Gray walked down the corridor, Daria at his side. A cool breeze blew through the dock, a hint of salt in the air. Moist air. Had he felt similar breezes as a child? He must have.

The breeze grew stronger. The portal, the main exit from the docking chamber, must be around the next turn. Already he heard strange bird calls, hawking and lilting. Oddly familiar, though he didn't remember the animals very well.

After more than thirty Earth years, he was finally back home.

Home.

Or was it?

If this was home, what was Prendara? Prendara, the only planet he recalled in detail. Yet even in Rigah's home, he'd been one of only two Earthers. A stranger on a strange planet.

As he was on Earth.

Perhaps neither world was his home.

Gods, he'd never felt so conflicted.

The last turn was only twenty steps away. Gray nearly held his breath. He slowed his pace, dropping behind Daria.

She still wore his gold shirt and her stretchy little skirt, with those spiky shoes accentuating her legs. She'd refused to borrow clothes from one of the women on board. A streak of pride ran through her core, that was plain. She looked rather ridiculous, in his huge shirt and her tiny, clinging skirt. But he little minded. No matter how conflicted he felt about being on Earth, the sight of her long, luscious legs was one thing he could enjoy with no conflict.

Perhaps they should return to his quarters so he could explore those legs in detail. In glorious detail. He could see the fine tracing of veins on the backs of her knees. The skin there looked enticingly soft. If he followed those lines with his tongue, would she moan with pleasure? Or squeal with ticklish laughter?

He reached out and took Daria's hand, stopping her just a few steps from the fateful last bend in the corridor.

She didn't speak, just stood with him. He liked that about her -- her calm patience, her ability to accept whatever the moment brought her. Too many people railed against circumstances. There were still people fighting the Prendarian presence on Earth, though the war had ended thirty years ago.

He would put an end to the scattered fighting, to the endless vying for political power. He would unite Earth under one government.

And Daria would profit from witnessing the negotiations. She'd see that Prendarians were not evil people; they were simply people, to be judged on individual merits.

He squeezed her hand. "I'm glad you're here with me."

She smiled up at him. "So am I."

She stood patiently, holding his hand, waiting. Her gentle clasp relaxed him. He would have thanked the gods for bringing her to him, but he couldn't be thankful for violence. Whenever he pictured her struggling with those men, men who would have taken pleasure from her by force... The memory alone made his stomach clench, his blood run with fire. The words did not exist to define his rage. He needed no words. He only knew that he didn't want to let her out of his sight. She needed protecting, this brown-eyed, blushing woman.

Ah, she was blushing right now. Just a little, just enough of a pink tinge to charm him. Perhaps he stared at her too intently.

She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look. "What's wrong, Gray?"

Her quiet use of his name brought the truth from him. "I suppose I'm a little nervous. I haven't seen Earth since I was six years old."

She squeezed his hand. "Sure you have. You saw the space dock last night. It's part of Earth."

Such a practical response made him smile. "True."

"Are we going to stand here all day?"

"Would you mind if we did?" His voice sounded rueful. At least he hoped it did. He didn't want to sound as pathetic as he felt.

"It's just a city," she said. "Like any other."

"It's just a planet," he countered. "Unlike any other."

She tugged his hand gently. "Come on, space cowboy. The planet isn't getting any younger. And if we stand here much longer, I'll have to wear these clothes to your big meeting this afternoon."

He let her lead him around the bend. A gust of air hit his face, and he closed his eyes against the sensation. But the wind held no sand, not like such a breeze would on Prendara. No dust filled his nostrils -- just the musty scent of fish. Salt. The sea.

They stepped outside the portal into a bright, crisp day. He stood blinking in the sudden sunshine, trying to see everything at once through his stinging eyes.

The sky was unbelievably blue, more brilliant than he'd ever have imagined. Puffy clouds, gray and white, scudded quickly across the sky, their edges rimmed with the bright silver glow of a hidden sun. A wide street lay before them, with vehicles of every description racing along it. A hovercraft, tens of old gasoline-engine cars in every color, even a conveyance. He'd never seen so many vehicles in one mass.

