Rescuing Halin: Hissa Warrior, Book 1

by RK Munin

  Distracted from the lush female he leans forward to look at his own leg. “That wasn't there before,” he grunts.

  “You don't remember the giant piece of shrapnel embedded in your thigh?”

  He brings his eyes up to meet hers and feels caught by her gaze. Her eyes are an indescribable color. At best he’d compare them to gems, glittering green macko gems. But even that doesn’t really do them justice. He's not sure there's a word in either Hissa or Space Standard that accurately defines the color.

  “Your eyes are like macko crystals,” he whispers to her leaning closer to her face. “But even lovelier. I've never seen such a color.” She rears back, and he sits up, hoping he hasn't offended her.

  “Thanks,” she replies.

  She seems wary of him and maybe slightly flustered. She shouldn’t be. He’s sure many males notice and comment on her loveliness.

  “Let’s, uh, concentrate on you though. Are you feeling a little dizzy or do you have a headache? I've got some basic pain relievers.”

  Taking his attention from her, he takes an inventory of his body. His leg doesn't really hurt. It just feels sore, like he bruised it badly in a sparring match. He does have a headache, and he feels a little light headed, even though he's sitting down. If he’s this weak after such a prolonged sleep, his wound must have been grievous.

  “I don’t remember getting hurt,” he murmurs to her, and she gives a little shrug.

  “Considering you decorated a good portion of my ship with your blood, a little memory loss isn’t surprising. I wasn't sure I got to you soon enough,” she admits. “I don’t have any synthetic blood, so you’re going to be dizzy until your body recoups.”

  “How much did I, uh, decorate?” Halin asks, and she winces.

  “Let’s just say, the last time I saw someone bleed that much, he was already a corpse by the time I got there,” she tells him bluntly. He tries to straighten up a little, puffs out his chest, and gives her a wide cocky grin.

  “I'm need you to repeat that to a vid capture. I'm going to want to be able to have proof later I heroically survived a severe injury,” he says, and she looks puzzled.

  “Is that so you don't get in trouble because the ship was destroyed?”

  “No, so I can brag to my friends,” he tells her and feels elated when she laughs. It's a clear lovely sound, and it seems to have a particular effect on his cock. He grabs a blanket and drops it over his lap.

  “My name is Halin,” he tells her as he taps the fingers of his left hand just under his throat, a traditional greeting among warriors or competitors. “Second male of the family Tormid.”

  “I'm Mian,” she responds with a smile and copies his tap. “I guess I’m the only female to the family Garmin, but now I go by the name Sorrow.” He notes she's no longer wearing her armor, and he can clearly see the curvy outline of her body through her tight clothing.

  “Mian,” he murmurs, rolling the sound of her name on his tongue. “That's a lovely name.” Her skin flushes again, and he wonders why but enjoys the effect. When she changes color it makes her look even lovelier. Does she do that whenever she receives a compliment, or is it just him?

  “Uh, thanks,” she responds.

  He wants to ask if she changes color all over or just her face, but before he can speak, she asks him a question of her own. “What were you doing in the middle of Raider Alley in a ship without guns?”

  “Raider Alley?” Did he misunderstand the Space Standard words?

  “That sector you were attacked in is called Raider Alley,” she explains. “By your expression I'm guessing you didn't know. It's gotten bad in the last few solars, ever since the Polia system opened up trade. Now they’re a ton of raiders preying on ships going between Polia system and Wint. There are more of us bounty hunters showing up every day, but there’s still not enough of us to really put a dent in the raider traffic.”

  “We didn't know this area was so dangerous,” he explains. “But it makes no difference. We were instructed to travel in an unarmed ship. We didn't have a choice.”

  “Well, you ended up being a tasty target. You said we. Did you mean that there were others on the ship with you?”

  Halin feels a shock of fear go through him. “Yes, my two crew mates. They were in sleep pods, and I launched them both to try and keep them safe. Did you see the pods?”

