The Star King

by Susan Grant

  “She means the waist harnesses, I think,” Zarra said, holding up one black strap in his hand as he fumbled rather intimately behind Rom’s rear end for the other. “Sorry, sir.”

  Their escort, one Sergeant Mendoza, scooted around to watch their progress. She was dressed in a crisp, dark blue uniform, her black hair twisted and gathered at the nape of her neck in a clawlike contraption. Rom stared. Though he refused to dwell on what had happened that long-ago day on Balkanor, Mendoza’s tresses evoked an undeniably erotic yearning for the woman tied to his worst memories. He continued to study the sergeant, wondering idly what her hair would look like brushed loose, whether it was long enough to fall below her shoulders.

  “Would you like some assistance, sir?” she asked, a flirting lilt to her accented Basic.

  “Not at this time, no.” He snatched the harness from Zarra.

  Her gaze meandered from his face to his boots, and her brown eyes glittered with an invitation that was unmistakable on any planet, in any culture. “I’ll keep the offer open, sir.”

  Rom masked his lack of interest with a polite dip of his head. To his relief, she turned her attention to a folder in her lap. Gann observed the exchange with a speculative gleam in his eye. “Shall I make alternate arrangements for your transportation back to the ship?” he inquired in Siennan, their native language, one few outside their class knew.

  Rom frowned. “Don’t be a fool. It’s the hair color again. Damned distracting.”

  Ever tactful, Gann said no more. He knew more about Rom’s battlefield vision than anyone else, recognized what its aftermath had done to his friend’s life.

  In a torrent of incomprehensible English, Sergeant Mendoza gave the driver instructions. The vehicle lurched forward. “What did she say, Zarra?” Rom asked.

  “Out the north gate to the capitol, sir. For Commander Lahdo’s address.”

  His thoughts tied up in the day ahead, Rom only half watched the landscape whir past. He anticipated success. After all the time wasted waiting to arrive on Earth, and then two more months spent sitting on the Earth base Andrews while the planet’s politicians fretted over disease, he deserved a round of satisfying negotiations, salt trade heading the list. This planet’s seas were laden with the expensive, sought-after commodity. The inhabitants actually swam in the precious liquid and thought nothing of it! Ah, it was easy to envision the Quillie’s hold filled with blocks of salt. Perhaps, too, he could buy a stake in one of the mines opening on the asteroids. That would be a unique opportunity, for most mining was under strict Vash Nadah control, making it nearly impossible for unaligned traders to buy an interest. If he could purchase a claim while here, he’d make a handsome profit selling it once they reached the Depot—enough to buy that trading post he’d had his eye on. It was a tiny, remote moon, but it had a nice port. In no time, he’d have a small but efficient operation up and running. Not that he’d give up his nomadic life for good, but it wouldn’t hurt to put down some roots.

  Rom clenched his jaw. Dreams were one thing, but today had been a near disaster. If not for the quick-thinking officer monitoring the viewscreens of the cameras mounted on the exterior of the Quillie, Rom would have been excluded from the day’s events. Vehicles had been picking up delegations from the other ships all morning, and would have skipped theirs had his bodyguard not blocked one of the automobiles with his sizable bulk. Oversight? Rom doubted it. It was subterfuge, and most certainly Lahdo’s doing. Rom would waste no time locating the impertinent commander at the gathering, and looked forward to sharing a few choice words of wisdom on the subject of violating the Treatise of Trade. By the time he was done with Lahdo, the buffoon would never consider such traitorous behavior again.

  Poised on the edge of her bed, Jas waited for the broadcast to begin. Applause signaled the Vash diplomats’ arrival. The president, the members of both houses of Congress, and heads of state from around the world stood as the Vash delegation filed in. Dressed in their beautiful indigo uniforms, they greeted their audience with their distinctive handshake, gripping each Earth diplomat’s forearm and wrist. But they saved most of their enthusiasm for the secretary of commerce, whom they flocked around until she was lost behind them.

