The Skypirate

by Justine Davis

  Again she fought down the bitterness that thought roused in her. Bitterness was a worthless emotion. Anger was much more productive. It enabled you to stay sane when your mind was on the verge of snapping. It kept you from breaking to another’s will. It gave you a reason to live, when all other reasons were gone.

  Slowly, talk began again as Rina led her across the room to a table where food was set out—surprisingly good food, Califa thought, recognizing rockfowl, sloeplums, and a decanter of lingberry liquor among the dishes. No prepackaged, zap-heated meals for this crew. The pirates ate well, but then, why not? They raided the best Coalition galleys and pantries with regularity.

  She wondered if the cook, who stood to one side of the table, his eyes fastened on her collar, had been purloined along with the food, or if he, too, was a pirate by choice. She wished she’d kept the strip of Dax’s cloak wrapped about her throat, hiding the golden band.

  She filled a plate, trying not to betray her hunger by tearing into the spicy rockfowl the moment she had it in her grasp. She had some little bit of pride left. She passed by the liquor, thinking if there was ever a time when she needed her wits about her, it was now. Water would suffice, or perhaps some of the sloeplum juice.

  Rina, fortunately, was hungry as well, and not disposed toward conversation as they took seats near the door. Califa bit into the rockfowl, thinking nothing had ever tasted so good. Her stomach growled loudly; Rina merely grinned at her while chewing industriously.

  Califa remembered the story she’d heard about Dax’s bold foray into the storehouses on Alpha 2, where he’d snagged a shipment of brollet steaks headed for Legion Command itself. No one in the Coalition had believed the rumors that Dax had distributed the steaks among the labor camps, and they knew there was no way he could have used the entire shipment himself, even had he and his crew eaten the meat three times a day for a week. So the Coalition had seen the raid for what it was: a slap in the face. And the Triad had promptly doubled the price on his head.

  Enough to tempt even the most loyal crew member, she thought, gazing around at the gathered group.

  As if she had conjured him up by her thoughts, Dax strode into the room. He was greeted by a chorus of good-natured jibes about his less-than-graceful descent down the last few feet of the cliff, a story which had obviously quickly made the rounds. Califa waited for him to explain that what he’d done had quite probably been the only thing that had given them enough time to get safely away, but instead he merely grinned back at them and made an elaborate bow, which was greeted with a raucous round of applause.

  He didn’t need to defend himself, she realized. Not to these men, who looked at him with a respect and admiration that fell little short of worship. Perhaps that reward wasn’t high enough after all, she thought. Perhaps no reward would be high enough to induce one of this group to betray him.

  She knew what it took to inspire that kind of feeling in a crew, especially a motley bunch like this one. She’d never been able to do it, herself. Fear, yes, she’d been able to induce that, and swift obedience, but never this kind of affectionate, almost loving respect. Shaylah had, but—

  She purposely bit down on her lip, hard. She hadn’t willingly allowed that name into her mind for nearly a year. But that was when she had had the misery of her existence to distract her; what would be strong enough to take her mind off that old pain now?

  Involuntarily her gaze went back to the man who had just entered the room, as if he held the answer. She remembered the odd feeling that had come over her, standing there on the gangway, when he had first come striding toward her.

  The voluminous cloak and hunched posture he’d assumed in the prison had been a better disguise than she’d realized. He was tall, straight, broad-shouldered, and narrow-hipped. Strongly muscled without bulk, he moved with a quick grace that put her in mind of some of the wild creatures she’d seen in cinefilms—mainly the lethal ones. The thick mane of hair, which was nearly as dark as hers but much longer, tumbling past his shoulders, did nothing to allay the feral image.

  He had been clad then as he was now, in a loose white shirt, laced at the throat, a belt that held both a hand disrupter and a dagger that looked almost too ornate to be of much use; she had wondered where—or from whom—he’d stolen it. Snug dark blue trousers clung to the lean muscles of his thighs before they were tucked into knee-high boots.

