by JC Cassels
Under her deft control the ship burst away from the ground and into the Akitan night sky. The gee forces of the hasty liftoff pressed Bo deeper into the cushions of her chair. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nix swallow hard, and start to turn green. She shrugged to herself and waited for the inertial dampers to kick in. Gradually, the gee forces eased. Bo boosted power to the repulsors.
***
Five years since he’d last been on board Sundance. Thankfully, the engineering compartments hadn’t changed.
Blade descended the steps into the heart of the ship’s main power and data storage center. The amber glow of the emergency lights barely pushed back the shadows in the compartment. He smiled to himself.
As a single-hander, Bo never ran non-essential systems like working lights unless she had reason to be in that part of the ship. He could switch them on, of course, but she would see it immediately on the flight deck. No sense announcing his presence until he was ready.
Unless he missed his guess, she was about to have her hands full running the blockade of sentry ships. She wouldn’t appreciate the distraction. Depending on how upset she was with him, she might blast him out the airlock before they even broke grav. That would not be desirable.
He didn’t need the lights anyway.
The repulsor drive wound up to a higher frequency whine as power surged into it from the main generators.
He needed to stay invisible to her at least until the hyperdrive engines kicked in. Not even Bo would open an airlock in hyperspace…he hoped.
Dim in stand-by mode, a small green light flashed in the upper right corner of the maintenance console. Blade reached down and tugged on the round stool in the knee space under the console. It swung out on its hinge and clicked into place. At his touch, the console flared to life, showing him the operating systems of the ship. He lowered himself onto the stool, trying to ignore his aches and bruises as he did so.
When they’d arrested him, he hadn’t gone quietly. Adin had been injured. He’d had to buy his team time to get away. Blade absently rubbed his shoulder. By the time the peace officers had caught up with him, they hadn’t been inclined toward gentleness. Not that he blamed them. He’d taken a hell of a beating. They probably would have killed him if it hadn’t been for his diplomatic ID.
He studied the information flashing across the screens. Thanks to the little data chip under his skin, he still had access to every system on board, even though she had disabled his access codes. Tapping into the internal flight recorder, he opened the security feed from the flight deck.
The display split into four images: one for external sensors, another the current status of the con, the third the ship-wide systems, but the fourth – and the only one Blade was interested in – was a visual feed of Bo and her passenger.
At his touch, the image of Bo filled the display.
Every time he saw her, it was like a fist in his gut. He couldn’t breathe, and it hurt like hell.
He leaned over and shifted a panel to the side. Fumbling past the components and insulation, his fingers closed around the bottle of Old Arturian wedged tightly in the back. His lips twitched. Either she had never found it, or she hadn’t had the heart to get rid of it. Pulling it out, he opened the bottle. Leaning on the edge of the console, he closed his eyes and took a long drink, thankful for the burning path it traced on the way down.
Five years since he’d been this close to her. If he wanted, she’d never know he was here...
Opening his eyes, he studied her face.
Her brow furrowed in concentration as she did what she did best. Maker, she was never as alive, or as beautiful, as when she was flying her ship through a gauntlet of opposition. Her amber eyes flashed as she studied the situation. A small, enigmatic smile lifted the corners her beautiful mouth. Her hands moved over the controls as though she were one with the vessel. She was in absolute control of her situation, and gloried in her confidence.
If she had known she had a stowaway, she’d be far less pleased with the moment. If she had known it was the once renowned Blade Devon, she’d be positively dour.
According to the flight plan she’d just input into the nav-sys, they were going to Chiron Station. All he had to do was lie low and keep to the shadows until they docked. Once she’d boarded the station, he could be on his way and she’d be none the wiser…
On the display, Bo laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder.
His breath caught.
Who was he kidding?
For the first time in five years, he was close enough to feel her, even without trying. He’d walked away from her once before. He didn’t have the strength to do it again.
The repulsor drive wound down and the sublight engines growled awake.
When the time was right, he’d make his presence known. Then she’d have to deal with him. Until then, all he had to do was sit back and enjoy the ride.
***
The light announcing their arrival at the jump coordinates flashed green and Bo pulled the lever engaging the hyperdrive engines. Ahead of them, the threshold of realspace stretched out like pulled taffy as it was displaced by hyperspace. The ship lurched as the powerful engines kicked in.
She scanned the control panel, double-checking her ship’s basic systems. From here, Sundance and the nav-computer would handle the minute course corrections that would keep the ship out of harm’s way in hyperspace. The trip chronometer rapidly counted down their ETA. A glance assured Bo that she had plenty of time for a couple days in medical stasis before their arrival at Chiron Station.
Her left shoulder throbbed.
She should have expected it. The grappling hook always placed too much strain on it. Ever since that night she’d nearly botched her escape from – what was his name – Dregs? Drex? Rex. That was it. Despite Blade’s best efforts and Sundance’s surgical skill, her shoulder had never been the same. Her ship’s wildly-fluctuating environmental systems weren’t helping her aches and pains any either.
