Ragnar - Lord of Jaegar

by Sasha Gold

  Flying was incredible. She imagined the sensation was what a bird felt, soaring through the sky. Not that she’d ever seen a bird. Or any animal, for that matter.

  Andromeda wasn’t home to anything but humans and a few sparse weeds. The planet had long ago lost the ability to sustain life, at least human life or any other mammal or reptile. Crops were grown in man-made environments, and just enough to feed people. There was no extra for animals.

  Natasha only knew of birds from the old stories she’d read as a girl. She loved the animal stories, so much so she wished she could read more of them. She knew she couldn’t risk something so childish, though, so she never accessed her childhood library. She was a pilot now. Not a child.

  One by one, the ships departed. There was an interruption when one of the pilots motioned for her crew to check something inside the cockpit. Natasha checked her watch, frowning at the delay. All the ships needed to wait until it was their turn. Nobody could leave until the crew disembarked and gave a thumbs-up.

  After a short wait, departures resumed. Processing ships left for the planet of Jaeger to pick up meat. Silo ships left for the planet of Demeter for grain shipments. The roar of engines faded as the ships left until the only ship remaining was her small prisoner transport. It was the fastest ship in the fleet, equipped with a cell for the prisoner or prisoners, a galley stocked with provisions and an alcove with a place for the pilot to rest on long trips.

  As the last ship departed, an “All Clear” was called. Natasha’s heart thudded as she awaited her prisoner. The docking station filled with sentries, all heavily armed. Their boots echoed in the cavernous space as they filed in.

  Usually when a prisoner was being transported, there was heightened security, but today was overkill. The entire docking station was on lockdown. Above her, overseeing the proceedings, was Major Sebastian, standing in the command center behind a shock-proof, reinforced window. That was different too, to have Sebastian watching. Natasha wondered just what sort of prisoner she would be transporting. A shiver of apprehension threaded down her spine.

  After several checks that the entire area was secure, several sentries appeared in the doorway, and behind them a huge man wearing a mask or shroud. His shoulders were nearly twice the width of any sentry, and he was a head taller as well. The group made their way directly to her ship.

  A sentry approached her, carrying a holstered telum. This was a part of prisoner transport she loathed, carrying a firearm. The weight of the gun on her hip always bothered her when she’d had to wear one in the past. The weapon was meant to stun the prisoner, not kill him, but she still disliked carrying it.

  “You’ll need a weapon, Captain.”

  “A firearm would damage my ship more than that giant,” she said. “If I need to subdue him, I’ll manage with my bare hands.”

  The sentry smirked. Natasha ignored him. The man couldn’t know that she taught self-defense to the other Maidens and that with a simple touch, she could bring him or any of the other males to his knees right there.

  “Sebastian’s orders,” he said.

  Natasha shook her head and accepted the weapon. She buckled it on, trying her best to ignore the heavy weight. She might be able to fire at an enemy ship, but shooting someone face to face was an entirely different matter.

  The prisoner followed the sentries. He was tall. Massively proportioned. According to the dossier, he’d come to Andromeda to participate in the Blood Games, a semi-barbaric competition, mostly between men, to see who was the most capable fighter on the planet. She’d learned that the Jaegarian had been undefeated throughout the tournament, and deserving of the grand prize, but the Games Magistrate and members of the Parliament denied him.

  His race of people descended from the Vikings. Thousands of years ago, they’d plundered the coasts of Europe. After the Yellowstone Cataclysm, everyone left Earth, the planet slowly choking on soot and ash. While Natasha’s people had gone to Andromeda, this man’s people went to the uninhabited planet of Jaegar, where they’d prospered.

  He looked to be in robust health. Tall, powerful, his skin burnished with a glow that came from living in a sunny climate. Not like Andromeda. Here, everyone had pale skin from lack of sunshine. Their sun was dying and over the centuries offered less and less warmth.

