Quantum

by Jess Anastasi

  “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

  Forster gave a short laugh. “Ouch. All right, no endearments for Lieutenant Marshal Petros.”

  Mae let him go with a small shove and returned to eating her meal. Forster rubbed his head, shooting Mae a thwarted yet intrigued glance. Oh, hell no. The asshole had better put an end to whatever thoughts he was having about her, or this trip was going to end bloody for someone.

  “So, Forster, how’s business working out?” Zander asked, making his tone light, as though he was discussing the weather. “With the IPC cracking down on illegal salvage, there are fewer and fewer places you can go in the universe without getting caught and sent to Erebus.”

  The captain cut him an annoyed look. “It’s going better than your career in the military, by the looks of things.”

  Zander returned the man’s glare, but before he could think of any suitable reply, Mae stood and crossed the small space to put her plate in the dishwasher.

  “So, Lucie, you said something about giving me a tour of the ship?”

  Lucie glanced up and then nodded as she finished off her own meal. “Yes, I’ll show you where you’ll be bunking down and then take you through the rest of the ship. It won’t take long, though. The Ebony Winter isn’t exactly huge.”

  Forster stood as well. “I’d love to join you, but I’ve got captaining-type stuff to do. Innocent people to kill, currency to steal, puppies to kick. All the usual.”

  Zander found himself subjected to another peeved glare, then Forster left the galley. The other men followed, leaving only Lucie behind while Zander finished eating.

  Lucie sighed, and Zander turned his attention to her.

  “He’s not usually like that. I think having the two of you onboard has put him on edge,” Lucie was saying to Mae.

  “Then why did he agree to help us?” Mae asked the exact same question that surfaced in Zander’s mind.

  Lucie shrugged one shoulder. “Probably because he was curious, and maybe he thought he could get something out of the arrangement. But a lot of it would have come down to the fact that when good people need help, Qae can’t resist helping them, even if it means risking his own hide.”

  “Forster helps people?” Zander tried to tone down the incredulity in his voice, but judging by the glare Lucie aimed in his direction, he hadn’t done a very good job of it. It ran with that discovery he’d made about Forster delivering goods to the Mobius hospital, but he still couldn’t balance the facts with the man’s IPC rap sheet.

  Lucie crossed her arms. “Don’t judge Qae by his reputation alone. Most of it has been trumped up by the government so they can justify catching him. If people knew the type of person he really was, knew why he stole and who he stole from and what he did with the loot, they wouldn’t be so quick to condemn him.”

  “What kind of things?” Mae sounded genuinely unprejudiced as she asked the question.

  Lucie glanced between the two of them, but her expression seemed to close up against them. “I’m not saying any more. You probably wouldn’t believe me, anyway. Come on, I’ll show you to your bunk.”

  “Thanks.” Mae sent her a reassuring, nonthreatening smile then turned to him. “Are you coming?”

  “I’ll catch up in a second. Just need a glass of water.” And a few quiet seconds to deal with the absolute nuttiness that was his life right now.

  Mae nodded and followed Lucie out of the galley, leaving him alone.

  Zander replayed Lucie’s words, weighing up what she’d said against every one of Forster’s infraction reports he’d read over the past few years. Lucie believed what she was saying, but how impartial could she be? She was serving under the man’s command on his ship; of course she’d be biased.

  But could he say he was unbiased? He’d had trouble reconciling the Forster he’d met during the war with some of the man’s apparent deeds in recent times. Lucie’s words reminded him that while Forster had always been a bit of a sarcastic ass—never taking much of anything seriously—he had often gone out of his way to help his fellow soldiers when they needed it.

  Could the IPC have falsified some of Forster’s file in order to make catching him a higher priority? A few weeks ago, Zander would have replied with an emphatic no. Except here he was, hiding out from his own people, whose leadership might or might not have been infiltrated by an unknown number of shape-shifting aliens.

  Christ.

