Stowaway (Star Line Express Romance Book 1)

by Alessia Bowman

  “First Officer Arca,” I say, “that is how things work on Choryn. I didn’t invent this.”

  “Then how come none of it’s in The Treachery of Joston Parst?”

  I’m just about to say something but his latest comment stops me cold.

  “You are just kidding me. That’s a vid made by someone who never ever even visited Choryn! They knew less about it and its inhabitants than even you do.”

  “I see,” he says, looking like he neither sees nor believes a damned thing I’ve said.

  Nevertheless, I seem determined to finish this explanation, driven on by an irresistible urge inside me to tell someone, even if it’s this someone, what really happened. Even if he doesn’t believe me.

  Not if. He doesn’t believe me.

  “Niklas,” I say. “I’m not a liar. And not only that, but not everyone on Choryn is a liar, a cheat, a thief, or a corrupt something-or-other. Choryn is just like anywhere else.”

  “Except for the antiquated laws about mates and matches,” Niklas says, pointing out the obvious.

  “Except for that.”

  “And the Chorynean Guard execution squad,” he says.

  “And—wait. Choryn is not the only world with a strict justice system. I hear Earth is even worse.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” he says. “On the Big World we wouldn’t tolerate such crap.”

  “Well, on Choryn, that crap is tolerated. And even respected. Despite your idea, and Joston’s idea, that Choryn is a hotbed of crime, there’s actually very little crime there.”

  “That you haven’t committed, you mean,” he says.

  “I haven’t committed any crimes!” I say.

  “Sure. Just like you haven’t sabotaged the equatorial stabilization system of this ship.”

  “I didn’t,” I say. “But, just so you’ll understand, I guess on Choryn I am considered a criminal. But I’m innocent.”

  “Ha ha ha,” he says, and the ship breaks back and forth and back again and I revise my estimates of how long we’ve got. Two hours was too generous.

  “I cannot believe I’m telling you this stuff in the limited time we have left,” I say.

  “I cannot believe that no one has visited us in this cell so I can explain to them that they need to take you back to the engine room immediately to fix what you sabotaged.”

  “Why don’t you just summon them on your comm plate?”

  “Because it’s disengaged! Standard procedure for someone in the lockup. They don’t want you communicating with anyone, and they know where you are, so it’s not like they have to find you.”

  “I’m going to try to finish this story. Correction—it’s not a story. It’s what happened. It’s the truth.”

  “Your truth.”

  “Lasson Birtak is my match. I’ve known this since I was old enough to read. But, a few days ago, when it came time to become his mate, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

  A sly grin wipes over Niklas Arca’s features and I think I’m thinking the same thing he is. That it took all but nothing for me to bring myself to have sex with him.

  “He must be very unattractive,” Arca says.

  “He’s actually very attractive,” I say. “But I’m not attracted to him.”

  “Even with the beautiful house.”

  “Yes. Even with the beautiful house. He is not a house. Or his house.”

  “Is that why you were stowed away?”

  “Ah,” I say. “The light is dawning.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that just because you didn’t want to mate with your so-called match that you ran away from Choryn without so much as a half a plan, hid away in, of all places, the ship’s hot box, and then . . . everything else?”

  “That’s pretty much it.”

  “Then explain the sabotage.”

  “There is no sabotage!” I hear myself shouting. “Except there is. But it’s not mine.”

  “Must be nice to be a criminal and yet be so damned innocent.”

  Niklas

  “Well, as long as we’re telling stories, I’ll tell you one,” I say.

  The ship seems to have calmed down. Maybe we’re not doomed. I relax. Or relax a small percent of the tension that imminent doom has created.

  Someone should be showing up soon with a meal. I could use about five meals, since I seem to recall that I didn’t have the last two.

  “I’m not lying, I’m not a criminal—not that kind of a criminal—and I’m definitely not a saboteur. That would be you,” she says, lying like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the world to her. Which I guess it is.

