He kicked the door open and stepped back, covering the entry with his blaster. Nothing. Rigel looked down the empty tunnel at the hatch of the other ship. More than likely her camera worked just fine. She’d see him coming. Cautiously he stepped forward. The harsh odor of gandasol wafted past, causing his gorge to rise. It wasn’t a scent one ever got used to. It took three thumps on the baffle to get the extension tunnel’s exhaust fan running to clear it.
Gods, please don’t make me blow that hatch.
He hated the thought of breaching the hull of any craft, even in the safety of the tunnel. Unexpected solar winds or ion storms could rip two tethered ships apart, and this sector of the galaxy was rife with them.
He was still ten meters away from the hatch when the door swung open.
“Come on in.” The voice crackling over the entry hatch speaker sounded timid, defeated. A trap?
His blaster held at the ready, he edged his way inside the ship, warily checking around every corner. The air was lighter, and pleasantly floral. The ship’s decor had a decidedly feminine touch.
Must have been stolen from some Prepstine Debutant or Stackturn Wife.
The woman standing in the center of the control deck with her hands raised was nothing like he’d envisioned. Young, petite, and wearing a tight-fitting jumpsuit that clung to some very alluring curves. Her head was down, submissively. Long hair, so blonde it was almost white, covered her eyes, but when she raised her head and shook back the strands, bright green orbs stared back at him.
“What do you want?” Her voice was clear, almost musical. This was certainly not the big, bad, quintsom-addicted criminal he’d expected, but he kept his gun on her. This had to be a trap of some kind. Maybe this was a hostage and not Phoebe Callista at all. Damn his malfunctioning printer, he could have used more information before coming in here.
“Are you Phoebe Callista?”
The woman nodded and again bowed her head—the lush spill of blonde curls obscuring her facial features.
It seemed incredible that this slip of a girl could have pulled off a theft, any crime really, which would put a fifty thousand-credit reward on her head. She didn’t look the type, and Rigel was pretty sure he’d encountered just about every type of criminal.
“Where are the biological specimens?”
Her head popped up, determination hardening her visage. “I didn’t take any biological specimens.”
She’s either telling the truth, or a damned good liar.
Rigel sighed. Without the full rap sheet, he didn’t even know exactly what she’d stolen. It could be anything from a subatomic particle to a Ramuligan Horned Calophant. He’d hoped she’d just hand him the merchandise. Maybe a bluff?
“You know I’ll be searching your ship.”
The woman nodded, but her eyes never left his. “You will find no stolen biological specimens on this ship.” Her gaze never wavered.
The statement, and the honesty behind her words, floored him. Rigel wanted to believe her. Her sincerity and defeated attitude made him feel like a pirate. Deep in his soul, something knotted. Should I let her go?
Realization of what he’d been tempted to do hit him like a gut-punch and new resolve flowed through him. Oh yes, this woman was dangerous. With just one look in those incredible emerald eyes, he’d almost melted.
Phoebe Callista was possibly the most dangerous criminal he’d ever faced.
Chapter 2
It hadn’t been a lie . . . exactly. Oolo and Lart were not biological specimens. They were people. People who deserved to live free, and not in the cages United Research and Technology imprisoned them in.
Phoebe paced the small cell on the bounty hunter’s starship.
Imprisoned. Damn it all.
Her gut wrenched at the unfamiliar feeling, though it was probably something she’d need to accustom herself to. She was an outlaw now.
She paced two strides then turned and retraced her steps. It was all the room the cell had. A thin, folded up cot lined one side of the small chamber, and a hinged table and seat occupied the other. The room so thin that both could not be folded down at the same time. The toilet and sink at the back of the cell could, thankfully, be closed off by an opaque screen. That room also served as a body cleansing station, though it would be far more cramped than Phoebe was used to. Privacy in the sanitary facility certainly wasn’t mandated by the Federated Prisoner Code and the screen gave her some assurance the bounty hunter had compassion and empathy for his prisoners, or at the very least some measure of propriety.
Of course, for a spacer, that wouldn’t be unusual. He’d probably been in a few cells himself. Funny, she’d never thought much about what a criminal’s life was like. Now, she was one.
She paused to watch the bounty hunter through the clear, steel-glass cell door. He was tall, probably over two meters. Broad shoulders filled out the dark green Torgan flight jacket that tapered to a trim waist. Loose, black Ifindale slacks covered legs that wobbled a bit as he moved around the flight deck, indicating the man must spend most of his time in zero-G. Heavy brown Zuck boots completed his ensemble. He was eight years behind the fashion trends, but still looked incredibly good.
Her eyes were drawn to his sexy backside as he bent over the control panel. Ifindales could definitely make a comeback in the coreworld boutiques with this guy as their cover model.
She’d rarely seen chin-stubble on men of the inner worlds. It had been a short-lived fad about five years ago, but made most men look unkempt. On Rigel Antares the scruff looked good . . . sexy. She wanted to run her hand across his cheek and feel the coarseness.
