His brows rose. "Sorry? You're sorry? Somehow, I find that hard to believe." He strode forward and grabbed her arm with his free hand. "How in the blazing hells did you think you could get away with stealing a ship?"
Waves of dread washed over her, but she didn't feel the familiar tremors that normally signaled the approach of a seizure. This once, she wished she could seek haven in unconsciousness, but she'd faithfully taken the medication Chase had given her.
"You would have gotten it back. I only intended to take it as far as Sa—Zirak." Her thoughts seemed increasingly harder to focus.
"I'm sick of your lies." Chase jerked her toward him. "Come on."
Maybe the Orana would kill her before the Controllers tortured her. Maybe she could use her knife to end it before she became so delirious, she disclosed the sites of Shielder colonies. But she didn't know if she even had the strength to reach for her boot.
"No, this way," Chase snarled, dragging her down the corridor, away from the hatch.
Surprise seeped into her mind. He wasn't taking her off the ship. "Where are we going?" she asked, stumbling and falling against his back.
He halted and whirled around. "What in the Abyss is wrong with you?" He shook her hands away, scowling fiercely. "You're burning up with fever. You look awful."
She reached for the wall behind her, hoping she wouldn't collapse then and there. "I'm fine."
"Like hell! But you know what? I don't give a damn if you're dying. Only that you live long enough to experience how I treat scum of the universe. Come on."
Dragging her to the first brig cubicle, he thrust her inside. He glared at her, hatred heating his eyes to molten steel. She's seen them that color before, when he had touched her in passion. Now those eyes held only loathing. The reality of his feelings struck her like a blow.
She sank on the bunk, trembling uncontrollably. "What are you planning to do?"
A bitter smile flashed across his face. "You'll find out soon enough. But for now, you'll be incarcerated in the brig. You're my prisoner. At my mercy, my every whim. Be afraid, Nessa. Be very, very afraid."
He stepped back, his hand going to the control panel. The barely audible hum indicated the force field had been activated. Just then, a heavy pounding vibrated the hatch. Chase looked down the corridor, his eyes narrowing. "I need to see who that is."
He glanced back at her, the sneer returning to his face, twisting his handsome features. "I'll be right back. Don't go away."
She heard the determined stride of his boots down the corridor, leaving her alone in a living nightmare. She collapsed across the bunk, curling into a ball.
She had failed. Her people were right—she was simply a worthless scavenger, incompetent and undeserving.
How long would it take her to die? she wondered.
* * * *
Chase knew Sabin wouldn't be pounding on the hatch. His partner had the code and always entered like he owned the place. It was probably the authorities, having heard of the reward offer and then spotting the ship. They were too late. He would be collecting the reward himself. In flesh.
Even now, Nessa amazed him. She was a good actress. Managing to seem truly sincere, looking at him with fear-filled eyes, acting weak and helpless. How many people had she conned? She probably wasn't a pilgrim at all, just a thief.
She hadn't faked her virginity, though. Or coming apart in his arms. And she appeared genuinely ill. She needed medical treatment. Concern tried to snake its way in and defuse his fury. Angrily, he shook away the undermining thoughts and feelings.
Nessa had proven herself a liar, a thief, and only Spirit knew what else. After acting like Brand and Raven brought out every maternal instinct within her, she'd dumped them at the first opportunity. Thank Spirit they were in Sabin's capable hands. Sabin had contacted Chase from the CTC, so he'd known Nessa had headed back to the ship alone.
Anger welled anew. She would get hers—he'd make sure of it. But he might treat her illness first—just to be sure she was alert enough to experience the full force of his wrath.
He snapped open the portal cover and studied the Anteks standing outside. He hated dealing with the slow-witted beings, but since they were Controller agents, he had to show them at least a pretense of respect.
Putting aside his weapon, he opened the hatch. "I'm Captain Chase McKnight, owner of this ship. I just reclaimed it from the thief."
