Jordan

by Susan Kearney

  “Turn on artificial gravity,” Jordan ordered Sean. “Do it slowly.”

  “Gravity’s not responding.” Sean yanked a panel off a console, pulled a soldering iron from his tool belt, and went to work.

  “What the hell just happened?” Lyle rubbed a giant bruise on his forehead.

  Tennison grinned. “We’re flying through space. That’s what happened.” He cracked his knuckles. “And my arthritis… is almost gone.”

  Darren and Tennison high fived.

  Lyle’s face turned ashen. Jordan handed him an airsickness bag. They might not have gravity, navigation, or stabilizers, but they had barf bags.

  “Lyle, I need an immediate inventory of our supplies,” Jordan snapped. “Tennison, Vivianne Blackstone’s in the engine compartment. Check on her, and see who else is aboard. Then do what you can to solidify life support. I’d rather not rely on backup power.”

  Darren and Tennison launched themselves toward the stern.

  Lyle didn’t throw up, but his eyes bulged. “How did this happen? Can we get back in one piece? What’s powering the Draco? The cosmic converter hasn’t even been delivered. Do we have landing—”

  “Lyle.” Jordan snapped his fingers in front of the man’s panicked eyes. “Go down to the cargo bay. If you need Darren to help with the inventory, take him with you.”

  “You just want to be rid of me, and—”

  “Now.” Jordan hardened his tone. The crew needed to understand their lives now depended on following orders.

  Lyle took one last frightened glance through the circular viewscreen where Earth was receding behind them, then nodded. Sean moved away from his console and fiddled with a dial. “Artificial gravity might work now. I tied into the new power grid.”

  Jordan settled into his chair. “Good work. We’re at eighty percent?”

  Sean signaled a thumbs-up. “Eighty-one point five.”

  “Captain.” Gray pulled off a headset, his eyes apprehensive. “You need to hear this message.”

  “Put it through the speaker.”

  Vivianne stepped onto the bridge and took in the view of Earth. Wearing her cream blouse, gray slacks, and olive jacket, she looked every inch the corporate executive and nothing like the Vivianne who short minutes ago had had wild, savage sex with Jordan. Not until he looked into her eyes. Turbulent with tension, her eyes green and vibrant, she looked like a volcano on the edge of erupting.

  A strange urge to reach out and touch her jarred him. But she wouldn’t appreciate an intimate geture. Nor was it appropriate. Although they were now something more than boss and employee, they had to forget the sexual encounter. Put it out of their minds. Sweeping back a mass of red-gold hair, Vivianne spied Jordan at the controls and speared him a barbed glare.

  Before she spoke, the message from Earth filtered through the speaker. “To the unidentified spaceship that just launched from the east coast of Florida. By emergency order of the North American States, return to Earth at once, or we will shoot you down. I repeat, return at once—”

  “Turn it off.” Jordan had heard enough. Since learning that intelligent life existed on other worlds, Earth’s leaders had totally panicked. Politicians feared war. But isolationism would not stop the Tribes.

  These people needed to suck it up and embrace the fact that the universe didn’t revolve around Earth. There were allies like Pendragon and Honor out in space, and if Earth could summon the courage to reach out despite their differences, they might actually improve their lot.

  Instead, the idiots were ready to shoot down their own people to try and control contact between the worlds. Vivianne’s company had built this ship, but Earth had never given permission for them to fly.

  “Tell them we’ll return immediately,” Vivianne said with self-possessed authority.

  Jordan swiveled to face her. “We’re not going back.”

  Tennison and Gray exchanged a long look but remained silent.

  Vivianne squared her shoulders, straightened her back, and locked gazes with Jordan. “You aren’t in charge. The Draco isn’t yours.”

  “Actually, she is.”

  Her voice, though quiet, held an ominous accusation. “Because you’re stealing her?”

  “Because I paid for her.” He took a perverse pleasure in challenging her, especially as he recalled the fire in her as she’d ripped off his clothes. She was one gutsy, passionate, intelligent woman. The kind he was always attracted to—the kind he avoided at all costs.

