Pets in Space® 4

by S. E. Smith

  She had wondered what place she would have in a human world with only her soldier skills but now she knew she could be so much more.

  Warrior princess, girlfriend. I like.

  I am not a princess, she told the AI, but I am Ale of the Teimanein. I have a name. I have a purpose.

  And a hot guy.

  Did she? Of this she was not sure. She loved Rap. She would always love him. But she would not force him. That would be as wrong as what V’ruwak and Erume had tried to do to her. It would break her heart to walk away from him, but it would not break her spirit. It would not break Ale.

  She heard a sound and turned to find Rap in the doorway studying her with sober intense eyes.

  The ready room seemed smaller than the last time he’d been there with Ale. And Rap’s heart seemed to grow larger, pushing into his throat and almost choking him with the words he wished to say to her.

  Her big sad eyes—so much beauty both inside and out—increased the choking in his throat. He’d feared she was too beautiful for him, but they were the same inside. They’d survived much. They’d been damaged but it had made them strong. She was brave. He would be brave, too.

  “I…” and just like that it was easy. “I love you. I wish to live the rest of our human lives together.”

  Her smile was like a star going nova, no, much better than any star any where.

  “Yes. I love you, too.” A shadow flickered across her face, but she faced him with the same resolution that she’d shown all the time he’d known her. “My heritage is complicated.”

  “And I am a geek, according to Rachel.” He crossed over to her, carefully securing her hands with his. “Against all odds we have found each other. We can work out…anything. Everything. Together.”

  She met his gaze steadily, the worry fading to a growing joy. Yes, he looked closely, it was more than happy. It was joy. For a moment, the past flickered as a memory of his mother came to him. Yes, that is how he recognized joy. She was gone, but she’d left the joy behind for him to find.

  With Ale.

  Please, could you kiss her? Jett loves a happy ending.

  Nelson did not sound as long suffering as perhaps he hoped. But Rap wanted to kiss her.

  So he did.

  He was right. She tasted of joy. And love. So much love. He gathered her close and let the joy fill him.

  Thanks for reading Cyborg’s Revenge, a Project Enterprise short story. I hope you enjoyed Ale and Rap’s story. There will be more Project Enterprise stories! To find out about all my releases, be sure to sign up for my New Release eZine and get a free eBook.

  Or hop over to my website and check out my series:

  Project Enterprise The Big Uneasy Lonesome Lawmen

  Browse my complete backlist by visiting my website. :-) I have several series in different genres and some standalone novels, too.

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  If you enjoyed this book, I hope you’ll consider leaving a review. It’s not just because I’m needy (even though I try not to be!). Reviews help other readers decide which books to buy. :-)

  About Pauline Baird Jones

  Award-winning, USA Today Bestselling author Pauline never liked reality, so she writes books. She likes to wander among the genres, rampaging like Godzilla, because she does love peril mixed in her romance.

  To find out more about Pauline or her books:

  http://paulinebjones.com

  Also by Pauline Baird Jones

  Science Fiction Romance/Paranormal

  Project Universe Series:

  The Key (book 1)

  Girl Gone Nova (book 2)

  Lost Valyr (book 7)

  Maestra Rising (book 8)

  Project Enterprise: The Short Stories

  Laurie A. Green - SpyDog

  The Inherited Stars Series

  When his transport is destroyed before his eyes, agent Rigel Blackline and his bio-engineered StarDog partner wind up marooned on a planet buzzing with enemy patrols. Worse, they carry time-sensitive intel that must be delivered to their contacts on a distant space station—data that could defeat their ruthless enemies.

  Rigel’s only hope is to reach another Network ship before they’re captured, but things get complicated when they cross paths with Sona, a savvy warrior-class Rathskian female. She claims to be a friendly, but he suspects the vixen is a dangerous counter-spy sent to intercept him and his StarDog. His intuitive sidekick’s immediate bond with Sona is even more baffling.

