Solar Heat

by Susan Kearney

  She jerked back her Quait. Sat on it. As much as she wanted to force her will on this man to make him release her from the pod—it was imperative she keep her First status hidden.

  As an escaped slave, she had no Quait.

  She had no Quait.

  She had no Quait.

  She couldn’t allow one wisp to escape. She pursed her lips. Bit the inside of her mouth. Tightened her hands into fists. And battled down the wild urge to slam the big guy.

  She fought. She coaxed. She folded the emotions in on themselves and stuffed them down. Flattened them, hammering her Quait. Until she once again leveled at neutral.

  However, at the realization of how close she’d come to exposing her true self, sweat broke out on her scalp. She reminded herself that the years of training had paid off and ignored the throb at her temples. Accepted that her head would soon be hurting. Yet, she almost welcomed the pain since it would remind her how critical it was to stay in control.

  “Why is there a tranq in your system?” he repeated.

  Finding his tactic off-putting, again she ignored his question. Ignored the command in his tone. Ignored the attitude that demanded an answer.

  She cranked her head around, searching the parts of the cargo bay she could see from her prone position on her back. “Where’s my crew? Are they—”

  “They’re fine.” He spoke in a clipped fashion, but she caught a tiny flash of approval before he shut it down.

  Still, at his words, the tension in her shoulders eased. She told herself it was because she’d asked the right question, as if she were one of them—not because she cared about slaves—or gave a fripping neutron about his personal reaction. Although her cover demanded she play a role, she couldn’t ever let herself forget who she really was. Or her real reason for risking her life. The faces of her parents swam before her eyes. She recalled them the way she always did, their faces bloody, their bodies broken—after rebellious slaves had murdered them while they slept.

  She looked at her cuff and the webbing in her pod and hardened her tone until it set like cement. “Why am I strapped down?”

  “A safety precaution only. Your body needs time to recuperate. To warm slowly.”

  “Okay.” She heard and accepted the truth. Although her body temperature was rising, she was too weak to sit up yet. And his statement verified what her own mission specialists had told her—that after using an escape pod, after awakening, recovery took time. So she forced patience.

  His eyes softened as if he understood how difficult it was to lie there helpless, at the mercy of strangers. “I’ll free you as soon as it’s safe. We don’t believe in locking up free people.”

  As if he couldn’t stop himself, he placed a gentle fingertip under her ear, along her jaw. He urged her head around until she stared into his eyes, but although his touch insisted, it also warmed. A flush came over her body, as if someone had trussed her on a spit, shoved her in an oven, and switched the dial to high. Could he see her discomfort? Could he see through her outer layer of cool to how his glint of interest had sliced right through her?

  “Please answer my question about the tranq.” Although he phrased his words politely, his tone remaining easy, she understood his question was not a simple request. He was in charge.

  And his soft whisper held an undertone of power she didn’t quite understand. He was no First. Probably, he was from Zor. But he was like no slave she’d ever met. He held his head high, his demeanor confident and calm. Although he had no reason that she knew of to be suspicious of her motives, he was clearly wary. Did he have a clue who she really was? Or was he, by nature, cautious of strangers?

  If the other escaped slaves were like him, it was no wonder the Firsts feared these people. Fifteen years of freedom had changed him from subservient slave to her equal. She shuddered. Never her real equal. After all, she could dominate at will. But he certainly appeared superior to the slave woman she pretended to be.

  Even as she admired his tactics, she didn’t like how he’d separated her from the others. Had he isolated her to see if her story would match theirs? Or had the tranq in her system set him on edge? If it had, that meant he’d heard about tranqed Firsts on Zor and suspected she might be one of them. But according to her preflight briefing, the Zorans didn’t know about tranqed Firsts. Yet his suspicion indicated otherwise.

  Azsla relied on her training and stuck to her story. The truth. She just didn’t tell him all of it. “Our starboard stabilizer malfunctioned. The systems went down one by one. So I popped a tranq to calm my nerves.”

  He peered at her, his focus intense. “Have things changed so much on Rama? Last we heard, the Firsts regained control. So where would a slave get a tranq?”

  His eyes fixed on hers. She expected to see suspicion. Wariness.

  Not heat. Not male interest.

  Whoa. She sucked in a breath. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought the big guy was coming on to her. Just like that. Although slaves were often into casual relationships, she and this man were strangers. It made no sense. Yet the spark was there. Out there for her to catch. Was the interest another tactic? Like asking about the tranq before she’d recovered from the cold?

  She’d recognized the moment he’d switched gears, the moment his suspicion had turned from wariness and curiosity to . . . something else. Was he faking that banked interest? Could he manufacture a gleam in his eyes? Was this some kind of test? A trap? Or was his reaction a true one, something she could use to transform his distrust?

  “Answer me.”

  What had he asked? She was having difficulty keeping a train of thought when her emotions kept jumping off track. Think, woman. Oh, yeah, he’d asked about the tranq.

  She closed her eyes, needing to escape his direct look until she could dial in a convincing performance. Finally she reopened them. “I found a tranq supply on the ship.”