  He needed to find a safe sanctuary somewhere in this galaxy and then take care of the fake Zander Graydon flying his goddamn flagship. And that was what he needed to keep his thoughts focused on…not Mae and the fact that having her with him made all of this so much easier to bear.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nadira

  Rian managed to get Ella to her cabin and make it to his quarters without bumping into any of the crew, avoiding the inevitable questions that would have erupted if they’d seen the state Ella and he had both been in. His hand shook as he reached for the half-empty bottle of Violaine. He paused and clenched his fist, forcing the tremor to stop before he picked up the bottle. Unfortunately, he didn’t even get to take a mouthful of the hard liquor before a knock sounded at his door, followed by light footsteps that hadn’t bothered waiting for him to answer.

  Only Zahli would be insolent enough to walk into his private rooms without permission… Well, maybe Ella would—except if it had been Ella, somehow he would have known. Christ knew he couldn’t predict what that woman would do. And no matter how many times he told himself he needed to teach her the meaning of the word “captain” and how the whole chain-of-command thing worked, he found himself either avoiding her or getting distracted by other things whenever he was forced to deal with her. Like killing dirt-licking rapists.

  A cold shudder rocked him, but the rippling echoes of the kill sent a shaft of gratification through him, just like the Reidar had conditioned him to feel. He closed his fist tighter around the neck of the bottle and unscrewed the lid, taking a quick chug as Zahli stopped a few steps from him.

  “Rian, what’s going on now? Why are there CP officers standing at attention outside the ship? They didn’t find out we broke into their dig site, did they?”

  Rian swore under his breath and stalked to his viewport, but from this angle, combined with the dark night shadows, he couldn’t see much of anything. He turned to look at Zahli, and her gaze darted downward, over his chest. Right, bloodstains.

  “They didn’t find out about our excursion, no.” He took another swig of Violaine and glanced at how much he had left. Did he drink it all and suffer without it for christ knew how long? Or did he ration it until he could source a new supply? Hmm, maybe he should have considered rationing while he’d still had two or three bottles left. He gave a mental shrug. Moderation hadn’t exactly been one of his strongest attributes lately.

  “I’m sure your bottle of Violaine is fascinating, Rian, but you haven’t answered my question. And I’d really like to know whose blood you’ve got spattered all over your shirt. The CP officers said we aren’t allowed to leave. I thought you wanted to intercept the Swift Brion as soon as we could.”

  He sighed as he dropped to sit on the padded bench running the length of the bulkhead. “There was an incident. Some local dirt-licker attacked Ella, so I stabbed him in the chest.”

  Zahli took a quick inhale, not quite a gasp. Even after all this time, after everything he’d done, he didn’t understand how his actions could still shock her.

  “Is he—” She swallowed and reached up to twine her fingers into the necklace she wore, the one their parents had given her on her sixteenth birthday.

  “I twisted the knife, just to make sure I severed some arteries. So yeah, he’s not exactly breathing any longer.” He took another mouthful of Violaine, his fingers all but tingling at the sensory recall of warm blood gushing over his hand.

  “We’re already wanted for intergalactic terrorism. You can’t just traipse around killing people, otherwise there wi
ll be nowhere in this galaxy we can land.”

  “I don’t think there is anywhere we can go in this galaxy any longer. And it’s fine. That Alyssa Faulkner chick came and cleared it all up. Ella and I just need to go to the law offices in the morning to make some official statement. Then we can be on our way.”

  “Who is Alyssa Faulkner?” Zahli crossed her arms, a confused expression on her face. Had he forgotten to tell her about the visit from High President Hendricks’s interversal liaison? Hell, he couldn’t keep up with who knew what these days. His ship had become like some melodramatic soap. All he wanted was to kill a few Reidar and be left alone. Instead he had to be all sociable and take care of a whole ship full of people.

  The responsibly pressed more heavily on him than usual. That was saying something, considering most days he couldn’t get out of bed for the weight, until he reminded himself that Violaine, and the prospect of spilling Reidar guts all over the universe, were the only two things keeping him moving.

