Page 4 of Star Prince (Star #2)
Chapter Four
Ahead, the long fuselage of his ship gleamed pale silver. “There she is,” Ian said. “The Sun Devil .”
“She’s…beautiful,” Tee murmured. Genuine longing softened her features. He had seen that expression before on his mother’s face when she reminisced about her days as an Air Force fighter pilot.
Quin and Muffin met them at the bottom of the gangway. Quin’s eyes twinkled. “It’s not like you to bring home company ,” he said, while Muffin squinted at the woman, studying her.
“She’s not company. This is Tee, our new pilot. Tee, meet Muffin, chief security officer. And Quin, ship’s mechanic.”
“Nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand. Thrown off balance, she grabbed onto Ian. “Whoa.”
Quin’s smile froze with incredulity. “She’s drunk! ”
“Right. Let’s get her sobered up. I want to launch as soon as possible.” Hastily he swept Tee past the two men and up the gangway. After a moment’s silence, Ian heard two pairs of boots thumping on the alloy flooring behind him.
“We’ve been through three pilots already,” Quin called after him. “Now here you are with another stray.”
Ian didn’t have to turn around to guess the expression contorting the man’s face.
Muffin was typically good-humored. “Reminds me a bit of my sister and the way she collects lost kettacats.”
“I can deal with kettacats. It’s good-for-nothing pilots I have no stomach for,” Quin grumbled.
Through the forward cargo hold they went, down the central corridor and past the crew quarters, while Quin ranted about starpilots and their general unreliability and mental instability.
“This way.” Ian planted his hands on Tee’s hips and boosted her up the gangway to the galley. Haltingly, she climbed to the upper deck, stumbling over the top rung. She giggled, then slapped her hand over her mouth as if the sound had startled and embarrassed her.
Ian guided her into the galley, settling her onto a seat next to the table. Crushed by her cap, short locks of hair clung to her temples and flushed cheeks. He shook off the oddest urge to smooth the strands off her skin .
Muffin lumbered into the galley. Ian told him, “One of the locals, a bartender, said I should watch my back.”
“Did he elaborate?”
“Unfortunately no. He wasn’t exactly stable in the mental department, either.”
Muffin frowned. “Let’s launch as soon as possible.”
“Agreed.”
Quin marched past. “I’ll get the tock started.” Glowering, he slammed a kettle on the ion-burner.
The last two members of Ian’s crew, Gredda and Push, the cargo handlers, peered into the galley from the corridor. Ian made another around of introductions.
Dressed in a brown leather sleeveless jerkin with studded straps crisscrossing over a tight woolen chemise, Gredda looked like a mythical Viking queen. She crossed her impressive arms over equally impressive breasts, her skin glistening with grease smudges and perspiration from a long session loading cargo. “A female flyer this time,” she said approvingly.
Tee acknowledged Gredda with a smile that quickly faded. Much paler now, she lifted an unsteady hand to her cap and plucked it off her head.
Quin stared. “By the heavens, what happened to her hair?”
Tee’s expression could have frozen plasma fuel. “Do you have a problem with the way I look?”
Quin sized her up. “What if I do? I doubt looks matter much in the places you frequent. ”
Ian whistled softly as the two exchanged heated glares.
When Quin returned to the stove, Tee sank into obvious misery. She was perspiring, even in the cooler air, and a greenish pallor bleached her face. Ian had experienced the morning-afters of enough fraternity parties to know how she was feeling. Mandarian whiskey meant a quick buzz and a killer hangover.
“Drink up,” he coaxed, handing her cup of tock. I REFUSE TO ENGAGE IN A BATTLE OF WITS WITH AN UNARMED PERSON , the mug read. He hadn’t chosen it deliberately, but it seemed somehow appropriate. Although, he had to admit that Tee had done a hell of a job negotiating her salary, despite her inebriated condition.
She lifted the cup, sniffed at the liquid, then lowered it. Her voice quavered. “I—I need your lavatory.”
Ian plucked her off the bench, steering her toward the lav in the corridor. She waved him away, and the door hissed closed. Waiting for her to exit, he leaned against the bulkhead, folding his arms over his chest.
Quin stepped in front of him, hands spread. “Captain, listen, save us all a bit of trouble and haul her back to the nearest drinking hold. Another pilot will come along.”
