Solar Heat

by Susan Kearney

  Holy Vigo. What was she thinking? She was no traitor. She wasn’t.

  5

  DERREK POSITIONED himself at command, noting that Azsla had followed him to the bridge. At the possibility of recapture by Tomar, she’d trembled, clearly all too aware that recapture by Tomar meant certain death. A very painful and humiliating death. But after one flash of panic, she’d gone stoic, keeping herself together just as well as his trained crew.

  She stayed out of the way by the entrance, remaining quiet, her face pale. Despite the emergency, Derrek had to admire her self-control.

  And he’d best do the same and turned his mind to Tomar’s threat. “Give me options.”

  “We could make a run for Zor,” Cavin suggested.

  Derrek frowned. “Leading Tomar into the spaceport could risk the lives of the civilian population below.”

  “We could try to outrun him,” Sauren said.

  Derrek shook his head. “If we turn tail and run, we’d have to rely on our speed and shielding to survive—because our aft weapons are still off line.”

  On screen at max magnification, the two alien ships separated and changed shape. Previously, they’d appeared silver and tubular. But one sprouted wings while the other began to shimmer. How strange. It was almost as if the ships had been designed with different purposes in mind. But what? Even stranger, Derrek expected a coordinated attack from different vectors, but the shimmering one held back. The puzzling tactic worried him. He couldn’t anticipate what he didn’t know about, and apparently the Ramans had made technological advances in the last decade.

  Wary and puzzled by the new ship configuration, he leaned forward. “What the hell is going on? Anybody?”

  Sauren peered at the monitors of his science station. Creative and intelligent, the man could toss out killer ideas faster than a gunner spat bullets. And it was a measure of his self-confidence that he never feared being wrong. “Maybe they’re holding one ship back to appear nonthreatening.”

  The least confrontational senior officer, Cavin, tended to go with the flow. He hated showdowns—especially the personal kind. Cavin agreed, his broad shoulders shrugging. “Nonthreatening works for me.”

  “After Tomar issued an ultimatum?” Derrek shook his head. “I’m not buying it.”

  Paycon, Beta Five’s weapons engineer, looked up from his scanners. At about fifty, he didn’t talk much. Never about his past. However, Derrek had heard part of his history from a credible source. As a boy, he’d been forced to watch a First rape his mother and shoot his father. He’d never married. Never had children. He and his brother lived quiet lives. He sent most of his income to widows and orphans. A steady worker, he kept to himself and had made no close friends among the crew. Yet, he was liked and respected. “Sensors indicate a large power source is ramping up on one of those Raman ships.”

  “Which ship?” Derrek asked.

  Paycon rechecked his panel. “The shimmering one in the rear.”

  Benet reported on their own status. “Four micronbits to full weapons power.”

  “Adain, anything more on the com?” Derrek asked.

  “Same old ultimatum. Nothing else.”

  Sauren jerked his thumb at Azsla, clearly uncertain about her status. “Boss man, should she be here?”

  “I’ll leave.” She retreated a step, then paused as if uncertain where to go.

  “Stay,” Derrek ordered, and she froze—responding just like a slave. Only she didn’t quite personify a recently escaped slave. Perhaps it was her healthy looks and the increased ration of salt that made her fit. Whatever. He had no time for her history right now. “If you can contribute, feel free to speak up.”

  Her eyes widened and shot him a do-you-really-mean-that stare. A stare of awe and hope that made his heart ache. He remembered the day all too clearly when he’d realized he was finally free of tyranny. He’d been peering down at a Raman ship, one of the few that had crashed on Zor after the revolution. The pilot hadn’t survived. After tossing the First’s carcass into the sea, Derrek had stared hard at the ship, thinking about waste. How she’d never fly again.

  His brother Cade had been with him and must have seen the yearning in his eyes. “You want to fly, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I do.” He imagined the freedom of space. The lack of walls. The lack of people. The vastness called to him.

