When Angel felt a slight shift in the tether, she risked a look back and saw that the anchor to which the tether was hooked was starting to pull away from the wall. She was on borrowed time. Looking down into the rebel's face, she saw in his eyes the realization that, very soon, they were both going to die. Again he smiled at her because he thought he'd won.
“Not today.” She gritted her teeth and, bringing her free leg up, slammed it down sharply on the rebel’s face. The sound of breaking cartilage motivated her to kick again. The Rebel’s grip loosened and Angel delivered a third blow.
He lost his grip and was sucked out of the ship.
Then Angel felt herself slip. Looking back, she saw one of the bolts anchoring the harness to the wall was loose and wobbling precariously. In the next instant, it popped free and shot past her into space.
“Shut the door!” She screamed as the remaining bolt slipped further out of the wall. She twisted her body, desperately clawing behind her to find something to grab.
Her mind screamed in frustration as the door failed to move. Then the last bolt burst from the wall and Angel was airborne.
Chapter 4
Angel sailed toward the black void of deep space, body-slamming into the outer door as it slid into place just in time. She slumped to the floor and lay there, trembling, disgusted with her reaction. The sudden roar of the ship’s engines sounded faint and distant. Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she realized Romanof had the ship moving. She doubted the rebels would follow. She didn’t think there were any left alive.
“Michels, report in.” Romanof’s voice boomed over the intercom. She ignored it as she took a few more steadying breaths.
“Michels, damn it, report in! Are you all right?”
She peeled off the oxygen mask and harness, letting them slip to the floor.
“Michels, answer me!” It was interesting, she mused, how his voice sounded so human-like – concern mixed with irritation.
“I’m okay.” It took effort to sound calmer than she felt.
“Good. Get back here. Yanur needs your help.”
She let her head drop forward in resigned disbelief. It wasn’t as if she was lounging in a thermal pool. But Yanur was hurt and she wasn’t - at least, not badly - so she pulled herself together, gathered the mask and what was left of the harness and tether and left the airlock.
If she wanted to maintain her disguise, she’d have to do something about her clothes. So before heading to the bridge, she stopped by her room. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she absently smoothed down hair that had been whipped to a frenzy about her head. Then she found her boots and put them on.
Her jacket lay on the end of the bed, where she’d discarded it earlier. She put it on and zipped it closed to hide her torn shirt. Then she studied her reflection in the mirror and hoped that the old man wouldn’t look at her too closely.
When she reached the bridge, a quick glance out the viewports confirmed that Romanof had everything under control.
"Let's take a look," she said moving to Yanur’s side, wondering where to start. Gingerly, she felt his leg, trying to assess the extent of the damage.
“How bad is he?” Romanof asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m fine, Alex. I keep telling you.” Yanur smiled, reaching out to pat her hand. “If you’ll secure a brace to my leg and help me to my room, I’ll be fine.”
She pulled her hand back, frowning at the gesture and went to the first aid cabinet where she removed one of the larger braces. She stretched his leg out straight, placed the brace behind it and secured it in place with the self-adhering tabs. Next she cleaned the cuts on his head and shoulder again and this time closed them with butterfly bandages.
"You think you can make it back to your room?" she asked when she was done.
"With your help," he assured her.
Helping him to his feet, she let him lean on her as they walked to his room.
“You are very brave young woman,” he said once they'd reached his room.
Angel turned startled eyes on him. “How did you know?” She whispered, not wanting Romanof to overhear.
“My dear, I may be old, but I’m not blind.” He waved his hand, silencing her when she would have spoken. “No, I know what I thought and said following the terrorist attack, but I was confused and you were a mess. Since then, I’ve had time to study you.”
She shrugged. So her disguise hadn’t been as good as she’d hoped. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Is he for real?”
“Who? Alex? You mean - is he really a man? Yes, he is.”
“But how is that possible? I'm mean, he's got no body."
"Well, there's quite a lot of science involved in how that's possible - which I won't bore you with. Suffice it to say that it's possible because his life essence is sustained by means of a CHB.”
"A what?"
"Cyber-hosted biopod," he said as if that explained it.
She knew she was staring at him stupidly, but just couldn't stop. Upon seeing her expression, Yanur smiled. “The tube. The one I was wearing around my neck and then plugged into the ship's console?” He looked at her to see if she remembered, continuing after she nodded. “It’s currently housing Alex’s life essence. The cybernetic components allow him to interface with the ship’s computer, which in turn, allows him to communicate with us, and-”
“And control the ship,” she finished for him.
He smiled. “That’s right.”
She shook her head. “I think he's crazy. Why would he do it? Why let the Harvesters take his body?”
“Because it was the surest way to locate their home planet."
"The rest of your life as a computer in exchange for the location of a planet? Doesn't seem like a great trade-off if you ask me."
"Not such a big trade-off," Yanur assured her as she helped him to sit on the bed. "Once we have his body back, we'll just transfer his life essence back"
Angel stared at him. "Come again?"
