LC01 Sweet Starfire

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Cidra, can you hear me? It’s over. Listen to me. It’s over. Let go, lady. Let go.”

  Severance caught a brief movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced toward the cargo bay and saw Fred release the leg on which he had been gnawing. The rockrug flowed toward his master. “What the hell happened in here?” Severance asked softly, wishing the rockrug could answer.

  Fred hummed a little in response and undulated up into the bunk to settle on Cidra’s stomach. Then he began shifting his pliable body in a rhythm that didn’t take him anywhere but seemed to emulate the stroking movements Severance’s hands were making.

  “It’s all right, Cidra. It’s all over. Can you hear me? All over. You’re safe now.”

  Very slowly some of the unnatural tension seemed to seep from her body. Beneath his hand Severance could feel the gradual unknotting of the muscles in her arms. Her head began to move restlessly. He kept talking to her, muttering meaningless words of comfort. Even though he knew there was no instant cure for the Screamer’s results, Severance decided to get Cidra to the nearest med facility. If nothing else, they could tranquilize her into unconsciousness.

  Her lashes lifted just as he started to get to his feet. Instantly he knelt again beside the bunk.

  “Cidra?”

  She seemed to have trouble focusing on him, but at last she realized who was beside her. Her lips moved, shaping soundless words. She touched her tongue to the dry surfaces and tried again.

  “Is the castle . . . safe?”

  “Everything’s safe, Cidra. Don’t try to talk. Just try to sleep. It’s the only way out of this. Try to sleep.”

  “I know you left Fred in command,” she whispered, “but they were going to shoot him. There wasn’t anybody left . . . except me.”

  Relief poured through Severance as he realized that she was starting to breathe normally. It didn’t look as though he would need the med facility after all. Gently he continued stroking her.

  “We’ll talk about it when you wake up. Go to sleep, Cidra. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

  He watched her relax slowly into unconsciousness, and then he got to his feet once more. He studied the two men lying near the cargo bay while he unlatched the courier pack he had just picked up from a patron. It was being sent to Renaissance, and the shipper had been most anxious that it travel under computer lock. To humor him Severance had performed the little drama of latching the pack to his wrist. It was an ancient shipping custom that could still impress customers although Severance privately thought it wasn’t very practical as a security technique. But it seemed to have reassured the patron. It had also taken up precious time.

  Dumping the pack carelessly into a nearby storage bin, Severance went toward the cargo bay to investigate the intrusion that had apparently caused Cidra to pull the Screamer. With the toe of his boot he nudged one of the unconscious uniformed men onto his back. Then he went down on one knee and pulled out the man’s certification card.

  For a long time Severance studied the port security identification. It appeared almost genuine. It would easily have fooled Cidra, who wasn’t accustomed to double-checking a stranger’s ID.

  The second man was sprawled halfway through the cargo bay opening. His arm still lay across the shipping container bearing the red COD seal.

  Suddenly it all made sense to Teague Severance.

  All except one small matter.

  Twenty minutes later, as Severance Pay lifted off for the long trip to Renaissance, Severance was still pondering the fact that Cidra Rainforest must have gone against everything she had ever been taught when she’d used the Screamer to stop two safeguards from stealing the shipment.

  A postman could do worse than go into space with a woman who was willing to risk her life for the mail.

  FOUR

  Cidra’s first thought when she awoke was that a giant torla had accidentally stepped on her head. Such a thing could only happen accidentally; as torlas were too stupid to do anything on purpose except eat. They were also too stupid to move once they had accidentally stepped on someone. So, of course, Cidra assumed, the beast was still crushing her.

  Unless, of course, this was the first assault in a war of revenge against the human population of Lovelady. If it was, Cidra could hardly blame them. The big, dumb, placid torlas had become a prime source of meat shortly after the First Families arrived. Knowing torlas, it might have taken them two hundred years to wake up to the fact that they had an enemy.

  “I’m a vegetarian.” Cidra didn’t even try to open her eyes as she squeaked her protest. The torla on her head didn’t move.

  “I know,” came the response from somewhere to her right. “Just one more problem. Here, I’ve got some ‘gesics. They won’t knock you out like that oblivo stuff does, but they’ll help the headache. Open your mouth, Cidra. They have to dissolve under your tongue.”

  A strong, sinewy arm slid under her shoulders, lifting her. The pain in Cidra’s head changed from a steady state of heavy pressure into sharp bolts of lightning. Tears burned beneath Cidra’s eyes. The humiliation washed over her, momentarily more intense than even the agony in her head.

  “I apologize,” she gritted.

  “For what?” Severance asked, calmly shoving two small objects under Cidra’s tongue. “The tears? Forget it. Most people would be screaming about now”

  Cidra sensed a faint fizzing sensation as the tablets dissolved. Experimentally she lifted her lashes and found herself looking up into Teague Severance’s gray eyes. He didn’t appear especially pleased with her as he knelt beside the lower bunk, cradling her in one arm. There was a grimness around the edges of his mouth.

  “The act of screaming would only make it worse,” Cidra explained with grave logic. She managed to blink back the incipient tears.

