0036393001337282886 wind demon 01

by blood wind

  “Ah, Cree,” Drewe said softly. “That's not our only problem.” He looked around, his face pale. “I'm getting a systems-error in the Navigational console. My monitor is down.”

  “And there is a warning light on the life support systems array,” Dr. Yul warned.

  The Keeper, Alexi Noll, saw the flashing warning signal on his screen and spun around. “Captain! There's a system-error blip on our landing thrusters. They are disengaged.”

  “They're doing it again,” Thorne, the Com Officer whispered. “The Resistance is at it again.” He tried hailing FSK-14, but all he got in return was deep space static.

  Cree's head snapped around. “Say again, Thorne!”

  Thorne looked at him. “I said the Resistance-”

  “That's what I thought you said!” Cree ground out. He shot up from the command console. “There's nothing wrong with this ship.”

  “Sir, I have complete navigational console shutdown!” Drewe cried out.

  “We're going to crash and burn,” Dr. Yul muttered.

  “They're not going to let us crash and burn with Terran women on board!”

  “Type in the commands you know you need to get us back to the station.”

  “Our oxygen level is-”

  “There is nothing wrong with the oxy level. Continue to monitor the targets and don't worry about it!”

  “I've lost everything,” Drewe whispered. “Everything!”

  “It's there,” Cree growled. “I don't know how they sabotaged the screens, but the data is getting through. Just input what you know is correct and stop worrying about it!”

  “How am I to know where we are?”

  “Just set your course as you always do.”

  “Sir, I've got no visuals,” advised Thorne.

  “You will,” Cree told him.

  “Nothing is responding,” Drewe breathed. “I can't-”

  “Give me back control of this ship or I will start feeding on your gods-be-damned penguins!” Cree bellowed. He glared at the Vid-Com screen closest to him. “Do you doubt that I will?”

  Nothing happened for a moment or two then the computer screens returned to normal. Lona found out the ship was exactly where it should be; Thorne began intercepting long-range communications; Noll test fired the landing thrusters and ascertained they were functional.

  Cree glared at the Vid-Com and made a vow to slaughter the woman responsible for what had happened.

  ****

  THE TWO Ensigns slammed themselves against the corridor wall as the Prime Reaper stormed past them. They had gotten a good look at Kamerone Cree's face and neither would forget what true, deadly fury looked like. Both were silent as they moved on toward the Defense Strategy classroom, but each kept looking behind them, watching the enraged Reaper bulldozing his way to the Office of Operations. They saw others scurry out of the Captain's way, as well, and hoped they never had the misfortune to be assigned to one of Cree's missions.

  Cree barged into the Ops Office and shoved a Shepherd Commander out of his way before reaching across the counter and grabbing the Duty Ops Controller by the collar of his blue uniform and dragging him over the top of the counter.

  “I asked for a Defense Investigative Team to meet me in Bay 3 when I docked! You had better have a good reason why one wasn't there waiting!” bellowed Cree.

  The Duty Ops Controller's face began turning purple for he could not breathe. His larynx was being crushed in the powerful hand of the Prime Reaper and he wet himself as he stared into infuriated eyes that bore little resemblance to a sane man's.

  “P…please, C…Captain,” the terrified man gasped. “T…they will b…be…there!”

  “Why the hell weren't they waiting for me as I ordered?”

  “Your ship has been put off-limits, Cree,” injected a calm voice.

  Cree spun around, dropping the Duty Ops Controller, leaving the man coughing and gagging his way back to the world of the living. The Defense Minister, himself, was standing in the open doorway off the Office of Operations.

  “My crew could have been killed.” Cree walked up to the Defense Minister. He had about as much respect for politicians as he did for the Resistance. “Someone tampered with the monitors.”

  “Yes, we are aware of that, Captain,” the Defense Minister conceded. “That is why no one will be allowed on Docking Bay 3

  until Admiral Cree has personally hand-picked an expert team to do the investigation. No one is even allowed down that corridor, as I am sure you noticed on your way here.”

