pulse ramped up in response to the threat level. Definitely a rough place.
As he stepped through the doorway, his translator caught up with the music.
“We danced so slow,
Like it was the last dance,
Like it was our last chance.
We ran through the fields,
Bright with wildflowers,
Counting down the hours
Until we're together,
You and me forever.”
Huh. Maybe his pulse had overstated the threat.
Still, he held himself at the ready as he surveyed the patrons inside the saloon. With some very slight variations in hue, they all looked very much alike, a blur of bipedal humanoids in a typical Earther uniform of jeans, t-shirts, and flannel. Never had he missed the churning diversity of a waystation more.
It would be worse once he was bound to a single planet, or even two. He had to make this last voyage count.
He paced through the loud, packed room, careful to make neither eye nor physical contact, since he knew both were frowned upon among suspicious, irritable Earthers. He scanned the crowd from the advantage of his height.
And almost jumped out of his skin—real and regen—when a hand slipped under his coat and up his spine.
The IDA report on Earthers said pickpocketing was more of a problem in larger urban areas. He hoped the criminal element there was more effective than this fumbler.
He spun, grabbing the hand at his back.
The unknown female lurched into him with a too-wide smile. “Oh hey there, big guy. Wanna dance?”
Just as there were saloons in every part of the universe, there were locals like this one, who demanded nothing more from their companions than perhaps the cost of their mood-enhancing indulgences. For a moment, he was tempted. This one had the bold look he favored, and her flesh pressed against him was soft and full. And—Battle of Anglorn aside—he was tired of losing.
But he needed that chunk of his ship. And he needed a bride.
At that moment, his gaze landed on Zoe, sitting on the far side of another counter. She seemed to use counters are barriers, and he would delight in going around this one too. Careful of the unpredictable triggers in his hand, he nudged the unknown female out of his way.
She followed the direction of his focus and shook her head. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were taken.”
“Taken? I’m not—” He frowned down but she was already slipping away.
He let her go, although the urge to object to her assessment lingered. He’d never let himself be taken. That was why he’d left his clan. How he’d won the Sinner’s Prayer . Why he only had one hand left. And anyway, Zoe Nazario hadn’t taken him—she’d left him.
He prowled the outer edge of the room, angling at her from behind so he could trap her against the counter. She chatted briefly with the tall, brown-hued female behind the counter and received a beverage in return, but she didn’t seem to be with anyone. The occupants of the seats to either side of her were turned away to their own groups, leaving her almost isolated in the crowd.
Perfect. He sneaked up behind her, closing the last few steps in a rush, and leaned his head over her shoulder. “We had a deal,” he said softly beside her ear.
She flinched and lashed backward with one arm. But he was already too close and she didn’t have enough room to gain any momentum. Still, the point of her elbow jabbed him in the side, somehow finding the rib he’d broken at Anglorn. He caught her arm, pinning her to his chest.
Her head swiveled, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Who else have you promised to hold rocks for?” He glared at her. “Before fleeing.”
“I didn’t run away,” she snapped. “I closed early and walked away rather than deal with your crap. Because we didn’t have a deal. You were trying to bully me.”
The translator helpfully supplied the definition of bully, and he bristled. “I’m not a bully. I’m…” A mercenary starship captain. Lesser prince of a central
As he stepped through the doorway, his translator caught up with the music.
“We danced so slow,
Like it was the last dance,
Like it was our last chance.
We ran through the fields,
Bright with wildflowers,
Counting down the hours
Until we're together,
You and me forever.”
Huh. Maybe his pulse had overstated the threat.
Still, he held himself at the ready as he surveyed the patrons inside the saloon. With some very slight variations in hue, they all looked very much alike, a blur of bipedal humanoids in a typical Earther uniform of jeans, t-shirts, and flannel. Never had he missed the churning diversity of a waystation more.
It would be worse once he was bound to a single planet, or even two. He had to make this last voyage count.
He paced through the loud, packed room, careful to make neither eye nor physical contact, since he knew both were frowned upon among suspicious, irritable Earthers. He scanned the crowd from the advantage of his height.
And almost jumped out of his skin—real and regen—when a hand slipped under his coat and up his spine.
The IDA report on Earthers said pickpocketing was more of a problem in larger urban areas. He hoped the criminal element there was more effective than this fumbler.
He spun, grabbing the hand at his back.
The unknown female lurched into him with a too-wide smile. “Oh hey there, big guy. Wanna dance?”
Just as there were saloons in every part of the universe, there were locals like this one, who demanded nothing more from their companions than perhaps the cost of their mood-enhancing indulgences. For a moment, he was tempted. This one had the bold look he favored, and her flesh pressed against him was soft and full. And—Battle of Anglorn aside—he was tired of losing.
But he needed that chunk of his ship. And he needed a bride.
At that moment, his gaze landed on Zoe, sitting on the far side of another counter. She seemed to use counters are barriers, and he would delight in going around this one too. Careful of the unpredictable triggers in his hand, he nudged the unknown female out of his way.
She followed the direction of his focus and shook her head. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were taken.”
“Taken? I’m not—” He frowned down but she was already slipping away.
He let her go, although the urge to object to her assessment lingered. He’d never let himself be taken. That was why he’d left his clan. How he’d won the Sinner’s Prayer . Why he only had one hand left. And anyway, Zoe Nazario hadn’t taken him—she’d left him.
He prowled the outer edge of the room, angling at her from behind so he could trap her against the counter. She chatted briefly with the tall, brown-hued female behind the counter and received a beverage in return, but she didn’t seem to be with anyone. The occupants of the seats to either side of her were turned away to their own groups, leaving her almost isolated in the crowd.
Perfect. He sneaked up behind her, closing the last few steps in a rush, and leaned his head over her shoulder. “We had a deal,” he said softly beside her ear.
She flinched and lashed backward with one arm. But he was already too close and she didn’t have enough room to gain any momentum. Still, the point of her elbow jabbed him in the side, somehow finding the rib he’d broken at Anglorn. He caught her arm, pinning her to his chest.
Her head swiveled, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Who else have you promised to hold rocks for?” He glared at her. “Before fleeing.”
“I didn’t run away,” she snapped. “I closed early and walked away rather than deal with your crap. Because we didn’t have a deal. You were trying to bully me.”
The translator helpfully supplied the definition of bully, and he bristled. “I’m not a bully. I’m…” A mercenary starship captain. Lesser prince of a central
Similar Books
