Found

by Reagan Woods

  As for Vank, perhaps he didn’t know Bram lived, but something in the pirate’s demeanor told him otherwise. Part of him wanted to think on Zocan’s words, to consider why Vank would have left him in this untenable position. That was a question for another time, though. If he thought too much about what the answer meant, there was a distinct probability of him going berserk. He’d done a lot of ugly things in his life, but he’d always been a loyal friend.

  There was no doubt in his mind these pirates would try to end him if he didn’t work with them in a calm, reasoned manner. They still might. Zocan appeared feral enough to murder without conscience. Bram recognized it in the hard, flat look, the dead eyes. Often, he wondered if that was the same thing others saw when they looked at him.

  The offer of the little Earther was bitterly amusing, he decided. Doranos females would not even engage him for recreational sex, let alone take him as a long-term partner. His blood line was tainted. And, while his record as a Warrior was above reproach, there was no way he would be considered worthy enough to Claim one of the delicate Earth females. So, as tantalizing as the fantasy was, he wouldn’t foist himself on the stunning creature. Her fate was a question best left alone.

  Right now, he intended to live and that meant outwitting the hunter. Stepping into the shallow pool of light on the landing leading to the command deck, Bram stopped, his mouth falling open. There was more proprietary CORANOS military equipment than he could have imagined in this rickety old freighter. Perhaps they had a fighting chance, after all.

  “Look who’s awake,” another Lyaran male spoke from his place at one of the two consoles in the large room. This male was broader than Zocan, with shorn hair and perfect military bearing, even seated. He smirked, “I’m Lyon. It took me hours to cut your mangled body free from your ship.” Light yellow eyes slid over his newly-healed body, assessing. “You don’t look any worse for the wear.”

  Bram didn’t respond to the challenge in his tone. Instead, he chose to focus on the words themselves. “Thank you for risking your life and saving mine.” Ever the hard-headed outcast, he raised a skeptical brow at Lyon, looking around pointedly. “Though, I’m certain you pillaged quite a bit of useful tech.”

  Lyon threw back his head and laughed. “I like this one. He’s got spunk.”

  Zocan looked up from a console where he appeared to monitor for incoming traffic. “I’m so glad you approve of the help, love,” he commented dryly. Addressing Bram, he said, “I assume you’re familiar with most everything here?”

  Spying the communications array, net scanner, and three-dimensional holographic star chart, Bram nodded. “It looks like you’ve got what we need to make a good start,” he paused, thinking. “Er - running is the first part of your plan, right?”

  “Lyon has laid in a course that will take us from asteroid belt to asteroid belt for the first leg of our journey. So, yes, we’re attempting to hide as we flee,” Zocan told him. “It’s the distance between the last available shelter and our drop point that concerns us. We’ll be vulnerable for close to a week.”

  “And where is it you’re headed?” Bram wanted to know.

  Lyon and Zocan locked eyes, seeming to hold an intimate nonverbal conversation. A memory tickled at Bram, some little factoid he’d filed away from the various rumors he’d heard. Oftentimes, Lyarans mated in a triad; two males to a female. The family units, called trinepacts, were how the Lyaran people dealt with the low female birthrate.

  As he awaited an answer, he wondered if these two males already had a female and that was why they had no use for the Earther. If that was the case, who would protect her once she was healed? Would they even bother to continue the healing process? Why did he care?

  Bram’s gut twisted when he realized these pirates might ruthlessly discard her. Or worse.

  Finally, Zocan’s eyes focused on Bram again. “I think we’ll wait until we’re closer to reveal our destination. There are…other considerations,” he relayed cryptically.

  “Fair enough.” That could mean any number of things. They might foolishly plan to sell him at a slave market for all he knew. Right now, the wisest course was to take Zocan’s offer at face value. If the pirates knew he suspected their motives, there was a distinct possibility they would lock him up. Freedom, preferably the unsupervised kind, was what he needed. He knew he could arm himself given half an opportunity.

  Bram tugged his ear as he considered the situation. “And you have no wormhole generator, no way to cut through space, correct?” He questioned, knowing it wasn’t likely.

