Rystani Warrior 04 - The Quest Page 2

  Angel flew under the belly, taking extra care to look for any details that appeared out of place. Giant mawing holes in the hull and ports gaped where the crew had popped safety pods to abandon ship, a sign they’d safely escaped. Most damage had probably occurred after they’d left when tiny asteroids had collided with the hull.

  While inspecting every exterior inch, she tried to calm her racing pulse. Her instincts were extraordinary. She had a knack for finding trouble, of being in the exact right place at the right time—where things happened. If she’d been into sports, she would have been the star player, the one who always seemed to be around the ball during a critical play. If she’d been in the military, she would have been the general on the front, in the exact location where the enemy attacked. As a scavenger, her success rate was phenomenal, considering the equipment she had to work with.

  However, when her scalp prickled and anticipation rolled in her gut, when her fingers itched on her blaster trigger for no damn reason that she could discern—like right now—she’d learned to be extra careful. Angel had even read up on the phenomena. Supposedly, her subconscious picked up signals her brain couldn’t interpret—tiny signals that her conscious mind didn’t see or hear or notice, but ones that could still broadcast loud and clear to her subconscious.

  “Talk to me.” Petroy’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

  “I’m taking the flitter through a blast hole in the fuselage.” She came through the damaged hull in a cloud of dust. Her exterior landing lights revealed an empty dock, and she set down with no problems.

  “I’ve landed, and the shuttle bay is full of wreckage.”

  She’d expected no less. Still, she couldn’t keep the disappointment from her tone. It would have been wonderful to find a stash of cargo, starfire gemstones from Kenderon IV or ice crystals from Ellas Prime or even a case of Zenonite brandy. But the bay had either been picked clean a long time ago, or the Vogan ship had flown empty.

  Angel kept her blaster handy and popped her hatch. “I’m going for a look,” she said. “Engaging vidcamera.”

  Now Petroy could see what she saw, which wasn’t much. Lots of twisted gray bendar, a metal manufactured to protect starships against hyperdrive forces. She placed a portable light on her head, another on her wrist.

  As well as clothing her, her suit allowed her to breathe in space, kept her boots on the deck with artificial gravity, and encased her body in normal pressure. She didn’t have to worry about solar radiation, but the possibility of her competitors returning was always a concern. While Petroy would notify her if they reappeared and she should have plenty of time to fly back to the Raven, she sensed the danger was coming from within, not outside.

  Straining to listen for any strange noises, she forced air into her lungs. Absolute silence closed around her like a tomb. She couldn’t open her suit to sniff the air, but from the charred hull, she imagined the odor of old dust and the lingering scent of burnt metal.

  Reaching an interior hatch, she popped the handle. The massive door creaked open. She shined her light into a corridor, expecting more wreckage. But it was empty, the only sign of problems a buckled floor.

  Advancing with care, she passed by the empty galley and crew quarters and, in search of electronics, turned toward where she estimated the bridge to be. Along the way she admired the heavy metal plating of the interior walls, which would bring a tidy profit on Dakmar. The cargo ship had been built like a fortress, and she suspected only a total systems failure could have left her so vulnerable to disaster.

  A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye, a shade or shape that didn’t belong, caught her attention. Instantly, she shined her light, raised her blaster, and peered into the gloom but saw nothing, not even a shadow.

  Her mouth went dry as moon dust. “Who’s there?”

  Petroy’s tone lowered in concern. “No one’s on the vidscreen. Sensors aren’t picking up any sign of life, but be careful.”

  She appreciated that he didn’t think she’d lost her mind and that he’d fed her data that should be useful. Although Angel had boarded dozens of ships, never before had she felt as though she was being watched and judged.

  Angel squinted past the reach of her lights and saw a dark gray shadow move in the blackness beyond. A very large, very humanoid shadow.

  “Come out. Now. Or I’ll shoot.” She assumed the intruder’s suit would translate her words.

