Starrigger

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I first picked her up on Tau Ceti II. At least I'm fairly sure that was the first time. Depends on how you look at it.

She was last in the usual line of starhikers thumbing near the Skyway on-ramp to the Epsilon Eridani aperture. Tall, with short dark hair, wearing a silver Allclyme survival suit that tried to hide her figure but ultimately failed, she was demurely holding her UV parasol up against Tau's eye-narrowing glare, her thumb cocked downroad in that timeless gesture. She was smiling irresistibly, confidently, knowing damn well she'd get scooped up by the first male driver whose endocrine system was on line that day. Mine was, and she knew that too.

"What d'you think?" I asked Sam. He usually had opinions on these matters. "A skyhooker?"

He scanned her for a microsecond or two. "Nab. Too pretty."

"You have some old-fashioned ideas. But then, you always did."

"Going to pick her up?"

I braked and started to answer, but as we passed, the smile faded a little and her eyebrows lowered questioningly, as if she thought she recognized me. The expression was only half-completed before we flew past. That made it definite. I braked hard, eased trie rig onto the shoulder, pulled to a stop, and waited, watching her through the side-view parabolic as she hoofed it up to us,

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