  “I take it you had the sleep pods that can act as life pods,” Mian murmurs as she shakes her head sadly. “I'm sorry. I didn't see any pods. But we're close enough to Wint Station that I can check in there and see if any of the patrols picked them up or if there’s chatter about ransom demands.” She turns her chair to face the control console and starts fiddling. Soon she's talking as she scans her display.

  “Looks like one pod landed safely on a small planet being geo mapped for mining. Your government has already arranged transport for that man back to your home world. Anther Hissa was just sold at a slave auction. It doesn't look like your government knows about it yet. He might not be one of your crew mates, but I've never meet Hissa before in this sector so chances are he's one of your guys.

  “Slavery?” Halin's horrified. “Tiran or Lazil, sold as a slave?”

  She nods absently as she keeps reading, then turns to look at him with a big grin, “I wouldn't worry too much. A hauler named Mara Lost bought him. She's human like me. I've never met her, but I know her by reputation. She was a slave herself, so if she bought him, then it’s unlikely she’ll abuse him. I can send a message to your government so they can contact her to buy him back.”

  “How can you be so sure she won’t abuse my crewmate if you've never met this woman?” Halin demands.

  “I keep a close eye on the civil disturbance reports. It can be a good way to find raiders trying to get parts or doing reconnaissance of a station or port. She's popped up a couple of times for fighting, and it's almost always because of slavery. Your guy is in good hands, I'm sure. And you shouldn’t have a problem buying him back because he went really cheap at auction. Only twenty credits. Damn, that’s sad.” She looks over to him with a grin. “If he looks anything like you, I’d pay at least thirty.”

  “That means I'm the last left to finish my mission,” he murmurs, ignoring her innuendo for the moment. His mission isn’t finished, and his entire race is in peril.

  “I can drop you off at Wint, and you can contact your people,” she tells him. “If you're going to try to make it back to Bicoma I'd suggest a full military escort or at the very least a sturdy gunship like my Fortune.” She absently strokes her hand across the control console and smiles.

  Watching her delicate hand move over the shiny metal sends blood to inappropriate places.

  Then her words register, and he scoots forward on the bunk until he's sitting right on the edge. She looks over and startles a little. They’re so close their noses almost touch. He fights the overwhelming urge to just lean forward and put his lips on hers. Her eyes seem to darken, and she gives a little gasp as he draws even closer to her.

  This female is perfect. Skilled, capable, and in possession of a well-outfitted gunship. And she’s beautiful and smells delectable.

  “You could take me,” he whispers, overjoyed at the idea.

  “To bed?” she asks. He notices her eyes are a little unfocused, and she seems like she’s panting slightly. I'm not the only one affected. Good to know.

  “I can hire you,” he murmurs. “To take me to Bicoma.”

  As if a container of cold water was suddenly dumped over her head she rears back. Her expression is incredulous. “I might be a bounty hunter, but I'm not insane,” she declares.

  “Why is going to Bicoma insane?”

  She blinks at him for a moment. “You’re really asking me that question? Do you not know what happens when foreign ships enter into Bicoma space?”

  He shakes his head. None of the reports he read included descriptions of Bicoma defenses or weapons. He just knows they’re well defended.

 
“Right, you don't know because no one knows!” she almost shouts and throws her hands up with exasperation. “Aggressive ships go in, and they never come out.”

  “That can't be right,” Halin disagrees, thinking about the reports he's read. “I know delegations from other species have met the Bicoma and visited their home system.”

  “Sure, diplomats get to come and go, but you know what they report. Nothing! They never see anything. They can't explain how the Bicoma protect their space. Before I was born the Anavac decided they were going to invade the Bicoma system. They all disappeared. The entire armada just vanished. Long range scanners from the observation ships said they could see all the ships one moment and the next they were all just gone.”

  Halin’s impressed but undaunted. “Then it's good I have permission to be there.”

