The three moons of Frontiera shone white in the distance, and the planet herself lay like a blue and green ball, with a crescent of darkness on one side, and the golden glaze of daylight on the other. The planet was a place of new beginnings for many of the beings on this very ship. They’d fled the stress and clamor of their overcrowded homes to begin new lives. Staking claims for themselves and their families.
He stared at the approaching world for a time and then continued restlessly along the path through the shrubbery. A large gemcock strutted onto the path ahead of him, iridescent purple tail feathers trailing. Stretching its neck, the bird cocked its gold-crowned head and goggled at Stark. Deciding he was harmless, it preceded him like a feathered herald.
He smiled humorlessly to himself. Yes, he was the ruler of all he surveyed, and captain of his fate, whatever the seven hells that might be. But he couldn’t seem to get one small, calculating cat out of his mind and his dreams. He was as alone as the gemcock, his fine feathers availing him no mate, either.
Anger firing the impulse, he cued his comlink.
“Raava. Care to join me in my stateroom for a drink?”
He could use the comfort of a warm, soft body.
Chapter 33
Cold. So cold, shivering so violently her teeth chattered together and her body vibrated against the hard surface underneath her. Kiri reached for a blanket, but found only a thin insulating wrap that rustled in her grasp.
Moaning at the pain lancing through her head, she forced her eyes open. A small rectangular shape sat directly in her line of sight, on the edge of a drab metal platform. She knew that shape. Memories chased through her foggy mind. She winced, clutching her head as the pain grew worse. She’d think later.
She drifted back into an uneasy sleep. This time she dreamed.
She lay in the cubby, huddled under her comforter. Outside lights flashed, and screams echoed, followed by a heavy thump against her door. She stared at the floor, waiting for the crimson pool she knew would spread under the door, as it always did.
But instead, the door flew open, and a shadow fell across her bed. She clenched her chattering teeth. This time they’d kill her, too. But it was Tal gazing down at her, a threatening scowl on his handsome face.
“Get up,” he said in a strange, grating voice. “You’re not riding for free.”
The metal cot jolted with the force of a heavy kick. “Get up,” repeated the voice in Galactic, the universal language. “Or I’ll drag you out myself, and you won’t like it.”
Kiri jerked awake. She squinted painfully at the squat figure standing over her. He or she resembled nothing so much as an evil space pirate in an adventure holovid.
Mauritian; a humanoid with a strange purple-blue cast to skin and hair. As Kiri gaped, the being smiled, not a pleasant sight. Yellow eyes flared, crooked teeth gleaming among straggling braids.
“Guess I get to help you up.”
Kiri jolted upright, the pain in her head nearly sending her flat again. She bent over, clutching her head. “I’m up. But, where am I? Who are you?”
“Why, you’re on a top-line cruise ship, your majesty,” cooed the Mauritian in a falsetto. “Allow me to escort you to your throne.”
Nausea hit, and Kiri retched. She clapped a hand over her mouth, in the imminent knowledge that she was going to be very sick.
“Gah—in here,” the Mauritian commanded, recoiling to slap open a narrow hatch.
Kiri bolted into a tiny lav and vomited until her gut was empty and she was shaking with revulsion at the bitter taste. She staggered to the basin and drank water from her cupped hands, then splashed some on her face. Now her throat hurt to match her head.
She stared at her pale reflection into the tiny, fogged mirror. Tiny, battered and stinking, the lav said clearly this was not a good place. And the last thing she remembered was getting into Tal’s slider and hearing his soft, deep voice.
He’d sold her out. Maybe literally.
“If you’re emptied out, you got work to do,” the Mauritian barked.
Kiri staggered back out of the lav, one hand on the wall for balance. The room was a sleep cubby, she saw now, with drab, scarred walls and no ornamentation of any kind. The narrow, hard cot held only the thin blanket and a familiar cerametal box.
Tal had sent her strong box with her. Was this his idea of a cruel joke? Give her what she’d asked for and take away everything else?
“Where am I?” Was she in some back-alley den near the dock?