  “So go for it.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Exactly.” Cade had chuckled. “Your future is yours. You get to make it now.”

  Until that moment, Derrek had known a bit of nice. An hour to take a walk. To read a book by the shore. To tinker on his engine. To cook a good meal. But until then, he hadn’t thought about wonderful. The vast autonomy of space. Daring to explore and maybe make a place for himself in the asteroid belt.

  Soaring hope snapped the Quait bonds that had chained him physically, then mentally. A squeezing pressure in his chest that he hadn’t even known existed loosened, and aspiration surged into his empty chest cavity, freeing him, scaring him, exhilarating him. The realization that his future was really his to mold was a moment he’d never forget. Right then and there, he’d decided to repair that ship and learn to fly her. System by system, he’d built Beta One from the decks up. And he’d flown her to the asteroids and beyond. Discovered huge mineral deposits—including salt. The rest was history.

  Azsla wasn’t quite as nice yet, never mind wonderful. But clearly, she already chafed at the bonds from her past. Was working at throwing off the old thinking patterns. It had taken him months. But then he’d always been a slow starter.

  Sauren left his station and headed to Azsla. They were almost in battle mode. Why was he abandoning his post and approaching Azsla? A ripping need to send Sauren back to his station hit Derrek like an unexpected meteor shower. Not only had Sauren left his post, without permission, he was approaching Derrek’s guest—

  Azsla wasn’t his guest. Not by a long shot.

  Derrek had to stop his hand from resting on his blaster. But his sudden rage wasn’t about Sauren leaving his post so much as about his approaching Azsla. Derrek was actually resentful that Sauren was speaking to her, practically shaking with anger over his friend’s actions. He clenched his fists against the heightened emotions. And still it welled up his throat.

  His complete overreaction confused Derrek. What the hell was going down? His protective response to her in the current situation was so out of control. Yet, he had to fight his muscles that ached to jump between her and Sauren. Grinding his teeth together, he gave them his back.

  With the current danger to Beta Five, thinking about leaving his post was insanity. Even as Derrek went about his job, his whole body ached to step between them. Barely remaining where he was, he instead keyed in to Sauren’s words, which were on-the-surface polite. “The captain is always open to helpful suggestions, but try not to distract him with nonessentials.”

  Talk about distractions. Derrek yearned to scoop Azsla against his side, slam Sauren back to his post. With his fist.

  “Before I left, I heard gossip,” she spoke slowly to Sauren as if dredging up a distant memory.

  The conversation was innocent. So innocent. Yet, Derrek had to hold onto the console to stop himself from getting in Sauren’s face. Sweat broke out on his scalp. Blood heated in his veins. In an attempt to calm himself, he forced air deep into his lungs.

  As if sensing the undercurrent, Cavin frowned at Derrek, then Sauren, and without being asked took over the science station the first officer had abandoned. “Captain, the forward ship just shut down part of their own hull’s shielding.”

  “Part? What do you mean by part of the shielding?” Derrek was unaware such technology existed. On Beta Five the shields surrounded the entire hull, or they were totally down and vulnerable. A partial shield had yet to be invented. He�
�d have to start Taylo working on it immediately . . . if they survived.

  “That ship is shielded—except where there’s an opening for weapons,” Paycon extrapolated. “Looks like they’re preparing to fire.”

  Great. As if the Firsts didn’t already have enough advantages. Their Quait. Thousands of years of civilization. And free labor. Now the Ramans didn’t have to lower their shields to attack. And those paltry openings in their shield left only a tight target to aim at.

  Sauren leaned into Azsla, prodding her for details. “What rumor?”

  As the man leaned in, Derrek bristled. Sweat trickled down his back between his shoulder blades. The hair on his nape stood on end. Adrenaline kicked. And fire roared in his ears. Vigo help him, he was jealous. Jealous that another man was talking to a woman he barely knew.

  How insane was that?

