Girl Gone Nova

by Pauline Baird Jones

  He looked at his timepiece. His men should be securing Carig for an unscheduled rest about now…

  The signal came. Carig had been neutralized. This would force whoever was playing Carig to act or go to ground. Hel was almost certain it was Glarmere. Either choice had good points and bad. Now he needed to speak with his commanders. He opened a channel to the two ships, saw both commanders appear on his view screen.

  “Leader.” Their voices were neutral. Both men were new to commanding ships, had been recruited after the war.

  “I am pleased you were both delayed from making the ordered deployment, gentlemen.” Hel smiled blandly. “Minister Carig has disappeared. I wish you to return to our home world and oversee an investigation. It is possible it is connected to the other two attacks.”

  Many worries were clouding their thinking right now. With Carig out of the picture, moving on the elected Leader or the outpost was pointless. How much did the Leader know about them and their relationship with Carig? To plot against the Leader was treason, punishable by death. And what was the Leader going to do about it?

  In the end, they both acquiesced. They had no choice with the ground cut from beneath their feet.

  It would have been more enjoyable had they been more interesting.

  * * * * *

  Vidor stared at the woman, rage licking through him like a fire burning out of control.

  He wanted to shake her.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to shake her. That made him angry, too.

  She was dangerous in a way he couldn’t explain or understand. She shifted from one way of being to another—he groped the right word to describe what he saw and failed to find one—as she reacted to only she knew what. She changed as he stared at her and then changed again, as if this were a waking dream. He sensed her need to elude him. He feared to blink and find her gone, wanted to grab her and hold on.

  Could she contact her people like she implied? Bana thought she did these things to annoy him. If so, she had succeeded.

  He was annoyed.

  Now that she was out of that tree, he could see the pale skin exposed by her loosened clothing. Was it as soft as it looked? Would she taste as enticing as she smelled? His hands relaxed as his annoyance faded, replaced by something else. A pulse beat against that skin just below her stubborn chin. He reached out to touch the spot, but she blocked him, her hand a blur of controlled movement. Wrist against wrist, she stared at him. He stared back. Her other hand was raised in defense, both hands curled into serviceable fists.

  He made as if to pull back, but instead twisted his hand around and grabbed her wrist, holding it just hard enough to let her know he was stronger than she was. He wanted her to feel his control. He wanted her to know he was in charge.

  She didn’t tug against his hold, but he felt her resistance in her utter stillness and saw it in the way she shifted yet again into someone new. He tugged her closer, hooking his free arm around her waist. She didn’t fight him, but she didn’t relax.

  He wanted to push his hands beneath her enveloping clothing and discover her shape, but she was tense, like a weapon ready to fire. If he pushed too hard and she pushed back, he might have to kill her. He wanted many things—but not her death. There was still time to bring her to heel, not much but some.

  He withdrew his arm from around her waist, but placed his fingertips on the pulse point she’d tried to deny him. Her skin was soft and warm, her scent a unique enticement that threatened his control. Her pulse beat an urgent, primitive tempo beneath her skin. It was an interesting contrast to the complete detachment of her gaze.

  “Tell me your name,” he ordered, his voice husky.

  The sides of her mouth edged up, though he wouldn’t call it a smile.

  “You can call me Morticia, if you want.”

  He fought the urge to crush her against him. “That is your name?”

  “No.”

  He bit back an oath. “Why should I call you something that is not your name?”

  She shrugged. “You don’t seem to have a problem calling me woman. At least Morticia is a name.”

  Vidor almost laughed and he didn’t remember the last time he’d done that. He also wanted to pull on his hair.

  “Can I go now? I need to pee.”

  He didn’t know what this pee was, but he would get one concession from her. “Call me by my name and I’ll let you go.”

  The narrowing of her eyes was slight. If he hadn’t been staring at her he’d have missed it.

  “I’ll wet my pants before I say your name, Conan.”

  He realized what she meant and felt heat flush his face. He stepped awkwardly back. “That is not my name.”

  “I know.” She spun and stalked toward the sanitation quarters, shifting from casual to lethal as she passed both Cadir and Eamon and then back to casual. They both turned to watch her. Vidor wondered if he looked as girl sick as those two.

  “One of you needs to take the girl and put us all out of our misery,” Bana said.

  Vidor looked down at her. “I thought you were against forcing marriage on the women.”

  “Then kill her.”

  He was against that, too, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t need to. She had known him a very long time.

  Bana sighed. “Think, Vidor. She is learning you, learning about us. Learn about her. Find her weaknesses. Find out who she is.”

  Vidor wasn’t so sure she had a weakness. It had taken ten of them to subdue her during her capture—if one could call her subdued. Still, Bana had a point. If the woman were a military objective, he would use different tactics. A frontal assault didn’t work against a heavily defended front. If he shifted tactics, would he find a way past her defenses? It was worth considering.

  Bana huffed out another sigh. “If she doesn’t start eating, you won’t have to kill her.”