  “She works for the high president—”

  “Oh, right. Ella mentioned something about her.”

  Ella again. Jezus, couldn’t he even have a single conversation where the priestess didn’t get mentioned? For the millionth time, he contemplated that keeping her on his ship made him crazier than usual, and he should find somewhere to stash her. Except an urgent, desperate sensation had squeezed him as he’d blindly run to find her, and for some moronic reason, he got the feeling that getting her off the ship would make all the derangement in his head even worse.

  “I can’t say I agree with you killing some random stranger, but if he was trying to hurt Ella, he probably got what he deserved. I’ll tell the rest of the crew we’re not leaving until the morning.”

  “Wait, before you go, what’s the progress on those Reidar files? Is Tannin nearly done with them, or not?”

  A hint of irritation crossed her features, but she outwardly kept the annoyance locked down. “He’s working on them as fast as he can. When they’re done, you’ll be the first one to hear about it.”

  Rian nodded, nursing the Violaine in his lap as his sister bade him good night and left the room again. Once he was alone with the silence, he took another mouthful of liquor, this one slower and contemplative.

  He let the nothingness of the moment seep into him, taking in the relative calm and forcing down the last wisps of darkness so he could get back to functioning as close to normal as he could. If he let the darkness hover too close to the surface, he lashed out worse than usual, and even the ones he loved weren’t safe. He glanced down at his right wrist, where the thick band of beads circled his wrist, his constant reminder and penance.

  Another day, another death added to his uncountable tally. However, this one he could discard. As Zahli had said, the bastard had it coming—the second he’d touched Ella, he’d forfeited his life.

  His comm chimed, and Rian tapped the device to answer. So much for having a moment. And Zahli wondered why he drank so much Violaine. The better question was, how could anyone not resort to drinking when a person couldn’t even get five damned minutes to himself in this fishbowl.

  “What is it?” He set aside the bottle of Violaine.

  “Rian, Alyssa Faulkner wants to talk with you about what happened tonight. She’s outside the ship,” Lianna answered.

  And it couldn’t have waited until tomorrow? Had something else happened? Maybe the guy hadn’t actually died. He hadn’t exactly tried to check for a pulse after he’d knifed the bastard. But the way he’d twisted the blade, it should have severed every artery—

  “Rian?” Lianna’s voice sharpened through the comm.

  “Tell her to wait for me in the cargo bay. I’ll be right down.”

  He tapped the comm and walked into the privy, stopping in front of the sink to splash water over his face and gulp down a few mouthfuls of the cool liquid. He was far from drunk, but the hard-core stuff he’d drunk in town, added to the Violaine, had given everything a pleasantly hazy edge, just the way he liked it.

  Unfortunately, his head probably needed to be a little clearer to deal with a presidential interversal liaison. Short of having an hour and three coffees—which he’d likely lace with brandy anyway—he couldn’t get his mind operating any clearer than it already was.

  He stripped out of his blood-spattered shirt and grabbed another without paying too much attention, then made his way down-ship as he fastened the clasps.

  In the dim light of the cargo bay, Faulkner waited, leaning against one of the crates. He clomped down the last few steps, gaining her attention as he strode across the metal grate floor toward her.

  “Ms. Faulkner, can I help you with something?” Yep, that was about as polite as he got. From here, things would definitely go downhill.

  “Please, call me Alyssa. I just wanted to make sure you and Ella were okay, after everything that happened tonight.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, trying to find the double meaning behind her words, where there might be some kind of duplicity or treachery ready to leap out and kick him in the teeth. Faulkner just stared back at him, nothing in her gaze except maybe a little curiosity.

  “We’re doing just fine. I got to Ella before the bastard could do any real damage.”

  “That’s good. President Hendricks is intent on making Nadira a family-friendly destination, it wouldn’t do to have rumors of an Arynian priestess attacked, or that we’d locked up the IPC’s most respected war hero.”

