“No, but I’m sure they’re with one. Probably out of the mountains east of here. I’ll contact the IGSF, send them the link.”
“You have your comlink open during the fight?”
“Yup. Got it all on holovid.” The InterGalactic Space Forces would want documentation that the two kills had been justified, not just preemptive vigilantism.
“Transport fixed?”
“It is.”
“Shoulda let someone come with you. Shoulda brought the droids, too.”
“Yup. Next time. Boys are here. See you at base.”
Creed broke the communication link, and stepped out to meet Nels’ two sons, as burly as their father, but with full heads of glossy black hair. They looked from the dead Maus to him, and broke out in nearly identical grins, white teeth flashing in their dark faces, tinged with awe. “You go, boss. Nice work.”
Creed lifted his chin in acknowledgement, still outwardly calm, although the aftermath of adrenaline now jittered through his system. He forced it down where he could deal with it later, on his own terms. “Got any water?”
Loi, the younger of the two, jogged back to the slider in which they’d arrived, and brought back not one, but two bottles of water, along with a medpac. Creed ripped open the pac and slapped the pad, soaked with gesics and disinfectants on his shoulder under his shirt. The gesics immediately cooled the sting of the wound. The sticky edges of the pad would hold it until he got home.
Paulo cocked his head, laser weapon at the ready as he scanned the horizon and the sky. “Betta hurry,” he said, his young face tense. “Blood will bring in the gyre hawks, then the catamounts.”
Creed raised his brows in agreement as he drained one of the bottles.
Ten years his junior, and the two were smart enough to remember what he’d forgotten. Had to get his head back to business, instead of lost in his dreams. Nebulous, half-forgotten, but enough to keep him awake half the night, and intrude on his usual impenetrable calm.
A faceless woman, her slender, graceful limbs and body moving in a sensual dance of enticement ... her warm gaze fastened on him. Calling to him.
Calling him to break the solitude in which he’d lived for so long, he wasn’t sure he even knew how to break out, or let another being in. And when had his Zhen training morphed into something from which he dreamt of escape, instead of a welcome cloak of infallibility?
Tonight he’d have this violence to deal with as well. The kills might have been justified, but still, he’d taken two lives. The universe exacted a price for this, from any sentient being with a conscience.
“You wanna set a small charge and bury the bodies, or leave ‘em?” Loi asked, shoving on a pair of heavy gloves.
Creed watched the younger man drag the Mau away from the transport, the alien’s long braids trailing through the dust. That could easily have been him.
“Leave them,” he said curtly. “Wouldn’t do any good to bury them—wild creatures will just dig them up.”
Innocent victims would have been cremated, their effects returned to their people. These two would have left him lie without a qualm, so he’d do the same for them. By nightfall there’d be nothing left of them but non-organics like fasteners and maybe jewelry.
Frontiera was swift to deal with her dead. Too bad she couldn’t seem to help him deal with what he’d made of his life.
Chapter Three
“All righty,” said the LodeStar pilot. “We’ve arrived. LodeStone Outpost.”
Taara peered down as the luxury cruiser slowed to hover. It was pitch black outside the craft, with only a tiny cluster of lights below.
She squinted, sure she was wrong. There were only three, four—no, five lights down there. So few. She’d known, of course, that she was coming to the wilds of this newly settled planet, but faced with the sight of those brave little lights shining against the vast blackness of the night, she could no longer push that truth away until later. She was essentially alone here, with no one she knew to turn to. As alone as those lights against the darkness. A shiver of cold ran through her, too deep to warm by wrapping her arms around herself.
Later was now. And now was the culmination of weeks of helpless anger and fear. For the second time in her life, she’d been propositioned to use her body to pay a debt. And this time she’d accepted. She wouldn’t fail Daanel—he was the only family she had left. Even if he would never agree to let her do this. She prayed he’d never know.
