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  “It’s changing course. Chaff is working,” Benet reported. “Missile’s going to miss. But not by much.”

  An explosion rocked them. The backlash buffeted them. But shields held. Pressure and life support held. Slowly Derrek began to breathe again.

  That had been close. Way too close. “Any damage?”

  “Hull paint took a burn.”

  Derrek could live with that.

  “Incoming. Two more missiles on the way.”

  “Damn.” Derrek stared at his monitor. They may have knocked off the power station, but the Raman ship had more flipping fire power than a First on a rampage of viciousness. And he had no more chaff. Which left him the option of evasive maneuvers, which wouldn’t be good enough. “Come about. Hard to port.”

  Benet’s voice edged with a tight worry. “Looks like we pissed them off. More ships blowing up our tail.”

  “Hail them,” Derrek ordered, greedy to know who else was out here.

  Benet frowned but sent out a signal, then his face broke into a sheepish smile. “Sir, they’re ours. President Laurie sent them to cover us.”

  Ah, so Laurie wanted to take credit for their engagement. Not a bad move on his part, hanging back, assessing the enemy, waiting to see if Derrek could handle himself without putting government men and property at risk. Now Laurie could come in and mop up, swipe the glory.

  The government ships fired counter missiles at the incoming projectiles. For a moment the heavens erupted in sparks of red and orange. Auto filters shielded their eyes. The shields held, but the winged ship retreated.

  Derrek’s gaze focused across the bridge to meet Azsla’s, but he had difficulty reading her expression. She looked full of sorrow, scared, terrified, and proud—all at the same time. He again suddenly ached to hold her, to reassure her that she and her crew were safe.

  She could see that for herself, of course. But he wanted an excuse, any excuse to take her into his arms. He didn’t understand it. He recalled his vow to see Doctor Falcon and moved it up on his to-do list. He’d settle everyone, then pay the doctor a visit.

  Meanwhile, he turned to his crew. “You did good, men. Let’s bring her home.”

  “What about the winged ship?” Sauren asked.

  Derrek unwebbed from his command seat. “We’ll leave the mop-up to Laurie’s boys.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Sauren reported.

  Derrek turned to the forward screen. A hyperspace portal opened, and the Raman winged ship shot through. Escaped. Although Derrek didn’t know for certain which ship Tomar had commanded, he suspected a dangerous enemy had just escaped. But as the portal closed, he knew there was nothing more he could do to stop the man from returning to Rama and reporting on what he’d learned.

  And he’d learned too much. He’d learned that Zor had spaceships, weapons, and chaff. He’d learned they’d vigorously defend themselves. He’d seen the government fleet. While Derrek hoped those facts would deter the Ramans . . . he knew better. Those relentless bastards would never give up.

  However, now he could go to Azsla. “I expect you still want to see your crew?”

  “Yes, please.” She tilted her head up to look at him. Her eyes sparkled with life. “Thank you. For helping us.”

  “I would have done the same for anyone,” he growled. And he would have. Although he might not have been as pleased by his success if she’d been anyone else. And he wasn’t sure why.

  6

  THE DAY HAD taken a good turn for Azsla. Derrek’s command of his crew had shocked and pleased her. There had been no question about the chain of command. His disciplined men obeyed as efficiently as if they’d been under the direction of a First’s Quait. But they’d obeyed out of willingness to help, belief in a common mission, not fear.

  Because there was no fear, his men had clearly felt free to contribute. She’d felt free to speak up. That freedom had won the day. Azsla hadn’t expected to see such purposefulness. Such pride. Such heroics. Kali had given his life for her. Derrek and his crew had been ready to do the same. Their courage humbled her. Saddened her.

  These slaves, former slaves, she corrected herself, had conducted themselves like a unit—without giving up their freedom. She’d actually felt part of it. Like part of them. They’d included her without hesitation. Bet their lives on her information. The respect they’d given her had been mutual—unlike her own people.