  Recognizing something was way off and that he needed to find a logical explanation for his reactions, Derrek vowed to hit Dr. Falcon up for a physical . . . first chance he got.

  Azsla spoke softly. “I heard from a tech that one ship supplies the power. The other grabs the power for weapons.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Sauren asked.

  She hesitated before speaking. “The armed ship is heavily shielded, but the ship with the power . . . may not be.”

  “Thank you.” Sauren nodded and pivoted back to his station. “You hear that, boss man?”

  As Sauren made distance from Azsla, Derrek’s systems calmed, his pounding blood eased and he nodded. “Weapons status?”

  Paycon frowned. “If you want full power, we need more time.”

  “We’re about out of time. What can I have now?”

  “Enough juice to shoot one ship. Not both,” Benet reported. Despite his youth, he kept his tone steady. Derrek had high hopes of turning him into a captain after he gained a few years’ experience.

  Hoping the current intel would give them an advantage, Derrek ordered, “Shields up. Target the rear ship.”

  “But it was just a rumor.” Azsla’s voice trembled. “There might not be any truth to it.”

  “Your rumor jives with our science station’s finding.” Derrek flipped an alarm. “All hands brace for impact. Web in.”

  Sauren led Azsla to an empty station and saw to her safety before his own. A gentleman, Sauren did nothing improper. Derrek had always been pleased to call the man a friend. Yet, while Sauren was webbing her in, Derrek’s muscles twitched. He ached to knock back his friend to prevent him from touching her soft skin, breathing in her feminine scent. Sauren shouldn’t even be talking to her.

  The rational side of him pounded down his out-of-control reactions. Azsla was not his woman. Sauren had done nothing wrong. But Derrek’s body was raging angry. Protective. Ready to fight for what he wanted to claim.

  Using all his considerable willpower, he forced his mind back to the crisis at hand, fought down the surging emotions. Now was no time for the distraction of personal issues. If any of his officers had been as agitated as he was now, he would have banished them from the bridge. Yet, he couldn’t abandon his crew when they needed him.

  Although prepared to fire, he still hoped he might not have to. “Any other communications?”

  Cavin shook his head. “Only Tomar’s repeated ultimatum. Give up the slaves or die. He must have his hail set on auto loop.”

  “Maybe,” Azsla said quietly, “you should listen and give us back to them, Captain.”

  No fripping way. He’d rather cut off his right hand than turn any person over to these monsters. He’d rather buy into the big Salt Ever After than surrender. “That’s not an option I’ll ever consider.”

  Azsla spoke again, her voice firmer. “You should not have to risk your lives for us.”

  “We don’t have to—we want to. Because we are free, we have a choice.” He admired her courage, but no damn way was he surrendering to those First bastards. Out here in space, over the vast distances, their Quait couldn’t dominate him. Out here, they were equals. And he’d be damned if he’d give anyone back into slavery without a diamondite hard fight—especially Azsla.

  “Captain. Sensors indicate they have a lock. If you intend to fire,” Benet urged him, “now would be a good time.”

  Derrek agreed. “Cavin, prepare to get us out of here. Paycon, fire at will. Adain, send a log home—just in case.” In case they didn’t make it, at least the Zoran government would know what had happened. For years they’d feared the Ramans would pour through the portal in force. And while two ships could hardly carry an army to Zor, any First who reached Zor would be a class-one threat.

  They all understood much too well how a First could disrupt the government by usurping President Laurie’s will. A handful of Firsts with their powerful Quait could take over the government. Order the military to stand down.

  In anticipation of retaliation, the Zorans had placed countermeasures into effect, of course. But no one knew if their safeguards would work, especially since a First had the ability to overpower the will of anyone within their mental reach.

  If a group of organized Firsts knew where and how to hit the Zoran leaders, they could force their society back into slavery mode. Maybe not every Zoran citizen. But enough to sabotage their independence. Enough to hurt their fledgling economy. Enough to set them back a decade. The Firsts might be outnumbered, but they’d had centuries of practice at commanding obedience and knew exactly how to turn slave against slave. Their sick practices forced men to harm their own loved ones. Derrek had seen fathers crying as their will had been usurped, and Firsts had forced them to kill their own children, torture their own wives. No way would he go back to that madness. Better to be dead.