  She almost sounded like this was the option she preferred. It was a change that should have surprised him. She’d been very adamant about how the wives would be treated if she participated in the collection. It was their lack of care of the women that had precipitated the crisis. While the collection wasn’t the main thrust of their mission, it was an important side goal.

  Interesting that the woman had also managed to alienate Bana in the passing of a single night. Vidor felt frustration spike again. He waited until the woman emerged and stalked over to her.

  “Why won’t you eat?” He fought an urge to call her Morticia. In a way, the name suited her. She was unusual, it was unusual.

  “That sludge stuff is seriously nasty.”

  Yes, it was, but, “It contains nutrients necessary to sustain life.”

  “Only a life not worth living.”

  She tipped her head to the side and studied him in a way that made him shift uneasily.

  “So are you all vegetarians? Have religious problems with meat? Lousy at hunting and gathering?”

  “Hunting and gathering?” How did she manage to shift the conversation away from herself like that?

  “Where I come from, men bring home meat for their women.” She frowned. “And chocolate. That makes life worth living.”

  He would prefer meat as well, but it was not possible.

  “No one else complains.” That wasn’t entirely true.

  “Have you asked them what they like?”

  Asked who? The women? Why would he ask them what they liked? Bana’s words came to him, “You have much to learn about women, Vidor.” It appeared she was correct.

  “If I bring you chocolate, you will tell me your name.”

  He knew the tone was wrong when her brows drew together.

  “You wish.”

  “You must choose.” He leaned toward her, hoping she would understand what he was telling her.

  “And if I don’t?”

  He waited for a few beats of his heart, his gaze holding hers with deadly intent. “Then you will die.”

  S
he shrugged.

  “Everyone dies.”

  Frustration spiked again.

  “Is that your wish? To die?” He kept his voice hard, though the thought of her death made him feel hollow inside.

  “Not this minute.” She stared at him, her gaze speculative. “What if I tried?”

  He tensed. “How do you try to choose?”

  “I need time to get to know—” Her gaze shifted in the direction of Eamon and Cadir, “them.” Her tone lacked enthusiasm. “Maybe we could go out or something.” She looked around. “Though since we’re outside, maybe that would be a need to go in—only in somewhere better than this?”

  “Out?” He didn’t like her looking at them and sought to shift her gaze back to him. It worked.

  “On a date? It’s the way my people choose.”

  Her gaze left his, returning to Cadir and Eamon again.

  “They’re awfully young, but statistically women do live longer than men.” She sighed, tipping her head to one side.

  What was she looking at?

  “They’re both built. Good shoulders. Nice ass on the younger one.” She looked at him. “What’s his name again?”

  “Cadir.” The word almost didn’t make it past his gritted teeth.

  “So what’s your time frame?”

  The question took him by surprise.

  “Time frame?”

  “Do I have to choose right now?”

  His gaze narrowed. “You are up to something.”

  “It’s called negotiating terms, Conan. You’ve given me two options, neither particularly great, by the way. I’m just trying to negotiate a better deal. It’s not unheard of in civilized societies.”

  Her eyes were wide, her gaze clear, maybe a bit annoyed, but overall she projected an air of calm reason. He wanted to shake her again. He wanted to tell her she had no choice. She belonged to him. So far neither man had noticed her looking at them. How was that possible? It looked like she was studying Cadir’s ass again. He wanted to kick it.

  “The leather is nice. And I know he’s strong as an ox.”

  “He went down like one, too,” Vidor growled, deep in his throat.

  “Did you say something?” Her wide-eyed gaze shifted toward him again.

  He was not fooled by her air of being puzzled. Her attention started to shift again. To stop it he spoke.

  “You may have two days to choose.”

  Now she blinked. “Two days to choose a husband? The person I’ll be spending my nights and days with for the rest of my life?” She frowned. “This is life we’re talking about, isn’t it? Because that would change things. If the marriage lasted only a couple of weeks—”

  “Of course it is for life. What else could a marriage be?”

  “Which brings me back to what the hell? Two days to make a decision this huge?”

  He gritted his teeth again. “How much time do you think you need?

  She changed again. “Oh wow, that’s a tough question. I mean, a lot depends on the guy, of course. There are compatibility issues, which are already a bit iffy. I mean, we’ve got that whole, different culture thing going. And then there’s the age issue. Shared interests—”

  “Shared interests.” He had to cut off the flow. It made his head hurt.

  “Well, has either of them read Harry Potter? Because I couldn’t be happy with someone who hasn’t read Harry Potter.”

  “You read.” He didn’t know why this surprised him. Nothing she did should surprise him.

  Her eyes widened. “You mean they don’t? Oh wow, that’s a major deal breaker for me.”

  “We all read.”

  “Harry Potter?”

  “No. You will have to find other shared interests.”

  “Which brings us back to the need for dates.”

  “What are dates?”

  “Where I come from we go out to eat or to a movie. Since those things seem to be missing in action, I guess we’d talk.”

  “Talk.” He stared at her, trying to understand what she was saying.

  “To each other, like we’re doing, only different.”

  “How?”

