by Eve Langlais
Bad news. One blast from it and their ship would be dead in space for a few hours at least. Until the pulse wore off and the various systems—such as environmental and shields—came back online. Long enough, though, for them all to die.
The good thing about the damned cannon was it took time to charge. They had time to escape.
A better question was, why did the Kanishqui suddenly decide to attack?
Jameson marched out of the facilities, snapping orders aloud. “Keep sounding the alert. Have all active duty at their stations. Non-active on standby. Prep the engines for streaking.”
“Shouldn’t we be readying the shields?” Damon asked, keeping pace with his captain.
“Not this time. According to the latest engineering report, our second power cell is still offline, which means I want all the power going to the engines for departure. We’re going to do a quick jump.”
They entered the transport capsule—a rapid method of movement aboard the ship for those with the stomach for it. The captain only had to say, “Bridge,” for it to zoom off.
“Why is the Kanishqui ship attacking us now? I thought everything was cool. Fizz let us go.”
“And changed his mind.”
“Is he stupid? We outgun him.”
“We do. Yet he apparently thinks he can take us.”
“So let’s blast him out of the galaxy.”
“We can’t. And no, I don’t care to explain why.”
Knowing Jameson wouldn’t do this without good reason, Damon gave a nod. “Whatever you say, sir. I’ll head to engineering and ensure they’re prepared for jump.” Then it occurred to him. “What of your friend’s daughter?” A beautiful woman, aggravating with her princess airs and even more annoying for her tricking him into marriage.
“Being shown to her quarters. I’ll deal with your nuptials and her father once we’ve put some space between us and this quadrant.”
The elevator capsule stopped and spat out the captain. Then it was Damon’s turn to zip off into the bowels of the ship then farther still to the tail end of the ship where the engines were located behind the heaviest hulls.
Damon arrived in time for someone to yell, “Strap in. Going to streak, in five, four…” He dove against the wall and slid his arms through a harness a moment before the ship paused, as if hanging in anticipation, and then they were gone.
Streak, faster than sound and light. It had revolutionized space travel, especially since it proved a lot safer than wormhole travel. If you could plot the coordinates properly. Damon wouldn’t pretend to understand the science behind it other than it did something that bent space and time and got a ship from point A to B without weeks or months of travel. But it could only be done in short bursts that required recharging in between. After fifteen minutes, the streak ended. During that time, Damon tapped into the ship via his embedded wrist com for a status report.
According to the logs, the Moth had moved before the Kanishqui managed to fire their cannon. A conflict averted until the next time they met. Then again, by the time they crossed paths again, things should have calmed themselves. And if not, the captain would invest in a few cases of chocolate as apology.
Exiting the harness—which existed all over the ship for the times they needed to streak with little notice, especially if they didn’t want to end up flattened on a wall or tumbling down a corridor—Damon continued to the heart of engineering. He might as well have been on an alien planet. Or a magical realm. The bowels of the ship certainly had an ethereal appearance to them. The energy cores—contained within clear diamond cylinders that reached several stories—glowed, their color not on a spectrum he could describe. Their origin not earthly in nature—and expensive.
The captain had spent a fortune retrofitting his ship with the streak drive and upgraded power system. Money well spent. Few could catch them when they streaked.
Taking the stairs two at a time down to the lower level, Damon nodded at some of the workers in this section. Most ignored him. Snobby bunch that kept to themselves. This wouldn’t happen on a military vessel. The lack of respect might have bothered, except he knew they didn’t do it on purpose.
The crew that worked in engineering weren’t one hundred percent human anymore. The drives they worked in close proximity with had a tendency of changing biological matter after too much time spent in their proximity. This resulted in an engineering crew with, in some cases, more metal parts than human. Cyborgs, as they called themselves, had recently declared themselves their own species apart from humanity.
Not many argued about them splitting off. Anyone who encountered a cyborg noticed their difference—and he wasn’t talking about their machine parts. They thought differently. Acted differently. He couldn’t have said if it was the metal in their bodies or the alien technology they worked with that changed them, but the fact remained they were fucking weird.
Damon reached the main control area for the engine room—a circular hub, ringed in consoles with people bent over them, fingers flying. In their midst stood Craig “Crank” Abrams.
A massive man, over six feet and wide, his bald pate shone, his goatee was well trimmed and his uniform—with the sleeves torn off—showcased his metal arm from the shoulder down. He’d lost the limb trying to save his wife. Some claimed he’d also lost his heart when she died.
Crank didn’t speak. He stood with arms crossed, and yet Damon knew he was directing everything that was going on. Yet another cyborg trait. Wireless communication. Handy, if eerie, at times like this when a man who had to use actual spoken words needed to interrupt.
“Crank, Captain sent me to check on the state of our engines.” Which they already knew because of the reports, but given how engineering liked to recluse themselves, some kind of in-person checking was encouraged.
