Solar Heat

by Susan Kearney

  His reaction to her was so off-kilter that it shocked him right down to his space boots. But though his mind told him his responses were uncalled for, ridiculous, and plain crazy, he reveled in one more breath as he tried to reassure her. “No matter what happens, it’s going to be okay.”

  She cocked her head, gave him a sideways glance that drilled down to his bone marrow, and then nodded. Unlike him, she didn’t appear the least bit ruffled. Either that, or she was an expert at containing her feelings. She stood on the balls of her feet, knees slightly bent, shoulders relaxed, hands by her sides. With her lips parted, she could have been standing in line, waiting for an ordinary hovercraft ride, the standard mode of transportation on Zor.

  The government ship sealed with Beta Five, the hatches clanging and machines clicking as computers checked to ensure equal pressurization on both sides. A long hiss followed by two short ones signaled the completion of a safe lockdown.

  Moments later, the hatch seal cracked open, and one commander and four military men boarded Derrek’s ship, weapons holstered but their hands clearly twitchy. They wore standard-issue uniforms, and, as if the commander had been briefed to know Derrek’s appearance and rank, he strode toward him, his gaze sweeping over Derrek, Azsla, his armed crew, as well as the sleek ship.

  The commander, a slender man of average height and superior intelligence shining in his eyes, stopped before Derrek and offered his forearm in greeting. “I’m Commander Gironell. Thanks for inviting us aboard.”

  “Derrek Archer.” He held out his forearm, and the men shook, each lightly touching the other’s arm at a point just below the elbow. He kept his face smooth and didn’t betray for one second that he’d had no choice in allowing the military force aboard.

  At least Gironell had the sense not to chuck rudeness in Derrek’s face. “This is one sweet ship, Captain.”

  “Thanks. What can we do for you, Commander?”

  “I’ve been ordered by President Laurie to pick up the Ramans who came through the portal in escape pods.”

  “That’s odd.” Derrek raised an eyebrow.

  “How so?”

  “Because Laurie asked me to do that, too.”

  Gironell flushed but kept his tone level. “I protested that decision. The risk was not yours to bear.”

  The other man’s admission and his proud bearing depicted he spoke the truth. Derrek’s attitude softened as he recognized that Gironell might be the commander of his ship, but he still had to obey orders. Chain of command sucked, unless one was at the top.

  “Right now most of the escaped people are in my doctor’s ward. I’m not sure they’re strong enough yet to be moved. I’m told awakening from cold sleep is a slow and delicate process and best left to each individual’s own timetable.”

  “You said most of them? Can I assume some of the former slaves are ready for transport?”

  “That would be me, sir.” Azsla stepped forward. “But as I was their captain, I’m sure you can understand that I’m reluctant to leave my crew, especially in their weakened condition.”

  Gironell’s eyes flared with sympathy. “Madam, I assure you, we will take very good care of you and your crew. This is”—he cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot—“a matter of procedure.”

  Derrek held in a snort. “This is politics. Normally I don’t mind Laurie’s posturing, but these slaves have been through a lot.” Derrek’s career required sizing up men, and despite Gironell’s orders, he liked the guy. Clearly he was a linear thinker, and he struck Derrek as honest, uncomfortable with his orders, caught between duty and what he considered . . . an annoying assignment. Military types didn’t like babysitting civilians—especially weak ones, and Azsla and her crew were no exception.

  But Gironell would follow orders. Derrek sensed the man was loyal through and through. “If you ever decide a career change is warranted, look me up,” he offered.

  Gironell’s eyes dilated in surprise, but he kept his emotions tucked deep, and his face didn’t change expression. “Thank you. I wouldn’t mind a stint or two in the asteroids . . . once my contract is up.”

  Good men were difficult to find, and in Gironell he liked what he’d seen so far. It should have made him feel better about handing over Azsla to the officer. But it didn’t. At the idea of losing her, his gut churned like a cement mixer, and the hard lumps refused to settle. Chalky dust swirled up his throat, and he almost choked on the bitter taste of defeat.

