‘because of the rest of who I am’. And that was strange too. I don’t know what he meant.”
Joran frowned, his gaze distant. “The rest of who he is. I don’t know. Listen, I want to talk this over with Creed. I’ll get back to you, okay?”
“I’d appreciate it. Any time of the day or night.”
Joran nodded, his face softening. “You got it, honey. And thanks.”
Kiri expected it would be at least a few days before she heard from Joran Stark again. But instead, it was hours.
His face was somber. “Kiri, Creed and I believe Logan is in trouble of some kind.”
“Oh no,” she breathed, hand to her heart, which seemed to be under a heavy weight. “Can you go after him?”
Joran shifted, eyeing her carefully. “Planning on it. Would you be willing to help us search for him?”
“Me?” she asked, shocked. “I’m not sure what I can do, that you and Creed and the rest of Lodestar can’t do with all your tech and staff.”
Logan’s brother cocked his head, acknowledging this truth.
“I’ll tell you what you can do,” he said. “You’re the one he went to when he was troubled. If something is wrong—whatever that may be, I think it’d be good if you’re there when we find him.”
Oh, quark. When Joran put it like that, how could she say no?
“Of course I’ll come. I just need time to pack a few things, and make sure my employees can work enough hours to keep Kiri’s Kaffé open while I’m gone for the day. Or do you think it may take us longer?”
“Might want to pack for overnight,” he said. “Meet you at the space port this afternoon? I’ll send a hovie for you. Say one o’clock?”
She nodded. “I’ll be there.”
* * *
New Seattle, Earth II
The man glided from the cruiser to the cold, drafty docking bay behind a group of loud humans. A Mau hulked along nearby. Half the glowlamps in the corridor leading to the port were out, the others struggling to illumine the foggy twilight that enveloped the New Seattle Space port.
This was not the new, upscale part of the port, but that suited him. The fewer who noted his arrival, the better.
The damp chill and the malodorous air, even the constant shake of the concourse under his boots as he followed the other passengers out of the tube and into the space port, were all as familiar as his own skin—hells, more so at this point, he thought with dark humor.
He was among beings from all corners of the galaxy. Humans and outlanders, families, couples, groups of business-suited travelers, even a gaggle of Pangaean tourists being herded along by their handler, a yellow holotag glowing above her head, green above theirs.
He knew this place. Knew that the constant rumble throbbing from the passage overhead were heavy ships and public transport airbuses. The lighter whines were private cruisers, the zips punctuating the din were hovies darting in and out of the more ponderous traffic.
Just as he knew that the skinny human slinking along the edge of the concourse was harmless as long as one stayed out of the shadows, whereas the pretty young things wearing white robes and beatific smiles were the draw for some fake mission where the unwary would be drugged, robbed of all they possessed and if lucky, tossed in a distant alley otherwise unharmed.
The flashy whore posing in the lights of a concourse bar was as likely to be a transvestite or an alien humanoid. She’d have a stunner in her garter, probably a blade in her wide bracelet. Her customer might get sex, or a painful wound. He’d certainly be relieved of his credit.
The prostitute gave Stark a come-hither smile, but as their eyes met, hers widened and she looked away, her stance casual to show she hadn’t meant anything by the gesture. He smiled grimly to himself, knowing she’d glimpsed a risk too great to take.
She was right.
He set a straight trajectory along the concourse, ignoring the hoverwalks zipping overhead, carrying travelers to all points in the port. After a
Joran frowned, his gaze distant. “The rest of who he is. I don’t know. Listen, I want to talk this over with Creed. I’ll get back to you, okay?”
“I’d appreciate it. Any time of the day or night.”
Joran nodded, his face softening. “You got it, honey. And thanks.”
Kiri expected it would be at least a few days before she heard from Joran Stark again. But instead, it was hours.
His face was somber. “Kiri, Creed and I believe Logan is in trouble of some kind.”
“Oh no,” she breathed, hand to her heart, which seemed to be under a heavy weight. “Can you go after him?”
Joran shifted, eyeing her carefully. “Planning on it. Would you be willing to help us search for him?”
“Me?” she asked, shocked. “I’m not sure what I can do, that you and Creed and the rest of Lodestar can’t do with all your tech and staff.”
Logan’s brother cocked his head, acknowledging this truth.
“I’ll tell you what you can do,” he said. “You’re the one he went to when he was troubled. If something is wrong—whatever that may be, I think it’d be good if you’re there when we find him.”
Oh, quark. When Joran put it like that, how could she say no?
“Of course I’ll come. I just need time to pack a few things, and make sure my employees can work enough hours to keep Kiri’s Kaffé open while I’m gone for the day. Or do you think it may take us longer?”
“Might want to pack for overnight,” he said. “Meet you at the space port this afternoon? I’ll send a hovie for you. Say one o’clock?”
She nodded. “I’ll be there.”
* * *
New Seattle, Earth II
The man glided from the cruiser to the cold, drafty docking bay behind a group of loud humans. A Mau hulked along nearby. Half the glowlamps in the corridor leading to the port were out, the others struggling to illumine the foggy twilight that enveloped the New Seattle Space port.
This was not the new, upscale part of the port, but that suited him. The fewer who noted his arrival, the better.
The damp chill and the malodorous air, even the constant shake of the concourse under his boots as he followed the other passengers out of the tube and into the space port, were all as familiar as his own skin—hells, more so at this point, he thought with dark humor.
He was among beings from all corners of the galaxy. Humans and outlanders, families, couples, groups of business-suited travelers, even a gaggle of Pangaean tourists being herded along by their handler, a yellow holotag glowing above her head, green above theirs.
He knew this place. Knew that the constant rumble throbbing from the passage overhead were heavy ships and public transport airbuses. The lighter whines were private cruisers, the zips punctuating the din were hovies darting in and out of the more ponderous traffic.
Just as he knew that the skinny human slinking along the edge of the concourse was harmless as long as one stayed out of the shadows, whereas the pretty young things wearing white robes and beatific smiles were the draw for some fake mission where the unwary would be drugged, robbed of all they possessed and if lucky, tossed in a distant alley otherwise unharmed.
The flashy whore posing in the lights of a concourse bar was as likely to be a transvestite or an alien humanoid. She’d have a stunner in her garter, probably a blade in her wide bracelet. Her customer might get sex, or a painful wound. He’d certainly be relieved of his credit.
The prostitute gave Stark a come-hither smile, but as their eyes met, hers widened and she looked away, her stance casual to show she hadn’t meant anything by the gesture. He smiled grimly to himself, knowing she’d glimpsed a risk too great to take.
She was right.
He set a straight trajectory along the concourse, ignoring the hoverwalks zipping overhead, carrying travelers to all points in the port. After a
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