  “The others didn’t have any in their blood.”

  She shot him her best sheepish look. “I didn’t share. I was going to . . . it’s just I thought we were all going to die. The ship’s systems went down so fast. It was like a terrible nightmare. Only worse . . . because it was real. We had to abandon ship. One of the pods was damaged. My pod.”

  He frowned down at her pod. “I see no damage.”

  “Kali was in his own, ready to eject when he saw what was going down. The ship shook ,and I hit my head and everything went dark. I came to after he put me in his pod, giving up his shot at life.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her head throbbed. “I didn’t even thank him. There was no time.”

  “He was a brave man.”

  “Yes. He had little. No possessions, of course. No family. He’d had only his life. And he gave that up . . . for me.” Unbidden tears flooded her eyes. One or two may have escaped, but her flesh was too cold to feel them.

  “Kali must have thought you were worth it.” He held out his hand and clasped her forearm, but ended the brief touch as if he found the gesture painful. “I’m Derrek Archer.”

  “Azsla.” She didn’t give a last name. Slaves had them of course, but they didn’t use them.

  “Can I see . . .” She wasn’t faking. She found herself actually aching to see Rak, Micoo, and Jadlan, to see with her own eyes that they were okay. While it was part of her cover to pretend she cared about slaves . . . she needed to tell them about Kali’s death. About his selfless sacrifice. So he would live on in their memories.

  “How did you escape?” Derrek pulled up a chair, placed a sipping tube into her mouth. Although he seemed sociable enough, she wasn’t fooled. He was still suspicious. Wary. Careful. This man planned every move, and she could only hope he wasn’t four steps ahead of her.

  She sipped her water, enjoying the lack of aftertaste. Cool, clean, and as crisp as the air in the
ship, she swallowed greedily, her parched throat sucking in moisture. This part of her story had been rehearsed, so it was as easy to deliver as if it were true. “We’d planned our escape for a long time. Months. Over a year. It seemed like forever as we waited for the right moment. We knew we’d only get one shot.”

  “You stole the ship?” he guessed.

  She nodded. “My First worked in the military. At night, to impress the ladies, he held liaisons aboard ship. It was against regulations.” She shrugged, aware her shoulders had moved a bit. Progress. “Anyway, he used to bring me along as a servant. One night, after he drank too much, we heisted the ship. The patrols assumed the First was captaining his lady friends as usual and didn’t think to question us. We slipped right by.”

  “You learned how to fly?” His mouth compressed into a tight slash, reminding her this was no friendly conversation but an interrogation.

  Did Derrek think she had only half a brain? “I’d flown many times with the First. I watched what he did.”

  “You make it sound easy. Yet since the rebellion and the portal’s opening, no one else has escaped Rama or come through that portal.”

  She was relieved to learn that he seemed to have no knowledge of the second portal on the back side of his world. A portal the tranqed Firsts used for communication with the homeworld and also to come and go in secret.

  “We were lucky, I guess,” she continued. “The most difficult part of our escape was learning the portal’s coordinates. Jadlan stole those. You can ask him the details.”

  Of course the Firsts who’d planned her covert op had made certain that Jadlan had had access to those plans. They hadn’t made it easy for him. So he still believed he’d been an integral part of the escape. Her story would hold. She sucked more water from the sipping tube and lay hack, sapped out.

  “For a slave you are tall and fit.” He didn’t bother to hide the accusation in his eyes. Although prepared, she hadn’t expected his suspicion level to be so high or his sharp assessment to make her so uncomfortable.

  But what exactly was he accusing her of? Stealing salt? Or did he suspect she wasn’t a slave?

  “My salt ration was increased because my job might require strength.”

  “And your job was . . . ?”

  “Protecting the children in the household.” Azsla forced normal breaths into and out of her lungs and met his scrutinizing look with an even one. His suspicion whirled around her like a tornado, but she remained centered, refusing to let his emotions touch her. She would no more cave to his pressure than resort to using her Quait.

  When she sensed she’d held his gaze long enough that he wouldn’t think her changing the subject was suspicious, she spoke again. “Where are you taking us?”

  “To Zor.”

  She sucked in an awkward breath. She’d done it. The insert part of her mission was about to be accomplished as soon as they landed on the slave world.

  It was a triumph and should have elated her. It didn’t. Not in the least. Celebrating felt wrong after the sacrifice Kali had made. Especially when she knew her contacts on Zor, fully tranqed Firsts, had orders to round up Rak, Jadlan, and Micoo. Her crew would be sent home and executed in front of millions to show what happened to slaves who risked all for freedom.

  Her spurt of adrenaline at finding herself in a new world suddenly wore off. The throbbing in her head intensified. Suddenly too weary to keep her eyes open, too lethargic to force her lids back open, she allowed exhaustion to suck her into sleep.

  She thought Derrek’s hand smoothed away a tear on her cheek. But it must have been a dream. When she awakened, Derrek was glaring at her again.

