StarSet (The Warrior Prince's Claim - BBW Science Fiction Romance)

by Calista Skye

  They were scavengers. Anything on the ship could be the target of their aims. As far as she was concerned, they'd find out when they found out.

  What did concern her was the dead thing that might possibly be a remade-woman. That she'd keep beats on. It would sting a little too close to home if Tana came back with an affirmative report. Shala had a cousin out there that most of the family had written off as kidnapped and done for. But Shala hadn't written her off at all. She still held tight to the sliver of hope that she'd find her roaming the various sectors, and if the acquisitioners had her, free her. No matter the amount of corrupted blood she might have to spill in the process.

  Her jaw clenched, but she bat the thoughts away as soon as they came.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Blinking up, Shala beamed when her eyes set on Heren, and she perked up instantly.

  Her old partner in crime. Of a sort. In university, he and the other members of their guerrilla activism group had done their fair share setting the lab animals free, in the most assholish ways possible.

  Stars, she missed that.

  Heren was a deck guard now, usually assigned to the more common portions of the various allied, city ships. She hadn't noticed him on Telera one's roster, though. Stars, how long had it been? What, a year or two after university the last time they saw one another?

  “Heren, buddy! Flippin' good to see you. How've you been?”

  His dusty, violet brows rising with a resigned sense of defeat, Heren shrugged, familiar, neon-green eyes setting on her.

  “The common areas of this ship aren't anything to brag about, but it's work.”

  Offering him an understanding nod, Shala tried to keep sympathy from rising to her face. Zerens were a prideful bunch, if nothing else, and she had no desire to ruin his night. It was bad enough he got the shit jobs because of his luminous eyes and coiling horns. He might have a professor-grade mind, but the allied forces were still a little antiquated where ship placement was concerned. If you looked scary enough to keep an alien race that needed coaxing in line, you'd be assigned to that job, and that job alone.

  “I'll be glad when we're planetside, myself. Then, I'm going on vacation.”

  Heren nodded and grinned, his attention flickering to the bar menu where he pressed the blinking, red "specials" light.

  “Good choice.”

  Shala wriggled a brow.

  She might order that hersel-

  “Zietz!” The lounge Blip announced with a high-pitched shriek, slamming Heren's drink down in front of him.

  Shala jumped despite herself, forgetting how loud Blips tended to be. Exchanging a glance with Heren, she stifled a laugh with him. The beaming, pink eyes of the Blip darted between the pair, and tittering, it headed off with its turquoise, shell tray lifted high, its jagged, shards of greenish hair bouncing with each step.

  “Raucous, little fur balls.”

  “That they are.”

  Shala glanced down at the promenade menu, ignoring the better mind in her that told her to forgo another drink and head off to bed. She'd need her mind tomorrow, but her spirit needed a serious defrag. Though it was unlikely the acquisitioners would strike again within the next day or two, it just never paid to be unprepared when another strike was sure. Especially without knowing what they were after and how they planned to acquire it next.

  The girl-thing had been a scout, Shala was convinced, but if she'd had an opportunity to recover something, it was sure her directive was to do just that. Feeling Heren's eyes on her, she decided to have just one more drink - for old times. She hadn't seen him in a good stretch, and it would probably be awhile before she did again. Nipping her lip, her finger hovered over the menu.

  “Next one's on me,” Heren insisted, and brushing her finger aside, the Zeren pressed the neon, yellow button with a wink. “You'll thank me in the morning.”

  Shala crooked a brow.

  “Will I now?”

  “It's smoother," he said with a helpful shrug. "And you've got your hands full.”

  Slow swallowing, Shala looked away. Please, not this conversation. Not now. She'd come here to clear her head. Had finally gotten herself to stop running over the details of the attack.

  “Sorry. You probably came her to wind down.

  Shala shrugged, looking to him from the corner of her eye.

  “Is there much talk about it?”

  He grinned. It was a dastardly grin that stretched his plush lips and called a gleam to his neon eyes. He was handsome in that rugged, devilish way that errantly filled so many childhood nightmares. Before the Zerens became allied, they were feared with a fiery passion, nearly facing war for little more than the false tales told by random ship men.

  Shala was glad those sorts of tall tales didn't influence the official reports of the day's records anymore. Zerens were a gentle people unless riled. They were fierce warriors, yes, but only when the matter called for it. In their downtime, and they had much of that as jobless as much of them were on allied ships, they displayed a keen flair for the arts that could fetch them a bevy of credits if they had even one iota of business sense about them.

  “You know what? Let's take your mind off of it. This here will do the trick.”

  His finger tapped a flashing green light on the bar menu.

  Shala grinned.

  “I'll take your word for it.”

  “You must. It's an old favorite from the home planet. Said to bring one in alignment with their true destiny. I wouldn't steer you wrong.”

  ~

  Shala held tight to the rails of the smarn-wood, paneled deck. Her head was swimming, and she wasn't entirely sure she'd taken the right corridor. The ship was confusing when you had enough liquor in you. She smiled to herself drunkenly. Her little trip to the promenade had been worth it. She was as blissfully far away from all thoughts of the case as she could be, and that suited her just fine right now.