The three disrupters focused at his chest didn't waver, their red active lights blinking ominously. Only the Controllers would condone weapons as inhuman and destructive as disrupters, Chase thought, disgusted. Or use Anteks as their watchdogs. The rank odor of the three facing him did nothing to lessen his revulsion of them.
"Hands up, citizen," ordered one. "Step outside the ship."
He had no choice but to cooperate. Inwardly seething, he moved forward, arms raised, and allowed an Antek to run a scanner along his body. Satisfied, the Antek stepped back and nodded to the first one, apparently the team leader. The leader inclined his head toward the hatch, and his two subordinates lumbered inside Chase's ship. He knew they would search every inch, a right that had always infuriated him.
They'd search Nessa, too, and probably take her into custody until they could check her identification. Vengefully, he hoped it scared the blazing hells out of her. The Anteks' treatment would be only a taste of what he had in mind for her.
"Produce your identification," the leader demanded, his weapon still trained on Chase. He took the disk Chase offered, checking the seal, which showed no evidence of tampering. Then he studied Chase, his beady eyes more cunning than those of most Anteks. "You will come with me now. We will see about this disk."
His credentials could easily be checked on the portable computer unit strapped to the Antek's belt—standard operating procedure. "Why don't you check it here?" Chase suggested, barely containing his anger.
The Antek grinned, a feral sneer showing yellow, decaying teeth. "I prefer to wait until we get to the command center."
Chase gritted his jaw. Fine. Let the bastard play his intimidation game. He'd check out, like he always did, but he hated this watchdog routine the Controllers seemed to enjoy. Just their way of reminding the quadrant's inhabitants who was in charge. He strode toward the trams, ignoring the Antek breathing down his neck. The pristine landing docks bustled with activity; ships landing and departing, mechanical repairs being done, pilots discussing trade and passenger runs.
How like the Controllers, to always present the appearance of a perfectly ordered and run quadrant, with Intrepid as a prime example, when cruelty and corruption formed the foundation. A foundation based on blood and despair. Chase shook his head at the irony.
He found he wasn't the only suspect with an armed escort riding the tram to Command Headquarters. The Anteks had been very busy today. At least his wrists and ankles weren't shackled like most the other prisoners. Disgusted, he rode in silence, staring at the profusion of greenery and vivid blooms, but not really seeing it. His thoughts focused on when he would be cleared to return to his ship—and to Nessa. She would regret ever crossing him.
When he and his smelly companion finally reached Headquarters, Chase was roughly shoved into a holding cell. The brutish Anteks enjoyed their physical power. They had to, Chase thought sourly, since they lacked any real intelligence.
The tiny holding cell reeked, most likely from the slime coating the floor and the walls. Very little light from the corridor infiltrated the dimness, probably just as well. With nothing to sit on, Chase opted to remain on his feet.
He resisted the urge to pace, not that he had the space to do so. Instead, he saved his energy for more important things—such as taking Nessa apart when he got her back to the ship. And designing a more secure PWL file. It amazed him she'd been able to breach his security, especially with his ship equipped with the most sophisticated computer system available in the quadrant. But then, he'd underestimated her on more than one occasion. That wouldn't happen agai
n.
A guard deactivating his cell's force field drew his attention. He stepped to the entry, ready to retrieve his ID disk and return to his ship. He halted, annoyed to see a second guard, and two disrupters trained on him again.
"What's the meaning of this?"
"You will come with us," one Antek intoned, his voice as dull as his eyes.
"Why? Where are we going?" Chase demanded angrily.
A disrupter jabbed his direction silenced him, and he walked ahead of the guards. Why hadn't he been released? Surely they had checked his ID by now. But as they shoved him into another, larger cell, indignation turned to concern. This sure as hell looked like an interrogation room—and boded no good.
"Hey!" He whirled as one guard activated the force field. "What's the meaning of this? I demand to speak with your superior."