“Another pilot is not going to come along, Quin.”
Quin’s attention swerved to Muffin. “Didn’t you say you fly?”
Muffin’s fists closed and the sinewy muscles in his neck flexed. “I flew a combat mission in the war. It was part of a raid to free Queen Jasmine. The young lad I was paired with took a shot in the abdomen. I got him off Brevdah Three, but”—regret darkened his eyes— “he bled to death during our escape. I haven’t wanted to pilot a craft since. You wouldn’t want me to try now.”
From inside the lavatory came the swish of water in the hygiene sink. Then Tee emerged, her choppy hair slicked back from her pale forehead, her baggy clothes hanging in wrinkled folds, making her appear more gaunt than slender. Grayish shadows under her eyes added to her air of fragility, turning the once-enchanting pixie into a forlorn waif.
She passed them, her gait faltering but still proud as she made her way back to the galley.
Ian spoke in undertones, preempting his mechanic’s protest. “She’ll have to do, Quin. Randall’s on Grüma, and we’re going after him.”
Quin’s jaw moved back and forth, a sure indication that he was pondering their predicament.
Ian jerked his thumb toward the galley. The pixie was definitely a sight, dressed in her dusty old clothes, her short red-gold hair sprouting in all directions. But something inside him lightened inexplicably every time he looked at her. “Now that she’s purged her system, we’ll fill her with tock.”
Referring to Tee as if she were another bulky piece of shipboard equipment appeared to comfort the mechanic. “All right, Captain. After launch, I’ll allow her some downtime to bring her back to maximum efficiency.”
“That’s it, Quin,” Ian said with a smile. “Now we’re talking.”
After a prolonged private conversation with his men, the handsome Earth-dweller returned to the galley. Tee’ah gave a small moan as the room tilted.
“When was the last time you had a meal?” he asked.
“It’s been awhile. Sometime yesterday, I think.”
“Quin,” he called out. “Don’t we have some leftover stew in the chiller?”
“No!” Tee’ah’s belly contracted at the mere thought of congealed stew, no matter how delicious it might be once heated. “But thank you,” she added quickly, trying to blunt the initial sharpness of her tone with a smile. The last thing she wanted was to rebuff the Earth-dweller’s kindness; he might listen to that foul-tempered troll Quin and toss her off the ship. She had lost her starspeeder and most of her credits. If she didn’t soon shake off the aftereffects of the whiskey she had boasted about drinking all the time, she would lose this job too. If that happened, her dreams of a new life were over. Broke and unemployed, a woman’s chances of surviving in the frontier diminished to nearly zero.
No matter what, she must stay on this ship.
In that case, she had better know who her captain was. Ian Stone’s similarities to Ian Hamilton were numerous and striking. Her stomach flip-flopped with the mere thought of being on the same starship as Rom’s handpicked heir. From all reports the crown prince was an unfailing devotee of Vash custom, a model heir. If he were to find out who she was, he would certainly order her to return home. Her personal desires would mean no more to him than they had to her father. She was ungrateful, disobedient; she had fled from an arranged marriage and shamed her parents in the process.
Regret lay heavy on her chest, and perhaps it always would. Humiliating her family wasn’t what she had set out to accomplish, but sadly it was what would come of her actions.
Woozy with nausea and exhaustion, she listened carefully to Ian’s conversations with his crew— discussions of mundane shipboard matters, the goods stored in the cargo hold, ordinary trader lingo. She noted that the Earth-dweller needed a shave, and his wavy dark brown hair brushed the bottom of his neck, a length longer than Vash standards. His jeans and eyeshaders completed the image of a dangerous and handsome space rogue. She couldn’t fathom his being the crown prince. He was so marvelously alien; nothing about his behavior reflected the courtly manners and rigid tradition of a Vash castle.
Anxiety and the natural stimulant in tock made her pulse race. Her empty stomach worsened the effect. In fact, hunger was likely the reason the liquor had played havoc with her system in the first place. So were shock, lack of sleep, and physical exhaustion from pushing the starspeeder and her body to the limit. While drunkenness couldn’t be so readily shrugged off, exhaustion and hunger could be overcome.
She set her mug on the table. “On second thought, I think I will have something to eat. Something light, if you don’t mind.”