  Vivianne’s tone remained cool, tight. “I don’t pay you well enough for you to afford that command console, never mind this entire ship.”

  Enjoying her annoyance, he allowed a tiny smile to reach one side of his mouth. “I’m Chen. And I’ve paid for half this ship.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe you.” Her lips tightened, and she folded her arms across her chest, a very delicate, perfectly proportioned chest.

  “If I wasn’t Chen, I wouldn’t know that you’ve sold only part ownership, would I?”

  Vivianne gasped.

  Jordan knew her PIs had never been able to find the source of Chen’s income. So revealing his dual identity might only have increased her suspicions that he was funded by the Tribes. Baiting her was one thing, but Jordan didn’t enjoy watching Vivianne lose all the color in her pink cheeks. She deserved to know the score.

  The voice from Earth blared through the speaker. “Two minutes until we launch missiles.”

  “Tell them we’ll be returning as soon as possible,” Vivianne ordered Gray.

  When Gray looked from her to Jordan, Jordan nodded.

  But Vivianne didn’t wait for Gray to obey. Just as impatient as the seven-year-old Vivianne had been for her mother to open her present, the adult Vivianne strode over, snatched the headset, and placed it on her head. “This is Vivianne Blackstone, CEO of the Vesta Corporation. We launched accidentally and will return immediately.”

  Jordan shifted back to the controls and motioned for Gray to join him. He kept his tone low. “She’ll buy us time. Can you engage the hyperspace transporter?”

  The HT was Jordan’s adaptation of ancient machinery. Theoretically, the new HT design allowed the Draco to transport itself to any coordinates.

  Gray whispered tensely in his ear, “But sir, we haven’t tested—”

  “Is the system working?” Jordan asked.

  “It’s operational, but we require more time to charge it up.” Gray chewed on a fingernail. “But these numbers can’t be correct.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The power source feeding the batteries is phenomenal.”

  “I just installed a new power source.” Jordan grinned. “Glad to hear it’s working.”

  “If these energy figures are right, we’ll be up to speed in minutes.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  So the Ancient Staff was powering the Draco. It was good to know that after all these centuries, Jordan hadn’t lost his touch. Back on Dominus, he’d planned to make a career out of spaceship design, but then the Tribes had decimated his world. The people, their history, art, and culture, were gone. The oceans and mountains were gone. Not even dust remained.

  Vivianne removed her headset. “I’ve explained we have system failures. The North American States has given us five additional minutes before firing missiles.”

  “Excellent work,” Jordan told her and then peered at his gauges.

  Vivianne glanced at the receding planet. “Why haven’t you swung us into orbit?”

  “I told you, we aren’t going back.”

  She lifted her chin and spoke softly, but anger flickered in her eyes. “We don’t have a choice. They’re going to shoot us down.”

  His crew exchanged uneasy looks, and Jordan spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “I’m not into suicide.”

  She arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

  “Thanks to you, we’ve time to power up the HT.”

  She peered at the spiking ene
rgy readings on the monitor, but she still shook her head, a lock of fiery hair framing her high cheekbones. “All we have time to do is get blown up. With the world government spooked of alien spies, they need to make certain that everyone on this ship is loyal to Earth before they’ll give permission to leave the solar system.”

  “Let’s hope you bought us enough time to outrun the missiles,” Jordan replied.

  “Are you insane?” she asked, her tone low and urgent. “Even if they don’t shoot us down, we can’t go anywhere. The Draco’s not ready. We haven’t tested most of the new systems.”

  As if to emphasize her words, a monitor shot sparks at the ceiling. Smoke curled in the air. Gray put out the fire with an extinguisher.

  Vivianne’s eyes watered. She coughed and raised her wrist to breathe through her sleeve. But she didn’t panic. Instead she transferred the data to Jordan’s screen.

  The ship’s hull hadn’t buckled. They still had life support. “There’s no time like the present to test the Draco’s systems.”