  Squinting her eyes, she took another turn into what she guessed was the ramp to the officer bunks, but the scent of Soll smoke instantly alerted her to her folly. Wrinkling her nose, she bristled, reactively sobering enough to realize her error.

  Shit.

  “Can I help you, Officer?”

  A lovely, moon-skinned girl with gleaming violet eyes stepped in front of her, blocking her path into the dim room. She cocked her head at Shala with a question in her measuring gaze.

  “Oh, I... seem to have taken a wrong turn. Pardon me. Ishma.”

  Offering a smile of consolation, Shala turned to her left.

  “The door's back that way. The way you came in.”

  “Ah. Right.”

  Humiliation heating her cheeks, Shala turned again immediately, bumping her head into the very broad chest of another Teleran with a start. Lifting her eyes with mortified curiosity, she stifled a gasp. Oh, shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. She would definitely be hearing about this in the morning.

  Fuck.

  “We meet again.”

  Voice thrumming through her, Prince Tarik eyed her with a curious, almost fascinated glint in his eye, not making to move an inch. Shala breathed in his woody, ocean scent in waves, willing her legs to step around him but finding them entirely uncooperative.

  Stars, he was impressive. More than she might have otherwise imagined. Tucking her head, she made herself look away.

  “My sincerest pardon-”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  The prince grinned, amused.

  “I-”

  Recognition dawning on him, he nodded to himself.

  “You certainly have. Well good for you, Officer Kane. Glad to see some personality in the ship's staff.”

  Shala blustered, finding her usually witty comebacks missing from the storehouse in her head. Maybe she shouldn't have had that last drink, after all.

  “I'm terribly sorry. I'll... just be going now.”

  “So soon?”

  The prince cricked a brow.

  “Tarik.”
<
br />   “It's fine, Jana. This one's investigating the attack on the lower decks. A hero of sorts. We owe her some hospitality.”

  Shala stole a glance from the side of her eye, and found the pink-haired woman folding her arms over her chest, obviously displeased with the prince's decision but decidedly averse to challenging him openly about it.

  “I really should be going,” Shala stuttered out, her chest heaving for breath in front of the Teleran giant. She was usually more on her level when she encountered the Telerans. This was just... too humiliating for words.

  Even worse, she didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay and flirt with the prince. Which was insane because he was beyond off-limits. Diplomatic relations with the Telerans were shaky at best. If she did anything to disrupt them, anything that broke the already firmly set rules, she could be discharged from the ship.

  And that would not bode well for her career.

  Sober up, Shala. Time. To. Go.

  She heard the female Teleran sniff behind her and held back against the irritation it sparked. The women could be a touch nastier than the men, especially with those of the warrior class, as this one so obviously was.

  “At least allow me to escort you back to your room. These are dangerous times, and you do not have your head.”

  He reached out and touched her cheek with a playful, not completely untoward affection, and a jag of electricity shot through Shala. It was bad enough she hadn't been touched by a man in... forever. She didn't need the added distraction of perfect chemistry with a friggin' Teleran prince.

  Get it together, Chica.

  “Sure, if you insist.”

  It wasn't a bad idea actually.

  “I'll come, as well,” the female Teleran he'd called 'Jana' volunteered.

  “No worries. It's your born day. Have another drink with Ral. I'll be back.”

  Hearing the female's sharp intake of breath, Shala took her cue and stepped around the prince, her skin prickling with heat when he drew close and took her arm, helping her to the door. Was she really that drunk?

  The door slid shut behind them with a woosh, and Shala stole a glance at the prince before shyly looking away.

  “Don't be ashamed,” he offered gently.

  “Shouldn't I be?”

  “No.”

  Grimacing, Shala glanced the corridor uneasily.

  “I'm an officer. One without clearance on this level. If the Captain-”

  “Never mind, Captain Von. No one on my detail will breathe a word of it.”

  His words were gentle and insistent, and Shala couldn't help but warm to them as a heady relaxation heated her body. If he had this effect on her with words, she couldn't imagine what-

  No, Ma'am. She wasn't going there.

  “I appreciate that. You don't know how much.”

  “It's nothing. You're helping me, too.”

  Shala cricked a brow.

  “Well, it's my job to investigate-”

  “Not with the case. Though I thank you for that. I mean giving me a reason to get out and enjoy a little freedom. It's so rarely afforded me on this floating beast.”

  Shala grinned.

  The prince had an actual personality. A real one, beyond gruff one word, or even one sentence answers. Beneath the rough Teleran exterior, he had a living heart beating in his chest that didn't seem blindly dogmatic or devoted to the more stifling, Teleran systems.

  It was a seriously pleasant surprise. Royalty in any culture could be the absolute worst, and she was sure Tarik was no stranger to being doted on and catered to at the whim-level of nearly all things.

  “Do you lose your head very often?”

  The prince asked it with the air of a joke, a soft chuckle trailing it.

  “Next to never.”

  “I thought as much.”

