the price is beyond the average person's reach."
He didn't sound enamored of the Federation. She wondered what he'd think if he knew who he'd hired— one of the daughters of its heads.
The path toward Grüma's largest city took them into a thick grove of trees. A cool, damp hush enveloped them, the air soaked with the scent of ferns and pine.
"We're almost there," Ian said. She could hear the sounds of urban life ahead, though she could still see no signs of it. "Stay close in case your Dar friends show up. I've got pressing business to take care of later; it wouldn't do to lose you now."
She focused her eyes on the sun-dappled path before them. Ian might not want to lose her, but if her father committed fully to bringing her home, Tee'ah wondered if there would be anything Ian could do to stop him.
Chapter Eight
The streets of downtown Grüma radiated outward from a central plaza teeming with people: men, women, and even a few children. All had lighter complexions than Tee'ah, as well as the pale blond hair and brown eyes common to the merchant class. Tee'ah hoped her Earth-dweller facade was convincing enough. There wasn't much she could do about her golden skin, but eye-shaders hid her pale irises, and only a few bits of her trademark Vash coppery dark-blond hair stuck out from under her cap.
As she walked across the plaza with Ian, no one gave them more than a glance. Anticipation quickened her steps. She'd never had the opportunity to be anonymous, to bargain with a vendor who wasn't fearful about insulting a princess by asking too high a price for inferior merchandise. When she'd visited the market outside the palace gates on Mistraal, it was in the protective company of her handmaidens or her parents and their usual entourage. Here, someone might actually attempt to cheat her. Her spirits soared. Let them try!
In a move that would have been completely out of character for her in her days as royalty, she grabbed Ian's arm, just above the elbow, and tugged him forward. "Come, Earth dweller. Let us see what bargains await."
He laughed, his boots crunching heavily on the gravel.
The merchants carried the usual items: produce, roasting meats, sundries. The spicy-sweet scent of countless unidentified products filled the air. As she browsed, he examined the crowd and shops, as if he were doing a little window-shopping of his own— though for people, she suspected, not merchandise.
The crowd surged toward a street show just getting under way. Onlookers clucked their tongues appreciatively as an artisan released a flock of rainbow-colored bubble-bots into the air. With a wandlike controller, he sent commands to microscopic computers contained in the bubbles' liquid skin, changing the diaphanous, iridescent orbs into different creatures and flowers and a variety of floating figures, from entwined lovers to children playing.
Ian admired the show unfolding above their heads. "We don't have anything like this on Earth. Not yet, anyway."
"I've seen similar demonstrations"— at the palace, she almost said— "but none performed with such skill and creativity."
One by one the bubbles coalesced into nano-computer-rich droplets and fell into a widemouthed beaker the man held on his head. All around them shoppers applauded and clicked their tongues appreciatively.
Ian's comm beeped. He took it out of his pocket and brought the mouthpiece to his lips. "Stone here." "Look left."
Ian's head turned, and she followed his gaze to where Muffin towered above the crowd. The big man grinned, stowing his comm as he strode toward them. When he caught up to them, he jerked his thumb toward a group of starships docked in a clearing. "The crew of that cargo-runner told me they saw Randall and his men in a pub the night before last." Ian looked interested. "What did they say?" "That Randall's looking forward to doing business." Ian made a disdainful noise. "I imagine he is." As the men lagged behind, deep in conversation,
He didn't sound enamored of the Federation. She wondered what he'd think if he knew who he'd hired— one of the daughters of its heads.
The path toward Grüma's largest city took them into a thick grove of trees. A cool, damp hush enveloped them, the air soaked with the scent of ferns and pine.
"We're almost there," Ian said. She could hear the sounds of urban life ahead, though she could still see no signs of it. "Stay close in case your Dar friends show up. I've got pressing business to take care of later; it wouldn't do to lose you now."
She focused her eyes on the sun-dappled path before them. Ian might not want to lose her, but if her father committed fully to bringing her home, Tee'ah wondered if there would be anything Ian could do to stop him.
Chapter Eight
The streets of downtown Grüma radiated outward from a central plaza teeming with people: men, women, and even a few children. All had lighter complexions than Tee'ah, as well as the pale blond hair and brown eyes common to the merchant class. Tee'ah hoped her Earth-dweller facade was convincing enough. There wasn't much she could do about her golden skin, but eye-shaders hid her pale irises, and only a few bits of her trademark Vash coppery dark-blond hair stuck out from under her cap.
As she walked across the plaza with Ian, no one gave them more than a glance. Anticipation quickened her steps. She'd never had the opportunity to be anonymous, to bargain with a vendor who wasn't fearful about insulting a princess by asking too high a price for inferior merchandise. When she'd visited the market outside the palace gates on Mistraal, it was in the protective company of her handmaidens or her parents and their usual entourage. Here, someone might actually attempt to cheat her. Her spirits soared. Let them try!
In a move that would have been completely out of character for her in her days as royalty, she grabbed Ian's arm, just above the elbow, and tugged him forward. "Come, Earth dweller. Let us see what bargains await."
He laughed, his boots crunching heavily on the gravel.
The merchants carried the usual items: produce, roasting meats, sundries. The spicy-sweet scent of countless unidentified products filled the air. As she browsed, he examined the crowd and shops, as if he were doing a little window-shopping of his own— though for people, she suspected, not merchandise.
The crowd surged toward a street show just getting under way. Onlookers clucked their tongues appreciatively as an artisan released a flock of rainbow-colored bubble-bots into the air. With a wandlike controller, he sent commands to microscopic computers contained in the bubbles' liquid skin, changing the diaphanous, iridescent orbs into different creatures and flowers and a variety of floating figures, from entwined lovers to children playing.
Ian admired the show unfolding above their heads. "We don't have anything like this on Earth. Not yet, anyway."
"I've seen similar demonstrations"— at the palace, she almost said— "but none performed with such skill and creativity."
One by one the bubbles coalesced into nano-computer-rich droplets and fell into a widemouthed beaker the man held on his head. All around them shoppers applauded and clicked their tongues appreciatively.
Ian's comm beeped. He took it out of his pocket and brought the mouthpiece to his lips. "Stone here." "Look left."
Ian's head turned, and she followed his gaze to where Muffin towered above the crowd. The big man grinned, stowing his comm as he strode toward them. When he caught up to them, he jerked his thumb toward a group of starships docked in a clearing. "The crew of that cargo-runner told me they saw Randall and his men in a pub the night before last." Ian looked interested. "What did they say?" "That Randall's looking forward to doing business." Ian made a disdainful noise. "I imagine he is." As the men lagged behind, deep in conversation,
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