Dealers' Choice - Susan Hayes Page 0,24

her gift to Vic. She’d given him the power to send her back to Phera Prime and the existence she’d fought so hard to escape. Not that she regretted it. She trusted Vic and Ward not to tell anyone. But she couldn’t help but feel vulnerable.

She started to walk around her quarters, a task made easier now the pain-blocker was starting to work. Was going out with them again the right thing to do? Even now she’d agreed to a date, she was having reservations. What would the IAF think about her decision? She might not be human, but the IAF was, and like most military organizations, it was bound by a vast array of rules and regulations.

She paced some more, her thoughts zipping around in ever-tightening circle like a ship in a failing orbit. Anxiety crept in, making her walk faster.

It wasn’t until her knee twinged again that she realized what she was doing and made herself stop.

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked the empty walls.

She walked gingerly over to the couch and sat down again, setting her hands on her knees and closing her eyes. After a few minutes of controlled breathing, clarity returned, and with it came the answer.

“I’m a vething idiot.” She told her patients to look beyond the obvious, to question if what you think you’re worried about is really the problem, or if it’s just a diversion. Nova Force’s reaction to her burgeoning relationship was the distraction.

She huffed out a breath. The real issue had nothing to do with Vic or Ward. It was far simpler. She didn’t feel safe. That arrogant gurani Pheran male had torn away her sense of security. Made her vulnerable and afraid.

The next second she was on her feet and headed for the door. She wouldn’t let him do that to her. If she were one of her patients, she’d encourage them to acknowledge the fear and then face it. It was time to take her own advice.

She was already halfway to the checkpoint before she realized she wasn’t wearing her matyri. She’d never been out onto the main station without it before. It was a ritual she’d maintained no matter where she lived. An echo of her past.

One it was time she let go of. She tightened her fingers into a fist and kept walking.

She hadn’t gone out much since the attack. In fact, apart from visiting the Nova for a sim-pod session with Nyx, she only went to her office. She’d let her world get smaller and hadn’t even noticed.

The slight burn of her anger made it a little easier to walk into the bustle and hum of the main concourse. Her heart was beating too fast, and she had to stop herself from turning every few steps to check behind her. She didn’t want to run into that taryn-nah bully again.

She had no destination in mind when she started out, but before long, she found herself walking with purpose. Her stomach had decided to follow the scent of food. The promenade opened into an intersection with banks of mag-levs on one side and a bullet train platform on the other. Vendors filled the rest of the space, selling food, drinks, and trinkets to the ever-changing throng as they moved along the promenade.

She wove through the crowd carefully, still hyper-aware of everyone around her at all times. Every time she caught sight of the color blue she tensed, and by the time she made her way to the stall she wanted, she felt weary and wrung out.

Atun and Ma’ti were there, as always, preparing their usual assortment of Pheran street food. She exchanged pleasantries with them, trying to ignore the fact that Ma’ti stared at her ear several times as they chatted, touching her own more than once.

Xori pretended not to notice. It was odd not having the familiar weight of her matyri, but it was freeing, too.

“You hear there is a Pheran trade delegation on the station?” Atun asked as he handed her a cup of jazza berry juice.

“No. I’ve been holed up in my office the last few days. I’m not surprised, though. There will be representatives from every species and planet here in the next few weeks. And I had a run in with an unpleasant higher caste male a few days ago.”

Ma’ti made a soft noise of distress. “We heard. His name is Yvern Tesk, one of the taryn-nah caste. Some of his staff came by. It was like being home again, and