  “Seventeen months and nearly four days ago,” I say, setting the stage for my own story. Aymee turns around and lies down. Her head is on my thigh and I can’t say I’m not happy it is. I play with her hair and she doesn’t stop me.

  “I was on the Big World,” I say. “That’s my home. Was my home. It might be difficult to go back.”

  “Why’s that?” she says. She grabs my hand and puts it on her chest. Not the more interesting part of her chest, but the part above that. It’s like we’re two longtime lovers and we’re just having a chat while we wait for our dinner to be served.

  I close my eyes and forget we’re in a jail cell together. Forget we’re on the Centreale. Forget that we’ve got maybe two hours of life left. Forget we don’t love each other.

  “Because of what happened,” I say.

  “I see,” she says, even though at this point there’s nothing for her to see. She picks up my hand and gnaws a little on the fleshy part on the side of my thumb then puts my hand back on her chest.

  “I was going to marry her,” I say.

  “That’s nice,” she says. “I didn’t know you were that type.”

  “I didn’t either,” I say. “Until I met Minda. She was everything I’d ever fantasized about in a woman—brainy, sharp, wickedly funny, gorgeous, tremendous body—”

  “You could stop right there,” Aymee says. “I get the picture.”

  I seem to have made my cellmate jealous. Good. Maybe I can rub it in a bit more.

  “Minda and I were in love,” I say. “Or I was. Or I thought I was.” Hell, this isn’t going to help rub in jealousy at all. I sound like a jerk.

  “I was in love with her,” I say, sounding more like the commanding male I am.

  “I’ve never been in love,” says Aymee, moving my hand off her chest. “I wouldn’t know how.” She sits up. I can see her angry breaths under my gray pullover shirt.

  I can show you how, I think, but I say, “I’d bought her a bouquet of white roses. To celebrate.”

  “You’re rich?” she says, since no one but a fool or a rich person would buy white roses. “How come you’re the first officer on this garbage heap?”

  “My brother, Rej, was in town,” I say, ignoring her, “and we were planning to go out to dinner together. The three of us. I’d just proposed to Minda, she’d accepted, and we were going to work on the wedding plans. I wanted to include Rej since he’s—he was—my closest friend.”

  “But no more.”

  “You are listening,” I say.

  “It’s hard not to,” she says. She stretches and her hand comes to rest on my upper arm. “You’re very muscular,” she says, stroking my biceps.

  “Can’t help it,” I say. “My natural state.” Other natural states are starting to get reenergized but I leave her hand where it is. If she hates me, if I hate her, if we were arguing, yet this, right now, is very companionable and easy.

  “Rej and I aren’t just brothers, we’re business partners. Or were. We had a ship’s architecture business together. It was everything we’d dreamed of and worked toward really our entire lives. We both have kind of a knack for it and although each of us has some weaknesses, together we’re—we were—unstoppable.”

  “Must kill you to be the first officer of a crap ship like the Centreale,” she says, and I nod, which she can’t see.

  �
�Turns out we both have an affinity for more than just ship’s architecture.”

  “You mean Minda.”

  “I do.”

  It’s very quiet on the Centreale. No rocking, no lurching, no shifting. No announcements. No one coming in to bring us our rations. Aymee’s hand on my arm, her head in my lap. I feel weirdly calm and settled. Like I’m back on the Big World, in the house that Rej and Minda are now living in, only they’re not there. Aymee and I are there.

  Except we’re not.

  “Was it that bad?” Aymee says.

  “Worse,” I say. “They were in my bed.”

  “Damn,” she says.

  “Damn indeed. And, even worse, they didn’t care.”

  “Had it been going on a long time?” Aymee turns around and then sits up.

  “They’d just met,” I say, then I wonder if they had just met. “Actually, I don’t know.”

  “How come she said she’d marry you?”

  “Good question,” I say. “Especially since, on the Big World, we don’t have matches and life mates like you strict Choryneans do.”

  “But you do have marriage.”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Do you think you’ll ever get married now? Since what happened with Rej and Minda?”

