"So they live in fear of the converts?" she asked, squinting into the distance. So little was known about Ambrax. She'd pretended she knew the nature of the mysterious transformation but now, seeing what the native race had done to keep the newcomers at bay, she began to doubt she'd ever recover Troy alive.
"Not fear. It's more like reverence, tempered with extreme caution. The only restriction they impose on the converts is they cannot enter the Citadel."
Lea turned and followed Damen's gaze toward the imposing structure that broke the monotony of the barren landscape to the east of the landing field. The seat of Braxan government, the birthplace of its laws, sciences, medicine and spiritual disciplines, such as they were, rose like a bronzed mountain casting a bulky shadow across their ship.
Lea craned her neck back to see the upper levels and delicate spires that rose thousands of meters into the lavender-blue sky. For a moment, she forgot her apprehension. Barbarians could not have fashioned this.
In contrast to the frisson of fear caused by the desolation of the protected zone, a faint hope formed in Lea's mind. If there was a bastion of civilized thought on this world, why couldn't there be a chance that she'd find her brother-in-law there, working to find a cure for Darya rather than rutting in some dark jungle crevasse, stripped of his humanity and perhaps even lacking the memory of the woman he loved enough to risk so much for?
The illusion of tranquility shattered too quickly when a security transport roared out of the lowest tier of the Citadel and ground to a halt next to the skimmer, its oversized engine's idling in the still morning air. Armed Braxans spilled out of the multi-wheeled vehicle--a dozen of them, all male and uniformed in a fashion reminiscent of ancient Romans, with glittering plate mail, shin guards and angular helmets that extended in the back to cover their necks.
The team surrounded them and every pair of eyes rested on Lea first, as though she might be more of a threat than Damen who wore a dagger sheathed on each hip and a blast rifle in a harness across his broad back.
One of the guards, who appeared to be the nominal leader, stepped up to Damen and offered a quick, Braxan salute. "Welcome to the Citadel. You are Captain Cantor?"
Lea shot him a sidelong glance which he ignored. No talking, he'd warned her repeatedly before landing.
"I am. Did you receive my request along with my landing permit?"
"Yes. We're told you seek one of the converts."
Damen nodded. "As well as a healer willing to accompany me off world. I'm prepared to pay for the services of your most skilled."
The request was met with supreme neutrality. "Such arrangements can be discussed in the medical quarter. Join us."
The swift ride from the landing field to the gates of the Citadel passed in tense silence. Squeezed between Damen and one of the Braxans, Lea battled to keep her eyes down and her mouth shut. A million questions burned her tongue. Would they have a record of Troy's landing permit? Would the Company skimmer she'd acquired for him still be here somewhere? If they managed to find him, could the transformation be reversed?
The change in atmosphere struck Lea the moment the transport glided into the lowest level of the city. Here the air was cool and clean, unlike the dead, stale atmosphere of the landing field. Bright lights, cultivated decorative plants and a steady procession of neatly attired, content looking Braxan citizens, both male and female, fed the illusion of civilized safety. The attitude of the guards changed as well. The set of their armored muscles relaxed and one of them dared a brief, furtive smile at her.
She began to breathe easier herself, at least until the transport stopped and the guards herded them out and toward a section of the medical quarter marked "Quarantine."
"How long are they going to keep us here?" She chanced a whisper to Damen who remained utterly expressionless even when a team of white suited medics replaced the centurion guards and began to strip away their clothing.
"They take body scans and do DNA coding," he explained, his jaw tight. Her question had drawn a quick glance from one of the medics but no comment while they ran portable scanners over her from head to toe and took quick, painless samples of blood, skin and saliva. "This is so they can identify us again, should we convert."
That gave her hope. Maybe it would be possible to locate Troy if they'd subjected him to the same scrutiny when he arrived.
Once they'd dressed again, a man in a crisp, blue uniform arrived and bowed to Damen. "Captain Cantor, welcome to Ambrax. I'm Vendron, Security Liaison. I've been told this is your second visit here, is that correct?"
"Yes, it is." Damen's voice took on an authoritative quality that caused an immediate reaction in Lea. Even when he wasn't speaking to her, that gravelly voice rode over her nerve endings. Despite a slight tremor, though, she managed to wait patiently while the men exchanged pleasantries.
Lea thought she'd die before Vendron finally stopped schmoozing and cut to the important issues. "The images you transmitted to our security database match those of a traveler who passed through the Citadel several months ago," he said.
Lea's heart leapt into her throat. "Do you know where he is now?" The question spilled out before she could stop it and the security liaison turned a startled glance in her direction, though he addressed Damen with his reply.
"This man converted shortly after his arrival. We have no record of his death thus far. Therefore he likely still resides in the jungle to the south. That's where most of the newer converts begin their journey."
Damen leveled a quick, disapproving glance at Lea but didn't acknowledge her slip verbally. "Thank you. After I contract with a healer, I'd like to search for him, if possible."
