The Iron Altar Series Box Set One: Books 1 to 3

by Casey Lea

  “Out here,” Nightwing growled, “polite will see you dead.” His fingers tightened in the padding round Darsey’s neck and he half-lifted her to propel her straight into the door. She cried out as she was slammed at a dirty orange oval and closed her eyes, but there was no contact. No bones breaking, no blood. No pain at all.

  Perhaps she was unconscious. Darsey tried slowly opening one eye. Darkness. Well, that didn’t help at all… until she felt the alien move behind her.

  “Lights on. Full,” Nightwing snapped, and a faint glow grew rapidly to reveal a tiny, windowless rectangle.

  She glanced at the kres, who looked back without expression, before brushing past her. “The lights should come up automatically,” he explained.

  “Where… where are we? I mean, what happened to the door?”

  “It was open. The lock wasn’t lit, so there was no energy field. That door’s just a projection, an optical illusion. You can walk straight through without stopping.”

  Darsey leaned closer to the dull orange surface, but it still looked convincingly solid. “After you next time,” she said firmly, and Nightwing laughed. He seemed to swap emotions as rapidly as a diva dealing with her stylist. Or as randomly as a psychopath. Darsey pushed that thought aside at once and left it cowering with all the other horrors she was ignoring.

  “Welcome to my quarters,” Nightwing announced and spread his arms wide until his fingertips touched either entrance wall.

  “Palatial,” Darsey murmured, ducking under one of his arms to shuffle into the room and look around curiously.

  The chamber was dominated by a bed in an alcove at the far end. There was a curved console of featureless gray that ran the length of the wall to her left. The wall on the right had the only other door in Nightwing’s quarters, which was flanked by a translucent panel of dirty pink. Darsey wrinkled her nose and ignored the console as she studied the room. Access to the ship’s computer was her only hope of escape, so it seemed a good idea to look disinterested.

  The alien joined Darsey in the main room and tapped her on the shoulder, drawing a hollow thud from her suit. “Listen well,” he ordered. “The Bandit’s a pirate ship and no place for a stroll. If you want to stay safe until we reach port, you’d best play the working slave. I’ve just spent a drak of a lot and I don’t want it wasted. It cost thousands to save you and I’d appreciate some gratitude.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Nightwing gave a tight smile. “I hope I’ll not regret this deal.”

  “You might. I’m not making any promises.”

  He managed another slight smile and gestured at the door behind them. “Believe me, the safest place for you is in my cabin.”

  Darsey remained unconvinced, but she had a depressing lack of options. She sighed and looked around the chamber instead, shaking her head at the lack of space. “Where am I going to sleep?”

  “In my bed. You’ll go to bed early-on to warm my side. You can roll across when I arrive.”

  Darsey stiffened and Nightwing frowned when she glowered at him. “Don’t you have electric blankets? Powered heating for your blessed bed,” she explained at his obvious surprise.

  He flicked his fingers dismissively. “If I used power for such pampering, Greon would gut me.”

  “So you’ll use me instead?”

  “It’s needed.” Nightwing wandered further into the room and settled against the curved edge of the console, apparently untouched by Darsey’s anger. His expression was cold, but his gaze was all fire and made her feel as if she was about to be pinned by talons. She had to lock her knees to stop from backing up. This guy was better than Greon, but not by much. She gave him a look that was meant to be withering, but he yawned in response, then sagged against his perch and hung his head, so he could ignore her while he spoke.

  “In truth I’ve little time and less energy for your concerns. You’re my property and if I treat you well the crew might notice. That could lead to challenges, duels, assassination... I’ve been through such already, just to hold my rank, and I’ve no wish to be tested again. So keep this place tidy and supplied and search the menus to see if the kitchen console can find any decent food. Deal?”

  Darsey was fuming and she made no effort to hide it. “All that and I get to warm your bed too. I must be the luckiest girl on this side of space.”

  “Many females would kill to warm my bed,” he agreed.