  “It can’t be as bad now as it was when you cranked on the Screamer. Saints in hell, lady, that thing must have ripped you apart.”

  “I thought that’s exactly what it was doing.” Automatically she looked down at herself. The black-and-silver surplice was a mess, stained in places from her damp, perspiring body. The finely spun crystal-moss fabric looked as crumpled as she felt. But she seemed to be all in one piece. Then she realized she didn’t feel quite right even though nothing appeared to be missing. “Are we in space?”

  “Two hours out of Lovelady. I’ve got the grav on.” Severance steadied her with one hand while his other went to her braided coronet.

  The artificial gravity explained the faint strangeness she was feeling. “What are you doing?” Belatedly Cidra realized that Severance was freeing the fireberyl comb in her hair.

  “I thought your head might feel a little better if you loosen those braids.” He tossed the expensive comb down onto the bunk beside her and deftly began unpinning her hair.

  The intimate touch of his hands was vaguely alarming. Cidra wasn’t accustomed to much physical contact. Harmonics had a great respect for the privacy of another person’s body. Instinctively she tried to draw away from Severance. His grip on her shoulders tightened in response.

  “Hold still. I’ll have these down in a minute.”

  “I’ll do it.” She lifted her hand to her hair, trying to take over the small task. Her fingers came in contact with his, tangling for an instant. He ignored her efforts, pushing her hand aside. She felt the roughness of his scars.

  “I’ve almost got it. This must be harder to put together than a coalition of free miners on QED. How long does it take every morning?” Two long braids tumbled free, falling down over Cidra’s breasts. As if intrigued by the intricate braiding, Severance’s fingers follow the line of one braid all the way down to the tip. His hand hovered there, filling Cidra’s body with a new tension.

  Her concentration was abruptly torn between the pain in her head and her intense awareness of the proximity of Teague’s fingers. She realized that she was holding her breath, knowing that if she inhaled, she would thrust herself against his hand.

 
“I work my hair during the first morning change.” She couldn’t think of anything else to do except answer his question. He was beginning to unwind the individual braids now, starting from the bottom and moving upward. Cidra drew a small sigh of relief as the masculine fingers moved to her shoulder. She could risk breathing again.

  “Well, you’ll have plenty of time on this trip to fool with your hair. How’s the head?”

  “Better.”

  “Good. With any luck no one will find those two fake guards for a whole day or two. They won’t have any ‘gesics to help with the headaches.” There was a certain distinct satisfaction in Severance’s voice.

  Cidra looked up at him as her hair loosened beneath his touch. “Fake guards? They didn’t represent port security at Lovelorn?”

  “No more than I represent a convention of Saints. Good ID, though. I’m not surprised you bought their story. And they must have had some good connections too. It’s not that easy to get hold of an official mail ship bypass.”

  “Why were they trying to steal your cargo?”

  “Those sensors we’ve got on board are one of a kind gadgets. The latest designs out of ExcellEx labs. The company wants them shipped to their exploration post on Renaissance.”

  “I’ve never heard of ExcellEx.”

  “It’s a small outfit run by a tough little guy who left one of the big exploration companies a few seasons ago to start his own firm. His name’s Quench. He’s shrewd, and he’s willing to slit throats when necessary. I’ve handled a few private shipments for him lately. He seems satisfied. If he can get ExcellEx up and running within the next three or four seasons, he’ll own one of the hottest exploration companies in the system.”

  “And you’ll be one of his most trusted mailmen. He’ll give you the most lucrative runs. Maybe even employ you full-time so you won’t have to scrounge for shipments.”

  Severance showed his teeth. “Nobody ever said Harmonics aren’t as fast as everyone else when it comes to figuring out a business deal.”

  “Harmonics have to be fast at analyzing business situations,” Cidra informed him demurely. “If they weren’t, they’d get eaten alive by unscrupulous Wolves.”

  “They seem to do all right. Where do you think the phrase ‘rich as a Saint’ comes from? I don’t know of too many poor ones, except perhaps for the young ones who are still doing research or perfecting their art and music.”

  Cidra shrugged and instantly regretted it as the pain flared back to life in her head. Severance was right. The Harmonics participated in the freewheeling business practices that dominated commerce throughout the Stanza Nine system. Clementia produced and marketed the results of scientific research, as well as fine art, poetry, and music that thrilled the senses. Wolves were a ready market for the talents of Clementia. But when it came to business, Harmonics couldn’t rely on the customary goodwill of the general population. Agents who were Wolves, themselves, were used for the often fierce negotiating that took place when a Harmonic product went up for sale. Her own father had made a sizable fortune selling sophisticated investment strategies. Constructing and analyzing complex economic models of the wide-ranging commerce of the worlds of Stanza Nine was a hobby for Garn Oquist. He was a mathematician by training and inclination.

  Cidra considered what she had just been told. “So someone else wants those sensors?”

  “Looks like it. Since they’re supposed to he top secret, that presents an interesting problem.” Severance finished untwisting one long braid. He drew his fingers down through it slowly. There was an oddly preoccupied expression on his face as he watched the red highlights hidden in Cidra’s hair come to life in the thick stuff.