Rigel fiddled with the ship’s controls, and she couldn’t help but giggle when he thumped the panel with his fist for the third time, though she could sense the man’s annoyance.
Finally, he turned back and strode toward her cell door. His frustration evident in the frown lines and a creased brow marring his otherwise handsome face.
“Are you comfortable, Miss Callista?”
I’d be more comfortable in your arms.
God! Where had that thought come from. I have to snap out of this. This was the guy keeping her from rescuing the Blarmlings. She needed to keep her mind on her mission.
She shrugged, meeting Rigel’s frowning gaze with one of her own. “No. Should I be?” She wasn’t about to make this easy on him.
He sighed and turned away. “Let me know if you need anything.” He took two steps, stopped, then spun back to face her. “I don’t suppose you’re ready to tell me where you’ve stashed those biological specimens you stole?”
She turned her back to him, unsure if her face would betray her. “I told you, I didn’t take any biological specimens.”
He hadn’t mentioned the Blarmlings once, giving Phoebe the impression the man didn’t know what he was looking for. Surely, if he knew she was wanted, he’d know what she was wanted for. U.R.T. had no reason to hide the theft of the Blarmlings.
The back of her neck tingled. She was sure he was staring at her. Then the tension lifted and she heard the bounty hunter’s boots thump loudly on the titanium decking as he pounded away from her.
She sighed her relief, now free of his scrutiny, but at the same time worry pangs shot through her stomach. He was probably going back to her ship to search. Would Oolo and Lart be able to stay hidden from him?
To take her mind off the Blarmlings, she popped the small bench and table. As she’d hoped, the tabletop contained an attached touch display. The Supreme Judicial Council decreed a decade ago that Galaxynet access was a fundamental human right, but Phoebe had heard many of the backwater bounty hunters still hadn’t complied. This unit was ancient, by technology standards, but when she tapped it, the display came to life.
Seriously, a PIZO-57 browser?
Not the new
est software, but at least it was something she could work with. She began navigating the ancient system and found it had over one hundred updates waiting in the queue. Didn’t this guy ever update his software? She wouldn’t be able to upgrade to a newer system, or get into any of the ships controls, at least he seemed to have that locked down properly, but the control settings did allow her to apply standard software patches and scan for microbugs. It would take some time, but she wasn’t going anywhere anyway, and this old thing would probably be her only link to the outside world for a while.
As she began to work, the system slowed to a crawl. Even this far off the main star-lanes, connections should have been faster. Suspicious, she stopped the updates and pinged the Pelingham.FNT site. As she suspected, the ship’s network was crawling with microbugs. There was no way she would dare access her mailpod or appbank from here, at least until she got the network cleaned.
“Okay.” Rigel paced the deck of Phoebe’s cruiser, talking out loud to himself. “If I was a biological specimen where would I hide on this ship?”
The ZP-2 wasn’t a big ship. It possessed a single seat cockpit and command area, a sleeping chamber with an attached head, and a really small, and really empty, cargo hold. He’d been through the entire ship twice, but it didn’t help that he had no idea what he was looking for.
He felt like a jerk rummaging through her personal belongings. It didn’t help that her underwear drawer was filled with slinky items, and that he could vividly envision the woman wearing each and every one of them. His fingertips tingled at the mere thought of the silky softness of her underthings, but damn it, she could have hidden something in that drawer. He felt so guilty he’d skipped the drawer on the second go through. Still, just the thought of what was there made his body harden. Yup, he’d been in space alone far too long.
He had to get his mind back on business. What was she hiding and where was it?
“Wait a minute!”
This ship had to have a working comlink and printer. He made his way back to the cockpit and brought up the comlink display.
Damn. It was a Zettia 12 system. The latest frackin’ release. He had no idea how to run a Zettia system. Why the hell did they have to keep updating this stuff? The PIZO system worked great, and he understood that.
Damn technology, and the constant changes it brings.
He didn’t have the time or resources to pursue the latest gadgets and their upgrades. He learned just enough to do his stuff. That was all that mattered. Sure, he’d had to pay more to get his PIZO unit cleaned out and rebooted the last time he’d had the ship in for repairs and maintenance, but at least he didn’t have to learn a whole new system. Had that really been two years ago?
More than likely he wouldn’t be able to link to her print-core from his system either, even if he knew how. He’d just have to take Phoebe’s ship with him, and keep looking. As it was, he had at least two days flight time to the nearest Federal Security Station. If he didn’t find the specimens by then, he could just turn the whole frackin’ ship over to the Feds.
He found the controls for the tether ports and opened them, then headed back to his own ship. Relying on only the connection tunnel to keep the ships tethered was dangerous, and he didn’t want to risk losing any evidence.
Back in his own control room, he shot and connected the titanium tether lines, securing the woman’s vessel to his. As he worked, he could feel her eyes on him from the cell behind him.