"You are free to look anywhere you wish. I trust you've familiarized yourself with our laws and customs regarding the converts?" The tone of Vendron's question and the quick flick of his gaze in Lea's direction told her the question held hidden meaning. She dropped her gaze and did her best to make herself invisible, all the while cursing Ambrax and its barbaric views on equality of the sexes. She'd have been grilling Vendron now and demanding to see records of all of Troy's activities from the moment he set foot on the planet.
"I'm versed, thank you. Will we require an escort to the healer's enclave?"
"No. Merely follow the lighted signs on level two. Accommodations have been prepared for you in the visitors' quarter and will be at your disposal for as long as you wish to say." Vendron bowed again. "If there is anything you need, please ask and we will do our best to see to your needs."
"Thank you, Vendron, I appreciate your generosity."
With a curt nod, the security liaison left them alone in the quarantine room.
Damen swung a disapproving gaze at Lea as soon as the door closed. "Any more outbursts like that could get us into trouble."
She rested her hands on her hips, daring to defy him. "I'm not used to being so quiet. And you're not asking enough questions. They'll never believe you're here to find Troy if you don't seem at all anxious to find him."
Damen stepped close and Lea's heart stuttered. "You're paying me to lead this expedition because legally, on Ambrax, you can't. You have to let me handle things the way the Braxans expect them to be handled. We have to be careful."
"Of what? So this place isn't any different than my father's board room. I'm just here for decoration. The only difference is, no one's tried to screw me yet."
Damen turned his back on her and headed for the door. "Don't worry, Cherry. They will."
* * * *
Just as Damen expected, Lea garnered a number of curious glances while they strolled through the Citadel's second level toward the medical enclave where the higher level healers lived and worked. Her dark hair and deep blue eyes made her an anomaly among the blond, pale-eyed Braxan women and sooner or later, the male citizens would begin to make offers for her. To keep the bravest from challenging him for her ownership, he'd have to accept at least one and that prospect bothered him more than he cared to admit.
&
nbsp; He tamped down the possessive thoughts and forced himself to concentrate on their task. A man named Sintar who identified himself as an apprentice healer, met them in the common area of the enclave and after listening to Damen's request, scurried off to fetch one of the master healers who might be interested in accompanying the visitors off world.
Shortly, Sintar returned with another man on his heels whom he introduced as Mojar. Taller, older and more muscular than Sintar, Mojar looked less than pleased by this interruption to his daily activities.
"Healer Mojar, I present Captain Cantor of Spartha." Sintar sketched the customary swift Braxan bow and stepped back, excusing himself from the proceedings at this point.
Mojar's pale gaze skipped over Damen, dismissive almost to the point of rudeness, but his perusal lingered on Lea's curves in a way that tempted Damen's inner beast. This arrogant bastard might help them, but his price would be high judging by the covetous way he looked at her.
"I hear you seek a convert named Troy Gabriel," Mojar said, folding his large hands at his waist and leaning his upper body back.
"Yes, but more importantly, I need to find a healer willing to accompany me off world. I have a friend with Lorcan Syndrome, still in the early stages, and I've been told Braxan healers have cured it on occasion."
Mojar nodded. "Yes. Some of our newer therapies have been successful with Lorcan. Is the patient Sparthan?"
"No. She's human, female. I hope that won't be an obstacle."
"Of course not. Braxan females require medical care as well. We don't discriminate."
Damen nodded. Waves of tension rolled off Lea, though she remained gratefully silent. He wished he could excuse her and deal with Mojar in private, but he didn't dare leave her unattended. "Please, name a price for your services. I have extensive resources at my disposal."
Mojar stepped close to Damen and looked directly into his eyes for the first time. Raw contempt filled the pastel green irises. "The price I would ask is too high."
Damen had no doubt that was true, but he had to play along. He smirked. "Try me."
Mojar backed away, no more than an inch though, giving ground without surrendering. "I remember Troy Gabriel. He was desperate to find a healer who could cure Lorcan. So desperate in fact, he stole one."
"What do you--?" Lea's truncated question drew an accusatory glare from Mojar and Damen silenced her with a sharp glance.
"What do you mean he stole a healer?"
Mojar rolled his eyes upward as if searching for something. "I believe you might call it kidnapping. We have no such term. Troy Gabriel committed a theft. He took a female apprentice from the Citadel and brought her into the jungle. Neither has been seen since. Because of his crime no one here will be convinced to leave with you."
"Why? I'm not planning to carry anyone off into the jungle."
"The healer Gabriel took was my possession. No one will defy my wish that any ally of his receive no help from us."
Damen sighed. He hadn't expected petulance. Beside him, Lea's skin gave off heat waves, and she seemed to tremble with the effort to keep herself quiet.
"What if I offered to retrieve your apprentice along with Troy?"
"I doubt you could find her. Many have come here searching for their missing loved ones. Most end up converting themselves."
"Well, I left Ambrax once. I intend to do so again. Give me a chance and if I succeed, agree to come off world with me and name a sum in Sparthan currency. My people deal in gemstones that have value across half the galaxy."
Mojar contemplated this, his expression falsely pensive. Finally, he spoke. "I'll name my price now. If you find Troy Gabriel, kill him. Then I'll accompany you off world."