  “But I don't,” Mian emphasizes each word and jabs a finger into her own chest. “And the Fortune doesn’t have permission. Need I remind you she’s a gunship? Not some innocent-looking civilian transport. She’s made for one thing, going into battle. If we wander into Bicoma space, we’re going to get disappeared fast. I'm not interested in dying, so thanks but no thanks.”

  Before she can draw any further away from him, Halin grabs one of her hands and clasps it loosely between his. She doesn't struggle, just freezes and stares at her caged hand. Her hand feels small and delicate as he runs his thumb across her wrist.

  “I can get permission for you and Fortune,” he assures her with confidence despite the fact that he's not sure that's true at all. “The fastest way there is through Raider Alley, and I'll need you. Getting Hissa ships here will take too much time. This mission is important for all my people.”

  He can see her hesitate, thinking about it. But then she shakes her head again. “I just can't risk it. If they get a look at Fortune and decide she's a threat, we go poof. We don't get a chance to explain or apologize. We just disappear.”

  She tugs at her hand, and he reluctantly releases her. He glances around, giving himself a moment to think and notices his armor chest piece on the floor next to a neatly stacked pile of hers. He remembers the state of her armor, old and worn. The ship is an older model too, well maintained but still patched and run down.

  He nods his head to his armor. “Your body armor is rather old.”

  She stiffens and scowls. “It works just fine.”

  “I have a business proposition for you.” She looks like she's about to object, but he holds his hand up to silence her and is pleasantly surprised when it works. “There's no way for me to get to Bicoma without going through raider space.” Halin attempts to appeal to the hunter in her. “I would get attacked again.”

  “You're correct,” she agrees, now looking confused. “But I thought you said you couldn't arrive in a ship with weapons.”

  “Considering what happened, I'm sure they will grant me dispensation to arrive in whatever ship can get me there safely. If you take me there, I’ll make sure Hissa pays you very well.” He sweeps his eyes back to her armor. “Wouldn't it be nice to buy a new suit? The armor you have doesn't have the full 360 heads-up range-finding display in the helm or the advanced biometric system to seal wounds.” He can see her eyes glimmer with interest, so he pushes his advantage and points to his own much newer chest armor. “I can buy you a suit just like it.” He can see she's tempted and tries to sweeten the offer even more. “And perhaps a plasma rifle?”

  Her eyes widen, and he knows he's got her. “With the extra-large recharge pack? And extra cartridges?”

  He grins wide. He has nothing but admiration for a woman who knows her weapons. “Of course I wouldn’t dream of not including recharge packs and cartridges,” he tells her quickly. For other women he might promise jewels and other precious items; for Mian it’s all about the weapons. “And I’m sure I can swing a few other things as well.”

  She's silent for a few moments, regarding him with an expression he can't quite read. He wonders if he should offer her a new ship. He knows there are several smaller gunships in the Hissa military and it would be easy to get one of those for her. He has permission to utilize an extreme amount of credits and resources to accomplish his mission.

  But the same intuition that hasn't led him astray yet and is the reason he's lead on this mission tells him to be quiet and just wait.

  If I offer too much, she will assume I'm lying, he realizes as she glances over to his armor one more time and then turns back to him with a small, tight smile.

  “Shiny new armor,” he says with a broad grin, showing off his long canines, a sign of virility among his species. Some Hissa males have their canines artificially lengthened, but he’s never had to. His have always been long.

  She looks momentarily surprised at his fangs but recovers quickly and smiles. Her own teeth are rather flat, but that doesn’t detract from her beauty.

  “You'll pay for fuel and docking fees?” she demands, and he nods his head.

  “That's standard for contract transport,” he agrees.

  “Assuming the Bicoma don't make us vanish, where do I drop you to terminate the contract? I looked up Hissa, and it's much too far away from Raider Alley for my comfort. I'm already going to lose a lot of hunting time taking you to Bicoma.”

  Halin fights to keep from frowning. He wants her to take him all the way back to Hissa but knows that's a losing battle. He does a quick calculation in his head. “You can take me back to Wint Station. I can arrange transport from there.”

