by Bex McLynn
Lekar grimaced. "Are you sure you still want her?"
By Direis, yes, he wanted her.
Prykimis might be broken, but she remained still an Athelasan spirenought, a behemoth of a battleship, and a symbol of the Teras Dominion that garnered political prestige. He already had stewardship of Vayant, a sister ship to Prykimis. Having stewardship of both spirenoughts—something he'd been scheming for years—would elevate the standing of his house.
"Wies." He addressed the armored fleetman who strode along next to him. "Rannik's in the cargo hold. Get him to the hangar, posthaste."
"Aye, Thane," Wies said crisply, and signaled his team.
The armored strike team charged ahead, moving swiftly as a honed unit. The rabble of Prykimis's officers scattered in their wake, grumbling and sniping. They packed together like mongrels, nothing but raised hackles and noisy barking.
Grondin, a stocky man, stomped toward Zver, beefy arms thrown wide. "What's all this, Thane Borac?"
Retribution. He wanted to ruin Thane Jahat. The other thane had played with Rannik, treated his son like a piece on the game board. But he'd rather deliver that message directly to Thane Jahat.
Instead, he said, "The Fleet engineering inspection team."
Grondin sneered and said, "Inspection ain't due yet."
Zver flicked his eyes over the man. Grondin, one of Thane Jahat's many sons, wore a faded and dirty officer's jacket—the only piece of regulation garb on his hefty frame. The other officers at Grondin's back wore similar attire, as if they had scrounged for the pieces of their uniforms. They looked more like a clade of marauders than fleetmen.
Not one of them saluted, either. Zver was a thane, commander, and technopath. He outranked every last man in this sector, let alone the grunts on Prykimis.
"I am aware." Zver flexed his hands, trying to relieve the urge to pummel the ragged man before him. "But why delay the inevitable?"
"Thought you were here for your boy."
Boy. Zver heard the disrespect in Grondin's tone. He hated the way people disparaged Rannik's place in his house. Rannik may not be blood, but Zver claimed him and would always claim him.
"My son," Zver bit out. "I am here for both."
"As you say, Thane." Grondin crossed his arms over his chest and curled his lips into an ugly, smug grin. "Hell of a botch by the Academe."
Like hell it was a botch.
Rannik's reassignment to Prykimis had been deliberate. Just as TerTac—Teras Tactical—officially retained House Borac to conduct the engineering inspection of Prykimis, Rannik got reassigned. As a Fleet Academe cadet, Rannik had no reason to be aboard the broken-down battleship. Zver's rivals thought he would be distracted. That he'd be unable to fulfill his duties. That he'd give excuses to TerTac.
The botch was thinking that Zver would ever back down.
"Good thing I've got one hell of a solution," he said as he stepped around Grondin.
Rannik had arrived.
The strike team moved briskly, and he got a glimpse of his son pushing a cryo-bin. Zver eased as he took in his son's wide-eyed appearance. Rannik looked merely anxious, not distressed. Zver hadn’t expected the bin but saw no reason to delay their departure. Zver caught Wies's attention and flicked his head toward the waiting transport.
Zver turned to follow. Grondin growled and stormed along next to him.
"Hey now! Your boy didn't arrive here with a cryo-bin." Grondin stabbed his finger toward the hovering container. "I need to see what's in there."
"You and I both know what's in there," Zver said without breaking stride.
The cryo-bin didn't alarm him. Every grunt in TerTac knew what was smuggled around fleet ships and bases in a container like that. Zver shrugged at the thought of Rannik's Lassie. An Athelasan sexbot would be nothing but an uncomfortable conversation between him and Rannik, followed by a mildly humiliating medical screening. In the long run, harmless, especially compared to what could have happened to Rannik while he’d been trapped on Prykimis.
"I know what's in there!" a familiar voice called out from the pack of House Jahat officers.
Therion. Zver hadn't forgotten about his younger brother. He just planned to avoid him while aboard Prykimis.
Now Zver stopped moving. Wies already reached the transport and had started loading Rannik and the cryo-bin.
