The Skypirate

by Justine Davis

  When he heard the sound of voices on the steps, he was almost grateful; he had no solution for the kind of pain she was in. If he had, he would have eased his own long ago. Up came Nelcar and Roxton, still consoling each other on having missed the raid. As was the custom, their voices dropped to a quieter level as they came onto the observation deck. As was also the custom, they did not intrude, but merely nodded before taking seats that faced back toward Boreas, and continuing their conversation.

  When Dax turned back to Califa, she was looking at him with a hint of anxiety in her silver-blue eyes.

  “I must ask you . . . ,” she began, then stopped.

  She obviously wasn’t assuming she had gained any influence over him with that kiss, he thought. He should be grateful for that, he supposed. So why wasn’t he?

  “Go ahead,” he prodded. “You seem to have recovered the ability to question well enough.”

  Still she hesitated, as if gauging whether there had been any sarcasm in his words. She either decided there wasn’t, or that what she wanted to ask was important enough to outweigh it.

  “Please, give me the controller.”

  He drew back a little. “This again?”

  “Surely you see I am no danger to you—”

  “What I see,” Dax said seriously, “is a woman I know little about, except that she is a slave.”

  “You yourself said a slave to the Coalition would not betray you to them.”

  “Perhaps not. But would a slave be above selling her knowledge to those who might pay well enough for her to buy her freedom?”

  Her mouth twisted bitterly. “I’m not sure anything short of your head would buy that.”

  He lifted a dark brow. “I’ll endeavor to keep it on my shoulders, then.”

  “Dax, I swear to you—”

  “The risks I take are my own, Califa. Would you expect me to risk my crew for the word of a woman who is a mystery to us? A woman who knows of many things I would not expect a slave to know?”

  “I told you, people—”

  “Talk. Yes, I remember. But talk of guards and troop movements, of thermal cannons and mines?”

  “That was merely common sense.” She was beginning to sound frantic now. Roxton and Nelcar were casting curious glances in their direction.

  “Who are you, Califa?”

  “Surely that doesn’t matter. I swore I would never betray you—”

  “Intentionally,” Dax reminded her. “And I believe that, to the best of your power, you would keep to that. But if this controller you are so anxious about has the power that you claim, what is to prevent it from being used on you, to force you to break that very promise? Anyone will break—or die—eventually, under that kind of pain.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “It’s not just the pain, it’s . . .”

  She broke off. He saw her shiver, then fight to control it. Her fingers crept to the collar, then tightened, as if she wished to rip it away, implanted probes and all, regardless of the fact that it would no doubt kill her.

  No, he didn’t understand. He doubted that anyone who hadn’t been through it, who hadn’t known the sensation of being owned, controlled, by another could ever completely understand. But that lack didn’t lessen his reaction to her anguish.

  “What is it, Califa?” His voice was gentle, coaxing. “It’s more than the thought of pain driving you. It’s the other systems, the blue, and the red, isn’t it?”

  Her head came up then, and fury glowed in her eyes. Whoever or whatever this woman had once been, powerlessness had never been part of her life; her rage at it now was too evident, too fierce.

  “Tell me,” he urged. “Perhaps we can find a way to free us all of this scourge.”

  “There is no way.”

  The other two men were staring now. Dax ignored them. “There must be.”

  “You want an end to it?” she snapped. “Then use the red system.”

  “The red?”

  “It’s simple. Activate the controller with the key that’s set in the bottom. Set all registers to the maximum. Then press the red crystal.” Her words dripped acid as she recited the instructions as if teaching a beginner to open a code lock.

  “And . . . what happens?”

  “Your problems are over.”

  “Califa,” he said warningly.

  “The same thing that happens when the collar goes past the controller’s range.”

  Dax sucked in a quick breath. “It explodes?”

  “As I said, your problems are over.” She added bitterly, “And mine as well. Permanently.”

  Dax swore, a pungent, biting curse that condemned the contrivers and the builders of this system to an eternal life under its yoke.

  “And the blue crystal?” he asked. “What charming function does it have?”

  She leaned forward, fixing him with a fierce gaze full of anger, frustration, and a hint of desperation. The others on the deck shifted nervously, as if waiting for Califa to make some threatening move.

  “Does it matter?” she asked urgently. “Just give it to me, Dax, if you meant what you said.”

  “I did mean it,” Dax said, feeling ripped in two, caught between the horror of what had been done to her and the safety of his people. His heart, his very gut urged him to do as she asked. But he couldn’t be sure his thinking wasn’t fogged by his fierce, unexpected desire for her; his common sense told him he had no idea who or what this woman was, and keeping that device, no matter how evil or repugnant it was to him, was the only way to insure she was no danger to them.

  The strain rang in his voice when he said, “I can’t.”

  “Why, damn you?”

  She was close to snapping, Dax could see that. What he wished was that he could see a way out of this. “Even if I trust you, I have no right to make this decision for everyone else aboard the Evening Star. If I’m wrong, I’ve jeopardized all of us.”

  “You’re not wrong!” She leapt to her feet. So did Roxton and Nelcar, clearly not caring now that it was obvious they had been listening.

