by Leslie Chase
My mate stood over me, exactly as I’d dreamed her. Strange, alien, intoxicating. Her skin pale, pinkish rather than blue, hair a fiery red that framed a heart-shaped face. Dazzling green eyes, wide and frightened. She looked more like a Vehn than a Caibar.
But she wasn’t Imperial, either. No, she lacked the ridges on her skin, and she had hair rather than the feathers of a Vehn.
Nothing like the Caibar I’d expected, hoped for, longed for, but my body’s response left no doubts. My hearts called to her, needed her. The rest of the universe slowed as I focused on her.
The strange female bent over my pod, her eyes wide, frightened, near panic. But beyond that, I thought I saw a firm determination, someone committed to a course that terrified them.
How would I know what her expression means? I’ve never seen this species before. Logic had nothing to do with this, though. My mate was frightened, and I’d do anything to help her. My hearts thudded in my chest, anger spreading through me, anger at whoever dared threaten and frighten my mate.
I looked closer at her, drinking in every detail. She was short, far shorter than I, and she wore a jumpsuit with an unfamiliar logo on it. Her curves filled it out delightfully, the garment hiding just enough to make me want to tear it off and reveal her body.
Someone shouted an angry question behind her, and the redheaded beauty jerked her head around. Anger dragged me towards full consciousness, fury that someone dared speak to her in that tone.
And then she vanished. A green hand closed on her shoulder and pulled her back out of view, leaving me looking at a bare metal ceiling. Heavy footsteps came running, the pod shuddering as someone threw their weight against the open hatch to no effect.
Still weak from stasis-sleep, I forced myself to keep still. I needed to understand the situation before I killed whoever dared manhandle my mate.
The strength of that reaction hit me hard. I would take apart whoever that was, slaughter them. My mind rebelled, trying to doubt the bond between me and that strange female. My body had no doubts, recognizing her as my mate, my love, my fate. Nothing like what I’d expected, but exactly what my heart demanded.
Doubt still clouded my mind. I’d served the Empire for most of my life with the same certainty binding me to its service. They’d altered me, directed my devotion to the Empire itself instead with an implant.
How could I trust my instincts now? But not trusting them proved impossible. A hot certainty filled me, an anger at those who hurt her, and that rage wasn’t under my control. Staying still was a struggle but the stasis-sickness lay heavy on my muscles. I needed to get as much of my strength back as possible before I moved.
I called up a threat assessment, hoping that my tactical implants would uncover more about this situation, the unfamiliar language. My inbuilt computer reached out for the ship’s datasphere for help.
ERROR: data connection missing. Using local database. No match found, add more information to refine results.
That shouldn’t happen. My implants were state of the art, they should connect with any network. Perhaps not penetrate the security but getting as far as a login ought to be possible. A habitat without a datasphere to contact was worrying. Another mystery to investigate later.
No time now. I needed to act.
I’d placed people around the room by the sound of their voices, tactical implants sketching a map in my mind. Echoes told me that the space was cluttered, and I counted at least four people I hadn’t seen yet. The air was breathable, though that was all that could be said for it — hydrocarbon contamination was high, along with several other pollutants. Not hazardous in the short term, but nowhere to live.
My mate argued with someone unseen, voices rising as they got more and more heated. I fixed on his position, plotting it in my mind while I waited for my strength to return. No point in tipping my hand before I was ready.
Sometimes the universe refuses to act on your schedule. The argument came to a sudden halt with the meaty crack of a slap landing, my mate’s words cutting off in mid-shout.
Her cry of pain was too much for me to bear and red fury filled me. I vaulted out of the pod, extending my claws as I moved, eyes flicking around the room to orient myself. Piles of junk everywhere, cables and tubing hung from the ceiling, filthy walls. Air that smelled of hydrocarbon emissions. Lights flickering.
All of that was background, quickly analyzed and dismissed. More important were the people. Drall, lumbering but dangerous, common mercenaries. Strong, faster than they looked, they were formidable foes, and they outnumbered me five to one.
