Embrace the Romance

by S. E. Smith

  “I know what I’m doing. You be still, and let me handle this.” He leaned down to snatch up a tin cup of what passed for kinna off the breakfast tray.

  “If you’re about ta do what I’m thinkin’, there’ll be no fix for it.”

  “Sit. Down.”

  Adey strode up to him and slapped him across the face. “Ya’ll not be tellin’ me what to do. We’re mates. Equal partners!”

  Dallan pushed her away and lifted the tin to his mouth, muttering, “Not this time.”

  “Like Hades, you bastard!” Adey shrieked. She grabbed the tin in his hand, and they fought over it, Adey intent on splashing the hot liquid into his face. Dallan wrenched it up above her reach, the dark kinna sloshing up to drench the ceiling—and the surv-cam lens.

  “Hellcat!” Dallan shouted, shoving her down on the mattress. “How did I ever get mixed up with the likes o’ you?”

  Adey buried her face in her hands, before pulling the blanket over her head and curling into a tight ball on the mattress, sobbing.

  Jagger’s heart twisted in his chest. He knew it wasn’t all an act.

  Eleven

  “You wanted to talk to me.” Rinn leaned back in his chair. “So talk.”

  “You haven’t found what you’re looking for,” Jagger said quietly, keeping respect in his tone. Enemy that he was, Rinn was still the closest thing he had to an ally. In a very short time, he might be the only man on this ship who would stand in the way of Jagger being gutted alive. “Can I ask why you’re still seeing fit to hold us here?”

  “Don’t care for our company, Mr. Tion?”

  “Don’t care for the company of your underlings much, no.”

  Rinn averted his eyes with a slight twitch of his mouth. “Have either of you been harmed in any way by my men?”

  Jagger pressed his lips into a thin line. He answered in a slow drawl with a good bit of gravel in his voice. “Not yet.”

  “And you won’t be, as long as I have any doubt your story isn’t a complete fabrication.”

  “Ah, have your doubts, then, do ya?”

  “The animal on your ship—whatever it is—has managed to conceal itself well. It isn’t even showing up on scans now. Possibly it’s dead, which—unfortunately—will make it much harder to locate. But we will locate it. Once we’ve ascertained it’s a cat-thing, as you call it, and not the creature we’re seeking, you’ll be free to complete your journey to Arst, cargo intact.”

  “Somehow, Admiral, I’m not fully believin’ ya.”

  Rinn stiffened his spine, and his eyes narrowed. “Admiral?”

  Jagger realized his mistake. “S’what your man called you.”

  Rinn’s jaw muscles tightened. “That was…unfortunate.”

  Jagger opened his hands, palms up, in a gesture of naiveté. “Titles don’t really amount to nothin’ out here in the Rift. Ya can crown yourself king for all we care.”

  A slight vibration rumble up through his boots from the deck below.

  “If you’ve come to talk to me about anything of significance, start talking. Otherwise, I’ll have Pram take you back to your cell.”

  Another vibration shuddered through the ship.

  This one Rinn noted and pressed the comm device in his hand. “Give me a status report.”

  Rinn fixed Jagger with a tight-lipped stare while he waited for a response. A third, much more violent rumbling echoed through the ship, followed by two thunderous thumps.

  “Sounds like your bay door seal’s been blown. Not designed to handle the pressure change when exposed to a vacuum.”

  Rinn’s mouth dropped open. “What did you say?”

  “Just something I heard once…from the crew of a ship called Specter.” Drea’s ship. Her breaching of a Hammerhead shuttle bay was legendary.

  The man’s comm pinged. “Admiral, we have a breach in the bay!” The report of firing cannons sounded, followed by a softer returning volley.

  Rinn jumped to his feet. “Who are you?”

  “No one of consequence.” Jagger shoved his hands into the pockets of his coveralls.

  A wave of distorted dimensions washed over the destroyer, as if something had grabbed the vessel and dragged it through space. Jagger was hurled to the floor as the ship spun and pitched around him, the energy wave momentarily throwing the craft off-kilter before releasing the vessel from its clutches to drift free.