  “Califa—” Dax began, standing up slowly.

  Her fists clenched at her sides as she drew in short quick breaths, as if running some great race. “I’m no danger to you, any of you. Or to the Evening Star. I promise you.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his quickened breathing matching hers. Only the truth of what he’d said before stopped him from giving in to her. “How do I know that?”

  “You have my word!”

  “And how do I know I can trust it?”

  “It’s the word of a Coalition officer, you—”

  She broke off sharply, horror showing in her eyes. The echo of her involuntary shout hadn’t even died away before the other two men moved in, trapping her. It was just as well; Dax found he couldn’t move at all.

  Chapter 8

  ROXTON AND NELCAR were dragging her away when Dax at last found his voice and stopped them.

  “You heard what she said,” Nelcar exclaimed. “She’s a Coalition officer!”

  “Apparently so,” Dax said.

  “No!”

  Dax whirled; Rina, eyes wide with shock, stood at the top of the stairs. She was staring at Califa, shaking her head as if in pain.

  “Rina, go to your quarters,” Dax ordered.

  “No,” the girl said. “I want to—”

  “Not now.”

  Rina shifted her bewildered gaze to Dax. “But—”

  “I rarely give you direct orders as a member of this crew, Rina,” he said in a low, deadly calm voice that brooked no denial. “But I am now. You will say nothing of this to anyone, and stay in your quarters until I come to you.”

  Rina lowered her eyes, and
Dax knew he had gotten through. She gave Califa a last, slightly wild look, then turned and ran down the steps. Roxton tightened his grip on Califa, who had paled a little herself at Rina’s appearance.

  “For that alone,” Roxton said, watching the agitated girl go, “she deserves to die, and painfully,” Roxton said. “As they all do!”

  “Possibly,” Dax agreed. “But not before I get some questions answered.”

  That seemed to placate them. They didn’t loosen their hold, but they stopped trying to drag her toward the steps. Dax knew he would have to be very careful. Tempers were running high, and if things got out of hand, if the rest of the men learned of this, he wasn’t sure he could stop them.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to stop them.

  A Coalition officer. The words caused a sickness in some deep, core part of him. Images flashed through his mind in rapid succession: destruction, death, and blood, the legacy of the Coalition in every place he’d ever been. The legacy of his home, the place that no longer existed as he’d known it.

  He veered away from memories too painful to linger on. He refocused on the present, to find Califa watching him, only him, not the two men who held her. Despite their grip, she stood tall, straight, and there was no trace of the slave in her manner.

  But every trace of a proud, well-trained warrior. Who no doubt could have killed him that night they’d been alone in his quarters. He knew the question was unnecessary; the words that had broken from her under stress had been instinctive, a deeply ingrained response so automatic she hadn’t been able to stop it. But he voiced it anyway.

  “Is it true?”

  “Yes.”

  No dissembling, no explanations, no denial. He hadn’t expected any; his gut had told him it was true long before he’d heard her answer. This explained so much; her boldness in the prison, her interest in the flashbow, her knowledge of the probable defenses of the Boreas outpost. It also explained her fury at her own helplessness, and the glimpses he’d gotten of a different woman, a strong, fierce woman. They didn’t come any fiercer than Coalition officers.

  “So tell me,” he said, his voice dangerously soft, “how did a Coalition officer wind up a Coalition slave?”

  As she had on the gangway that day that seemed an aeon ago now, she said, “I’ll tell you. But only you.”

  “In Hades you will!” Roxton bellowed. “You think we’d leave you alone with him?”

  “If I wanted him dead, he would be so. I’ve had chance enough.”

  Dax was startled at her blunt words, but then realized she must think she had little left to lose.

  “Arrogant bitch.” Roxton backhanded her so hard her head snapped back against Nelcar’s shoulder.

  “Hold!” Dax ordered. “She speaks the truth.”

  “Dax,” Roxton began, but Dax shook his head. He understood how his first mate felt, more even than the older man knew. Dax had seen what had been left of the capitol of Clarion, where Roxton’s family had died. It had been his first sight of total Coalition destruction, and the realization that his own home no doubt looked much like that pile of rubble had made him shake inside.

  Nevertheless, he restrained the man with a gentle hand on his arm. Nelcar he was not so concerned about; the younger man had as much reason to want any Coalition officer dead, yet his natural bent was to healing, and Dax thought that would curb him for the moment.

  “I do not want her dead just yet. There is a great deal I want to know. I’ll listen to her.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Dax!” Roxton exclaimed. “Alone with a Coalition officer?”

  “And a Coalition slave,” Dax pointed out.

  “The crew will not like this,” Roxton said. “They believe once Coalition scum, always Coalition scum.”

  Dax’s jaw clenched as his first mate confirmed his earlier thoughts. Were the crew to learn of this, there wouldn’t be an undecided one among them; they would clamor for her death. He wasn’t sure he didn’t agree, but that cold, knotted-up place in his gut told him he had to have some answers. Her stance, her stubborn, determined expression, despite the blood trickling from her mouth after Roxton’s blow, told him he would get them alone, or not at all.

