He realized that Tee was watching him in shock. He gave her a quick smile to reassure her. What was wrong? Didn't she agree with him? Swallowing hard, she lowered her eyes to her tightly clenched hands.
"There must be a way we can stay part of the Federation for protection and still hang onto our identity as a planet." Ian was operating without a script now. Rom hadn't cleared him to negotiate; the king of the galaxy hadn't even cleared him to talk to Randall. But he wouldn't have chosen Ian as his successor if he didn't believe he could think creatively and independently.
"Romlijhian B'kah chose his stepson as the next king," he said to Randall. "Talk about having friends in high places… Don't you think it'd be better to be part of the Federation than opposed to it?"
"There's more to it than just influence— or the lack thereof," the senator argued. "The Vash don't view the frontier— or us— as they do the central area of their empire. We're beneath their regard." The senator glanced at Tee, as if he were still unsure of her. Then he lowered his voice. "I have proof. I've seen the darker side, Stone— poverty, disease, and apathy. My associate took me to Sorak Seven, Lanat, Baresh."
Ian glanced up sharply. Muffin frowned. Randall had an associate? Whom was he working with?
"Those worlds are nothing more to the Vash than distant slave pits," Randall continued. "I saw primitive medical care, substandard housing, hungry and overworked populations. The galaxy isn't the Shangri-La they claim it is," he said. "Earth needs to know that."
Yeah, Ian thought grimly, so do the Vash.
"What's happened to those planets could happen to us," Randall concluded, "unless we assert ourselves."
Ian stiffened. He was within a hair's-breadth of telling Randall who he was, right here, right now, so they could roll up their sleeves and hash out possible solutions instead of chatting over glasses of ale. But instinct told him to proceed with caution.
"What kind of proof do you have?"
Randall called up a schedule on his wrist-gauntlet computer. "My ship's docked by the old fortress in the hills. I'll be reviewing the information I've gathered over the next several weeks. Stop by for a beer before I leave for Washington."
"Thanks. I'll do that." In the meantime, Ian was going to find out who Randall's associate was. That person was obviously behind the senator's discovery of the inexcusably ignored fringe worlds— and Ian needed to know his or her intent.
Randall lifted his mug and tipped another swig of ale into his mouth. "Rotten stuff," he said, slamming his mug down. "No wonder our beer's taking the galaxy by storm." He stood, grabbing his jacket, and gave Ian a friendly salute before heading with his men outside to his jeep.
Gredda glared after him. Quin blew a stream of air out his mouth, while Muffin gazed thoughtfully at his drink. Tee hiccuped softly.
"Excuse me," she said, patting her chest.
Ian eyed Tee's empty glass and groaned. He was dealing with a powerful U.S. senator who believed Earth was better off opposing a Federation that had maintained peace for eleven thousand years. As if that wasn't bad enough, the man was spreading the word while playing tourist on a trip arranged by a mysterious partner. Convincing Randall that he was better off working with the Vash rather than against them was going to be one hell of a job. Though at the moment, Ian thought wryly, his greatest challenge lay in escorting his pilot out of the bar and back to the ship before she was tempted to order another drink.
Chapter Eleven
Quin, Muffin, and Gredda expressed interest in staying longer, but Ian insisted that Tee'ah leave with him. The small flashlight he aimed at the mossy ground beneath their boots enclosed them in a soft glowing circle, but the thick, damp darkness of the forest pressed in all around them, as if attempting to snuff out their light.
Instinctively, Tee'ah moved closer. "I'm not drunk," she informed him.
"I know."
They continued to walk in awkward silence. "I always hiccup from drinking too fast," she insisted. "Milk, fruit juice, or alcohol."
The ends of his mouth quirked in an almost-smile. "I'll remember that."
Again, he became quiet. It was something else, then, that was bothering him. She gave him an uneasy glance. Tonight he'd demonstrated a disturbing level of knowledge and insight into her people. A shiver skittered down her spine.
If Ian Stone was Ian Hamilton, the Vash heir, as she'd first feared, then she had to find that out before he found out about her. "I know you told me not to ask questions, but when the entire crew knows what is going on except me, it gets a bit frustrating. Surely I've proven my loyalty. I feel I have a right to know more about the man we're following."