* * * *
An hour later, Lea paced back and forth in the small suite of rooms that Braxan security had assigned them on the Citadel's rather small visitors' level. Forbidden worlds didn't get many tourists, so the quiet in this section of the quarter was deafening.
The accommodations were spotless, barely used and already stocked with their belongings and supplies from the skimmer, all thoroughly searched and cataloged no doubt, though every single one of Damen's weapons was accounted for. Wide windows afforded a spectacular view of the western jungle in the distance and now that night had fallen one small moon rose over the expanse of the protected zone, turning the golden sand of the wasteland to pale silver.
Despite the calm, Lea's stomach churned. "I can't believe that little bastard turned all the other healers against us just because Troy kidnapped his sex slave." She'd been ranting for a while now, letting out all the questions and snide remarks she'd had to stifle during their less than successful trip to the medical enclave. Damen sat at the small table in the main room, cleaning his daggers. He hadn't spoken at all until now.
"Here it's not a kidnapping. Troy stole Mojar's possession, a fortune, no doubt if this girl was deemed worthy enough to study medicine with him. She was probably worth a considerable amount in trade and Mojar's been left essentially destitute. He wants some revenge."
"Isn't murder a bit of an excessive punishment for theft?"
Damen shrugged. "Not in some cultures. From what I understand, the converts cannot be tried or convicted of crimes. They're completely free and not held responsible for their actions. Murder is the only way they can be punished and as a Braxan citizen, Mojar isn't allowed to kill one of them."
"But you are?"
"I don't pretend to know how all their rules work, but yes. And to be honest, I don't see this as a problem."
Lea rounded on him, ready for battle. "What? I thought you weren't a killer."
Damen met her heated gaze. "Is your sister's life worth more to you than Troy's? If he's been out there in the jungle for months, he's as good as dead anyway. No one's ever been brought back from there, so we don't even know if this transformation can be reversed."
Lea fought off a wave of nausea. Shame coursed through her body at the realization that she'd gladly trade Troy's life for the slightest opportunity to save Darya. He'd been more than willing to die for her, so why was it such a hard pill to swallow that it might be his death that brought them closer to a cure? "Why can't we bribe one of the other healers? Everyone has a price and I've got plenty of the 'resources' you promised Mojar."
"I doubt it would work. Mojar may be broke, but he seems to have a lot of influence as one of their top healers. If the others are loyal to him, we won't stand a chance."
"We have to try."
"Do you want to skulk around the medical enclave looking for a disgruntled healer who's willing to betray Mojar, or do you want to find your brother-in-law and get the hell out of here with someone who might actually be able to save your sister's life?"
Damn him again. Lea could have debated the issue all night, but the door chime interrupted any further comments on her part. While Damen rose to answer the door, she retreated farther into the suite, her mind whirling around how she would ever look Darya in the eye if she had to sacrifice Troy's life on her behalf.
She bit her lower lip to help keep silent when Mojar's unctuous voice floated through the room.
"I've come to see if you have decided to accept the terms of my offer," the healer said. He spoke to Damen, but his gaze fell on Lea and narrowed as if he expected her to answer for her master. He was a slick operator and to be honest, she wasn't sure she wanted to place Darya's precarious health in his hands. Mojar would use them; that was clear. The question at hand was, could they manipulate him to get what they needed while making him think they were giving him what he wanted?
Unlike Mojar, Damen didn't look at Lea. He motioned the healer to sit down. "I'm willing to negotiate."
Mojar folded himself into one of the formless chairs and placed his hands on his thighs. "I will admit I tend to let personal feelings color my judgment in matters of business. Perhaps that's a flaw of mine."
Damen remained standing, holding the position of power in the room. "Will it really please you to
see Troy dead?"
"He's your kin, correct?"
"My sister's husband," Damen responded without missing a beat.
"You both are seeking help for the same patient?"
"Yes, and I'm sure you know better than I that time is running out."
Mojar nodded. "I understand, and I'm willing to help you. I'd like to accompany you into the jungle to search for both Troy and Alor, the healer he stole."
"Fine. Will you insist that I kill him if we find him?"
Mojar considered. Lea stared at his chest, wishing she could inflict pain on the pompous man with a look. "No. At this point he has no recollection of his crime anyway. You do realize, he's no longer the man you remember."
"That doesn't make me any more willing to end his life."
"Perhaps not, but it means you may be left with no choice. Many of the converts can be violent and unpredictable when confronted. That's why my people don't interact with them once they leave the Citadel."
"I'll take my chances."
Mojar rose then, a satisfied glint in his eye. "Good. I must admit, Captain, your arrival here presents an opportunity for me. My people don't venture into the jungle. I look forward to the chance to retrieve my property, but should that endeavor fail, you may compensate me for my services with this." He held out his hand to Lea who flinched when his cold fingers brushed her skin. "I ask that you turn your female over to me if we are unable to retrieve Alor."
Lea sought Damen's gaze. She didn't care if Mojar caught the slight nod she gave. Damen's throat worked as though he were swallowing something putrid, but he managed a tight smile. "Of course."
Forbidden World: Ambrax Page 4