Crank didn’t bother looking at him as he replied. “The status is still the same. We have one active power unit. As I’ve mentioned already, we need to stop and refuel the second one to see if the repairs worked.”
“I do believe we’re stopping in at the Xandu way station within the next few days.”
“That will do. I will send you a revised list of items required.”
“You know you could leave the ship and buy those things yourself on ship credit.”
“I’m needed here.”
More like he was hiding. And Damon couldn’t help poking.
“You didn’t show up at the last officer meeting.”
Crank turned haunting clear blue eyes his way. “I was detained.”
The man was always detained of late. “Still pissed, are you?” Crank hadn’t yet forgiven Jameson for saving his life in the incident five years ago that took his wife.
“Emotion is a waste of time.”
It sure was. And so was marriage. In the next few hours, as Damon checked in with the various stations on board, and after a few more streaks, he had had time to mull over the whole marriage thing.
What kind of working guy wanted to settle down with one person for life? Sure, some people liked it, but personally, Damon had yet to find a woman he could tolerate for a few days in a row let alone a lifetime. It was why he tended to curtail his onboard activities and waited for their visits to way stations and planets. A few days to a week refueling and enjoying rest and relaxation were easy to walk away from. Not to mention, departing for another galaxy made it hard for any sexual partners to cling or show up uninvited.
Marriage, though, when you worked aboard a ship, meant bringing your spouse with you. Sharing your space with someone else. Never being alone. Stuck with one vagina forever. It seemed worse in some respects than a prison sentence.
And to think he was stuck in a marriage. I have a fucking wife.
A cute wife.
But still? He was much too young to be tied down. He didn’t care how wealthy she was. Damon wanted for nothing. He had his own spacious quarters, which, as first mate, were second only to the captain’s.
He had enough credits i
n the Qpers Galactic Bank that he could buy all but the most extravagant items.
His genes, while not state-of-the-art, were modified enough to provide him good health, excellent recuperative abilities, long life, and good looks.
What else could a man ask for?
Marriage was a nightmare. Which was why he might have uttered a scream when he entered his quarters and found his wife sprawled across his bed and his room overtaken with clothes. Women’s clothes. And a pink blanket. On his bed.
“What the fuck?”
Chapter 4
“About time you appeared.” Michonne rolled on the bed to face her husband, who looked rather displeased. Probably tired after working all day. With her wealth, that would change. Soon he could be a man of leisure.
“What are you doing here?” He entered the room but didn’t approach her. “Didn’t someone show you to your quarters?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because it’s my room.” She flipped back to her stomach and switched the interesting holoscreen of information she’d pulled up on her new husband to a meal menu instead.
“No, this is my room.”
“Our room,” she corrected. “We’re married, remember?” She certainly couldn’t forget the hotness of the kiss, the thrill as she finally marked a man as her own. Not the husband she’d expected, however she saw the raw possibility in him.
“About the whole marriage thing… Captain said it was binding.”
“It is.”
“Surely there’s a way to annul it?”
“No. The seal is permanent. Only your death will remove it.” It was to ensure no one could simply take the mark then murder her to inherit. The wealth only passed on through her—alive.
“We keep speaking of my death. What if you die?”
She cocked her head. “Thinking of killing me? That would be rude.”
“No ruder than this discussion.”
“Then to answer your question, if I die first, then you’ll die soon after. The seal I placed on you links our lives together.”
His lips flattened. “So, if you die, I die. If I die, you—”
“Marry again. I am the heiress, and until I have progeny of my own to cede my portion to, then I must survive at all costs to spread my family name.”
“Don’t you mean my name? You did, after all, marry me.”
“No, I meant my name. In the Dkar religion, the higher-ranked person is the one whose last name is taken. It’s how it works in my culture.” To which only the wealthiest of families belonged. Invitation was by net worth or marriage only.
Her husband blinked. He had incredibly long, dark lashes, the kind people paid to have. “I am not taking your last name, because we are not married.”
“Denial won’t change it.” And his arguing really dropped him a few notches in her esteem. Perhaps the reports she’d perused were mistaken about his intelligence. Pity. Good thing she could have their children bio engineered to take after her.
“There must be a way to stop this. I don’t want to be married.” Poor man sounded so disgruntled, which was intriguing. Michi was used to males doing everything they could to get tied to her.
“Complaining won’t change it.”
“I’m not complaining. I’m lamenting the lack of choice in this affair. I mean, come on, even you have to admit I’m probably not what you envisioned as a husband.”
She pretended to give it some thought, tapping her chin. Meanwhile, she’d already come to a decision hours ago. “While you weren’t what I’d planned for, I am ready to make sacrifices.” He had an intriguing honor, an excellent appearance, and a lack of a sycophant attitude or alpha male jerkiness that she liked.
“Sacrifices?” He practically choked on the word. “What have you sacrificed exactly?”
“I’d hoped for at least an admiral of a fleet. But you’re still young, which means we can arrange for promotion.”
“What if I like being a first mate?” He glared at her.