Quin dropped a few slices of lar-bread onto a plate. Tee’ah bypassed the jar of sticky jam he offered and forced herself to eat the flatbread plain. When she was sure the bread would stay down, she drank what was left in her mug. This time Ian refilled it, while his acid-tongued ogre of a mechanic paced behind her, his impatient footsteps thundering in Tee’ah’s aching head, his skeptical gaze boring into her back. Slowly the fog dulling her senses began to retreat like dust from Mistraal’s skies after a Tjhu’nami’s passage.
Time elapsed. A few hours, she guessed. Ian scrutinized the Earth-made chronograph on his wrist and then her. “So. When do you think you might be able to fly me off this rock?” Brows raised, he gave her a long, questioning, intensely appraising stare.
A sense of purpose swept through her, the desire to surpass Ian’s expectations and those of the crew. This was her chance to prove, if only to herself, that she was more than a coddled princess, more than a woman whose identity would be defined by the accomplishments of a future mate.
“I’m ready now,” she said, and stood. Light- headedness swept through her. She gulped a few breaths and gripped the edge of the table to steady herself.
Quin balked. “She’ll kill us all!”
Only you, you irritating man. If I get half a chance. Summoning her remaining dignity, she lurched into the corridor, followed by the two men.
Ian caught her elbow. “Is that true, Tee? Are you going to kill us all?” He regarded her with an irritatingly amused smile. “I’m afraid I’ll have to dock your pay for every life lost.”
Perhaps she might have chuckled at his teasing had the stakes not been so high. She yanked her damp cap over her hair. “I intend to fly this ship safely and to your satisfaction.”
“Good. But the cockpit’s this way.” And with that, his grin turned devilish, and he steered her in the opposite direction.
The Sun Devil’s cockpit was smaller than the cargo freighter she was used to, but she had managed all right with the starspeeder, a smaller ship. A sweeping forward-viewscreen framed a vista of brown hills below a pallid sky. Below the screen was the pilot’s station, a panel with state-of-the-art instrumentation, as on the Prosper. The indicator lights winked invitingly, illuminating the black composite of the control yoke. Her fingers twitched in anticipation of gripping it. Ian sat in his captain’s chair. “All hands to launch stations.” Gredda, Push, Muffin, and Quin took their seats.
At Ian’s firm command, Tee buckled herself into the snugly comfortable pilot’s seat. Her empty stomach and bone-deep tiredness made it difficult to resist the craving to lie down and sleep for an entire standard year. But she willed away her sluggishness and shook her head, blinking.
The voices around her hushed. Slowly she became aware of the crew’s doubtful gazes, particularly Quin’s.
She wrapped her dust-streaked hands around the control yoke. “Strap in.” Her lips drew back in an evil smile. “ Tight .”
There was a chorus of clicking harnesses. Then the scuffling ceased as the crew awaited her next order. To her delight, Quin looked decidedly paler.
She used the ship’s computer to guide her through the unfamiliar prelaunch checklist display— prompts scrolling past on the viewscreen.
“Pilot ready, Captain,” she said upon completing the last step in the procedure.
Ian folded his hands over his stomach. “Commence launch.”
That he was calm with her at the controls of his craft infused her with confidence. She tapped the comm icon and told Blunder’s port controller they were ready.
“Cleared to depart, Sun Devil .”
She heard the sound of straps being yanked extra tight. Then a deep rumbling gave way to a satisfying surge of power. A force several times that of normal gravity pressed her into her seat. Her queasiness surged. She took deep breaths to control her nausea until the ship was out of the atmosphere and in its assigned space-lane routing, where the forces of acceleration eased. She was grateful the Sun Devil had a gravity generator, making the shipboard environment feel normal. If she had to contend with weightlessness, as she had on the starspeeder, she would have long since lost her last meal.
She used everything she had to concentrate on Ian’s instructions to take the ship through a short jump to hyperspace. There, greater than light-speeds could be achieved through physics she battled to comprehend. Only after they had dropped back into normal space did she have a free moment to grin at the silent crew.
Gredda gave her a respectful nod. The others attempted weak smiles. But the Earth-dweller’s eyes simply gleamed. She had gotten him off Donavan’s Blunder, and that was what he wanted.
Exhaling, she relaxed a fraction and returned her attention to her viewscreens and the planet Grüma ahead. Maybe this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, but by the looks of it, she had found herself a job.