Imminent Danger: And How to Fly Straight Into It Read online

  Varrin looked around at the devastation he had wreaked, and a satisfied smile lit his face. Ignoring the wailing of the merchants whose stands were now in ruins, Varrin reached down and picked up a fruit pie that had somehow emerged intact from the battle. He poked his finger through the crust, pulled it out, and licked it. “Pie, anyone?”

  18

  Eris and Miguri approached the fallen gang leader, who was lying on the ground, groaning. Setting a foot on the thug’s back, Varrin tossed the pie aside, flipped the awning pole, and aimed the lethally pointed end at the Scalkan’s chest.

  “Wait!” Eris shouted, darting forward to grab the pole. “What are you doing?”

  “Finishing this fight,” Varrin said.

  “You can’t just stab him!” she protested, tugging at the pole. Varrin looked at her curiously for a moment and then relaxed his grip. Eris wrenched the pole from his hands.

  “The technical term is impale,” Miguri said helpfully.

  “You, quiet,” Varrin commanded and then turned to Eris. “You, explain.”

  “He’s a living, breathing creature!” she cried passionately. “You can’t go around killing defenseless people! Sure, he attacked you, or insulted your honor, or my honor, or whatever, and I know in your culture that probably justifies tracking down and murdering his entire family, but the point is that you can’t!”

  “I can’t what?”

  “Kill him!”

  “But he attacked me.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you can impale him when he’s defenseless!”

  “He would have done the same to me given half the chance.”

  “But you’re a better person than him!”

  Varrin looked at her with astonishment. “You do realize we’re talking about me here?”

  “He is as awful a person as you can get,” Miguri agreed.

  “But you don’t have to be!” Eris insisted.

  “I’ll be whatever I want,” Varrin said, snatching the pole back.

  Hmm, Eris thought. Maybe I need a different approach. “So you like being the stereotypical Rakorsian?”

  “Huh?”

  Eris took a patient breath. “Look, if you took a typical Rakorsian and put him in this situation, what would he do?”

  “Kill the thug,” Varrin said instantly. “He’s a repulsive brute that deserves a jagged pole through the heart. Which is what I was about to do, before you decided to—”

  “Which means,” Eris interrupted, “that if you kill him, you’ll be exactly like all other Rakorsians.”

  “And that’s a problem because …?”

  “I’ve heard you mock Rakorsians on more than one occasion. You obviously don’t think very highly of them. I mean, don’t you want to be different?”

  Varrin seemed perturbed. “I am different.”

  “Not if you kill him, you aren’t.”

  Varrin opened his mouth as if to argue, closed it, and then threw the pole at the nearest wall. Eris winced as the pole embedded itself deep in the bricks. Then Varrin stalked off without another word.

  “Should we follow him?” Eris wondered, watching as he disappeared into the throng of market-goers.

  “That is probably a good idea,” Miguri said.

  They hurried in the direction that Varrin had vanished. Eris soon spotted his dark, shaggy hair near a bright display of giant, multicolored feathers. “Varrin! Wait up!”

  The Rakorsian slowed his pace. Eris fell into step beside him, trying to match his long strides. “Oh, come on, you did the right thing. Why are you ignoring me?”

  “I’m not,” he said.

  They made their way through the crowd, ducking every now and then to avoid the exotic wares hanging from beams in front of the various stalls. The pungent smells of the market were so strong that Eris felt her eyes watering.

  “Then why are you mad?” she pressed.

  “I’m not,” he repeated tightly.

  Grabbing her arm, Varrin suddenly turned off the main path and onto a narrow lane leading into a less crowded section of the market. Eris’s demands to know where exactly they were going were met with silence. After a few minutes, Varrin stopped them in front of a drink stall fronted by a few tables and chairs.

  “You stay here,” he told Miguri, handing the Claktill a small metallic hexagon. “Take this. It has plenty of tetras on it. Get smashed if you want, but stay out of trouble. We’ll be back in three hours.”

  “If you do not bring her back safe and sound with a full head of hair,” Miguri said sternly, “you will regret it.”

  Varrin tugged Eris back into the throng.

