by Gaja J. Kos
Whose insignia was embroidered right over the heart.
I zipped up, then pulled on the dark-gray boots. The vambraces I took my time with. The differences were nearly untraceable, but to my trained eye, it wasn’t that hard to see that all the miniature compartments harboring needles and tiny blades were gone. As was the one with the mini bomb that gave its user a seven-second window to get away from a highly disoriented enemy once it was activated. A useful little tool for close-quarter scuffles.
And, naturally, something they wouldn’t let fall into my hands.
I blew out a breath, finished with the vambraces I’d vowed to check more thoroughly later on, then turned towards my audience. “What now?”
Like before, the woman ignored me. She turned to the guards. “They’re waiting at gate seventeen.”
As soon as that last word left her mouth, my old guard buddy lassoed me with the magnetic binds. At least they weren’t given the controls to my goddamn body since the man fingered the taser strapped to his waist. A poor consolation, but still better than the alternative.
People with inferiority complexes and power did not mix well.
Left with no other choice, I followed on my own two feet. Though a part of me was entertained by the idea of having them drag me the entire fucking way, my dignity wouldn’t hear of it.
We trekked down a maze of corridors—a basic tactic to disorient me on the off chance I somehow managed to get away. Though it was nice knowing they considered me capable enough to do so, the reality of the situation was a lot grimmer. With the shackles and the implants, I was completely at SCAR Force’s mercy. Top-of-the-line cameras monitored our progress, the low, almost imperceptible whir as their bulbous eyes rotated with our movement accompanying the light fall of our footsteps.
I kept glancing around, trying to figure out where the fuck they were taking me.
Gate seventeen meant a vessel was my destination.
But what came after?
Would they transport me off the planet? Beyond the Vedrina solar system, even?
The lack of a helmet certainly fed the suspicion that I wouldn’t remain Taran-bound for long.
My stomach tightened again, but with the drugs in my veins, that was as far as my discomfort went. My mind, on the other hand, reeled from the bleak possibilities my future could entail.
Harnessing my abilities. Shit, would they scan my brain, transcribe who I was into a program they could load onto ships? Base simulators on my piloting to train the future SCAR Force generations?
Of course, once they had what they wanted, what would happen to me?
I had a feeling a clean death wasn’t in my future.
My morale dropping by the second, I lost speed. The magnetic cuffs immediately tugged on my wrists and ankles. One of the guards shot me a warning look over his shoulder. I swore and hastened my step.
We passed alongside a loading dock, then took another corridor—a not very often-used one given the layer of dust that coated the floor of the otherwise pristine building. Just when I contemplated trying something to delay the inevitable, a door opened up ahead.
Fresh air licked at my cheeks and ruffled my short auburn hair. I blinked into the brightness, then gradually homed in on the dark shape haloed by the warm daylight. A ship. A sleek vessel designed for either short-range interplanetary travel or orbiting, depending on the model. A few seconds of thorough scrutiny later, I realized this was a V-class that could be docked on the stations circling three of our four planets.
Which also meant it could connect with intergalactic and interstellar vessels.
Shit.
They really were flying me off somewhere.
The memories of the station orbiting Mes that hosted the Academy flashed through my mind. The good and the bad alike. But the string of impressions didn’t end there. It took me to Mes itself. To the operations room of the local SCAR Force building where we’d received our commands. Where we’d debriefed. Where I’d kept a neutral face even when everything inside me had screamed—
I shoved the memory away and squared my shoulders.
There was no winning with SCAR Force.
But I’d be damned if I went down as nothing more than their puppet. As long as I drew breath, I’d search for an opening to get away.
A strength I hadn’t known I still had the capacity to possess spread through me.
Let SCAR Force treat me like shit. Let them believe they’d broken me.
Death might have been the easy way out, but it wasn’t the only one.
The guards marched me towards the ship, then all but threw me on the platform. “Here’s your deserter.”
A tall man in his late thirties looked down at me, brown eyes I suspected were warm but currently held nothing but contempt locking onto mine. I let my gaze travel to his shoulder. Captain, the insignia revealed. He lifted one arm and called forth someone else from the crew with a flick of his fingers.
“Take her in,” he said over his shoulder, then walked away with the guards to sign what I suspected were release papers.
Frowning, I looked after him. He definitely wasn’t pleased to be put on prisoner asset babysitting duty. His spine stiffened as one of the guards said something I couldn’t discern, but he kept filling out the forms.
A fuckload of forms.
Once he was done, he handed the holo-tablet over, then leaned in towards one of the guards. I strained my ears to hear what they were saying when a loud, shocked voice blasted my ears.
“The fuck?”
I whirled around.
“Cairo?”
Chapter Eleven
“Knox?” I breathed, the sound barely louder than a whisper.
Surprise, almost a kind of happy relief shone in my old wingmate’s brown eyes—then disappeared between one heartbeat and the next. His roguishly handsome features lost all warmth, and the only thing that remained was low-burning revulsion.
