Free I Dare by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page B

was strong-featured, square jawed, and not overly intelligent.

    The woman was . . . most likely . . . Terran, and also dark, though it appeared her complexion was of birth rather than burn. Her hair made a black silken cap 'round her neat head, her features were fine, and she had quick ebon eyes, which at the moment rested upon himself with more than casual interest.

    "Just sat down," Cheever said, sotto voce. "He's muscle, but if she ain't a pilot I'll eat my license. They both got bags, but she's . . . "

    "She is carrying a gun under her right arm," Pat Rin finished for him, "which is why the vest seems a bit bulkier than one might expect on so warm a day. The man is, as you say, a bodyguard."

    The woman raised her hand, perhaps indicating that they should feel free to continue with their practice.

    "I believe it is time to take a break, Mr. McFarland. Please do me the honor of saving our records. Then we shall see what we may discover of our visitors."

    "Gotcha."

    Pat Rin engaged the safety on the dea'Nobli and left the pretty gun lying ostentatiously on the bench, feeling the accustomed weight of the hideaway in his right sleeve as an unexpected comfort. Cheever McFarland at his back, he touched the keypad and stepped out into the concourse.

    Cool air assailed them, and the increasingly familiar odor of coffee.

    "There was no need to disturb yourselves on our account, Master," the woman said in lightly accented Liaden as they approached. Seated, she bowed, gracefully approximating the mode of novice to master, which was surely flattery. "We will be using the other theater in a moment, but it is rare for us to see such shooting here."

    Pat Rin inclined his head. "We had not intended a demonstration, and I fear the shooting may not have been up to our best. We have been some time traveling."

    "Ah, all the more impressive!" The dark eyes measured him, then she turned, motioning to her companion, bespeaking him in Terran no less mannered than her Liaden—"Julier, my manners have failed me. Please—fetch our guests coffee and a snack—or perhaps tea for the master."

    Pat Rin eyed the woman speculatively, and held up a hand. "Allow me to send Mr. McFarland, as well," he said, following her into Terran. "He understands my taste in coffee."

    She gave him a half-smile and shrugged a proper Terran shrug. "Of course you will wish to send someone to attend your interests."

    Pat Rin glanced to Cheever.

    The pilot nodded, waiting for the bodyguard to rise. They walked side-by-side to the canteen, not quite bristling, like two strange cats thrown together on unknown turf.

    The woman leaned toward Pat Rin, inclined her head in a motion that became a formal bow.

    "Master, it is urgent that we speak—alone. I am Natesa. I believe our interests coincide."

     

    THE TWO BIG MEN fidgeted, uncomfortable in their sudden roles as spectators, as the door sealed with a slight hiss.

    "They are nervous of this," Natesa said as she walked with him down the ramp to the shooting floor. "It speaks well of them."

    "I suspect we all four have some concerns," Pat Rin murmured, picking the dea'Nobli up from the bench. "Mr. McFarland tells me that you are a professional shooter and likely a first class pilot."

    "Ah, and my guardian informs me that you are a better shot than you appear."

    Pat Rin sent an exasperated glance toward the two-man audience, and Natesa laughed, soft and musical.

    "I thought you might appreciate the level of assistance I am equipped with when the locals insist. Julier is a good man in a barroom brawl—as I suspect Mr. McFarland is—but he is perhaps in the second tier, both of shooters and of intellects, unlike Mr. McFarland." She smiled, and pointed. "I shall take the blue side."

    Pat Rin appraised her coolly as she finished unloading the weapons from her bag. These disposed to her satisfaction upon the bench, she turned to face him fully, raising one hand, fingers spread wide, in the old,