  After a spirited introduction from President Talley, Commander Lahdo stepped up to the podium. His resonant voice boomed, while a translator relayed his hopes for partnership, understanding, and, to no one’s surprise, profit. To test her grasp of Basic, she concentrated on Lahdo’s voice. Here and there a phrase eluded her, a few words that she didn’t recognize, but she could understand him. A talent for learning languages was something she’d inherited from her linguist mother, but it had never proven useful until now. Not that Basic was complicated. Throaty and to the point, it was designed to facilitate dialogue between inhabitants of countless worlds. Other languages existed, but they were evidently never used in commerce.

  To hearty applause, Lahdo relinquished the podium to the secretary of commerce and rejoined his delegation, basking in their adulation, their handshakes and smiles, until a tall Vash stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

  A Vash dressed like a futuristic buccaneer.

  Jas sucked in a breath. It was the devilishly charming space rebel. His lean body radiated strength, purpose, and a powerful, masculine self-confidence that made her head swim and her body respond with a deep, aching yearning.

  Then he turned his back to the camera. His hands were fisted behind him and hidden from Lahdo, his fingers clasping and unclasping, betraying the intensity of his anger.

  Lahdo’s uneasy delegation began gathering around their leader, while dark-suited Secret Service men hovered closer, drawn by the Vash leader’s discomposure. A microphone placed nearby was picking up the argument, barely. Jas grabbed the remote, punching up the volume. The tall Vash’s tone was low but intense. “The Articles of Frontier Trade state that I may trade with whom I please. You cannot exclude me, Lahdo, as you tried today. I will commence contact with the merchant leaders of my choice.”

  Lahdo fidgeted. “The agreement will be signed next week. Earth will no longer be a frontier planet then, and your articles will not apply.”

  The tall Vash’s hands closed into fists. “But until then, Commander, they do.”

  Lahdo’s tawny skin gleamed with perspiration. He tugged at his collar, and his clipped Basic took on a pleading tone. “It would be best if you and your companions leave the planet. I trust that one Earth week will be enough time to prepare the Quillie for departure. Shall my crew assist you in gathering the supplies you need?” Applause exploded and in the foreground of the screen, the secretary of commerce relinquished the podium to the British prime minister. More heated words were exchanged between the Lahdo and the other Vash, but because of the noise, Jas missed them.

  “One Earth week,” Lahdo said, louder.

  The tall rebel gestured to two similarly dressed men standing nearby. One was tall and muscular with hard and handsome features like him; the other was much younger and had hair of a lighter blond. With glowering faces, the rebel and his friends strode out of camera range, trailed by a battalion of Secret Service men.

  Jas flopped backward onto the bed. Her Vash man had just been unceremoniously and undemocratically kicked out of a joint session of Congress. For Pete’s sake, he’d been kicked off the planet, too, if she’d heard Lahdo correctly. Her thoughts plunged ahead. The trade commander wanted to exclude him. Why? He apparently was not part of the delegation. She’d assumed all the Vash were, but if he wasn’t, it would explain why she hadn’t seen him in any of the previously aired interviews. In fact, she’d begun to think she had imagined him.

  Without warning, a memory of the rebel’s golden eyes evoked a shivery, erotic echo of the way she’d felt when she woke from the dream of him. But she clenched her teeth against the unbidden image; she’d endured too many years of unbidden images, fantasies that were more vivid than life. Common sense told her that this flesh-and-blood man had nothing to d
o with her dreams. She couldn’t fathom why he affected her so profoundly, but maybe somewhere in his world was her answer.

  His world.

  She sat up, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands. She wasn’t wealthy, and she wasn’t a dignitary. Average citizens like herself would have to wait many years for the chance to travel into space. And even that was only conjecture. She massaged her temples and concentrated. It looked as though her only way into space was though the back door. But short of thumbing a ride on one of the Vash ships, how would she do that?

  Thumbing a ride…

  Yes, she could hitchhike. Her heart sped up as she analyzed the plausibility and risk of such a scheme. It was a rash idea. Insane.

  Electrifying.

