Grayson Sontang in Space - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"I'm going down alone. End of discussion." Grayson strode to the far side of the shuttle to continue her checks. Hendon followed.

"Beginning of discussion," he argued. "It's too dangerous."

Grayson gaped at him. After everything we've been through, you think taking a shuttle planetside is too dangerous?"

"I was referring to the Fed presence."

"That's why no Siriuns go down. The Feds down there are planet-based. They can't really do anything about a ship up here full of Siriuns. Trust me. I've dealt with Feds before. A couple of times," she added as an afterthought. "I know how their protocols work."

"Until they change protocols."

"You'll just slow me down. The faster I work, the faster we get out of here before the system Feds move in. I told you they came through the jump sixteen hours ago. How long do you think it will take them to get here?"

"I can load twice as fast as you. At least," he scoffed.

She rolled her eyes. "Ever hear of bots? You think I lift my own crates?"

"Still, you've sent the last few hours piloting into orbit. You're already tired. I'll take care of the food and fuel, you collect your parts. Half the time. And they'll be looking for you, not for me. They won't know me from Adam."

"Yeah," she drawled. "It's not like you look like you just stepped out of a Fed recruiting poster or anything."

"Confed," he corrected. "And I'm perfectly capable of looking like a spacer."

She looked him up and down. "Nah. That face is too pretty. Maybe if I broke your nose for you. Which I am sorely tempted to do right now," she added. She put her hands on her hips. "You're in my way."

"Sorry," he shrugged, then abruptly climbed into the shuttle's passenger seat.

"Get the hell out of there," she stormed, yanking on his arm. He was immovable. She climbed over him into the pilot's seat. "Goddamn it, where the hell is that ejection seat button?"

Hendon only snickered. "Finish your checks. Time's wasting."

Grayson snarled at him as she went into the back to tie down the bots. "I'm not going to bail you out," she called forward to him. "I'll leave you to rot in Fed lockup."

He turned in his seat. "Really? Because I was going down specifically to bail you out when you smarted off to a Fed and got busted."

She climbed back into the pilot's seat and glared at him. "Honey, the only times I've worn Fed handcuffs was when I specifically requested it, and there were beds involved, not bars."

"Is that your ploy? Seduce them before they figure out you're carrying?"

She batted her eyelashes at him. "I only seduce the pretty ones. I have my standards."

"And the rest you bribe?"

Grayson shook her head in exasperation as she ran through her mental checklist, keying up instruments. "I don't have to seduce or bribe. I just have to be good at what I do."

"Smuggling?"

"Conveying desirable goods to paying customers." She looked over at him. "Last chance to disembark, sailor."

"I'll go down with the ship, ma'am."

Grayson swore under her breath and hit the door locks. They slid into place with a soft hiss. "Cycle air, Hal. Continuous activity report." She glanced askance at Hendon as Hal's low voice began reciting who was where on the ship, what bots were active, systems statuses and other information. Grayson warmed the shuttle's exhaust systems and lifted slightly as a final check while the air was cycled out of the bay. When Hal's voice-over came on to announce the air cycle complete, she told the computer to open the bay doors, then fastened her safety straps. She noticed Hendon doing the same and smiled to herself.

"Hope you got those good and tight, sailor," and then she jammed the shuttle into reverse, shooting out of the bay. She had the pleasure of hearing him gasp as he was thrown against the restraints then just as suddenly weightless, when she cut the thrust. She smiled sweetly at him as she waited to drift well clear of the ship before starting the descent to the planet below. He muttered something about 'women drivers.'

After a few moments of drift, Grayson righted the shuttle relative to the planet below and hit the fore burners to slow them below orbital speed. The braked under thrust until they reached the upper atmosphere, where she deployed foils and began lazy spirals down to the spaceport. As soon as she settled into their assigned berth, she opened the doors. "Get out before customs gets here," she commanded.

"You don't think I know how to talk to a customs agent?" Hendon, the Customs Officer, asked.

"Can't you ever follow orders without arguing," she complained.

"Really? I've wondered the same about you."

"Hendon, out! They find a Siriun, they'll put a hold on us until Fed arrives." He grinned at her but climbed from the seat and disappeared from the bay. She finger-combed her hair. Then she shook herself and put on her compliant, polite, sometimes-you-just-have-to-deal-with-authority-figures face and unlocked the back doors to the freight shuttle. By the time she climbed from the shuttle and reached the back end, customs was there, along with a Land Fed. She ignored the Fed.

"I'm just picking up supplies," she explained to Customs, waving at the empty freight shuttle. "I was forced off course, so I'm low on oxy and fuel and food. I've already ordered in and it's all waiting for me in warehouse fifteen."

"What are you carrying?" the officious woman asked, tapping on a tablet.

"All I have right now is a little bit of meat. I was headed to pick up a load from Deneb when I ran into that blast wave. I heard someone blew a wormhole," she whispered conspiratorially, noticing the Fed scowl.

The Customs woman frowned. "That's just a rumor," she replied, but Grayson could clearly see her doing a mental tally. It's not what the rumor says, it's how many times you hear it. She barely glanced into Grayson's freighter. "Okay, you're clear." She scurried off to find the next arrival.

"You're clear with Customs," the Fed officer pointed out. "The Federation has some questions."

