“With all due respect, Commander, you can’t order me to perform sexual acts.”
“No, but I can ensure that the probe is the only sexual satisfaction available to you for the rest of your life. If you step out of line with a female again on my ship, I’ll personally see to it that you never reach the top of any mating roll. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Kellen said. “Now you will apologize—”
“Excuse me, Sir.” Shauss stepped up beside him. “Miss King has requested that he not speak to her again, even to apologize.”
Zannen’s derisive gaze focused on Shauss. “Who appointed you her protector, little brother?”
“Is that what this is about, some kind of misplaced sibling rivalry?” Kellen asked incredulously.
“No, Sir.”
Shauss barely suppressed a snort. Zannen had only focused his obnoxious attentions on Miss King because of him and they both knew it.
“It had better not be. Miss King isn’t a piece of meat to be scrapped over by two hungry dogs.” He sent a penetrating look Shauss’ way. “Especially when one of them already has a premium piece on his plate.”
Shauss managed to remain impassive. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Kellen turned to Zannen. “From this moment on, Lieutenant, you will avoid any and all contact with Miss King. One more point of reprimand in your file and you’ll face a disciplinary hearing.”
“Understood, Commander.”
“Good. I’m due back in chambers.”
After he left, Shauss looked into eyes as black as his own. “If you go near her again,” he growled, “a disciplinary hearing will be the least of your problems.”
Zannen grinned. “You’re awfully possessive of a piece of ass that’s not even yours, little brother.”
“The only thing that makes us brothers is the blood of a poisonous female,” Shauss said through clenched teeth. “And if you lay a hand on Jasmine King, I won’t hesitate to spill every drop of yours.”
Chapter Four
Of all the places they could have met, Monica just had to pick this one.
Jasmine paused and took a deep breath before stepping through the infirmary door. No lights flashed. No alarms went off. No one called for her to be detained.
The air whooshed out of her as she sagged slightly with relief. Then she noticed Shelley lying on one of the beds. At her side stood a tall, slender man with shaggy dark hair and a goatee.
“Hey, are you okay?” Jasmine asked. This was the first time she’d seen Shelley since that awful day in the commander’s dining room.
“Yeah.” The petite blonde grimaced as she shifted on the thin mattress. “Monica was just checking me over to make sure the twins are, too.”
“Oh my God.” Jasmine stepped up beside her. “I didn’t even think about how being in space might affect the babies.”
“They’re kicking my ass from the inside, so I think they’re doing all right. I, on the other hand, am roasting alive on this ship-hole.” Shelley sighed as she wiped sweat off her upper lip. “I had to raise holy hell, but the commander finally brought Mark up. Speaking of which, Jasmine, this is my husband, Mark Bonham.”
He held out a hand and Jasmine took it, fighting a grin. For some reason, she’d pictured Shelley with someone a shade less…beatnik. Dressed in a tight black turtleneck and black jeans, Mark looked like he might strike an angular modern dance pose and start reciting brooding poetry at any moment.
“Mark, Shelley’s told us a lot about you,” she told him, tactfully not mentioning that it was usually bitching about how much his job kept him away from home.
He smiled back, his brown eyes twinkling. “No matter what she said, I was going to propose before I knew about the babies.”
Déjà vu tickled the edges of her brain. “Have we met? You seem…familiar.”
“Not that I know of. Perhaps Shelley showed you our wedding portrait?”
“No…” Jasmine had kept pretty much to herself and no one had ever shared photos or other personal information with her. Besides, the connection she felt seemed older, more distant.
Before she could pursue it, Monica strolled in. “Hey, Stepford.”
Jasmine grimaced. “I hardly qualify for that title anymore.”
“Too true.” Monica looked at her for a long moment before turning to Shelley. “Ketrok says your pee looks fine, and as far as I can tell, everything’s perfect with the babies, but I really wish you’d let him do a scan.”
“Hell. No.” Shelley shuddered. “You do it.”