  He was at a loss about what to do when Califa’s earlier words came back to him. He glanced at Roxton. “You heard what she said before, about the controller’s red system?”

  Roxton shifted uncomfortably, then nodded. Dax guessed the older man had felt as sickened as he had, and was now regretting wasting any sympathy on a Coalition officer. Dax looked back at Califa.

  “We’ll go to my quarters then”—the outburst from both men overpowered him for a moment, until he held up his hand for quiet—“and I will hold the controller.”

  Her eyes widened. She stared at him, then, after a moment, she nodded.

  “But how do we know she’s not a spy?” Nelcar protested. “Sent to lead the Coalition to us? Maybe that collar’s not even real!”

  “Oh, it’s real, all right,” Dax said. “She was much too desperate to get the controller back. Besides, Rina scanned it the first day she was aboard, and she spoke the truth. The core is pure nitron propellant igniter.”

  Califa looked startled, and Dax gave her a sour look. “Did you think me a total fool, taking all you said at face value?”

  “I still don’t trust her,” Roxton said.

  “She is unarmed, Rox. Have you so little faith in me?”

  “But a trained Coalition officer—”

  Dax’s eyes went frosty. “I’ve had some training of my own, here and there.”

  “Yes,” Roxton agreed, “but do you have the stomach to kill a woman if you have to?”

  The first mate’s words threatened to bring on the visions of Dax’s horror-filled nightmares. He fought them off. Would he have the stomach to kill a woman? Especially this woman, who had the strangest effect on him? No doubt he was a fool for even attempting this.

  “Let’s hope I don’t have to find out,” he said grimly, and gestured to Nelcar.

  It was a slow procession down the companionway to Dax’s quarters, since neither of the men was willing to leave. Dax guessed that no matter what he ordered, they would be outside his door, ready to burst in at the first sound of a fight. Knowing this, he didn’t bother to order them at all.

  Reluctantly they released their hold on Califa. When she didn’t move, they shoved her inside. She stumbled, then caught herself. Dax jerked his head at the two men in the doorway. Unwillingly they backed away, and Dax shut the door.

  Dax passed Califa without a glance, walked to the table, and picked up a carved crystal decanter of brandy. He poured some in a small glass, set the decanter down, and only then turned to look at her.

  “Dare I give this to you, or will you try to cut my throat with the glass?”

  Her gaze shot to the closed door, as if she, too, had guessed the men would be just outside. “I’d say it depends on who you ask.”

  He considered for a moment. “And I’d say you will not. As you said, if you’d wanted me dead, you had your chance.”

  She’d more than had her chance. He’d been so enraptured when he’d kissed her, she could have plunged his own knife between his ribs and he’d never have been able to stop her.

  Kissed her. A Coalition officer. He wondered why that thought didn’t make him feel sick. God, he couldn’t think about that, not now.

  He held out the glass. She hesitated, then took it. She inspected the contents. “Perhaps it is I who should be worried. Only one glass, and you not drinking?”

  “My gut is on fire enough,” he said with blunt honesty.

  “Then you do not wish me dead, like the others?”

  “I’m not really sure.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Perhaps I’m just not in such a hurry.”

 
“No,” she said. “You want your answers first, don’t you?” She downed the brandy in one gulp, then sucked in her breath as it hit. “I’ve been wondering how long I could keep it secret.” Her mouth twisted in obvious self-disgust. “And then I’m the one to blurt it out to all and sundry . . .”

  She held out the empty glass. He took it, set it down, then turned to lean against the table. He drew one leg up to brace his foot on the edge of the table. He rested his crossed arms on his upraised knee, but he didn’t relax. It was a ready posture, and he knew she knew it; using the solidly fastened table as a base and his bent leg to push off, he could launch himself powerfully and instantly. It was the kind of thing a trained soldier would recognize.

  “Aren’t you going to get the controller?”

  At her question, his eyes moved to the shelf beside him where the device sat. “It’s close enough.”

  She gave him a long look, her eyes narrowed. “You’re not a fool, despite Roxton’s words. I could get to it—” She stopped, understanding dawning across her face. “I see. You’d rather kill me . . . personally. Hand to hand.”

  He shrugged, giving nothing away.

  “What’s to keep me from detonating it and blowing both of us to Hades?”

  “How about my hands around your neck?” he suggested grimly. “Enough of this game. I want those answers, and I want them now.”

  Her eyes searched his face for a moment. Looking for what? he wondered. Mercy? Forgiveness? Or was she merely deciding how much she would tell him?

  “I will have it all,” he warned her, trying not to think of other ways in which he might have meant those words.

  “Where do you wish me to start?”

  “Your true name will do as a beginning.”

  “Califa is my true name.”

  “And your surname?”

  “Claxton.”

  Dax’s brows shot upward. “Claxton? Major Claxton, of the Coalition Tactical School on Carelia?”

  Califa gaped at him, but recovered quickly. “You know of me?”

  “What pilot doesn’t? Your treatise on tactical strategies for the Rigel class Starfighters is required reading even for—”