  He was going to lose her. Lose her before he figured out what made her so special. Before he learned why he was so taken with her. Before he understood why he was already plotting to see her again.

  He would see her again. They were all flying to the same city. And Laurie owed him an invite, as well as an explanation for the boarding. But no matter how many times Derrek told himself she would be safe with Gironell, his gut told him differently.

  COMMANDER GIRONELL’S physician took over, and Azsla and her crew were moved to the military ship. She’d quickly said good-bye and had tried to thank Derrek again, but he’d assured her they were all going to the same city, and he’d link up again soon.

  As his eyes burned into her back, she strode into the other ship, wondering how she was going to save her crew. If Rama invaded Zor, she needed to find a way to keep them safe, but as she left Derrek and his ship, her idea of sending them to safety in the asteroids looked as if it would never happen. She’d have to think of another way and tried to tell herself she was sorry to be leaving Derrek—for her crew’s sake. But in truth, she’d found him . . . interesting. More than interesting.

  Gironell had ordered his men to take her crew to their own doctor’s ward. Unlike the luxurious Beta Five, this military ship had dull brown corridors, too-bright lights, and bare decks. She’d been given a tiny cabin, which consisted of a single bed with webbing, a functional washroom, and a tiny view port, along with a change of clothing—military brown slacks and tan shirt—and told she might have time for a short nap before landing on Zor. Too keyed up to sleep, Azsla made use of the washroom to shower, changed into clean clothes, and paced.

  Her mission had exploded into oblivion when they’d had to abandon ship while still on the Raman side of the portal. Could she resurrect it?

  What was going on back home? With her ship blown up, she had no way to communicate with the Corps. Would Tomar’s return to Rama affect her mission here? Would her superiors eventually learn that she and her crew had survived Tomar’s attack? Would her contacts on Zor be aware of her changed circumstances?

  Tomar hadn’t seen her. And there had been little discussion between the Raman captain and Derrek. Plus, in her favor, Derrek had never admitted the escaped slaves were aboard at all. Which got her to thinking. Whether or not her last message had gotten through, the Corps knew she’d had a major malfunction. They’d investigate and might find debris. Then again, they might not if the debris had been sucked into the portal with the pods. The Corps wouldn’t know if she’d lived or died until she reached the planet and made contact with a tranqed First. She might even be able to continue with her original mission, especially if her contact on Zor still tried for a meet-up.

  The fully tranqed First would expect her to hand over her crew to them. But she couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. She no longer wanted them to die—not that she ever had. Before she’d left she hadn’t thought much about that part of her mission. However, in the short time they’d been together, they’d become people to her, people with hopes and dreams, people who laughed and shared their food.

  Sweet Vigo. One of them had died for her.

  Now she was not about to hand them over to her connection as if they meant nothing. As if their lives didn’t count—especially not for some damn political demonstration of power that no one would remember tomorrow.

  However, Azsla had to find a way to sa
ve them without compromising her own mission. That meant the Ramans couldn’t know what she’d done. And neither could the Zorans. Which left her stuck between a falling comet and a gravity well. About to crash.

  At least she should have credits, ID, a map, and quarters waiting for her on Zor. After she landed in the capital, she could pick up credit at any ATCM, automatic transfer credit machine. But she’d have to be extremely careful. She didn’t know anyone and couldn’t know who to trust. Even bribes might be reported.

  Yet she was determined to find a way to save her crew. But how? If she looked up Derrek on Zor and asked him to hide the slaves, he would want to know what was going on. However, she couldn’t give him answers without revealing who she was.

  Trusting him was not possible.

  Yet she found herself wishing she could have told him part of the truth. The man had resources. Besides, he’d already risked his life once to protect them, so she was fairly certain he’d help. She couldn’t forget that flash of interest in his eyes, or the way he took charge—while at the same time, encouraging his crew to offer suggestions. The man had impressive inner strength. Self-confidence.

