Pets in Space® 4

by S. E. Smith

  As well as more than a little regret.

  Maura gave two sharp barks over her shoulder as she trotted after Sona. “Mean Rigel.”

  Damn.

  “Pretty harsh, boy,” Garr muttered. “I don’t blame her for wanting to be elsewhere. What’s your issue with her anyway?”

  Rigel stared a hole in his im-eggs. “I don’t have an issue with her.”

  “To Hades you don’t,” Garr jeered. “Planet of origin doesn’t make her an enemy. Or you a friend, for that matter. They have dissenters, same as our side.”

  “I’ll be keeping a close eye on her, all the same.”

  “Yeah.” Garr gave him a crafty smile. “Kind of hard not to, isn’t it?”

  Rigel shifted in his seat and chugged what was left of his mug of kinna. Was Garr intentionally baiting him?

  “One thing’s clear, though,” Garr continued, adding more hot spice to his im-eggs. “She obviously doesn’t care much for your company, if she skips a meal just to be away from you.”

  Rigel stared at her untouched plate. That hit home. His patronizing attitude hadn’t been called for and he’d obviously stepped on her feelings. It wasn’t right that she hadn’t eaten, especially after getting gigadam little to eat yesterday…and sharing the few bites of her rations with him.

  Okay, he was a complete jerk.

  Rigel got up from the table and took her full plate in hand. “I’ll take it to her.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea, boy?”

  “It’s a good idea,” Rigel said flatly then squared off with Garr. “But just for the record, you calling me ‘boy?’ That isn’t.”

  Garr stopped chewing and narrowed his eyes.

  Rigel paused just long enough to be sure he’d made his point then headed down the corridor to their shared cabin, Sona’s breakfast in hand.

  Chapter Nine

  When the seal to the cabin opened, Sona scooted up against the pillows, cradling Maura in her arms. Who was intruding on her solitude?

  From the other side of the curtain, a male voice said, “Sona?”

  Rigel.

  “I’d like some time alone, please.”

  “I brought your breakfast. You need to eat.” After a long pause, he added, “I also want to apologize. I didn’t realize you found that particular curse offensive. I say it all the time.” He sighed in exasperation. “Am I only making this worse?”

  She slipped to her feet, relishing his startled look when she swept back the fabric divider. They stood facing each other, hardly a footspan between them. “Making what worse?”

  “Me being an idiot.” He dipped his chin to her.

  Well, that had to have taken some humility, but it didn’t make things right. “You cursed something that’s important to me.”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I never realized…”

  “You never realized that sacred Rathskian history is rooted in LaGuardia’s past?”

  “No clue,” he admitted. Everything about his body language and expression seemed straightforward. “Maybe you can tell me more about it.”

  “Why do you care?”

  He shrugged, but his look was sincere. “Because it’s important to you.”

  Sona braced a hand on her hip and bunched the curtain in her free hand. What mattered to her suddenly mattered to him? “There are three figures at the front of the monument. The male on the right was King Alii’us. On the left, Lord Arcidem Tekk. And the female at the center is Her Supreme Majesty, High Queen Katrina of Draxis.”

  “Okay. Why do fabled Draxian monarchs from centuries past hold special meaning for you?”

  A lock of black hair fell over her eye and she swept it back from her face. “There’s a fourth figure in the monument, a hooded man who stands at the back of The Three—a robed priest who looks skyward to The Highest Power. His destiny was interwoven with the others’.” Her voice got quieter. “His name was T’mar. And he is my ancestor.”

  Rigel nearly dropped the platter. “T’mar…as in the Holy T’mar? The founder of the royal Rathskian bloodline?”

  “Sixty generations ago. Yes.”

  He blinked. “So you’re…Rathskian royalty?”

  “In my culture, only the firstborn son of a bloodheir is deemed royalty. But I am a direct descendant of the Holy T’mar. We were once called Duumarakhan. Now, we are called Warrior Class.”

  “Yeah.” Rigel bowed his head before looking her in the eye again. “I thought you might be.”

