by Ava Ross
Other than the rare telepathic conversation with Firefly, she hadn’t seen him for days, not since he’d shown her the tiny room. Although, she’d noticed the lighting in some halls had dimmed as Firefly freed his friends. Did the station have a back-up lighting source? She’d only found a few wall-mounted lights in her travels.
Fighting off her sadness about Chee-chee, she bumped through the door to the stairwell and paused to make sure silence ruled. Good. Tiptoeing downward, she made her way to the loading dock floor where small shuttles pulled in to unload supplies or take the blue Al’kieern aliens to the planet’s surface.
As she passed the windows looking out toward the planet, she stalled again, and her jaw dropped.
“What’s that?” she whispered, staring at a silver ship that had appeared from the darkness, materializing like in a sci-fi movie. Was this a friend or a foe?
If only there was a way to send them a distress call.
“Earthling,” someone shouted from farther down the hall, making her jolt forward. “Halt!”
Her hand tightening on the knife, Mila bolted.
Three Al’kieern shrieked behind her, hot on her tail.
Four
Kral
After Wulf left the bridge, Kral stared out the viewscreen, unblinking. Within a short time, a shuttle left this star cruiser, following the small shuttle to the planet.
“This action will reveal our location to those on the space station,” the droid said. “Shall I remove the cloaking?”
“Are you able to scan the station first?” Kral asked.
“I have, and I pick up the signals of sixty-three lifeforms, Sir,” the RT34 droid said. “They have engaged their blocking mode, and I am now unable to identify specific species. What would you have me do next?”
Kral’s thick brows drew together. “Bring us to a halt and hold our position.” His fingers traced the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. He itched to pull it, to slash out with it.
To protect his mate.
The droid to his left zipped back and forth in front of the second console.
Kral did not like allowing others to handle things for him when they had a direct impact on his life and that of the Earth woman he’d been matched with. The knowledge that he was helpless, that he couldn’t control what might happen next burned through him like a chisser beetle, a creature that could randomly secrete acid.
After he’d taken over leadership of his clan ten yaros ago, he’d strived to present a firm, ruthless front to the villages he was responsible for. At seventeen, he’d had to appear able to lead. Any hint of weakness on Kral’s part could be manipulated by those who sought power. Command belonged to the person who took it, and after the fire killed his parents, Kral was determined to be in control of every situation if possible.
Sitting back in the Commander’s chair, he gave in to the overwhelming need to rub his leg. The spasm eased, but the lingering ache continued. He knew it would do so until the day he died.
He watched the station, unable to suppress the fear he felt for Mila, who must be as terrified as a wildarn infant separated from the herd. If the Al’kieern hurt her…
A growl burst from him, and the RX74 droid turned his way.
“Sir?” it asked.
“Nothing,” Kral said. He pressed his lips together, and his sekairs, large defensive scales that could shoot darts, spiked on his shoulders, lifting the sections of his hide shirt that had been cut specifically to allow this action. If he felt threatened, poison would lick up the tips, and when his body threw the segmented darts, they would take down an enemy with a single blow.
As the star cruiser crept closer to the space station, Kral’s jaw tightened.
“Remove the cloaking,” he said. He fidgeted with the handle of his broadsword again, the tip of it nestling low on his spine.
Some would assume the weapon was ceremonial, due to the polished golden handle and highly hewn blade. In many ways, it was, but Kral had honed his skill with the weapon after many yaros of practice. His ability with his blade had saved his life on more than one occasion.
“Excuse me, Sir,” the RX74 droid said. “If I may?”
“What is it?” Kral asked.
“I have circumvented their blocking and completed a broader scan. The scan is imperfect, but the controls sense one unusual lifeform on board the station. This one being is not like the others.”
“Explain.”
“It is a human female.”
Mila.
“I assume the rest are Al’kieern?” Kral asked.
“Yes,” the droid said. “It would appear so. Our sensors also pick up the signal of thirty-eight ST droid units. Older models, but they bear mentioning.”
“Any security droids?” They would present a deadlier threat than any other ST model.
“Two, Sir. The rest are ancillary staff.”
Not much of a security detail, but they wouldn’t expect a star cruiser to enter their airspace and challenge them.
On this ship, Kral utilized a staff of ten droids. Three on the bridge, two in the kitchen, and the rest in maintenance and housekeeping. A ship ran smoothly with a good crew, and Vork had made sure Kral was well-outfitted before Kral departed Crakair.
Kral leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “Please be safe.” The worry he’d suppressed during the journey from Crakair came through. He’d lost his parents…
He couldn’t lose his future mate, too.
He only knew her name, but he felt a connection to her. If only things had gone as they should have. Then he would be bowing to her, taking her hand, and showing her the world he could offer. For a brief time, he’d allowed himself to dream he could be with someone who might grow to care for him. Someone he could protect and keep safe.
More than anything, he wanted to let down his guard and be Kral the male, not Kral the enforcer, Kral the leader, or Kral the untouchable. He wanted to show Mila the youngling person he’d been before his parents were wrenched from him and he was forced to take command of his clan.
