by Celeste Raye
The truth was he didn’t want to keep that pact.
He wanted Clara, and there was no way he could keep denying it.
The might of Morilan’s warriors were not the only concern, however. Morilan’s forebears had brought many beings with them when they had settled that planet of theirs. They had been wanderers of the system not yet claimed or even known for the most part. It still was not very well known, and getting to it even posed a risk as it sat just outside a strong grav-pull from a collapsed wormhole. The likelihood of it being plundered did not lessen because of that, however. Brigands and other wanderers, star-and-planet-less races, would risk much to have a home. The one thing the planet had going for it was its unsuitability for most races to live upon its surface and its primitive state. That and the fact that Morilan’s planet and the other populated one, in that tiny system of three planets, were not Federation territory, made it a less than desirable location for purchasers trying to buy a private planet.
Despite its not being part of the Federation, he could not simply go in and take the planet. The Federation must be given a price for it. It was not like it had been centuries before when unclaimed planets could just be taken. In order to keep the Federation out, he had to line the coffers of that Federation. In order to build a suitable habitat and to begin the hard task of taming the planet, he had to have many credits at his disposal.
There were things he had to have in place there, and those things would also take credits. He had to build docks for ships, and those were expensive. The list of the things he had to have credits for grew longer by the day.
And paying an army to help protect the place was not in his means. If it were, he could simply break that pact and go on, even if it meant fighting off Morilan’s warriors.
There was more to consider, however.
His entire race was gone but for a few.
The ones Morilan’s forbears had settled their planet with had been pureblooded, but they had eventually had to mix with the other beings in their landing party in order to survive. Only one family stayed pure no matter what, and now Laria was the only purebred female of his race in that entire side of the galaxy.
Purebred children. Children who would have blood not so easily diluted, who would continue his race. There were others, scattered across the galaxy, and he wanted to get them to that planet. His siblings, all of them as pure-blooded as he was himself, were in agreement with that. They wanted to save their race as much as possible, to keep their ways and genetics alive as long as they could in order to honor their ancestors and to remain upon the face of the galaxy.
But maybe that was foolish.
He paused, his heart beating too fast at the thought. Unbidden understanding hit hard. It would not matter how many children he had and then wed off to whatever purebred beings he could cull from the galaxy and convince to populate the new world. Sooner or later, they would mix, they would have to just as Morilan’s people had mixed. True, they could take the same road that Morilan’s family had and continue a pattern of breeding with real discrimination, but how healthy could their race remain under those circumstances?
And how much good was it doing him to want one being and wed another?
None.
Renall had spent centuries with one plan in mind, and now it seemed that that plan was no longer one he wanted to follow and that bemused him. He was used to being logical, to carefully registering his emotions and then setting them aside in order to make the most logical of decisions, in order to think through all of the possibilities so that he would take the road that would lead to the best and most rational result, the result that would fall in line with his plans.
He went to the window and stared out, not knowing that in her chamber, Clara was doing the very same thing, and thinking the same things he was at that moment.
He stood there staring at Orbitary. It felt like a beautiful prison, one designed to trap the unwary and then take as much from them as it could. He longed to be able to simply open a door and step into oxygenated air without worrying that each breath was being monitored and each carbon-laden exhale registered and weighted and considered for the final bill.
He sighed and turned away from the window.
He could not afford to set aside the dream that had been what had sustained him through so many terrible, bloody, and long and lonely centuries.
He couldn’t.
It was not just him that he was doing this all for. He had his siblings and his few remaining people to think of. Love was selfish, and it led people to do selfish things. Love was for humans and other races, not for his race. His race had always wed and mated according to what was best for the community and for their alliances.
How could he possibly do any less?
His thoughts were interrupted when the office door slid open, and Talon came walking across the office, his face showing fresh bruises. He gave Renall a tired smile. “Good news or bad news?”
“Bad.” Better to learn exactly what was happening. Talon sighed and ran his hands through his thick hair. “The Gorlites have declared open warfare on me.”
“That’s not so new. They’ve been hunting us ever since we took their first ship.”
Talon grinned, but there were faint lines of exhaustion on his face. “Good news is, there are five Gorlite ships left.”
Five. Talon and the rest of them had, many years ago, decided to get even with the beings that had taken their family and then sent them into the misery of the mines. Stripping Gorlite vessels was hardly profitable, but it was highly satisfactory on a personal level. Renall had long since stopped feeling that, but Talon had never tired of going after Gorlites. “That is good news.”
“I want to hunt them into extinction.”
Renall stiffened. “That’s…why?”
Talon’s mouth pursed. “Well, for one thing, until I do, none of us will be safe from them. For another, I happen to know for a fact that they are desperate for a homeland. They’re too well known for what they do, and people are starting to understand there are so few of them left now. They are still vengeful however, and still systematically taking ships that carry families and cargo for their own.”
Renall said, “As do we.”