  She hadn’t appreciated that at the first sign of trouble, the loss of her ship, the Firsts had obviously altered the original plan. They weren’t supposed to recapture her crew until after they’d reached Zor. But after her ship’s calamity, before they’d even reached the portal, the Firsts changed the scheme—as if discounting her efforts, as if they no longer believed in her ability to accomplish her mission.

  However, that didn’t mean tranqed Firsts still wouldn’t be waiting on Zor to send home her crew. And she’d be damned if she’d let that happen. She wasn’t switching sides. She was here to do her duty. She fully intended to infiltrate the Zoran military to learn what weapons they could wield against Rama . . . however, she saw no reason to allow the Corps to execute her crew—just to make a political statement.

  Azsla’s steps felt light as she accompanied Derrek to the doctor’s bay where Derrek assured her Falcon tended her crew. The medical bay made use of every available inch of space. Rak, Jadlan, and Micoo lay webbed into beds set against walls and floors. Instruments hung from the ceiling and were connected by wires to cuffs attached to her crew’s wrists.

  Dr. Falcon was a frail man with a delicate bone structure. Tall, lean, and gray-haired, he greeted Azsla and Derrek with a warm smile. “Come in. My patients could use a visit.”

  Azsla peered at their pale faces, closed eyes, and lack of consciousness and had the sudden urge to cuddle Micoo, who looked so young and tiny, hug Jadlan, and smooth back a lock of Rak’s hair. They had been through a lot together. They deserved to wake up, go on with their lives. “Shouldn’t they be awake by now?”

  “Oh, yes. They’ve awakened, eaten, and gone back to sleep.” So they weren’t unconscious? Azsla thought. Great. “I was hoping your voice might calm them. They were tossing and turning so much I had to web them in to keep them from pulling off their medical cuffs.”

  As if to emphasize his words, Rak flailed, throwing out a skinny arm. His monitor beeped, and he muttered in his sleep. His distress seemed to set off Jadlan, who tried to roll over, and Micoo, who started twitching.

  Azsla placed a hand on Micoo’s shoulder and felt bone bite into her palm. She’d always known that physically he was the weakest, but until she touched him she hadn’t realized that his skin stretched over bone, with no subcutaneous fat. “Easy. You’re safe. We’re all safe. Soon we’ll be on Zor where we’ll be free.” And she would see to it that he had food and salt. She didn’t know how, didn’t know when these men had become her responsibility—although perhaps it had been when Kali had died in her place—but she would ensure their safety. Somehow. Some way.

  “Captain,” Sauren called to Derrek over his wrist com. “Sorry to bother you, but the government command ship is demanding we dock up. Now.”

  “Now? What’s so important it can’t wait until we land?” Derrek asked, his brows knitting.

  “They won’t say.”

  Derrek remained calm, but his eyes darkened. “I don’t like this. Patch me through to President Laurie.”

  “I already tried. He’s not answering his link.”

  “Let’s just ignore the—”

  Sauren swore. “By all that’s holy. I don’t believe it.”

  “What?” Derrek punched a monitor to call up a view of the main screen on the bridge.

  Azsla peered at it, puzzled by the streak of light across their bow. Her voice rose in confusion. “Did the Zoran government just fi
re on us?”

  “Affirmative. It’s a warning shot,” Sauren verified, then his tone turned hard with sarcasm. “They seem damn serious about us adhering to their friendly request to come aboard.”

  “We can outrun them, can’t we?” Derrek asked. Azsla thought it interesting that the man seemed to consider all options before making his decision. Where most men considered retreat a last resort, to Derrek it appeared merely another tactic.

  She’d never known a man like him. Firsts ruled because of biological strength and their powers of Quait. But on Zor other character traits came into play. She could almost see a checklist of options in Derrek’s mind, and as he considered them, he crossed off the unacceptable risks, checked down the possibilities that best served his needs.

  He was careful, yet unafraid. Confident, without the arrogance that usually piggy-backed a superior intellect. And he ruled by respect. Fear was not his thing, and clearly his crew adored him—even enough to tease him. She couldn’t help liking him, respecting him, too.