“I don’t know how!” Monica was clearly exasperated. “Shelley, their technology got you here in one piece from the surface in less than a second. I don’t know why you won’t trust—”
“It’s not their technology I distrust, Monica—it’s them.”
“See?” Jasmine jumped in. “I’m not the only one.”
Monica rolled her eyes. “You guys, I’ve only been practicing medicine on this ship for a couple of days. I can barely figure out how to take your temperature, for Christ’s sake!”
“You know how to deliver babies and that’s all I care about,” Shelley said. “How can we trust them, especially after those military bases were blown up? They honestly expect us to believe there are other aliens on Earth working to sabotage their mission, and that they’re responsible for killing millions of people?”
“Shelley, why would the Garathani sabotage themselves like that, especially after all this time?” Monica asked.
“Maybe they got impatient.”
“What would any other race have to gain by sabotaging them?” Mark chimed in. “The Garathani are the ones who need women.”
“Maybe the Narthani need something,” Monica fired back. “Maybe they’re still pissed about Kellen’s revenge and want to make the Garathani suffer, make sure they don’t get any Earth women.”
Mark snorted. “Good luck getting anyone to believe that. Commander Kellen had supposedly wiped out the Narthani, and now the Garathani are asking us to believe that he didn’t, that he just destroyed selected targets? And assuming he did destroy their long-range vessels, as he claims, how did the Narthani get here?”
Jasmine just stared at him, but Monica wasn’t so retiring. “Gee, Mark, been thinking about this some, have you?”
He frowned. “My family and I are trapped on a Garathani spacecraft. You’d damn well better believe I’ve been doing some thinking.”
Shelley gasped and slid her hands over her bulging stomach.
“Another one?” Monica asked.
“It’s fine, just a Braxton-Hicks.”
“Uh-huh. I’m checking you for dilation.”
“Oh, do you have to?” Shelley whined.
“Suck it up, you big labor and delivery nurse,” Monica said with a grin. She walked over to a table and stuck her hands into what looked like an aqua sponge about the size of a bread box.
Jasmine followed her over for a better look. “What is that?”
“It’s a manicurist’s dream,” Monica explained. “I don’t remember what they call it, but it’s basically a sterilizing cube. Kind of like the biologic pad that lines the ship, only not so dense. It eats all the organic and inorganic impurities from your skin. The longer you leave your hands in, the cleaner they get. Removes polish and takes care of cuticles and hangnails too.”
“Really?” Jasmine stuck one finger in.
“Yup, and if you leave your hands in long enough, it’ll eat your nails right off.”
Although she wouldn’t mind seeing the ragged remnants of her manicure disappear, Jasmine yanked her finger away and rubbed it on her jeans. No telling what else the stupid thing would eat.
As Monica approached, Shelley’s eyes widened. “Does that mean no gloves?” Monica only looked slightly disturbed. “Uh yeah. Sorry, Shel—I’m not that wild about it myself, but that’s life on a Garathani ship.”
Shelley shuddered and lo
oked at Mark and Jasmine. “You two—out. Sorry, honey, but it’s going to be hard enough to let Monica examine me ungloved without you in here.”
When Mark grinned and opened his mouth, she cut him off. “Don’t say it! We don’t want to hear about your kinky girl-on-girl fantasies.”
“You can wait in Ketrok’s lab until we’re done.” Monica nodded at a door.
Mark stepped up and when it opened, he swept out his arm, ushering Jasmine into the next room.
“So you’re a secretary at the compound?” he asked, leaning against a table.
“I was, yes,” she said regretfully. Much to her surprise, she’d actually enjoyed working with the Garathani. Except for the obnoxious few like Zannen and Pret, they’d been unfailingly polite, and their admiring glances had been fabulous for her ego. She’d miss that. She loved her students but sometimes they could be just as obnoxious as Zannen. Certainly none of them ever looked at her like—
Jasmine shook herself. Enough of that line of thinking. Now that she was lean and mean, Terran men would probably look at her with every bit as much desire in their eyes as the Garathani.