"Fire away," Grayson said affably. "I'll see if I can find you some answers."

"I'd prefer you just tell me the truth, not 'find' answers," he replied. Typical Fed, Grayson told herself. Totally humorless.

She kept her pleasant smile plastered firmly in place. "Just a turn of phrase," she offered.

"You told her you were carrying meat."

"Yeah. About fifteen crates worth. I didn't bother to bring any down. Your meat products are renowned in this area."

"We know you are carrying Siriuns, too."

"Yeah," Grayson agreed, drawing it out much longer than required. She had donned her patient, must-explain-the-facts-of-life-to-the-idiot-government-man face. "On civilized planets, people are not commodities and therefore not an interest of customs agents." Playing affable, accommodating Grayson wasn't one of her strong suits, especially for more than a few minutes at a time.

"You can't fool us," he continued as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said. "We need a roster of your passengers."

She tried to don the patient face again. "No," she replied calmly. "If said Siriuns were coming planetside, then you could require passports or visas or whatever the regulations are here on El Rehla Prime. Since I am the only one planetside, and I hold a Trader's visa, as approved by your Customs Agent already, there are no violations, and therefore no grounds to request additional information."

He scowled at her. "Nevertheless, I am requiring you to produce a roster."

Grayson gave him her sweetest, most insincere smile. "You know, there's a reason that Feds are divided into planet-based, system-based and multi-system service areas. It has to do with their ability to understand the laws and regulations of the various areas." When his scowl deepened, she hurried on. "No, let me be more specific. It has to do with their intelligence as it contributes to their ability to understand the complexity of laws and regulations, so, see, they put the dumbest Feds on the planets, where they have the least factoids to comprehend." He was starting to turn red, just like in a cartoon. "Yeah, you're starting to get it!" she exclaimed. "Tell you what. You go find a court clerk to explain it all to you. Or maybe your boss. In the meantime, I have supplies to load."

She started around him and he reached out to grab her arm. Grayson fought her instincts to spin away from his grasp, and she scowled a warning at Hendon, who was at the end of the pier and starting their way. She turned back to the Fed, glanced at his hand on her arm, and switched back to her inscrutable, entitled-Earther face. "Perhaps you haven't heard, but recent court cases throughout the settled worlds have held Fed Officers personally responsible for false imprisonment and false arrest. I can afford very, VERY good lawyers. Can you?"

He reluctantly released her arm and she turned and strode away, ignoring Hendon as she passed. He calmly watched the Fed Officer with mild curiosity until the man finally turned and stalked away from the open shuttle. When Hendon was satisfied that he was gone, he went and retrieved the heavy bot, taking it to the warehouse where the supplies had been stored for them.

Grayson, after a number of evasive routings designed to throw off both human and video surveillance, found the trader who had brought the parts to repair her ship and paid him handsomely for his efforts on her behalf, borrowing his bot to carry the items back to her shuttle. She took more evasive paths on the way back, and was grudgingly pleased to find that Hendon had already transferred a substantial amount of supplies, and even stored them neatly, and securely, in the shuttle. Any doubts she might have had that he had worked freighters at some point in his career vanished. Once she had the bot unloaded, she programmed it with yet an even more evasive return route and sent it on its way back.

Then she waited. She listened to Hal's quiet recitation of the menial functions of the ship, was even relieved to hear Evans softly snoring on the bridge. But the phrase 'too easy' kept echoing about the chambers of her brain. When she couldn't stand it anymore, she asked Hal to see if he could tap the video inside warehouse fifteen. Usually, such access was a given, as part of the rental agreement, but technically, their suppliers had rented the warehouse, not Grayson. When Hal couldn't provide immediate access, she requested video from the bot that Hendon was using. Bot video was notoriously unreliable, usually blocked by something or out of focus, and Grayson was known to insist that it was a conspiracy on the part of botdom. Still, if there was nothing else in the moment, she would take that over nothing.

What it showed her, when it finally came up with insufficient light and focus, was what appeared to be Hendon's body, sprawled on the floor of the warehouse. Grayson swore, checked her mini-blaster, strapped to her calf inside her boots, and set out, cautiously, with her compad in hand. "Hal, I need that video feed, sooner is better, if you get my drift."

"Understood," the computer answered. "Working on it."

"Do you have control of that bot?"

"Yes."

"Back it up. Turn it. See what else it can give us. You'd better let the Confeds know there's a problem. But don't give them access to the run-about. Just... Shit, I don't know. Tell them I'm on it."

She pulled a pen laser from the sleeve of her jacket and tucked it into her pocket. El Rehla was a hot planet, but she didn't care if she looked out of place wearing a leather jacket. The numerous pockets and hiding places were too convenient. Night had fallen on the planet, and the spaceport apparently had budget issues, because only about a third of the lights were glowing, but that was fine with Grayson. Part of her, that she refused to acknowledge, wanted to rush to Hendon's side, see if he was still alive. The much wiser part of her proceeded with the same caution she had afforded the trader who had brought her much needed parts.

