Free The Space Pirate 1 by George Lambert Page A

arrival of the winner of the previous race. A man in a spectacular white jumpsuit entered the cage. He was quite tall and saturnine, his tanned complexion betraying a youth spent on the salt pans. Charley supposed he was reasonably good looking in a flashy, superficial way. He moved with an easy confidence, like a panther in no hurry to hunt down its prey. The man glided through several women who’d made the mistake of stepping forward too quickly. Charley took a step back and concentrated her gaze on one of the fat, sweaty faces that peered through the cage grill.
    “I won’t allow it,” came a smooth voice. “Someone has gone and left you all alone.” Charley turned to face the mercurial champion of Zeba’s night races.
    “I don’t know,” she said coolly. “Do you think my situation has improved?”
    The driver grinned. Charley couldn’t help but notice that his teeth were bright and immaculate.
    “Undoubtedly,” he said with quiet confidence. Charley had to admit she didn’t mind his self-assurance at all. It wasn’t the arrogant variety, but something a little more authentic.
    “Tando,” he said, extending the calloused hand of a professional driver. “It seems I’ve found a friend.”
    Charley took the hand gently, not wanting to overplay her hand.
    “And your name is …?”
    “I’m a stranger here,” Charley said cryptically. “I’m hoping to leave tomorrow.”
    That did the trick. Tando looked at Charley with mild surprise.
    “So soon? But the regatta has only just begun.”
    Charley met his inquisitive eye with what she hoped was smoldering fire. “I fucking hate speeders. I prefer spaceships.”
    Tando barked a small, incredulous laugh. “Curious indeed,” he murmured, taking another opportunity to look her up and down.
    “If you wanted to draw my interest, stranger danger, you have it.”
    “What normally happens now?” Charley said, making a show of stifling a yawn.
    “Now? We would talk, perhaps laugh, rejoin my friends at a night spot for a drink.”
    “Have fun,” Charley said, acting like she was preparing to leave. “I was hoping we could get straight to it.”
    “Straight to what?” asked Tando with a bemused expression.
    “To you and me,” Charley said with a raised eyebrow.
    “But of course,” Tando replied, stumbling over his words a little. “I can’t let you leave Zeba without at least seeing my house.” He offered his arm gallantly. “Shall we?”
    Charley smiled for the first time. “I thought you’d never ask.”

13
     
    Tando’s home was converted from what used to be the northwest belfry of a monastery in the center of town. As such it was three storeys of cool sandstone, replete with arches and alcoves in the old style. There was even a winter garden on the middle storey, shielded from the harsh sun for most of the day cycle.
    Tando and Charley took time with the ancient tradition of courtship, chatting amiably in the winter garden before adjourning to the living space when the night breeze grew too cool.
    “I love the architecture,” Charley commented as she accepted a glass of belanto wine. “I take it you drivers sit at the top of the tree.”
    “I am very lucky,” Tando admitted. “A successful driver in Zeba earns the right to take what he wants.”
    Tando’s predatory look didn’t sit well with Charley. She set down her glass, feeling nervous again. Had she acted rashly in choosing this man as her way out? At the canary cage he’d seemed affable enough. But here, in the privacy of his home, she could see the veneer of decency falling away. His public face was melting, and what she saw now was a brute, just like all the others.
    “I’m sure you’re used to taking what you want,” Charley said coldly.
    “To be honest, I find taking is far more exciting than asking,” Tando said ominously as he stepped towards her. Charley forced herself to remain calm on the outside, but on the inside her heart was beating madly. What she would