  They stopped at the entrance of a ramshackle building. “What is it with you and sketchy places?” Eris demanded, remembering the similarly rundown building in which he’d sold her to Alyra on Alpha Centauri Prime.

  “This sketchy building just happens to be one of the best hair salons in the entire Tetrarchy.”

  “But it looks like a—”

  “That’s to keep the ruffians out.”

  “You’d think that if they wanted to keep ruffians out, they wouldn’t make their shop look like a complete dump.”

  Varrin ignored her protests and steered her into the building. They entered a small chamber lined with red velvety wallpaper. Intricately woven carpets covered the floor, and ornate brass sconces emitted a soothing glow.

  “May I help you?” A sophisticated-looking humanoid woman with long, gleaming white hair strode toward them. Her silky red kimono-like dress shimmered. When she spotted Varrin, her lips tugged upward in a seductive smile. “Varrin Gara’dar,” she purred. “This is a long overdue pleasure.” She curtsied elegantly.

  “Madam Zhia,” Varrin drawled. He took a step forward and bowed deeply, favoring the beautiful woman with a knowing grin that suggested a long history between the pair. “I believe I have an appointment?”

  “Ah yes.” Madam Zhia retrieved a tasseled booklet from the fold of her sleeve. “I have you booked for a hair retrieval.” She peered suspiciously at Varrin’s shaggy black hair. “Your hair looks intact to me, darling. And luscious as always.”

  “It’s not for me; it’s for the girl,” Varrin said, jerking a thumb in Eris’s direction.

  “Ah, I see,” Madam Zhia said, secreting away the booklet as she glided toward Eris. Her eyes swept Eris from head to toe, pausing on the Psilosian robes. “That’s an interesting outfit, my dear,” she commented evenly.

  Eris forced a smile. “It was a gift from a friend.”

  Madam Zhia’s long fingers prodded and poked at Eris’s bare scalp. “It can be done,” she declared. “You, my dear,” she said, gesturing imperiously to Eris, “come with me. And you,” she added, fixing Varrin with a stern look, “come back in three hours.”

  Varrin offered another deep bow. “Anything for you, Madam Zhia.” He winked at Eris and then sauntered out the door, leaving her alone with the frowning alien woman.

  “You can grow all my hair back in three hours?” Eris asked.

  The stylist sniffed haughtily. “Of course I can, child. I am, after all, Madam Zhia.”

  “Uh, right.”

  “This way,” the woman commanded, herding Eris into an adjoining room. The salon proper was large and purple, with oversized golden chairs and huge glittery mirrors. This looks like that picture I saw in art history class of the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles, she thought. Marie Antoinette would feel right at home here.

  Spotting a curtained-off area that was emitting colorful fumes, Eris asked, “What’s in there?”

  “My laboratory,” Madam Zhia said as she maneuvered Eris into one of the plush, gilded chairs. “I will use it to mix the correct combination of chemicals that will counteract whatever horrible thing you have done to your poor head.”

  The stylist sashayed off behind the curtain and returned a few minutes later with a smoking vial of pink liquid. She poured a small amount into her hand and then began spreading the warm concoction onto her client’s sc
alp.

  Searching for a topic of conversation, Eris decided to venture a question. “So you know Varrin, then?”

  Madam Zhia gave a throaty laugh. “Better than you do, I suspect.”

  “He’s some sort of intergalactic playboy, isn’t he?”

  Eris was surprised when the elegant woman began to giggle like a school girl. “Oh, my dear, the things I could tell you about Varrin Gara’dar …”

  Three hours later, Eris and Madam Zhia were gossiping away like old friends. Despite the stylist’s poised and elegant demeanor, Eris discovered that she was a surprisingly down-to-earth woman. After some prodding, Eris had told her all about her misadventures. In turn, Madam Zhia had given Eris some fascinating insights into Varrin’s character, one of which was that the Rakorsian had a penchant for women who played hard to get. Maybe that’s why he won’t leave me alone, she thought. Except I’m not playing hard to get. I want absolutely nothing to do with him.

  When Varrin returned, Madam Zhia pulled Eris from her chair and spun her around for his benefit. Eris’s restored hair was chin length, with multiple layers that flipped out at the ends and brushed gently against her cheeks. The dark brown was streaked with bright red highlights. Eris hadn’t been keen on the coloring, but Madam Zhia had sworn that it would accentuate her green eyes.