  Darsey’s eyes narrowed, but Nightwing seemed oblivious. He stretched and yawned before pushing himself to his feet. He ran a finger down the diagonal fastening of his vest and it swung open at his touch. Darsey’s disgust shrivelled to a sliver of ice that sat cold and sharp in her stomach. She stood quite still, trying to be inconspicuous, while her owner stripped. He pulled off his top and shook himself like a dog leaving water, then turned to toss his discarded clothing at a dark strip on the wall. The vest hit its target and disappeared.

  Darsey gaped. “How?” she wondered aloud, intrigued despite herself. She was still staring at that dark vanishing point when a pair of boots was thrown and swallowed in turn.

  “Compression storage,” Nightwing answered heavily. His voice was now thick with fatigue and he spared only a hooded glance for his curious guest. “It compresses molecules, pressurises them, if you like. Removes all that empty space within and between, so they take up little-as room. Don’t try such with living tissue, though. It destroys the energy-matter matrix and decompression gets messy.”

  Nightwing yawned again, before taking a single stride to fall face-first onto the bed. He collapsed on top of the main cover and kicked a spare blanket aside, before rousing himself enough to turn his head and look at her, but then yawned again before he could speak. “Gods, it was full hard breaking through to your system. That’s my job, you know... to break and enter. New passages are always most difficult and I truly need to sleep.” He looked at her and his drooping eyelids flicked open with belated realisation. “You must have had an awful day too.”

  Darsey simply shook her head at the ridiculous understatement. Nightwing actually looked ashamed and pushed himself onto an elbow to access the band on his wrist. His fingers danced over its surface and a piece of shimmering cloth fluttered from compression storage in response. It drifted to land on Darsey’s boots and draped her feet in soft gold billows.

  “Nightwear,” he explained. He looked at her spacesuit appraisingly. “Don’t worry. It stretches.”

  He waved vaguely at the internal door. On one side of the truncated oval door, the wall was solid, while on the other there was a dirty, frosted panel. Nightwing gestured to the opaque side. “Blutions,” he mumbled indistinctly, “for bodily wastes.” He pointed at the translucent wall and made an effort to speak clearly. “Cleansing bay. You can wash if you wish. Just tell the cleanser what field setting you want. Don’t worry ‘bout bed-warm tonight.”

  “Thank you so much,” Darsey answered with withering sarcasm, but the alien turned away and collapsed to sprawl across the bed again. Her jaw clenched at such an abrupt dismissal and she made no effort to claim the clothing pooled around her feet.

  “I’m Darsey,” she said loudly. “By the way and just in case you’re interested.” She stamped awkwardly to the bed, but Nightwing’s breathing had deepened already and he was clearly oblivious to her clumsy approach. He gave a single, deep sigh and then settled as sleep claimed him.

  “Darsey Ice,” she announced over him, but there was no response. She raised her eyebrows indignantly and opened her mouth again, but then let it snap shut. Despite her need for information and for the simple comfort of conversation, she had no desire to waken this arrogant and selfish alien. It was a sudden, overwhelming relief to be alone. She stopped holding memories in check and let them come unhindered. There was a rush of familiar faces and actions, swept aside by violence, and Darsey had to suppress a sob as pain bent her double. The grief was overwhelming and she stuffed a fist into her mouth in an effort to stay quiet.

&nb
sp; She had no intention of letting Nightwing see her weakness, but a moan escaped before she could regain control. She drew two deep breaths, calming herself and managed to stand straight again. There was no response from the alien, but she glared at his still form with growing suspicion. The sudden thought that he might be spying on her, that he might be secretly amused by her pain, was horrifying. He seemed deeply asleep, but she felt an imperative urge to be sure. She stepped forward slowly, making an effort not to creak in her suit, and bent over to touch him.

  Before her hand could reach the curve of Nightwing’s shoulder, a shock surged through her arm. It came from nowhere, a burst of physical pain that flashed from fingers to shoulder. Darsey fell back with a cry and a curse, clutching her throbbing hand. She felt the crisping of her flesh and had to force herself to look down, expecting to see a melted suit and blackened skin. Amazingly, her gloved hand looked normal and her arm seemed equally unharmed. She took a single shaking breath and her mind regrouped enough to think, what? Her unspoken question received an unexpected response.