Therion drudged over, dragging his feet like he had lead in his boots. His face flushed too deeply blue for such little exertion. Zver swept his eyes clinically over his brother, noting Therion's wan body and new clade tattoos snaking up his neck. Based on the intel he had about his brother's drinking and partying, Therion's haggard appearance didn’t surprise him.
"Fucking Unholde." Therion winced as he caught his breath. "It's just a Lassie."
"Like hell you know what he's got." Grondin shoved his brother. "He could have property belonging to House Jahat."
Therion rubbed his shoulder, fingers scratching at the House Jahat crest on his dirty uniform. "Yeah, I do know what's in the cryo-bin, 'cause I bought it for him on Radost."
Radost. A pleasure planet that was pleasant only to visitors. The planet teemed with Unsworn Teras. Those who lived there resided in slums and worked brothels, gambling dens, and black market stalls.
Zver fisted his hands. "You took a first-year cadet to Radost and bought him a sexbot?"
"He wanted one," his brother said with a shrug.
Fucking Therion.
"Bullshit. If there was something new to fuck, every grunt on board would know about it." Grondin redirected his pointing finger toward the hangar doors. "Those don't open and your inspection crew won't inspect shit until I see that container."
Zver bit back a growl. Other than Grondin's asinine posturing, no risk presented itself. Knowing Therion, his brother did as he said. Casually purchased a sexbot for a boy who just budded his praal—the turquoise markings now visible on his face and hands. In fact, his brother would think nothing of it. The same careless way Therion would never think to contact Zver and promise to care for Rannik, his own damned nephew, until Zver arrived.
"Once the case is opened, you are going to open the hangar doors." He wanted the doors open for Rannik. He'd had no concerns about the inspection crew. His men would get the job done, one way or another.
"I'll open 'em myself," Grondin said.
Zver spoke into his C-Cune pinned to his collar. "Wies, unload the cryo-bin. Keep Rannik on board."
Therion gave Grondin a leisurely knock on the shoulder. "And it's a cute Lassie, too."
"Don't fucking touch me," Grondin said.
"Just saying." Therion raised his hands. "It's different."
He heard Rannik protesting and trusted Wies to keep his son on the transport. Two members of the strike team brought the cryo-bin to him. The container's display lights blinked, cryptically taunting him. Unease rolled through him.
Zver shifted, balancing his weight, as Grondin yanked the lid off.
Chapter Two
Seph white-knuckled the torque spanner and hummed “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.”
Why?
Because it was less depressing than “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer.” She used to sing that song to Xander, back when she was sleep deprived and he was too little to know the difference between a drinking song and a lullaby.
Hell, Seph hadn't tasted beer in three weeks. Well, three weeks if she had calculated the Teras calendar correctly. Three weeks away from home was a long time. Long enough for her family to think the worst.
Oh god, what would her parents tell Xander? Mom's missing? Mom's dead? And her poor parents. Her brother was dead, her cousin had gone missing, and now her.
An ache tore at her chest, and Seph pushed against it. Such thoughts wouldn't help her, just break her. And if she broke, she’d never get home.
Suddenly, the container jolted. Her entire left-side collided with the inner wall. The lid tore away, flooding Seph with dim light and a stiff breeze. She heard nothing beyond the pounding of her own
heart. A huge figure loomed over her, directly in the path of the light, shadowing any features.
"What the fuck?" said a voice far deeper and angrier than Rannik had ever sounded.
Not Rannik. All right, then.
Seph bellowed and launched herself out of the cryo-bin like a rabid jack-in-the-box. Hell, if she was going down, she was going down swinging.
She let the heft of the torque spanner pull her swing, just like letting loose with a sledgehammer. She was about to grand slam the shit outta someone.
Air. She freaking hit air.
Seph's body continued to twist with the momentum of her swing, rotating her hips and shoulders in opposite directions. Her feet tried to follow through with the swing, but the narrow space of the cryo-bin tripped her up. Off balance, she stumbled toward the deck.
Massive arms banded around her, snagging her from the bin and crushing her to a hard chest.
Holy freaking hell, her feet dangled above the deck. Way above the deck.