  Rigel decides “capturing” Sona as an enemy asset and delivering her to his superiors may be his best option, but Sona has secrets that threaten more than just Rigel’s self-control. Her knowledge of Network dealings are on a level even he isn’t privy to. Is she truly an ally, or is he playing directly into the hands of a dangerous double-agent…in more ways than one?

  Chapter One

  “Almost home, girl.”

  Rigel Blackline gave the satchel slung at his side a subtle pat and smiled when the little StarDog inside cooed a response. He wasn’t keen on stashing his pint-sized partner away but displaying her in a city swarming with Ithian Alliance patrols would be seven shades of foolhardy. Not the time to play the deuce, especially when his ride and refuge was almost within sight—just three hundred steps away.

  Rigel rounded a turn and…there she was. In the mid-morning sun, Wisdom gleamed in all her silvery, slipstream glory. It’d been a long time since he’d enjoyed the creature comforts of a berth on the big ship. A comfortable bunk to catch up on his sleep. Three hearty meals per shift cycle. And best yet, all the hot, rich kinna he could swill. Gigadam paradise after an age spent in the field dodging Ithian operatives and outsmarting Rathskian brutes. It was high time he reaped some of the rewards of his service to the Network. And he was more than eager to turn the cache of invaluable intel stored inside his little SpyDog over to Network Command.

  His alert device squealed in his ear, and Rigel skidded to a stop…half a moment before Wisdom ballooned into a ball of flame and hurtling wreckage.

  Gods of Gellen, no!

  He ducked behind a support pillar when a scattershot of shrapnel hurtled past and cartwheeled down the hangar alley behind him. Rigel scanned the sky overhead, searching out the source of the paracannon rounds that had just blown his salvation into random atoms. All he could make out was the pale, blurred outline of a ship with atmospheric engines on full, rocketing toward the fringes of space.

  Rigel’s lip curled as the ship disappeared into the upper atmosphere. Whoever those bastards were, they were barreling straight into the jaws of an Ithian blockade.

  Hope the gigadam palies blow them into spacedust.

  Inside the bag, his StarDog gave a muffled squeak.

  “Not sure. Still assessing.” Rigel rested his hand on the lump of canvas outlining his partner.

  A stream of indignant chittering followed.

  “Stay put and keep quiet,” Rigel scolded. “We’ve got a situation here.”

  The StarDog dutifully put herself on mute, but the strap shifted on his shoulder when she moved in agitated circles inside the bag.

  He did a situational scan, checking for bodies in the wreckage or on the ground around it. Not a one. Seemed the ship had been abandoned. Or more likely evacuated. Meaning Wisdom’s crew had gotten a lot more warning than he had with that last-minute blast on his eardrum.

  How had they known in advance that the ship would be targeted?

  Behind him, the staccato of footsteps announced the arrival of an Ithian Alliance patrol, propelling Rigel to his feet and into the cover of the nearest hang. Inside, he hunkered down behind a discarded crew cart. He needed a better place to hide. The prize he and his StarDog were carrying could never fall into enemy hands.

  The footsteps drew nearer, the sounds echoing off the high, steelonate walls of the surrounding hangars. He’d be discovered in moments. Rigel made
a quick inspection of the empty hanger, his attention locking on the rust-stained chiller unit. He crept to the access panel, pulling a tachi-set from his vest pocket. After springing open a uni-key, he inserted it into the grimy lock of the chiller’s service panel. The lock clicked and the panel door popped. Rigel threw himself inside the unit, pretzeling his legs around the chiller’s pipe-and-conduit innards and hauling the satchel with his StarDog inside.

  He reached out and swung the door shut, wincing at the squeal until the lock reset with a click.

  When his inquisitive comrade growled, he gave a quiet hiss. “No noise!”

  Outside the unit, intermittent footsteps drew closer, moving cautiously over the gritty substrate of the hangar floor. Stalking his position?

  The chiller kicked on with a rattle and a laborious hum. Rigel gritted his teeth. The noise would help mask his location—if the lurking presence just outside didn’t already know he was there—but it was going to get awfully blasted cold in an awful gigadam hurry.