  “My dear, your hair is a vision to behold!” Madam Zhia exclaimed. “What do you think of my creation?” the stylist cooed at Varrin as Eris self-consciously tucked a stray lock behind her ear.

  “Worth every tetra,” Varrin replied. He slipped a metallic hexagon into Madam Zhia’s hand. “This should cover it.”

  “Darling, you are far too generous,” she purred after examining the chip.

  “My pleasure,” he said.

  Madam Zhia pouted her full lips. “It really has been too long, Varrin. You make a woman feel so … unwanted.”

  He sank into a deep bow, a twinkle in his eye. “My dear lady, I solemnly swear that unwanted is very far from how I would like to make you feel.”

  “Visit me soon?” she responded coyly. “I have missed your … considerable charms.”

  Eris cleared her throat awkwardly. “Thank you for everything, Madam Zhia,” she said.

  The stylist laughed. “But of course. It has been wonderful to have you here, Eris. But please do be more careful with your hair next time.”

  Eris smiled, curtsied, and then exited the salon with Varrin behind her. When she glanced back, she saw Madam Zhia giving the Rakorsian a coquettish wave. Good grief! Am I the only one that can resist this man? Rolling her eyes, Eris grabbed Varrin’s arm and pulled him out onto the street.

  “Honestly,” she said, as soon as the door had shut behind them, “you have all the subtlety of a block of concrete.”

  “What do you mean?” Varrin protested. “We were simply catching up on old times.”

  “Yeah, see, I don’t want to hear about your old times,” Eris told him sternly, although she was sure her cheeks had turned a lovely shade of fuchsia. “And Varrin—”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “Look, if you’re going to start yelling at me again—”

  “Thank you,” she said softly, cutting him off. “My hair, it—that is, it means a lot that you would do something like this for me.”

  “It was just a hair appointment.”

  “I know. Still, thank you.”

  Varrin stared at her for a moment and then said, “You’re welcome.”

  As they approached the drink stall where they had left Miguri, Varrin said, “Where’s the rat gone off to?”

  “There he is,” Eris said, pointing at the fluffy-haired Claktill. He was perched on a tall bar stool sipping a bubbling pink beverage and watching a sports event on the holo-screen affixed to one of the tent poles. “Miguri!”

  “Hello!” he called cheerfully. “Your new hair looks very becoming.”

  “Thank you!”

  Sitting down on a stool beside Miguri, Varrin signaled the bartender. “A pint of Black Eye whiskey,” he ordered. Then he glanced at Eris and added, “And a virgin Saluzan Sunrise for the lady.”

  “I can order my own drink, thank you very much,” Eris said, claiming the stool on Miguri’s other side.

  Varrin laughed. “You know, I’m almost tempted to let you do that and see what happens.”

  The bartender set a tall glass of neon green liquid in front of Eris and a glass stein of black liquid in front of Varrin. Eris peered at Varrin’s drink suspiciously. “That’s a lot of hard liquor.”

  Varrin drained half the glass in two large gulps. “Strongest money can buy.”

  She fixed him with a furious expression.

  “Oh, what now?” he demanded. “Kari, girl, you sob over your hair, I get it back for you. You moan over me killing worthless scumbags, I let them live. What have I done this time?”

  “You aren’t seriously going to drink that and then fly your ship, are you?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Eris was astonished. “Haven’t you ever heard about the dangers of drunk driving?” Seeing his perplexed look, she said, “Drunk flying?”

  Varrin snorted. “You think I’ll be too intoxicated to fly straight, girl? Rakorsians are well known for holding their liquor.”

  “It is true,” Miguri said, turning away from the holo-screen. “I have heard it said that a Rakorsian can drink four pints of Black Eye whiskey and still shoot the tip off a vliktk’s horn from twenty yards away.”

  “Look, my mother told me to never get in a vehicle if the driver has been drinking. So I am not getting on that spaceship if you take even one more sip,” she told Varrin firmly.

  “You’re insane, and I’m thirsty,” he said, lifting the mug to his lips. But after staring at the whiskey for a long moment, he sighed and set the stein on the bar. “Pleasing you is becoming a full-time job, terrestrial.”