  “No,” I say. “I won’t.”

  “I won’t, either,” she says. “Because if you don’t marry your match, you can’t get married at all. And, besides that, we’re all going to be dead pretty fucking soon.”

  Then I turn to face Aymee Desryx, scheming Chorynean, ship’s saboteur, liar, stowaway, and the most extraordinary lover I’ve ever had, and I can’t help myself. I kiss her. A slight kiss, hardly noticeable.

  But now her arms are around my neck, my arms are around her waist, my mouth can’t get enough of hers, and her mouth is doing something with my lower lip that’s driving me further into need, desire, and something much much worse.

  Love.

  Chapter 17

  Aymee

  What the hell is the matter with me? I despise this Big World Terran, he disdains me, and yet I can’t stop kissing him. Can’t stop wanting to make love with him again. Can’t stop touching him.

  I have my hands in his hair and am tugging away at the tie-back, desperate to undo it. His hands are on my back, then on my hips, and his mouth is devouring mine.

  “Aymee,” he says. He puts my hand on his engorged shaft.

  “Niklas,” I say, breathless as he puts his hand on my breast and does astounding things with his thumb and forefinger.

  “We can’t do this again,” he says as he prepares to contradict himself.

  “Yes, we can,” I say. I feel it’s inevitable. Might as well give in.

  “Damn you,” he says as I undo the front of his pants and grab on to him without any fabric interfering.

  “Lunch,” says the voice from the other side of the cell door.

  First Officer Niklas Arca pulls my hand away, shoves his stiff cock back into his pants, and says, “Enter.”

  “Chlo,” I say when she comes into the cell, her bright orange hair a contrast to her grim expression. “Thank you for bringing us some food,” I say.

  “No one knows,” she says, looking behind her, then back at us. “When I heard you were both here, and with everything else going on, well, I knew you’d need to eat.”

  Niklas has already started in on one of the huge sandwiches on the plate Chlo brought with her, and it’s all I can do not to pick up the other sandwich myself. But Chlo’s talking to me.

  “They’re saying the two of you conspired to destroy the Centreale,” she says.

  “Why the hell would I do that?” Niklas says, looking up from his sandwich.

  “Draybirge and the captain have been in the captain’s office for hours.”

  “Why would you do this?” I say to Niklas. Even though I know he’s the saboteur, it never occurred to me to wonder why.

  “Why would you do this?” he says to me.

  “I didn’t!” I say.

  “Well, I sure as fuck didn’t, either,” he says.

  “Word is that it has something to do with Arca Shipbuilding,” Chlo says.

  “What the fuck?” Niklas has put his sandwich down. He stands up to his full height.

  “That it’s retaliation, since Captain Zavl’yn didn’t let you buy a big enough share of the Centreale and because he ended the contract with Arca.”

  “I ended the contract with Arca,” the Big World Terran says. “I did.”

  “I don’t get it,” Chlo says. “Isn’t that your company?”

  “It’s my brother’s company,” Niklas says, “and I’d be damned before I’d let Rej work on the very ship that I’m part-owner of.”

  “Rej stole Niklas’s fiancée,” I say to Chlo, in case she didn’t know, and, from what I gather in her startled expression, she didn’t know.

  “I told you that story in confidence!” First Officer Arca says to me, raising his voice about 3,000 decibels.

  “I told them you’re innocent,” Chlo says to me.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Ensign Nightbird,” Niklas says, and I guess he means Chlo, “you told them that the Chorynean is innocent, yet you thought that I—who you know very well—was guilty.”

  “I didn’t know,” she says. “Really, Nik. I had no idea.”

  “That’s First Officer Arca to you, Ensign Nightbird,” he says, staring down at her like he’s her boss, which I guess he is.

  “First Officer Arca,” Chlo says, snarling. “It’s obvious that Aymee is innocent. Why would she want to sabotage the Centreale? She has absolutely no reason to.”

