Star Wars: Shadow Games Read Online Free PDF Page B

him.
    “What?” he looked up glaring. “I’m paid up, goggle-eyes.”
    “Hey! Attitude, pink-skin. I’ve done you no grief. I am, in fact, about to do you a favor. You’re looking for a commission?”
    “Yeah, what of it?”
    “Well, a commission is looking for you.”
    Dash’s head cleared at lightspeed. “Where away?”
    The Rodian pointed over Dash’s shoulder. He turned. It was the same booth he’d found Han Solo in only days ago. He closed his eyes, seized by the impression he’d been here before. The Equani had a word for it—Dash frowned, trying to remember it. Ah, yes:
çenõ-ka
. Maybe he could no longer hold his liquor. Maybe he’d slipped into a temporal loop and was destined to live out the rest of his life in Chalmun’s. Okay, then. He bolted the last of his whiskey, thanked the Rodian, and headed for the booth.
    His surprise when he stepped into the little cubicle was complete. Two women looked up at him. Two young women. Two very human, very beautiful women. One had short spiky hair that was several different and contradictory shades of orange; the other’s hair was concealed beneath a turban of vivid teal.
    His smile was automatic. “Ladies!” He sketched a bow. “My friend Kendo at the bar there tells me you’re looking for a pilot.”
    The two women looked at each other, sequined eyebrows lifting.
    “No,” said the one with the turban. “Actually, we’re looking for a bodyguard.”
    As usual, it took Dash’s brain a moment to catch up with the booze. “A bodyguard,” he repeated stupidly. “Look, I’m a pilot—and a damn good one, at that. I don’t—”
    The spiky orange woman said, “And we’re willing to pay handsomely for the service. Money is no object.”
    Those last four words went a long way toward clearing the fumes. Maybe money was no object to them, but right now it was Dash’s
only
object. He slid into the booth and studied his prospective employers. Both wore poly-prismatic lenses that cycled a rainbow of colors over the irises of their eyes. There was no telling what color they actually were; nor could he read their expressions clearly. Camouflage, instinct told him. These fems were in disguise. Why?
    Maybe the answer was in why they felt the need of a bodyguard.
    “I’m listening. Let’s hear your pitch.”
    Again the exchange of glances. The spiky one leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Here’s the deal. My boss, here, has picked up a stalker. Probably nothing. Just an overzealous fan. But we’re not willing to take any chances. We need someone to keep an eye on her.” She jerked her head toward the turbaned girl, drawing Dash’s attention to her.
    “Overzealous fan? Are you somebody I should know?”
    “Only if you’re breathing,” Spike muttered.
    “My friend exaggerates,” said the other woman, with a smile that managed somehow to be both coquettish and self-deprecating.
    “Are you going to tell me who you are?”
    “If you take the job, I’ll have to, I guess.”
    Dash couldn’t tell if she was being serious or sarcastic.
Fine
. “So what’s the situation? Where would this guarding take place?”
    “Aboard my yacht, mostly. At our ports of call. Wherever I go. This … person … has let it be known that he can get pretty close to me and so you’d have to stay pretty close to me, too.”
    “Darlin’, that would
not
be a hardship.” He smiled at her.
    “
Pretty
close, she said,” interrupted Spike. “Not skin-close.”
    That can change
, Dash thought, his smile never wavering. “Normally,” he said aloud, “I wouldn’t take a job like this—I’m a merchant pilot by trade—but my ship is under repair right now, so I’m at loose ends. Until I can get repairs completed. That’s gonna take a while.”
    “How long?”
    “I’m flexible.”
    “I’ll just bet you are,” said Spike drily.
    “So you can start right away?” asked the other.
    “Well, actually, it’s not just me. I have a partner. A Nautolan.