Catch a Falling Star

The controls on Lea’s scout ship had gone completely. She hung on to the steering shaft of the one-man craft and cursed her mechanic, her team leader, her onboard computer, the asshole who’d shot her down and the entire Four-One-Six Quad Empire, who were gearing up to steal huge chunks of her home world’s territory. . .

She opened her eyes groggily. The safety webbing twined around her body had saved her life, though her insides felt like someone had shaken everything out and put them back in the wrong way. Her helmet was already off—when had that happened?—

The end of something long tentatively tapped her side. Gray light of early morning showed her a pole made of wood, shined and polished to rich darkness and carved with strange, intricate symbols.

The pole was held by a brute of a man with a falcon tattoo on one bicep and a sword tattoo on the other. His face was covered with whorls of blue over which dark brown eyes peered at her in curiosity, not fear.