  Jagger pushed himself to all fours, and fought through the waves of stabbing pain and head-clawing agony—the unmistakable signatures of a DEDdrive engaging.

  His heart lurched in exhilaration…

  She did it!

  And lament.

  She’s gone.

  Rinn rose behind his desk, drew his laze-pistol with one hand, and aimed it at Jagger, punching his comm with his free hand. “Report to my Command Room. Now!”

  Three Ithians flanked Jagger, his hands locked in restraints behind his back, as they marched him down the corridors to his detention block. When they pushed him through the seal into the observation area, Jagger locked his legs in place.

  Pram was in their cell. He looked up from where he bent over Adey. She lay still beneath the blanket, her dark hair spilling out across the mattress. Jagger’s gaze lingered on her, grief welling inside him.

  Pram locked his fingers around one corner of the blanket and tossed it back, exposing the towels that had been bunched and formed into the shape of a petite, sleeping female. One discarded boot and a severed lock of her dark hair lay limp on the bare mattress.

  Only then did Jagger raise his eyes to meet Pram’s livid glare, and let a tiny smirk lift the corners of his mouth.

  She was safe. And they owed it all to a StarDog.

  At Ketsia’s signal, Luna had stealthily returned to Banshee and retrieved his tool packet then scampered back through the ductwork to wait behind the ventilation screen until Jagger had blinded—or at least lethally blurred—the overhead surv-cam with the splash of hot kinna. When Ketsia gestured, the little beastie had brought him his tools.

  While Ketsia hastily arranged the towels and blankets into a close approximation of the sobbing wreck who’d thrown herself to the mattress moments before, Jagger used shears to cut a swath of her hair and motioned for one of her boots. Once they’d prepared the dummy, he took his laze-torch to the tray passthrough at the bottom of the bars and severed the hinges, hefting it free.

  “Go!” Jagger mouthed.

  Ketsia gripped both his wrists. “Jagger…”

  He took her face in both his hands, whispering, “No arguments. I can’t make it through the ventilation system. You can, and you know how to fly Banshee…go do it!”

  “They’ll kill you!”

  “If you stay, we’re both dead, and it’s all for nothing. Get Luna to Jaeo. Go.” He kissed her soundly one time—the last time—and pushed her to the deck and through the narrow opening in the bars before setting the passthrough cover back in place.

  The StarDog rose up on its hind legs, planting a paw on Jagger’s knee. “You take care of her, Luna,” Jagger whispered. “Always.”

  He watched through the bars as they sprinted across the deck to their escape route. Luna jumped into the ductwork, but Ket paused beside the opening, looking back at him with tears in her eyes.

  Go! Jagger signaled. Someone’s coming.

  If only he’d had the time or words to tell her how one night with her had changed everything for him—how it had given meaning to this last sacrifice.

  She’d be safe. That was the only thing in the universe that mattered to him now.

  Love you, Ket.

  Five sectas later, Pram stepped into the observation area just after Ketsia pulled the vent cover back into place behind her. The guard marched up to the bars. “Rinn wants to see you. Now.”

  The Ithian cast a questioning glance at Ketsia’s huddled form, at the lock of dark hair fanning out on the mattress. And the boot just peeking out from the lower edge of the blanket.

  Pra
m unlocked the cell door, motioning him through.

  The agony of flashpoint was paralyzing, but the tears spilling down Ketsia’s face were from a pain far greater. How could she have left Jagger behind? Left him to be beaten and tortured—or worse—by his Ithian captors?

  She knew what Luna carried was crucial—so critical some wouldn’t question the cost of a life—but it was her Jagger who’d put his life on the line, and they didn’t love the man.

  Though she wasn’t sure of the dangers of interrupting a course set through DEDspace, she considered dropping back through flashpoint and turning the ship around. Yet even if she managed to do it safely, how would that help Jagger? She didn’t have the skills or experience to take on the Ithian destroyer or its crew. And Luna and what she carried might be lost in the attempt.

  No, her only hope—and his—lay ahead. Not behind.

  Ketsia did a quick scan of the readouts that played across the inside of her visor. Everything optimum.