She really was getting too old for this. Her eyes teared with fatigue. She needed to crawl into her bunk and let the stasis field do its work. Blinking the moisture away, she waited for her vision to clear before looking at her passenger.
“I’ve got a Consular Guard flight simulator set up in the rec room. I’ll get you started and you can try your hand at flying a couple of sorties.”
“You really mean that? Wow!” Nix’s dark eyes lit up at the prospect of graduating from consumer sims to a CG training sim.
“I’ll set it up on the condition that you leave me alone for a couple of days.” She popped her g-locks and led him down the steps from the flight deck. “I have a date with a medical stasis field and I don’t need any interruptions.”
He followed her into the rec room adjacent to the galley.
“It’s a deal!” His eyes ran covetously over the equipment. “Why do you have a training sim on your ship?”
Why indeed? Her jaw clenched. She should have gotten rid of it years ago.
“I was training a partner a while back,” she said tersely, not looking at the boy.
She moved to the control panel and powered up the sim.
Nix regarded her warily. “What happened to him? Was he killed?”
Reaching into the sim, Bo pulled out the helmet that housed the holographic display projectors and settled it on his head with a grim smile. “Only if I ever set eyes on him again. Climb in, I’ll get you started.”
In just a few minutes, she had him settled into the flight seat and the controls explained.
“If you need anything, ask the shipboard computer.”
He didn’t acknowledge. He was already engrossed in the holographic images flowing across his field of vision.
She left him happily blasting away at enemy craft, and headed aft to her quarters.
The hatch slid open and she glanced over the organized disarray of her private sanctuary. She knew the safety reasons behind having all gear stowed neatly befor
e getting underway. Her brother had called it a sign that she was settling into civilian life. The truth was, she had long since ceased to care about her own safety. When her end came, she doubted she would meet it being strangled by her own unstowed trousers floating freely in zero gee.
Once the hatch to her quarters was secured and on privacy mode, she pulled off her jacket and unbuckled her gunbelt, hanging both in the cramped locker that housed her meager belongings.
“Sundance, something doesn’t feel right.” She sat down on her unmade bunk and pulled off her boots, tossing them aside. They hit the deck plates with a solid thunk.
“Environmental controls are functioning within their specified parameters,” Sundance replied.
“No,” she said with a little smile. “They’re not, but that’s not what I meant.” She wriggled her toes, and stretched, easing her tense muscles. She ran her fingers along the back of her neck. “You know that feeling I get – like my danger capacitor is about to pop…”
“Perhaps it has something to do with our stowaway.”
Bo stilled. Her smile faded as a cold wave of fear gripped her.
“What stowaway?”
CHAPTER THREE
Fury boiled through her veins.
With the edge of her hand, Bo hit the hidden panel above her bunk, and caught the compact blaster as it fell. Barefoot, she moved silently through the ship, adjusting the power setting as she went. A hull breach in hyperspace was the last thing she needed.
Scratch that.
She smiled grimly.
A stowaway was the last thing she needed. A hull breach in hyperspace would be a merciful end to her story, and much more likely to result in her being strangled by her trousers.
With an unhurried stride, she moved aft across the deck plates, considering her options. She should have anticipated a stowaway after blowing a hole in the side of the most secure detention center in the Inner Commonwealth. But her brother Edge had often bragged that Sundance was the most secure ship in the Commonwealth – save the Sovrans’ personal yachts. She hadn’t even considered the possibility.
Really, she should look into converting some unused portion of her ship into a brig. She could only use her airlock as a holding cell for so long…especially when she kept forgetting to disable the outer hatch when she locked would-be hijackers inside.
Her brow furrowed and her mouth tightened at the memory.
Open airlocks in hyperspace weren’t very good on fuel consumption, and tended to throw a ship off course. On the positive, at least she hadn’t had to squander her ship’s stores on them.
Without so much as a vibration to mark her passing, she stalked down the starboard steps to the maintenance corridor. Canting her head, she listened for anything out of the ordinary.
The steady hum of hyperdrive engines churned through the open hatch, rising in pitch as she neared.
Who was she kidding? A dancing aglopod could be rehearsing in there and she’d never hear it over the engine noise.
She paused beside the open hatch.
She probably should have asked for a little more information about whoever was hiding in the dark.
Typically, she’d acted first.
Well, no turning back now.
She pressed her back against the bulkhead, and glanced down to make sure she cast no shadow to warn her unwanted passenger of her arrival. Sidling closer to the hatch, she took a deep, calming breath. Her fingers flexed and curled around the grip of her palm blaster. She counted to three, then stepped through the hatch, her weapon at the ready. She quickly descended the steps.
Bo leveled her weapon at the darkness. Something moved in the shadows near the repulsor drive. Stopping in her tracks, she pivoted to meet the threat. Her eyes adjusted as she scanned the stygian black.