  And the truth comes out. Bitterness and cynicism swept through him, though the edge wasn’t as sharp as it might have been, due to that last hit of Violaine. This whole thing wasn’t about him or even Ella. This was about his reputation, and what was best for Nadira. Hendricks was probably cursing the day the Imojenna set down on his boondocks of a world.

  Rian crossed his arms and leveled a hard stare on the woman. “Obviously you haven’t been keeping up with the news, otherwise you’d know my shiny reputation has been somewhat tarnished by that fact we’re on the run from charges of intergalactic terrorism.”

  Okay, he’d taken a gigantic risk in telling her the truth; she could easily put a call to the nearest IPC ship, which would make the cautious journey the Imojenna had taken to get here a big fat waste of time.

  Faulkner straightened from where she’d been leaning and took a step closer to him.

  “I had heard about that. You think I didn’t do any checking when your ship landed here? Most people think those charges are a load of rubbish, you know. It’s hard to believe someone who all but won the war for the IPC would turn to a life of crime. People don’t want their heroes brought low. UAFA is having a hard time justifying their pursuit of you. In fact, some of your supporters in the military are calling for the charges to be thrown out.”

  Not much surprised him these days, partly because he was so goddamn cynical, but mostly because surprise required him to feel something, and he spent as little time dealing with emotion as possible. But this news sent a shaft of astonishment slicing through him, clearing some of the lazy, liquor-induced fog.

  He hadn’t exactly kept up with the IPC’s gossip while he’d skulked his way through the universe trying to work out his next steps against the Reidar. Were there really people within the military trying to clear his name? What a bunch of morons.

  “I’m no hero,” he muttered. “People should find a better cause to get behind than some washed-up IPC soldier.”

  Faulkner closed another step between them, tilting her head. “People need something to believe in, Rian. It’s human nature. Is it so bad that some people choose to believe in you?”

  Just what was Alyssa Faulkner playing at? Though her words were insightful, there was almost an edge of derisiveness. Something was going on he didn’t understand, something he didn’t have the full picture of. Without a doubt, it would bring him nothing but more trouble.

  He uncrossed his arms, thumbs hooking into his weapons belt. “It’s Captain Sherron, and yeah
, it’s idiotic for people to treat me like I’m special when I’m just a guy flying an old supply ship.”

  Faulkner gave a low laugh and sidled closer to him. “So modest, Captain Sherron.”

  She reached up and started to slide a palm over his pecs, but he caught her wrist and yanked her hand away, his grip bruising. A wash of bitter acid surged through his veins, rippling out from where her touch had been, as though the contact had branded him with venom—a new and astringent reminder of why he didn’t like to be touched. “I’m sorry, did you get the impression I was interested in you?”

  She frowned, red washing over her cheeks as she jerked her hand. “Let me go.”

  He yanked her closer, leaning over her. “What are you up to? Or are you just some groupie looking to get laid by the IPC’s poster boy?”

  A spark of fear leaped into her eyes, and she pulled at her wrist again, but he simply tightened his hold until she whimpered. Good. If she was scared of him, she’d tell the truth.

  “I’ll ask you once more, and then I’m not going to be so friendly any longer. What are you up to, Ms. Faulkner? Did the president send you to seduce some kind of information out of me? Maybe keep me distracted until the IPC lands here to apprehend me?”

  She shook her head, a strand of hair slipping free from the clasp. “No, nothing like that.”

  This time when she tugged, he let her go, and she stumbled back a step.

  Indignation and anger tightened her features. “I thought you were a decent guy, that’s all. Apparently I was mistaken.”

  And that was supposed to, what, hurt his feelings? Well, boo-hoo. “Yeah, well, obviously you were wrong. Now get the hell off my ship.”

  She glared at him, and he waited for the usual threat—you’ll be sorry, or you’ll regret this, or his eternal favorite, I’ll make you pay for this. But nothing was forthcoming.