She moved from shadow to shadow toward the long rows of warehouses. Fifteen was tucked behind a massive row of the large freighter capacity storage buildings. It was among the smaller, trader-sized facilities. There was no way to approach from the back, and no easy access even if she could have made it to the roof. There was only straight in through the front. She studied her compad screen as the bot shifted and turned under Hal's tutelage. It didn't really show anything other than the expected remaining crates of food and canisters of gasses and fuels. The bot either couldn't or wouldn't provide thermal imaging. Grayson vowed to look into that at a later date.

She reached a point where she was across of the alley from the open access to warehouse fifteen. "Hal, I could really use video," she said into the compad.

"Video is being blocked," the computer replied.

"By whom?" she demanded.

"Indeterminant," Hal replied.

"Well, find out, damn it. I'm going in. Tell that bot to stay out of my way."

She didn't listen for Hal's reply, requesting to know her route in order to be sure the bot wasn't blocking it. She slipped inside the open door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the even deeper darkness of the warehouse. She had muted the compad and shoved it into a pocket. In the dark, what little light the screen produced would be far too much. With nothing else to go on, she edged along the inner wall of the warehouse, moving silently. To her left, she could hear the very soft hum of the bot. It was powered on, but inactive, waiting for instruction. Grayson moved toward the noise. She crept a few more meters then bumped into one of the tracks of the bot. Quietly feeling her way, she moved around the substantial tread, squatted between the two tracks and covered her eyes with one hand. She pulled out the compad with her other hand over the screen and whispered, "Hal, bot lights on."

The warehouse was flooded with pools of light from the various fixtures the bot possessed. Grayson freed her miniblaster and peered cautiously over the flat bed of the bot. She hadn't heard even the scurrying of vermin at the sudden blast of light, which was encouraging. She hated furry vermin almost as much as human vermin. Still, she wasn't ready to set aside her caution. The remaining food and water crates were stacked toward the back of the space and the gas canisters and fuel cells were along the back wall. She did a quick circuit of the crates with blaster at the ready before she finally went to check on Hendon.

Hendon was breathing regularly and there wasn't obvious blood or physical damage, though he was obviously unresponsive. She straightened and ordered him to stand up, which he ignored, then shrugged and told the bot to finish loading. It obliged. Grayson kept an eye and the blaster on the door to the warehouse until the bot had everything loaded, then she managed to get Hendon loaded too, with some help from the bot, and set it to follow her. She proceeded the long way around the rows of warehouses, using the bot's lights to supplement the spaceport lighting until they were finally back at her shuttle. She wrestled the limp Hendon into the passenger seat, then strapped the bot and its load in the back with some improvisation.

When she finally sagged into the pilot's seat, she was beyond exhausted. She notified Hal that she had the shuttle loaded with supplies and Hendon. She rolled her head to look at him. He was still breathing steadily. A thought occurred to her, and she got back up from her seat and leaned over him, pulling his collar aside. On the left side of his neck she found the tiny, faint but unmistakable puncture marks of an infuse syringe. That led to another, far more unpleasant thought, and she began the task of removing all of his clothes, which was much harder than one might think, when the subject was a whole lot of muscle-bound dead weight. She tossed the clothes out of the door lock, then examined every inch of his body, a not unpleasant chore. Eventually, she found what she had really hoped not to find. A tiny lump under the skin of his back between ribs, where he wouldn't have been able to reach or notice. She had only been able to find it by turning him, sliding him onto his knees in front of the seat and otherwise compromising his limp form. Worse, she had to take her pen laser to his back to remove the tracker from under his skin; not exactly as neat and tidy as a scalpel. It would be most interesting to see if he thanked her when he finally woke up. She tossed the tracker out with his clothes, tried to figure out how to get him back up into the seat, gave up on that idea and pushed him the rest of the way to the floor.

"Stupid Fed," she muttered. "Who the hell did you turn your back on?" She climbed back into the pilot's seat and secured all of the doors. At this point, any sensible pilot would recline her chair and catch a few winks. Grayson warmed the thrusters instead. She had already determined that she was going to leave without 'permission' from ground control - one of those apologize after-the-fact scenarios - but then Hal's voice came over the comm.

"Galactic Fed is requesting an interview at oh six hundred port time in Building A6."

"What Hal? You're breaking up, I can't hear you. I'm on my way back to the ship. I'll check with you then." She cut the ship comm and glanced at Hendon, who was now snoring softly. She shook her head and lifted off, proceeding slowly but surely for open space. Ground control predictably and angrily buzzed her. She apologized profusely and blamed the lack of communication on her co-pilot. "Yeah," she commiserated with the woman on the other end of the comm. "I had to drag him out of a bar again. He told me he called it in, then promptly passed out. Time to turn him in on a new model." The woman on the other end laughed and gave her clearance to orbit. Grayson looked down at Hendon. "I guess you're good for something," she drawled.

They were almost back to the ship before Hendon started to stir. In very un-officer-like fashion, his first comment was "What the fuck!"

"I told you not to go out drinking," she told him. "Now you got that dumb-ass tattoo on your back. If you can't handle your whiskey, you should stay out of spacer bars."

"What the fuck are you talking about!" He demanded, trying to pull himself into the chair that kept swiveling away from him. "Where are my clothes?"

"You probably left them at some bimbo's apartment," Grayson said with a shake of her head.

"What did you do to me?" He lurched and finally managed to get into the seat.

