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Tal grinned despite his best efforts to the contrary. Congratulations, you re a master of prediction.
Now you want to tell us how you got here? Oh, and maybe why you ve disappeared out of every known
database in the verse? The mere shift of an eyebrow conveyed volumes, and he groaned, cheeks warming
with embarrassment. Right. Besides the most obvious way.
Attention seemingly on the mural stretching along the hallway, Frey tilted his head with a critical
frown. Too much green. Oh, and it was the most obvious way. His smile was open and a touch smug. I
figured it would be silly to not make use of the talents I have.
So you walked. You didn t trust us to come back for you. The words felt heavy.
164 www.samhainpublishing.com
The Slipstream Con
No! Frey took a step closer, the polished, practiced expression slipping. That s not what happened.
I trusted you. He was close enough now that his warm breath ghosted over Tal s face. I trust you, he
corrected carefully, making it a vital, living thing. I trust you both. Tal wasn t sure if he welcomed the
break in tension as Frey looked away from him to Vanya, but it was palpable when it came.
Then tell us what happened. It wasn t a demand, and Vanya wasn t angry, just curious. He didn t
blame her.
Heston. Frey shrugged, bending over to grab a rag and wipe his fingers with it. Apparently the rag
was just fascinating, since he kept staring at it. He was behind the whole thing. Headed the project that
built the tech, had it stolen so he could test it on a human, paid for my continued obedience by erasing my
criminal record and threatening me with future unhappiness. He tipped his head to the side, his dark hair
falling to cast a shadow over one eye as he seemed to consider his words. Yes, I think that pretty much
sums it up.
That sounds about right. Vanya s sigh wasn t particularly heartfelt at this point, and an angry barb
stuck with Tal, even though she would undoubtedly let it go as just another minor disappointment. He
might not have been Frey, but he didn t need to be where Heston was concerned. He would have threatened
whatever Frey held close, and that meant oh. That meant them. Oh.
That doesn t explain the ship, Tal said, since Frey hadn t indicated that Heston was an imminent
issue. He had a sense of timing, and Tal appreciated that if they needed to leave, he would have mentioned
it by now.
Ah, you mean The Armistice. Simple enough, I suppose. I refuse to live on a ship with no name. It s
bad luck. Also, you re both pigs, and I m pretty sure the only way to correct your lapses in organization,
short of bombing everything you own, was to move it all into a new workroom and unpack it one crate at a
time. He grinned at them, holding up both hands to forestall their outrage. Don t worry, I only snooped a
little.
You can t just buy us a ship.
Frey rolled his eyes, scratching at the tip of his nose. I bought us a ship, Tal. And of course I can.
Being an allegedly reformed art thief pays quite well. He didn t seem concerned with correcting his
wording this time.
Tal looked sideways, catching Vanya s eye. Her full mouth curved into the hint of a smile, a sure sign
she was trying not to laugh, and it nearly broke him. As one, they took a step closer to Frey, whose eyes
darted between them.
I was thinking of a mural on the ceiling in the main cabin, so I ll have something to look at when I
lie back and think of the Empire.
www.samhainpublishing.com 165
S. Reesa Herberth and Michelle Moore
They each hooked their fingers under one suspender, using the leverage to pull him closer, even as
they backed him against the freshly painted wall. You re smudging my masterpiece. Frey mustered a
weak protest, and Tal gave up, his smile escaping him, and all his better judgment with it.
Too much green anyway, Vanya told Frey, her lips centimeters from his.
It ll take you years to repaint it all, Tal agreed without remorse, and then they both kissed him,
working to find the perfect angle where breath, words and sense didn t matter anymore.
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About the Authors
S. Reesa Herberth grew up in Hawaii, tried Arizona for a few years, and eventually settled in the D.C.
area, where they have trees and rain. She's held a variety of crazy writer jobs, including book and video
store manager for a defunct chain of music shops, office goddess for an artisan ice cream maker, cheese-
cup scrubber at an organic goat dairy, high school secretary, and dye-stained proprietress of a small yarn
and fiber business. When not writing, she can usually be found reading, gardening, cooking or spinning
yarns of another sort entirely. She often resents her need for sleep. Reesa lives in a house that is eclipsed by
the cherry tree out front, where the cats and chinchillas officially outnumber the humans, with a family of
her own design.
Visit her blog at http://sreesaherberth.dreamwidth.org/ or the Ylendrian Empire website at
www.ylendrianempire.com.
Michelle Moore is a fourth-generation Washington, D.C. native, definitely a rarity in this day and age.
She has a well-documented obsession with travel, television, Frappuccinos and flamingos. All of these,
however, come in a distant second to her love of both writing and teaching. Her days are pretty evenly
divided between her classroom, where she teaches elementary special education, and huddling over her
laptop at the local Starbucks. The few hours left in the day are spent serving the needs of the household
menagerie that currently includes cats (one with cerebellar hypoplasia), chinchillas, a bird and a geriatric
guinea pig. Now that she has achieved her goal of becoming a published author, she s ready to start
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