Yanur frowned. "I guess, in all the excitement we forgot...he probably doesn't want you to know--"
"I won't say anything if you won't."
"Very well. The plan was for Richardson to pose as a deep space trader and purchase Alex's body at the public auction on the Harvesters’ planet. Then, Richardson would restore Alex's life essence and together, they could infiltrate the city and gather information.” He paused to sigh. "Of course, with Richardson gone, I suppose I'll be the one to go in his place."
"Are you going to be okay in here?" She asked him, after making sure he was comfortably seated.
"I'll be fine," he assured her. "I just need some rest."
"Okay.” As she left, she stopped at the doorway to look back. “Let's pretend finding his body won't be like finding a solar thread in the middle of a supernova. How hard is it to restore his life essence?”
"In theory, not that hard," he replied.
“Meaning what exactly?” She was afraid she already knew what was coming next. "Please tell me you've done it before."
“No, but there’s no reason to believe it won’t work as planned.” His tone wasn’t nearly as convincing as his words.
“How reassuring.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Assuming for the moment that your process works, how do we know the Harvesters haven’t done something to his body? Like hack it into pieces. They sell replacement organs as well as slaves, you know. There might not be a body to restore his life essence to. He could end up being in that computer for a long time.”
"It's unlikely Alex will end up as "parts," Yanur assured her with a knowing smile. "I think that once you've seen him, you'll agree that the odds are extremely good he'll be sold as a sex slave."
"Well, bully for him," Angel muttered as she turned and left. Romanof might be into suicide missions, but Angel just didn't hate her life enough to want to join in.
There was still time before they r
eached the Harvesters’ planet to figure out a way to escape the Icarus and when that time came, she was on her own.
Returning to the bridge, she sat in the pilot's seat and studied the console. It took her a few minutes, but she finally figured out how to run a ship's diagnostic. She compared the results to the readings on several gauges. Romanof must have fixed the program while she was with Yanur because the results matched.
When she was satisfied that the gel bomb had not adversely affected the Icarus and Romanof was making the needed system repairs, she let her mind wander to the information Yanur had shared with her. She didn’t know which bothered her more. That a man’s living essence had been placed inside a computer or that this particular computer was really a man.
“The auto-repair program won’t be able to fix everything,” Romanof’s voice broke the silence, making her wonder how he knew she was there. “I'm able to detect life-form readings," he told her when she asked. "The pattern of yours is different from Yanur's, which shows him to still be in his cabin."
A tentative silence descended as Angel struggled with what she needed to say. “I want to thank you for what you did back there. Closing the hatch door when you did. For a minute there, I thought I was about to be just so much space debris.”
“I didn’t want to lose you.” The warm, deep voice washed over her.
“Yes, well.” She felt uncomfortable, still coming to grips with the knowledge that the sexy voice actually belonged to a man - an attractive man, if Yanur's assessment was correct.
"We still have the Harvesters to deal with.”
His words were like a splash of cold ice water on her overheating imagination and Angel let out a sigh as she rose to her feet. “I’m going back to my room.”
“Why?”
“If you must know, I want to wash away the dried blood and change into some clothes that aren't ripped to shreds.”
“You said you were okay.” He actually sounded concerned.
“I am. Just a few scratches.”
Angel didn’t wait around to see if he said anything else. The walk to her room seemed to take forever and once inside, she fell back against the closed door, exhausted. Shutting her eyes, she took deep breaths and forced herself to relax. Then, with what felt like the last of her energy, she walked across the room and kicked off her boots. The jacket came off next, tossed to the floor in front of the closet.
When she started on the jumpsuit, she took extra care when peeling the dried fabric away from her scratched chest and the cut across her stomach. Once it was completely off, she shoved the jumpsuit down the recycler. Almost as an afterthought, she reached over and turned up the volume on the intercom.
She found a brush and carefully worked through the tangles in her hair. Once the brush easily glided through the strands, she set down the brush and walked into the D-U. She really wanted to soak in a pool of hot, fragrant water, but that would have to wait until she was back home.
Home. She had no home. The depressing thought depleted the rest of her energy. She stepped into the shower and turned on the fine Supercleanze spray. After adjusting the temperature, she rested her forehead against the wall and let the steamy hot mist envelop her.
* * * * *
Yanur sat on his bed marveling over Michels. He had thought her nothing more than a common thief, but in the past twenty-four hours, she had shown there was nothing common about her at all. With unsurpassed flying skills, a quick intellect and unwavering courage, she reminded him of a young man he had once known; a young man who had risked everything to break a political prisoner out of jail during a time of war.
Thinking of the young man Alex used to be made Yanur smile. The smile turned into quiet laughter when Yanur considered the fireworks that lay ahead when the flesh and blood Alex came face to face with Michels.
Careful not to put too much pressure on his broken leg, he pushed himself to a standing position and limped over to the table where he’d left his medical bag. It wasn't there and he knew a moment of panic as he looked around. Finally, he spotted the bag lying in the corner of the room, where it must have been thrown during the attack.