And alongside the road, people scurried, strolled, simply walked, all hurrying to get somewhere. So many people. A woman carrying a large rectangular bag over one shoulder brushed against him as she passed. He stared at her retreating back, watching as she hurried across the busy road and disappeared behind a building on the other side.

The buildings. So huge... enormous rectangular structures that rose to the sky. So different from the low, rounded buildings of Prendara. So... alien.

A young man approached, a crewman from the ship. His wrinkled uniform had a large stain on the sleeve. His eyes were bleary, his hair wildly disarrayed. Probably not only from the wind. He paused and gave Gray a respectful nod. "Greetings, Sarjah."

Before Gray could speak, the man's gaze dropped to Daria's bare legs. Gray stepped closer to her and slipped an arm around her waist. That brought the man's attention back to him. "Good morning, crewman."

With a nod and one last lustful glance at Daria's legs, the young man walked through the dock's portal, his boots thumping on the wooden planking.

Daria looked up at him. "Sarjah?"

"You need not call me that."

She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't calling you. I was asking what that word means."

She'd learn the meaning eventually. But not now. "It's a title of respect. A common title." In truth, the word was reserved for an elite echelon. An echelon he had attained not through his own merits, but because of his relationship to the Premier Leader.

But Daria knew nothing of that relationship. Not yet.

He took her hand again. "Do you have a preference in stores?"

"Not really. Let's just head downtown."

"Down town?" He knew the words, but couldn't grasp the meaning.

"It's just another word for the main business district." She pointed down a wide street. "That way, just a few blocks."

When he took a step, she pulled him back. Her teeth were nibbling at her lip. "I may... I need an advance."

What did that mean? "An advance?"

Her chin lifted just a tiny bit. "An advance on my salary."

Ah. He should have suspected. And though he'd happily pay for all of her clothes, for anything she needed, no doubt her pride would cause her to balk at receiving gifts. "Fine. That looks like a credit kiosk across the street."

"You can also call it a bank." Her tone seemed caustic. "If you want to sound like a native instead of a damned Pr--"

She stopped and dropped his hand.

He wouldn't press her to continue. He didn't want to hear more of her prejudice. What kind of life had she led, to feel such strong negativity toward Prendarians? There had been atrocities committed on both sides during the invasion, but that had been decades ago. Before Daria's birth. Why did she cling to the horrors of the past?

She led him across the busy intersection to the kiosk. The machine was as modern as any he'd ever seen on Prendara, with a full screen and holographic capabilities.

When she pulled a small card out of the back of her skirt, he held out a hand. "Give me your identikit. I'll transfer a week's salary to you."

She seemed reluctant to give him the card, slowly moving it toward his outstretched hand -- as if hoping she might think of an excuse to keep it if she delayed long enough. As if wishing to keep her data private. At last the card reached his palm.

"You should just call it an ID. No one uses the word identikit anymore." Her voice was tinged with resentment.

He nodded. "Thank you."

She frowned. "For what?"

"For correcting me." And for trusting me with your ID. He slid her card into the machine, then pulled his own from his wristband and added it. He tried to block Daria's view of the screen. She'd learn the truth of his status soon enough.

In an instant, their respective information displayed side-by-side. He quickly tapped the Secrecy button that appeared above his data. The bulk of his statistics blanked out, leaving only his identity number and name.

He scanned Daria's information with a quick glance.

Identity - Earther 010 723 439 959 Colloquial Name - Daria Viktorovna Cohen Available Credits - 10 Criminal Confinements - 0 Affirmed Criminal Affiliations - 0 Suspected Criminal Affiliations - 0 Residence - San Francisco City, California State Birth - 12 July 2011 Western Earth Calendar ...more below...