“Shelley told me what happened,” Mark said. “I’m impressed. That took real guts.”
Jasmine sighed. “More guts than brains, obviously.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Things are always more complicated than they seem.”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered.
He turned slightly and touched the cube on the table with a curious finger. Then he turned fully and pressed all ten fingertips into it. “Let’s see if this thing takes care of my hangnails. The air’s awfully dry up here.”
“Really? Our room always seems too warm and humid.” Jasmine watched a little breathlessly, blinking away visions of him screaming in agony as he pulled out bloody stumps.
That was it—she was done with movies forever.
“Do you have a spouse up here too?” he asked.
“No, I’m not married. I room with one of the other secretaries.”
“Ah. I’ll bet your family’s worried about you.”
Jasmine swallowed a snort. “It’s just my father and me, and he knows I can take care of myself. My mother was the worrier.”
“Was?”
“She died in a car accident last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. She was…” All I had. Her throat got tight and she turned away as she finished, “Great.”
After a moment, she felt his hand squeeze her shoulder, but he said nothing, a move she found remarkably astute for a man. Shelley had trained him well.
The door opened. “All done,” Monica announced. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”
* * * * *
Jasmine wallowed naked in a mountain of potting soil, rolling around and rubbing its mineral-rich blackness into her skin and her hair and her mouth. She found a raw steak and dredged the bloody morsel in soil before eating it with her bare hands. God, so delicious! But she still needed more.
Then she saw Shauss kneeling on the fertile ground, the streaks in his black hair glowing iridescent blue under the Garathani sun. Sweat trickled down his throat as he prepared the soil for planting with his bare hands and she licked her lips, desperate to taste it. To taste him.
That’s what she needed! She needed Shauss to take her, to grind her into the mountain with his big hard body, to split her open and fill all the empty places inside her with soil and seed and sweat-dampened flesh…
“Shauss, please!”
She woke to the harsh sound of her own desperate groan and lifted her head, panting raggedly in the absolute dark. Her hips continued to grind against her dream lover, reaching in vain for satisfaction. She could still smell him, and it was driving her crazy.
“Oh crap.” This was bad. This was very, very bad. Obviously she must have gotten a major whiff of pheromones while she was out yesterday. God, she had to get out of here before it was too late.
Please don’t let it be too late!
Portia stirred in the other bed. “Are you okay?” she asked in a rusty voice.
“Sorry, just another weird dream,” Jasmine said breathlessly, unnerved by the cravings that still clawed between her legs and in her belly. Lord, she was hungry!
Propping up on trembling elbows, she pulled her hands from under the pillow and illuminated her watch face. Five o’clock. She rolled to her side as she threw back the blanket. She couldn’t wait for Monica—it was way past time to carry out her insane escape plan.
With her stomach still growling, she stood up, and said quietly, “Empran, wardrobe light twenty-five watts.”
Milky light instantly seeped from behind the wardrobe doors. Stripping off her nightgown and dropping it on the bed, she made a quick stop in the bathroom to relieve herself and splash on a liberal coating of vanilla then returned to the wardrobe on legs that vibrated with anxiety. She pulled the exercise suit out of the sanitizer and then paused. Crap. She hadn’t sanitized her only pair of underwear—she couldn’t bring herself to put them in the sanitizer overnight like Portia did, so she’d intended to sanitize them first thing this morning.
Her hesitation lasted only a second—there was no way in hell she was going commando. Setting her chin, she suited up and yanked up the zipper with a decisive flick of her wrist. Screw it. At this point, day-old underwear was the least of her problems.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Portia asked, propping up on one elbow. In the dim light she looked ripe, rumpled and sexy, her breasts lush and heavy-looking over the blanket. How could she be so unconcerned about her nudity on a spaceship bristling with humongous, sex-starved alien males?