Her heavy sigh drew his attention. “Don’t you ever pars-scan your comnet?”
“When I have the time,” he shot back. He would have been more specific, if he’d had any idea what she was talking about. He remembered the comtech telling him something about scanning and updating during his last overhaul, but he hadn’t really listened. In his world, things either worked or they didn’t, and when they didn’t, he got them fixed . . . by someone else.
“You had over a thousand microbugs.”
She was just trying to confuse him, he was sure. Rigel had to keep reminding himself how dangerous this woman was. It was time to distract her.
He punched up a meal menu on the food extractor unit. Lacto-proteins weren’t the most flexible foodstuffs, but they were filling and cheap. With the right programming, they could be made to taste like just about anything, but how the food tasted really didn’t matter to Rigel. He usually worked through any meal, and didn’t taste the food anyway.
The door on the unit opened and expelled a steaming plate full of . . . something. Walking to the cell door, he opened the access panel and slid the plate through.
“Food.” He saw the woman eyeing the plate skeptically.
“If you say so.”
Rigel found himself staring at her face as she maneuvered a dainty portion of the foodstuffs into her mouth. Perfectly distractible lips closed around the fork, and he felt his body react. She was so beautiful. He hadn’t taken the time to notice that earlier. Her eyes had captivated him before, but now as he watched her sensuous mouth taking in bite after bite, he found himself imagining running his thumb down her wonderfully high cheekbones and right over those ruby red lips.
Shaking his head, he turned away. The long months alone in space were getting to him. Too much time without contact with other people. Well, the bounty from this woman would fix all that. Repairs to his ship, better foodstuffs, and a couple of nights drinking himself dead in a starport bar would go a long way toward making things right.
Preparing another plate of foodstuffs for himself, he took it back to his command station. The Intelcomp had finally finished his query about the registration on the other ship.
OWNER: Callista, Phoebe. Giraud System, Belljoan Minor
Damn, the ship did belong to her. There’d be no additional bounty. Still, a ship that new and expensive told him something about the woman. Either she was a very successful thief or . . .
Deep in concentration, the plate of foodstuffs was half consumed before he realized just how horrible it tasted. Gods, what recipe had he dialed up? The woman hadn’t even complained.
“You’ve got a huge gandisol leak in your main fuel compressor.” She interrupted his thoughts. “That’s kind of dangerous.”
She said it conversationally, like she wasn’t the least bit concerned.
Who was this woman?
It hadn’t been luck finding her out here in dead-space. Some of the smarter smugglers were using the almost empty Lortos to Omega 9 corridor to make the jump to Gangies. It would effectively take them around most of the sectors patrolled by the galactic marshals. Rigel routinely monitored any traffic through here. It’s where someone who didn’t want to be found would go. The woman’s ZP-2 was so out of place, in the galactic backwash, he’d just had to check it out.
“You’ve got a pretty nice ship there, Miss Callista. ZP’s don’t come cheap.”
“I’ll trade you ships, if you’ll let me go.”
Yeah, like that was going to happen.
He shook his head. “Your ship wouldn’t do me any good without a working ion drive and warp core.”
“Heck, I could fix the ion drive in a couple of hours. I don’t have an extra warp core, but if you got one I could fix that too.”
She was bargaining, but he wasn’t buying. Still, he was interested.
“You some kind of tech?”
She reached back and pulled her long hair over her shoulder, idly playing with the end strands. The gesture made her chin raise. For a moment, she looked haughty, regal. Shrugging, she lowering her eyes to the floor. “I work Bio-Mechanical at United Research and Technology.”
“Worked you mean. My guess is you don’t have a job there anymore.” Rigel hadn’t meant it to sound as harsh as it came out.
She shrugged again. “Yeah, well, that’s not a big loss.”
Despite his interest in her, a wave of exhaustion clouded his vision. He’d been up almost a cycle, and needed some shut-eye. “Look, I’m gonna crash for a couple of hours. There anything you need?”
Her eyes widened; her expression steeling. “I need to get out of here.”
He sighed and turned away. “Good night, Miss Callista.”
Chapter 3
Rigel stripped off his clothes and threw them in the corner. He’d been awake too long. It was easy to lose track of time in space. At least on a planet, any planet, you had a true cycle. It might be longer or shorter, but eventually the orbited star set over the horizon, darkening the planet and encouraging sleep.
His barely used bed stood clean and waiting. Crisp sheets and warm blankets he never used in zero-G, because it was easier to just float. How long had it been since he’d slept in a real bed? How long had it been since he’d done anything in a real bed?
His thoughts drifted to the woman out in his cell. The barely-there undergarments he’d discovered in his search of the other ship already had him wondering what she’d look like stripped of her ship-suit. His body hardened.
“Frack!” He didn’t dare go there. It was precisely what she wanted. It wouldn’t surprise him if the little minx had seduced her way to freedom on more than one occasion.
The Blarmling Dilemma (Hearts in Orbit Book 1) Page 2