Page 7 of Tempting Cargo
“I know.” I stared at the imposing Galactic Reserve ships on the private dock, willing away the tightness in my chest even as all my muscles strained for a fight.
Paiata docked theDorimisawith easy skill, reminding me why I kept him around. I managed to let the customs officials board without grumbling at them, left my refuelling request—and too many credits—with the dock staff, and stomped off to the cantina with my crew, wrinkling my nose against the bitter tang of ozone and seared electrics. A mug of keppli ale would help smooth things over.
The cantina was as noisy and hot as ever, and I caught the bartender’s eye. The shaa female was the best bit about Draim, probably because she liked me for some ridiculous reason. “Three keppli ales, please.”
“And hello to you, Shohari, my friend.” She threw a cloth over her shoulder and I kept my arms to my sides, tolerating her hug.
“Don’t suffocate me, female.”
I barely felt her thump my arm. “Wouldn’t dream of it. What have you brought this time?”
She wore the purple kheddian silk I’d sold her the last time we’d come through. I had to admit the seamstress here had done a good job with the sleeveless dress, the flowing lines suiting the bubbly bartender and the colour complementing her orange skin. The effect on her was almost a reversal of my own colouring, though her orange was deeper than the amber on my torso. A shaa dressed as a kri’ith, how quaint.
“I’m empty right now. Just passing through.” I hadn’t meant to be quite so gruff with her, and Muzati kicked me in the leg.
“Sorry about her,” she said. “This old place still being good to you? Is there anything interesting going on?”
“You mean apart from initial contact with aliens from Sol? Nope, not really.” She jerked her head over behind me. “Humans, they’re called.”
Aye, it was rude to stare, but a new species? Didn’t happen too often.
Eight small bipeds with round features and pathetically soft-looking hides sat in the back booth, listening to readouts from their comms. The booth seats dwarfed them, most of them not much bigger than nebaru and similarly built, though they seemed to lack the dense muscle of that species.
A few raised their heads as we walked to our table, including a big male. His expression appeared to be hostile, but that didn’t stop him running dark eyes over my body.
Impertinent weakling.
A growl rumbled low in my throat, and I gave him a wicked grin. No claws. No spines. A range of drab colours. What a strange species.
My holopad was out of my bag before we sat down. Before connecting to the station’s comm network, I double checked my security settings, even though I’d wiped any data before we landed and isolated it from my ship. A dirty feeling skittered through me as it connected to the Reserve-controlled system, but it was necessary. Comms moved even quicker through Alliance/Reserve outposts, and I had several contacts I wanted to speak to, as well as replies that could come in while we were stationside. “Paiata, any news yet?”
He twitched his faded headspines at me. “Kri’s arse, can’t we enjoy a drink first, Cap?”
“No. Any comms?”
He huffed out a breath, condensation blooming on his mug. “Not yet, but give it a few hours, Captain Impatience.”
“You never ask me about whatI’veheard, Captain, and it wounds me, you know. Right here.” Muzati thumped her chest. “The engineer’s channel is full of all manner of things. Did you know my friend recently did work on an Orithian ship that came through all dinged up from the Zerish system?”
She leaned forward, golden eyes wide, the twinkling cantina lights catching on her teeth.
I arched a brow ever so slightly. “And what was so interesting about that?”
“I’m so glad you asked me, Captain. See, your crew feel valued when you ask us to contribute, you know?” She grinned atme, and I accepted her teasing with a small smile. “The ship was calledCrown of the Void.She had no other external markings.”
“But you said—”
“It was Orithian. I know. They found crew uniforms in a locker bearing the dai Yakri crest.”
I took a swig of ale. This was exactly the kind of gossip Mother would like. “You look very smug, there, Muzati.”
“Rightly so, Captain.” Her body almost vibrated with tension, and I waved at her to continue.
“So the dai Yakri trading vessel is theFortune’s Dawn, isn’t it?” she said, and I tilted my head in agreement. The neighbouring family had piloted theFortune’s Dawnsince before my headspines grew in, just as mine had theDorimisa.
Muzati bounced in her seat, her haphazardly knotted headspines jiggling and squirming. “And each trading family is only allowed one ship, am I right? Because ‘oh, by the gods, you’re trading with the wider galaxy, how will our precious dignity cope?’ and all that ulthshit. So…” She drummed her claws on the edge of the table, finishing with a flourish. “What are they doing with a second ship?”
What, indeed?