Seph screamed, and even though her arms were pinned in front of her body, she still held onto the torque spanner. She rotated her wrists, trying to clobber her attacker. One fierce shake and Seph lost her hold on the tool. A heavy clatter ricocheted through the shouting voices.
Screw it. She wasn't done. She kicked and thrashed like a cat in a sack. The Teras who held her didn't stagger under her thrashing. He just gave her another full body shake.
"Cease, dammit!" said the Teras who held her.
Seph went rigid.
This was bad. So very, very bad. Through the curtain of her curls, she saw nothing but hulking Teras men. They surrounded her like a pack of beasts. Her eyes darted about, looking for an escape, but she only encountered snarling golden faces covered in turquoise veins. Their marbled eyes flashed. Their lips curled back, baring fangs. All crouched, either pointing a gun or holding their arms and hands braced for grappling. They were all too big. Too ferocious.
She didn't see Rannik. Her heart hammered harder in her chest.
"I am going to release you," said the Teras who held her, speaking Tender.
Her back pressed against his chest. His arms clamped around her. She felt his chest bellowing with each breath he took.
"You will not run. Do you understand?" His voice rumbled through her like thunder.
Seph wheezed, her breath fogging in the cold air. "I understand."
He jerked, squeezed her once, and then pulled away. Cautiously, almost gently, he set her on her feet. Her knees gave way, yet strong hands caught her, cradling her. She sagged, letting him support her.
"Are you harmed?" He softened and lowered his voice, yet it still thrummed through her body. He loomed at her back, her nape tingling with his presence.
Was she harmed? This was what she feared: being found by Teras men. If they thought she was an android, she would be harmed.
She twisted in the Teras's arms, seeking out his face. Her cheek brushed against his neck. His flesh felt chilled, like he'd been outside on a wintry day.
"I'm not a Lassie," she whispered as if sharing a secret between just them. She wanted him to know. Desperately needed him to know.
"I am aware. Are you harmed?"
She trembled. "I... No. Not harmed."
"By Unholde, what is that?"
Seph jumped, instinctively turning to face the angry voice. The words were Terish, the core Teras language that Rannik had just started teaching her. She understood it but preferred to speak in Tender.
The Teras who spoke rose from the deck, fangs bared and nostrils flaring. Her stomach sank as she realized who he must be. He had opened the cryo-bin, and she had swung the torque spanner at him.
Another Teras laughed, his chuckles deteriorating into rough coughs. "It's a Lassie," he hacked out. "Told you it was different."
Seph made the connection. She knew the laughing Teras. He had been with Rannik on Radost. Had haggled with the Lassie trader and purchased her.
But she wasn't a Lassie. She shook her head and took a step back, sheltering against the Teras behind her.
"That's not a fucking Lassie," snarled the Teras who had opened the lid. He pushed to his feet and glowered down at her. "What are you?"
A heavy arm settled across her shoulders, nearly buckling her under its weight, and pulled her back.
"You've never seen her before," said the Teras at her back. It wasn't a question.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Means she's not Prykimis crew. She's not House Jahat."
The Teras who opened the lid dragged his glare from her, aiming it at the Teras who loomed protectively over her. "She? What the hell do you mean by calling it 'she?'"
"Seph!" Rannik cried out.
She jolted, whipping her head about. She couldn't see past the wall of Teras men.
"Rannik!" she cried.
Two hands pressed down on her shoulders, rooting her in place.
"Cease," said her protector.
Fine. She submitted because she could hear the ruckus. Rannik made his way toward her. She tried to look over her shoulder, then up at the Teras behind her. His head turned. His jaw ticked as he watched Rannik approach. He snapped his gaze down to her, his expression hard and angry.
Rannik's warning echoed through her: whatever we do, we do not want Thane Borac to get angry.
Holy shit. The thane stood behind her. And he did look angry. Very angry. Thanemonger.
"Seph!" Rannik came at her fast, yanking her into a crushing hug. She had felt the thane lift his hands as Rannik snatched her away. God, if he hadn't, she'd have been torn in two.
Relief flooded her as she wrapped about Rannik like a spider monkey. It took everything in her not to breakdown and cry.