  Ahead lay the rendezvous point where Jaeo Gant waited aboard his ship, Acumen, to accept the priority datacell Luna carried—proof the Ithian rogues were organizing an attack on the House of Planets as a first step in regaining their stranglehold on the known universe. The data was the smoking paracannon that would overturn the Compact protecting the dangerous Ithian holdouts and allow for their capture and incarceration.

  At least with the DEDdrive engaged she’d reach Acumen in a matter of minutes, not days. The Ithian aggression in taking them captive would fully justify their violation of the no-DEDdrive Compact.

  An alert pinged in her ear, and Ket checked the readouts. Approaching flashpoint drop-out.

  She clenched her jaw and braced against the biting, slicing sensations of flashpoint, her fingernails digging into the armrests. She’d only need endure flashpoint for a few more sectas, but even in that brief span, she gained a new understanding of why some went mad negotiating the torturous altered realities of DEDspace.

  The sensation of having the flesh stripped from her bones eased then stopped, and Banshee dropped into real space.

  There, about sixty milos ahead, Acumen floated serenely at her precise rendezvous coordinates. Thank the Island Lords! But as Ketsia closed the distance, she picked up a second register—another ship—in virtually the same location as Acumen.

  Jaeo had company.

  Banshee screeched an alert and scattered data containing the second craft’s signature across all three screens of her helmet readouts. And with it came a visual schematic—the ghostly outline of a vessel Ket knew only too well.

  She gasped.

  Twelve

  By all that was holy, it was Specter.

  Drea Mennelsohn’s legendary stealth ship—now the personal transport of Congressman Sair of the House of Planets—was hard-docked with Acumen.

  “Hailing Sheeban. Gigadam, what the devil happened, Jagger,” Jaeo greeted via the ship’s comm. “You’re four days early.”

  Ketsia drew a shaky breath. “Jagger’s not onboard.”

  “Ket?” His voice changed from surprise to alarm. “You’re flying alone?”

  “I have Luna. Delivering her as planned. I have to go back for Jagger.”

  “What’s happened?” She heard a hint of panic in her adopted father’s voice. “Where is he?”

  “The Ithians have him.”

  “The Ithians?”

  “We were ambushed. Held captive. They were on the lookout for Luna and picked up her lifesign onboard. With his help, Luna and I escaped. As soon as I dock and transfer her, I’m going back.”

  “Deploying electronic catchnet to bring you to dock. Relinquish controls.”

  “You have the controls.”

  Ketsia sat back in her flight couch, scanning the readouts as the catchnet guided her ship to dock. She’d accomplished her mission and delivered Luna, but any sense of victory was drowned out by anxiety and adrenalin.

  Nothing in this universe was going to stop her from flying back into the jaws of Hades to get Jagger.

  “Explain again,” Jaeo said. “You were held by the crew of an Ithian Hammerhead? And they were looking for Luna?”

  “Yes. The man in charge went by Rinn.”

  Drea Mennelsohn tossed her blond mane and locked eyes with her uncle. “Could be a nick for Admiral Darrarinn. He and his destroyer were unaccounted for after Operation Reset.”

  “A dangerous man,” Jaeo muttered. “Who must have talented spies.”

  “I don’t care who he is,” Ketsia said. “I’ve got to get Jagger.”

  Jaeo’s navigator and her friend, Taro Shall, clamped a supportive hand over her shoulder. Beside him, his bondmate Adini—Luna’s original owner—held the StarDog cradled in her arms, a small bandage over the spot on her shoulder where they’d retrieved the datacell she carried.

  Jaeo shook his head slowly. “I was against you being involved in this mission to start with, but I understand why you wanted to help. Now that you’re safe, I can’t let you return.”

  “This isn’t up to you,” Ketsia declared. Her gaze flickered momentarily to the silent, brooding, crossed-armed presence of Captain Drea Mennelsohn, who stood at her uncle’s side. “Jagger put everything on the line for this mission. For me.”

  “The mission is over.”

  “No!” Ket cried, tears trailing down her cheeks. “I won’t leave him for dead when there might be a chance of rescue! It hasn’t been that long.”