“We allow those onboard to escape. True, we killed a few of the cargo women at that last strip job, but that was hardly our fault. They were not licensed to carry that kind of cargo, as witnessed by their cargo class numbers.”
Renall sighed. “We have other things to do right now, Talon.”
“You might.” Talon gave him a lopsided smile. “I just got word that the latest shipment of oreonium that I took and sold was worth nearly a million credits. I also hear that one of the Gorlite ships is carrying not just a colony of them but also a rich store of ore. I can take it and kill two birds with one stone in a very literal sense.”
A million credits? “That’s a big haul.”
“The biggest. A year’s worth, in fact. I also got a big shipment of other things we can sell. This was a huge take.”
Renall had to ask. “How many ships did you take?”
Talon said, “Two brigand and one Gorlite.”
Gorlites. Talong had seen their father die and he had been the one to try to protect their mother, but to no avail. Renall had been next on the scene and between them, he and Talon, later joined by Jeval and Marik, had fought for as long as they could. The crew had joined in, and many had died. Talon had never really recovered from that. He still lusted for revenge, and it would do no good to try to stop him.
Renall decided to say nothing and wait to hear what else Talon had to say. Talon answered that decision by saying. “Marik pulled the chips from the women we took.”
Renall tensed. “And?”
“They don’t match.”
Renall didn’t relax. “I see.”
“We have to take the carders chip.”
Yes, they did. The idea that she might be a cycle spy was hard to take. It meant she would not live lo
ng, and that he had been discovered in his illegal activities. The Federation could very well step in and try to reassign his credit accounts and the gaming hall, which would bankrupt him. Unless he had the planet, where there was no Federation regulations or control.
He sighed. “I know.”
But what if Clara, who was already angry with him over the delay of her mother’s arrival, decided to simply take advantage of the credits she had in her possession, the lack of a chip, and her current anger at him, and leave?
That was a distinct possibility. Once the chip was gone, she would have nothing to fear from her government and the crypto file he held would matter little if she got a genetic lift and some facial surgery.
She might too.
He said, “We can’t tell her why we are taking it out.”
“No.” Talon walked toward the small table and lifted out a short and sparkling bottle of water, the most expensive drink in the hall. He swallowed half the bottle at one gulp. He gasped for breath then added, “We need to do it today.”
“I will have her taken to the med bay at once.” No way was he going to face her. He shifted in the chair. “Please keep me informed.”
His heart thumped as he spoke the words. What if it was Clara? What if she was a cycle spy and he had to kill her out of sheer mercy?
Could he do that?
Could he?
Chapter 10
Clara was still in her chamber when the summons came. She was beeped on the telecom on the wall. She answered it to find a disembodied voice informing her that she had to report to a med-bay for a physical.
“You must be kidding me,” she muttered. “Do they even spy on us in the chambers? Am I going to be handed a bill for using too much oxygen while making love?”
The idea would have been funny if she was not so sure that it might actually be true. She climbed into the cleanser booth and out then dressed hastily. A ticket popped out of the wall. She grabbed it and groaned. She’d cleansed one time already that day. The second tryst with the cleansers had just cost her five credits!
Furious and still out of sorts from that sexual encounter and its aftermath, she headed out of the room and toward the medi-center. Her nerves tightened with each step she took. She had not been told she had to have a physical and as far as she was concerned, it was likely just another way for the planet committee to get more credits out of her.
When the bay doors opened to reveal Marik standing there, her nerves not only went tau—they threatened to fray and snap.
Marik said, “Come with me, please.”
They were the only two in there, so she balked. “Why?”
His eyes met hers. “You need a phys.”
“Why?” her fists balled up.
His face didn’t change. “It’s the rules.”
“I was never told that. I’m not paying for this either.”
Marik’s lips lifted in a grin. “I see.”
Her thoughts were in chaos. Had Renall ordered the phys to make sure she was not ill or diseased? A little late for him to worry about that, wasn’t it? Her chin came up higher. “Why now?”
“Why not now?” His grin was meant to be disarming. Clara was not buying it.
Her eyebrow lifted. “I have been here for weeks. I never had to have one before.”
“They want to make sure your system is adjusting without issue.’
Oh. Well, that was plausible. Still, the idea that Renall had gotten worried she might be riddled with some dreaded illness stayed on. She knew there was no way out of the phys no matter how she felt about it too though. “Fine. Can we make it fast? I need to get back to the tables.”
“Not after that skull scrape.” He started walking, and she fell into step beside him. He added, “That is something else I need to check while I am at it. There can be some nasty after-effects.”
“You should have been there for the during,” she muttered.
Marik gave her a sympathetic look. “I have been. It’s awful. For a second I almost wished I would just go ahead and die, it was that bad.”
He had a point there. She let a grin lift her mouth. “Me too. Why do they let those things in here knowing they can do that?”
“Because they have lots of credits.”
Of course. On Orbitary, everything came down to credits.