  A pang of disappointment struck Shala as they reached deck, but she forced it back and replaced it with a grateful smile when they approached the door to the decks she inhabited. She could sense that he wouldn't go any further, and it was just as well. Nice fantasy. But there was nothing here to pine over when it could never be actualized.

  “Well, thank you again.”

  “Thank you, Officer Kane.”

  A smile that made her heart thud raucously in her chest creased his lush mouth in punctuation, and Shala felt like she'd turn to goo in that moment. Hand shaking as she fumbled to lift her ID bracelet to the sensors, flitting her fingers over the keypad to enter her code, she tried and failed to hide the affect it had on her.

  “I'm sure we'll meet again.”

  Shala met his eyes once more, desiring that outcome more than she liked.

  “Perhaps we will, Prince Tarik. Perhaps, we will.”

  Grinning, the prince turned without fanfare, and made his way back along the corridors they'd just traveled together, like teenage sweethearts, she'd imagined, his stride telling of the wildly, potent force within him.

  She knew it then with a certainty that would most certainly frustrate her as time went on: he'd fully gotten under her skin.

  5

  Pressing a warm pack to her head, Shala groaned at her station. Smooth drink her ass. Maybe to a Zeren, but she was pretty sure the near migraine she was battling was entirely due to her old friend's brilliant suggestion. She should have left the promenade when she'd had the chance. Another thought interrupted that one, and she realized she wouldn't have bumped into the prince if she had. She'd have made her way back to her level without the entirely fuzzy head Heren's drink had given her.

  Ah, well.

  Everything had its reason, she supposed.

  “Officer Kane.”

  Bristling, Shala stealthily withdrew the warm pack and deposited it at the edge of her seat between her knees. The Captain had impeccable timing, didn't he? Always seemed to catch her off her level. It was like a gift that, for everyone else aboard, was a curse.

  “Captain Von. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Turning, she managed a tight smile, relieved that she didn't find a scowl on the Captain's face.

  “Tana has a report for you. I don't think you're going to like it.”

  He frowned. “I certainly don't.”

  “What did she find?”

  Shifting uncomfortably, the Captain swallowed his distaste before answering.

  So it was bad then. Really bad. Shit.

  “That was no AI, Shala. She was human. Remade.”

  Shala let out a gust of air, only realizing she'd been holding her breath in that instant.

  “I was worried the tissue might come back organic.”

  “It gets worse.”

  Her stomach plummeted, but she fought back against the thoughts that rose to chorus in her head: It's Nineh. Definitely Nineh. He's about to confirm it.

  “How much worse?”

  “She's the daughter of a Tavalar. And a Teleran killed her.”

  “By accident. In defense. He didn't know...”

  Shala caught herself a little too late, realizing the overly protective nature of her tone when the Captain's brow rose.

  “You don't have to convince me. But we will have a time convincing the Tavalar Enforcer.”

  Shala lowered her head.

  Shit. This was supremely, fucking bad.

  “Check in with Tana then report to the Brix and Lex. We're assembling a round table. There'll be two fires to put out. One could defund us beyond our wildest nightmares; the other... isn't any prettier.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  ~

  Shala dragged her feet down the corridors. Her head was a maelstrom of conflict. How in the worlds were they going to get past this one? Even if the allied forces understood the obviousness of the situation, the Tavalar enforcer would insist proper protocols weren't followed. That the Telerans were given free reign of the ship to sate their surly natures, when officers should be posted on every floor.

  It was a bent rule, one with a loophole, but Shala was sure that loophole would be
keenly ignored in light of what transpired.

  The allied forces were charged to observe customs to the best of their ability, but not at the expense of ship or mission security. If no one had actually died on the royal deck, it would have never come up. But someone actually did. A Tavalar's missing daughter. A daughter who'd been remade. His anger would certainly be displaced, but it was understandable.

  Shala wasn't entirely sure she'd listen to reason if something like this had happened to Nineh. She'd have been looking for heads to roll, too, and she wouldn't have stopped insisting upon it in any of the courts who would hear the case until someone paid dearly.

  It was like that when you were bound by blood or union to someone you loved with everything you had, and they were ripped from you. If protocols had been followed, this might have gone differently. An officer would have incapacitated her. Telerans had a warrior instinct and a highly suspicious nature. Not knowing the girl's programmed aim, the better choice was to eliminate her in the Prince's mind.

  And now they had no daughter to hand back to the Tavalar enforcer. It wouldn't matter that the girl hadn't been his blood child. He'd raised her from a young age when he'd found her in the orphanages on Mala 10. Word had it that her mother had been a courtesan and dropped her there, obviously intent on keeping her lover happy. The girl's real father might have been a man of bearing and position, himself. It was difficult to tell without a blood scan.

  Blood tests weren't requisite to the Mala 10 orphanages.

  There were too many little ones to find a home for. The man hours and funds couldn't be spared. As far as most saw it, there was no point in chasing down someone's parents if the parents did not want to be found.

  Sad but unavoidable.

  Shala couldn't imagine what life must have been like for those beginning years. The girl would have had a happy, middle life, but it ended in the worst way possible. No one should have to face the acquisitioners' nets. Except, perhaps, the acquisitioners themselves.