The Darkened Eye is well-supplied overall. We're short on fuel cells, but our food stores are plentiful and our weapons cartridges fully stocked. Once we stop at Prefalon, we can hide out in a quiet nebula somewhere and see what my mother's assassins bring…or we can confront them on the station. I haven't decided which one is safest yet. I have no doubts that my men can handle themselves in a fight, but I worry about Ruth. Something tells me she won't stay put.
I'll need to arm her and keep her safely hidden, I think. She wasn't happy about the hidden compartment, but it might be safest for her. On the station, she's exposed and vulnerable. The more I think about it, the more I feel that Ruth staying on board the Eye, hidden away, is the best course of action.
I don't relish the idea of telling her, though.
I spend the evening going through finance records, making certain that my accounts aren't flagged or connected with my mother in any way. Most of my credit accounts are under assumed names, but I also know my mother's spies are everywhere. I toggle through account after account, looking for remote inquiries, and I'm not surprised when I find a few.
I empty those accounts immediately, anonymously donating the funds to a Homeworld charity for orphans. Ironic how my mother disapproves of my corsairing but helps herself to my credits. At least if I donate the funds, she can't touch them. It'll make her furious, which just makes it all the sweeter.
Once we lose our tail, we'll have to get back to replenishing our funds. We've passed a few fat-looking freighters just begging to be robbed, and I'm getting itchy with the thought of how many opportunities are slipping past. One thing at a time, however.
I've just closed the final account when the computer chirps. "Welcome to Prefalon Station Nearspace," the AI calls out eagerly. "Will you be docking at this time?"
I push up from my seat. "No docking procedures yet. Contact Saluruus Bist," I say. "Tell him that an old friend wants to explore the cantina." I leave it at that, because Bist will know what it means. It's not as if I can announce Lord Straik sa'Rin just docked, after all. My mother's goons will be all over that in a flash. I ping the bridge. "Aithar?"
"Yes, my lord?"
"I've put a message out to Bist. Before we approach, change our ship identification. Cycle back to our Dominant Feather tags. We haven't used those in a while."
"The Dominant Feather. Got it. I'll shuffle everything over. Are we docking?"
"Not until we hear from Bist."
"Very well, my lord. I'll wait for your orders." He closes the comm and I leave my office, heading for my quarters. Hopefully I've got one tunic that's held together, or Bist is going to wonder what's going on. If he finds out I'm being hunted, there's no amount of credits in the universe that will entice him to let me dock.
Best to not tell him at all.
44
RUTH
When Straik rushes back into his quarters, he looks…tired. There are dark circles under his eyes and his big body seems slightly wilted, like a plant not getting enough sun. He didn't come to bed last night, and something tells me that our lunch date rattled him. That he's skittish and avoiding me.
For some reason, that makes me sad. I like hanging out with him, and I hope he hasn't decided that it's one-sided. That after our quasi-flirty lunch date, he hasn't decided to back off. I guess I wouldn't blame him. I'm hard to get along with, even on my best days. But I thought he liked that sort of thing. I hate that I'm doubting myself. It's stupid. He's supposed to be my enemy, not my buddy, so it shouldn't matter if he's avoiding my ass. I hide the tunic in my lap and the needle I'm holding and give him a challenging stare. "You look as fresh as a daisy."
He storms in, all business, and I wonder if he ever walks normally. If he's ever thought about going somewhere without thundering through life. Probably not. "We've arrived at the station."
Oh. I glance at his bare chest and then pull my sewing back into my lap. I've felt so bad about his clothes. Sure, it was a perfect bitch move, but when he decided to make me a dress instead of making himself new clothes, I felt guilty. He's been wandering around in a state of dishevelment for the last few days, and while I like admiring his chest, I can't imagine he's a big fan of the situation. He didn't come to bed last night, and I couldn't sleep alone, worrying, so I asked one of the bots for a needle and thread and got to work repairing one of his tunics. It's easy enough to follow the seams, and I did a lot of sewing and re-sizing clothes back on the Star, so it's something I'm good at. "What now?"