  She was getting off track.

  Damn. Think, Azsla. She needed one of Derrek’s plans. A workable idea.

  She took three steps, pivoted, took three steps back. At the cabin’s view port, the planet Zor loomed ever larger as they orbited in preparation for landing. The three continents seemed tiny in the vast oceans, the world peaceful.

  Yet, she knew better. Whatever was down there, whatever the slaves had built, had already been infiltrated by tranqed Raman Firsts. They lived and worked among the slaves, taking notes, sending back secret reports, the leading edge of an invasion.

  Her mission was only one tiny part of the whole. But it was an important part, because she’d been trained to do what the other First spies could not—control her domination without tranqs, drugs that made the other spies unable to do much more than obey orders sent from Rama to Zor through the secret portal. The communication system was awkward, and it took time to send reports and wait for orders.

  Azsla could literally think on her feet with a clear head, and that should enable her to bypass the security systems at the Space Ministry and learn their strike capabilities. Before the Corps brought all the escaped Zoran slaves home to Rama, it was Azsla’s job to make sure the slaves hadn’t developed a terrible weapon to use against the homeworld.

  The timetable to round up the escaped slaves had not yet been set and would be determined by her findings. If she hoped to save her crew, she had several advantages. As the only fully functional First to set foot on Zor, she should be able to outwit the tranqed Firsts who couldn’t use their Quait, who couldn’t think for themselves beyond menial tasks. Sure, they could obey orders, send back reports.

  It might be months, years, or decades until the Ramans invaded and rounded up the escaped slaves, but it would happen.

  Or Rama could invade soon.

  Somehow she would save Micoo, Rak, and Jadlan from re-capture and execution. Surely she could find a way to free them without compromising her mission.

  7

  “WHAT THE FRIP do you mean, ‘they disappeared’?” Derrek stalked over to Sauren’s station and glared at the scanners. He’d prayed that distance from Azsla would soften his feelings. That hadn’t happened. Talk about temperamental. He was micronbits past edgy, hours past moody. He breathed deeply and reminded himself that none of this, his feelings or Azsla’s disappearance, was Sauren’s fault. If anyone, President Laurie was to blame. Although Derrek wasn’t into presidential assassinations, if the man didn’t stop playing political games and come clean, Derrek might not be able to suppress his rage.

  Where the hell was she?

  Sauren cut him an explanation. “The military ship went dark.”

  Dark? “As in crashed? Turned off their systems? Or that they’re refusing our hails?”

  “I don’t know. We’re checking with our contacts on Zor and in the military as well as those inside President Laurie’s staff. We’re getting nothing. Not even a hint of a rumor. It’s like they landed on Zor and were swallowed.”

  “Laurie had damn well better cough them up once we link with him.” Derrek didn’t blame Gironell. President Laurie was behind the mystery, he sensed, and he didn’t appreciate the politician’s one-upmanship. He didn’t approve of Laurie taking credit where none was due, either. And Derrek sure as hell didn’t like Azsla and her crew’s disappearance.

  “Check the news.”

  “I’m monitoring. There’s nothing.”

  “Get us down there. Fast.”

  “We’re scheduled for—”

  “I don’t give a slime worm’s ass what we’re scheduled for. Fake an emergency. Bribe someone. Or pay the fripping fine. Just get us down there now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sauren nodded to the pilot, then lowered his voice to a worried murmur until only Derrek could hear. “Has the doc found anything?”

  “Damn it. You’ve been spying on me?”

  Sauren rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

  “The doc told you?” Derrek’s temper was burning on high-test. And he had nowhere to go, until he hit dirt, where he’d tear the capitol building apart with his bare hands if that’s what it took to find her.

  Sauren shrugged.

  Derrek defended himself with logic. “The first slaves to escape Rama in a decade is huge news. Yet, there’s nothing about them—on any transmitter. That’s suspicious as hell.”