"Sure, blame it on the sober one." She looked askance at him. "You were mickeyed. And then you were spiked with a tracker. In the warehouse, right before the last load, from the looks of it."

He rubbed his temples. "Feels like Kelvan, from the headache," he reluctantly agreed.

She nodded. "Blunt instrument. Not my style. The tracker, either. I mean, it would have more range than nanobots, but way too easy to find." Her eyes did a slow slide down his body.

"So if it was in my back, then taking my pants was just a side pleasure? And where the hell are they?"

She shrugged. "Cheap thrills. They're in a pile on the dock back down there. Wanna go back for them?"

"No," he answered snappishly. "That your way of getting even?"

"Maybe. Or maybe they wouldn't trust to just one tracker. I have a feeling we're going to find a bunch more when we get back. I don't know. It just all feels too blunt instrument to me. Way to clumsy."

He groaned. "So, they let you find the spike and meanwhile I've got a bunch of nanobots running around inside me waiting to be activated?"

"Maybe," she said with a shrug. But then she smiled slyly. "There are ways to detect them even if they aren't transmitting. It's getting rid of them that can be unpleasant."

"I don't suppose you'd want to lend me your jacket? You know, so you're not distracted while trying to bay this beast."

Grayson grinned salaciously, but shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it to him. He arranged it over his lap then fastened the seat's safety belts, squirming to get comfortable. A puzzled frown crossed his face and he reached into the pocket of her jacket, pulling out the miniblaster.

Her chin jutted and she held out her hand for the small but heavy device. "We're not in Confed space anymore," she stated. After a pause, he laid it in her palm and she returned it to her boot. She glanced at him again. "Do you remember anything; did you see anybody?"

He shook his head. "Last thing I remember was trying to figure the best way to load canisters and crates on that lumbering bot of yours."

Grayson rolled her eyes. "That bot may be lumbering, but it's perfectly capable of figuring optimum loading configurations. I programed it myself."

"That's what I was afraid of," he pointed out.

"Oh, shit!" Grayson yelped.

"What?" he asked in alarm.

She swung a monitor toward him. "Company. That's a Fed shuttle, waiting to scoot into our bay the minute the door opens."

"Why didn't Hal warn you?" he asked.

"I sort of turned him off."

"What? Why?" Hendon was becoming more confused by the moment. Her answer didn't help.

"Plausible deniability."

"Come again?"

She sighed. "Hal was trying to tell me I had an appointment with the Feds at six this morning. I didn't want to hear that, so I turned him off. I guess when I took off from the port, they decided to move the meeting to my ship. It's all your fault," she accused.

"And how do you figure that?"

"You were laying in a naked heap on the floor. It was either drag you back and strap you in with the cargo or keep the ride slow and smooth."

"I thought you said the Fed here were planet-based."

"Well, they consider orbit part of the planet. They just don't usually go there if they can find you on the ground."

"So you left the ground and insured they would come to the ship."

"I was kind of hoping they wouldn't look for me until I missed the meeting, and by then we'd be out of orbit."

"Any other bright ideas?"

"Um, wake Evans up and have him leave orbit?"

"Is that Fed shuttle armed?"

She shrugged. "Probably."

"Then no."

"They're not going to shoot at the prince, no matter how pissy they are. I don't think," she added.

He grimaced. "No, they'll shatter your hydrogen exhausts. Then, even if you talk fast enough to stay out of lockup, you still won't be going anywhere."

She straightened in her seat. "Well then, we'll just have to convince them these aren't the Siriuns they're looking for."

"Excuse me?"

"Jedi mind trick." She glanced at him then rolled her eyes when he simply stared back in confusion. "Movies? Star Wars? Crap, Hendon, what the hell did you do when you were on freighters?"

"Investigated smugglers. As opposed to the education you were obviously receiving." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Grayson shook her head in disgust as she hit the ship's comm switch. Instead of speaking, though, she hit an encrypt key and began furiously typing instructions to Hal. His voice filled the freight shuttle, informing them that a Fed shuttle was requesting entry. "Sorry Hal, you're still breaking up. Shuttle's antenna must be broken," she said as she continued typing.

Hendon tried to read the monitor over her shoulder. "It would be nice if you could have Bogart bring me some clothes," he suggested.

Grayson stopped typing and turned to look at him. "And cover up that fine ass?" she smirked.

"I figured once you'd had some of this fine ass, you wouldn't want to share."

She considered a moment. "Okay," she conceded. "But I still get to make up the stories about why you needed a change of clothes."

"I can't believe you," he said, shaking his head. "You're about to try to face down Feds and you're making up stories?"

"They're much more pliable when they're laughing their asses off," she muttered, finishing her instructions to Hal.

She waited until she received his encrypted reply back. All it said was, "Are you sure?"

"Fucking Artificial Intelligence picks now to kick in," she swore, sending her own colorful reply. She sat back and took hold of the controls built into the arms of her chair. "Settle in, sailor," she told Hendon. "This is going to be the longest, most tedious bay approach you've experienced since piloting school." She proceeded to waste every conceivable minute of time she could stretch out, overshooting every glide, over-rotating on every turn, even making abortive attempts to give Hal commands through the 'broken' antenna. She provided the Fed shuttle with the same disrupted communications when they signaled her directly.