  As if on cue, the pipes pressed to his field vest chilled. In mere sectas, the frigid surfaces were unbearably cold. Haley’s Crest! He was going to freeze to death in a tropical climate. At the sound of chattering teeth, he glanced down at the satchel draped across his lap. Sixth Hell, they both were.

  If the information his StarDog carried never reached Admiral Mennelsohn and the Command crew on MONA Loa, it would be catastrophic. The data could essentially turn the tide in the insurrection against the Alliance. It was his mission to ensure it got there at any cost.

  He could best whoever hunted him, but not the laws of thermodynamics. There was only one course of action available to him. Get the upper hand.

  Rigel braced his shoulder against the inside of the access door. It gave way with a creak, spilling his upper body onto the hard hangar floor as he drew his laze-pistol from his shoulder holster.

  Rigel jammed both elbows into the dirt to steady his aim and got a bead on his stalker. She scowled down at him with black diamond eyes, giving him a look fierce enough to slice through bone. Mouth set hard. Body sleek with lean, solid muscle. And her own laze-pistol leveled right between his eyes.

  Rathskian, no doubt about it.

  She was freakin’ Alliance.

  Yet she hadn’t fired—or skewered him to the dirt with that black-hilted dagger she wore on her thigh.

  And he hadn’t dropped her either. Yet.

  She glowered at him in silence. He returned the glare.

  Judging from her steel-studded synth-leathers, she might be a warrior-class Rathskian female, though weren’t they a myth? She didn’t have the horrific facial scarring of her male counterparts, but maybe that custom didn’t apply to her gender. Or maybe she was just too young to have earned her first. She couldn’t be much older than his twenty-five calendars.

  His gaze flicked to her arm. No Ithian Alliance armband.

  Maybe not an Alliance officer, but still clearly a menace.

  After several tense moments of impasse, he tested the waters. “You speak Standard?”

  Her scowl darkened, but she didn’t answer.

  “Guess not.” He gingerly pulled his legs out of the chiller and got to his feet. Dropping his weapon to low ready, he was careful not to make a sudden move that would draw her fire. Brushing the dust from his pants with his off hand, he said, “I’ll just be on my way then.” He reached for the strap to his satchel.

  “You will stay,” she commanded. “And tell me who you are.”

  So she did speak Standard.

  “Just a tourist from Carduwa who’s trying to find a way off this rock. A little difficult right now with this blasted planetary blockade.”

  She gave a slow blink. “If you’re just a traveler, why are you hiding?”

  “A ship just went supernova and that’s going to attract patrols. I don’t want anyone thinking I had any connection. I don’t know what it’s all about. I was just passing through.”

  “As was I,” she said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “You’re no mere traveler. Why were you heading for that LaGuardian ship?”

  It seemed she’d been surveilling him and now she’d caught him in a lie. This was clearly a time to walk lightly.

  “Don’t know what you mean. I was just cruising the hangs looking to book a ride off Banna as soon as the embargo lifts. My last transport is grounded for repairs.”

  “Nothing you’ve told me is true.”

  Rigel gave her a side-eye. “You’re calling me a liar?”

  She looked vexed. “What’s in the bag?”

  His hand moved to the satchel, even though his eyes stayed locked on her. “Just a few clothes. Snacks. Water. The usual stuff.”

  “Then why is the usual stuff moving?”

  Gigadam! Rigel glanced down and saw his partner’s rustlings. He’d told her to keep quiet, and she’d obeyed. But he’d failed to command her to keep still.

  “Just a pet. A Rutanga from planet Veros.”

  “I’d like to see this Rutanga from planet Veros.”

  Rigel tried not to clench his jaw or curl a fist. The Alliance now knew what a StarDog looked like and even more damning, why they’d been bioengineered. Six moons ago, the Ithians had raided General Kemm’s lab on Carduwa and eliminated it, leaving only a few remaining StarDogs in existence—those already in the field serving the Network or the ones sold as mascots to help support the lab.

