by GitonCrais
She
had been watching the stranger for over an arn now. If asked, she could never
have explained why. Maybe because he was exotic looking, so preternaturally
calm; or just plain interesting.
He
was slowly sipping from the same glass of raslak that he had ordered when he
had come in, and it was still half full. This could mean a number of
things. Maybe he was not used to
drinking, or didn’t have the credits to pay for more than one, or maybe he was
waiting for someone. His covert glances towards the door at intervals supported
the last impression.
He
was probably a Sebacean, like herself, from one of the colonies that was
blessed with a warmer climate. His skin tone wasn’t as pale as most, but was
lightly tanned. His arched eyebrows were set over calm, dark-brown eyes that
looked almost black, and his black hair fell in curly waves over his shoulders.
A well-trimmed goatee encircled his full lips and set off a strong jaw line. He
looked like someone who was perfectly in command of himself, and probably of
others too.
His
clothes were black and although of an older cut, they showed quality and fit
him snugly.
The
collar was set high but left open almost casually at the front. However, somehow she got the distinct
impression that given other settings, it would probably be worn neatly closed, and
it would still look just as natural.
For
a micron, her attention was diverted when one of the waiters came over to ask
her if she needed anything else; she shook her head.
When
she looked back at his table, he had gone. She sighed. A pity; maybe if he had
stayed long enough, she might have walked over and struck up a conversation. On
the other hand, if he had been waiting for someone…
“Is
this seat taken?” His deep voice, a little rough around the edges, startled
her, and she swung to the speaker. It was the dark stranger she had been
observing. There was watchfulness and amusement in his dark brown eyes.
“No…it’s
free…I mean…it is not taken…” she stammered.
He
sat down in the seat opposite her, the one facing the door.
He
had a catlike grace and his presence was even more compelling up close. She
kept her eyes on him as if hypnotised.
“I’ve
noticed that you have been watching me.”
She
blushed. She hadn’t realised that she had been that obvious. “I didn’t mean to…”
He
canted his head slightly, his eyes locked calmly onto hers, “Do you normally
observe strangers so closely for no reason?”
“Yes…No…I
mean…” she cursed herself for her insufficiency with words. She was generally quite eloquent and yet
with this stranger…
The
corner of his mouth lifted in an amused curve, “You’ve watched me since I sat
down. I was wondering if there were any reason for you to do so.”
“No,”
she pulled her eyes away from him, hoping to dispel the magic, but she could
still feel his eyes on her. She swallowed and looked back.
He
was still watching her calmly, scrutinising her, she was sure.
“Are
you…are you waiting for someone?”
“Yes…as
you must have already observed,” his voice was almost hypnotically gentle.
“Yes…I
did notice that you were watching the door.”
He
inclined his head and a smile appeared, “Well done.”
“What
is your name,” she asked, feeling a little bolder.
“Captain
will do,” replied the man, “and yours?”
She
had not wanted to give her name and yet she found it difficult to deny this
stranger any information, “Galla…Eloy Galla.”
“Well
met, Eloy Galla.”
His
eyes shifted imperceptibly to the door as soon as it opened, keeping her within
his peripheral vision. He turned his attention back to her when the person who
stepped through turned out not to have been the one he was expecting. “What do you normally do when you are not
observing strangers, Eloy?”
She
wanted to look into his eyes but was afraid she would disappear in them. Her eyes were drawn to his mouth, so full,
so firm. She shook herself, better to look him in the eyes, “I am a
seamstress…quite a successful one.” She added the last remark quickly; she
didn’t want to sound boring to this man.
His
eyes took in her whole form, her dress, and then gazed back steadily into her
face. His eyes were fixed on her, never wavering for even a microt, and she
wondered when he would blink.
“There
is no shame in being ‘just’ a seamstress. It is an honourable profession.”
It
was true successes were far between.
She had been lucky these past weekens, but it was hard to tell what the
next couple of weekens would bring. She looked almost guiltily at him, “Sorry.”
“No
need to apologise,” he answered.
“And
you,” she asked him.
She
could sense a little tension rise in him. He was on the alert now, “What about
me?”
“What
do you do when you are not waiting for someone?” Two could play the game.
“Plot
the stars.”
“Only
plot the stars,” she asked coyly, “You said you are a Captain, don’t you have
any crew to order about?”
“Yes,
I have.”
“So… you plot and order people about…anything
else?”
“No.”
His attention returned to the door again. He looked quickly back at her, “You
must excuse me.”
He
left the table. She watched him walk over to the newcomer, a Vorcarian by the
looks of it and wondered what he needed the Vorcarian’s assistance for. They
spoke in low tones briefly, and then left the establishment.
She
returned her attentions to her glass of Tharkalian tea. She would probably
never see him again. She sighed once more. Pity, he looked interesting enough.
He
sat next to her, “Would you like another glass?”
He
had startled her and she looked up, “Yes…I would love to…you have what you
wanted?”
He
smiled, “Yes. The transaction was successful.”
He
motioned the waiter over and ordered two teas. He looked back at her.
Somehow
she found his silence even more intimidating than his eyes or his voice.
She
cleared her throat, “Why did you come back to my table?”
He
looked at her with mock rejection, “You do not find my company pleasant?”
“Yes…I
mean…” She found it hard to believe that this man was ever denied any company.
“I
had thought that maybe…after you had concluded your business, you would be on
your way again.”
“I
will…soon.” His smile made her stomach flutter.
The
man confused Eloy, or, more precisely, she found her own reactions to him to be
confusing. He made her want to talk to him but he also made her want to be silent.
She wanted to hear him speak, yet he said little. When she looked up at him,
she saw the amusement in his eyes, but the rest of his face showed calm; or
maybe not. She saw a miniscule tightening of his lips. He WAS amused!
She
wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or flattered by that revelation.
She
asked, “Where will you go after you leave here?”
“Somewhere…the
next planet…the next sector…” He looked away briefly.
“No
real plans?”
His
brows twitched with a slight hint of suspicion, “No, why do you ask?”
She
immediately regretted pressing the issue, “Nothing in particular…it was just a
question.”
Again
the man smiled at her.
Her
eyes lit up again, pleased that he wasn’t upset with her, “You…you like space?”
“Yes.”
She
was surprised he had answered her. She had almost expected him to avoid any
conversation not having to do with the weather or their tea after his initial
reaction to her question.
The
man continued, “Space is full of sounds and colours; it is beautiful. If you
ever get the chance, you should see it for yourself.”
“Not
very likely,” Eloy demurred.
“A
pity,” said the man.
Eloy
nodded in assent.
The
tea was nearly finished.
The
man drained his cup and stood up, “It’s time for me to go. Thank you for the
conversation.” The hand he had placed briefly on her shoulder was warm and
strong.
She
smiled up at him, “You stay safe, Captain. Maybe we will meet again.”
Again
the soft smile, “I would like that.”
She
watched him leave. His back was ramrod straight. He didn’t turn around.
Days
later, she saw him again…on a wanted-beacon.
Captain
Bialar Crais, Peacekeeper renegade!
She
let his name tumble in her mind. Savoured it.
Their
brief encounter had left her thinking of him for days.
Now
that she knew his name, she sent a quick prayer to Cholok to keep him safe,
“May Cholok protect you…Bialar…”