"You have, and you do," he replied. Then he lightly took her by the elbow and led her deeper into the forest. "This way," he said softly.
Was he the Vash heir? She found herself wondering. What other explanation could there be? There seemed to be too many coincidences for any other conclusion. And here was her opportunity to find out.
"What were you curious about?" he asked mildly.
She decided to be blunt. "How it is that you, an Earth dweller, are so concerned about the state of the Vash federation?"
Ian tensed, or was she imagining it?
She plunged ahead with her spontaneous interrogation. "You seem to have a good knowledge of galactic politics. That's unusual for a black-market trader, is it not?"
"Not anymore than a whiskey-swigging ex-cargo pilot spouting off entire passages from the Treatise of Trade."
All right, so she'd stupidly revealed her own knowledge of galactic politics. It didn't mean she had to divulge anything else— her real name, her age, where she grew up, who her father was. She loved discussions about politics, and finding out more about Ian was important, but she mustn't let herself become so absorbed that she gave away too much. Hastily, she explained, "My father made sure I received a good religious education."
"Ah." Ian was silent for a few moments before he spoke again. "This hunger for independence on Earth's part bothers me because it's so sudden."
"Odd that your homeworld would just now balk at Vash rule almost seven years after signing the Treatise of Trade," she said.
"And even stranger coming after the selection of that Hamilton guy as the next crown prince," Ian added. He seemed eager to continue the discussion, which was strange if he had something to hide. Perhaps he didn't. Perhaps he wasn't Ian Hamilton, as she'd worried. Perhaps he was only a black market trader without anyone in his crew with whom he could discuss such ideas. That, Tee'ah could relate to. She'd often felt the same— alone in the company of her peers— with her brothers' wives, like a corked bottle.
"I cannot blame your Earth for feeling resentful," she said. "After an entire history celebrating your uniqueness in the universe, you now find yourselves relegated to a somewhat trivial role in an already established civilization, yes?"
"Yes." He cast her an admiring gaze. "I suspect that's the essence of what bothers men like Randall. We're still adjusting and getting used to the idea of being contacted by an extraterrestrial race— even though scientists claim we may all share common ancestry. But casting away all that's been established by the Federation… ?" He took a breath. "It's the wrong solution. And yet if the Vash want to keep the frontier loyal, they'll have to do something about Baresh— and soon."
Tee'ah shook her head. A black-marketeer with a sense of social responsibility was a concept almost as farfetched as the idea of the crown prince wandering about the frontier.
Still, if only more Vash Nadah shared Ian's views, then perhaps the frontier and the Federation wouldn't be teetering at the edge of divorce. Well, either way, she was no longer involved. She might enjoy discussing such problems, but she was no longer a noble who could do much about anything on such a grand scale. She was out for herself.
"When Randall returns to Earth, will we follow him?" she asked hopefully.
Ian ducked as a low flying night mammal whizzed past his head. "I'll follow him across the galaxy if I have to."
"That's a lot of worlds to visit."
His teeth glowed in the feint light. "And a lot of flying, too. You'd better keep working hard or I'll have you replaced."
"Replaced?" She huffed. But his playful smile was contagious. "Is that what you meant when you said I'd pay for making you do the All-folk Chain?"
"I don't think you want to know what I had in mind," he said. A delicious shiver coursed through her. She wondered if he'd meant to use such a suggestive tone. She found herself fervently hoping that he had.
Nervously, she moistened her lower lip. She wanted to place his arms around her, guide his lips to hers. She wanted to feel him inside her body, sharing intimacy as lovers did, something she'd never contemplated with any other man.
"But," he quipped, "your suggestion does have its merits. It'll be in your best interest to behave, as tough as that may be."
"No whiskey?"
"Definitely no whiskey."
She laughed, delighted by the repartee. One minute they were immersed in a deeply philosophical, political discussion, the next they were teasing each other about nothing of consequence. She'd never before met a man with whom she could enjoy both.