  Maura was one of the few remaining. And she was one of the best. A StarDog upgrade known as a SpyDog. Highly intelligent and extremely perceptive. Though…quirky, at times.

  “Show me,” the Rathskian insisted, her finger shifting on the trigger of her weapon.

  Not good.

  “All right,” Rigel said, holding up one hand to placate her. “All right.” He holstered his laze-pistol in an attempt to look less threatening and reached for the catch to his bag. In reality, he could draw and fire before she could blink, and he would…but only if he had to. Only if she recognized the contraband he carried.

  Rigel unsealed his satchel.

  And Maura happily poked her curious little head out of the opening, her golden ears perked and amber eyes alert and trained on their nemesis.

  The Rathskian took a surprised step back. “A StarDog,” she whispered, her voice filled with startled awe. Not disgust. Not contempt. Not even fear. Her gaze shifted up and locked on Rigel’s face. And she slowly…cautiously…smiled.

  That unexpected flash of white teeth was the only thing that kept Rigel from toasting her on the spot.

  “Then you have to be…” She paused, turning her head aside and lowering her voice to a hushed whisper. “Network?”

  Cover blown. He was screwed.

  Or was he?

  She holstered her weapon. That was unexpected. “I, too, am with the Network,” she said with a solemn nod.

  “You?” Rigel shifted. Not buying it. More likely an Alliance counter-spy.

  He drew his laze-pistol in a blur of movement, leveling his weapon as she took aim at precisely the same millisecond.

  Again, neither fired.

  “You don’t believe me,” she growled.

  Not a word. “Convince me.”

  “Command summoned me to MONA Loa Station for a special assignment. I’d been with the crew of Wisdom for some time, en route to the transport bound for headquarters. We were given emergency orders to evacuate the ship when,” she gave a chin-jerk toward the alley outside, “it was scuttled.”

  “Scuttled?” Wisdom had been intentionally destroyed by the Network?

  “It was necessary,” she replied in a low voice, “to keep it out of Alliance hands.”

  She had to be lying through her teeth. His people wouldn’t scuttle the commodore’s own command ship! And the Network didn’t employ Rathskians.

  But what she had disclosed was damning. Her level of knowledge meant only one of them was going to walk away from this confrontation alive. And it wouldn’t be her. “Keep talking.”

/>   “Why should I talk when you don’t listen?”

  Rigel prepared to fire. And from the slight flex of the tendon in her wrist, so did she.

  Then she said, “Tamuf.”

  TAMUF. Network recognition code. An acronym for The Alliance MUst Fall.

  “Anedwil,” Rigel responded. More passcode. A NEw Dawn WIll Light.

  She relaxed the tension in her trigger finger.

  So did he.

  “You are a Network agent,” she whispered, her eyes going round.

  This changed everything.

  Whoever she was, whatever she’d seen, she was even more dangerous than he’d first thought. She’d IDed him as an agent? Not good. She was privy to Network passcodes? That left some big, fat, unresolved question marks. Leadership needed to know what she knew—and how she’d come to know it. How extensively had the Network been compromised? This breach could destroy everything they’d worked so hard for.

  She wouldn’t die today. He’d just bagged a counter-intel asset. He’d deliver her to Network authorities so they could interrogate her—get to the bottom of how much damage had already been done and take corrective action. Meanwhile, he’d let her think he believed her story.

  Always keep your enemies in your laze-sights. That was his motto.

  “Right,” he muttered, easing his laze-pistol back to low ready. “You’re Network.”

  She, too, lowered her weapon then holstered it.

  He scowled when Maura left the confines of his satchel and took a few tentative steps toward the woman, nose twitching.

  “Hello, little one,” the Rathskian said, going to one knee. “Can we be friends now?” She reached out to let the StarDog sniff her hand then gave Maura a gentle pat.

  Maura responded by quickly scaling the women’s arm. The Rathski stiffened in surprise—and so did Rigel—when Maura wrapped herself around the woman’s shoulders like a furry, golden scarf.