  Her mouth softened at his words, her frown falling away. “You’ve made many assumptions about me. For once, you weren’t wrong.”

  She held his gaze. This time, he didn’t look away.

  Rigel couldn’t look away.

  Her eyes went soft and luminous and her lips parted. He was left with no defenses.

  She stepped forward, eased the tray from his fingers, and placed it on his bunk.

  When she straightened again to meet his gaze, he went dead still.

  “When we first met, I didn’t like you very much.”

  “That’s changed?”

  “Yes.” A half-grin pulled at one corner of her mouth. “You aren’t the rude and thoughtless bastard you pretend to be. In the firefight yesterday, you treated me as an equal, not an inferior. And now here you are, humbly bringing me breakfast with a side of apology.”

  “You need to eat.” He attempted a casual shrug. “And I was an idiot.”

  Her eyes sparked and her voice dropped to a low purr. “Your concern is appreciated. Your apology, more so.”

  He dipped his chin. “I owed you both.”

  She slanted her head to the side, her gaze moving over his face. “I’ve known few men outside my own planet. I’ve never been attracted to a man without kensmarcs, before.”

  Attracted? Rigel’s heart skipped a beat. “So you’re into scars?” he joked, sidestepping her declaration.

  “Only what they stand for.” Sona raised her hand to his face. He expected to feel the sting of sharp nails, not the caress of her fingertips trailing lightly down his cheek. “You wear your badge of honor on the inside. And your scars.”

  His knees went weak when her touch glided over his jaw and swept across his throat.

  “I haven’t known many women,” Rigel confessed. “But never one like you.”

  “You’ve been a puzzle to me, as well.” She eased closer. “I’ve made mistakes. You’ve made assumptions. Maybe we both have a lot to learn,” she said softly.

  “I think we…” Rigel didn’t finish. He got lost in the ebony depths of Sona’s eyes as she gazed at him. His nemesis. His equal.

  Her lips parted.

  He drew a deep breath.

  Then reached for her. And she didn’t retreat.

  Sliding his arms around her, he drew her tight to his body. Shut out the static in his brain and closed the door on the part of him that said this was a very bad idea.

  It felt right. The way she leaned into him. How the heat of her body entangled him and her scent flooded his senses.

  He captured her face in his hands and brought his lips to hers. Soft, at first. Then seeking. Finding. His breathing coming faster and heavier.

  The barriers between them fell away and the lines in the sand disappeared.

  He advanced, backing her up until her shoulder met the cold cabin wall. When she shivered, he breathed a hot breath into her ear. “Sona.”

  She reached for the closure on her synth-leathers and worked to shed them.

  He knew he should put a stop to this—this utter breach of judgment—but he’d crossed the Rubicon with that first kiss.

  He whipped off his tactical vest, tossing it aside. Then pulled off his t-skin with both hands and started on the catch to his fatigues, all with only nanosecond breaks from Sona’s hot, sweet mouth.

  Was he seducing her or she him? Hades, what did it matter?

  She peeled off her uni-suit and flung it aside then clawed at his fatigues and hip-skins until they fell to his feet in surrend
er. Flesh-to-flesh, mouth-to-mouth, they explored each other’s bodies with their hands, whispering in two tongues—his staccato Carduwan and her guttural Rathskian.

  Rigel cupped her shoulders, turning and maneuvering her backward to her bunk, and followed her down when she fell. He moved into place between her thighs, and her long legs wrapped his hips. He surged forward, joining them in one motion. She gasped, white teeth flashing, graceful neck arching and dark eyes closing.

  She was beautiful, and sexy, and so damn savage.

  And Hades, he was lost.

  He molded his hands to her deep bronze skin, exploring every contour of her body with the tips of his fingers and the flats of his palms while he moved inside her. Picking up the pace. Increasing the intensity. Losing himself to everything but the feel of her. The sweet friction of their joining, the sound of her cries, the silkiness of her jet-black hair streaming through his fingers. He shook with the overwhelming need to please her—to take her, harder and faster—to the pinnacle.