“Come on.” The Mauritian shoved open the narrow hatch, and led the way along a narrow passageway lined with similar hatches, some open. Kiri glimpsed other sleep cubbies, full of the clutter of occupancy. There were others here. Was that a good sign, or a bad one?
They passed into an open area, full of noise and bustle the smell of food, and her hope fled.
Past the dozen tables full of raucous beings of every race, and the smells of food and drink and clatter of food service on a large scale, the room was lined with portholes.
Beyond them all gleamed the star-filled, midnight reaches of deep space.
Kiri’s knees buckled, and she fell against the nearest bulkhead, only a railing holding her up. Her head buzzed with shock.
She was in deep space. And not on one of Stark’s beautiful ships with his ex-Space Forces pilot and crew. But on a bucket of rust probably cobbled together with no more finesse than the old airbuses she rode on Earth II.
She was going to die. Probably from horrible suffocation when an airlock broke, or something like that.
“Ho, Gravia, what you bring us?” called a deep voice. “Something shiny?”
“Nothing for you, space scum,” Kiri’s captor called back. “Anyway, I’m the beauty, not her.”
Laughter rolled, but it echoed from far away as Kiri stared at the nearest porthole. Space ... she was in space, shanghaied and bound for who knew what horrible fate.
“Come on, immi,” the Mauritian said. She grabbed Kiri’s arm in bruising grip and hustled her across the big room, through a gauntlet of predatory gazes. Kiri sank into herself, assuming the mantle of her youth, returning the looks with her own blank stare. Never let anyone see the fear.
She was intensely relieved to reach the din of the galley at the other side.
The Mau shoved Kiri onto a stool and stabbed one clawed hand at a large, shiny machine standing on the counter. “Now, you show me how to work this.”
Kiri blinked, unable to believe her eyes. She turned to the Mauritian, ignoring the two Pangaeans and human who paused in their chores to watch curiously.
“You ... you brought me here to run a coffee machine?”
The human, a stout, freckled man, snickered, and the two Pangaeans’ hair wriggled around their throats, their eyes dancing. The Mauritian bared her teeth at Kiri, her yellow eyes full of menace.
“No, I brought you here to show me how to run it,” she snarled. “Then I don’t need you no more, and you’ll earn your keep another way. We need another ship’s whore, the others are gettin’ worn out, the boys use them so hard.”
“‘ere now,” Freckles protested, shifting uneasily. “No call to be so—”
“Shut your maw,” the Mauritian snarled at him, and he subsided, although with a disapproving air.
Her past wrapped its slimy tentacles around Kiri. Death seemed less imminent, but now rape and injury yawned like a slavering mouth.
She stared out at the dining hall full of men and women, many of whom were still watching her through the open service counter, laughing as they talked among themselves. One huge tattooed man grinned and then wiggled his long tongue suggestively. Kiri rolled her eyes, revulsion tightening her face. He and his cronies roared with laughter.
She’d been slammed back into her past as if she’d never left the government-funded school, among the roughest street youths, all jockeying for position and status.
Well, hells. She knew how to do this. She’d just never thought she’d have
to again.
The Mauritian moved closer to Kiri, her claws digging into Kiri’s shoulder through her leather vest. “Get busy,” she said. “Or you’re theirs.”
Kiri narrowed her eyes and glared back, refusing to show pain. “I get it. Enough with the grabbing.”
She turned to the coffee machine. It sat in gleaming splendor. Quark, it was the newest version of the brand she used in her stand. This had cost a starry sum.
“Okay, I know how to use this.” She could control one facet of this hellish situation.
She glanced down at herself. She was surprised they hadn’t stolen her clothing. She’d chosen her leather pants, vest, and high boots to wear to the club. Looked like it was going to have to last her for a while. The spider lace top was fragile and wouldn’t hold up, but the leather was top grade.
She looked the Mauritian in the eye. “I need an apron. A clean one.”
Freckles hurried to get an apron from the back of the galley, and Kiri tied it over her clothes. It was stained, but didn’t smell any worse than the rest of the place.
As she opened a package of Pangaean dark, her mind was racing. She didn’t know why she was here, or even what ship she was on.