  Odd boots, she realized now, studying them with interest. From the top of the right one, within easy reach, protruded the handle of what looked like a much more functional knife. That was not so strange. It was the left boot that was different. Around the top were stitched several small pockets, narrow and only a handsbreadth long. Each one held a length of odd-looking material, appearing to be not quite metal, not quite stone, and blunted on the protruding end. Like some kind of huge nail or bolt—

  Bolts.

  It hit her then. These were the ammunition for that amazing weapon he’d used, the thing Rina had called the flashbow. The weapon that had blasted a hole in a wall she’d have thought would have taken a fusion cannon. The weapon that had glowed at his touch, that had come alive as if with the energy of the man himself.

  The weapon that had made him close up against her like a curlbug at her mere mention of it.

  He spotted her then. His eyes widened, flicked up and down her slender frame, as if he was as surprised as Rina had been, but in a different way. Then he started toward her.

  Slowly, unwilling to give the appearance of nervousness, she set down her glass. As he approached, she held his gaze, feeling his stare was a test of some kind. The vivid green eyes bored into hers, and she felt as much a captive to them as to the collar she wore. This, then, was the legend, the man who struck terror into the hearts of the Coalition’s finest, the man who needed but one name.

  He came to a halt in front of her. “You look . . .”

  “Different,” Califa suggested, as Rina had.

  “Quite.” His gaze flicked downward, and Califa was suddenly aware of the snugness of the borrowed flight suit over her breasts. His dark lashes lifted, and she lowered hers so that he wouldn’t see her unexpected response to his perusal. “Those rags did you no justice.”

  “Thank you.” Eos, was she blushing? She couldn’t believe it; she never, ever blushed.

  “You’ve eaten?”

  The mundane question relaxed her. “A little,” she said, discomfited at having to crane her head back to look at him. She was a tall woman, and unused to feeling small beside a man. “You dine well.”

  He grinned, and Califa sucked in a quick breath. Instead of hunting him down, she thought, the Coalition should convince him to join them; he would be a walking, breathing recruitment placard it would be hard to resist. Especially for women, she added with a rueful honesty.

  “That we do,” he said. “But we’re hardworking men. And girl,” he added, his grin widening as he glanced at Rina.

  “Honestly, Dax,” Rina sputtered. “You’d think I was still a child, the way you talk.”

  Dax looked at the girl, his amusement gone, something dark and pained taking its place. “No. It’s been a long time since you were a child, Rina, though you should still be.”

  The girl looked distressed, as if she had somehow caused his pain. “Dax, don’t. If you hadn’t rescued me—”

  He raised a hand to quiet her. “Sorry, little one. It’s old ground that should be long forgotten.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “This rescue, however, will take some time to forget. At least until the bruises fade.”

  Califa looked at him sharply. The green eyes flicked to her face, to her bruised cheek. She knew he had to know by the color of it that it had occurred long before their trip down the cliff. But he said nothing about it, only letting his smile and his tone change to one of pure self-mockery.

  “I’ll be eating standing u
p, it seems.”

  The crew roared with laughter, then began their teasing anew, and the moment of odd tension abated.

  “I’ve a question for you, sir!”

  Dax turned to look at who’d spoken, a man with bushy hair the sandy color of Omegan soil. Califa thought he had the look of an Omegan as well, stocky, with muscles thick enough to cope with the big planet’s heavy gravity. When away from their home planet, Omegans possessed strength that was, by comparison, extraordinary. Califa had found that strength had interesting uses, in that other life she’d once led.

  Dax grabbed a piece of the savory rockfowl, then sat with one hip gingerly on the edge of the table, facing his questioner. The crew laughed again, saying they now knew exactly where he was bruised, but Dax merely grinned.

  “Out with it, Hurcon,” he said with a nod toward the stocky, bristle-faced man who had spoken.

  “What do you plan to do with the Arellian?”