Each had a sunburst painted on their cheek to mark an allegiance to a common cause. One stood over my mate, who lay on the floor clutching at her face. Their leader, I guessed, judging by his more ornate face-paint.
Each Drall carried a weapon, though they were not armed for war. Their leader carried a wide-barreled blaster carbine, one had a pistol, the rest made do with hatchets and machetes.
That assessment took less than a heartbeat, my implants updating my tactical map with information at the speed of thought. The Drall stood frozen, all eyes on me, and I bared my fangs at their leader. If I’d been a step closer, I’d have killed him then and there — but weak from stasis and low on reserves I didn’t dare risk it. He might kill the female before I gutted him, a chance I would not take. My tail lashed from side to side, the vibroblade implanted at its tip sliding out and humming, ready to kill.
“Let her go.” I spoke in the Imperial tongue, and his hesitation surprised me. Everyone of any consequence spoke Imperial, and it was a common second language among the Drall.
“You, no claim here,” he replied, his accent as atrocious as his grammar. “Back in box.”
“That is my mate,” I said, slow and careful. Giving him every chance to understand the seriousness of his error and back down. “You will let her go and apologize to her, or you will die. Choose now.”
I don’t know if he understood or not. Either way, he made the wrong decision. A quick gesture brought the other Drall in at a charge, coming at me from every direction.
They might as well have been swimming through honey. My body kicked into combat mode, muscles activating on reflex alone, and I leaped to meet the foe blocking my path to the female.
My claws opened his throat before he realized I was on him, a spray of green-blue blood shooting from his neck. I ducked around him, ignoring his clumsy counterstrike and kicking him into the line of fire of the pistol-wielder. With a curse the gunman ducked to the side, looking for a clear shot.
Another Drall swung a cleaver at me, fast for his species and with plenty of strength behind the blow. My cyberarm deflected the attack, his blade scraping along the sculpted metal with a shower of sparks.
My tail sliced him open from waist to throat and he was dead before he hit the deck. I was already moving on, pushing myself as fast as possible to rescue the girl.
The big Drall threatening her raised his blaster, but rather than fire or hold the girl hostage, he turned to run. A moment of relief flooded my system, slowing me enough that a wrench wielding Drall nearly got a blow in. Catching his wrist at the last second, I snapped it and sent the wrench flying.
The pistoleer took aim as I spun, putting the Drall I’d disarmed between us. To his credit and my surprise the gunman had enough fire discipline to not shoot his friend. I threw the screaming Drall at him and followed, claws flashing and tail lashing out. Both Drall went down, bleeding out, and I turned back to their leader.
He’d almost reached the door, but this wasn’t a blind flight. Seeing the last of his guards fall, he spun, blaster carbine rising to point at my mate.
What he thought killing her would achieve I didn’t know and didn’t care. I snatched the laser pistol up and snapped off a shot.
The cheap pistol buzzed and sparked in my hand, the beam going wide of its mark. I cursed — instead of drilling a neat hole in the Drall’s forehead, it struck along his snout.
Not a fatal wound, but enough to make him flinch as his finger closed on the trigger. The blaster’s blinding-bright bolt slammed into the wall instead of my mate. She screamed, rolling away from the super-heated metal, and by the time I’d looked back to my target he’d vanished out the door.
Two instincts warred in my hearts. I had to give chase, track him down, kill him — but also to go to my mate and make sure she was safe and well. I snarled a curse after the fleeing Drall, but she was my priority. She was my mate.
I struggled to doubt those feelings, but it was impossible. On a deep-down level, I knew that she was mine. Only I’d been fooled by that before. The back of my head itched where the Imperial implant had been, the small scar burning.
My indecision lasted only a heartbeat before I advanced towards her. Let the coward run, I’d kill him later.
Trembling, she backed away from me.
“Do not fear, you are safe now,” I told her. My body left combat mode and I suppressed a tremor. I’d used a lot of resources since I last ate, and it showed. Warning lights told me to return to base, my reserves almost exhausted.