  “Yeah, but what good would running do, boss man? There’ll just be more government issue guys waiting for us at the spaceport.”

  “It will buy us some time. Do it.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Something tells me President Laurie wants our cargo, and I’m not talking about the salt.”

  “He wants us?” Azsla guessed. “But why?”

  “My guess is publicity. He wants to show the entire Zoran world that he helped slaves escape the Raman Firsts. It will up his popularity and be a show of strength.”

  “But he didn’t do anything.”

  “In politics facts don’t count. Appearance is what matters. If he can get the press to say he saved you and your crew, everyone will take the news as truth.”

  “And this system of government is better than what we had on Rama?” she asked.

  “Any system, even an inefficient one, is better than a dictatorship.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I’m not saying there aren’t flaws. Right now, it’s the best government credit can buy.”

  “Huh?” She didn’t understand, but heard his cynical tone. And that surprised her. She wasn’t accustomed to anyone openly voicing discontent with the powers that be. Yet another freedom she couldn’t help but approve of.

  “People with credit . . . can buy influence.” He winked at her as if they shared an inside joke.

  Interesting. Power here was based on economics—not the power of Quait. Clearly, he was a man who didn’t even bother trying to hide his connections to power. She rubbed her brow, thinking hard. “What are the consequences for thumbing your nose at the president?”

  Beta Five shuddered. Derrek called the bridge through his link. “Status.”

  “Laurie’s boys have caught us in some kind of clutch beam. Heard about it. Guess it works better than predicted,” Sauren said.

  “Can we break free?”

  “Depends on how much hull damage you want to sustain.” Sauren’s voice turned wry. “You might want to remember we’re supposed to be on the same side.”

  “Tell that to the pres.”

  “He’s your friend, you tell him. You’re having cocktails with the great one at nine.”

  Derrek winced, turned on a memo recorder, and spoke softly. “Remind Taylo to work on partial shielding. Also clutch beam. Duplicate it and counter it.”

  “Captain, what do you want me to do?” Sauren asked.

  “Let them dock. But arm all hands.”

  “Got it.”

  Azsla cocked her head. “Do you shoot each other on Zor?”

  He laughed, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Sometimes. Not often. Mostly we get along. However, I’ve learned to be careful. Especially when the government makes demands.”

  Once again he impressed her. Although his answer had been brief, he clearly had contingency plans. Backup plans. For any kind of emergency. While she admired his thoroughness, she had to wonder what kind of scars had made him so careful. Why he felt safest constructing his life around plans.

  A more fly-by-the-seat-of-her-flight-suit person, she sort of made up her plan as she went along. Circumstances always changed. For example, she could have planned for years and would never have thought she’d actually end up wanting to save her crew of slaves. Not when saving them went against all her beliefs.

  But during her life’s journey, as she’d learned to suppress her own Quait, she must have begun to identify with the slaves on a level she hadn’t recognized. And hopefully, if she came up with the right scheme, no one would ever know the part she’d played in saving her crew’s lives. If the Ramans invaded Zor, maybe she could keep her crew safe by sending them to work in Derrek’s asteroid mines.

  Azsla stopped by each member of her crew. She squeezed Jadlan’s hand, brushed back a lock of hair from Micoo’s forehead, patted Rak’s shoulder. Of the three of them, Jadlan was the only one strong enough to speak. He opened his eyes and drilled her with a hard stare. “Kali?”

  “I’m sorry. He didn’t make it.”

  Each of them grieved in his own way. Jadlan closed his pain-filled eyes. Micoo let out a sob. Rak turned his head to the wall.

  They’d all come to care for Kali. Later she’d tell them of his bravery, but now was not the time.

  She’d expected Derrek to leave her side. He didn’t. She expected him to deal with his emergency. Instead, he stopped his own crewman and made certain he had shoved a blaster into his belt and sheathed a blade down his boot.