  Califa stiffened as the others chimed in, echoing the question. After the brief moments of being treated like a normal being, the reversion to slave status, to being talked about as if she weren’t there, or was too stupid to understand, stung more than she would have believed possible.

  “Her name is Califa.”

  Dax’s voice was cool, and the tone of it quieted the room in an instant. He took another bite of the rockfowl before turning to look at Califa again, as he chewed thoughtfully. After a moment he swallowed, and Califa found herself watching the muscles flex in his throat, found herself wondering what it would feel like to trace the taut, strong cords of his neck with her fingers.

  She nearly gasped aloud at the incongruity of her thoughts. She had never allowed such things to pop into her mind unsummoned before. She controlled her desires, not the other way around. Eos, had this damnable collar affected her so much? Was there some level of the blue system always active?

  “Sorry,” the chastened Omegan muttered to Califa. “But the men, we were just wondering . . . we don’t know who or what you are. Or why you were in that prison.”

  “They do have a point, you know,” Dax said casually. “You know a lot more about us than we do about you.”

  Califa’s head came up then. “Just let me go. Then I won’t be your problem.”

  “Ah, but I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not yet anyway. Not until we’re well out of this sector, and sure of no Coalition warships on our trail.”

  “I wouldn’t tell anyone—”

  “Do you really think your image isn’t on as many reward placards as mine by now?”

  She hadn’t thought of that. Eos, would they put her history on it, too?

  “Not to mention that lovely necklace of yours,” Roxton put in from a far table. “Marks you to anyone’s eyes as good for a big reward.”

  Had she thought things had changed? Califa wondered, stunned by her own foolishness. She had no hope of escape, not as long as she wore this collar. And if this crew ever found out the truth about who she was, her life wouldn’t be worth the price of the igniter in the collar’s core.

  “If she has to stay,” Larcos put in, “how do we know she won’t get in the way?”

  “Aye, sir,” Hurcon agreed. “And how do we know she won’t betray us to the Coalition the first chance she gets? They’d pay dear enough to put us all in Ossuary, for what we’ve cost them in the past three years.”

  Dax stood up then. He covered the distance to Califa in two long strides, those green eyes once more staring into hers. In that instant, as he stood there, if someone had told her he had some magical power, some method of reading her deepest thoughts, of seeing through to her dark, shriveled soul, she would have believed it without reservation.

  After a long, silent moment during which it took all of her will to hold his powerful gaze, he reached out and once more touched the gold manacle that bound her.

  “I don’t think,” he said, “that a woman enslaved by the Coalition is going to betray us to that Coalition.”

  “She would have handed you over easily enough to that prison guard,” Roxton pointed out.

  “She was just scared,” Rina put in. “They were going to send her to Ossuary. I heard them taunting her about it. About what would happen to her there.”

  Califa glanced at the girl, startled by her defense. Or was it just that it had been so long since anyone had come to her aid that she didn’t know how to deal with it?

  “Califa?”

  His voice was soft, low, and she nearly shivered at its impact. What in Hades was wrong with her?

  “I . . . you saved me from Ossuary. I would not intentionally betray you.”

  One corner of his mouth curved upward. “A wise woman, who sets limits on her promises.”

  Eos, he was so close, too close, she couldn’t think . . . “I merely do not guarantee that which I cannot control.”

  He was silent a moment, his gaze still fastened on her. Yet there was a difference in his searching look this time. It was no less intense, but somehow gentler. And laced with a bitterness she somehow knew had nothing to do with her.

  “A lesson all of us must learn, I suppose. Why do I feel you learned it sooner than most?”

  For an instant Califa was back on Darvis II, amid smoke and flame, her leg pinned and broken, watching the raging inferno march toward her. It was then that she had learned the lesson he spoke of. Until that moment, she had been secure in the colossal confidence of youth in its own immortality. Until that moment, she would have admitted nothing to be totally out of her control. She had often wished she had died there, rather than survived with her leg crippled for life. If not for Shaylah, she would have.