  “Refrain from physical contact,” a disembodied female voice ordered, and Darsey snapped upright again, her hand still cradled against her chest. She swivelled awkwardly to survey the room. “Your present distance is acceptable,” the voice murmured smugly, apparently whispering in Darsey’s ear, but Nightwing’s small quarters seemed as empty as before.

  Darsey took a deep breath before looking around slowly, careful not to move more than her head, but Nightwing’s protector remained hidden. She shook her hand experimentally and let it fall when the gesture proved painless. She knew that she was angry, furiously angry, but was too tired to connect with the emotion. Her body and its feelings seemed suddenly very distant. “Damn,” she muttered, in a listless echo of annoyance. “You could have warned me.”

  “That was a warning,” the voice responded calmly.

  “Great.” Darsey’s assailant was still unseen and she had no energy left to be subtle. “Who or what are you anyway?”

  “I am Pertwing and I am Nightwing’s… friend. Sleep now, alien slave. I will watch.”

  “Charming.” Darsey sighed and blinked back tears again. She swivelled slowly, although, as she expected, the room was still empty. However, a tiny golden globe now floated above the console, reflected from its dull gray curve. It was the only change since the strange conversation began and she abruptly realized what it meant. “You’re the computer.”

  “I am Nightwing’s personal program,” the voice admitted curtly. “This conversation is terminated. I do not wish to disturb Nightwing’s rest.”

  “He doesn’t look too disturbed to me. I’d say he’s out for the count. Hello? Pertwing? You could at least say goodnight. Pertwing?” Darsey bit her lip, but a ragged laugh escaped anyway. “You’re his program, all right. I didn’t think it was possible for a computer to be so offensive.”

  Darsey turned back to the bed, but there was no response from its occupant. She made a rude gesture at his unconscious form, finally satisfied that he was really asleep. Although he had sprawled across the mattress, there was still plenty of room for her.

  However, Darsey was never going to sleep beside one of the creatures that had murdered her friends. She staggered back in disgust and moved to the far wall, a journey of two paces. She took a deep breath and her eyes burned again. She forced away thoughts of her crew... of Will… of her ship and of her lost home. Then she started to strip, concentrating instead on forcing her weary fingers to free her from her spacesuit.

  It was half-an-hour later when Darsey finally kicked off the last piece. Her boot skidded across the floor and hit the base of the bed with a satisfying thump, but there was no response from Nightwing. She sighed, but then her hands flew to cover her mouth, when she realized the kres had something she needed. She tip-toed to the bed, suddenly anxious not to wake him and get caught stealing his spare blanket. Too bad if the alien got cold, her need was greater.

  Darsey clutched the thick, gray cover and retreated all the way to the tiny cleansing cubicle. She stood there until her pulse slowed. The only sound was Nightwing’s soft snore and she realized she was holding her breath, but there was no point delaying any longer. It was time to get naked. She gulped for air and courage, before pulling off the last of her suit padding with rough jerks. She grabbed the nightgown off the floor and yanked its silky folds over her head. It rippled down her body to settle smoothly into place. At any other time she would have paused to enjoy its clinging softness, but not tonight.

  Darsey quickly threw the cover she’d stolen around herself, making as many layers as she possibly could. She stopped, breathing hard and almost relaxed. She was finally free of the cumbersome suit and ready to fight if she had to. She wouldn’t panic or hesitate next time. Well, she wouldn’t hesitate at least.

  Darsey had to push herself to leave the tiny cubicle. She finally sidled back into the main room, and edged further from the bed. She dropped to the floor with a shiver and wedged herself in the farthest corner from Nightwing. She wrapped her arms around her legs, fixed her gaze on the alien and prepared to stay awake. She’d sleep later, when she could finally face the nightmares.