"You're safe, Seph," Rannik said in a rush. "I told you. I'm House Borac. You have me. You're safe."
She babbled into Rannik's shoulder, repeating his words. "You have me. You have me."
The thane swore, harsh and vicious.
Pain pierced her scalp as someone grabbed her hair, yanking her head away from Rannik's shoulder. She yelped and tightened her hold around Rannik. The Teras who opened the lid fisted her hair, wrenched her head back, and leered closely. He had his other hand clamped cruelly around Rannik's neck, and Rannik buckled under the man's punishing grip. The Teras raked his eyes over her face and inhaled deeply.
The thane ripped the man away. "You do not touch what is mine!"
The other Teras shook himself and sneered. "Your boy just swore himself, Thanemonger. He's clutching for an Apinazeru bitch."
Rannik rose from his knees, his arms still banded about her. He started to run, jostling her with each pounding step. She caught glimpses of Teras in matte black armor, running alongside, protecting them.
"I've got you, Seph. I've got you." Rannik huffed, so riled that he spoke Terish instead of Tender.
God, Rannik must have been running on pure adrenaline, because he carried her up a ramp of a craft and set her down on a bench furthest from the hatch. He knelt before her, chilled hands cupping her face. He shook just as hard as she did.
Rannik looked stricken. "Are you hurt, Seph? Did he hurt you?"
The roots of her hair throbbed. "I'm fine. I'm all right."
The engine roared and the craft lurched. They must be taking off, leaving Prykimis and all those terrible Teras men behind.
Another man approached, swaying with the movement of the craft. Slowly he knelt next to Rannik.
"Cadet, if I may?"
"Where's the thane?" Rannik asked, his voice sounding so young compared to the other Teras men.
"He'll follow on another transport." The Teras consulted the device on his wrist. "I'm to see to our guest."
Rannik hastened to move aside. "Aye, Lekar. Please. Help her."
The new Teras—Lekar—studied her with no trace of heat or anger in his gaze. When she met and held eye contact, he spoke softly.
"Do you understand me?" Lekar asked in Terish.
"Ye
s." She swallowed.
"I'm the medicmaster," he said in Tender, matching her reply.
She looked the man over. He wore a crisp black uniform, similar to Rannik's. His dark hair was cropped close to his head. He didn't loom, but sat back on his heels with his hands resting on his knees. Everything about him said he would wait for her. He gave her a choice.
"I'm not a Lassie," she said.
"Nor are you an Apinazeru," he said, lips tugging in the barest hint of a smile.
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. She knew she couldn't pretend to be a Lassie forever, and now that there was a doctor before her, there was only one thing to do.
Seph braced herself for the blowback. "I'm an alien."
Zver rapped once on the exam door, slid it open, and strode inside. His eyes swept the room. Lekar stood before the MediCune console, entering data. Rannik sat on the medicot, tugging on his uniform jacket.
Zver studied his son's appearance. He noted Rannik's clear, sparkling gaze. The robust, blue flush to his cheeks. The turquoise pattern of his budding praal spreading like fine crackle across his gold skin. His cadet uniform fit well across his lean frame. No apparent weight loss. And as his son drew breath, his chest fully expanded, drawing substantial air. All indicated outward signs of good health.
He wanted to shake him and hold him, all at the same time.
Instead, he turned to Lekar and said, "Report."
Lekar glanced over his shoulder before turning back to the MediCune console. "He's fine, Zver. Lungs are clear. All screenings are clear. Not a scratch on him."
"Not a scratch," Zver said darkly, his gaze hovering on the blue bruising on Rannik's neck.
"That's a contusion," Lekar said, fingers gliding over the console. "As I said, not a scratch. He'll live."
"I'm fine," Rannik said in rush, hands held up to ward him off. "Where's Seph? Can I see her? Lekar won't let me see her."
"Because she's in the sani-stall," Lekar said. "That woman's been living in a cargo hold for over a week. She's entitled to a bath, Rannik."
"I just don't want her getting scared." Rannik hopped off the medicot. "I'll go wait for her."
"Halt." Zver turned to Lekar. "What do we know about her?"