  They hit the crest together, her muscles going taut with release, her soft cries echoing in the cabin as waves of pleasure washed through him. And only after the intensity had lessened, and Sona had gone quiet and limp and boneless beneath him, did he have his first coherent thought.

  Damn!

  He rolled slowly to his side, shifting his weight off her, but couldn’t let go. Couldn’t break the connection.

  After a long while, she whispered, “Captain Garr is going to wonder what we’re doing in here.”

  “Screw him,” Rigel croaked then realized what he’d said. “Please don’t take that literally.”

  She feigned surprise. “You said ‘please’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t think that word was in your vocabulary.”

  “I don’t use it often.”

  With a surreptitious glance down, she answered. “I’m glad you are not so sparing with all things.”

  Rigel opened his eyes and gave her a conspiring smile.

  How the Hades did I let that happen?

  Finding himself tangled up in the bedsheets with a potential security threat probably hadn’t been one of his smarter moves.

  But…damn!

  He’d left Sona in their shared berth after watching her devour the breakfast he’d brought her. Gathering up her plate, he’d used it as an excuse to escape to the galley. Once there, Rigel had dropped her dish into the receptacle and braced his hands against the galley wall. He couldn’t go back to their quarters before he’d had more time to process what had happened.

  He’d taken the lift to Flight Deck and had been sitting here ever since, staring out at the stars and asking himself the hard questions.

  He couldn’t deny his attraction. It was there. No matter how much he tried to pretend it was something else.

  “Enjoying the view, are you?”

  Rigel jerked when Captain Garr interrupted his musing.

  “It’s peaceful up here,” Rigel answered.

  Garr took his seat in the pilot’s couch and gave him a long look. “Things get a little too heated in your cabin?”

  You have no idea. He gave Garr a sharp glance but held his tongue. Telling the captain to mind his own gigadam business was probably not the best response.

  “Or maybe she just plain kicked you out,” Garr sniped.

  “It’s a small ship. Sometimes we just need space.”

  “Sorry to intrude on your wound-licking,” Garr said, reaching out to tap his control screen.

  Garr was prodding him, but Rigel refused to take the bait. “You want the bridge to yourself?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  The man leaned back in the pilot’s couch, occasionally touching his control panel, but otherwise remaining motionless. What was it was like, accessing the ship’s systems via that helmet? He’d never seen another ship that used this type of system.

  “This ship…” Rigel started, grasping for his next words.

  “Aye,” Garr said in a low voice. “I know. Why is a bucket like this even allowed in the service of the Network?” Garr looked his way. “I imagine you think the finest ships all look like Wisdom does—did—bright and shiny and state-of-the-art. Well, let me tell you something about this old girl…”

  Rigel eased his head back against the neck rest. “Is this going to be a long story?”

  “Why? Got somewhere to be?”

  Rigel turned his head away. “Not especially.”

  “Let’s just say that what she lacks in looks and comfort she makes up for in other ways.” Garr chuckled at what was apparently a private joke. “Anyway, we got our first communication a few minutes ago—a priority ten one-way directive. We’re going to be making a stop. We’ve been tasked to collect something of value on LaGuardia.”

  Rigel sat up, dropping his legs to the floor on either side of his flight couch. “LaGuardia is two days away…in the wrong direction.”

  “It surely is.”

  “We can’t do it,” Rigel argued. “That transport jumps in two days. We’ve got to be at the rendezvous on time.’

  “The Network gave its orders. I’m prepping to set course for LaGuardia.”

  Rigel’s voice went ice hard. “We’re going to meet the transport.”

  “We go where the Hades I’m told to go,” Garr snapped.

  “Not before I speak to someone at headquarters.”

  Rigel’s alert system activated and the message from Command crackled in his ear: “Contact now detoured to City of Kings Spaceport, LaGuardia. Network priority ten. Await further instructions.”

  “Right,” Rigel said, baring his teeth. “Looks like we’re going to LaGuardia.”

