!”she coughed out, nearly spilling her drink.

Cratwas the Basic equivalent of “shit.” His hand over his pistol, Ian followed her fearful gaze to the docks, where one of the local merchants was arguing with a dozen soldiers in crisp silver-trimmed blue uniforms and shiny black boots.Vash Nadahelite guard. The medium-sized cruiser he saw land a short while ago sat nearby. More soldiers were tramping down the boarding ramp.

Ian regarded the woman with heightened interest.

“Dar security forces. On Blunder. What brings them so far from home, I wonder?”

Wild-eyed, the sprite swung her attention to him. “They’ll see me,” she said fervently. “They’ll take me back.” Her chest rose and fell in increasingly deep breaths.

“Listen, if you’re in some kind of trouble, maybe I can help. I—”

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