Sweet Starfire

won’t knock you out like that oblivo stuff does, but they’ll help the headache. Open your mouth, Cidra. They have to dissolve under your tongue.”
    A strong, sinewy arm slid under her shoulders, lifting her. The pain in Cidra’s head changed from a steady state of heavy pressure into sharp bolts of lightning. Tears burned beneath Cidra’s eyes. The humiliation washed over her, momentarily more intense than even the agony in her head.
    “I apologize,” she gritted.
    “For what?” Severance asked, calmly shoving two small objects under Cidra’s tongue. “The tears? Forget it. Most people would be screaming about now.”
    Cidra sensed a faint fizzing sensation as the tablets dissolved. Experimentally she lifted her lashes and found herself looking up into Teague Severance’s gray eyes. He didn’t appear especially pleased with her as he knelt beside the lower bunk, cradling her in one arm. There was a grimness around the edges of his mouth.
    “The act of screaming would only make it worse,” Cidra explained with grave logic. She managed to blink back the incipient tears.
    “It can’t be as bad now as it was when you cranked on the Screamer. Saints in hell, lady, that thing must have ripped you apart.”
    “I thought that’s exactly what it was doing.” Automatically she looked down at herself. The black-and-silver surplice was a mess, stained in places from her damp, perspiring body. The finely spun crystal-moss fabric looked as crumpled as she felt. But she seemed to be all in one piece. Then she realized she didn’t feel quite right even though nothing appeared to be missing. “Are we in space?”
    ‘Two hours out of Lovelady. I’ve got the grav on.”
    Severance steadied her with one hand while his other went to her braided coronet.
    The artificial gravity explained the faint strangeness she was feeling. “What are you doing?” Belatedly Cidra realized that Severance was freeing the fireberyl comb in her hair.
    “I thought your head might feel a little better if you loosen those braids.” He tossed the expensive comb down onto the bunk beside her and deftly began unpinning her hair.
    The intimate touch of his hands was vaguely alarming. Cidra wasn’t accustomed to much physical contact. Harmonics had a great respect for the privacy of another person’s body. Instinctively she tried to draw away from Severance. His grip on her shoulders tightened in response.
    “Hold still. I’ll have these down in a minute.”
    “I’ll do it.” She lifted her hand to her hair, trying to take over the small task. Her fingers came in contact with his, tangling for an instant. He ignored her efforts, pushing her hand aside. She felt the roughness of his scars.
    “I’ve almost got it. This must be harder to put together than a coalition of free miners on QED . How long does it take every morning?” Two long braids tumbled free, falling down over Cidra’s breasts. As if intrigued by the intricate braiding, Severance’s fingers followed the line of one braid all the way down to the tip. His hand hovered there, filling Cidra’s body with a new tension.
    Her concentration was abruptly torn between the pain in her head and her intense awareness of the proximity of Teague’s fingers. She realized that she was holding her breath, knowing that if she inhaled, she would thrust herself against his hand.
    “I work my hair during the first morning change.” She couldn’t think of anything else to do except answer his question. He was beginning to unwind the individual braids now, starting from the bottom and moving upward. Cidra drew a small sigh of relief as the masculine fingers moved to her shoulder. She could risk breathing again.
    “Well, you’ll have plenty of time on this trip to fool with your hair. How’s the head?”
    “Better.”
    “Good. With any luck no one will find those two fake guards for a whole day or two. They won’t have any ‘gesics to help with the headaches.” There was a certain distinct satisfaction in Severance’s voice.
    Cidra looked up at him as her hair loosened beneath his touch. “Fake guards? They didn’t represent port security at Lovelorn?”
    “No more than I represent a convention of Saints. Good ID, though. I’m not surprised you bought their story. And they must have had some good connections too. It’s not that easy to get hold of an official mail ship bypass.”
    “Why were they trying to steal your cargo?”
    “Those sensors we’ve got on board