Free Fallen Empire 1: Star Nomad by Lindsay Buroker

was. Fighting for freedom, not coin.”
    Alisa knew all too well. She nodded for him to continue. Up ahead, a small canyon converged with their bigger one.
    “Well, I’ve been a fighter for a long time,” Beck went on, “but it’s not my passion, not like food.”
    “Food?”
    “Cooking—grilling especially. I told you I make some fine flavors. It had long been a dream of mine to go commercial with some of my sauces, get them in the groceries on all the main planets, sell enough to retire from fighting.”
    Another bolt of energy sizzled after them. Alisa turned abruptly, banking hard to take them around the sharp angle and up into the smaller canyon. She clipped the top of a tall pole cactus, leaving it on its side. Three suns, she’d forgotten what a behemoth the Nomad was. Out in space, where everything was on a galactic scale, it did not matter as much, but she would feel like an idiot if she wrecked her own ship without having suffered a single blow from the enemy.
    Beck’s fingers tightened on the armrests, and he paused in his story.
    Alisa spotted what might be a ledge on the satellite map. She increased her speed.
    “When I got out, nobody was hiring fighters,” Beck said. “I figured that was a sign from the stars, time to take a shot at making my dream happen. I wanted to open a restaurant, to prove that my sauces were brilliant. I’d get people talking about them, figure out which they liked most, which ones would be the most likely candidates to sell on the interplanetary market.”
    Alisa tipped the freighter on the side, flying along the wall to avoid fire from above. Another crackling bolt slammed into the middle of the dried river.
    The canyon was growing narrower. Piloting would get tougher, but their enemy should have a tougher time shooting down between the walls too. She hoped.
    “I didn’t have the funds to open the restaurant on my own,” Beck continued. “I thought about selling my combat armor, but it’s more than ten years old and has some dents and scrapes that won’t buff out. The secondhand place didn’t want to give me anything close to a fair price. A man was there when I was trying to make the sale and asked what I needed the money for, then said he knew someone who might give me a loan if I didn’t mind a hefty interest rate.” Beck flexed his fingers on the armrests as the Nomad dipped below an arch, the shields bumping the bottom edge on the way through. “I was enamored with my idea and figured I could handle the interest. In truth, I could. I took on a partner with experience in restaurants, and we weren’t open a month before we had more business than we could handle. Considering how screwed the economy is on Dustor, I figured that was damned impressive, and it would only be a matter of time before I could start my sauce line.”
    If Alisa had not been busy avoiding fire, she would have given him some incredulous looks. It wasn’t that she blamed a man for having dreams, but what kind of combat specialist fancied himself a chef?
    “One night, we had a special guest come by, the man who had indirectly financed my business. Weeks had passed, and I never had any idea the mafia was behind it. I thought I’d been taken on by some benevolent angel investor, albeit a greedy one.” Beck snorted noisily. “Turns out, this was one of the six brothers that founded the White Dragon Clan. He loved good food, and I figured things might turn out all right. I’d feed him an excellent dinner, and he would know that he had made a wise decision by investing in my enterprise. That was before some enemy of his decided to poison him that night, using my food to hide the drugs. He—”
    “Hold on.” Alisa raised her hand to pause his story and hit the intercom. “Mica? I know we packed light, but is there anything down there you can use to make some explosives? I have an idea that may or may not work.”
    She eyed the satellite imagery again, considering a ledge ahead of them.