  She nods in agreement, “That's a reasonable distance. I accept your terms.” She holds out her hand to him, and he stares at it uncomprehendingly. “It's a human custom,” she explains. “Hold out your hand like mine.” He does and watches with interest as she voluntarily places her palm against his and clasps his hand. She moves the two hands up and down a few times and then releases her grip, but Halin doesn't.

  Using her hand as an anchor he leans closer to her and whispers, “Let's create a new human-Hissa tradition to mark the occasion.”

  He brushes his lips over hers, and when she doesn't struggle he presses, sliding his tongue along the slit of her lips. She gives a little sound of surprise and opens her mouth to him. He's overwhelmed by the taste of her. If he thought her smell was pleasurable, it pales in comparison to her taste.

  He'd bedded a human woman once. She worked on a brothel ship that traveled from planet to planet and made a stop in orbit around Hissa to service the female-deprived men. She commanded a small fortune for her time as humans were so rare and she was in great demand. She'd been kind and willing, and his time with her was pleasant, but Mian is something else entirely. She might be a human woman also, but her smell and taste are nothing like the brothel worker. Mian is something he could become addicted to.

  It’s women like Mian that poets write about when they speak of perfection.

  She makes another sound, and the smell of her arousal hit his nose. It's all he can do to keep from stripping her bare and pulling her under him.

  Don't push her yet, his intuition tells him. If you go too fast, she'll pull away. You might have her once, but she won't let you close again.

  With a level of willpower that he's sure would make every instructor he ever had in the military proud, he manages to pull away and release her hand. It's difficult, but he gives her an unconcerned smile as he casually leans back against the bulkhead.

  “I don't suppose you've got any clothes I could wear?”

  CHAPTER 4

  Mian knows she's staring at Halin with her mouth open like a landed pessio fish, but her brain has temporally gone off-line. Her entire body feels on fire with a level of dampness between her legs she's never experienced.

  She's always been a sexual creature. When her mother caught her masturbating as a young child, she sat her down and explained human sexuality to her and the basic rules of conduct. For years after her parent’s death she felt nothing, but finally, when she was ready to experiment, she found a compatible male and gave se
x a try. It hadn't been anything particularly memorable or even enjoyable. After a second try she gave up and decided to stick to her own hands and toys instead.

  But this is different. She wants to push this Hissa down on the small bunk, tear the sheet off him, and demand he put his mouth and hands all over her. When he'd deepened the kiss, she assumed that was what was about to happen, only to have him pull away, apparently unaffected by the interaction.

  She looks down to where the sheet forms a tent over his erection and knows he's aroused. She looks back up at his face, and he shrugs his shoulders. She's silent for a moment and then just jumps in. She's never been a retiring, shy type of person.

  “You seem ready to have sex,” she points out softly, and he nods gravely.

  “I’m eager to mate with you,” he tells her simply. “But I wouldn’t just bed a female. We must have discussions and know each other or it won't be satisfying. We need to have a Knowing Period.”

  “Is this a Hissa custom?” she asks and can't help it when her eyes wonder back down to his crotch.

  “Yes,” he tells her. “Mating without knowing isn't acceptable.”

  “You must not get laid very often,” she mutters. “Your women put up with this?” His expression suddenly turns stony, and she knows she unwittingly hit a nerve.

  “There are no Hissa women,” he tells her flatly.

  She takes a sharp breath. How can there be no Hissa women? The quick bit of research she did on Hissa shows they are a species with binary sexes, requiring one male and one female to produce offspring. Do they grow their children in vats like she was? Why would they only produce males?

  He frowns and speaks before she can start riddling him with questions, “I didn't want this to be our first knowledge exchange, but I guess it's inevitable.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and his face looks like he's remembering something painful.

  “When I was a child there was a plague that hit Hissa. We call it the Great Death. Before we could develop a vaccine or cure, every single one of our females and half our male population succumbed to the disease.”