He moved as quickly as his damaged leg would allow and bent to pick it up. This bag contained his most precious scientific inventions and he was afraid of what might lay broken within. Then a more horrifying thought hit him. What if the transfer disc had been destroyed?
A cold fear gripped his heart as he looked inside.
He found the disc close to the top and after turning it over several times and finding no damage, he breathed a sigh of relief. Replacing it, he noticed a vibration coming from deeper within the bag. Searching for the source, he found the Cellular Reparator. Somehow when the bag had been tossed about, the Reparator had been activated. He took it out and flipped it over to read the crystal battery gauge. As he feared, the power level, already low, now showed the crystals to be almost completely drained. There might not be enough charge left to mend his broken leg.
He undid the self-adhering tabs securing the brace and removed it. Unfastening his pants, he let them fall to the ground, baring his legs. Then, with purposeful movements, he ran the warm beam of the Reparator over his broken leg.
The warm tingle of increased molecular activity told him the cells were beginning to mend. Before the bone and flesh could do more than lightly knit together, the Reparator died.
A feeling of defeat consumed him. Alex was counting on his assistance when they reached their destination, but he wouldn’t be much help with a broken leg. The Reparator ran on pure tyrillium crystals, which were not so readily available.
Michels. The thought came unbidden and Yanur knew with certainty that Alex would suggest the "boy" take his place for the rest of the mission.
He couldn’t allow that. Going into a closely guarded black market environment was dangerous. What if she found Alex’s body but had to fight to secure it? She had survived the Free Rebel attack, but could she fight the Harvesters? They could prove to be a far worse adversary. What if she was injured? Or worse, what if she was killed?
Which lead Yanur to his final argument. Alex. Althusians were very protective of their females – Alex even more so. He would rather suffer a thousand deaths than allow a woman to suffer the smallest of injuries.
Yanur had merely to reveal the truth about Michels and Alex would refuse to let her help. But in doing so, what cost would Alex pay?
With a heavy heart, Yanur set the Reparator carefully back in the bag and strapped the brace around his broken leg.
Straightening, he heaved a sigh and squared his shoulders. Then he headed for the bridge.
* * * * *
Ruling House of Scyphor
Planet of Coronado
Sitting behind the desk where he conducted most of his business, the High Counsel of the House of Scyphor, the dominant region on the planet of Coronado, confronted the two soldiers standing before him. His three most trusted advisors stood silently by his side.
“High Counsel, we went to Earth as instructed,” the first soldier began. He was the older of the two and battle worn, with scars crisscrossing his face and bare arms. As were most Coronadian males, both were tall and muscular, with warring blades hanging at their sides.
“Where is she?” The elderly man’s cold tone was as sharp as glass shards.
Neither warrior allowed any emotion to cross his face. “We tracked her to the airfield,” the older one said. “Felinean Avengers were after her and she escaped in an airship. Before we could intercept her, Colossus Disrupters attacked the airfield.” There was the barest hesitation before he continued. “We lost her in the confusion.” He fell silent. He had failed his mission. It was a blemish to his personal reputation and to the reputation of the legion of warriors he represented.
“Am I to understand that after eight years of carefully tracking her and letting her think she has eluded me that she has finally succeeded?” The High Counsel’s hand slammed down on the desk, his face darkening
with rage. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, High Counsel.”
“And the Felineans? I suppose you allowed them to escape as well?”
“No, High Counsel. I executed them.”
“Very well. Leave me,” the High Counsel growled, waving a gnarled hand toward the door. After the soldiers left, he turned to his three advisors.
“Contact our emissaries. When she resurfaces, I want to be the first to know. She--” He fell into a coughing paroxysm. The young men moved closer to offer assistance, although they knew nothing could be done. The old man was dying. It was just a matter of time.
When the spell subsided, the High Counsel raised his hand and the men stepped back. “Find her and see that she is brought back. Now leave me. I wish to be alone.”
Behind his back, the men exchanged glances, but nothing on their faces revealed their thoughts. They bowed and walked from the room. None of them spoke before parting to go in different directions, presumably to carry out the High Counsel’s directives.
As the three each walked away, one considered how best to execute the High Counsel’s orders, one fantasized about the young kitchen maid whose charms he plotted to enjoy in the very near future - and the last thought about plans to save his people and take over a planet.
* * * * *
Angel lost track of time as she stood directly under the shower’s spray and let the warmth seep into her pores and loosen tight muscles. Lulled into a dreamlike state, her thoughts wandered to Romanof.
What kind of man was he? Dangerous, she decided, her mind conjuring an image of a darkly sensuous man, his face hidden in shadow. Moving with the grace of a panther, his sleek, powerful body moved close to hers. Rough hands caressed her, leaving highly sensitive skin tingling in the wake of his warm touch. When he whispered words of passion into her ear, it was Romanof’s full, masculine voice she heard. Oh yes, very dangerous.
Too Close to the Sun (The Sun 1) Page 5