The information spilled off the bottom of the screen before her sanctioned occupation was displayed. Much as he wanted to know what she was supposed to be doing to earn her credits, he couldn't shift the data on the screen to see more. Not with her watching him. This one display had probably given him more information than she would have willingly divulged. He should respect her privacy.

Only ten credits to her name. No wonder she was selling her body. Perhaps her sanctioned occupation paid too little. There should be a way to ensure that women like her had enough means.

When he glanced at her, she seemed annoyed, a small furrow between her brows. Daring him to say something? Something about her lack of funds?

Perhaps he could deflect her anger with a mundane comment. "Viktorovna?" he said, hoping the pronunciation was close. "Is this a common name?"

"Not anymore."

Again she used a hard, cold voice, as she often did when he asked a personal question. "What does this name signify?"

"What does it mean," she corrected. "It's a variation of my father's name. Viktor. It means I will win."

The tilt of her chin seemed oddly belligerent. Interesting. "So your parents wished you to fight?"

"No."

"Then why --"

"My parents were Russian. In old Russia, children were given a middle name based on their father's first name."

He knew nothing of Russia or of Earth naming traditions. But she seemed annoyed to have told him so much; he wouldn't ask for more details. "Will a week's salary be enough?"

She nodded.

They hadn't agreed upon payment for her services. Not that money was a concern to him. How much would she need to find a home, buy necessities? He would give her enough to live for years without resorting to prostitution, but he need not transfer that much to her at once. Just enough to grant her the means to buy whatever she wished in the next few days. The means to find her own quarters, if she chose not to stay in his. It should be her will to stay with him, not a necessity.

He turned back to the kiosk and transferred ten thousand credits to her card.

With such a substantial sum at issue, the machine insisted that he confirm the transaction. Twice. And on the second confirmation, he had to press his hand against the verification screen so that his bio-signature could be scanned.

Daria peered around his side, then gasped and grabbed his arm. "Ten thousand credits? For one week?"

He couldn't resist the opportunity to tease her. "Is it not enough?"

Those full lips scowled at him. "It's what most people earn in two months. And you know it."

"You're fortunate, then, to have a generous employer."

He meant to tease, but her eyes grew fiery. "What are you trying to buy from me, Gray?"

He frowned. "Nothing. You may consider this a free gift, if you will."

She was shaking her head before he finished. "No gifts. I'm supposed to be working for you."

"As you are. You've been correcting my English almost every moment." And she'd warmed his bed quite nicely. But he wasn't paying her for that.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not worth ten thousand credits a week, and you damn well know it."

She was worth far more than ten thousand credits. "Daria..." Gods, what could he say? He fumbled for words. Honest words. "I'm not certain why you are so angry."

"I told you last night, I won't be your charity case."

Sanwar, he'd offended her pride. "Daria, please take the credits. They mean little to me. But you --"

You mean a great deal to me. The thought burst into his brain and seized him, staggered him, paralyzed his tongue. She truly meant a great deal to him. After only one night. He felt dizzy. Disoriented. Everything faded -- the sunshine, the sky, the noise of hawking birds and traffic on the street -- everything faded until her face, her scowling face, was the focus of his entire... his entire world.

No. No, this could not be.

"You'll be helping me more than you know," he said at last. "These meetings... they'll be conducted entirely in English. It's critical that I speak well. That I understand every nuance of what's said by others."

She scowled at him still.

He touched her elbow gently, caressing her through the fabric of his shirt. "I want you to be free to buy whatever you will." To leave me, if you will it. No, he wouldn't give her that thought. Just the idea made his fingers tighten a little on her arm, as if she had already pulled away. "Daria, accept the credits. Please."

Her frown slowly faded. At last she gave a grudging nod. "As you will."

Ten thousand credits.Unbelievable.Unbelievable to her, at any rate. The ID card of Daria Viktorovna Cohen had never held anywhere near that much money. She'd never even known anyone with that kind of money. And Gray had handed it over like spare change. Like he had plenty more where that came from.