  4

  “WHAT’S WRONG?” Azsla stretched, released the wrist cuff and the web straps, then climbed from the pod. The chill in her bones had disappeared along with her exhaustion. While she had no idea how long she’d crashed this time, she felt solid, juiced up even. Oddly, Derrek had nasty circles under his eyes, a dark dusting of hair on his lower face which emphasized the stubborn tilt of his jaw and which indicated he might have been standing there since she’d fallen asleep.

  “Where are you from?” he snapped, his eyes flashing, his voice raspy.

  “Rama.”

  He looked twitchy, as if crawling insects were biting his flesh, yet he was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge or brush them away. Folding his arms over his chest, he towered over her, the muscles in his bronzed forearms tense. “Which province?”

  “Divonia.”

  “Which First did you work for?”

  Her stomach growled loud enough for him to hear. “Would you mind if we had this discussion . . . over a meal?”

  “Fine.” He gestured toward a door-sized hatch, but his body language told her he was nowhere close to finished. His tone was ripe with suspicion he didn’t bother to hide, his muscles tensing with a raw energy that did a number on her nerves. If possible, he now seemed even more steamed up than the first time they’d talked.

  While she’d slept, had the other rescued slaves said or done something to cause his hostile attitude? Or was he naturally difficult? The man was wound down tight. And not much was leaking through to clue her in.

  They exited the medical bay into a corridor. Indirect lighting softened the bulkhead colors, muting the gray-silk tones into a space of beauty. Beneath her feet, plush rubberized deck provided traction and did double duty as an insulator. She couldn’t hear the engines thrum or even feel the drive vibrations beneath her feet. “This is a seriously awe-inspiring ship.”

  “So you’ve been on many?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You haven’t said much at all.”

  She heard the quiet accusation in his tone and stopped in the middle of the empty corridor, uncertain just what he was accusing her of. “I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong. Are the customs here different? Have I said something to offend you? Because if so, it was done out of ignorance, not malice.”

  “Did you leave family behind?” he asked, ignoring her question and firing one of his own.

  What she’d assumed was a discussion was still an interrogation. At first, she’d tried to placate him by simply answering. But no sooner did she give one response than he challenged her again. Since his animosity meter was beating a steady increase no matter what she said, she might as well give it right back at him.

  “Are your questions official or personal?” she countered, her voice controlled as she pretended not to notice his annoyance. Or was it irritation? “Do you work for the government?”

  “I’m too much the rebel for that.” Derrek threw back his head and laughed, his mood change lightning fast, but natural, almost charming. His full-blooded chuckles shot a sparkle into his eyes, and his face lit up and chased away all suggestions of his previous negativity and suspicion. “I’m an asteroid miner.”

  A miner? In the asteroids? She’d heard of such men, of course. But since she’d never expected to meet one of them, she hadn’t studied the subject. Reminding herself no real slave would know anything at all about Zor, she chose her words with care. “You picked us up when you heard our distress call?”

  “Actually, the government picked up your signals and asked us to investigate.” He didn’t sound concerned, and his demeanor remained casual.

  Still, she worked over his response and found the situation odd. She’d assumed the government would want to take charge. “Zor has no military spaceships?”

  “They do, although not like Beta Five. However, the current powers in charge like to distance themselves from controversy.”

  “What’s controversial about a few escaped slaves?” Her stomach rumbled again. She really wanted to eat. But she wanted to understand even more. “I’m a nobody.”

  “Spoken like a true slave.”

  “I am a slav
e.” She stopped and lifted her chin. “Correction. I was a slave. Never again.” She faked a shudder. It wasn’t so difficult. All she had to do was recall the humiliation from her training. Of course, it had been harder for her than for a slave born to that station to submit to such lowly work. And it had almost been fripping impossible to learn to control her Quait.

  That she’d volunteered, that she’d had the ability to quit at any time, had made her life more difficult. Every day, every hour, she’d asked herself if her goal of stopping another rebellion was worth what she’d had to bear. While a slave born to obedience had never known freedom and couldn’t miss what they’d never known, Azsla still remembered her wonderful childhood, when she had all the toys she wanted, playmates who let her win every game. Any food she’d requested had been cooked and brought to her by loving attendants.

  Later she’d learned those attendants hadn’t been loving at all. They’d looted her home. Murdered her parents. She’d sucked down many hard lessons that terrible day.

  Her words must have convinced Derrek of her status. He finally seemed to put away the last of his suspicion. “Come into the galley. I’ll rustle you up some food and try to explain a little about Zor.”

  She followed him into the efficiently designed but actually cozy space. Like the other parts of Beta Five that she’d seen, the layout was sleek, compact, and utilitarian, yet beautiful, with a huge view port that allowed starlight to enter the area. Several holopics of the crew were set in frames on shelves. A vase of yellow and magenta flowers lent a sweet fragrance to the air. A polished black stone table was set with condiments. And in the middle, like a diamondite among sand, perched a shaker of salt. Right out in the open.

  She stopped. Stared. Was he testing her honesty?

  Never in her life had she seen so much salt in one place. It had to be worth a fortune. She swallowed hard, glancing from the salt to Derrek. He removed a pan from a cabinet and set it on the stove, looking comfortable as he rolled up his sleeves, then took eggs from the coolster.