  “You want to go inform your bunk mate?” Garr asked with a sly smile. “Or should I?”

  “I’ve got this,” Rigel said, pushing out of the flight couch to head for the lift.

  Chapter Ten

  “LaGuardia?” Sona repeated.

  Rigel had returned to their quarters to deliver the bad news. “That’s what he said.”

  “There isn’t time.”

  “That’s what I told him.”

  “We need to talk sense into him.”

  Rigel shook his head. “Sorry. I have to back Garr up on this call. After he informed me, I received the same orders.”

  “So you’re siding with him?”

  “I do what the Network tells me, Sona.”

  “I need to speak to someone at Command.”

  “Not possible. It was a one-way directive. We’re still under communications blackout.”

  “He doesn’t even know I’m on this ship!”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  She marched to the seal and landed an aggressive punch to the controls. Before it had fully opened, she angled through the exit and marched down the corridor toward the lift.

  Rigel darted after her. From the look on her face, Garr was about to get hit with the full force of her wrath. It wasn’t going to change anything, but maybe he could mediate.

  She didn’t wait for him. The lift rotated, blocking his view of Sona before it carried her to the next level. Rigel punched the controls to summon it back to main deck.

  The argument was in full fury by the time he arrived. Garr had risen from his flight couch and jacked off his helmet to loom over Sona, hard-jawed and resolute. She stood her ground, fists clenched and feet planted.

  “…need to reach MONA Loa,” she insisted. “I must be on that transport!”

  “I’ll get you to MONA Loa. After our stop on LaGuardia.”

  “You can’t make that promise. We reroute to LaGuardia, we miss the transport. And what if we encounter an Alliance patrol between here and the planet? Or on the planet? What if we’re captured?”

  “Dammit, woman! I promised you you’ll reach the Network base.”

  “I can’t take the chance you’re wrong.”

  “The Network is calling the damn shots, not me,” Garr thundered. “And if Command says we’re goin
g to LaGuardia, we’re going to LaGuardia.”

  “Who in Command issued the orders? Was it the admiral? Commodore Gant?”

  “Neither.” Garr’s lips formed a tight line.

  “She has a point. Who has the authority?” Rigel asked. Sona glared over her shoulder, but it was hard to read if she appreciated or damned him for jumping into the fray.

  “The admiral’s got his hands full coordinating the transport. Commodore Gant is still missing in action,” Garr rumbled. “My orders came directly from General Kemm.”

  Rigel blinked.

  Maura chittered softly. “Big boss.”

  General Carbin Kemm—creator of StarDogs. Formerly from his home planet of Carduwa. The man was well respected and trusted. Even so, it didn’t explain the logic in making this highly suspect detour.

  “I don’t know this General Kemm,” Sona said quietly. “I require validation through another official.”

  “Do you now? And who would that be?” Garr demanded.

  “Counselor Ramo.”

  “Ramo?” A twisted grin pulled at Garr’s lips and he planted his hands on his hips. “So you’re in cahoots with Ramo. Well, that certainly clears up some question marks.”

  “Ramo?” Rigel asked, looking between them while they engaged in a stare down.

  “A high-ranking Network sympathizer,” Garr answered through clenched teeth. “A Rathskian.”

  The man’s body language said much. “You don’t trust him,” Rigel said.

  “No farther than I could levitate him.”

  Sona’s eyes glinted with anger. “You don’t know him.”

  “And you do?”

  “Yes.”

  Garr eased back with a belligerent lift of his chin. “Well, like I said. That tells me much.”

  “You mean to say,” Rigel said, “that the Network has a Rathskian in their command structure?”

  “Not just a Rathskian,” Garr clarified. “A high-ranking diplomat. And he works closely with another advisor named Qattos Vanock. An Ithian.” Garr gave him a direct look, his eyes glinting.

  “Members of the Alliance?” Rigel muttered. Sona’s gaze shifted to him, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. If the Network had been infiltrated at a high level, his initial suspicions may have been right all along. And Sona knew this Ramo. She could indeed be a dangerous counterintelligence agent.