  The shadow moved and advanced into her light.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  He was tall, very tall, broad-shouldered and bronze-skinned with bright blue eyes and dark hair. But it was his carved cheekbones and full lips that curved into a confident and easy smile that made her think of a Viking warrior, one of Earth’s ancient races. No, not Viking—a Rystani. She hadn’t ever met any Rystani, the infamous battle-driven warriors from the planet Rystan, but she’d seen holopics. However, the holopics couldn’t convey this man’s massive size or his casual, self-assured attitude that would have been sexy under different circumstances.

  “How did you know I was here?” he asked, ignoring the blaster that she aimed at his chest.

  “Captain,” Petroy spoke over the com, “a Rystani just showed up on our sensors.”

  “No kidding.” She scowled at the man standing before her. “Since this is my ship, I’ll be the one asking the questions. Why didn’t our sensors pick you up?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Perhaps your systems are faulty.”

  The stranger’s deep voice matched his powerful chest, and the sound lapped against her like waves on a white sand beach—solid, gentle, all encompassing. He wore his masculinity with the same ease as he wore his smile, as if it were so much a part of him that he had nothing to prove.

  He intrigued her, but she wasn’t taking his word, especially when their sensors had been working perfectly when she’d left the Raven. She invoked privacy mode in the com so the stranger couldn’t hear her or Petroy’s replies. “Petroy, have the computer run a self-diagnostic.”

  “Already did, Captain. We have one hundred percent efficiency.”

  She kept the Rystani in her blaster sights. “There are no computer malfunctions. So, what’s your story? Why are you here?”

  Just because he didn’t appear to have a weapon didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. On muscle size alone, he could overpower her. Since one generally had to work out regularly to sport such a toned physique, she assumed he could also best her in a hand-to-hand fight. Her advantage was her drawn weapon, and she kept it front and centered.

  “I’m Kirek of Rystan. Take me to your captain,” he demanded.

  Kirek hadn’t tried to lie about his planet and every word sounded sincere, though aristocratically arrogant, but he also evaded her questions about how he’d avoided their sensors and why he was here. Instead, he was acting as if he hadn’t expected her to find him. Interesting.

  “I’m Angel Taylor, captain of the Raven. From Earth. Now, what are you doing here?”

  At her announcement of her rank, Kirek’s facial muscles didn’t move, but flickers of purple darkened his eyes. “I’m looking for transport to Dakmar.”

  She arched a brow and kept her trigger finger poised to shoot. Obviously, he didn’t think the derelict ship would take him to Dakmar, so he knew her plans. “Who said I was going to Dakmar?”

  “Any salvager worth their oxygen would sell this wreck on Dakmar.” His tone remained confident and easy, just short of charming. But she noted he kept his hands away from his body and didn’t make any sudden moves that would risk drawing her blaster fire.

  “The Raven is not a civilian transport ship.”

  “I will stay right here.” Kirek’s tone remained patient, confident, as if he were very accustomed to giving orders. “You should pretend you do not know of my existence—”

  “—Like you planned?” she guessed. If she’d depended only on her sensors, she wouldn’t have found him stowing away on the de
relict. But no way in hell was she sneaking Kirek onto Dakmar. Those folks were quite particular about who boarded their moon. She did too much business there to risk bringing in a stranger and being banned because he wanted a free ride.

  “I do not wish to cause trouble.” Kirek’s casual tone implied truth. Yet, his bold stance suggested that he was a man accustomed to handling whatever came his way.

  “You’ve already caused trouble. And I want answers. Who dropped you off? How did you know—”

  “Captain,” Petroy interrupted. “The other ship has returned, and the captain is demanding that we turn over Kirek or prepare to be blasted from space.”

  The other captain had asked for Kirek by name.

  She narrowed her eyes on the Rystani. “Who are they? Why do they want you? How do they know your name?”

