On the bright side, she looked nothing like Giselle the barmaid. It was a good thing, too. She’d seen her picture flashing across a security screen they’d passed on the way out to his ship. The station guards were saying she’d attacked them without provocation. She had no illusions as to whether she’d survive her initial arrest to try and tell her story to a judge. Sula hadn’t had that chance, and neither would she. It was safer and smarter to play Jerred’s little power game.

By the time they reached airlock 182 A, her feet felt like they were going to fall off. While Jerred busied himself entering a code into the airlock, she took a moment to look out the small porthole at his ship. The craft was surprisingly big and graceful looking. Nothing at all like the grotty spacers she was used to seeing in one-man operations. Whatever this Jerred did, he was obviously good enough at it to keep the credits flowing regularly. She wondered what kind of business he was in. He’d been meeting with Vetch to discuss “business,” but that didn’t exactly narrow it down. Vetch was a typical freighter captain, and every load he carried was likely to be different.

But Vetch’s ship wasn’t even close to being this nice. Normal cargo didn’t bring in the kind of credits Jerred seemed to be throwing around. Would she be safe with him? She shook her head, dismissing the thought. He was safer than the station guards, and that was all that mattered.

The airlock hissed open, and he gestured her ahead of him through the door. She stayed silent as they cycled through the lock. Then he pressed his ship’s key into the slit on the outer hull of the ship. The second door slid open, and she stepped into the most unusual freighter she’d ever seen.

Instead of the normal, utilitarian interior, the entire ship seemed to be designed with comfort—even decadence—in mind. There was a light scent in the air, a teasing fragrance that sang along her nose. It smelled so real, so like something on a planet that it caught her breath. How did he make his ship smell so good?

The walls pulsed gently with a swirl of colors, as if the ship itself was happy to see them, was trying to make them feel welcome. She stepped into the entryway, turning to him with questions in her eyes.

“What kind of ship is this?” she asked slowly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“In my line of work it can be important to make a good impression right up front,” he said slowly. “I like my clients to know that my business is solid, that I can be trusted to deliver my goods on time and in working order. This helps lend some credence to that claim.”

She didn’t buy his explanation for a moment, but now wasn’t the time to call him on it. She didn’t want to give him even the slightest excuse not to take her with him. Transit Station 3 had become a very dangerous place for her over the past cycle.

A chirping sound broke through her thoughts. A bird?

“What’s that?” she asked, startled.

“End program,” he said shortly. The noise ceased, and the walls faded to gray metal. “It’s nothing, just part of the welcoming program. You can change it to a wide variety of settings, depending on what you’re interested in.”

“What was that setting?”

“That was my mother’s garden,” he said shortly. “Your cabin is the second one on the left. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. We’ll be pulling away in about an hour if everything goes right.”

She nodded, walking over to the cabin and opening the door. It was barely big enough to turn around in.

There was a fold-down bunk, a single. She stared at it for a moment, wondering if by some miracle she’d misunderstood what he intended for her. His voice came from behind, startling her. She hadn’t realized he’d been following her.

“My cabin is across the way,” he said. “I’ll expect you to be available to me whenever I want you.”

“But I won’t be sleeping with you?”

“No.”

She shrugged her shoulders, not knowing quite how to take that statement.

An hour later they left the station. She barely felt them move as it pulled away from the dock, probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t called over the com instructing her to strap in. Whatever else his faults, he seemed to know how to pilot, she thought.

Now they were steadily cruising away from the station. She had no idea how long it would be before he made the leap out of normal space, but she figured at least a week. Most stations required that kind of clearance.

She wandered out in the corridor and started down it, away from the airlock they’d entered through. To one end there seemed to be cargo holds. She had no idea what he was shipping, but she had her suspicions. If he wasn’t a smuggler, than she was the Imperial princess. It was the only thing that could explain the cash he could throw around. Hopefully the criminal wouldn’t get caught while she was still on board, she thought sourly. She came to the end of the corridor, and started making her way back up toward her room. The ship had several crew cabins, and she suspected she’d been given the smallest, least comfortable one.

At least it was better than sharing with him, she reminded herself wryly. She ambled back up the other direction, discovering a small galley, an eating area, a living area and, to her surprise, a library. A real library, with what appeared to be thousands of datatabs and vids. She scanned them quickly, noting he had far more than the  p**n  she’d found in his room.

The man appeared to be educated. In fact, far more educated than she was. Half the tabs were in languages she didn’t even recognize. What the hell kind of smuggler was he, anyway?

“You’re free to borrow any of the titles,” he said, and she squawked. She whirled on him, speaking without thinking.

“Why the hell did you do that?’ she demanded. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

He gave her a chilly smile. “You shouldn’t poke around in places on a ship that you haven’t been invited into.”

“Why, afraid I’ll discover some of your goods are smuggled?” she asked acidly. “Perhaps prohibited?”

“No, afraid you’ll accidentally stumble into an airlock while I’m running compression checks,” he replied smoothly. “It’s a terrible way to die.”

Her anger suddenly faded and reality washed over her in a rush. She was utterly dependent upon this man for survival. It didn’t matter that he was smuggling—staying alive was what counted.




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