  “But you can’t go back alone. And as the Rathskian Ambassador, I can’t take you.”

  Drea unfolded her arms and stepped forward. “How many Ithians are aboard that Hammerhead?”

  “Not sure. We only saw four.”

  “Most likely a skeleton crew.”

  Jaeo scowled. “Drea, you’re not thinking—”

  “We can take Specter.”

  Jaeo looked incredulous. “Specter’s a diplomatic ship. Personal transport of a member of the House of Planets.”

  “Not at the moment. Sair’s not with me.”

  “There are protocols—”

  “Protocols be damned.”

  “And the Compact—”

  “Null and void in the face of Refugee aggression.” Drea took her uncle by the shoulders. “Jaeo! This is Jagger we’re talking about.”

  “I know. I hate making this call.”

  “You’re not making it. I am. The Network never leaves a man behind.”

  “Drea—”

  “It’s decided.” Drea turned to Ket. “There’s a catch. I can fly solo, but in an assault situation, without a crew—”

  “You have a comm officer,” Adini volunteered.

  Drea’s eyes narrowed. “You understand the risks?”

  “Captain, you may not remember, but I owe you and Specter a debt for rescuing my father from Ithian captors over three calendars ago. I pay my debts.” She looked to her mate. “Taro?”

  “I’m your nav,” he agreed. “And I happen to know a bit about Mennelsohn prototypes.” He shrugged. “Longer story for another time.”

  Drea re-crossed her arms. “Explain.”

  “He crewed for the Phantom,” Adini clarified.

  Drea scowled. “My father’s Phantom?”

  “My Phantom,” Jaeo corrected, and then, in a softer voice, “Daea’s Phantom.”

  “Black ship, white ship. Yang to Specter’s Yin,” Taro said. “Your father’s P-class proto. Pretty sure I can find my way around Specter’s S-class systems.”

  “Daea’s alive, and you served as her nav?” Drea repeated, and got an affirming nod from Taro. She straightened and rounded on her uncle. “Forget to fill me in on some pertinent family news?”

  “It was more than three calendars ago, Drea.”

  “K. All right. Longer story for another time.” Drea shook her head then looked at Ketsia. “I have a crew. We’re a go.”

  Ketsia nodded, her heart drumming in her chest.

  Jaeo’s jaw tightened. “Forgetting your task to courier Luna�
��s data to the House of Planets in Specter?”

  “I’m not due for five days. This won’t take long.”

  “How do you know? What if you don’t come back?” He turned to fix Ketsia with a pained look. “Any of you?”

  “You think I’m going to let the Ithians get the upper hand? We’ll be down their throats before they even know we’re there.”

  “Drea—”

  “Sorry, Unc,” Drea replied. “You’re outvoted.” She looked over her shoulder at Ketsia, Taro, and Adini. “Let’s go get Jagger.”

  Specter was larger than Banshee, but shared the same general manta design. There the similarities ended. Drea’s legendary ship was a tenth generation Mennelsohn design with an advanced array of weaponry and countermeasures, and a captain who’d gone nose-to-nose with monstrous Ithian battleships before…and beaten them.

  As a young slave first encountering the Network fleet captain, Ketsia had been intimidated and resentful of Drea. Yes, the woman had rescued her from Ithis, but she’d also won the heart of Sair. That stung, both because her late sister had been Sair’s bondmate and because she’d fancied herself in love with him, too.

  She hadn’t learned what being in love really meant until just a few days ago.

  Drea’s hastily drawn action plan impressed her, but would they reach Jagger in time? The Mennelsohn DEDdrive meant their transit would be nearly instantaneous, but precious time had been lost convincing Jaeo. Meanwhile, the Ithians would wring every shred of information they could from Jagger, who might even now be suffering hideous tortures.

  Or execution.

  Ketsia closed her eyes tight. She couldn’t think the worst. She had to believe they’d get there in time.

  “Entering flashpoint,” Drea announced from the ship’s comm system. “Brace yourselves because we’ll be leaving DEDspace moments later.”