When she received the encrypted "all clear" message from the computer, she finally 'managed' to send a garbled command to open the bay door. The Fed shuttle shot inside with - if such could be said of an inanimate object - exasperation. Grayson smiled gleefully to herself as she pulled her own freight shuttle in on the other side of her runabout. She turned her good humor toward Hendon, but he only scowled. "If you can't have a little fun at the Fed's expense, then life's hardly worth living," she chortled. She sighed when he failed to get her humor and turned to run through her system shutdowns as the bay door closed and air cycled back into the bay.

When Hal gave the okay, she climbed out of the shuttle and turned expectantly toward Hendon. He gestured toward a neat pile of clothes that had been left on the floor of the bay next to the runabout. "Would you mind terribly bringing me those clothes?" he asked.

Grayson grinned maliciously, but went to fetch the clothes for him, tossing them into the shuttle. "Stay out of sight," she warned. The Feds were already out of their shuttle and milling around near the portal to the interior. Grayson donned her patient face, wondering how long she was going to be able to maintain it and strode toward them.

"Gentlemen," she said in greeting. "I apologize for my comm problems, but we're all here now. How can I help you?"

"You have Siriuns on your ship," the highest ranking officer said.

"I believe we established that matter yesterday. Have Siriuns suddenly become contraband in the last week or two? In which case, I certainly hope my..." She bit her tongue before she could call them cargo. "Passengers would fall under a grandfathering clause."

"You have a Trader's license."

"You have a knack for stating the obvious," she pointed out, smiling over the sarcasm.

"You do not have a Transport license on file."

Grayson scratched her ass. "I received special dispensation from the Siriun government. It covers native and naturalized residents of the sector. If you were on speaking terms with them, you could check and find that out for yourself."

"You are not in Sirius Sector," a junior officer pointed out.

Grayson smiled at him, but it came off more as a predatory teeth baring. "Transport licenses are issued by the planet or sector where most of the transporting originates. Being as you're stationed on this backwater planet, undoubtedly with reason, you might not realize that there are any number of transport ships and probably even more yachts licensed by Sirius to carry Siriuns to other parts of the galaxy and doing so on a daily basis."

She turned her focus back on the ranking officer. "Perhaps, if you gentlemen tell me exactly why you are here, we can clear up whatever misunderstanding has occurred and all be about our jobs once more."

"May we see your ship?" he asked, obviously making as much of an effort at politeness as she was.

Grayson frowned. I'm not in the habit of allowing unfettered access to my ship. It sets a bad precedent."

"And yet you are carrying Siriuns."

"An act of charity. Their yacht was attacked by pirates. And I'm quite sure they would tell you that their access is definitely fettered."

He spread his hands. "We can get a warrant, but I'm afraid that can be a time-consuming effort on this 'backwater' planet. I would hate to delay your journey by days when we are here now and could conclude our business with a very minor disruption."

Grayson's frown became a scowl. "I trust your report will prominently mention my displeasure at this intrusion."

"I am happy to guarantee that," he agreed, gesturing toward the portal.

Grayson strode to the portal and slapped the control. The six Feds followed her out onto the bridgework surrounding her cargo silo. She wondered if Feds always traveled in a six-pack. Or maybe her file suggested a minimum of six because she was so dangerous. She smiled to herself as she gestured vaguely toward the lower floor where children had turned the ring featuring her grudge match with Hendon into some sort of a game that involved way more tape on the floor and something that looked suspiciously like paint. She couldn't help but notice their undue interest in the children, looking for the prince, no doubt. She strode across the ironwork bridge and into the mid-level cargo hold. Cots and people were scattered about, and Het and Sip were working on equipment that always seemed to be on the verge of breaking down. The native Siriuns looked at the Feds with distrust. At least, she thought it was distrust. It was hard to tell with the hairy xenos. The Feds' noses wrinkled at the smell she had finally gotten used to.

"So. Siriuns," she said, waving her arms. "Am I under arrest?"

An older gentleman was walking toward them, nodding at the Feds. Grayson suspected he was part of the royal family, but then, so were hundreds of others, including a number on her ship. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hendon slip into the cargo hold behind the Feds. "Gentlemen," the Siriun said, bowing slightly. "I am Atimus, second uncle twice removed from the Emperor of Sirius. May I be of assistance to you?"

"You're the..." the Fed officer searched for the term he wanted. "The highest ranking here?"

Atimus smiled warmly, in a manner Grayson could never hope to emulate. "I am the eldest here of the royal family. Honorary spokesman, if you will." He gestured behind them. "If it is rank you need to confer with, Officer Hendon, here, is highest ranked of the naturalized citizens of Sirius Sector and Alliance Officer Het is highest ranked of native citizens. But if, like me, you honor beauty and intelligence and spirit above all." He gestured with both hands toward Grayson, "Then I would recommend you to our most gracious host, Grayson Sontang."

The Fed threw Grayson a sour look. "I'm looking for the son of your king," he said, deliberately avoiding the title Emperor.

Atimus' smile turned apologetic, and Grayson wondered if he could teach her how to come across with such sincerity. Probably not, she concluded. "The prince is not among us, as you can see."

"We have it on good authority that he is on this ship."