  “I sent instructions-”

  The Defense Minister held up a hand to forestall his words. “We did not ignore your request for a team to meet you, Captain. It was Admiral Kahn's decision to put the Docking Bay off-limits.” The older man narrowed his eyes. “Do you question Admiral Kahn's command decisions, Captain Cree?”

  Cree ground his teeth together and a muscle spasm began in his left jaw. He held the politician's oily gaze, then pushed past him and stomped from the room.

  “Cree is the most arrogant, self-important son of a bitch I've ever known,” the Shepherd Commander declared. “One of these days he's going to meet a tougher bastard who will put his ass down!” The Defense Minister nodded. “I've no doubt that will happen, Commander Inse.” The older man smiled nastily. “No doubt at all.”

  ****

  BRIDGET JUMPED as the door to Cree's quarters slid open and she looked up to see the man himself framed in the archway, his flight bag clutched in his right fist. Slowly, she stood up, closing the book she held. His sudden, unannounced presence had caught her off guard and she had no idea what to say to him. But from the look on his face, he didn't appear to be in any mood to talk.

  “Bridget,” he acknowledged her in a tight voice before striding past her and disappearing into his bedsuite. The door shushed to behind him with a finality that told her he did not want to be disturbed. She barely had time to put the book she had been reading back on the shelf when his quarters door shushed open again and a cybot hurried through, injection jet in hand. Cree's bedsuite door opened, the ‘bot swooped in, and the door closed. When the AIU came out again, one of its plastiform arms was missing and its head was twisted backwards on its neck. Obviously, Cree had taken out his anger on the cybot.

  “Better it than me,” Bridget mumbled as she started for the food preparation center.

  “Where are you going?”

  Bridget jumped again; annoyed that he could appear so suddenly to unnerve her. She turned, swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “I was hungry,” she explained. “Would you like-”

  “Food is the last thing I need right now,” he snapped. He was stripped down to the waist, his hair slicked back and wet. He was holding a wrapped package in his hand that he lay down on the bar that separated the food prep center from the living area.

  “Did you have lunch?” She knew he'd been on the station since early morning. Dr. Dean had called to warn her.

  Cree's mouth turned hard and he had to catch himself before he told her that it was none of her business if he had or not.

  Instead, he shook his head then pushed the wrapped package toward her.

  “I brought this back for you,” he told her. He pulled out one of the two barstools at the counter and straddled it. He laced his fingers together and fixed his gaze on her face. “Go ahead,” he said irritably. “Open it.” Bridget walked to the bar and picked up the package. It was heavier than she had expected it to be and she looked up at him with curiosity.

  “Open the gods-be-damned thing, woman,” he grated. “It's not a bomb!” A faint smile tugged at her lips. He was more anxious for her to see what he had brought her than she was to see it. She unwrapped the crumbled brown paper she suspected was a grocery bag from Earth. As the layers of paper came unraveled, she realized what it was she held in her hand. When she removed the last of the paper, she drew in her lower lip between her teeth and a little groan escaped.

  Cree's brows lifted w
ith expectation. “Well?”

  She looked up from what was in her trembling hand to the dark face of Kamerone Cree. There was a childlike expression there that told of his fear of rejection.

  “You don't like it,” he said on a long, tired breath. He held out his hand. “Give it back and I'll-” She ran out of the room, tightly clutching his gift to her bosom. He heard her sobbing before the door to her bedsuite closed to shut out the sound. Staring after her, Cree sat there for a moment, unsure what to do, knowing he had hurt her in some way he didn't understand.

  “Captain?” the Vid-Com intruded.

  Cree closed his eyes. “What?” he asked in a weary tone.

  “Do you require anything, Sir?”

