Lost Star

by Hawke, Morgan

Sear chuckled. “Key word, anchor thirteen.”

  Ravnos frowned at the band in his palm. “Anchor thirteen.” The band promptly shrank down to a width of three fingers, the perfect size for a… Ravnos looked over at Sear. “A cockring?”

  Sear shrugged. “Well, you are going to be stationed in the rum and gambling capital of the known universe.” He lifted his glass of champagne. “Wouldn’t want you to lose control right away.”

  Captain Melchior threw back her head and released a peal of laughter. “Perfect!”

  * * * * *

  From his window seat in the Hellsbreath’s extremely posh captain’s gig, Ravnos looked down on the sprawling capital city of the Republic of the Caribbean Stars. The vast collection of pillared whitewashed palazzos was perched on the very edge of the rugged cliffs overlooking the sea coast. The gold-, silver-, and copper-plated domes sparkled under iridescent energy-deflection domes. The surrounding ocean was a perfect turquoise blue, and the sandy coast a snowy white under the planet’s double sun. Imported Terran palm trees waved their broad fronds in the near-constant sea breeze.

  It was the very picture of paradise.

  The barque veered toward the broad cone of the space dock.

  Ravnos settled back into his seat. He had wanted to spend his entire two weeks of shore leave in the city, but that simply wasn’t possible. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one with an appointment with President Kidd. According to his intelligence, there were several visiting dignitaries, including an Imperial admiral and a royal delegation from Skeldhor.

  Seht…

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  Ravnos pressed a hand over his pounding heart. He took a deep, slow breath and reached for calm. There was no way in hell that Seht would be there.

  But if he was…?

  He shook his head firmly. He had no intention of being anywhere close enough to them to find out. He would not endanger his dream of annihilating the Moribund Company with even the remote possibility that he might be recognized for what he was. Not even for the chance to catch a glimpse of the one person who still haunted his dreams.

  The Hellsbreath’s gig eased over the mile-wide mouth of the cone-shaped spaceport sliding into the Meissner anti-grav inertial-dampening field. Bells sounded, warning all other ships that the gigantic superconductors miles below under the floor of the pit were in use. The ship drifted downward.

  Eyes closed, Ravnos monitored everything through his residual link to the gig’s sentience. His nav-pilot and the small craft worked in perfect sync, the organic mind blending seamlessly with the machine’s sentience. He nodded in approval.

  Synchronization didn’t always happen. More than a few pilots treated the ships they flew as dead, unthinking objects. Not a good idea when, more often than not, the ship was far more intelligent and in the case of the larger, older ships, salient or self-aware. Salient ships were more than capable of point-blank refusing to fly for a pilot.

  God help the pilot who succeeded in pissing their ship off. Snowfall in their private quarters was the least an annoyed ship was capable of.

  At the appropriate level, the gig’s descent stopped and the small craft’s electro-turbines kicked in to nudge the gig to the side and into its assigned dock. The gig settled gently into its birth. Behind them, the gigantic ramp that led into the pit lifted and closed, cutting off the influence of the gravity field. His men scrambled to prepare for debarking.

  Ravnos rose from his seat, straightened his coat, and headed for the pressure door a yeoman held open.

  His lieutenant and four of his six-man crew preceded him down the short flight of stairs and assembled at the foot.

  He stepped down to the bottom of the staircase. The air was warm and fragrant with flowers, even as deep as they were in the space dock.

  As one, his men’s hands rose to the polished bills of their caps in salute. Their black and silver uniforms were pressed to crisp perfection, and their spit-shined knee-boots gleamed under the dock lights. Each carried a live-steel saber at his side, but no sidearm. No soldier walked without a weapon at his side, but in the vacuum of space, where a single pinhole through a ship’s hull could be enough to kill everyone on board, projectile and energy weapons were too dangerous to allow on any ship.