The Mau had threatened her with prostitution. And she was not going there, not with a bunch of filthy space transport mechanics. She had to show these freighters that if they wanted good coffee, they needed her. Then she’d figure out the rest—like why she was here, and where Stark was when she really needed him.
She flipped switches and poured in coffee beans with quick flourishes. The machine rumbled to life, grinding the beans, funneling them into the filter, and then adding boiling water. Soon the air was steaming with the scent of fresh coffee. At least they’d purchased—or stolen—top-grade beans. Now for some sleight of hand. If it didn’t work, she was quarked—or fucked by some stinking crewman, which would be light years worse.
Ignoring the Mauritian, who hovered at her elbow, Kiri flipped more switches. She took a deep breath, and set two carafes under the spigots, and filled them both. Then she picked up two fairly clean mugs in one hand and the carafes in the other.
“Where’s the captain? First cup for him.”
The Mauritian scowled, but Freckles pointed across the dining hall. “He’s there. Red cap. Captain Argo.”
Kiri walked out into the dining hall and strode through the tables with her burden, chin up, her narrowed eyes daring anyone to stop her. She expected the Mauritian to follow and was relieved when she did not.
Captain Argo was a grizzled human, with weathered skin and gray hair, and the tough demeanor of a man accustomed to being obeyed. His long hair was clubbed back, and he wore a leather utility vest over his flight suit. He sat back in his chair, eyeing Kiri as she approached his table. He looked like a surly version of Rak, so he didn’t scare her. Right. Good thing she’d just used the lav, or she’d be wetting her pants.
The others at the captain’s table stopped talking as she set the two carafes down.
“First cup from your new coffee maker, Captain, sir,” she said. Her voice only wobbled a little. Demurely, she poured a steaming cup of dark brew and handed it to him.
The captain took the cup and saluted her with it before drinking. Then his face twisted in revulsion, and he spat the mouthful of steaming coffee out, missing the cup with part of it. It splattered on the table and his empty plate.
“What the seven hells?” he growled. “That’s the foulest brew I ever tasted, and that’s saying a pile, considering the old wreck of a machine we been using.” His voice rose, his cheeks reddening as he yelled. “This new brew is s’posed to taste better. An’ you’re s’posed ta know how to run it.”
His crew commanders moved restively, scowling at Kiri.
She stiffened her knees and poured a second cup. She set it before the captain, whisking away the first cup.
“That’s what java tastes like when you don’t know how to use the new machine,” she told him. “Here’s what it tastes like when you do.”
The captain eyed the new cup of coffee, still scowling dangerously. Then he shrugged and took a small sip. A look of pleased surprise crossed his face, and he took another drink. Then he nodded wryly. “That’s more like it.”
His crew commanders relaxed. “I’ll have a cup of that,” a lanky Indigon said.
“So will I. Serve it up, girl.” A Mau pounded his fist on the table.
Kiri kept her gaze on the captain. “Sir, I am a trained barista. Had a shop of my own in the space port, until I somehow ended up on your ship. You keep me in charge of the machine, and I’ll serve up the best java you and your crew ever drank.”
“And I suppose we let someone else touch it, and we get more of that swill,” he said dryly.
Kiri shrugged, her heart pounding, her face cool.
The captain laughed, a raspy chuckle that creased his cheeks and set his eyes twinkling. He toasted Kiri with his mug. “I like you, girlie. Darkrunner was right—you got solid fuel. All right, looks like we got us a barista.”
He surged out of his chair, and the dining hall quieted. “This here,” he said to his crew, “is our new coffee girl. What’s your name?”
“Kiri,” she managed. “Wait a sec. Darkrunner made a deal with you?”
“Kiri,” the captain repeated, ignoring her question. His gaze turned crafty. “What else you willing to do to earn your keep?”
It was a challenge, and she knew it. “I’ll cook, I’ll serve. I won’t do sex work of any kind.” Tal had sent her on this ship, had made some kind of a deal with this rough captain. Maybe this was even one of Tal’s ships.