  She lurched off the bed and began to pace. All her life she’d been praised and rewarded for making sound, logical choices. Even her unconventional desire to become a fighter pilot had been driven by a sense of duty to her country. Dependable, do-right Jas. Well, except when it came to her love life, but she was smarter now. Her thoughts circled back to the Vash rebel. He was the key. If she could somehow make it worth his while, he might be willing to take her along. She’d even bet that he didn’t play by the rules, as did Lahdo and the others. He was an outcast, or better yet, an outlaw—exactly the kind of individual she needed for her plan. Yep, he was her ticket out of here. And she had one short week to prove it.

  Chapter Four

  Jas lurched to a sitting position in bed. Her silk robe fell open in a sensual glide to her elbows, exposing her breasts and thighs to the cool, air-conditioned breeze. Still dazed from her dream, she reached for the bedside lamp and fumbled for the switch. Hugging a pillow to her chest, she stared unseeing at the TV she’d forgotten to shut off after watching Lahdo’s address. She’d dreamed of the desert again. Only it hadn’t been this intense, this real, since the days immediately after the crash. As always, she found herself wandering through the twilight in a barren but lavishly hued landscape. But this time the charismatic Vash rebel was waiting where only the blurred image of a man had been before. When she knelt at his side, he’d splayed one hand on the back of her head and pulled her down to his warm mouth. Every nerve ending in her body throbbed with the echo of their passion-filled embrace. If she hadn’t woken, she might have made love with him. A joining that would have meshed our hearts and souls forever.

  Jas flung one arm over her eyes as if she stood a chance of smothering the almost poignant yearning that flared inside her. In the weeks following the crash, these dreams had visited her nightly, leaving her with the same futile longing. Little wonder she had been overcome by a sense of destiny, of magic, falling in love at first sight when Capt. Jock Hamilton, armed with roses, wine, and apologetic eyes, came to visit on her first day home from the hospital. Convinced that their meeting was meant to be, certain that Jock must be the man from her dream, she’d thrown aside the reason that had guided her all her life and went to bed with him. Without protection. And after learning she was pregnant, a consequence of that one night, they’d done the right thing. Only it had turned out so wrong. Never in a million years would she regret having Ian and Ilana, but the marriage? She winced. What did she expect, playing dream interpreter, believing a man she’d never met was her one and only, her true love, who had transcended the dreamworld to be with her?

  She’d learned her lesson. Never again would she mistake fantasy for reality. The Vash man was real, but the man from her dream wasn’t. Any similarity between the two was coincidence and nothing more.

  Jas extricated herself from her tangled sheets. It was nearly six-thirty A.M., later than she’d thought. As she finger-combed her hair into a ponytail, she stared blearyeyed at a basket of clean laundry sitting by the bed. Her socks were wrapped one inside the other in matched pairs; her panties were tidily folded; her running shorts were stacked one atop the other. So neat and ordered.

  So unlike her immediate future if she went ahead with her plan to hitchhike into space.

  She dressed in a pair of jeans, an apricot silk blouse, and a pair of socks decorated with little Halloween pumpkins. Then she picked up the telephone and called Dan Brady. Of all the people close to her, no one was better equipped to help.

  By nine A.M., the coffee shop near the Arizona State University campus was crowded. She told Dan about the tall, rebel Vash, the argument she’d overheard in Congress, and what she wanted to do. As she’d hoped, he listened with interest and respect. “In other words,” she concluded, “I’ve found the vehicle and the driver. Now I need the incentive.”

  Dan cradled a cooling latte in his hands and regarded her soberly. “I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t rather keep you here.”

  You’re indispensable; everyone needs you. Jas let out a breath. She was leaving her children behind; she was disappointing Betty, her family, and now Dan. Steeling herself against a resurgence of doubt, she replied more harshly than she intended. “The plan is only for six months, Dan. Six months. For God’s sake, people take cruises for longer than that.”

  “Hey.” His expression gentled. “That wasn’t said to make you feel guilty. I’ll miss you, that’s all.”

  Her fists clenched convulsively. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  He relaxed in his seat and stretched out his legs. “Now explain how it is you think I can help.”