  An elegant and crushingly expensive silver anti-grav limousine floated into the dock propelled by nearly silent electro-turbines. It settled only ten paces from the gig’s staircase.

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  Ravnos contemplated the sleek vehicle with a frown. “Nav-pilot.” The receiver sensor fastened to his collar vibrated a tiny amount.

  The nav-pilot’s voice crackled from his earcom. “Yes, Captain?”

  Ravnos folded his hands behind him. “There’s a…vehicle in our berth.”

  “Yes, Captain, transportation courtesy of the president.”

  Ravnos’s brows lifted. The president? He was only a ship captain, not a royal dignitary. He shook his head. “Thank you, nav-pilot.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Crap… Ravnos signaled his men to begin loading his belongings and the crate of gifts intended for the president. He didn’t want to chance that he might insult the president by refusing. However, he wasn’t about to leave his escort behind either, not with both an Imperial admiral and a Skeldhi delegation in residence.

  He turned to his lieutenant. “Follow me in the Imp. Once we disembark, keep it manned, and within a one-minute range of my signal at all times. Tell the men to stay on alert and in contact with each other through the secure frequency.” He seriously considered telling them to strap on their body armor, but he didn’t think that would make a good impression on his high-ranking host. This called for subtlety. Ravnos lifted his chin. “And have the men wear a deflection scarab.”

  When activated, the small oval device projected a nearly invisible energy field around the wearer. It wouldn’t stop a bolt at point-blank range, but it would deflect sword slashes, knife thrusts, and anything fired from beyond two body-lengths away. It was commonly worn by security personnel and street constables, so it shouldn’t be too offensive.

  The lieutenant’s brows lifted. “Expecting trouble?”

  Ravnos smiled grimly. “Merely a precaution.”

  The lieutenant tugged on the polished brim of his hat and bowed briefly. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He turned and hurried back to the gig. The rest of the crew followed on his heels.

  Only moments later, a flat black, deflection-plate-armored transporter with heavily tinted, narrow windows along the sides eased out from the rear dock of the gig.

  Ravnos lowered himself into the plush backseat of the limousine. The automatic door closed behind him.

  The limousine’s spinning turbines powered up, lifting the sleek, expensive vehicle from the pavement. Emitting only a soft hum, it eased from the dock and turned onto the broad, curving roadway that circled the inertial shield wall holding the powerful Meissner field within the central pit. Within minutes, the limousine, followed by the black transport with his crew, sped from the cone-shaped space dock and down the broad roadway that ran along the spectacular coastline.

  Ravnos settled back into the seat and sighed. He’d assumed that his rank as a mere ship’s captain meant he’d be granted a short office visit to deliver his papers and 104

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  perhaps a private word or two. The limousine was an ominous sign. He rubbed his brow. I hope this doesn’t mean I’m going to have to attend some kind of state dinner or other silly, formal function. His table manners were okay, but chefs tended to get upset when they realized he wouldn’t touch any dish with even a hint of green vegetables.

  The gleaming silver limousine rose from the coastline roadway, turned landward, and soared toward the gleaming domes at the heart of the capital city. The plain black transport followed close behind. With smooth precision, they eased into the stream of flight-traffic heading into the city, acco
mpanied by a vast array of streamlined civilian vehicles and bulky utilitarian commercial transports.

  Sunlight shimmered in rainbow hues on the plasti-steel windows and gleamed on the metallic domes and marbled pillars of the old-world, classical-style buildings. The windows, balconies, walkways, and arches of every home and shop were overrun with climbing flowers in every conceivable color. The people who walked the winding streets were tanned a golden brown and wore layered robes in as many colors as the flowers that grew everywhere. It made an interesting contrast against ultramodern chrome and smoked-glass corporate districts.

  On the far edge of the island, they approached a sprawling palatial complex of domes overrun with trees and flowers. At the very center rose a sleek tower, which appeared to be made of glass. Balconies swathed with flowers and plants dotted the entire structure. As they drew closer, he suddenly realized that what he had taken for balconies were in fact broad landing platforms nearly forested with huge flowering trees. The tower was monstrous at nearly two meters wide.