  Kirek rubbed his square jaw. “My calculations seem to have gone awry. I’ll have to think about …”

  He seemed genuinely puzzled, but she wasn’t buying his innocent act. Yet she didn’t have time to interrogate him, nor did she bother using privacy mode, allowing Kirek to hear her conversation. “Petroy, is the other ship in weapons range?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do we have time to return to the Raven before they can shoot us?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Stall negotiations until I return. Tell them I haven’t found anyone named Kirek. Yet.”

  “And then?”

  “Ask what they’re willing to pay for this Kirek, if I find him.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Kirek’s eyes flared with a heat that burned hotter than a solar flare. “You trade in slaves?”

  Her instruction to Petroy had been automatic. But she’d obviously touched a sore point, and maybe it would make Kirek more agreeable to answering her questions. While she’d never deal in the slave trade, he needn’t know that right away.

  She intended to drop the Rystani off on the nearest habitable planet—but she also wanted to know how he’d avoided her sensors and how he’d learned her destination. She told herself she would have made the same decision not to turn him over to her competition if she’d found a slimy, eight-tentacled Osarian aboard, instead of the finest male specimen she’d seen this side of a holovid screen.

  “You.” She waved her blaster at Kirek. “Come with me.”

  He planted his feet, crossed his arms over his massive chest, and spoke with calm contempt. “I will never again be a slave.”

  Kirek presented one awesome picture of Rystani stubbornness, and she realized he’d called her bluff. This proud warrior would clearly rather die than give up his freedom. She couldn’t imagine him ever having been anyone’s slave.

  From the rock-hard tension in his muscles to the angry heat in his glaring eyes, she knew he was a man bent on dying before he yielded his will to anyone. Oddly, she didn’t feel threatened, but sympathetic. “I do not buy, sell, or keep slaves. Not ever.” She cocked her head to one side. “But if you want to live, I suggest you answer my questions. Who’s after you?”

  Chapter Two

  “IF YOU DON’T SELL slaves, why did you ask what price I’d bring?” Kirek didn’t budge from his stance or his determination to remain free.

  Some issues weren’t debatable and slavery was one of them. Seven years ago, at the mention of anyone selling him, he wouldn’t have been able to restrain his seething temper. But after a good part of a decade spent traveling through the galaxy, he’d healed from his time spent on Endeki, where he’d been a hostage and suffered at the hands of a woman with an unusual taste for cruelty.

  While Captain Angel Taylor might be space-hardened, she didn’t emit a cruel psi, at least from what his own blast-damaged one could pick up. Kirek found his new handicap tiresome and limiting but reminded himself that until the last century, most of humanity never had more to go on than he did right now—his instincts.

  Angel stared hard at him, and while her tone had an edge, it was cut with understanding. “I asked what they would pay for you to learn your value to them. And,” she continued, grinning, “to see if my threat would make you answer my question.”

  He couldn’t help admiring the way she thought. A good brain always attracted him as much as a pleasing face and a toned body. Angel seemed to have both. Taller than Tessa, a Terran woman who lived with his family on Mystique, their new home world, Angel’s slender frame still showed enough curves in her dark green suit to make him appreciate that he was back in his body, even if he was damaged.

  Eight years ago, while astral projecting, Kirek had been caught in a wormhole explosion. His mind had been blasted out the far end of the wormhole, all the way into the Zin Galaxy. It had taken him seven years to return—eight, if he counted the reintegration of his mind with the body machines had meticulously kept alive, thanks to huge efforts from family and friends.

  After his reintegration, doctors had warned repeatedly that his psi remained fragile and told him that his body couldn’t handle astral extension again anytime soon without risking his life. So his injured psi, which had once been one of the most powerful in the Federation, had been reduced to what others considered a normal level. While he still had the unique ability to prevent scans of his body from registering on machines, he hadn’t been able to hide from Angel, and he didn’t know why. She shouldn’t have known he was there, waiting for her or another scavenger ship to transport him to Dakmar undercover.