  “No,” he said in the same defeated voice. He pushed himself from the stool and headed for his bedsuite. His shoulders sagged beneath his tiredness and the day's disappointments and he became aware of a niggling headache just over his right eye. As he was about to enter his bedsuite, Bridget's door shushed open and she came out, clutching his present to her.

  Her eyes were red and there were tear marks down her cheeks. Although her lips trembled, she smiled at him, then walked up to him, stood on tiptoe to place her lips on his unshaven cheek. Completely unprepared for what she had done, he stood there gawking at her, the place where she had kissed him burning, the blood in his veins pulsing faster than he thought it ever had.

  “Thank you, Captain,” she said. She looked down at the delicate bisque statue of the Virgin Mary in her hand. “Thank you so much.” Here voice broke as fresh tears pooled in her eyes. “You have no idea what this means to me.” Even with her eyes puffy and red, her cheeks streaked with tears, he thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  He ached to touch her, to draw her into his arms as he had seen some of the Keeper crews do with their companions and mates upon their returns from Terra. He longed to know what it felt like to press his mouth to hers, to taste her, to experience the forbidden sensation of true sexual pleasure.

  “Did you have a good trip?” he heard her asking him and had to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to tear his mind from the image of her lying beneath him, their naked bodies entwined.

  “We had computer problems,” he found himself answering.

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  Cree shrugged away the anger that had gripped him for the last eight hours. Looking at Bridget's gentle face, he only wanted to impress her. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “It was touch and go for a few minutes, but everything came out all right.”

  “I'm glad,” she said. She caressed the statue and he wished with all his being that it was his body being stroked by her hands.

  He had to bite his tongue to force the thought away.

  “You were not too bored here?”

  “I would have preferred to go out now and again, but…” Her voice trailed off. She knew perfectly well why he had imprisoned her in his quarters while he was away.

  “I had an additional mission this time out.”

  Bridget had no desire to hear about the executions he had carried out. Her face revealed that thought and he shook his head.

  “We brought back five Carmelite nuns from Ireland.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “They're here? On FSK-14?” she gasped. At his nod, her face paled. “Oh, my God! You can't use nuns for procreation!”

  Cree held up his hand. “They were brought here to please the women, not the men. We can abide by your religious restrictions, Bridget.”

  She drew in a quick breath. “May I see them?”

  “I see no reason why you cannot.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked breathlessly.

  “They are here to perform your religious rites,” he said. “One will stay here and the others will be assigned to Rysalia Prime.

  Eventually, the religious will be on each station as well as the homeworld.”

  “When can I meet them?” she asked, her face aglow.

  He shrugged. “Tomorrow morning?”

  As much as he had been unprepared for her gentle kiss on the cheek, he was devastated when she threw her arms around his neck, unaware that the head of the little statue was gouging his right cheek as she hugged him. The press of her body against his own was intoxicating and something he had never in his life felt before that moment. He found himself growing hard beneath the contact of her lower body to his, her breasts pressed into his naked chest, the scent of her body filling his senses. For one wild moment, he wanted to encircle her in his arms, crush her to him and fall with her to the floor, to cover her mouth with his and-

  “I'm sorry!” she told him, feeling the iron-hard push of his manhood against her belly. She stepped back, her face beet red. “I should not have done that!”

  “No,” he mumbled, his body heat making his face feel as though he had stepped inside an active volcano. “You shouldn't have.” Bridget took another step back “It won't happen again, Captain.”

  He said nothing, not knowing what to say.

  “I just wanted to thank you and tell you how much I appreciate you bringing this to me.”

  “It was nothing,” he said, wondering why he was lying because he had been at great risk of being caught when he'd stolen the statue she held.

  “You thought of me,” she said, her eyes warm and gentle, “and that means a lot to me.” Thought of you? Woman I could not keep from thinking of you! You were with me every mile I flew.

  Long after she had left him, Cree stood beside his bed and felt again the touch of her body, the softness of her lips, his own body's reaction to her closeness, her touch, her scent. Once more he felt his shaft growing hard and uncomfortable.

