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Mirilla lost control of her body and slammed to the floor.

The barkeep leapt over the bar and quickly gathered the female into his arms, keeping her hood over her face and head. “He’s had far too much to drink. Needs some fresh air!”

“Better get off this godforsaken space port, then. There is none!” one of the patrons shouted laughingly.

Peals of raucous laughter responded to the patron’s comment as the barkeep walked through the single door behind the bar with Mirilla slung over his shoulder like he’d carry a male.

“Consortium,” she mumbled.

“What?” the barkeep grumbled.

“Consortium… come.”

“As if anyone would come, much less the fucking Consortium.” Scoffing at her claim, he hurried through the kitchen and out the door on the other side, to the steps that would take him to a room where they kept their most valuable treasure secreted away until it could be shipped off of the port. He knocked on the door, three times, then twice, then four times to let those inside know it was him, then while he waited for the multiple locks to be unlocked, he slipped the credit band onto his own wrist and shoved it up high enough that it wouldn’t be seen beneath his shirt sleeve.

“What’s this?” an old man demanded.

“They wanted a female from Cruestace, right?”

“That’s a male. Do you still not know the difference?”

“No, this is a female. She just wants us to think she’s a male.” He walked over to one of the mattresses on the floor of the dark, damp room and dropped Mirilla onto it. Half her body fell on the floor rather than on the mattress, but neither of themales seemed to notice. The barkeep leaned over and yanked the cloak off her face and head.

“Well, I’ll be fucked raw,” the old man said.

“Told you.”

“I told him it was impossible. The Cruestaci females never leave their planet without escort.”

“This one did.”

“Good job, Eienir. You can expect a bit of a bonus in your pay this week.”

Eienir smiled a quick, disingenuous smile. “That’s why I do what I do.”

“Leave me to it. I have less than a week to get her ready.”

“Better you than me,” Eienir said. He quickly left the room, closing the door behind himself, and grinned smugly as he felt the credit band encircling his arm. He’d happily gotten more than a pitiful little bonus for his efforts. And no one would ever know.

Chapter 27

Bart walked into the fourth bar of the day. The sixteenth in three days. He was tired, frustrated, and pissed off. Despite the fact that he clearly identified himself, no one would even admit to having seen Mirilla. Mir’ Ahn, on the other hand he’d found was a fifty/fifty shot. Fifty percent of those he’d questioned admitted to having seen Mir’ Ahn. They couldn’t tell him where he’d gone, just that they’d seen him, and he’d flashed a dagger when pressed that was clearly one of those gifted to Cruestaci warriors upon joining their military. As if that wasn’t enough to convince him that it was indeed Mir’ Ahn he was tracking, the fact that the male kept his entire body cloaked, even his head and face with a heavy hood drove the fact home. Mir’ Ahn was obviously aware that he was being hunted and was trying to keep a low profile.

“I’m looking for a Cruestaci warrior. His name is Mir’ Ahn,” he repeated.

The barkeep shook his head and did his best to look completely disinterested.

“He’s on the run. Most likely trying to hide his identity. His skin is a soft peach color.”

The barkeep’s head jerked back and he scowled at Bart, looking at him like there was something seriously wrong with him.

Only then did Bart realize what he’d said. He’d described Mir’ Ahn’s skin as a soft peach color, rather than a muted pale orange. Because soft peach in color is what he thought of when he thought of Mirilla. “This! He looks like this!” Bart insisted, shoving his communications device right into the face of the barkeep.

“Haven’t seen him,” the barkeep said.

“Have you seen a female. Also Cruestaci, same skin color and her hair is the same color as well?”

“Have you lost your male, or your female?” the barkeep laughed.

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