But they ignored him, leaving him to pace and fume for another hour, before the base commander finally appeared, along with three Antek guards carrying electrolyzer rods.
Grossly overweight, the commander wore the dark brown uniform of a higher official. A black sash stretched taut across his protruding belly displayed his rank decals and his recognition awards. His bald head looked small compared to the rest of his body. He was not an Antek, but then, few highly ranked officers were. The stupid Anteks were easy enough to dominate mentally, but not intelligent enough to make decisions.
"Why am I being held?" Chase demanded as the commander and his guards entered the cell.
The commander's pale, watery eyes fixed on Chase. "Do not play the fool, Slade," he growled, sauntering forward. "Did you think you wouldn't get caught? No one evades the Controllers for long."
His words baffled Chase. "Slade? My name is Chase McKnight. I'm a registered Controller agent. I gave you my identification."
"Really, Slade. Did you think we wouldn't actually check the disk? I'm too smart for that. Now you will answer some questions about your illegal operations."
Chase refused to retreat as the four surrounded him. "I'm Chase McKnight. If you really checked my ID, you'd know that."
The commander's mouth thinned. "Then you must have given me the wrong disk." He spoke into his wrist comlink, then gestured toward the observation monitors inset in the walls. "Watch the screen, Slade. Your disk is being put into the system now."
Chase looked toward the holo display. A moment later, his picture flashed on the screen. Beneath it, the statistics listed him as Galen Slade, wanted for embezzling funds from major Controller business interests. The reward offered for his capture: 10,000 miterons.
He gaped at the screen, stunned shock barreling through him. Someone had altered his identification records. It could have been done at the main Controller base at Alta, or any of the regional headquarters that received updates from Alta and transmitted them to smaller bases and Controller agents.
Records being altered at Alta seemed a remote possibility. More likely, it had been done at a regional facility…such as Odera.
Nessa! The suspicion kicked him in the gut. Nessa. She had the skill to bypass security and manipulate computer files. And she had obviously put them to use for her own selfish means.
The force of her betrayal sent him reeling. It hadn't been enough for her to simply have him arrested and steal his ship. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, his lungs constricted until he battled for breath.
Oh, no. She had gone for total destruction of her prey.
Just like Dansan had.
The pain of Dansan's treachery surfaced, as vivid and real as if it happened only yesterday, instead of three seasons ago—the old wound ripped open by Nessa's betrayal.
"Now, where were we?" the commander broke into the melee of Chase's thoughts. "Time for you to answer our questions, Slade. By force, if necessary."
They closed in around Chase, but his focus remained on his internal pain. He'd sworn no one would ever double-cross him again. No one would ever touch him emotionally or get close enough to hurt him again.
But Nessa had.
* * * *
After they crudely searched her and confiscated her knife and identification disk, The Anteks took Nessa to a brig at the command center. The immediate adrenaline rush she'd experienced had provided the energy necessary for her to march to the trams, two disrupters focused on her back. She wondered what they did to ship thieves, although she suspected the Controller's had only one penalty, encompassing all crimes.
Death.
At this point, she thought, sinking wearily to the floor of the bare brig in which the guards had shoved her, it was only a matter of how her death occurred. Either at the hands of the Controllers or the Orana—whichever came sooner. The fever had begun to glaze over her fear of dying, but it hadn't abated her feelings for Chase, or the hurt generated by his actions.
She loved him.
She knew, with every fiber of her being, that she loved him.
Having never experienced much love in her life, her feelings overwhelmed her. She loved Jarek, of course, and Turi, and had begun to love Raven and Brand. But those feelings were platonic and maternal, not the intense emotional and physical cravings inundating her whenever she thought of Chase.
How could she love a shadower, a man who threatened the existence of her people, her entire reason for being?
Only Spirit knew. Yet the fact existed. She loved Chase. He had looked at her with nothing but condemnation in his eyes, then turned her over to the Anteks. On one level, she knew his reaction was logical. She had stolen his ship, but only when all other options had failed.