“Hey, if something’s wrong—”
“I’m fine, Portia, really.” Jasmine shut the wardrobe, leaving only enough light for her to find her way to the door. “I just need to get out of here.”
Portia’s “Well, if you’re sure…” followed her out and she let the door slide shut behind her without answering. There was nothing left to say, really, but she felt kind of bad about not saying goodbye, since it was conceivable they might never see each other again.
She stalked down the corridor, her skin practically crawling with the need to be free of this ship and its inhabitants. Lighting in the ship’s common areas was synchronized with the compound’s to keep everyone’s circadian rhythms on track, and the watery light soaking into the blue walls created a predawn effect so peaceful she almost expected to hear birds chirping.
Keeping her eyes and ears open, she headed toward the tranlift at the deck’s core. Movement in a connecting corridor caught her attention and she stiffened until she realized it was just Shelley’s husband. He meandered down the hall away from her, one hand behind his back and the other trailing along the wall, and she felt a spurt of sympathy. He must be going as crazy as she was to be out walking the decks at this hour.
She passed without greeting him, careful not to involve anyone else in her reckless scheme.
As expected, the only guard in evidence was at the tranlift. He followed her with his eyes but said nothing as she stepped up to the automatic door. When it opened, she braced herself and stepped inside.
She didn’t even bother looking when she stepped out of the tranlift on Voya Deck. There were guards stationed at every tranlift, and by now she’d done enough reconnaissance that they were used to her running laps around the deck at all hours.
The women’s exercise facility was already a hive of activity. She took a few minutes to stretch, more out of habit than anything else, and then grabbed a small towel from the rack in the entry and draped it around her neck.
Snagging a hydration bottle from the shelf, she popped the lid on her way out the door. It was hard to swallow past the nervous constriction of her throat, but she chugged some of the tepid pink liquid anyway, shuddering as it went down. The hydration fluid was supposed to be the Garathanis’ answer to Gatorade but for some reason the taste reminded her of semen.
; Clutching the bottle in her left hand, she started down the corridor at a slow jog, trying not to think about what she was going to do. Which was die, probably, but she’d do just about anything to avoid having everyone look at her like Shauss had in her dream.
When she neared the escape pods, dread pooled in her belly. What was it going to be like in there? When she and Portia were escorted to their room, they’d been told the pods were like lifeboats and they should find their way to one in the event of some major disaster. There was always a guard posted outside the pod bay, and only he could grant them access. They hadn’t specified how that happened, but reading Garathani had its advantages—Jasmine knew the electronic screen by the hatch read a palm print to authorize entry.
Any fool could row a lifeboat, so it stood to reason that very little training was required to operate the pod itself. Hopefully she’d just be able to step in, push some kind of emergency jettison button and let the on-board computers take care of the rest. But even if that went as planned, an infinite number of things could go wrong from there. Her odds weren’t good. The Garathani could call the vessel back remotely, or blow her out of the sky before she reached safety—assuming she could even get past the ship’s energy shields.
She slowed as she rounded the corner. Rats! Ensign Hastion was guarding the escape pods this morning. Why did it have to be someone she liked? He was always pleasant and never leered at her—although the sight of him jerking off in front of all those men had taken some of the shine off his appeal.
Her heart rate escalated again and it was all she could do to keep her pace even. She wanted to run like hell, but where would she go? Back to her quarters to await her doom?
After her fourth lap around the deck, she deliberately picked up the pace. When she passed the escape pods, she let the bottle slip from her sweat-slicked fingers.
“Oops,” she said breathlessly. Turning, she saw Hastion bend over to pick it up and took her chance. Praying like crazy, she executed a side kick just as he looked up.
Though her heel slammed into his nose with a meaty crunch, he staggered but didn’t go down, so she launched a spinning back kick. This time her heel connected with his cheekbone, snapping his head to the side. He stared at her blankly for a second and then his dead weight fell over into a bloody heap against the wall.
Enemy Overnight Page 7