"Well." She was dying to know what he'd had in mind regarding her "payment" to him, but she suddenly felt too shy to ask. "You'd be a fool to let me go; you'll never find another like me."
His smile faded, and he slowed to a stop. Gossamer-winged creatures floated in the halo of light at his feet. Quietly, he said, "I'm beginning to think you're right."
They stood there, inches apart in the middle of the damp, hushed woods, their faces shadowed, their breaths puffs of mist. Then he lifted his hand to her cheek, four warm fingertips resting on the sensitive skin under her jaw. Her breath stopped, and her heart thundered so loud that she feared he'd hear it. As his dark, searching eyes held her enthralled, he slid his fingers into her hair.
Then she hiccuped. "Excuse me."
His smile reappeared. His palm stroked over her cheek, no longer the tentative first touch of a lover, but a casually affectionate pat. The fairy-like moths fled into the darkness along with her hopes for a kiss.
"It sure is a cold one tonight," he said lightly. "We'd best get you back to the ship before you catch a chill."
His caress had left her anything but cold. "Sure."
Minus the usual guiding hand on her elbow, he resumed his stride. Practically jogging to keep up with him, she cursed her ineptness. Sweet heaven. She had much to learn in this game of seduction. And one thing was certain. Whatever future steps needed to be taken, it was clear she was going to have to take them first.
Long after he saw Tee to bed and the others had returned from their night out, Ian sat sprawled in the pilot's chair, his legs propped on the navigation console, his fingers laced over his stomach. The ship was dark, and silent but for the hum of normal shipboard equipment. Yet sleep eluded him.
Still dressed in his jeans and flannel shirt, he stared out the viewscreen at the stars. Light years away were his mother and stepfather, to whom he was impatient to relay the news of his recent discoveries. But before he sent an encrypted message back to Sienna, he wanted to learn more about Randall, and now his associate. The senator had very legitimate and understandable concerns— Ian saw that after visiting Baresh— but if Randall and others on Earth didn't grasp the lesson of the galaxy's violent history, the need to stick together, then Ian had better find something else, something tangible, to keep Earth within the Vash fold.
But what?
He closed his eyes, his mind racing.
God, he'd almost kissed her.
He dropped his feet to the floor and sat up, his arms draped over his thighs. He'd known Tee for less than a month and she'd turned him to jelly. He knew nothing about her, other than what she wanted him to learn— a fabricated history, he was sure.
What was she hiding from him? And why?
I don’ t think you want to know what I had in mind. Had he actually said that to her? Criminey. He dropped his face into his hands. The temptation would pass as long as he didn't act on it.
She would have let you.
He groaned. Then he lifted his head. Starlight soaked the cockpit in an ice-blue glow, an illumination so faint that he almost didn't see the hesitant, wraithlike shadow moving off his left side. Then he inhaled the faint odor of rotten eggs.
He shot straight up in the chair. "How long have you been there?"
"Only a moment." Tee pressed her hand over her chest. "My apologies. I didn't know you were here."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Neither could I."
He rubbed his eyes. "I've been thinking about Randall's associate and how to find out who he— or she— is." That was a partial truth, at least.
"What did you decide?"
"Grüma isn't all that big. We'll look for him the old-fashioned way."
Pensive, Tee walked to the enormous curving viewscreen at the bow of the Sun Devil. She raised her arms above her head and arched her back. "Look at all the stars. Without city lights it's almost as if you can see them all." The sleeves of her nightshirt slipped down her slender arms. On the underside of her right arm something caught the light.
It was a birth-blocker patch! Ian clenched his jaw and looked away.
He'd assumed she was innocent. But of course she wasn't. When he'd found her she'd been living in the frontier. No one here remained innocent for long.
Her obvious and not-unexpected worldliness wasn't what bothered him; it was that she had been made love to by— and would make love to— other men. Men other than him. "Lucky bastards," he muttered in English.
She lowered her arms, smoothing her palms down her sleeves. "Sorry— what was that?"
"Have a seat. We can watch the stars."
"Or we can count them to make us sleepy." She smiled. "We need to get our rest while we can. I suspect that in the coming days there will be much to keep us awake."