Marik pointed to a bay bed, and they stepped into the semi-circle of its walls. Clara sat on the edge of the bed, but he said, “It’s full.”
Shit. She glared at him. “I need a cover at least.”
He pointed to a small stack of linen at the top of the bed, and she grabbed at it while he turned his back, fiddling with dials and knobs on the scanners. The mask went over her face. Confusion set in. Why a mask for a phys?
Then darkness took her down.
Clara woke hours later, in her own room. The room was black. Orbitary charged every single soul a surcharge for lights and wicks. Most people cut everything off the minute they laid down at night to avoid overcharging their credits, and to keep from getting a stiff fine for being wasteful with the resources.
She fumbled for a wick, the least expensive and resource using light. It flared, sending a small, slim band of light upward from its casing. Clara groaned as she sat up; her head ached, and she felt sick and slightly weak.
It all came flooding back. Clara staggered out of bed, determined to go have it out with Marik, but she could barely walk. She staggered into a chair just as the day’s bill came into her chamber.
Clara stared at it. The extra cleansing was not in there. Neither was the telecall for the phys—the one where Marik had gassed her for some reason.
She blinked a few times. Her brain felt dulled and fuzzed. Her fingers were sore. There was a distant roar in her ears, and her limbs felt buzzy and queer. She surveyed the bill again, trying to think.
Had she imagined the phys? Fallen asleep and dreamed it? It had felt so real though. But there was no bill for the call nor for the extra cleanse. She frowned, trying to think.
The day’s events unfolded in her mind. She got to the part where she had been attacked on the hall’s floor, and a new question arose.
Had she dreamed that phys? She had to have. Had to have. But—if that was so—had she also dreamed up that romantic encounter with Renall?
“Oh boy.” Her breath came out in a slow exhale. It was possible. That skull scrape had been no joke. She seemed to have dreamed up a cleanse that had never occurred, and a telecall that had not happened, and a phys—complete with a mask filled with gas—that had not happened either.
Relief sliced through her confusion. She didn’t want to examine how she felt about Renall and not knowing for certain if that tryst had been a figment of her imagination should have made things so much worse, but it didn’t. In fact, things felt far better with that uncertainty around it.
Too confused and sick to really process those things, Clara made her way back to the bed and cut off the wick. Her hands folded beneath her skull. Her eyes closed then flew back open as she felt, through all the other long list of complaints in her body, a stinging pain at the base of her spine.
“What the…?” Her fingers crawled around her waist and downward. She pressed softly at the stinging place on her skin. Misery stitched up along her spine. Her eyes went wide. She had felt that pain before.
When her chip had been placed in her body.
Eyes wide, terror creeping in, Clara lay there, staring into the blackness and wondering exactly what was going on.
Her courage had always been what had gotten her through, and it kicked in then too as the day dawned outside her window. She slung the covers aside and stood. She stood and then went to the dresser, yanking out clothes. Dana had made her another dress, but Clara disregarded it. She felt off-center, and the last thing she wanted to do was put her flesh on display.
Besides she had to go to Renall and demand an answer, and if she wore one of those dresses—well. She thought, I didn’t dream that. It happene
d. We made love. I don’t know what happened after, but I know we did make love. If I wear a dress like that again we may again. I want that, but not before I get answers.
Chapter 11
Not Clara. The two words rang through Renall’s skull. Gratitude hit. She was not the cycle spy. That only left the seamstress and her daughters. And he doubted it was any of them. Maybe it had been the one with low rot. That would make sense. The implants took on differing effects depending on the person.
However, his relief was tempered by sorrow. Dana sat in a chair. She had been gassed and her chip removed, as had her daughter Lois. The other daughter was working a shift and not yet available. Not that they needed her.
They had their cycle spy.
Lois.
The poor simple-minded girl was the cycle spy.
They had discovered too late that the chip had a self-destruct button. That button had been set off by Marik when he had attempted to remove the chip. The fluid he had retrieved had been a perfect match, but even without it, they would have known.
Lois kicked her way off the bed. Her brain was shutting down and all of her systems out of line. She walked and fell; garbled words and syllables came from her mouth. Her nose bled.
Renall’s heart wrenched with pity. He said, “Marik, can you not give her more gas?”
Marik said, “I gave her beyond the lethal dose. There must be some kind of mechanics involved as well. It seems whoever did this to her wanted her to suffer, even in death. It is…unfortunate, but I cannot do more. Unless you want me to inject her with the chloride.”
Did he want that? The chloride gave off a quick death but a brutally painful one. How long could her body continue? How much pain was she already in? Would the chloride hasten her death at all and would the pain be even greater if he ordered it?
He would have to order it. Marik would never. It went against everything he believed in as a healer. Jeval wouldn’t, not because he lacked sympathy but because he was more used to killing in battle than killing coldly and he would shrink from that, and Talon had gone to Dana’s side to check her vitals and to try to avoid the sight of the shrieking and writhing woman on the floor.