I dropped my gaze.
Of all the shit that had happened, Knox’s reaction was actually one I deserved.
He marched up to me and placed a firm hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t help but think that he still smelled like the freedom of flight—something he’d always joked was thanks to his parents conceiving him during their stay on one of the merchant stations set up in orbit.
“Welcome aboard the Adamatine,” he said, though there was nothing welcoming about his tone. “As the operations officer, I’ll be your official SCAR Force supervisor, though make no mistake, we all can and will take on the role. Our primary stations are assigned, but most of us working the bridge rotate secondary duties depending on the demand.”
Not uncommon on a ship this size to cut down the number of people needed to man the vessel.
“You will work with the crew,” Knox carried on, “fill out any orders they give you, which includes copiloting with Captain Salvatore for the ship’s programming to study your skills.”
Copiloting?
Simulators and test runs I’d expected, but I sure as shit didn’t see Captain Stuck-Up-And-Cold allowing me to copilot…
“Every crew member has access to your nano-controls,” my former wingmate said as we boarded the ship. Several other members of the crew paused what they were doing to check out the new arrival. Their faces blurred. Only the emotions lingered. “Should you fail to comply with orders, we will make you.”
Knox shoved me up another ramp. Despite the burning anger and embarrassment alike, a part of me still acknowledged the ship’s design with begrudging respect. The vessel’s exterior was a damn decoy. Yes, the Adamatine wasn’t the L-class designed for lengthier interplanetary travel, but it was a war/stealth ship combo variety of a V-class, equipped with everything a crew would need to stay in orbit for weeks at a time. Possibly months.
Which also meant I would remain cooped up with the rest of them for a while.
I smoothed my sweaty palms down my legs.
Knox noticed the movement, his body tensing, but other
wise kept his cool. Thank fuck. If everyone aboard this ship would act all trigger happy around me, I didn’t think there would be much of my brain left for SCAR Force to pick. Then again, their clever little science division had probably already come up with a way to reconstruct a brain that had gone to mush to extract any vital info.
Someone swore from the lower level as a crate hit the ground. I glanced over my shoulder, but Knox pushed me forward, deeper into the heart of the ship.
“You’ll sleep here.” He tapped the control panel mounted on the wall.
A partition opened, revealing what could only generously be called a room. Narrow, with just a sliver of space to walk up to the bunk bed, it was clear this was designed to house any stragglers the vessel might have picked up in space. Definitely not meant to serve as private quarters.
No windows. No light save for a straight line of glow-disks running down the length of the room.
My prison cell had better amenities.
I was still scanning the tiny space when Knox said, “The facilities are down the corridor, first door to the left.”
Peeking behind his back, I made out the relevant door. Thank fuck it looked like the self-locking mechanism was installed, as was the standard with all communal facilities that were not designed to accommodate more than one person at a time. With the looks the crew were shooting me every chance they got, I didn’t trust them not to give me shit at my most vulnerable. Especially with the bloody implants around my neck and down my spine.
With zero rights and no one to file a complaint to, they could do whatever the fuck they wanted.
“When you won’t be copiloting”—Knox marched back towards the front of the ship, but veered sharply left as soon as we hit the bridge—“your station is here.”
I arched an eyebrow at the crude jump-seat and secondary radio scanner unit. I doubted it had ever seen actual use aside from mandatory checks.
“Really?” The question slipped out. As did the incredulity lining my voice.
Knox spun around, nostrils flaring. “You’re a deserter, Cairo.” He shoved aside a strand of thick, gleaming black hair that had brushed against his forehead. “You should never have even been let aboard another SCAR Force vessel, let alone given any kind of task except rotting in jail.”
It was an effort not to flinch. “Do you think I want to be here, Knox? Under the thumb of the very people I wanted to get the fuck away from?”
His fingers snapped around my upper arm. Before I could as much as struggle, Knox dragged me farther aside, to a kitchenette stashed behind some mag-secured areca plants.
“Was it me you wanted to get away from, too?” He shoved me against the wall. “You left, Cairo. We were fucking wingmates, and you fucking left.”
This time, I did flinch. I threw my head back, skull bumping against the wall, and let loose a long exhale I’d probably been holding for the past five years.
“Leaving you is the only thing I regret, Knox,” I admitted. The hardened look in his eyes didn’t abate, but I went on nonetheless. “I wanted to get to you, but you were at the Academy for fuck’s sake. It was just me, Solei, and Vespera out there with Commander Acantha. Getting away like I did when I returned to base was hard enough. If I went back to the station—”
My throat closed up. The words gone.
Something shifted within Knox, but whatever it was didn’t possess the strength to bridge the gap between us.
“Forget about the past, Cairo,” he said harshly. “And think about the shit you’re in now. Sure, we can zap you the moment you attempt anything that might endanger us, but do remember that you aren’t the only person on this ship. Now, I’m not sure if you possess the capacity to actually care about anyone but yourself, but these people, this crew—they’re my fucking family. And I’m not going to let your selfish ass threaten them.”