  Where was she? The question beat in his head like a drum, repeating until the rhythm threatened his mental stability. He felt as if part of him were missing. The intensity of his emotions was far from normal, yet the knowledge couldn’t cut the wanting, the yearning, the having to have her back with him.

  He was an idiot.

  He shouldn’t have allowed Laurie to take her. And now just because he was edgy enough to rip the ship’s controls from his pilot’s hands and fly her down himself, Sauren was questioning him?

  Sauren must have sensed his roiling frustration. “I don’t spy. No one told me anything. I saw the doctor at the pods taking test samples.” Sauren rubbed his jaw. “Maybe old Doc should be checking you out and—”

  “I’m fine.” Derrek gritted his teeth. While he himself had considered a need for a complete physical, he didn’t have time. Doc would hold him up for a day, longer if he had to do a psych test. Thank you, no. Derrek wasn’t about to put himself through those again. Not when he knew that finding Azsla would fix him.

  “Yeah, you’re good to go.”

  “I’m fine. Really.” Derrek paced, stopped, stared at the screen, and paced some more. The waiting process unnerved him. He reminded himself no one liked to wait his turn. There were more spaceships in line to land now, and he couldn’t just wing it.

  Adain looked up from communications. “There’s a call coming in from Alpha One.”

  “Record it.”

  “The mines broke another drill bit,” Adain muttered.

  “Sauren, you have the bridge.” Derrek didn’t want to hear about business right now. He had people to take care of details, and he paid them well to do their jobs. Instead, he headed to Doc Falcon’s ward to find out his test results.

  The ward seemed a little larger without the slaves webbed in. Large and empty.

  Without Azsla the room seemed colder. More scientific. And instead of her sweet scent, he picked up the reek of meds.

  The doctor bent over his scope examining a slide in a slot. “I’ve got nothing for you.”

  “You aren’t done?” Derrek asked. “Or there’s nothing to be found?”

  “If there was a contaminant on the pod, it’s not there anymore.”

  Not the answer he wanted to hear. If Doc had found something, they cou
ld have countered it with another agent. But how did one fight nothing? “Maybe you missed the place I touched—”

  “Not possible.” Doc swiveled on his stool and selected a bloodsucker, a tiny tube used to collect blood samples. “Let’s see if you picked up anything nasty.”

  Resigned to following through, Derrek held out his arm, wondering if he’d ever know what had been done to him. Because he didn’t act like this. The feelings inside him couldn’t be his. Mother of Salt. He barely knew Azsla. Yet look at him.

  He was all pumped up with overprotective testosterone. Ready to break space laws. Unable to focus on business. Despite his brain telling him to remain calm and detached, rational, his emotions kept sweeping into a place he’d never been. Almost out of control.

  His reactions made no sense. And if the doc didn’t find something wrong soon, he might start doubting his sanity.

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  Huh? Who’d said that?

  A friend.

  Great. It wasn’t enough that he couldn’t control his own emotions, now he had an imaginary friend. “Go away.”

  “Excuse me?” Doc Falcon pressed the tube to his arm and shot him a suspicious look. Derrek couldn’t blame the man for asking after having caught him talking to himself. That was smooth. Smooth as gravel. “You okay?”

  “Sorry, I was just going over some things. Didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud.”

  Now that’s a wimpy excuse if I ever heard one.

  Derrek ignored the voice in his head. Surely if he pretended it wasn’t there, it would disappear. He’d will it away.

  Like you will away your emotions for Azsla?

  Damn it. If you’re going to stick around, do you have to sound so cheerful?

  What’s wrong with cheerful? Besides, I’m not the one giving my DNA to a bloodsucker.

  Although Derrek couldn’t feel the blood being drawn, he still flinched at the hiss. He’d never liked giving blood, giving up a part of his DNA, not when he knew his blood was inferior. Flawed. Because he’d lacked the necessary salt during his early years, the markers in his cells proclaimed to all that he was damaged goods. They all were. At least all the slaves who’d escaped Rama.