Yet on a more emotional level, she had hoped he'd look deeper for the reasons behind her action, be willing to listen, and forgive. She'd hoped he loved her in return. How foolish. She needed only to look in a mirror or suffer through a seizure to be reminded she had nothing to offer.
Sounds outside her cell drew her attention. She rolled to a sitting position, her heart pounding, as three Antes heaved Chase into the chamber. Groaning, he stumbled and collapsed on the floor. A fourth man, obviously not an Antek, stepped to the entry.
"Your partner in crime, returned to you," he gloated.
Nessa stared at Chase, appalled by the welts visible on his face and through his torn flightsuit. She looked at his tormentor. "But why—"
"He had an aversion to answering questions. I would advise you to cooperate when it is your turn."
"But he's a shadower. He works for the Controllers," she protested, perplexed and alarmed.
A sneer quirked the man’s face. "We are not fooled by that story. Our system provided a positive identification on him. We know who he really is. And he will answer our questions eventually, probably the next session."
The man took a threatening step closer. "As for you, your identification is also false. There are no corresponding records, either to your ID disk, or your voice and hand prints. Your turn at questioning is coming, citizen. I would begin now, but more pressing matters demand my attention."
He stepped back and a guard activated the field. Nessa scrambled awkwardly across the cold, slimy floor to Chase. Horror knotted in her chest as she stared at his puffy, bruised face. Gingerly, she touched his cheek, drawing back when he moaned. This was all her fault.
She forced herself to her feet and over to the container of rancid drinking water in the corner. She jerked at the hem of her tunic, trying to tear off some fabric, cursing her weakness. Finally, she used her teeth and ripped a strip loose. She dipped it in the water and returned to Chase.
Cradling his head carefully in her lap, she battled her own shakiness while she dabbed gently at the welts on his face. She didn't worry about him catching the Orana, because the latest research reported in IAR indicated the virus had been engineered solely for Shielders. They appeared to be the only ones susceptible to its heinous destruction.
After a few moments, Chase groaned and stirred and opened his eyes. He looked at her, confused and unfocused at first. Then recognition chilled his expression.
"What did they do to you?"
His head snapped up, his furious glare impaling her. "Why should that matter to you, traitor? You did this with your computer manipulations. You should be well pleased." A mocking smile appeared on his grim face. "Except it backfired on you, didn't it?"
His pain, both mental and physical, shook her to the core. She reached toward him. "Chase, I'm sorry—"
"Save it," he snarled. "Shut up and get out of my sight, before I decide to put you out of my miserable existence." He turned from her and rising, staggered to the water.
The force of his hatred shuddered through Nessa. She'd made her choices, and she'd have to live with them, live with the emotional pain ravaging her now. Crawling to the corner near the entry, she huddled there, shivering from internal chills and the damp, stone floor. The horrendous stench of the brig threatened to gag her.
That faded as the need to stay alert declined, and she surrendered to her weakened condition. She dozed off, drifting through disturbing images and memories. The tread of boots and harsh voices stirred her from her stupor, and she forced her heavy eyelids open.
"Move along, citizen!" a guttural Antek voice ordered. Nessa watched several sets of booted feet cross her line of vision of the corridor, two of them shackled and shuffling slowly.
"We're going as fast as we can," hissed a voice…a familiar one.
She roused herself enough to sit up and study the men passing by. One of them stumbled and turned to glare at the Antek who had shoved him. Shock reverberated through Nessa when she saw his face. Jarek! Jarek here, in this prison.
Gasping, she scrabbled up the wall to stand and stare after them. "Jarek," she whispered, knowing she mustn't get his attention. He would only worry about her, when he needed to get himself free. Any shred of hope that had been remaining in the universe for her disintegrated at that moment.
Shielder — A new Science Fiction Romance (Book 1, Shielder Series) Page 21