Soon, Mila.
“Detecting power-up in their defense systems,” the droid to Kral’s left said, returning his attention to where it needed to be: on what was happening around him.
“Shields up,” he barked.
“It is done,” the droid said.
Kral leaned forward and activated the com on the small commander’s dash with a tap of his finger. “This is Kral Lilgat Adhoh Shiel’qoin of the Star Cruiser Adire 3, hailing the Al’kieern Space Station.”
Tension licked through the air like a bolt of lightning, and his sekairs flipped up, the tips primed with poison.
Silence ticked on so long, he worried his naanans would gray while he waited. Would the Al’kieern answer?
When a crackle came through the speaker, Kral’s only response was the twitch of his finger on the armrest.
“You are outside your territory, Star Cruiser Adire 3.” The grating inflection of the voice indicated an Al’kieern, not a droid, was giving the reply.
“I have come for the Earthling woman you hold aboard your vessel,” Kral stated in a voice edged with steel. “You will transfer her to my star cruiser immediately.”
“You have no jurisdiction here, Adire 3.”
They did not deny having her onboard.
The Al’kieern’s use of jurisdiction was a stall tactic. Kral’s fingers flew across the small screen in front of him, running scans that would show any transfer activity outside the main station. A 3D holoimage of the station appeared above the screen, but no ships approached or left the multi-level space station other than a distant cruiser that was passing through the outer quadrant and likely unrelated to the space station.
Kral’s lips twisted, and he bared his fangs. “The Crakairian Earth contracts say we have jurisdiction,” he said dryly. “Hand over the woman.”
“There is no woman here,” the voice sneered. “Look elsewhere if you are desperate for a breeder.”
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nbsp; Kral’s growl echoed in the small room. He rose and limped back and forth. “I will have to board the station.” But how? They’d see him transfer on board and capture him before he could search even one level of the enormous vessel. And the action would be seen as aggression, something he wished to avoid.
“Sir, if I may?” the RX74 droid said. “I am not able to detect an inflection in the Al’kieern’s voice that indicates he is lying. Are we confident this human female is the one you seek?”
Kral held up his palm, displaying the mark that had burned across the surface when as he’d approached the station.
“A matebond symbol, Sir,” the droid said, leaving the console and approaching Kral. It peered up at him.
“This tells me Mila is on the space station,” Kral said. “Even more, I know this in my bones.”
“If I may offer a suggestion, then?” the droid said. At Kral’s nod, the droid continued. “There could be a way, one that has a twenty-eight percent chance of success, but there are inherent risks.”
“Tell me,” Kral said, rubbing his thigh.
“We are testing a new cloaking system,” RX74 said.
Kral’s breath whooshed out. “We already cloak ships. This is not new. And they know we are here already.”
“Yes, we cloak ships,” the droid said. “Normal cloaking technology has a ninety-eight percent success rate.” Its mechanical arms splayed out. “Our latest venture includes cloaking individuals and transferring them from one location to another. The system still produces more error than accuracy, which is why the Crakairian High Council has asked us to continue our studies before trialing with larger subjects than hand-sized creelets. The small creatures appear better able to withstand the transfer.”
“I will do it,” Kral said. His hand went to the hilt of his broadsword as it always did when agitation coursed through him. His gaze met the droid’s. “Now.”
Kral checked to ensure he had strapped on his other weapons, but it was a gesture for reassurance, not because he had doubts. A Vikir never left the clan unless he was fully armed.
“I should add that your odds of successfully assaulting the station and surviving an attack are less than twenty-two percent,” RX74 said. “The odds of rescuing the Earth female, assuming we are correct in our assumption that she is on board the station, are less than twelve percent, depending on where she is being held.”
A leader should let others take on situations like this, not do them himself, but Kral had no choice. He could not send droids and risk harming Mila.
“Why have the tests failed?” Kral asked.
“We experience a technical error,” the droid said. “Our transfers are smooth. The test subjects arrive safely, but the cloaking mechanism does not withstand the transfer for more than a few seclars. That is the true flaw we have been unable to isolate and fix.”
“Then it is not a true cloaking,” Kral said, his frustration bleeding through his voice. Each seclar he waited was one less he had to locate Mila. If the station raised full shields, he’d have no choice but to attack.
“But it is a true cloaking,” the droid said, unperturbed by Kral’s irritation. But it wouldn’t be upset. Droids felt nothing. Their ability to complete tasks without letting emotions cloud their judgment was why they were used extensively by the spacefleet. Most star cruisers were staffed with only a few Crakairians and the rest droids. “In our trials, the creelet is transferred from one vessel to the other without detection.”
Kral stepped toward the droid. “You are saying you can cloak me and transfer me into the station, and they will not see me arrive, however—“
“Within seclars, the subject is no longer cloaked,” the droid said. “We would, of course, if you chose to take this option, transfer you to the safest location possible.”