  The limousine and the transporter passed through a shimmering energy field and drifted toward the mid- to lower levels, then settled down onto one of the smaller landing platforms, the size of four city blocks. The limousine door opened.

  Ravnos stepped out into bright sunshine and a warm sea breeze. The view was spectacular. From where he stood, he was able to see the coastline for almost the entire island.

  A young gentleman in a bright blue frockcoat and knee breeches approached from the glass double doors. His feathered tricorn hat sat atop curling black hair that was tied back at his nape with a broad blue bow. His entire ensemble was practically dripping with frothy white lace. He bowed. “Welcome to Barbados Prime, Captain Ravnos. I am Toggs, chamberlain to the president.” He turned to the side and waved a hand toward the open doors beyond. “The president is waiting for you.”

  Ravnos, his lieutenant, and four of his crew followed Toggs through the double doors and along curving carpeted hallways with floor-to-ceiling windows along one side. Ravnos couldn’t help but stare at the panoramic view.

  Toggs stopped at a pair of mirrored doors that parted to reveal a lift. Long minutes passed on the rising elevator marked by Terran classical instrumental music. It finally stopped, and the mirrored doors parted.

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  Ravnos stepped out into a broad and expansive round room. The floor, the distant curving walls, and the pillars that marched all the way around the room were cream marble flecked with gold. His gaze was drawn from the extravagant and blatantly erotic statues stationed between the pillars, and then upward to the gigantic mural that spread across the domed ceiling overhead. It featured two ancient sailing ships engaged in a sea battle during a storm. Ravnos’s brows lifted. Apparently, the president was quite fond of his ancient history.

  Toggs stepped to the side. “Please go in, Captain Ravnos; however, I would ask that your men remain by the door.”

  Ravnos tilted his head at his lieutenant.

  The lieutenant signaled to his men, and the four crewmen split into two pairs and took position on either side of the door.

  The president’s chamberlain nodded.

  Ravnos turned and strode down the carpeted runner toward the far end of the room and the golden oak desk perched on an exotic Terra-Persian styled rug.

  Behind the desk sat a man in a gold frockcoat, his long blond hair tied back with an extravagant cream bow. Directly behind him two guards stood at attention. Despite their seemingly frivolous dark blue frockcoats trimmed in black lace, there was no mistaking that both guards were marine augmented. They held tall pole-arms tipped with blades that crackled faintly, revealing that they were in fact electromagnetic weapons designed specifically to fry an attacker’s mechanical augmentations.

  Standing before the desk stood a tall, slender figure entirely swathed in a frost white hooded cloak.

  The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair and smiled up at the figure before him. “I will allow you passage to search for your missing…person.”

  The cloaked figure sketched a small bow. “Thank you, President Kidd…”

  “However…” The man behind the desk lifted a cautionary finger. Lace frothed from his wide gold coat cuffs. “You may not collect him without his verbal consent.”

  The figure in white stiffened. “What?”

  The president smiled and folded his hands together. “You said yourself that he’s not a criminal, but someone you care deeply for.”

  “Yes, but…”

  The president tilted his head to the side. “Then why would he not consent to leaving with you?”

  The figure in white took a step back, bowed stiffly, then straightened. “I accept your terms.”

  The president nodded, and his smile broadened. “Good luck on your hunt.”

  Ravnos slowed his steps. Something about the hooded figure in white made his heart slam in his chest, but it didn’t feel like fear. It felt more like…anticipation.

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  The figure whirled around in a swath of white silk, revealing a pale, masculine face carved in exotic lines with high cheekbones and delicately pointed ears. His full lips were drawn into a tight line, and his electric blue eyes burned with intensity. A long, slender, snow-white braid fell over the shoulder of his black, iridescent, body-hugging ship-suit to tumble past his waist. A plain and very businesslike sword was belted at his hip. Gleaming black boots rode all the way up to his thighs.