She’d been preparing for those weeks. Amidst the hustle and bustle of packing up her apartment and helping Daanel organize the goods and displays he’d be taking from his shop in New Seattle, Earth II to Frontiera City, Frontiera, Taara had done some of her own shopping in secret, funded by Logan Stark’s credit.
She’d even, one never-to-be-forgotten day, visited a courtesan, an expert in seduction who discussed with her male sexuality and particularly how to deal with a man who was sexually backward.
The pilot was busy with her controls. Taara turned partly away from the other woman, and in the hollow formed by her body and the arm of her seat, she did as she’d done countless times these past weeks. She opened the holovid image Stark had sent.
In miniature, Creed Forth looked back across his shoulder at her. And just for a moment, she lost herself again in those blue eyes, in the mystery of whether a smile was about to break across his handsome face, curve up those sculpted lips.
She wondered again how a man who looked like him could be shy with women. And said another swift, desperate prayer that Logan Stark had told her the truth and it was not because his brother was a deviant or sicko. He clearly wasn’t gay, because then Stark would have blackmailed Daanel into seducing him instead of her.
And what if Logan Stark was wrong? What if Creed Forth already had a woman stashed here that Stark didn’t know about? What would she do then?
The craft swooped, gravity loosing them for a sec, then catching them and carrying them down, spiraling toward the ground below like a bolt of fabric unwound. The protein shake she’d consumed at the Frontiera City spaceport roiled in her stomach.
Taara dug her fingers into the soft leather armrests. What would the pilot do if she locked her arms and legs and refused to leave the cruiser? She cast one look at the lean, freckle-faced woman in the pilot’s seat and bit back a sob. Probably unbuckle her safety harness and throw her bodily into the night.
“No worries,” the pilot said cheerfully, misinterpreting her fear. “Been flying in and out of this place for years. I could land on a tree top with this ship. Have you down safe and sound in a few secs.”
A tree top? That’s right, this planet still had vast forests of trees, and grasslands and all kinds of shrubs. What if they did get caught in a tree or shrub on the way down?
She didn’t realize she’d been mumbling her fears aloud until the pilot gave her an odd look and shook her head.
“Night vision readout.” She tapped one of the colored screens on the console before her. “Holovid, so it’s 3D. Quark, if I’d realized you were so scared, woulda shown you soon as we took off from Frontiera City. Don’t fly much, huh?”
Taara shook her head, her gaze fastened on the holovid of the grounds below as if it held the secret to survival—which it did, come to think of it. She rubbed one hand over the burning in her abdomen.
“Just airbuses on Earth II. I’ve never really been out of the city.” Many inhabitants of Earth II had not, since the only open land left was so polluted no one would choose to exist there.
The pilot whistled a long, low note. “Whoa. You’re in for a surprise. The Frontiera Range is definitely out, all right. But it’s real pretty out here. Why, you prob’ly won’t want to go back.”
Taara swallowed as the craft turned around in a slow, flat spiral, the lights—which were much closer now—spinning past the windows.
“I won’t be going back,” she said, more to distract herself from her worsening nausea than anything else. “My cousin and I have emigrated
to Frontiera.”
Because Stark had given them the credit to do so, and flown them here on the Andromeda, one of his luxurious space cruise liners. Daanel had enjoyed every moment, pronouncing the voyage starry. Taara had tried very hard to enjoy herself and appreciate the limitless opportunity and freedom of escaping Earth II for a new, clean planet, but every time she remembered the true price of Stark’s help, she lost all pleasure in her luxury surroundings and only felt more trapped by what she knew was coming.
Daanel did not know about her deal with Stark, and would never know if she had anything to say about it. The relief and then burgeoning excitement in his eyes had made this all worth it—until now. Now, she was really here, and the enormity of what she’d agreed to do was pushing at her like a giant hand, compressing her breath and her belly into too small a space.
Daanel thought she was now on a buying trip to Serpentia, to meet with manufacturers and wholesalers in the big fashion markets there. Instead, Stark’s minions would be doing the actual shopping, while she consulted with them via holovid and forwarded their ideas to Daanel for final approval.