  Again she veered off the mental path that bore the name of the woman—the only woman—she had ever called friend.

  “I suppose you’ll be wanting a vote,” Larcos said.

  “No,” Dax said, never taking his eyes off Califa. She heard the murmurs of surprise, telling her his decision was unusual. “I think this time I’ll exercise my privilege as owner of the Evening Star. She stays.”

  Califa expected a protest, but none came. The crew seemed to shrug unanimously, and return to their meal. Such was the power this man held, and though he disdained the title, she knew he was their captain in the truest, finest sense of the word.

  But as she sat back down to her own meal, she wondered if the crew’s acceptance of her would last if they knew the truth. She wondered if Dax would have made the same decision.

  You’re a fool if you think he would, she told herself. Worse than a fool. This was the skypirate who had been hunted to the end of the system by the Coalition. If he’d known the truth, he would have cast her out to the Carelian jackals. If he’d known the truth, he would have put an end to it back in that cell, with a disrupter blast to her head. Or perhaps he would have stood her in front of that wall he pulverized with that incredible, impossible fiashbow of his.

  Any one of the grim scenarios seemed possible, even probable to her. And she wondered how long she was going to be able to hide the fact that this Coalition slave had once been a decorated, honored, and utterly loyal Coalition Officer.

  Chapter 4

  HE NEEDED HIS mind probed, Dax thought as he leaned back in the chair in his quarters, for whatever blank spot there was that had allowed him to make that ridiculous decision.

  He swung his booted feet up onto the table, and took a sip from the glass of Carelian brandy he held. He’d been holed up in here all night and most of the morning, intending to rest, yet getting little. He had been preoccupied, a state he thought he’d long ago given up as profitless. Preoccupied with an icy-eyed Arellian, whose transformation from a tatterdemalion barely recognizable as female to a tall, curved woman with translucently pale skin and sleek ebony hair, had shaken him in a way he’d not felt in a very long time.

 
He should have left her back there. Not in that cell—he wouldn’t have done that to anyone short of the Coalition High Command—but back on Carelia. The only decent things to be taken off that planet were Ducas to spend and this brandy to drink. But he’d been seized by this temporary—and he’d make damnation sure it was temporary—aberration and decided to keep the Arellian woman aboard the Evening Star.

  But he’d been right, he told himself. He couldn’t just leave her behind, to spread the story of his presence there. His instincts told him the Carelian prisoner would keep quiet about who he was, so only Califa could tell who had really broken them out, and he couldn’t let that happen. More for Rina’s sake than his own; he was already far too recognizable in this sector, but no one knew who Rina was, or would connect her to him, unless someone spread the story around.

  And it had to stay that way; he lived in constant fear of someone seeing past the surface camouflage and realizing the girl was Triotian. If that happened, the Coalition would hunt her down as fiercely as they hunted him.

  No, it was a good thing Califa had come with them. With her gone as well as Rina, no one could be sure who he had really been after in the first place. He might know little about the details of Coalition enslavement, but he did know that gold collars were the highest, most valuable rank of slaves. They might think he had just taken this one to sell.

  His musing considerations came to an abrupt halt. The thought of selling another person, no matter what they’d done, filled him with repugnance. It went against everything he’d ever been taught, everything he’d ever believed—

  He laughed aloud, a sound full of rueful self-knowledge. His entire life went against everything he’d ever been taught, everything he’d ever believed.

  “God, Rina was right, you are an idiot!”

  He downed the last of his drink in a gulp, set down the glass, and locked his hands behind his head. He was near to exhaustion, that bruise he’d developed on his backside made him want to reach for another dollop of brandy, and he still felt the lingering effects of the flashbow. It had been a long time; he was out of practice at maintaining the high level of energy and concentration it took to fire the weapon. He’d taken it along only because he’d known he couldn’t pass up any option when it came to Rina’s safety.