Atimus looked genuinely puzzled. "And what authority would that be? Have you been in communication with the Royal Family? It was my impression that the Federation cut communications with Sirius Sector."

"I am not at liberty to divulge my sources," the Fed said stiffly. "Do you deny that the prince was on the yacht when you were attacked?"

The Siriun shook his head sadly. "Such a tragedy. Lives were lost. Did you know that? Some say that it was because the Federation withdrew its protections of the wormholes, but I try to explain the complexities of the political situation, the challenges to various loyalties. Still, when one has to tell a wife or husband that their loved one was lost in space..." He trailed off.

The Fed looked grim. "Nevertheless..." he started.

"Ah, yes, the Prince," Atimus reminded himself, shaking his remorse off with some difficulty. "There were grave concerns that the attack happened because the prince was rumored to be aboard the yacht. Great care has been taken to keep his movements secret. I am sure in a meritocracy such as the Federation, it is hard to understand the value our culture places on lineage, right or wrong. Still, you can understand how reluctant we as a people would be to move the prince, the heir to the throne, about so openly and on an unprotected trader ship, no less. No offense," he said quickly to Grayson, who simply cocked an eyebrow.

"So you're saying he isn't on this ship?"

Atimus spread his hands. "Do you see him? Do you see any signs of the security that would surround a prince of state? Truly, can you picture one of such royal blood sleeping on a cot?"

"Then you won't mind if we search?"

"Not at all," Atimus replied.

"Uh," Grayson said as the Fed turned to her with a grin. She threw her hands in the air. "Fine, what the hell. Hendon, show him all the places your men have already searched. I'm going to the bridge." She stomped away.

---

When Grayson slammed onto the bridge, Evans jumped, took one look at her and decided it was not a good time for questions. He slumped down in his seat. "Hal, there had better be some damn coffee in that dumbwaiter or you're fired!" she stormed. Fortunately for Hal, there was coffee waiting for her, though perhaps not quite as hot as she might have preferred. She slid into her chair. "I can't believe I have a ship full of Feds and Confeds," she muttered to no one in particular. Evans sank even lower in his seat.

Grayson glumly watched the progress of the search on her monitors. None of this was how she had pictured life aboard the Breathless Dragon. And she was beginning to wonder if 'this' was ever going to end. Her irritation only grew when a couple of the Feds reached her quarters and snickered over the clothes scattered on her floor. Little did they know that Hendon had been keeping it relatively cleaned up, despite her protestations. The caffeine, though, was beginning to adjust her attitude, albeit minutely. She ordered more coffee, then began to instruct Hal on doing a very, VERY complete bug sweep on the shuttle and its cargo, as well as on Hendon, as soon as the Feds cleared out. As a very reluctant afterthought, she even included herself.

As annoying as the local Feds were, she was much more concerned about the incoming system Feds. She was constantly asking Hal for updates on their approach, even as the local Feds were becoming more frustrated with their fruitless search. She debated telling them she'd thrown the brat out the airlock, but eventually decided that probably wouldn't improve her situation. They'd left the bridge until the last, and when the officer came onto the bridge, followed by one of his flunkies and Hendon, Grayson didn't even turn in her chair. "Toilet there, dumbwaiter there and computer banks there," she said, vaguely pointing in general directions over the top of her chair. "Knock yourself out."

"Thank you," he replied stiffly, gesturing to his flunky. Grayson was looking at one of her monitors, but what she was actually watching was a faint reflection of Hendon. He seemed nervous, at least when the Fed wasn't looking at him, and she finally decided that maybe he was worried she was going to blow sky high. She was too tired to even entertain that possibility at this point, though. She wanted the Feds off her ship and to be blasting out of the system, but that wasn't going to happen until the new disc was in place for the hydrogen exhaust and that wasn't going to happen until she got some rest and maybe even got the grav field fixed back there so she could work without throwing up. At this point, she couldn't even figure out how to prioritize things. The only bright spot was that the Fed seemed really irritated that he'd searched the whole ship and found no hint of an eight-year-old brat. His vague warrant for persona-non-grata was going nowhere. Grayson couldn't help it. She smiled when he finally admitted defeat and headed back to his shuttle, with Hendon on his heels.

"The minute that shuttle is clear, get us the hell out of here," Grayson told Evans, who had been hoping she might have forgotten his presence.

"Aye," he agreed, still slumped low in his chair.

Hendon came back to the bridge the minute the Feds were floating out of the shuttle bay. He went straight to the dumbwaiter and pulled out a food tray, setting it before Grayson on her console. "What's this," she asked, her brow furrowed.

"People call it food. They eat it."

"I don't have time. I have to..."

Hendon pushed her back down in her seat and tapped some buttons on the console. The camera in the engine room was displaying the disassembled secret cargo hold and the prince, gleefully floating about in the area where the grav field wasn't working. His security team, including the severely injured Goldstone, was trying to corral him. Hendon pushed another button and the view changed to the shuttle bay where a bot, looking for all the world like one of her biosphere bots, was doing a thorough 'mechanical bug' sweep instead of looking for aphids.

"We're already out of orbit, right Evans?" Hendon asked.

"Yup. Uh, yes, sir."

Hendon switched back to the view of the engine room where the prince was being led from the room even as Het and Sip were entering with tools and the new disk to install.