Behind me, one of the Drall kicked and spasmed. Without looking, I shot him through the head. A warrior doesn’t let his enemies suffer without cause.
The noise of the shot made my mate jump, and she scrambled to pick up a weapon. The Drall knife looked more like a sword in her small hands. Though it trembled in her grip, she held it high. Ready to cut if I approached.
“You are holding that wrong,” I said in my clearest Imperial. “If you hit with that grip, you’ll injure your wrist.”
It would do a lot more than that to me: the knife had a monomolecular blade, and even striking my cyberarm it would do a lot of damage. But my safety didn’t matter as much as hers did.
A slow, careful step forward brought me closer to her. She withdrew, saying something in a strange, lyrical language. “Stib’ck, azhole.”
My hearts beat fast at the sight of her. Attacked, nearly shot, facing a Caibar warrior, she still had the strength and presence of mind to grab a weapon and defend herself. What a female! I had to have her.
That distant, nagging doubt would not leave, though. Should I go with my instincts? The Empire had played them, altered them, kept me subservient using them.
What if this female had done something similar to me while I slept? Had she hijacked my emotions, made me her protector against my will? How would I know? The implant that had controlled me was gone. I should be safe… but trusting that was impossible.
I watched her reactions warily, trying to judge whether she was deceiving me. Unfortunately, she was the most distracting sight I could have chosen to look at. A low growl escaped my throat and I took a step closer, pulled toward her by inexorable instinct.
Though she kept the monoblade raised defensively, she felt the same pull. I saw it in her eyes, the way she couldn’t help looking me up and down. I grinned at that, and her breathing caught, the knife steadying in her grip. Did she think I was a threat?
That was unfortunate, because a real threat was coming our way. Heavy footsteps hurried towards our location; doubtless reinforcements summoned by the escaped Drall leader. Still too distant to count, there were enough of them to be a danger to her. To me too, in my present condition, but I’d risk my life in any battle. Hers was a different matter.
I made a snap decision. Getting answers to my questions would take time and a chance to learn her language. That meant getting her out of this deathtrap.
The knife shifted in her grip and I moved. My metal hand struck the flat of her blade, pushing it aside, and I smacked her wrist with my other hand. The lightest of hits, but enough. She yelped, fingers too numb to keep her grip on the weapon, and I pulled it from her hands.
Before she reacted to that, I swept her off her feet and threw her over my shoulder. Choosing the direction from which I heard no movement, I tapped what was left of my reserves and ran into the dark corridors of whatever this place was.
7
Carrie
Everything happened so fast. One moment the Drall were about to kill me, the next they were dead. All of them except Syrcen, and he’d turned tail and run.
It took an effort to remember that unleashing the Caibar had been my plan. I’d never imagined a slaughter like that when I pulled the lever.
The killer disarmed me before I had time to adjust, took my stolen sword from me as casually as breathing. I didn’t even have time to protest before he slung me over his shoulder and carried me off. Wrists stinging where he’d hit me, breath knocked out of me, all I could do was watch as the corridors zoomed past, far faster than anyone had a right to run. I clung to the Caibar warrior for dear life, his broad shoulder supporting me, cyborg arm holding my legs. Even carrying me he moved with a graceful, steady run and made no sound that I heard.
Where was he taking me? What would he do with me when he got there? And why didn’t those questions bother me more? For some reason I felt safe in his grip, despite the facts — he was a killer, a warrior, and he’d kidnapped me. Being his prisoner ought to terrify me, not excite me.
Despite that, I tried to figure out how to escape my captor. For now it was impossible: even if I got out of his iron grip, hitting the deck at this speed would shatter my bones.
At last he slowed down and I raised my head to look around. The corridor was dark, a few working lights casting long, eerie shadows. Scavengers had been through, stripping cables and parts from the walls, leaving detritus lying everywhere.
“Let me go,” I gasped as my captor stalked through the wrecked station, slow and cautious now. He ignored me until I tried to squirm clear of his arms, and then only tightened his grip. The cyborg hand held me like a vice — not tight enough to hurt, but impossible to escape. I was certain that if he chose, that metal hand would crush my bones with ease.