The captain nodded and looked around the room. Heads nodded, although some of them with clear reluctance. A few of the crew merely stared. The captain sat down, satisfied. “Bring my commanders some coffee. The good stuff, mind you.”
“Yes, sir.” And then she’d ask again, until he told her why Darkrunner had shanghaied her. She wanted to know before she shocked the tattooed bastard in the balls.
Chapter 34
Kiri walked back to the kitchen, skirting the table where two Serpentians, a man and a woman, sat watching her. They were among those who had refused to nod.
Her skin crawled. She’d likely have to deal with one or both of them soon. Another Serp woman sat at the table with them, slim and pretty, but with body language that said she could take care of herself. She jerked her chin in a nod as Kiri passed.
Kiri nodded back, shaking off her fear. She had coffee to make. In the galley, she quickly disposed of the bad batch of coffee in the recycler. Then she poured four mugs of coffee and handed the first one to Gravia with a nod of respect. She was going to be working with this kitchen crew, and she wanted them on her side. Gravia scowled but took it. Kiri handed the other mugs to the Pangaeans and Freckles, who winked at her.
She hurried back to the captain’s table, but he was gone. His commanders accepted their coffee without thanks, although one of them, a lean man with a long dark braid, winked at her. The next hour was a blur of work and activity as Kiri brewed more huge carafes of coffee and set them out along with a phalanx of mugs. The ship’s supplies evidently didn’t run to creamer and flavorings, which considering the plain protein and veg the cooks were serving up, didn’t surprise Kiri. Dessert seemed to be huge trays of strange red pastries that smelled of spoiled berries.
As the dining hall emptied out, she sank onto a stool with a mug of coffee for herself.
“Here.” Freckles shoved a napkin into her hand. It held a plump wrap, exuding flavorful steam. “You look like you’re ‘bout to hit the floor.”
Kiri took a bite, and nearly moaned at the burst of rich protein and spice on her palate. “Mm, good.”
“Gravia’s specialty,” one of the Pangaeans said with a sly twinkle. “Mauritian rat.”
Kiri jerked the wrap away from her mouth and then watched as the other cooks all sniggered. She saluted Gravia with the wrap and took another big bite
.
“Best rat I ever ate.” The texture was too soft to be any kind of meat, but the Mauritian was clearly enjoying her momentary discomfiture, and Kiri knew Gravia needed some kind of victory to even the score.
As she served coffee, most of the crew left her alone, although she was stripped by more than one gaze. After a time, though, two Serpentian women flounced up to the counter. They were both attractive in a hard way, with flowing hair and tight, bright clothing.
The one with turquoise stripes in her blonde hair set her hands on her hips and glared at Kiri. “You better not be slithering in on our business, bitch.”
“Or we’ll cut you a new one,” the redhead added, smirking. She had very sharp teeth, as if they’d been filed. Kiri wondered if she nibbled her customers with them.
She held out two mugs of fresh coffee. “I won’t be. Anyone tries to make me, I’ll cut him a new one. How’s that?”
They looked at each other and then back at her. The redhead took a cup and nodded. “We’ll be watching.”
“Course they’re not gonna look at you, anyway,” the blonde said complacently, taking the other cup and trailing her free hand over her own deep cleavage. “No tits.”
Kiri certainly couldn’t hope to compete with the impossibly round breasts both of them sported.
“You’re right,” she said, trying to look put out. “With you two around no one will notice me.”
“And don’t think you’ll be getting any of my trade either,” added a new voice. A slim Pangaean joined them, his green hair waving about his throat in agitation. “Just because you’re built like a boy.”
Kiri held out another cup of coffee. “Got it.”
The three slithered away with their coffees, a wave of turning heads marking their progress. Kiri sent a silent prayer of thanks that they were on board and hoped that there weren’t too many crew who’d rather have an unwilling partner.
She closed her fingers over the small cylinder in her pocket. She wasn’t sure why they’d overlooked her shocker, but she was grateful to the point of tears. Guess whoever had searched her wasn’t partial to lip gloss.
Stark Pleasure; the Space Magnate's Mistress (The LodeStar Series) Page 27