He hadn’t meant for Polly to overhear them. Erzo exhaled a sigh, muttering a distinctly Charro curse. “By the swirling storms of Charrovik!”
It was the kind of phrase used when things went sideways in the most spectacularly cosmic way from a planet known for its turbulent weather and equally unpredictable politics. The misunderstanding between them had just escalated from a minor space skirmish to a full-blown galactic incident. He wondered if there was any diplomatic maneuver that could salvage this situation or if he would need to call on her friends as peacekeepers.
Olmed gave Erzo a knowing look. “Go.”
Erzo reluctantly re-entered the residence. The door to the sleeping quarters was shut, locked from the inside. He’d have to wait until morning to talk to her.
Grabbing a bottle of blue beer, Erzo took a swig. The taste was sharp, a bit too stark for his liking, but it was bearable. He needed something to take the edge off.
Turning towards the window, he gazed at the space traffic weaving around Disguised Serenity. The ships passing by, each on their own journey, reminded him of his situation. Here he was, a Charro miner, always watching, always wary—a habit born from a life of watching his back in the mines and dealing with the politics of Charrovik.
His father would say it was their Charro nature, but Erzo knew it was more about survival, about not knowing who might come for him next. Now, with the impending trip to Charrovik to confront his arranged marriage with Breal, Erzo knew he needed to be prepared for anything. His family might try to force the arrangement, but he was determined to outmaneuver them.
Erzo muttered, his gaze transfixed by the star-studded canvas outside the window. “A lot has to be arranged...”
“I don’t doubt it.” Polly’s voice, unexpectedly close, made him start.
Erzo whirled around to find her approaching, her movements as silent as a shadow. He hadn’t even heard the door unlock. “I thought you were asleep.”
She gave a half-shrug, her face unreadable. “Sleep escapes me tonight.” Settling onto the couch, she made the furniture bob slightly, her eyes never leaving his. “What exactly needs arranging?”
Erzo made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It’s nothing important.”
Polly raised an eyebrow. “It seems important enough to keep you staring into space. What is it, family troubles?”
He sighed, the weight of his heritage momentarily heavy on his shoulders. “Yes, family troubles.”
“Are you close with your family?”
Erzo’s laugh was abrupt and without humor. “Close? No, that’s precisely the problem.”
Polly leaned forward. “So, I’ve been wondering... How much am I worth in this grand scheme of yours?”
Erzo’s stance shifted. “In what way?”
“In a valuable sense,” she pressed, her tone steady but probing.
“You’re invaluable,” he replied quickly, a sincerity in his voice that surprised even him.
“To you, or in general?” she asked, her gaze steady.
“Both,” he answered, his voice softer now.
Polly’s expression remained unimpressed. “That’s a start, I guess. Considering you seem to measure everything in credits.”
Erzo felt a pang of frustration. “I value more than just credits.”
“Is that so?” Polly challenged. “Your conversation with Olmed suggested otherwise.”
“You caught only a fragment of that conversation.”
“Enough to raise questions,” she countered. “Which brings me back to my original question. What am I worth to you? Am I just a number on a balance sheet?”
Erzo could sense the tension rising between them. “Polly, what are you trying to get at?”
Her gaze was unyielding. “You’re charming, Erzo, and that’s a surprise considering your... let’s say, intimidating reputation.”
“You find me intimidating?” he asked, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face.