  His demeanor changed, sharpened. As if every cell in him had charged for action, he tensed, watching her every move . . . almost as if he feared she was about to lead Laurie’s men past his defenses. Not that she could or would—even if she wanted to. But he wore that hostile look again . . . clearly suspicious. Wary.

  And all hard angles. His cheekbones seemed sharp enough to cut glass. His mouth hardened into a tight grimace. A muscle in his jaw throbbed. All his plans didn’t seem to relax him. Tense but confident, he radiated menace from his clenched fists to the rough, tough expression in his eyes to his vigilant, warrior-like stance.

  When Micoo opened unfocused eyes, Derrek stepped between them as if she needed protecting. Weird. If the doctor’s bay had seemed small before, it was positively tiny now. Derrek filled it with his hostility, and Micoo flinched.

  Azsla stepped around Derrek. “Don’t mind him, Micoo. He may look dangerous, but he’s on our side. He’s already risked his life to save us. For the moment we’re safe. We’ll soon be free on Zor.” She tucked a sipping straw into his mouth, and he drew weakly, then closed his eyes once more.

  She pivoted to face Derrek. “You didn’t need to scare him.”

  “I didn’t say a word,” he protested.

  “You didn’t have to.” Dr. Falcon eyed Derrek the way physicians did, taking in his swarthy coloring, yet surprising Azsla that he’d taken her side. “What’s up with you? You’re as edgy as one of Kendor’s glaciers about to calve.”

  “Yeah.” The last thing she expected was for Derrek to admit to unease . . . but he’d done exactly that. “Been meaning to talk to you about that.”

  Azsla listened to the two men speak as she smoothed the blanket over Micoo, shocked that the captain had admitted that he was anything but calm. Most men considered it a sign of weakness and denied their feelings about fear—even when it was blatant. But he was very open—as if he had nothing to hide. Almost as if this state were normal. But obviously he was far from normal, or the doctor wouldn’t have brought it up.

  Doctor Falcon eyed Derrek, looking concerned. “Talk about what—”

  “Docking in two micronbits,” Sauren’s voice interrupted.

  “Understood. I’ll meet you in the cargo hold in one.” Derrek pivoted back to Doctor Fal
con. “There’s no time to go into everything right now. But I want a complete chemical and electrical analysis of those pods.”

  The ones she and her crew had arrived in? Azsla didn’t understand what was going on. Apparently, neither did the doctor. What did the pods have to do with Derrek’s unease?

  Dr. Falcon angled his chin. “What am I looking for?”

  “Anything odd.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “A chemical solution. A scent. An electromagnetic charge. Sonic resonance. Something that alters normal thinking patterns. And emotions.”

  Before the doctor could say more, an alarm sounded. Derrek’s eyes revealed a measure of relief, as if he were reluctant to say more. That he was a tad uncomfortable made her feel better, although she didn’t know why. Maybe it made him seem less perfect, and that was a good thing. She couldn’t afford to become attached. She couldn’t afford to trust.

  “Later, Doc.” Derrek sprinted from the bay, and Azsla followed, lots of questions running through her mind. Did Derrek suspect something on the pods had affected him? Had made him edgy? Was that why he’d been so curt with her when she’d first awakened?

  Did he suspect some kind of trick? But if he had, then why had he risked the lives of everyone aboard Beta Five to defend her and her crew? Or maybe the battle had had nothing to do with her. Maybe he’d relished a chance to kill Firsts. However, when that ship had exploded, she’d watched his eyes and hadn’t seen triumph—only despair.

  She didn’t get it. As she ran a step behind him, she wondered why she wanted to.

  DERREK JOINED A team at the cargo bay where the Zoran military ship would dock. He placed a hand on Azsla’s arm. Toned and fit, she had lean, feminine muscles. He whispered into her ear, and her fresh scent wafted through his nostrils, drifting into his lungs, circulating through his system . . . jolting him with the realization that any future breaths that lacked her special scent would now seem empty. He tried to shake off the stupid notion that air wouldn’t be worth breathing without her scent.