  “You mean no reason that you know of.”

  “I don’t have any reason to!” I say, thinking it’s time to inject some logic into this conversation.

  “I wouldn’t put anything past this compulsive liar,” says First Officer Arca, the bastard.

  “I’m not lying,” I say.

  “She’s a wanted criminal on her world. Did you forget that?” Niklas stares at Chlo.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing big,” Chlo says.

  She looks at me like we’re old friends, and, oddly, I feel like we are. I’ve been on this garbage heap for a few choice hours and already I’ve acquired a friend and ally, a lover and enemy, and a very, very, very bad reputation.

  “Choryn is super strict,” Chlo says. “Everyone knows that. You can do the least small thing and they think it’s a huge big deal.”

  “I give up,” Niklas says, going back to his sandwich. “It’s obvious that the two of you are pals and that I’m the odd man out here.”

  “I never really thought you were responsible,” Chlo says to Arca, and the ship lurches for the first time in quite a while.

  “I’d better get back,” Chlo says. “I’m supposed to be on the bridge.”

  “Thank you,” I say as she leaves, locking the cell door behind her. I was kind of hoping she wouldn’t, since she realizes we’re both innocent and since we’re headed for a certain doom anyway. Why keep us locked up?

  “Eat your sandwich,” First Officer Arca says. “You might as well.”

  “Die on a full stomach, you mean?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Eat up.”

  Niklas

  Ensign Chlo Nightbird, of all people, thinking that I might be responsible for the sabotage. I shake my head. Nothing is as it should be.

  I should be on the Big World, living in my home, married to Minda, running Arca Shipbuilding with Rej. Aymee Desryx should be on Choryn, married to her life mate, Lasson Birtak—what a terrible name and he’s probably a creep as well, since even Aymee won’t have anything to do with him—and living in his beautiful house.

  The Centreale should be on its way to the next port—Watzthyr, I believe—and in fine working order. Well, maybe just working order. It’s hard to think of anything on this falling-apart bucket as fine.

  Instead . . . instead . . . this.

&nbs
p; Well, at least I’m getting a sandwich before the end. Aymee Desryx is eating now too. The two of us, standing here in this small room, eating our sandwiches.

  Happy days. Here in this tiny cell.

  The ship now lurching every two seconds.

  Minda and Rej safely on the Big World, probably laughing at the great fun they had, that they’re having.

  Lasson Birtak brokenhearted—well, he’d damn well better be brokenhearted—over losing Aymee.

  “Delicious,” Aymee says, breaking into my deep thoughts. She’s halfway finished her sandwich when the sirens go off yet again.

  Only this time they’re different. This time . . .

  “What is that look on your face?” Aymee says, shouting over the blaring noise.

  “That is the look of someone who’s locked in a cell while the abandon ship sirens are going off,” I say.

  “Abandon ship?” Aymee says, no longer interested in her sandwich. She tosses it back on the plate, then tries the cell door, which I heard Chlo lock. It is locked. Yet Aymee persists in pushing and pulling on it.

  “Chlo will come back for us, right?” she says, looking over her shoulder at me. She’s working on the door as though her efforts will yield a result. Of course they will yield a result, but not the one she wants. And that, incidentally, I want as well. Only I know what she’s doing is pointless.

  “Wrong,” I say. “She can’t. She wouldn’t be allowed to, and even if that wouldn’t stop her, she’ll already be in her escape raft. Orders.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing.”

  “But surely there’s someone else on the Centreale who’d rescue you. I know Draybirge arrested you”—now she’s having to practically scream over the sirens—“but he seems to like you.”

  And she won’t stop working over the locked-tight door of our cell.

  “We’re good friends,” I say, also screaming, “but he has a duty. And that comes first. That always comes first on a ship. Has to.”

  The sirens are piercing every molecule of my body now. I’ve never heard anything like this for such an extended period of time. I have heard the abandon ship siren before, during drills, of course, but the drills end pretty quickly. This, though, is no drill.