Free The Star King by Susan Grant Page B

everything the captain wants. Commander Lahdo said no to trade. But the state of Arizona says yes.”
    Gann examined the documents. “English,” he said, pronouncing it “On-gleesh.” With obvious dismay, he admitted, “I cannot read it.”
    Of course! Why hadn’t she thought to make a copy in Basic? Sheepishly, resorting to unrehearsed Basic, she summarized what was on the papers, and who had signed them.
    “This is the Quillie ,” he said. “No one is permitted to trade with us. Weren’t you told this? Your agreement is meant for another ship.”
    “No. Yours.”
    He peered over her head and lifted his palms. Sheglanced over her shoulder, following his gaze to the balcony, to where the shadowy form of a man stood. His face was hidden, but he was the rebel captain; she was sure of it.
    She returned her attention to Gann. “I know he wants to see this. Exclusive deal. For very small price.”
    He appeared incredulous. “You want us to pay you?”
    “Well, yes.” She thought hard, struggling to remember the words she needed. “Small price, big reward. I give you this agreement. And you give me passage into space. That is all.”
    His nostrils flared. “We don’t take passengers.”
    She rooted through her bag until she found her pouch of jewelry. She tugged open the silken cord and upended the bag, spilling out her beloved silver bangles and assorted gemstones. Her old wedding ring wandered in a wobbly circle before taking a suicide plunge off the edge.
    The Vash caught it neatly in one big palm. Unimpressed, he smiled, as if charmed, which irked her some more. She’d bet that the South Pacific islanders of centuries ago felt the same when they climbed aboard Captain Cook’s superior ship only to find that that their most valued offerings were considered trinkets. Again he glanced over her head. Her stomach squeezed tight. Any minute her apparent novelty would wear thin and they’d boot her off the ship. It was time to roll out the heavy ammunition. “Have salt,” she said. “Many, many salts.” She began plunking box after box of Morton table salt onto the gleaming table, making sure she left her personal supply hidden, what she’d estimated she’d need to purchase supplies and lodging.
    This time when Gann turned his attention to his captain,his eyes widened slightly. Then his incredulous gaze lowered. “My captain says you may come.”
    Overcome by a torrent of conflicting emotions, Jas fought to keep them from appearing on her face.
    “Quickly,” he said. “We’re ready to depart.” He locked the salt and jewelry in a recessed cabinet. Then he lifted her bag onto one broad shoulder and gestured to a ladder that led up to a cutout in the ceiling. She was halfway up when more rumbling began, forcing her to tighten her sweaty grip on the ladder. On the bridge the crew stopped midtask to stare at her. Blond and healthy, they wore sensible, rugged work clothes. If not for their bronzed skin and odd-colored eyes, they could have passed for a group of Swedish sailors. “Greetings,” she said, offering a half-smile.
    “You. Earth-dweller.”
    Her insides quivered at the very timbre of that too-familiar voice. The rebel captain was glowering at her from the bridge. For countless heartbeats, they regarded each other in mute astonishment.
    He spoke first. “It is you.”
    She braced herself. Now was the ideal time to kick her habit of transferring the expectancy of her dreams onto flesh-and-blood men. “I do not know you.”
    “I believe you do.” His voice was low and deceptively calm, but his eyes were as hot as glowing embers. “I see it in your face.”
    The first tendrils of panic squeezed her chest. She wondered irrationally if she’d appeared in his dreams, too. “You are mistaken.”
    “Am I?” Clearly he was a strapping male in the prime of life, but in that moment, his eyes were those of an old man—a man who had lived long and lost much.Inexplicably, her heart went out to him.