  Paycon worked his magic fingers across the console. “Firing now, Captain.”

  Benet’s massive engines routed power to the weapons. Lights flickered, and, for an instant, life support stalled. Their cannons discharged, and the vibration surged up the decks, shivered into the soles of his feet, shimmied into the marrow of his bones. As the cataclysmic cannon blasted electromagnetic energy across space, it left behind the burnt scent of ions permeating the air. He could get used to that smell—especially if it took out a bunch of Firsts.

  “We shot our wad, Captain.” Paycon peered over his monitors. “So did they. Incoming missile off the bow.”

  “Full evasive maneuvers.” He couldn’t wait around to learn if their weapon took out the other ship—not since the enemy had gotten off a missile.

  “I’m on it,” Cavin said. “Avoiding a hit . . . it’ll be close, sir. I’m torquing down the steering. Prepare for high grav.”

  They could all see the oncoming missile on the screen. “Estimated time to contact?”

  “Soon.”

  The engines whined as the engineer redlined the specs. Then he pushed it up another notch, and a higher gravity flattened them all into their seats.

  “Time for weapon recharge?” Derrek asked.

  “Three micronbits, maybe two.”

  “Are we breaking their missile lock?” Derrek asked, his chest fighting for air against the high g-force.

  “Working on it.”

  Derrek peered at the monitor and held his breath. Beta Five whistled and clicked, then steadied. The missile whooshed by, close enough for Beta Five’s alarms to go off.

  But they were safe. Derrek palmed the alarm to the off position. His crew cheered and broke into smiles. As the ship slowed, the gravity lightened.

  So far, so good. They were still here, and he risked a deep breath.

  But now, he prayed their own weapon would take out the shimmering power source that fed the Raman ship’s weaponry, or they didn’t stand a chance. If the rumor was wrong, if Azsla had heard incorrectly, then this lull was over, and the battle would start anew. If their shot missed, the rac
e would be on again to recharge the big guns.

  Derrek watched the shot’s trajectory on the screen. Come on, baby. Take them out. Take them out now.

  It looked on target. But distances could be deceiving. And there was always a chance they could disappear down a portal hole or wrench the ship sideways at the last moment. But the Ramans did neither.

  Paycon’s aim was dead on, and his shot struck the shimmering ship’s center. For a moment she grew brighter as if sucking in the heat, but then the disruptive energy proved too much. Her hull buckled, cracked, and shredded, the ship dying and taking the crew along with it to Raman hell.

  No one cheered. While the sight might have been pretty, Derrek couldn’t forget men were dying. He didn’t have a shred of sorrow for the Firsts, but Firsts never went anywhere without their personal servants. Innocent slaves had died at the sides of their masters, and for them, he grieved.

  All eyes searched the winged ship for any sign of additional missiles being lobbed their way. The starscape appeared empty, a black backdrop dewed with stars.

  Derrek had almost allowed himself to relax when an alarm sounded, and he tensed once again. Sauren at his science station had spotted the danger first. “The forward ship got off another shot. It’s heading right at us off the aft port thruster.”

  “Hard starboard,” Derrek ordered. “Release the chaff.” Chaff might teach the Ramans not to screw with them, he hoped. The first attack had come from the wrong direction to employ Taylo’s newest invention, which released a comet tail of metal junk behind them. The plan was to confuse the weapon sensors into exploding in their chaff—well before it reached Beta Five.

  While the theory sounded good, they’d never tested it. The bridge was quiet enough for Derrek to hear his own breathing.

  Would his life end here? He prayed not. But if so, he was ready to die for his freedom and the freedom of every individual on this ship. At least if the missile struck, they’d die free. They’d die resisting.