Moonstruck by Susan Grant Read Free Book Online Page A

the meat like he wanted. He’d need to use proper utensils; he needed to make a good impression. At least until he got his sorry ass and his crew’s sorry asses on that ship. Once everyone was aboard, it would be that much harder to get them off. Between now and then, he could afford no mistakes.
    Finally, the aides backed away and left them to their meal. Finn’s right hand was almost shaking in anticipation by the time he took hold of his fork. In the corner of his eye, he observed how the other two officers used their utensils and handled the consumption of the various types of foods.
    He cut a slice of meat and slid it inside his waiting mouth. Praise be. He was a self-admitted carnivore; the taste and texture of the moor-steak nearly had him singing aloud. Another slice followed quickly, and then another.
    He’d not had a meal this good in a long time. Perhaps not ever. Well, except for maybe the time they raided the prison warden’s pleasure vessel on Indra…. Ah, well, he’d best not share that now; there was more than food to be sampled that night. Smiling, Finn took the largest socially acceptable bite of meat he could.
    Chewing, he glanced up to find Bandar watching him with hooded, observant blue eyes while she sampled a delicate bite of a kind of fruit he’d never seen. Again, curiosity surfaced about the pain she’d revealed and the reason for it. Her eyes were a solid wall, allowing no hint of the woman he’d glimpsed earlier. It was almost as if he’d dreamed it. Maybe he had. A former Drakken street rat dining with two top Coalition Fleet officers on board the Ring could easily be explained away as a hallucination.
    Enough thinking. Back to eating. Hungrily, he lifted a hunk of fresh bread to his mouth when Bandar interrupted. “When was the last time you ate?” she asked.
    Finn worked his jaw. His first impulse was to lie. He detected no pity, yet to admit he and his crew had been existing on the brink of starvation wasn’t something he took pride in. On the other hand, lying to her seemed distasteful on several fronts. “Yesterday. It’s been weeks since we had a hot meal, though.”
    “Weeks?” Zaafran put down his fork.
    Finn did the same with his bread, but gods, how he wanted to dredge the crust through a puddle of gravy on his plate and shove it into his mouth. Hordish tradition was to devour first, talk later, if they talked at all during a meal. Drinking, on the other hand, loosened tongues. That’s where the talking occurred, not at mealtime. Dining was linked too closely with actual survival. “I’ve not had the money to feed my crew. The Imperial Fleet operated on a scrip system. We’d exchange scrip for legal tender. Now the scrip is worthless. I used up what real money I had left and most of the food and liquor last week bartering for repairs.”
    “You were forced to choose between repairs and food.” Was Bandar appalled? Saddened? What? Why did that perfectly neutral blue gaze irk him so? Because you glimpsed what is there underneath. Aye, he was a pirate at heart. Once a pirate got a peek at the treasure, he wouldn’t rest until it was his.
    “I’m not the only captain having to make that choice. It’s happening across the Borderlands, and across what’s left of the Empire. They don’t trust the Coalition, and what they’ll face when they come into port. They’d rather risk starvation than spend their years rotting on a prison world. But with money running out, and the scrip worthless, it’s getting mighty desperate.”
    “Desperation leads to instability,” Zaafran said.
    “And instability leads to war,” Bandar put in. Finn had the strangest feeling she wouldn’t be sorry to see peace collapse. “What do you suggest we should do, Warleader?”
    Rorkken took a moment to ponder the rich meal in front of him, a feast that would remain an elusive dream for most eking out survival in his old haunts. “We make an effort to reach out to rogue Hordish ships and