"Oh, lordy," Grayson moaned. "Is there anyone alive who doesn't know all my secrets?"

"I can think of a few Feds who just left to report nothing untoward on this ship," Hendon replied.

"Untoward? Really?" She giggled.

"Eat," Hendon ordered, though he was smiling at the thought of the fiery spacer giggling. Grayson glanced up at him and caught the smile.

"Wipe that smile off your face, Fed!"

"Confed," he corrected, yet again, though the smile was still there. "At least drink some more coffee. You need to sober up."

"I wasn't the one mickeyed," she pointed out. "I haven't even had a decent glass of brandy in days. Okay, okay, okay. Here's one for you. If you can use untoward in a sentence this won't be a challenge at all. Succor, s-u-c-c-o-r."

"What?" he exclaimed, though he was finding her fatigue-driven silliness catching.

"Use it in a sentence. Come on. You've had, what? Twenty years of education? Piece of cake."

"All right." He leaned closer. "Eat this food and I will succor your clit."

"Oh, fuck me," she whispered.

"Well, that's the long range plan," he conceded.

She looked at the tray for all of a minute, then began gobbling the food down, though it was lukewarm by then. She didn't care. The coffee, at least, was still hot. And lower regions of her body were much, much warmer. The moment she shoved the tray aside, she was up and grabbing Hendon by the collar, which was more than a bit of a reach for her, and dragging him from the bridge, albeit necessarily with his compliance. When she reached her quarters, she yanked him inside, slapped the manual lock and spun around, leaping to wrap her arms about his neck and her legs about his waist. He staggered back under the onslaught until he could position his hands under her ass and regain his balance.

Grayson teased him, keeping her lips a centimeter from his. "Fess up, big boy," she demanded.

"What?" he asked innocently, settling for kissing her neck. Grayson let her head fall back.

"The last time you finally gave in and fucked me, it was right after telling me that the Feds were looking for us. I strongly suspect you were intent on keeping me from - how did you put it - going nova? So, I'm wondering if there is some other bad news you're about to slap me upside the head with." She lifted her head and met him eye to eye. He bravely didn't look away.

"What do you mean, gave in?"

"Don't change the subject. What did the Feds tell you?" she demanded, slowly caressing her lips with her tongue and squirming to rub her torso against his.

He moved one hand from her ass to capture the back of her neck and pull her in for a deep and silencing kiss. When he finally let her come up for air, she was gasping, but continued nonetheless. "Don't think you can distract me with your wily ways, sailor. Talk or I'll make you walk the plank."

"Wily? Seriously? And where, exactly, is this plank?"

"I may have to improvise, but that's what I do best."

"I would absolutely agree with that."

"You know, improvisation takes time. You might as well tell me now."

"You won't go nova? Because you are awfully close to certain parts of mine that I hold near and dear."

Grayson looked into his eyes for a long moment, then suddenly released her hold on him, but he wrapped his arms around her tiny frame and wouldn't let her back down to the ground. "Let go," she growled. "You're being too coy. That means it's really bad."

"Not necessarily," he said.

"You're really lousy at doing coy. You know? Just fucking let go."

"Or?"

"Or I'll implode into a fucking black hole. And then your near and dear parts will be the least of your concerns!"

"Sontang! Grayson. You need to calm down."

"No. You need to tell me what I'm getting overly worked up about. Then I'll decide if I need to calm down."

He let her slide slowly down his torso until her feet reached the floor. She took a deep breath. "Okay, spill it. What did they tell you?"

"They hinted at the fact that we were meeting a transport at Wazn."

Grayson backed against a wall. "If the idiot Feds know, then every pirate and rebel and intergalactic scum knows." Hendon wisely didn't mention that there was no evidence of intergalactic travel, let alone scum. "Who leaked? We have to change the meet." She started pacing about the room. "Wazn's no good. They do mining, shipping security. They don't know shit about pirates. Maybe a wormhole exchange. No, too visible, too much traffic. We need to go dark. Turn off the beacon. Hal..."

Hendon grabbed her arms and stilled her pacing. "Listen to me. We have a problem. We will solve it. But not now when you're too tired to think straight."

"I'm fine," she said, trying to twist out of his grasp. Then she suddenly stilled, and Hendon tightened his grasp. The nova phase was rapidly approaching. "Who leaked?" she repeated, paling. "Someone in the royal family. Someone who wants the prince dead. Someone who wants my son dead."

"Grayson, we can figure this out. We have time. We don't need the solution tonight." He shook her gently, leaning down, trying to capture her eyes. She finally focused on his face, searching.

"So you think fucking is a solution?" she demanded. "Distract the nympho with a cock so she doesn't go all catty-whump-ass, half-cocked, berserk-a-zoid across the galaxy?"

"All, uhm, what?"

"Okay," she said with a shrug, shoving him suddenly back so that he fell onto the bed. He was still gripping her arms, so she fell on top of him, but then was crawling toward the head of the bed. Hendon found himself craning his neck to admire the view of her ass when she pulled a set of handcuffs from behind the headboard and snapped them about his wrists.

"What are you doing?" he asked, half with humor and half with trepidation.

