Free The Star King by Susan Grant

clutching her bag with shaking hands. “I need to run some paperwork out there. Then I’m headed back to the VOQ,” she explained, using the lingo for the building that housed visiting officers.
    He stopped in full view of the checkpoint, establishing her much-needed credibility with the two MPs sittinginside. Weak-kneed with relief, she thanked the young cop profusely.
    Inside the cramped trailer the odor of cigarettes and coffee hovered in an interior illuminated by overly bright fluorescent lights. Jas slipped the leather portfolio from her bag and set it on a dented metal desk next to the radio. “This is for the Quillie .”
    The stockier MP reached for it. She blocked his hand. “Actually, I’m supposed to deliver it in person. Governor’s orders. The Arizona state governor,” she emphasized. She opened the portfolio and smoothed her palm over the creamy white cover letter. “He promised the captain of the Quillie he’d have these here yesterday, but”—her voice hushed—“all I can say is that it’s embarrassing that these are so late.”
    “I don’t know, ma’am…”
    A sharp hiss echoed from the vicinity of the two Vash ships. Then a rumbling began, increasing in volume until the linoleum floor vibrated beneath her boots. Jas’s heart slammed urgently in her chest. She jabbed her finger in the direction of the ships. “We’re running out of time. Radio the Quillie . Tell them their papers are here.”
    But the MP picked up the telephone instead. “I’ve got to check with the duty officer first.”
    “No time for that!” Jas flipped over the cover letter, revealing the first page. “Look, it’s a trade agreement. A legal contract. A lot of work went into this.” She watched him read the governor’s message and then scan the signatures and statements from the CEOs. “Can you imagine the repercussions if this doesn’t get on board? Civilians get nasty, especially when the military screws up. My butt’s already on the line. I’m sure Governor Goldsmith would love to roast yours, too.”
    The thinner MP piped in. “Jesus, Russ. Don’t get anal on me. We’re running stuff like this out there all the time.” Grabbing the radio transmitter, he lifted the mouthpiece to his lips. “ Quillie , this is Alpha Five,” he said in painfully mangled Basic. “Alpha Five to Quillie . Please respond.”
    There was static, then a curt, unintelligible reply.
    The MP raised his brows. “Ma’am, what do I tell them?”
    Jas grinned. “Special delivery.”
    Rom spread his hands in disbelief. “They want to what? ”
    “Trade,”Gann replied, equally puzzled. “He—or she—claims to represent a consortium of powerful merchants. With supposed signed proof of their eagerness to trade.”
    Rom choked out a laugh. It was no doubt a bureaucratic blunder, a contract destined for one of the other ships. He raised his headrest and buckled his safety harness. “Send the Earth-dweller away. He can sort out the mess with Lahdo.”
    Gann returned to the bank of communications equipment that had received the Earth guard’s call.
    “Zarra,” Rom demanded. “Where is my clearance?”
    “Working on it, sir. The tower says the delay is with a higher aviation authority of some kind—Washington Center, I believe they called it. And they can’t give me an estimated time of departure.”
    “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Rom frowned. More blasted minutes wasted sitting on this rock. In the lull that followed, he pondered the Earth-dweller’s offer. Lahdo would be mortified when he found out that the Quillie had been contacted in error.
    A grin slowly lifted one corner of Rom’s mouth. Thelaunch was delayed, was it not? He might as well solicit a little entertainment to make the time pass faster.
    He unfastened his harness. “Gann, disregard that order. What do you say we have ourselves a little sport?”
    Gann laughed. “At Lahdo’s expense?”
    “Naturally. Summon the Earth-dweller. I ache to see