  He was heavily shackled. Chains ran between his feet. Both wrists were secured to a large belt around his waist. What surprised her most of all was the mask he wore. It was strapped around his skull, over the short crop of blond hair, concealing everything but his ice-blue eyes.

  Ragnar Helmsgaard. That was his name.

  From what she’d heard, Helmsgaard had gone into a rage when he was told he would not be given the tournament prize. He’d been hauled to a holding cell to cool down. From there, things went downhill. Reports said he tried to escape and killed four sentries in the process. The trial and verdict were swift, just two days. He received the harshest penalty the judges could give: Pendleton.

  Natasha could never serve as a judge, she decided, as the man came closer. Even though Helmsgaard was a brute of a man, he was still a human being. The people of Jaegar might be a different race, but they were still the same species. It made her wince to think of anyone going to Pendleton. The prison broke all men, even powerful, commanding fighters like him.

  Everything about him called out Jaegarian male. She’d never seen a female Jaegarian. She assumed they were over-sized as well. The men were tall and fair like their Nordic ancestors. They gave off an air of pure arrogance. They were lethal warriors. Many worked as mercenaries, drawing huge payment as guards and hired guns.

  The sentries and Helmsgaard came to a stop a few feet from her. Helmsgaard tried to speak, but his words were just noises. From the look in his eyes, she could tell he was outraged. She could feel his fury as it radiated from him. He kept his fiery gaze on her and snarled.

  Natasha spoke to the group, her voice raised so all could hear. “The prisoner has the right to speech and to communicate basic needs. Article Four of the Parliamentary Mandate. Amended in the year 2301.”

  “But Captain,” a sentry said, stepping forward. “He can shift and bite. They say the wolves of Jaeger have fangs capable-”

  “I won’t transport a prisoner who isn’t in compliance with law.”

  The sentries glanced at each other nervously, none making any move to address the mask. Natasha knew everything that transpired in the docking area was recorded. She didn’t pride herself on being a politically minded Maiden, but when the promotions came around again, she’d be certain to circulate the image of her facing a huge Jaegarian and freeing him from his mask. Helping Ragnar would serve two purposes. It was the right, humane thing to do, and it would show her in a good light to her superiors. Even Major Sebastian would have to admit Natasha was diligent.

  Circling the prisoner, she stopped in front of him. He lifted his chin and sniffed the air. What was he doing? The only smell came from him. She wrinkled her nose. His scent wasn’t terrible, but it was strong. A wild, masculine musk.

  She lifted her hand, reaching nearly as high as she could, and ran her finger down his neck. She found a pressure point near his shoulder. Pressure point techniques served as an equalizer between combatants. It reduced or eliminated a size or strength advantage. The right movement would render a man unconscious.

  The sentries stepped away in fear, clutching their weapons.

  Ragnar’s eyes flashed with feral light.

  “We are going to remove your mask. If you make any sudden movement, I will take you down.”

  He arched a brow.

  “I’ll access a particularly sensitive spot. One you won’t like. You’ll awaken in twelve hours in a puddle of piss. Am I clear, Ragnar Helmsgaard?”

  The man closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, shuddering. When he opened his eyes, he nodded.

  She nodded to two sentries and their eyes widened in surprise. Quickly they realized what she wanted, and after a quick look at eac
h other, and an awareness that everyone was watching, they hurried to the prisoner and quickly unbuckled the mask.

  Natasha kept her hand on Helmsgaard’s neck as the men removed the mask. She was startled to see that they had also muzzled him, with a type of device she’d never seen.

  She turned to one of the sentries. “Take that off too.”

  The man visibly gulped, then reached up and undid the muzzle. It fell away and the sentries quickly retreated again.

  Natasha stared directly into the prisoner’s eyes. He was so different from the men who lived on Andromeda. His jaw was square, and unlike the smooth-faced men of Andromeda, he had a short scruff. His jaw and cheek were covered with what looked like iron filings, bristles that made her wonder if they were coarse to the touch.