  She frowned at the smoking monitor. “And if they don’t work?”

  “We’ll fix them.”

  “It’s more likely we’ll blow ourselves up. We don’t even have spare parts aboard to make repairs.”

  “We’ll make do.”

  She gestured to the crew. “These men didn’t volunteer to leave their families.”

  Jordan shrugged. “It can’t be helped. Once they understand the choices—”

  “You gave them no choice.” Vivianne placed her hands on her hips, her entire body vibrating with anger. But she kept her temper under tight control, her voice locked down so low he had to lean forward to hear her. “You’re giving me no choice.”

  “Two minutes until HT reaches full power,” Gray reported.

  The voice from the North American States started a countdown. “One minute until missile launch.”

  “Damn you, Jordan.” Vivianne’s eyes blazed. “Turn this ship around and land.”

  Jordan’s fingers danced over the monitor. “I’m laying in the course.”

  The fury of the wise never shows.

  —HIGH PRIESTESS OF AVALON

  3

  Vivianne watched Jordan lay in the course, but… not… for Earth.

  The lying son of a bitch!

  No way could this man be the same boy she’d dreamed about when she’d blacked out.

  The Jordan in her dream had been leaner, lankier, and sweeter.

  Adrenaline pumping, Jordan dived into the pool. He’d trained hard all season for this race. The winner attended an elite summer camp and received expert coaching and offers to prestigious schools. And Jordan, in the best shape of his career, was determined to win.

  K’dark, a good friend in the lane beside him, popped up half a body length behind.

  Jordan breathed evenly, kicking strongly, letting his warmed up muscles carry him through the water. His stroke seemed effortless, the long hours in the pool giving him an edge in stamina.

  K’dark had trained hard, too. The two friends pushing one another.

  Jordan turned his head to breathe and saw K’dark’s father on the pool deck cheering for his son. It was a first. The first time he’d ever seen him swim. His father worked long hours, double shifts, to support the family.

  Jordan checked to his right, his left, flipped at the wall and headed back. He and K’dark were leading the race.

  It would come down to the two of them.

  He breathed again, glimpsed K’dark’s father jumping up and down. Winning meant a lot to Jordan, but winning this race might be K’dark’s future. Without a scholarship, his family couldn’t afford to send him to the university.

  Jordan already had an academic scholarship. He eased up. Slowed his pace.

  K’dark pulled ahead.

  Vivianne’s mind had played tricks on her. The real adult Jordan couldn’t have been that selfless kid. Because the adult Jordan was deceptive. Dangerous.

  Vivianne had to stop herself from lunging toward the controls. Instead she kept her face expressionless and strolled casually toward him. She knew the Draco’s specs as well as the layout of her beach penthouse. That meant she could disengage the nav system and turn the ship into orbit as easily as she could change the channel on her TV—if only she could get close enough to the controls.

  Pulse racing, she made herself sound breezy. “Shouldn’t we be turning by now?”

  “Missile launch in thirty seconds,” the North American States warned.

  Vivianne’s pulse sped up. Jordan stood at the control center, a study of calm.

  Gray leaned over his monitor. “One minute until hypertransporter is fully powered.”

  “Missile launch in twenty seconds.”

  Still too far away to reach the controls, Vivianne stared at the monitor and ran equations in her head. “They’re not bluffing. They’ll fire unless you comply.”

  “I know.” Jordan’s tone was cool. “But after they launch those weapons, it’ll take fifty-three seconds for the missiles to reach us. By then, we’ll be gone.”

  “Ten seconds.”

  He was risking their lives for no good reason that she could discern. “Stand down, Jordan. We aren’t provisioned. We don’t have enough food, water, oxygen, or—”

  “Five seconds.”

  Expression determined, he hovered over the transporter control.

  “Two seconds.”

  Praying he wouldn’t suspect she was up to anything, Vivianne edged closer, her nerves raw. Another step. Then one more. Taking all her resentment and fear, converting it into raw force, she lunged and slammed into Jordan, knocking him sideways.

