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the most amazing hair Rita had seen in a long time, long and wild and striped in different colors from her skin. Her cleavage was nothing to sneeze at either. Rita preferred guys, sexually speaking, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate another woman artistically, and the little stripy exhibitionist had great breasts, round and firm and neither too big nor too tiny.
    Suddenly the skin on their chests opened up. Tendrils emerged, multicolored and gently wiggling as they intertwined. The tendrils were actually pretty, like the sentient space anemones on Garthak Nineteen, but, like the space anemones, vaguely creepy. “Are they…”
    Drax chuckled and whispered back, “Mingling their permens, I bet.”
    “It sounds less botanical in their books.” Rita considered the view thoughtfully. A little freaky, but she couldn’t look away.
    “Watch their faces, not their tendrils.”
    Drax was right. If she focused on the San’balese couple’s faces, the scene became erotic. Permens and more limbs than she could keep track of might make these aliens a little too alien for her to want to play too, but damn…the emotion and sensation displayed on their faces were universal. (Except maybe for those Garthak Nineteen anemone people, who reproduced by spores.) Need. Lust. Approaching orgasm.
    Rita also glimpsed an intimacy more naked than their bodies. These two might be boundary-shattering even by the liberal standards of San’bal—Rita didn’t see anyone else mingling permens in public this early in the day—but she’d bet credits she actually had, as opposed to someone else’s, that they were also in love.
    Rita couldn’t decide whether she was more touched, more turned on by their romantic daring, or more melancholy that she couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at her the way the male San’balese gazed at his partner.
    Never, probably. She’d had plenty of sex and some actual relationships, but they’d always been more of the friendly “that was fun; we should hook up the next time we’re on the same planet” variety than a great romance. It happened when you were a spacer on an indy ship without a regular route.
    The sheer lust in Drax’s eyes a little while ago made up for a lot. Sure, it was lust and adrenaline, not true love, but who ever thought that Rita Anteres, crew member of one more tramp space freighter, would end up on an exotic alien planet in the company of a handsome, winged jewel thief, alternately having crazy sex and running from bad guys like they were in a holo?
    She looked around nervously at that thought. Because if this were a holo, what happened next would depend on where it was made and what genre of holo it was. If it was San’balese romantic suspense, they’d defeat the bad guys in some dramatic, clever and largely bloodless way, and Drax would turn out to be a prince who, for some reason that didn’t make sense even in context, had to marry a commoner of another species.
    If it was a Xylac drama, she and Drax would be lucky if they just died.
    Luckily, she was from New Canada, so she had an array of genres to choose from. This had better be one with a happy ending.
    As she pondered, Rita’s senses were on alert. While the Malcolm ’s crew didn’t go out of their way to get involved in crime, they’d been in enough sticky situations that she knew how to watch for trouble.
    And it looked like trouble was on the way. The crowd was parting at the northern side of the square, near where they’d first entered. Parting not like the sea on Miltas parted when all four moons were full, but like space marines and whores do when leave was over—with raucous noise and cursing and a few punches being thrown. Someone was making a scene, forcing their way through the crowd. Rita couldn’t see if the someones were police or thugs, but neither alternative was good.
    She still hadn’t heard back from Buck. He must be having trouble getting in touch with anyone else.
    The