“Good move, coming here,” the pilot approved. “Frontiera’s the best little planet in the galaxy. A-and ... we’re down. Betcha didn’t even notice we were landing, eh?”
Since she’d closed her eyes in a last ditch effort to quell her nausea, Taara had to agree with that. She fumbled with her seatbelt. She, who generally never suffered from any stomach upsets, had been dealing with them regularly, courtesy of the crisis her life had sunk into.
“You okay?” the pilot asked, already on her feet. “Here, let me help you with that. Hells, you’re green, little immi.”
Had Taara felt better, she would’ve made some joke about it being because she was part reptile, but instead she swallowed again, or tried, with her mouth dry as a chunk of fabric wadding. Unleashed from the seatbelt, she pushed herself to her feet, hanging onto the armrest as the cabin spun around her.
“Almost there,” the pilot said, a firm grip on Taara’s arm. “Fresh air’ll set you right up. C’mon.”
Taara stumbled after her down the short set of steps to the solid ground. There she stopped, and tried another deep breath.
It froze in her throat as a man walked out of the darkness, into the circle of light on the landing pad. The lights gleamed golden on his shock of blond hair, and limned his broad shoulders, but left his face in shadow. It was him. Creed Forth was real. Of course she’d known that, but now here he was before her—in the flesh. Tall, lean and lithe.
“Creed,” the pilot said with the cheeriness of relief. “Here’s your delivery.”
“My delivery?” His deep voice was cool. No welcome there, or in his stance, back on one foot, head cocked in negation. “Think there’s been a mistake.”
Taara took a step back, chilled despite the warmth of the night air. She was surprised the pilot didn’t quail as well before this icy greeting, but although the woman’s friendly smile slipped a notch, she didn’t look alarmed.
“No mistake. Mr. Stark said to bring her straight to you.”
Taara forced herself to move. She walked forward, quelling her shivers. Looking up at the man who now held her fate in her hands, she tried to smile enticingly. She was pretty sure, from the tightness of her facial muscles and lack of change in his stance, that she failed miserably.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything to salvage the situation. Her stomach cramped. Instead of speaking, she bent and vomited at his feet.
* * *
“Whoa.” Stark’s pilot winced as her passenger lost the contents of her stomach all over Creed’s landing pad and his boots. “Gotcha.”
Creed grimaced, blowing out a sharp breath through his nostrils to block the sharp stench of vomit now permeating the warm night air.
He’d been in the middle of his dinner when the surveillance system signaled an incoming craft. A few secs later Coy had linked, letting him know she was LodeStar, but he’d already been on his comlink, interfacing with the security system, getting a read on the craft while the remainder of his dinner went cold on the plate.
It had been a fine meal, too, roasted terra goose, steamed grains and fresh veg from Nels’ family kitchen. The big man and his wife loved to cook, and were responsible for the agroponic gardens here at the compound. Their sense of ownership was so fierce they’d refused to leave with the other families, saying they would not allow pirates to force them from their new home. They would fight at Creed’s side if necessary.
Creed had been working his way through the meal with steady precision and appreciation. Now, his appetite was gone.
“You’d better come in,” Creed said over the blonde’s head. “At least until we straighten this out.”
“Okay. You got her? Great. I’ll unload her luggage.”
Creed stopped in his tracks. The pilot had instructions to unload the woman here? Was this some kind of elaborate practical joke? His brother Joran’s face came to mind, with the sly grin he wore when he was up to something.
Steeling himself to ignore the smell of sickness, Creed looked down at the slender woman standing hunched on the landing pad. All he could really see in the landing lights was a curtain of fine, silky blonde hair, bare shoulders and her arms crossed around herself. She was the picture of misery, in a tight, red dress that he could only describe as enticing, but completely inappropriate for a journey into the remote wilds of Frontiera.