  “Computer?” he asked, his voice tight.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  He hesitated then clenched his jaw. “I need a Serenian capsule.”

  “No, Sir,” the Vid-Com disagreed. “You need a surrogate.”

  “No, I do not!”

  “You are aroused, Captain. Sexual release is necessary at this time.”

  “Screw you!”

  There was a slight pause, then the computer's silky voice flowed through the room: “You are not wired to perform that function, Sir.”

  “Just leave me the hell alone,” he said in frustration.

  “I am sending you a pleasure female, Captain,” the Vid-Com reported then clicked off.

  Cree knew it was no use. The Controller would send a surrogate to mount him and drain him whether he wanted it or not.

  Bridget was pouring herself a glass of juice when the door shushed open and a woman walked into the Captain's quarters. She blinked. “May I help you?”

  The woman would not look at her. Instead, she walked to the Reaper's door and tapped lightly on the panel. It slid open almost immediately and she walked inside. The door closed.

  "They pick the ugliest women they can find to use for sexual surrogates,” Dr. Dean had explained. "The intent, of course, is to be a handy receptacle for the Reaper's release and not to instill in him lust. Sometimes the men are horny and they use the woman in the standard way. Most of the time, though, it is a simple matter of the surrogate mounting the warrior and relieving him. Either way, it can't be pleasurable for the female."

  “She didn't look happy to be here,” Bridget said softly. When the woman left, she risked a commiserating look at Bridget. She paused in the doorway, then turned to look back at Bridget.

  “He never hurts me,” the woman said as though to comfort her.

  “Well, that's good,” Bridget said.

  “Yes,” the woman replied. “Yes, it is.” She half-smiled then left.

  ****

  “WHAT ARE you making?” he asked. His curly hair was tousled from what little sleep he had gotten the night before and was bleary-eyed as he peered down into the pot Bridget was stirring.

  “Beef stew,” she answered, ladling up some of the thick broth. “Would you like to try it?” Cree stepped ba
ck from the ladle. “Dead cow meat?” He shook his head. “I think not.”

  “It also has corn, peas, green beans, carrots and potatoes in it. You know, the usual stuff?” He looked up at her suspiciously. “The usual what?”

  “Spices, water, tomato sauce.” She extended the ladle toward him again, her free hand under it to catch any drips.

  He looked as though he would refuse, but then allowed her to place the ladle to his lips.

  “Well?” she encouraged.

  “No meat. Just the broth and vegetables,” he declared, sitting down at the counter.

  A warm smile of pleasure crossed her face. “Would you like some crackers?”

  “Crackers?” he echoed, his brows drawing together.

  “Never mind.” She laughed. She took out a bowl, filled it, then set it down before him. She went to the cupboard and took out a box of saltines. Even before she could open the box, Cree snatched it up and was reading the label.

  “Sodium,” he sneered, putting it down again. “No sodium.”

  “A little sodium never hurt anyone, Captain,” she chided.

  “Cree,” he said. When she glanced over at him while crumbling crackers into her bowl, he ducked his head much as a shy teenage boy would do. “I am called Cree.”

  “Does anyone call you Kam?” she asked and was surprised when his head snapped up.

  “No one would dare!” he said sharply. He thought of Troilus’ silly rhyme and looked away. “I am never called that.” She dropped the subject. Lifting her napkin to wipe her lips, she peered at him over the cloth. “May I ask you something?” Cree paused with the spoon halfway to his lips. “What?” he asked, suspicion clouding his gaze.

  “Now that you are home, will I have to remain here in your quarters or may I have time to myself to visit about the station?”

  “Visit with whom?” he growled, his gaze turning black as sin.

  “Dr. Dean, for one,” she replied. “I have missed seeing her every day.” He put his spoon down. “I kept you here because I did not want anything to happen to you while I was gone, Bridget. ” He brought his own napkin up and blotted at his mouth. “Who else is it you wish to see?”