  “We salvaged yours,” Lyon piped up with a sardonic look at Zocan. “But it isn’t exactly in working order. The uncontrolled hurtling through the fabric of space didn’t leave it in pristine condition.”

  “It’s not a total loss, but close.” Zocan crossed his arms, giving Lyon a cool stare. “And there’s the matter of our shielding; ours won’t hold up under the stress of travelling through a jump.”

  “I think we can reinforce the shields,” Lyon said adamantly as he glared at Zocan.

  Bram had the feeling this wasn’t the first time the two had this argument. He didn’t want to get involved, but it would be nice to have options. His work as a navigator gave him a better than average understanding of wormhole tech and how it worked. Plus, tools were just as good as weapons in experienced hands. “I can examine the generator. Why don’t we plan for the long route and work on the generator and shields as we go?”

  “I think that’s a splendid idea,” Lyon was quick to agree, bearing his teeth at Zocan. “What do you say, darling?”

  Rather than take offense, Zocan smiled. “It’s a fair compromise.” He inclined his head toward Lyon before squaring to face Bram. “We have a few weeks to work out viable plans and determine if the generator is salvageable.” He scratched his cheek thoughtfully before folding his arms across his body. “You’ll be busy helping us and taking care of your female.”

  “Er – you can’t be serious?” Bram shot him an ironic smile, assuming Zocan was baiting him. “I hardly think adding an ailing female to this situation is conducive…”

  Lyon stood from his chair and crossed to stand next to Zocan, echoing his pose.

  It was Zocan who spoke. “It will take several days of using the healing wand and lasers to make her ready to travel.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If you won’t help her, I guess we could sell her. We didn’t get any credits for your commander.”

  Aiming a fierce frown at the pirates, Bram conceded, “Fine. I’ll see what I can do, but I don’t see how this is going to work.”

  “Once we’re safely at the drop, we’ll provide transport for you and her to the nearest trade station,” Zocan said magnanimously.

  Lyon’s expression grew clouded at his partner’s words. Though, if he didn’t like what he heard, he held his silence.

  “You’re telling me you don’t want her?” Bram tilted his head to the side, trying to discern their motives. There wasn’t a sector in the universe where an unprotected female would be safe from pirates like these. Something bizarre was afoot. “Why?”

  Zocan’s lips pursed. “Your Commander Vank kidnapped the female member of our crew.”

  Wincing, Bram’s stomach dropped. That didn’t bode well for a pleasant working relationship with these pirates. “Your mate?”

  “No.” Lyon answered decisively. “We respected - er - respect Lara, though. She wouldn’t approve selling this one. I’m told we can’t keep her, and she can’t stay in stasis indefinitely,” he finished Zocan’s thought.

  Bram didn’t believe that for a moment. More likely, they were counting on him to do the painstaking work of healing and then they would swoop in and steal the female. Whatever. Argument was moot at this point, they had no idea if she would survive the wake-up process.

  Chapter Three

  Cold like nothing Lacy had ever felt blanketed her. Eyes sealed shut, she tried to move, to take a deep breath. Ohhhh, man, that was a mist
ake. Pain lanced through her bones, her lungs, her head. God. Who was moaning? Was that her?

  Her stomach retched, expelling something thick and goopy from her nose and mouth. It was burning hot against her icy skin. Was it blood? The pounding in her head intensified until she couldn’t form logical thoughts. It was like her worst migraine times a thousand. Hacking coughs wracked her body in wet sobs harsh as the cry of a dying bullfrog.

  “Owww!” Scalding hands gripped her upper arms, forcing her flailing body over so she lay on her side. The surface beneath her was unforgiving and cold.

  Slowly, agonizingly slowly, her coughing subsided. Her headache began to ease slightly, and she took a steadying breath. Maybe she would live.

  A scratchy cloth wiped over her eyes, taking some of the viscous weight with it. Next, it dipped into her ears, and she flinched at the cadence of the guttural alien language.