  Eris smiled.

  Varrin signaled the bartender. “Three bottles of this to go.” Seeing Eris about to object, he added, “For after I put the ship on autopilot, girl.”

  Eris deflated. “Ah.”

  Miguri suddenly jumped to his feet, clearly agitated. “Look!” he trilled, pointing at the holo-screen.

  Turning to look, Eris saw a granulated image of Varrin’s face flashing on the screen. Bright red alien writing scrolled below the picture as a reporter said, “… has recently been sighted entering the Vega system. He is wanted by the Tetrarchy for kidnapping, smuggling, assault, larceny, arson, grand theft spacecraft, and tax evasion. He is currently suspected to be in the vicinity of Vega Minor. Any information regarding his location must be reported to the proper authorities immediately. Anyone arriving or departing Vega Minor should expect delays of up to three hours for random security screenings.”

  Eris felt a hand close around her wrist. Hopping off her seat, she let Varrin drag her into the alley that ran alongside the drink stall. Miguri was close at her heels, hair frizzed with worry. When they were deep enough into the alley to avoid being seen by passersby, Varrin stopped and released Eris.

  “Well, this is inconvenient,” he said, looking up at the darkening pink sky with a calculating expression.

  “What was that about?” she demanded. “You’re a wanted criminal?”

  He arched a dark eyebrow. “Do you really find that so surprising?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “I usually manage to fly below the radar, but someone must have sold me out. Anyway, the point is we’re going to have to lay low for a while. The authorities don’t have the manpower to do a ground search, so they probably won’t even know we’re here as long as we stay away from the spaceport.”

  Eris eyed him suspiciously. “How long is a while, exactly?”

  Varrin shrugged. “A few days, maybe a week.”

  “I do not like this,” Miguri proclaimed. “At this rate, I am beginning to wonder if we will ever reach Psilos.”

  “I’ll get you there,” the Rakorsian snapped
. “Have I ever let you down before?”

  Eris and Miguri looked at each other and then started laughing so hard they nearly fell over.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Varrin grumbled.

  19

  Varrin led them out of the alley and into the crowded market. His stride was so confident that people unconsciously edged out of the way as he approached. Miguri and Eris followed in his wake. They stopped in front of a large, yellow-and-orange striped tent with racks of clothing displayed out front.

  “We need to find less conspicuous clothing,” Varrin announced, ducking under the tent flap on the way into the store. He paused and then did a double take at Miguri. “Are you wearing a bag?”

  The Claktill scowled at him before pattering off among the clothing racks.

  Varrin pointed Eris toward the female humanoid section of the store. “Pick something eye-catching,” he said.

  “Shouldn’t we be blending in?” Eris asked.

  “Just go pick something.”

  Eris bit her lip to keep from retorting and stalked off in the direction he had indicated. “Fine,” she muttered, veering toward an alcove filled with very expensive-looking dresses. “If it’s eye-catching he wants, then that’s what he’ll get.”

  She flipped quickly through the racks, looking for the dress with the highest price tag. But soon she slowed down and started admiring the exquisite gowns. One sleeveless dress was covered in thousands of tiny, sparkling stones and came with arm wrappings that attached to the bodice via some unseen force. An ankle-length tube dress looked like it was made from spun gold and had a matching translucent robe embroidered with metallic red thread and trimmed with tiny red gems. These must cost a fortune, she thought.

  Lost amid the sea of fancy gowns, Eris didn’t notice Varrin’s approach until he was standing beside her. “What’s taking so long?” he demanded, glancing at the rack. “Just pick one, and let’s go.”

  Looking up at him, Eris saw that he was wearing a new outfit. It was black trimmed with silver and looked like a strange cross between a karate gi and a suit. The outfit hugged his lithe body, and Eris had to forcibly avert her eyes to keep from staring. She’d never really thought about it before, but there was something distinctly Asian about Varrin—his jet-black hair, his sun-kissed skin, the shape of his eyes. Combined with his new outfit, he reminded her of some dashing, exotic prince from a Hollywood blockbuster. Damn him for being so gorgeous, she thought. And double damn him for flaunting it.