But not much remained in his glass except the dregs of his smoky amber bourbon watered down by melting ice. Caleb sipped it off, washing down the spicy taste of duck prepared Capellan-style with a peppery glaze. Then slammed the highball down hard enough to jump one rounded cube over the rim. The glistening chunk of ice bounced off thick table linens and tumbled to the floor, skittering “up” the concave bow of Galileo’s deck as if defying gravity as well as Caleb’s reach.

An optical illusion, created by centrifugal force that thrust gravity equally along the curve of the Stargazer’s main gravity deck. He knew it. But his equilibrium gave a queer half twist regardless.

The Davion heir half fell back into his seat, waving off offers to get him a new glass, a fresh drink.

“I’ll get it,” he said. He levered himself back up with one hand on the shoulder of his companion for the night. The daughter of the CEO for Joneson Multiplanet? Or had he gone back to the ward of Lady Dolmate from Hassad?

Didn’t matter. She reached up and gave his hand a playful squeeze.

“A short walk’s just what I need to clear my head, my dear,” he promised her.

A very short walk. But not one without risk. Caleb’s table crowded up next to the ferroglass wall, offering a dizzying view of the stars and—when it spun into view—the distant red coin that was Kyrkbacken’s red dwarf sun. The heavens swung about on an axis defined by the length of the wasp-bodied JumpShip, fast enough to impart a Terran-standard gravity as well as a feeling of vertigo. Especially when Caleb stood.

Galileo’s was not for the weak of stomach, or the shortened account.

In fact, the five-star restaurant with its live entertainment and unmatched view of the spacescape taxed even Caleb’s constitution and resources. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t afford it. Hardly that. But even the strongest gratuity offered to the Stargazer’s purser had been unable to guarantee him more than three medium-sized tables.

Which was, by easy count, fully half of the exclusive dining club.

It was Caleb’s experience that gravity decks on JumpShips—even civilian passenger liners—tended toward cramped corridors and closet-style galleys. Which was why, discovering the Stargazer on the Kathil-to-Axton leg of his journey toward Terra, he had decided to make it his de facto flagship for the rest of the voyage and who cared if it traveled along the rear lines of the ongoing Capellan-Republic conflict? A onetime military class Invader, it had been converted and refurbished with the grandest luxuries in mind. The see-through walls of Galileo’s being only one of the most ostentatious. It carried four DropShips: three luxury-designed Monarchs and Caleb’s own Spartan Triumph. For the remainder of the voyage, however, he had the presidential apartments on one of the Monarchs as well as a gravity-berth on the Stargazer.

Space and weight—two of the greatest luxuries in space travel.

It would get him to Terra in style, or at least close enough to make rendezvous with his father. Maybe he could convince the old man to take leave of his military escort, just this once, and enjoy the privileges of their position.

Maybe even Julian would unbend enough to join them. His younger cousin had once been fun to hang around with, though he had returned from Lyran space far too serious.

People needed to know when to relax. To enjoy.

Weaving out from between the three tables he now “owned,” Caleb waved two security agents back to their seats and their drinks. Best duty in the Davion Guards, working with him. Working for him. He laughed, then swung up the spinward direction of Galileo’s and nodded at the curious stares directed his way from the other diners. Certainly a few recognized him, even if most of the current passengers now hailed from Republic or Liao space, or from worlds formerly part of the Free Worlds League. There were a few frowns at his excess—he ignored them—as well as a few hopeful looks that they would be invited over—and he overlooked them too.

His attention remained focused instead on the short bar. It nestled beneath the second-story overhang on which the symphonic members labored, belting out the high-energy music Caleb had fallen in love with this year. They hit a rough stretch now and then, but he was gracious enough to overlook it. So long as they kept up a good beat with plenty of brass. And if a few of the older men showed strain from the energetic playing, sweat glistening on wrinkled brows or a slight sag to their shoulders, well, so what?

His party. His music.

His next conquest!

She waited at the bar, leaning up against it as if it had been designed with her height and subtle curves in mind. The dark-stained ironwood matched her almond-shaped eyes both in color and hardness. A French-roll style tucked away most of her glossy, black hair, except for a few loose, long strands that fell forward to frame an elfin face. Her evening gown was cuffed to her right ankle, in case of a sudden loss of gravity, but her other leg showed a shapely calf through the slit that traveled partway up the side. Athletic without being militant. Alluring but not trying too hard. She pulled off a poise that was as much attitude as it was beauty.

And she waited alone.

Everyone in Galileo’s owned one of the ultraexclusive seats, so the bar was hardly for those waiting for table space. Instead, it was more of a rendezvous. There were exactly two chairs, where a couple could enjoy a moment’s privacy. No more than two at a time was the unspoken rule.

Which suited Caleb immensely.

“Looking for a new table?” he asked, extending the invitation at which nearly half the room would have jumped.

She raised her wineglass, sipped at a dark purple nectar that smelled of plums and honey. “Not really.”

He tried on his best smile, practiced on a hundred worlds in the last two years. Even if that smile had not silenced all the gossip chasing along his public relations tour, worrying over the distance between father and son, at least it had wooed a few nobles along the way. And a few nobles’ daughters.

“Just enjoying a quiet moment at the bar then?”

“I was.”

The way she said it, with a touch of amusement and the promise of possibilities, made it impossible to take offense. A challenge!

The music above softened as the brass rested a moment, and Caleb hummed along with the deep bass and piano runs. From a dimly lit door, the bartender stepped forward and quickly poured Caleb a new bourbon. A long, dark splash over fresh ice. And like a ghost—a very well-trained and expensive ghost—the tender faded back into the service corridor with barely a moment’s interruption.

Caleb sipped carefully at the rich, warm bourbon, mustering his wits. Giving himself a moment to enjoy the breezy music and let her get used to his presence. Waiting, however, was not his strong suit.

He set the thick glass down on a linen napkin and offered his hand. “I’m Caleb.”

“Danai.”

She didn’t offer her own hand in the dainty way most high-born ladies were taught, or take it in a short, sharp businesslike shake. She had a strong grip. Warm. Caleb found himself lingering over it for an extra heartbeat.

She hadn’t offered a last name, he noticed. But then again, neither had he. He’d simply assumed that she would know him. And be duly impressed, of course. The way she’d returned her own name, it almost felt as if she’d expected the same. That he would know her.

But if he felt a moment’s disappointment that she showed no sign of recognition, Danai appeared satisfied when he didn’t make an issue of her name. Was she some celebrity, then? Her confidence and allure—he could easily place her as an actress. Or a celebrated musician.

He imagined her in the band playing above, resting with a nearby cloth to pat the sweat from her forehead. Bringing an electronic saxophone back to her lap, or—better!—a real trumpet to those full, moist lips.