Free The Star King by Susan Grant Page A

his face when you tell him he’s aboard the wrong ship.” Rom walked to the railing that overlooked the cavernous bulkhead below. “I’ll view the fun from here. Naturally I’ll join you should the encounter prove amusing.”
    Jas’s body hummed with awe and fear as she followed the MP to the rebel ship. The dark, smooth metal hull gleamed dully, punctuated by winking multicolored lights. Steam hissed from the craft’s belly, adding to the chorus of whirring motors and intermittent mechanical clicking. Distinctly alien, it was at least as long as a Boeing 747, but much fatter, with stubby triangular wings close to the fuselage. A row of odd symbols decorated one side, resembling hieroglyphics—not the Basic she’d learned—likely the ship’s name in an exotic, unknown language. A film of some kind coated the forward windows, preventing her from seeing inside. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. She had the feeling that she was being studied by those she could not see. Her suspicion was confirmed when a portal below the nose opened slowly, spilling warm, golden light onto the tarmac. Then the heavy ramp hit the pavement with a gravelly thud and there was silence, broken only by the sizzle of escaping steam.
    “Go on in.” The MP’s throat bobbed, and he stepped backward. “I’ll wait here.”
    Unable to see what lay beyond the steep ramp, Jasinhaled and exhaled slowly, steadying herself mentally. Everything she’d accomplished in her life so far—the choices she’d made, the mistakes and the triumphs—were so that she could experience this one glorious moment. No matter what the outcome, tonight her life had reached a turning point. “Here goes,” she said, and began the long climb.
    Recessed green lights in the floor led her inside. Laden with the mysterious humidity of a cave, the air gradually warmed, and the lights began to alternate between gold and green. The tunnel was featureless. No graffiti, no trash cans, she thought in a frantic attempt at humor. No cigarette butts or Coke cans lay wedged, trampled and forgotten, in the space between the floor and the walls. There were no signs of life, though she could hear distant voices. And laughter. That unnervingly familiar sound coaxed her forward.
    The ramp ended in a cavernous chamber, ringing with a metallic emptiness, reminding her of the interior of an aircraft hangar. A vibration rumbled beneath the floor, and she had to clench her teeth so they wouldn’t chatter. The rattling ceased. She heard the muffled voices again, emanating from a room above, beyond a balcony with a double railing. She could see shadows moving, and lights of instruments and computers reflected in an enormous curving window at the front of the ship. Most likely the flight deck, or the bridge. Still, no one had shown up to escort her. Did they know she’d come aboard?
    She was weighing the consequences of shouting “Anybody home?” when she spotted a Vash man waiting behind a low table that extended at a right angle from the wall. Good-looking and ruggedly built, the man waseasily six-foot-three. Dim, bluish light illuminated the room, bleaching his tawny skin. If not for his startling golden eyes, he would have looked entirely human.
    “You not the captain,” she said in choppy Basic. Nerves were making it tough to speak the language she’d so recently learned.
    He spread his hands, palms down on the table. “I’m Gann, the second-in-command. Show me the agreement.”
    She dropped her gear onto the table. Several lights blinked in protest. Quickly Gann flicked off a switch. His expression was downright forbidding, but his eyes glinted with laughter, pricking Jas’s pride.
    “My name is Jasmine Hamilton,” she announced with cool professionalism, using words she had rehearsed a thousand times in the past few days. “I represent business leaders who want to trade with your ship.” Opening the finely bound folder, she turned it so he could see. “This is