  Cidra, herself, found it difficult to maintain a casual conversational tone as she asked, “If the sensors are so valuable, why weren’t they shipped out on a commercial freighter under company guard?” Instead of answering right away, Severance began to work on the second braid. This time his hand seemed to be almost resting on her breast as he began unwinding the strands. And when he spoke, Cidra heard a new harshness in his voice.

  “In addition to the fact that it costs three times as much to ship that way, Quench wasn’t sure it would really buy him any protection. There’s no method of keeping that kind of shipment secret. He was hoping that if he sent the sensors with me on a normal private mail hop, no one would notice. It was a risk, but that’s how you make good credit.”

  “Well, someone did notice.” Cidra began to breathe again as Severance’s fingers moved upward. A part of her felt strangely disappointed, but another part was appalled at her own sensual curiosity. She had been so sure she had outgrown the very un-Harmonic desire for physical knowledge that had tormented her socially as a young girl. “Do you know who?”

  “Who knew the shipment was traveling with me? No. I have no idea.”

  “Those men who came into the ship . . .”

  “Were probably mercenaries. No telling who hired them.”

  “What did you do with them?”

  “Stuffed ‘em into a storage locker outside the terminal at Lovelorn.” He finished his self-appointed task and sat back on his haunches to survey the effect. Cidra’s soft red-brown hair flowed in a cape over her shoulders. He stared at it for a moment, and then his eyes shifted to catch her questioning gaze. “They’re lucky I didn’t leave them with something more permanent than a killer of a headache.”

  The coldness in him reached Cidra in a wave, chilling her to the bone. For the first time since she had left Clementia she allowed herself to remember that murder was not an unheard-of crime among Wolves. A movement around her ankles broke the spell. Grateful for the small interruption, she turned her head to see Fred undulating into a more comfortable position across her legs.

  “Fred was quite a hero. You should have seen him go after that one guard,” Cidra said with a weak smile.

  Severance’s attention stayed on her profile. “I saw what he did to the renegade’s leg.”

  “I wondered earlier if Fred might bite. I guess I know now”

  “He did a little more than bite the bastard. Fred’s got three layers of teeth. When he starts chewing on something, he makes a real meal out of it.” Severance stood up beside the bunk. “Think you’ll be okay?”

  Hastily Cidra nodded. “My head is much better, thank you.”

  Severance leaned forward, his face suddenly very intent. “It wasn’t Fred who was the hero. He was only acting out of instinct. You were the one who had to go against some fairly strong conditioning to try to stop those two renegades. I know Harmonics normally don’t get mixed up with safeguards. I owe you, lady.”

  Cidra realized that she was feeling inordinately pleased by his words. She smiled for the first time since she had awakened with the awful headache but offered the formal response to his praise. “It was as nothing. No sense of obligation is required.”

  Severance stared at her for an instant and then grinned. “That’s a Harmonic for you: Polite to the last drop of blood.” He turned from the bunk. “Feel like a cup of coffade?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Cidra lay back carefully on the bunk, aware that she now missed the comfort of his touch. It said a lot about her weakened condition that she would have liked to have him continue to hold her.

  She watched as he dialed open the compact preserver and removed the container of green crystals. He poured the coffade into two mugs and shoved both into the heater. The machine added water and brought the mixture to a quick boil. Severance opened the heater and brought one of the mugs over to Cidra. He held the other one in his fist as he watched her cup her hands around the pleasantly warmed mug.

  “When you’re feeling better, were going to have a talk.”

  She inhaled the fragrant steam. “I realize that. You’ll probably want to outline my duties for the next two weeks. I’m really feeling much better already. We can talk now if you like.”

  “Your duties,” he repeated, sounding as if he were repressing a groan. He
dropped down onto the bunk beside her, staring at the bulkhead. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his thighs, the mug of coffade loosely suspended between his knees. “Yes, there is the little matter of your duties on board. We’ll come to that later. There are other things that have to be resolved first. You’ve never been in space?”

  “My parents took me on a commercial freighter once when I was younger. It was more of a sight-seeing trip than anything else. Other than that, I haven’t spent any time on a ship.”

  “Uh-huh.” He paused, apparently trying to find the exact words. “You will note that, as I mentioned over dinner, there is very little room in here.”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t think I’m claustrophobic. Of course, I haven’t spent several days in a confined area before. But I’m sure I’ll be able to handle this.”

  “Claustrophobia is not what I was worrying about.” He took a long sip of the coffade. “Let’s see if I can put this so that it sounds reasonably diplomatic. Harmonics, as I understand it, are accustomed to a great deal of privacy.”

  “Yes.”

  “They are also accustomed to a great deal of personal independence.”

  “Of course.” She waited expectantly, wondering where he was leading.

  “There is very little of either on board ship,” Severance concluded bluntly. “Small mail ships such as this one are not exactly bastions of democracy. The only way we’re going to survive without resorting to violence over the next couple of weeks is if you understand that I’m in charge. I know Harmonics are brought up to question everything. But around here, when I give an order, I am not bringing the issue up for debate. Whenever there is a choice about the way something is done, we do it my way.”