  4

  Loyalty

  Another alien ship cruised much further from Earth than the Bandit. It looked insignificant against the darkness around it – a simple sliver of gold that was the only Royal Fleet presence in this remote system. It patrolled an area that was nominally kres territory, but was seldom visited, even by the fleet and never by civilian kres. Only the most desperate merchants dared this perilous run, which was at least a dozen passages away from more civilised systems.

  However, such a barren stretch of space seemed to suit the small and battered craft. The scars of recent battle blackened most of its golden skin and one flared edge of its diamond-shaped body was jagged and torn. Its name had been re-inscribed to stand out boldly against the partially seared fullerene. Honor. The purple letters caught the gleam of a distant sun and then started to shimmer. They wavered like writing seen through rippling water. The entire ship seemed to writhe, and then vanished.

  The invisible Honor slowed, to drift silent and unseen. It was hidden from sight and from every scan, except the most focused. Its crew waited patiently at combat stations. The only activity was in the nest, where the senior crew worked weightlessly to control their ship.

  “The trap’s set, sah, and our camouflage is secure,” Sub Clearwing Pinion said softly from her seat at the secondary data console.

  “Full camouflage?” inquired the ship’s Leader, tilting his chair to study the new sub’s projection.

  She spared him a shy smile and a cloud of blonde hair that had largely escaped its braid floated around her head as she turned back to her projected data.

  “Ye, sah. Everything that’s hitting us is being on-sent to the opposite side. Starlight, radiation, space dust and traces of solar wind. It’s as if we’re not here.”

  “Good work,” said Leader Freefall FarFlight. He finished scrolling through the sub’s collection-transmission matrix and tilted his head at his senior officer, who hung motionless above him. Senior Gull gave the faintest smile of approval. Freefall relaxed and turned back to the main hologram, which showed a freighter convoy moving slowly toward the system’s nearest passage point.

  “The bait looks good, sah,” Gull observed, “and certain-sure to tempt pirates.”

  “They’re close,” the Leader stated softly. “I can feel them.” He looked around the Honor’s nest with quiet satisfaction. His chair hung in the middle of a hollow globe, surrounded by his crew at their consoles. They floated around him in orderly rows, all with the same orientation as their leader. Everyone was neat and alert, unlike the savages they hunted.

  Freefall tapped his upper lip with silent satisfaction. Control was vital. Control of appetites and emotions. Fortunately his crew showed their usual perfect calm, with one aggravating exception. His gaze slid quickly past the padded mon
strosity of purple and gold that was his own armrest, to lock on the less ornate but equally gaudy seat of the senior data console.

  Lord Cliff BackBeak, second heir of his clan and Data Senior on the Honor, failed to notice Freefall’s scrutiny. The officer should have been engrossed in his hologram feeds, but instead was scowling at his new subordinate.

  Freefall glanced at Clearwing too, but the Sub was oblivious, concentrating only on her data. She leaned forward slightly, into the holograms with her lips parted and his gaze drifted back to her. Which was strange, because she was not the problem. Sadly, that was Data Senior BackBeak, who remained incompetent despite Freefall’s best efforts.

  The Leader looked back to his DS, who was still grimacing at young Clearwing. It seemed even a fool could recognise his replacement. Unfortunate. It would take real skill to stop this from getting messy.

  Freefall rested his aching eyes briefly and cursed the pecking order that dictated the bright stripes and braid of every seat around him. The wildly varied shades regularly gave him a headache. Senior navigation and tactical were presently above his head, and both were particularly gaudy. Freefall longed to spin his chair and place them behind him, but they were vital systems and he needed to watch them closely while the ship waited to pounce.

  He briefly envied his Senior. Gull Snowbeak was the only unseated member of the crew and moved through the nest with practiced ease, positioning himself wherever he wanted. He had an uncanny ability to be exactly where he was needed and, as usual, he discretely responded to his leader’s unspoken distress. A gentle pulse from his com wafted him into Freefall’s line of sight, so that he hid most of tactical, with its neon pink seat and orange braid.