“A stairwell. Or somewhere in maintenance.” He stiffened his spine. “I am ready.”
The matebond symbol on his right palm pulsed. He was losing his ability to think rationally when his mate’s life was in danger. Yet this wasn’t about possession or promises made between distant planets. Or even about making an heir, though after meeting the Earthling females at one of the other matched Crakairian male’s home, the idea of fucking with an Earth woman intrigued him. This was about ensuring a vulnerable person under his care was safe. Protecting her to show he would not fail another.
“I will also mention, Sir, that there are other options,” RX74 said.
“Name them.”
“You could send a droid in your place.”
Kral never trusted others to do something he needed to do himself. A lost droid could be replaced, but if the Al’kieern caught and eliminated the droid, they would be wary. The element of surprise would be lost. “Not an option.”
With a surprising huff, the droid continued. “There are three other star cruisers within seven daela’s travel. With a full force, the Al’kieerns will have no choice but to back down and hand over the woman.”
“Even one daela could be too late,” Kral said. “How long until you can complete the transfer?”
“It will take ten minars to cloak you, but only seclars for the transfer.”
A blink of the eye, then.
Kral bowed. “I am ready.”
“I should mention the other minor issue we have seen with transferred creelets.”
“What?”
“Two percent lose consciousness within seclars of arrival.”
Two percent was nothing. “I will take that chance.”
Five
Mila
After almost getting caught—again—in the hall, Mila evaded the Al’kieern by racing along the obstacle course she’d mapped out within hours of breaking free. The course included climbing through ceiling ductwork and shimmying on her belly beneath rows of supply cabinets. After she was confident she’d lost them, she scurried to her hiding spot in the back of the maintenance room.
Hours later, she crept back out, because…
Mila was determined to take her first bath since she’d been kidnapped, and nothing was going to stop her from sinking into the water and soaking for at least an hour. She’d wash her hair! Shave her pits with one of the knives she’d stolen from the kitchen. And then she’d soak some more.
Lugging the final bucket of water, she scooted sideways and shimmied between the pile of wood and the wall, snarling when she caught her shirt on the edge of one of the boards. With a huff, she broke off the sliver of wood and scowled at the new hole in her shirt. She’d stolen two complete outfits over the past few days, but they were wearing out fast. At this rate, she’d be naked in no time.
The clothing hung off her body because it wasn’t made for humans. She’d discovered if she knotted the extra sleeves around her middle and ignored the holes in the back that were made for wings, she could move okay. As for the pants—with a hole for a tail she did not possess—she rolled them up to her knees.
Alien capris, right?
She snapped off the splinter and pocketed it in case she needed it later. Her heavy sigh rang out. While the woodpile made a great cover for her hidey-hole, who needed wood in space? Outside of building material—which made no sense as everything on the station was made of plastic, or burning wood in a fire pit, what use was all this stuff?
After Firefly showed her the tiny compartment in the back of the room, she’d cleaned it out, distributing the items here and there so it appeared casual, and then slowly collected possessions over the past three days. Her two outfits. A hunk of foam that served as a bed. Oddly enough, two towels—which made decent blankets. And knives from the kitchen. If only she could steal one of the zapper sticks they’d used on her and Lily. Then she could knock out the Al’kieern when they got too close.
In the back of her compartment, she’d found a flat half-barrel that vaguely resembled a horse drinking trough. She’d evicted the spiders. It figured even spiders existed in space. Couldn’t avoid those babies by leaving Earth, now could she?
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sp; Yesterday, during her exploration of the ship, she’d located a bucket. Huge score right there.
She opened the door to the small room and scooted inside, where she poured her tenth bucket of water into the tub, making it full enough water would slosh around Mila’s waist while she sat. The water was relatively warm, a bonus. The last time she’d done a quick wash—two days ago at the janitor’s sink—only cold would come out of the faucet. This time, she’d lucked out with tepid.
After stripping, she climbed into the tub and sank back against the side with a groan.
“Oh, shit, this feels wonderful,” she said. Using her fingers, she washed from top to bottom. Then she rinsed her hair a second time until it squeaked.
Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back and relaxed. “Damn, this is awesome. No bath bomb, but I’m not complaining. Who would have thought a simple bath could feel so wonderful?”
A soft sound made her pause, and her eyes slit open.
Gulp.
A tall, green alien male dressed in furs that barely covered his chest and tight black leather pants had appeared at the foot of her tub like he’d been beamed into the room. His dark gaze traveled down her body, taking in her boobs peeking above the waterline.
She slunk lower, but that only lifted her crotch higher.
Shit.
Like she’d pressed it against a hot stove, her right palm burned.
“Ouch!” She flipped her hand over, and her mouth dropped when she saw a gleaming gold symbol appearing on her palm.
She’d read about these before.
A matebond brand.
“What…?” How had it appeared on her palm? She’d assumed women were marked in some way once they’d agreed to stay and marry their Crakairian mate, because magically appearing symbols only existed in fantasy books. They didn’t appear just because she’d met some random, green alien guy.