A large, humanoid silhouette loomed in the darkness, still and patient, as though waiting for discovery.
Son of a kretch! He’s a big one!
A warning chill danced along her spine. Adrenaline flooded her system, amping up her pulse and expanding her senses.
“Show me your hands and step out where I can see you,” she ordered.
He hesitated, as though considering his chances.
Her eyes narrowed. “Your other option is I shoot you where you stand.”
Moving slowly, he spread his arms wide as he stepped away from the machinery into the center of the narrow walkway. With a measured tread, he eased from the deep shadows into the dim light.
With each approaching step, she took inventory of him, cataloguing his potential risk to her well-being.
Human.
Male.
Taller than average.
Well built…Very well built.
Sexual awareness flickered through her, but she quashed it.
Five years without a glimmer of interest in a man. Her hormones had picked a hell of a time to start working again.
Intense and relaxed at the same time, he moved fluidly, with the supreme confidence, grace and controlled power of a predator.
Sexy as hell.
Very dangerous.
His shaggy blond hair took him out of uniform regs for the Consular Guard.
What was it with her and beefy, blond, predatory types?
His head bowed, shadows obscured most of his face. A close-trimmed beard and stern set to his mouth gave him a slightly sinister appearance. He stepped slowly into the light spilling through the hatch.
Something about him reminded her of…
He lifted his face, and a shaft of light from the corridor fell across his eyes – eyes the same shade as the bluestone of the Gallis Highlands where she’d grown up
Hell no!
Her chest burned as if the hull had been breached and all the atmo had blasted out into the vacuum of space, leaving her helpless to draw air into her aching lungs.
“Hello, my love.”
His smooth, familiar baritone voice hit her like a plasma storm, taking all her defensive systems offline.
A slow, rakish smile softened his stern features, and melted her knees.
Her heart pounded in time with the cycling engines.
He did not get to swagger back into her life as if nothing had happened!
She wasn’t some twitter-pated fangirl who would melt under his megawatt, crooked little bad-boy smile.
That ship broke grav five years ago.
She squeezed the trigger.
Blue energy flashed from the muzzle and struck him in the thigh.
He grunted in pain and reached for his wound.
Bo tightened her grip on her blaster and set her jaw. “Keep your hands where I can see them!”
“Bo, it’s me – Blade!”
“I know who you are,” she snapped, annoyed with herself for losing control. “You’re lucky I only shot your leg.” That much was true. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fry you right now for old time’s sake.”
“Now, love, let’s not do anything hasty,” he said, panting with obvious pain.
“Don’t worry,” she snarled. “Anything I do to you, I’ve been thinking about doing for a long time.”
“So this was a warning shot?”
Bo raised her aim. “Doesn’t mean I won’t blow your damn head off.”
He stared down the barrel of her blaster. His spine stiffened as he slowly straightened. “Duly noted.” His lips compressed into a tight line of pain as he balanced on one foot.
Bo quelled a pang of remorse.
She studied him for a long moment. He’d been a clean-shaven, ruggedly handsome, lying bastard. His face had gained maturity and character, with new wrinkles and scars – and, most notably, the beard. Maker help her, she found him more attractive than she ever had. She doubted his lying nature had improved any, however.
Still…shooting him hadn’t felt nearly as good as she’d thought it would. She should have gone for a kill shot.
“What the hell are you doing on my ship, Blade?”
“Sa
me as you. Breaking out of Akita.” He tried that old, familiar, lopsided smile, but winced as he shifted his weight onto his injured leg.
“What’s a First Sector IC Agent doing locked up in Akita?”
He cranked up the charm with a pained smile. “That’s a long story…”
She’d seen him pull this act too many times before.
Bo shifted her aim to his other leg.
“Condense it,” she snapped.
His gaze flicked over her, taking her measure.
“I, uh, don’t want you to think I’m misrepresenting myself,” he said. The corners of his smile tightened just a little. “But the IC and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”
She might have bought it if he hadn’t been watching her so carefully.
“I’ve heard that one before.” She arched an eyebrow. “You want to try again?”
They stared at each other, neither willing to blink.
He studied her face with calculating intensity.
Bo kept her expression carefully blank.
He finally muttered a curse and hopped to ease the growing tension in his uninjured leg. “The harmless pretty-boy act isn’t going to work on you, is it?”
“It hasn’t yet.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Here’s the deal. My standing with the IC depends on who you ask. They’ll tell you I’m an agent in good standing. I’ll say they can pound sand.”
Knowing Blade Devon, it was about as honest an answer as she was going to get.
“So you’ve gone rogue – again?”
Something in her question amused him. “I prefer to call myself an independent,” he said with a hint of a genuine smile.
“How did you end up in Akita?”
“A job went sour. I stayed behind to cover my team’s escape.”
Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Still working with the bottom-feeder, the Delian, and the mutant?”
“Phinny’s not a mutant.”
“So…yes?”