“Then you’ll like being a captain even better.”
“You can’t decide my future.”
Shutting off the holoscreen, she shifted to sit on the bed and fix him with a gaze. “Actually, I can. As my husband, there are now certain expectations of you.”
“Your expectations can suck it.”
She didn’t recoil at the words. She’d have to get used to her husband’s more profane manner of speaking. In some ways, it reminded her of Father when he forgot himself and reverted to his youthful method of speech.
“You will conform to your duties.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Or you’ll kill me, is that it?” He snorted. “Go ahead and try, princess.”
“Me? Attack you?” This time she giggled. “Don’t be silly. A lady doesn’t conduct violence herself. I have my own guard to fight for me.”
“I don’t see any guards here,” he remarked, stepping closer, his expression dark.
“Everyone on this ship is a possible soldier.”
“And you think they’ll kill me?” he queried.
“Make the right offer and people will kill anyone.” A lesson taught by her father.
“Not everyone can be bought, princess.” He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants. “Captain says your father will probably be peeved about the wedding.”
“He’ll come around.” Eventually. She might have to convince her father to keep Damon alive. Which was why she’d worked on a list of reasons he’d make her a good husband. Thus far, other than being pretty, he wasn’t doing so great. “Just make me happy and I’m sure everything will be fine.”
“What if I’m unhappy?” he grumbled, spinning from her and suddenly displaying a lot of flesh as he removed his shirt. The broadness of his back captivated, as did the delineation of his muscles.
She looked away. A Dkar follower practiced modesty even amongst members of the same sex. Staring at an unclothed male was wrong.
Was wrong being the key thing here.
I’m married. He’s my husband. Which meant she could stare as much as she wanted—and even touch.
“Did it ever occur to you to use this marriage to your advantage?” she asked, rising from the bed. Because she’d sure as hell thought of a few ways it would work for her.
“Excuse me if I don’t see one.” He turned around as he pulled a softer shirt over his frame, hiding his luscious skin and the toned ridges of his muscles.
She drew closer to him, drawn despite his prickly words. “You don’t seem to realize that you now have access to a fortune. To connections. You can become anything you want. A man of leisure. Business. Power. Even the admiral of your own fleet.” With her at his side, a first lady of the galactic skies.
“What if I don’t want to? What if I’m happy serving on this ship?”
Her nose wrinkled. “You’d rather work under someone?” What an odd concept. Everyone wanted to be on top. The person everyone else bowed to.
“I happen to enjoy my position. I like seeing new places and things. I get to go on adventures. Meet people. Why the fuck would I give that up?”
“You could still have those things as captain of your own ship. Wouldn’t you like to have your own command?”
“Don’t you mean headache?” He grimaced. “No thanks. You should see the stupid shit Jameson goes through with the crew. Let someone else deal with the headaches.”
This complete lack of motivation flummoxed her. “Don’t you have any goals?”
“Yup. At the moment, my goal is getting some sleep. If you’re done yapping, I’m going to bed.”
He brushed past her, not close enough to touch, and yet the heat of his passing touched her skin and sent a shiver coursing through her.
He crawled onto the bed, grumbling something about, “Fucking bonbon blanket.” Then he snuggled under the covering and said, “Lights out.”
The room went dark, and there she stood, on her wedding night, clearly not about to be deflowered. Not exactly how she’d pictured it.
“Lights on.” Brilliance illuminated the room. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear before—”
“Lights off.”
Pitch-black. “I am not done talking to you. Lights on.”
“Lights off. And computer, only allow verbal commands by me in this room.”
He had not just done that. “You can’t do that. I am your wife.”
“According to you. I didn’t sign anything.”
“You said the words.”
“Do you have a witness?”
“The seal witnessed.”
“I am pretty sure I can find a lawyer who knows someone who does auditory emotional forensics to say I sounded coerced.”
Why was he being so stubborn? “This marriage is binding.”
“We’ll see what a judge says.”
The mere fact that he didn’t want her firmed her resolve to keep him. “You can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
He didn’t reply.
“Damon?” Logistically, she knew he was still in the room with her, yet the lack of light played tricks on her mind. Perhaps she was alone in the room. She couldn’t even hear him breathe. “Damon, you can’t ignore me.”
The silence stretched, and she took a step in the direction of the bed. Hit something hard enough to draw a yelp and send her tumbling to the floor.
Tears stung her eyes. Why had her life gotten so difficult as of late? All she’d wanted was a nice abduction by a halfway decent power-hungry male. A nice palace. Maybe a vacation place on a tropical planet.
Nothing was going according to plan. Especially the part where her husband hated her. Which meant he’d have to die and she’d have to tempt a new husband, and yet she’d had the hardest time getting one in the first place. Damn her father for being overprotective and ruining her marital chances. Sniffle.
“Ah for fuck’s sake.” Hands gripped her and yanked her onto the bed, tucking her under a blanket warm from a body. His body.
“Does this—”