  Dammit. She had no idea what the alien was saying, but one thing was crystal clear; she hadn’t escaped the bastards. That sucked.

  A spotty memory surfaced of a blurry-featured alien – one of the pale ones – coming to her room at the prison camp with reassignment papers. Next thing she knew, she was a human piñata. So, what fresh hell was this?

  She gingerly opened her eyes to glare at the broad torso of the man. His black tactical suit stretched tight over an abdomen rippling with powerful muscles. Gaze sliding up, she saw intense pink eyes set in a milky white face. Though he spoke in the harsh syllables of Corian Standard and was built like a tank, he was Doranos. Like the alien in her flashback. Great.

  He draped a foil-like blanket over her shivering skin before proceeding to swipe cold goo off her face and neck. Protecting her modesty, he uncovered a limb, efficiently wiping her wet skin clean, before covering her again and moving on. All the while, he droned on.

  “I d-d-don’t understand,” she managed through chattering teeth. She spoke English, not bothering with the Doranese she’d learned in the prison camp on Earth. The aliens, the CORANOS, as they referred to themselves, all spoke most common Earth languages. They were arrogant, though, and insisted people from Earth be ‘reeducated’ in CORANOS languages and customs.

  When the CORANOS Galactic Alliance, CGA for short, came knocking on Earth’s door, they weren’t dainty and polite about it. They brought a force of mythical proportions and subdued the whole planet in a matter of hours. Needless to say, she wasn’t thrilled to find herself still in their clutches.

  A deep frown wrinkled his heavy brow and he paused his ministrations. She’d never seen such a masculine looking Doranos. The ones running the prison were almost pretty with long, straight noses and high foreheads. “What no understand?” His English was heavily accented.

  “A-a-a-anything y-you’re saying.” The blanket was helping, but she was still so, so cold.

  “My name Bram.” He put a meaty hand to the center of his chest. “I… work for Commander Vank of Horizon.”

  “I know who you are,” Lacy told him, clenching her jaw so her teeth wouldn’t clatter together.

  He was one of the trackers, the aliens that chased and imprisoned humans. Months ago, she’d gawked along with everyone else, pressing as close to the energy shields surrounding the camp as she dared, as he and his team brought in the last free people. His face set in a scowl, Bram had frightened everyone when he bodily hauled in those resistant men and women. To say he’d been savagely efficient was an understatement. Rumor was, nearly every member of the group needed medical intervention after spending time with his team.

  She struggled to raise her head. That small effort cost too much energy. Her skull thunked against the meatal table. “W-Where are we?”

  He growled, pink eyes narrowing, but his voice was mild. “Relax. You had accident.” Resuming his methodical cleaning of her skin, he seemed content to work silently.

  Lacy shut her eyes, exhausted as the rough cloth trailed over her skin, chafing warmth into her sore limbs. She remembered pieces of her ‘accident’, as he put it. One of his ilk had tried to kill her. It was that simple. “When will you take me back to camp?”

  “Not go back.” The tightness that entered his tone had her gut clenching. “On ship. In space.”

  She shot him a dark look, but he avoided her gaze, lips compressed as he tended her. “What do you mean? Are you working with the one who stole me, then?”

  Bram pulled away with a frown, clearly puzzling out her words. Then, he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “No. Went far. Had accident. Pirates find us.” He paused, his square jaw shifting from side to side as if he chewed his thought before spitting out the words. “We prisoners.”

  Both. If he could be believed, he was a prisoner, too. “Shit.”

  Face grave, he nodded sharply. “Yes.” He sucked in a breath through his nostrils, exhaling slowly before he continued, “You hurt. Bad. Too bad fix.”

  Lacy didn’t feel well. In fact, the longer she was awake, the more she wished she wasn’t. Her head pounded, and every molecule in her body ached. “Is this permanent, then?” Weak and sluggish, she didn’t know what she would do if this was as good as she would ever feel again. The idea terrified her.

  He bent low, hovering just over her face. She wanted to cringe back, but there was no place to go. Warm breath fanned over her ear as he whispered, “I heal. We get away, but must obey.”