  “How what?” She stared at him and then blinked. Her lashes drifted down slow, rising slower.

  “How would talking to them be different than talking to me?”

  Her eyes widened. “For one thing, they haven’t threatened to kill me.”

  He gave up resisting the urge to touch her. His finger brushed her cheek, pushing a strand of hair back. Her skin was soft as a flower petal and smooth as the finest silk. She shifted just enough to end the contact. He let his hand drop, but he felt the connection linger. “I don’t wish to kill you.”

  “And I don’t wish to be here. Obviously, one of us isn’t going to get what they want.”

  Frustration evaporated like mist in the sun. He smiled at her. “I always get what I want.”

  He didn’t like the change that came over her. Why did his comment amuse her?

  “And which one do you want me to choose?”

  The shape of her mouth when she said the word “choose” sent warmth flooding into his body. He stepped close to her, his gaze fixed on her soft, pink lips. She started to step back, but he stopped her, his grip loose on her shoulders but able to be insistent if needed.

  Her chin lifted and her mouth lost its shape and softness as it thinned with her gaze.

  “You feel it, too, woman, deny it if you can.”

  “The only thing I feel is a need for more meat in my diet and better plumbing.”

  His grip on her tightened.

  “You’re hurting me.” She shut down, retreated to some place inside where he couldn’t reach.

  He flung his hands free of her, spun and walked away, heading for the edge of the woods. He fought it, fought turning around, but it was as if this was as far as he could get from her. She waited until he was looking and then turned to join Eamon and Cadir. They both offered her a chair, but she jumped up onto the edge of the table, her legs swinging.

  “So what do you do for fun around here?”

  Chapter Ten

  The exterior of Hel’s ship was as scruffy and deceptive as his other identity when he used it. Both concealed more than they revealed. The exterior hid powerful engines and enhanced sensors and shields. As the trappings of a Leader fell away, Hel felt his personal power surge closer to the surface, too. He endeavored not to think about why he was doing this, focusing instead on how to accomplish his goals. In the past, this had worked for him, but in the past, he had not switched identities for a woman.

  As Leader, he believed he could retrieve Delilah and remain detached. He could spin himself useful lies about neutralizing the threat to eventual Gadi control of the outpost, but in this ship, as this man, it was not so easy. This place brought him closer to the core of his power, his passion, and brought back the past when he had last made a mistake about a woman. He did not spend time regretting past mistakes, he just hoped to learn from them and move on. All life was an education of some kind.

  Here, now, he found it difficult to maintain proper prospective on the problem she posed. Did he want her because of what he believed she could do or did he want her for himself?

  This was a question that needed answering before he brought her on board this vessel.

  But he did not have to answer it right now. With relief, he shelved troubled thoughts for practical matters. His scanners were up and operating within expected parameters, as was his cloak. He saw no sign of interest in his movements from either the Earth ship or the Kikk outpost. If the unknown vessel twitched out there, he’d know about it, either through his own scans or through the ships he’d strategically placed around the galaxy.

  His flagship was on course for Kikk, but not hurrying. He hoped to be back on board before it reached Kikk. No one would believe he’d stay on the ship once they reached the outpost. He’d spent some communication face time with each commander before going underground. At least eight were
solid, seven could go either direction, and the two Carig had suborned? They weren’t as solid in his direction as Carig thought. They left for Gadi space without hesitation, and they didn’t contact anyone before leaving. It wasn’t totally good news. Their support was solid for the Leader. Most of the support wasn’t personal. He wasn’t offended. Military commanders were supposed to be loyal to the government.

  Would they be as certain if a governmental transition weren’t the result of a vote of the people, but action of the counsel? Doubtful. Military commanders came from all levels of Gadi society. While they might support the ruling class in theory, in action, most would side with the Gadi people.

  Hel rubbed the stubble emerging on his chin as he plotted a course to the Quindo sector. It was off the main space lanes, but because it had good access to the frontier and trade lanes, space pirates and off-the-book traders used it as a place to buy information and trade in illegal goods. His former first commander, Hilber, called Quindo home. Like many in the galaxy, the fall of the Dusan hadn’t opened a way home, since the Dusan had made sure there was nothing to go home to. Some were the only ones of their kind left. Hilber was one of these survivors.

  He had used his old Ojemba channels to arrange a meet. One didn’t arrive unannounced at Hilber’s quarters. Like all good Ojemba, he shot first, thus eliminating the need for questions. Hel trusted Hilber as much as he trusted anyone: not at all. None of the Ojemba knew Hel as the Gadi Leader, but that did not mean they wished him long life. That Hel knew their identities was enough to make them restive.

  Quindo had the additional benefit of being close to the region where he believed the unknown kidnappers were hiding. It met the criteria he’d identified. He’d been all over the frontier and this was the sector he’d choose if he were looking for optimal concealment and maneuverability. Everyone was looking for the unknown group now, not just the Doolittle and the Gadi. They’d need to hit fast and then go to ground even faster. There was a higher risk of pirates discovering their presence and following them home, if they spent too long in the space lanes, even cloaked.