  She shook her head and pushed the absurd idea away. What did she care about the feel of a barbarian’s stubble?

  “You’re a child.” Ragnar’s voice was a gruff rasp, contrasting with the casual curve of his lips.

  Natasha stiffened. Where was this man’s gratitude? Respect? “I’m twenty-four years old.”

  “Have you flown before, little girl?”

  With the prisoner’s unexpected impudence, the cameras recording the exchange seemed like a liability. She’d hoped to appear commanding. His ridicule wouldn’t serve her when the evaluations came around. It didn’t help when several sentries chuckled.

  Ragnar turned to them and nodded. “I didn’t know Andromedins let children fly their ships.”

  “That’s enough,” Natasha snapped. “It’s time to board. I’d considered removing some of the shackles, but I think I’ll let you enjoy them a little longer.”

  Ragnar shrugged. “Nice knowing you, gentlemen. I never thought I’d fly with a pilot that still played with dolls.”

  More laughter. Natasha wanted to remind the men that a moment ago, they’d all been shaking in their boots. They might still fear the prisoner, but they were laughing now. With him. About her.

  She grabbed the mask from the nearby sentry. “Get this man on the ship. I’m already behind schedule.”

  Gritting her teeth, she waited for the men to escort Helmsgaard onto the ship. They gave her sullen looks just like they often did when she was readying to depart. The men resented doing her bidding. Men weren’t permitted to work as pilots. It was a decision made a century ago when fuel reserves began to run low. Andromeda had begun importing fuel.

  Maidens were smaller, lighter and far smarter. The reduced fuel costs added up over time, saving the military vast sums of money. Maidens also seemed to connect with their ships in a way no one could explain. It was like the ship was an extension of their own bodies, the way it responded to their control, and they rarely caused damage or undue strain, so unlike their male counterparts.

  The sentries led Helmsgaard up the ramp. Moments later, the cell door clanged shut, echoing across the vast docking station. The sentries came down the ramp and lined up at attention. As Natasha passed, they saluted. She nodded. Usually, she would exchange a few words with the men, but not today. Instead, she went up the ramp and pushed the button to close the door behind her.

  The prisoner transport was one of the smaller ships in the fleet. It had been cleaned since the last mission, of course, but it still smelled of fear and desperation. She shivered and tried not to think of the mission to Pendleton.

  The prisoner eyed her from behind the bars, his expression condescending as if he were the captor and not the captive. He stood in the middle of his cell and watched her. For a moment neither spoke or moved. Trussed with his hands bound to his belt, his shoulders flexed.

  His lips curved into a slow smile. “Unlock my shackles, pretty, little one.”

  She shook her head and crossed the cabin. She wouldn’t dignify his words with a response. Maidens were smaller than Nymphs because they were given a different diet. She might appear young or even childlike, but she’d graduated top of her flight class. Nothing offended her more than someone mentioning her appearance. Any mention of beauty was demeaning.

  She began the pre-flight instrument check.

  “Let me go and I’ll fly the ship for you,” he said from behind her. “You can sit on my knee.”

  “Why did I take off your mask?” she muttered before leaning toward the small speaker that connected her with flight control. “This is Captain Petrov requesting permission for departure.”

  “Just think, Natasha, if you sit on my knee you might be able to see over the controls.”

  How did he know my first name? The thought concerned her.

  “This is Flight Control. Permission granted.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Natasha said.

  “Come, I think I have a piece of candy in my pocket.”

  She turned to look over her shoulder. “If you continue to speak to me, I will lower the prison cell barrier. It will get damn warm in there. I know how poorly your people tolerate heat.”

  His brows lifted. “Did you just say a bad word? Earlier you said something about piss. Do your mummy and daddy know you talk like that?”

  “My parents are dead,” she said. “I never knew them.”

  Why she’d told him about her parents, she couldn’t understand. The words had come unbidden. They’d spilled out.