  “It sounds like he expected to make money while he was here, but the others won’t let him. That’s where we come in. You’ve served on or headed up every major business association in town. You have plenty of contacts.”

  “I know the governor,” Dan conceded. “So do you.”

  “I know his wife. We need more than that. And we don’t have much time. Lahdo gave him a week to pack his bags and get out. And we’ve already lost a day. That leaves us six more. And there’s the weekend to consider.”

  “No problem. I do quick work. Everyone seems to have their eye on space these days. If it’s resources our Vash friend wants, he won’t be lacking in Arizona economic and leadership support by the time we’re through.” He picked up the pad and pencil she’d laid on the table and began writing out a list. Flooded with gratitude, Jas stilled his busy hand. Dan must have seen the question in her eyes. “Yes, I’m doing this for you,” he replied frankly. “But naturally I’m very, very interested in the outcome.”

  She shared his slow grin. “I can tell. Your capitalist heart is beating hard.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “No doubt about that.”

  Jas wrapped her son in a fierce hug. Ian’s Harley-Davidson T-shirt blotted the tears she tried to hold back. “Call Ilana,” she said huskily. “Once a week. Make sure she’s not burning the candle at both ends.”

  “I won’t forget to call her.”

  “Remember, the house payment and the other bills will be paid automatically—”

  “I know, Mom.”

  “Betty will make sure there’s always money in your account. Your father manages Ilana’s finances, so there’s no problem there. And of course Dan will be here to look in on you every once in a while—”

  Ian grasped her shoulders and moved her back. “Mom, I’m going to be fine. You can’t worry. Just go on your trip. Paint lots of pictures. And tell me all about it when you get back.”

  She smoothed her hand over his cheek. “I love you.”

  His lips compressed as his eyes reddened. “Love you, too.”

  “We have to leave in ten minutes,” she said softly. There was no room for error. If she missed this flight to Washington, D.C., she’d miss her chance to leave earth. The reporter who’d won the flight into space had departed days ago. According to CNN, two more ships were lifting off at midnight. She was betting one of those was the Quillie, the rebel’s ship. “Help me check my gear one more time.”

  Ian read from the checklist she handed him, and she inventoried the contents of her waterproof cylindrical travel bag. In addition to the floral skirt and lavender twinset she was wearing on the plane, sh
e’d packed three black microfiber jumpsuits and a jacket that a seamstress had created from her sketches—clothing suitable for both a spaceship journey and sightseeing. Next to the jumpsuits was her old air force flight suit that she’d use as a disguise at Andrews Air Force Base. There were the barest of toiletries, her watercolors, a pouch containing every piece of real jewelry she owned, and all the boxes of Morton’s table salt she’d been able to cram into the remaining space. If the rebel captain required a down payment for her trip, she was prepared. On top of it all she laid the slim leather folder that Dan had given her. Inside were promises and statements from a dozen of the most powerful CEOs in Arizona, from aerospace firms to mining operations to banks, and, of course, beer, where Dan had typed the name of his microbrewery at the bottom of the list. “It’s all here,” she said, opening her wallet to check her cash and credit cards.

  Her cell phone rang, and her heart sank. She’d already endured all the bittersweet farewells her emotions could handle. Everyone but Betty, her children, and Dan was under the impression that she was taking a long vacation, but if she successfully boarded the spaceship, Betty would call the rest of her family and pass on the news.

  Ian hoisted her travel bag onto his shoulder. “I’ll put it in the trunk,” he said and disappeared into the garage.

  She snatched the telephone off the foyer table and sailed through the town house, checking one last time for any items left behind. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.

  “You’re acting like a dammed teenager, Jasmine—taking off on a joyride and leaving our kid alone in the middle of the school year. What the fuck’s gotten into you?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Not Jock, not now. “It’s no longer your business where I go or what I do.”

  “Oh, yes, it is if it concerns my son.”

  “Who’s grown, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Her stomach roiled. “Listen, I’m on my way to the airport. If you feel like fighting, go find your wife.”