He stormed off, leaving me alone in the kitchenette.
So much for mending the relationship.
So much for being in charge of me, now that I thought about it.
With no clue where to go or what to do since I’d just lost my handler, I lingered in the kitchenette for a few more moments to wash away the bitter aftertaste of our confrontation. Fine, Knox could hate me all he wanted. I hated myself well enough right now, too.
Blowing out a breath, I strode outside. Three crew members lingered out front, going through the preflight checks and chatting in quiet voices I suspected would be far more boisterous if they weren’t just given a prisoner to deal with. I certainly didn’t want to rub my presence in their faces, so I walked in the other direction—past the lovely bunk I’d been assigned—towards the private quarters.
I was pretty sure somewhere, someone was monitoring my every move, so I didn’t bother sneaking around. Not that I was doing anything illegal. If I were to spend a significant amount of time on this vessel, I needed to get acquainted with it. Too many catastrophes had occurred in history purely because people were ignorant of a ship’s layout. Some thought a detailed tour equated to the mind-numbing task of reading an appliance manual, but I begged to differ.
Information mattered. Sometimes even reaffirming what you already knew made all the difference in the world.
I ventured on.
Despite the size that could be called moderate at best, the design really milked the most out of every last bit of space. The small lounge seemed particularly inviting, with mag-secured plants and a skylight that could be shut with a thick layer of nevon in case the ship ran into trouble but otherwise left open for an uninterrupted view of the universe. I walked past several closed doors which, I suspected, were the crew’s private quarters, when one of them swung open, catching me in my damn face.
I jerked back, but blood welled across my cheek anyway from the too-sharp edge that’d scraped it.
“Fuck,” I muttered and brought my hand up to wipe away the blood.
A pair of hardened brown eyes looked back at me. Captain Salvatore. I hadn’t even seen him board this level.
Tall and imposing with broad shoulders and damn legs for days, the man looked down at me. A smirk tugged on his face as he took in my bloodied state. “At least you’re entertaining.”
“At least you’re the right ass-quality for a SCAR Force capt—”
My knees gave way. Fuck. My palms hit the floor, heart hammering as my body adjusted to the sudden surge of who knew what shit had just been pumped into my body. I glared up at Salvatore, at the finger he still kept near his vambrace.
“Fuck you,” I spat.
He walked past me like I was an inconvenient puddle of filth. “I don’t fuck traitors.”
I got up on shaky feet, one hand against the wall for support, and shot daggers at the back of his blond head. He might not fuck traitors, but however long it took, this traitor would fuck him up.
Then give the entirety of the power-hungry, sadistic machine that was SCAR Force the middle fucking finger.
I made it three steps before another zap brought me down. My hip slammed against the floor, and I groaned, instinctively rolling into a fetal position. Two different chuckles came from up ahead—neither of them sounded like Salvatore or Knox.
Great, my fan club was expanding.
“Welcome to SCAR Force Delta,” a—third?—voice called out. Female.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling.
Donovan and Carrow in jail.
My beautiful stealth ship stripped apart.
Me part fucking cyborg courtesy of SCAR Force.
And stuck on a ship filled with people who seemed inclined to bully me like we were in third fucking grade.
“Get up and report, MacKennon.” This from Salvatore. His smooth tone made me clench my teeth. “Or don’t. I’m sure the crew would love to see just what we can force you to do.”
Yeah.
I pushed up to my feet.
Welcome to SCAR Force Delta.
A step. Then another.
Yay me.
; * * *
Thank you so much for reading TRINARY! The mission continues in PARALLAX.
Acknowledgments
Massive thanks to my outstanding crew:
•Lindsey R. Loucks—this ship wouldn’t be cruising through space without you. Thank you for giving it a better fate than Carrow’s rickety old-timer.
•Michelle Rascon—thank you for the polishes and upgrades that bring every mission to a higher level and every ship the kind of spark Slipstream has.
•Linda—your support coming through the comms means everything. Thank you for being with me from the start.
•Boris—my first officer, my thief, my companion. I’m lucky to fly through this life with you.
•Leeroy and Merkaba—though you have the tendency to give me some Carrow-level frights, you’re the best doggos I could ask for.
•Readers—you’re my ground control. Though you may not cruise through obstacle courses with me, it’s you who make all of this possible.
About the Author
Gaja J. Kos is a USA Today bestselling author with a mission to breathe fragments of Slavic lore onto many, many pages of fiction.
She resides in Celje, Slovenia, with her husband and two Chinese Crested dogs.
For more information visit:
gajajkos.com
Also by Gaja J. Kos
KOLOVRAT UNIVERSE
PRESENT
BLACK WEREWOLVES SERIES
Urban fantasy
Novels:
The Dark Ones
The 24hourlies
The Shift
The Ascension
Novellas:
Never Forgotten
Chased