  Her finding him necessitated a change in plans. During Kirek’s astral extension into the Andromeda Galaxy, he’d found the Zin home world, the beings who had tried to wipe out the Federation with a virus. With his powerful psi, Kirek had learned the Zin still planned to invade. Unfortunately, his psi touch had made the Zin aware of his presence. So he’d stayed away from Mystique and those who could help him in fear that the Zin would find him.

  But the Zin were probably now hunting him through other races. His cover was blown. In order to continue his mission, he needed to meet his contact on Dakmar and disappear again.

  Now, Angel had found him. Without his extraordinary powers, he had to rely on his eyes and his ears and his intellect to convince her to give him a ride.

  What he’d seen so far of Captain Angel Taylor pleased him. He liked her risk-taking attitude mixed with a cautious practicality. He liked that after she’d realized she’d touched a nerve, she’d admitted her threat to sell him had been a bluff. He liked her smarts. He most decidedly liked her intelligent green eyes that set off her straight nose and full lips to perfection. She also attracted him, which was not unusual for a man who hadn’t had sex in almost a decade.

  “I don’t know who is after me.” He told her the truth.

  “Captain, the other ship is closing,” her officer informed her.

  Angel eyed Kirek warily. “Start walking. Why do they want you? Why are you valuable?”

  “Good questions. I can only guess at the answers.” Since Kirek could no longer steal into Dakmar without her help, he assessed his options with hyperdrive efficiency. He could make up a cover on the spot, but any decent computer would poke credibility holes in his story, and if she caught him in a lie, it would be difficult to regain her trust. He could refuse to speak but sensed that wouldn’t win him her assistance, either. Besides, he did require help. It would be useful to have an ally on Dakmar. The moon housed the thickest base of thieves, murderers, traders, and blackmailers this side of the galaxy, intermixed with legitimate businesses. As a salvage captain, Angel likely knew her way around and could introduce him to the right beings, putting him on a fast warp in the right direction—if he could gain her cooperation.

  So the truth not only might work best, the truth worked with his morals. Kirek didn’t like lying. Although, for the greater good, he could override his inbred Rystani morality, but he preferred to operate on the sunny side of the truth.

  “What’s your best guess?” she asked.

  He scratched his cheek and gazed over his shoulder at her but kept his feet
moving. “You won’t believe me.”

  “Start talking.” Gesturing with the blaster toward the shuttle bay, she scowled as if expecting lies.

  He could probably take away her weapon before she fired a shot, but he wouldn’t risk losing whatever goodwill she might have. But his story was long and complex and the best place to start was at the beginning.

  “Twenty-eight years ago,” he began, speaking as if telling a story to a favorite child as he headed toward the shuttle bay, “I was born in hyperspace.”

  “Stars,” she swore without rancor. “I’m beyond the age of fairy tales. Birth in hyperspace is impossible.”

  “There’s no point telling you all my secrets,” he teased, “if you refuse to keep an open mind.”

  “Fine.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone. “You were born in hyperspace. Do you think we could skip to the present?”

  He refused to let her skepticism throw him. Instead, he enjoyed pushing her over the edge of incredulity. “When I was four, I traveled to a planet halfway to the galaxy’s rim, and the Kwadii proclaimed me their Oracle.”

  “Right.” She snorted, and he turned to catch her rolling her eyes in a Terran gesture so like Tessa’s he had to restrain a chuckle. “Forgive me if I don’t think you look holy.” She eyed him with wary cynicism. “Perhaps you’ve spent too much alone-time on this abandoned ship.”

  “Actually, I’m in a mood to enjoy the right kind of company,” he flirted back. “You arrived right on time. It’s only been a few days since I put out word about the Vogan ship.”

  “You set me up? You were expecting me?”

  “You or another salvage ship. I needed a ride to Dakmar.”

  “Undercover?” she guessed.