  Turning her pounding head so they were eye-to-eye, she imitated his quiet tone. “Where will we go?”

  Pointing a finger at his chest, he whispered, “Plan.” His pink eyes bored into hers, full of emotions she couldn’t decipher. A warm, callused hand cupped her cheek. “Trust.”

  “Trusting one of your kind is what got me here,” her words were direct. She didn’t have the oomph to care that she was vulnerable if he chose to take exception.

  His hand tightened slightly on her face. “Won’t survive no do what say.”

  “Why? Will you kill me?” It wouldn’t surprise her a bit. The white aliens were big on obedience. She fought to keep her eyes open as a wave of fatigue dragged her down.

  “No kill females,” he spat.

  Determined to fight the rising darkness behind her eyes, she asked, “What do you get out of it?”

  He didn’t answer her question, concern flashed across his broad face. “Tired. Sleep.” As she slid into oblivion, Lacy could have sworn firm lips pressed against her forehead.

  Chapter Four

  Bram took care of the Earther since the other males were disinclined. He wished he had more knowledge of her language, but he hadn’t interacted much with Earthers, just tracked them with his team. Calyx, Silex and Domik were fluent in many Earth languages, and they, along with Vank, were the direct retrievers, so he hadn’t wasted his time going beyond the basics. Now, he wished he had studied harder. He understood some of her words and her tone, but he couldn’t structure appropriate responses.

  The female slipped in and out of consciousness, mostly unaware as she alternated between pained moaning and harsh breathing. Three times a day he ran the healing wand over her ravaged body and forced nutrient broth down her throat. At night, he bunked on the hard floor of the med bay. By day, he planned and prepared.

  Zocan gave him free run of the ship for the delicate business of fixing the generator. That added some weight to their claim that they intended to set him free. One never knew the true motives of pirates, though. If they were merely lulling him into a false sense of security, Bram was ready for that, too. He’d been amassing sharp instruments and tools that could easily be modified into weapons.

  Insurance in this loaded situation was hard to come by, but he always believed necessity spurred invention. Right now, he was insuring the hell out of everything he touched, throwing himself into the tedious work like a male possessed. He had the makings of a truly fine assault at his fingertips. If he didn’t have to use his surprises to take control of this ship, he might just have enough firepower to slow the assassin.

  Lyon a
nd Zocan didn’t interrupt beyond asking for a progress report each evening. The generator wasn’t nearly as hopeless as he feared; however, several key pieces were severely damaged. He managed to fix it, despite the many problems. Their biggest hurdle was that the Lyaran ship had nothing he could scavenge to build an appropriate interface to log in new coordinates. So, very soon, they would have a working wormhole generator, but nothing to command it.

  It was late in the evening on the fourth day when his patient began to surface. Her auburn hair, a color unique to her home planet, shone vibrantly under the cold lights of the med bay. Bram had spent considerable time cleansing the dark strands, admiring the firing of copper and bright red highlights as he rinsed the nutrigel from her hair.

  Now, he fingered the soft waves over her scalp, smoothing them gently from her face as her eyelids, fringed in that orangey-red, fluttered. She groaned and opened eyes of clearest blue. This time, the gloss of fever was gone, but her bold gaze remained dull with pain.

  “How feel?” He asked quietly.

  She grimaced. “Like I took a ride through a blender.”

  Bram nodded, a sign of affirmation he knew from his perfunctory study of Earth culture. “Yes. Many injuries.”

  “Well, that’s a happy thought.”

  Her voice sounded choked, so he hurried to ask, “Medicine? For pain? Have some let stay awake.”

  Weakly, she nodded, “Yes, please.”

  Swiftly, he crossed to the dispensary unit and ordered up a pediatric pressure injector of pain killer. Her diminutive size made adult dosing impossible.

  “This help.” He pressed the injector to the vessel below her ear.

  After a few noisy inhalations, the lines on her face began to soften, her clenched jaw relaxed. “That’s better.” She rolled to her side, the flimsy silver emergency blanket slithering down to reveal a creamy shoulder.