  He said nothing, probably thinking about his next jab or insult. His mocking tone bothered her, but instead of responding or thinking about her mother and father, she focused on maneuvering her ship out of the docking station and into the brilliant pink sky. The sun was already high, thanks to the delayed departure. She lowered a visor to block the soft light.

  She hardly thought about her parents anymore. It was only Elise who could make her want to hide in her dormitory and cry. Without her sister, she was truly alone in the world.

  Turning the ship away from Andromeda and up toward the stratosphere, she pushed thoughts of her twin away. Elise was gone. She had to accept that, but there was consolation thinking that, one day, Natasha would be promoted and then she could start the mentoring programs. The thought gave her some relief.

  “We’ll arrive in Pendleton in two hours, thirty-six minutes,” she said over her shoulder. “You might as well make yourself comfortable.”

  Without looking back, she couldn’t tell if he did as she told him. She kept her gaze fixed on the sky ahead, trying not to think of the hell to which she was delivering the man. He might be trying to provoke her, but he was still a human being. This part of the trip always made her wrestle with a strange regret. She hated to think of anyone going to Pendleton. Maybe he had a reason to kill the sentries. Maybe it was self-defense.

  She wasn’t the judge. She wasn’t the jury. She needed to remember that.

  An hour into the flight, a sound behind her drew her attention. She turned to see him standing in the middle of his cell. He leaned against the bars. His shoulders heaved up and down with each breath.

  Her chest tightened with alarm. In an instant, it was clear the man was suffering. It was her responsibility to get the prisoner to Pendleton without incident. If anything went wrong they would suspend her flight privileges while they investigated, and nothing would be worse than being grounded on Andromeda with Sebastian.

  Ragnar didn’t look injured, but sometimes the guards beat a prisoner. They were smart about it, often leaving no signs of violence. She wondered if he suffered from a beating he might have received earlier.

  She shifted the controls to automatic and rose from her seat. “Are you hurt?”

  “Just light-headed. These cuffs are made for a smaller man.”

  As she approached he lifted his hands a few inches. Natasha gasped to see his swollen thumb, his bulging veins and the way his skin across his hand held a pallor of ash.

  “Shit.” She turned back for the controls.

  In the past, passengers on penal colony missions had sat patiently, awaiting their fate. Nothing left to say, she imagined. But this brute spoke to her, even taunted her. Who is this man? An
d how big do men on Jaegar get?

  She was responsible, and that was part of it, but she also felt guilty. Why that was, she couldn’t say. He was a killer. A thug. So physically strong she couldn’t imagine taking him on and beating him. How could anyone defeat this man?

  She needed to get him to Pendleton. And she needed to get him there unharmed.

  She pulled a dossier from the cockpit, ran her fingers over the small pouch that held the keys to both his manacles and his cell. Was she really going to give this man use of his arms? She paused to consider alternatives.

  A heavy groan from behind her spurred her to act. She took the smaller set of keys, setting the dossier aside and hurried back. Her hands shook. She was not meant for this work. Flying, yes. Keeping massive, talkative men under control, no. This man, in particular, this Ragnar Helmsgaard. Twice her size, maybe a wolf shifter, likely a killer. If she never met another Jaegarian prisoner, ever, that was just fine.

  Sweat dripped from his brow as he studied her. “I won’t hurt you,” he murmured.

  “Is that what you told the men you killed?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I told them my wolf would devour them.”

  Her breath caught. “Your wolf?”

  “Yes. It’s inside me. Here.”

  His chin lowered. His eyes went to his chest.

  She stared at his chest, momentarily stunned. She’d never looked intently at any man. She’d never had a reason. But here she was, staring at his chest, taken with the sheer beauty of it. That, and the thought there might be a wolf inside it, was more than her mind could take in.

  Natasha’s breathing changed and a murmur escaped her lungs. Aware of herself, finally, her eyes flew up and met his. His blue eyes gleamed back at her.