  She was fast, but Jordan was faster.

  Even as she crashed into his rock-hard body, his fingers began the transporter sequence. And the Draco jumped from sub–light speed and normal space… into hyperspace and faster-than-light travel.

  Earth vanished from view. Stars streaked by the viewport.

  Damn him to hell.

  He’d just shot them into a place where space folded in on itself, a wormhole. Over the years Vivianne had heard many explanations of wormhole theory. But her high school physics teacher had described them best. She’d told them to think of the universe as a towel. Wring the towel and certain parts touched where they wouldn’t normally do so. Those new connections were the spatial equivalent of three-dimensional wormholes. Hyperspace.

  Without a map, the Draco could end up anywhere.

  Starlight streaked across the viewscreen, and the Draco’s hull groaned in protest. Deck vibrations radiated through her shoes and into her bones. Someone shut off the ringing alarm.

  Gray frowned over his console’s readings. “The forward bulkhead’s starting to collapse.”

  Vivianne held her breath.

  “I’m rerouting power to the shields.” Jordan reconfigured the systems, his hands a blur over the touch screen.

  Gray glared at his monitor. “That worked, but we just overloaded the power grid.” Sirens blared once again. A panel popped open and sparks hissed, a bulkhead light exploded, and the plastic shattered.

  “Engines are running hot,” Sean said.

  “We have bigger problems,” Jordan muttered.

  Bigger problems than being without a working engine? Bigger problems than a collapsing hull?

  “What’s wrong?” Vivianne was certain they were going to die.

  “We’re on a collision course.” Jordan peered straight at the viewscreen.

  “With what?” Vivianne asked.

  Up ahead, a cluster of objects headed straight at them. At hyperspeed, even if the objects were dust particles, they’d slice through their hull like a knife through butter. And these were way bigger than dust particles. To the naked eye, they looked about half the size of the Draco.

  “Get us out of hyperspace,” Vivianne ordered.

  “We’ll wipe out our power reserve,” Sean warned.

  “Do it,” Jordan agreed.

&nb
sp; Gray made the adjustments. Jordan coordinated the controls. And they popped out of hyperspace. The stars stopped streaking. Space looked normal. Too bad they’d lost power and gravity again—which left the Draco tumbling.

  Vivianne clutched at the console but missed. She ended up floating halfway between the two decks. Gray reached to tug her down.

  Jordan shook his head. “Leave her. She can’t cause trouble up there.”

  Vivianne struggled but failed to reach a bulkhead. “I’m not the one who launched this ship and almost got us blown up. Or who shot us into hyperspace.”

  “No, you just sent us into the wrong damn wormhole,” he drawled.

  “You’re accusing me?” Outrage almost choked her. “I haven’t so much as touched one control.”

  “True,” he admitted. “But when you knocked into my hand, we vectored off course. We’re now thousands of light-years away from Earth.”

  A few thousand… light-years? She twisted in midair to peer out the viewscreen, but nothing looked familiar. Earth was gone. So was the sun. Mouth dry, she forced out the words. “Where are we?”

  “Damned if I know.” Jordan brought up several familiar star systems seen from Earth and tried to place them over the ones shining through the viewscreen, but clearly nothing matched. “I set our coordinates for Pentar.”

  “Pentar?” Where had she heard that name? It was hard to think when she was spinning in midair. But suddenly it came to her. “Earth’s intel from Honor had said Pentar’s the last reported position of the Holy Grail.”

  “If we were anywhere near Pentar, the Staff would lead us straight to the Grail. But we’re nowhere near it,” Jordan mumbled.

  Ice stabbed her spine and chilled her bones, even as sweat trickled under her arms. Pentar was in Tribe territory. Did Jordan intend to steal the Draco and hand it over to the enemy?

  In all fairness, she supposed he still could be adhering to the Draco’s original mission—heading to Pentar to steal the Holy Grail back from the Tribes. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that the Draco was being powered by an alien artifact, heading into enemy territory, and captained by a man with a suspicious background.