Scary as that thought was, I still didn’t feel like I was in danger. He hadn’t hurt me aside from the hit that disarmed me, and that only stung. The Caibar warrior had taken care not to harm me more than he had to.
Oh come on, he’s kidnapped me. Disarmed me, dragged me off into the darkness of the station, and god knows what he’s got planned for me. I swallowed, flushed, biting my lip as images of what he might have in mind flashed before me.
My body wasn’t exactly objecting. His touch, his strength, his confidence — all made me more excited than afraid. It was neither reasonable nor rational, but that made no difference. A tremor of desire ran through my body as he carried me into the darkness. Even the thought of his strength, my vulnerability in his arms, made me tingle.
I tried to explain it to myself. A natural reaction to surviving a firefight, perhaps? Or being with this man, the guy I’d been fantasizing about since the first moment I saw him? Those things might be part of it, but they weren’t enough to explain the aching need between my legs.
“Let me down,” I tried again. “Look, I’m grateful that you rescued me, and if you get me back to my ship, I’ll reward you—“
Yep, get me back to my bed and I’ll reward you all right. The horny bit of my brain would not shut up. It was ridiculous; this brute was not turning me on. I refused to accept that, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
“—but you can’t carry me off like this. I’m asking you politely, please put me down?”
No response, not even an acknowledgement that I’d spoken. I sighed, accepting the obvious. “You don’t understand me, do you? Well, shit.”
A few turns later, and my captor stopped. At last he put me down, surprisingly gentle, and I scrambled away as soon as my feet hit the deck. The huge alien warrior followed, staying just out of arms reach, until I backed into a wall. His golden eyes shone like a cat’s in the dim light as he towered over me.
“Neche vho Vehn?” Whatever that meant, I didn’t understand a word of it. But it wasn’t the words that held my attention: my captor’s voice, a deep, rough growl, made me quiver. It was as though it rea
ched into my brain and flicked every switch to ‘horny.’
Down, girl. I don’t care how sexy he sounds, he killed five people in as many seconds. I tried to keep my focus on that, on how dangerous he was. Okay, he’d killed my enemies, but that didn’t make him safe.
“Neche. Vho. Vehn?” he repeated, slower, enunciating each word. Was that last word Imperial? I wracked my brain, trying to dig out the bits and pieces of that language Alice had drummed into me.
Probably he was asking if I spoke the language. I shook my head, hoping that I remembered the word for no. “Kyo.”
He frowned, muttered something too fast to follow, and adrenaline rushed through my veins. Whatever else happened, I did not want this man frustrated or angry with me.
Something half-remembered came back to me, advice for being abducted. Get your captors to empathize with you, make them think of you as a person. Good advice or bad, I didn’t know, but it gave me something to try.
Pressing a hand to my chest, I looked him in the eye and told him my name. “Captain Carrie Ferrow.”
His brows furrowed. Was my full name too complicated? I tried something simpler. “Carrie.”
“Khaa-Ree,” he replied, mangling my name worse than anyone had managed before. I winced and he tried again, doing no better. It was a start, though.
“So what’s your name, big guy?” I asked, gesturing to him. A heartbeat passed and then his expression cleared, and he tapped his chest.
“Vhe Delkor,” he said. “Delkor.”
“Delkor,” I repeated, sure that I wasn’t pronouncing his name any better than he had mine. But he smiled and nodded. Great, at least I knew what to call my abductor now.
It was a start. And he hadn’t attacked me again. Maybe my instinctive feeling of safety was justified, and not some super-fast kind of Stockholm syndrome. I straightened up, looking around the room and trying to get my bearings. Whatever it had been, now it was a mess of junk, a dumping ground for those things scavengers hadn’t considered valuable enough to cart off. Must have happened soon after the Empire’s collapse, I thought, or by scavengers a lot more wasteful than us. The crew of the Ladies’ Choice would have stripped that copper piping, pulled up the foam insulation, hell, we’d have taken the few lights that still worked given the chance.