Yup, this had to be a prank. Except that Coy was one of Stark’s pilots, and she’d said she had orders from Logan himself. Uneasiness lifted the hair on the back of Creed’s neck. Anger followed. Sonofabitch, on top of everything else, he did not need this.
“Inside,” he ordered over his shoulder. “Do not unload anything until after we debrief.”
“Yes sir.”
“Come on,” Creed said to the blonde. “You can get cleaned up and get a drink of water and a gesic.”
And prepare to get back aboard Logan’s cruiser and finish her journey. Because she clearly did not belong here.
She walked beside him through the doors that opened silently at their approach. In the bright light of the foyer, he indicated the short passageway off to the right rear. “Lav’s through there. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
Without looking up, she hurried in the direction he’d indicated. She had beautiful legs, a small waist and a round ass the shape of a ripe Pangaean pear. When she walked, it swayed in that tight red dress.
Creed lifted a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed as he looked around at the quiet lobby of the mine office. Big, comfortable chairs, low tables with holoreaders and room to set cups of the hot tea and coffee that was always available, and a holomap of the area shimmering on the wall. Visitors enjoyed that. He had a similar one on the wall in his house.
Nikk, the office manager/mine secretary worked at the desk behind the counter, and beyond that was Creed’s office, in which he spent little time except when the weather was bad. At this late hour the place was empty and quiet. But even when busy, it held beings in drab, working clothes, dressed for their tasks.
He felt as if someone had opened a portal and let in a creature from some alternate, magical universe. One in which the denizens were enticing, sexual creatures. With delicate digestive systems.
He inhaled, then grimaced down at his utility boots. In a small ante-room, he unbuckled them, yanked them off and dropped them in a cryo-cleaning unit usually reserved for his clothes after a hard day of work. He tossed his socks in after them. His plain khaki utility pants had been spared, so he cleaned his hands with gel and walked barefoot back out into the foyer.
While he waited for his mystery visitor, he linked the man who could illuminate the situation. His big brother, Logan Stark. Self-made man, owner of his own space cruise fleet and numerous other businesses including a share in Creed’s irridium mine. Space magnate, head of LodeStar Enterprises, and master manipulator.
As long a
s he could recall, Creed had watched with admiration, increasingly mingled with exasperation, as Logan played beings like chess pieces. The man had a genius for getting events to turn out the way he wanted, because he had a genius for getting the beings involved to do what he wanted them to do. Logan didn’t know much about his ancestry, but Creed wouldn’t be surprised to learn his adopted brother had some Indigon blood.
He was not above playing his own brothers, either. For their own good, of course. Usually Creed was merely irritated. If what he now suspected was true, he was ready to shoot straight back into the same anger that had sent him storming out of the mine today instead of methodically loading droids and supplies. Except that it might land him in another mess.
Stark’s face appeared before him in holovid. Handsome, urbane, relaxed, lamplight gleaming on his short brown hair. In a rustic lodge, so probably still at the Masterson place in New Haven.
“Creed,” Stark said. “How are you?”
“Puzzled,” Creed said dryly. “Any idea why one of your pilots thought she was supposed to deliver a female here to LodeStone?”
Stark merely smiled. “She’s there. Good. She’s a gift.”
Creed’s eyes narrowed, his brows shot up. “Come again?”
His older brother took a sip of his drink and fingered the glass, watching Creed. “For you. A courtesan.”
Creed’s head went back, his body tightened. “You sent me a whore?”
It was then that he saw movement from the edge of his vision. His gaze snapped right. The blonde was watching him from the hallway. She had one hand braced on the corner of the wall, her gaze fastened on him. She was still, but he’d seen her flinch of distress. She’d heard him, hadn’t liked what she’d heard. Hadn’t liked it at all.
“Taara’s not a whore,” Stark corrected him. “She’s a very high-class courtesan. There’s a galaxy of difference, Creed.”
Creed heard him, but he didn’t look away from the blonde. Couldn’t look away.
“Not really,” he muttered.
Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series) Page 3