  He was painfully beautiful, and definitely Skeldhi.

  Ravnos stiffened. Oh, crap…

  The Skeldhi’s long strides carried him back down the carpeted walkway straight toward Ravnos.

  Ravnos continued forward, staring dead ahead, his gaze firmly on the distant wall and away from the other man’s eyes.

  The man marched past Ravnos, the white cloak brushing against the hem of Ravnos’s long black coat.

  Ravnos took a completely unintentional breath. The rich scent of the man walking past him filled his nose and lifted every hair on his body. He knew that scent. He knew this man. Heat coursed all the way through him, and sheer shock spilled in cold waves that lifted the hair on his body. Oh my gods…Seht? Somehow, he continued to walk forward without the slightest hint of the vertigo spilling through his limbs.

  Behind him, the lift pinged, indicating that the doors had closed, carrying the Skeldhi prince elsewhere.

  Ravnos very nearly walked into the desk before him. He stopped, startled at his sudden arrival.

  The man seated behind the desk tilted his head, one golden brow lifted. “Captain Ravnos, I presume?”

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  Chapter Seventeen

  Standing before the gracefully carved golden oak desk, Ravnos bowed to the president of the Republic of the Caribbean Stars. “President Kidd.” His expression was perfectly neutral, despite the fact that it felt as though a fist had closed tight around his heart. He utterly refused to even consider that the painful ache attempting to choke off his breath had anything to do with the fact Seht had brushed up against him and had not noticed him.

  The man behind the broad desk rose to his feet, resplendent in an ornate cream and gold frockcoat and waistcoat that were tied closed with a pale cream sash. The entire outfit was practically encrusted with gold embroidery and cream seed pearls. His spun-gold hair was drawn back from his pale brow and bound at the nape of his neck with a cream silk bow, the long, wavy tail tumbling to his waist. A full head and a half shorter than Ravnos, the president was forced to lift his chin to meet Ravnos’s gaze.

  Golden brows swept up over electric blue eyes. The smile on his lips was both welcoming and a touch sly. “Goodness, I sincerely hope that our clearly less-than-adequate doorways are not proving difficult for your…stature?”

  Ravnos stared down at the far smaller and slighter man. He schooled his ex
pression to perfect blandness. “I’ve managed not to dent too many of the lintels, sir.”

  The president chuckled and held out a white-gloved hand, a froth of cream lace tumbling from his broad coat cuff. “I’ve heard many fine things about you, Captain.”

  Ravnos’s dark brows lifted. “Oh?” He lifted his black leather-gloved hand and gripped the hand offered carefully. “You’ve heard that I’m a bloodthirsty battle-commander with an extremely nasty temper when crossed?”

  The president’s smile broadened. “As I said, many fine things.” He released Ravnos’s hand. “I’m more than pleased to offer you and your ship a safe harbor.”

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  Ravnos nodded and relaxed enough to smile. “I couldn’t have wished for a better place to call home, President Kidd.” He reached into the breast pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew a tiny data crystal. He held it out to the president. “My charter, sir.”

  The youthful president took the tiny crystal and slipped it into his own inner breast pocket. He tilted his head and lifted a golden brow. “Would you object to the occasional private mission, between hunting forays?”

  Ravnos didn’t even blink. That the president might offer him a side job or two was expected. He would have been far more surprised if the president hadn’t asked for such. “That would be perfectly acceptable, sir.”

  The president clasped his hands and nodded. “I’m very glad to have you with us.”

  He tilted his head, and his blue eyes narrowed. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, no?”

  Ravnos stilled utterly. Seht… He shook it off with a slight smile. “My father said the very same thing.”

  The president nodded. “He sounds like an intelligent man.”

  “He was.” Ravnos’s mouth tightened.

  The president’s brows lifted, then fell. He nodded. “I see; my condolences.”