"I took these off a Fed when he was otherwise occupied. I should have thought to take the keys, too, but you know, heat of the moment, and all. Been dying to try them out. Now just lay still. This won't hurt a bit." She crawled back down the bed and began working at the fastenings for his pants. "Maybe you could be a little more cooperative than the last time I had to do this," she muttered.

"I don't remember having a say in that time or this time," he complained, but he lifted his hips so she could slide the pants off.

"Now that's what I'm talking," she said, wrapping a hand around his erect cock as it sprang free. "I can go all catty-whump-ass, half-cocked, berserk-a-zoid on this instead of on the galaxy."

"The galaxy thanks you," he replied, then gasped as she dove mouth first on the treat she had uncovered. Her oral attentions were all too brief though, as she suddenly lunged up and poised her pussy precipitously over his face.

"Better make it good, sailor, or I might forget my lock picking skills."

"With pleasure, ma'am," he agreed, trying to use his bound hands to pull her down within easy reach of his tongue. She squirmed delightedly, liberally spreading her moisture over his bristly chin and lips as he licked and sucked. Then all too soon, she was scooting back down, poising her pussy above his cock, just out of reach. She tried to wrestle his cuffed wrists above his head, only to discover that she couldn't reach far enough to hold them there and still ride his cock in the way she wanted. He was chuckling at her dilemma and she scowled down at him, finding little solace in teasing him by keeping her nipples just out of reach of his eager lips. She groaned in exasperation and gave up on confining his hands.

When she finally sank onto his anxious cock, she sighed with satisfaction, resisting the thrust and roll of his hips as much as her light frame could. She unbuttoned his shirt, and played with his chest, tickling and teasing his nipples. When his cuffed hands reached out and encompassed her breasts, she threw her head back and shuddered with pleasure, but still she didn't start riding him until he begged, with his tone if not his words. "Sontang, you need to move," he rasped.

"You want me to leave?" she asked in all innocence.

"You need to move on me," he said, thrusting to demonstrate. "Get your ass moving!"

"Well, since you asked so nicely." She began a very slow rocking motion.

"God damn women drivers," he exclaimed, lurching upward and dropping his cuffed hands over her head and shoulders then rolling until she was on her back, laughing at him and he was plunging into her with a fervor.

When they both came up for air some time later, much calmer and well sated, he said, "You were kidding about the keys, right?" She turned her head and looked at him sleepily. "Right?"

"Nope." She smiled sweetly, "But who needs keys." She rolled onto her side.

"Sontang? Grayson?"

"Oh, fine." She reached into a cabinet next to the bed and pulled out an innocuous wire implement. In seconds, she had the cuffs off. He rubbed his wrists.

A little while later, Hendon rose up on one elbow and leaned over her. He brushed stray hair back off her forehead. "Why did you do it?"

"Everyone needs some kink in their lives. Even officers of the law."

"No, not that. Although that was kind of fun. I mean the Siriun jewels. Why did you steal the jewels?"

"Back to being a lawman, then?"

"Just curiosity."

"You know what they say about curiosity and cats," she said, stretching in a most feline way. "You might not like the answer you get."

"I'll take the risk."

She sighed. "You've seen the kid."

"Yeah," he drawled. "Not getting the point."

She rolled her eyes. "He's got my genes. Like, all of them."

"That'd be easier to believe if he looked like you," Hendon pointed out. "Or if I knew what you looked like back then," he added with a cocked eyebrow.

"He's small, like me," she said in exasperation. "Your emperor wannabe was expecting a big strapping muscle-for-brains Siriun. He assumed his progeny would inherit his virile, masculine genes, not my puny runt-of-the-litter genes. First, he claimed the kid wasn't his, but that didn't carry past the genetics testing. Then he said he wasn't going to pay me." She shrugged. "I'm a trader. So, I took my cut in trade; kid for gaudy jewelry. He'd already made a big deal about an heir being born to his wife after her 'difficult' pregnancy, and all. That's why he didn't try very hard to find me. Didn't want the story coming out, and I made clear to him that it damn well would if he ever got too close."

"But he kept the kid. Why not just substitute another kid more to his specifications, if he wasn't all that particular about parentage?"

Grayson snickered. "You aren't from Sirius Prime, are you?"

"Actually, I spend as little time there as possible. Pretty annoying bunch, if you ask me." Grayson stared at him wide-eyed. "Seriously. You need to stop lumping us all together. The government is based on Sirius B Prime. Orbits the other star in the system. Much classier place. And I was raised on Yeji Prime."

"Oh, well. All the difference in the world, then," she agreed. "So, maybe you don't know about the royal family's little 'genetic' marker."

He shrugged. "I heard there was something. Didn't really care to hear the details."

Grayson snickered. "A little something on the Y chromosome that causes a birthmark. On the penis of male children. Big, ugly thing. He couldn't just go into a hospital and steal a newborn or something. And he couldn't find some other child of royal blood because that family can't keep a secret to save their royal lives. So now he's stuck with a puny kid that's five times as smart as he is, but can pass inspection at coronation."

"Inspection? Seriously?"

"Yup. No ugly penis equals no kingdom."

He rolled onto his back. "I knew there was a reason I didn't go into the Royal Service."

Grayson burrowed under the covers. "I think I'd better check and make sure you aren't part of the royal family," her muffled voice floated back to him.

To be continued...?

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