Morningstar

by Robyn Bachar

  “What’s the status of the station?” she asked.

  Jace frowned down at the sensor display. “Heavy structural damage. The lifeboats were jettisoned by mercs before much of the station’s crew got to them. The enemy ships are firing on other ships fleeing the jump station.”

  “Bastards. Why fire on civilians?” the navigator, Rizzoli, muttered from his station.

  “It’s possible they haven’t identified which ship is ours,” Jace speculated. The Talon II was broadcasting forged identification codes, and on the surface the ship looked like a harmless transport at least ten years past its prime. Due to their upgrades, the Talon II was only five years past its prime now, tops.

  Captain Hawke smiled grimly. “Then let’s introduce ourselves. Rizzoli, get us into firing range of the Eppes ship. Let’s give them a taste of their own medicine.”

  “Aye, Captain,” he replied. Like the captain, Rizzoli was a former member of the Alliance navy. Many of the humans in the resistance had either retired, washed out or been discharged from the Alliance.

  The Talon II advanced on the two merc ships, taking the offensive. The other ships were smaller and leaner, and Jace scowled as a barrage of hits shook the bridge.

  “Damage?” Captain Hawke asked.

  “Minimal damage to engine four,” Sam answered over the comm. The ship’s chief engineer, Samlen Wirett, was no doubt in the engine room, looking to fix something the moment it broke.

  “Target in range,” Jace announced. “Firing cannons now.”

  The nearest merc ship was splashed with the light of laser cannon fire, and a short-lived burst of flames illuminated the enemy’s engine before being lost to the vacuum of space. The damaged merc slowed and fell behind, and Jace enjoyed a moment of triumph before the other merc ship attacked.

  “Their teeth are sharper than they look. Forward shields at ten percent.” Jace pulled the captain out of the way as the nearby engineering station belched sparks and caught fire.

  “Rizzoli, turn us around, give them our aft to shoot at instead,” Captain Hawke said.

  Jace fired while their cannons still faced the mercs, and the closer target exploded. The remaining merc hit the Talon II again, causing Sam to erupt into curses over the comm. as the blast punched through their weakened shields.

  “VFF drive is down, Captain,” Sam said.

  “Remaining target is out of range,” Jace warned.

  “You can’t hit him again until I get my shields back.” Captain Hawke grabbed a fire suppressor and covered the engineering station with foam.

  Scowling down at the sensors, Jace swallowed the urge to argue. “They’re turning. I think they’re making a run for it.”

  “Move to intercept.”

  “We won’t catch them,” he said. “Not with the damage to the number four engine.”

  “Try,” she snapped.

  “Accelerating to intercept,” Rizzoli announced.

  The enemy ship rabbited before the Talon II could bring its weapons to bear, just as Jace had warned that it would. Before the ship vanished, the sensors picked up a communications burst, and the jump station exploded.

  “Captain, Jump Station 3 has been destroyed. The mercs must have planted charges before they evacuated,” Jace said.

  Captain Hawke scowled. “Survivors?”

  “No life signs.”

  “Plot a course out of here. Sam, I want the engines at 110 percent.”

  “VFF drive is still offline. It’s going to take time to repair,” Sam replied.

  “Fine. Rizzoli, point us in the direction of Cyprena and find us a hole in space with no damn mercs in it until we get the VFF back online. Lieutenant Commander Harrow, I believe you have bad news? Let’s talk.”

  Jace nodded. “Of course. Chief Wirett should hear this, as well as Commander Soth.”

  The captain’s brow rose—Samlen Wirett and Durgen Soth were the only other male Cy’ren crew members. Until recently, the captain’s mate, Mordackai Loren, had served aboard the Talon, but he had exchanged duties with Commander Soth to avoid a conflict of interest. Now Loren served as the head of the Sunsinger shadow swords on Cyprena, and Soth served aboard the Talon II. Jace preferred Soth to Loren, though the captain clearly missed her mate’s company.

  She paged Soth and Sam to join them, and then led Jace off the bridge. Soth arrived in the ready room and loomed over them. Commander Soth was tall and broad-shouldered, their own walking battering ram. As usual, Sam smelled of singed engines, and his coverall was smudged with grease and coolant.

  “Do we have to do this now?” Sam asked. “I have a lot of work to do.”

  “We’ll make this quick. Was your mission successful?” Captain Hawke asked Soth.

  “Yes, Captain. The indexer is secure, and he’s in his quarters now. Though he’s pissed about the whole thing and distraught over losing his lover.”

  “The other man was his lover?” Jace asked, surprised. Among Cy’ren it was accepted, even occasionally encouraged, for females to become lovers, but not males.

  “Apparently so.” Soth shrugged. “He’d been shot. He was dead when we found him, Captain. De la Cruz’s babbling on about being interrupted and needing more time for the search. You may want to speak with him to find out what he’s on about.”

  “Understood,” Hawke replied. “And you were successful, Lieutenant Commander Harrow?”

  “Yes and no. The slaves had already fled the brothel by the time I arrived, but I encountered them near the docking ring and led them onto the ship.”

  “I see. So what did you do that merited this meeting?” she asked Jace.

  Jace snorted. “I believe I am blameless in this. One of the females is in phase.”

  Captain Hawke rubbed her face with her hands. She had been a handsome woman once, but a munitions accident left her with burn scars covering the left side of her face. Jace had never known her without the scars, but he had known her before she bore the Cy’ren mating marks inked on her throat. He suspected that being separated from her mates added to her irritability.

  “Jace, no,” she said. “I don’t want to hear another speech on the rights of males after they’ve scented a female in phase. You made enough of an ass of yourself when Tali was in phase.”

  “I merely stated a fact,” he replied. “I haven’t prepared a speech yet, but if you wish—”

  “No.”

  “Can I have her?” Commander Soth asked.

  Jace’s pulse leapt at the challenge, anticipating fighting the other male for mating rights. With a clenched jaw he fought the reaction. There was no sense in starting a brawl in the captain’s ready room over a female he had only glimpsed for a few moments.

  “No,” the captain snapped.

  “I still have two mates too many,” Sam reminded them. “They’d kill me if I brought another one home. I’m not interested. I’ll keep my distance.”

  “So noted, Chief. You’re dismissed. Keep me informed about the VFF drive.” The captain glared at Jace and Soth. “No one is claiming the female until I meet her and hear what she wants first.”

  “I believe Dr. Morgan will transfer her to the medical bay.” Jace turned to Soth. “You may not want her. She is being guarded by another female who seems very protective of her, who I believe is a shadow sword.”

  “I didn’t think females were allowed to become shadow swords,” Captain Hawke said.

  “It depends upon the rules of the house. A few lesser houses allow it. House Morningstar does not.”

  “Neither does House Sunsinger. We’re of the opinion that females are good for one thing. Present company excluded, Captain,” Commander Soth added hastily.

  “That’s why I let my female handle the childbearing,” the captain said dryly. Her mate, Talena, was pregnant at the moment, so there was truth in her sarcasm. The reminde
r cooled Jace’s desire a few degrees. It would be dangerous if he took a mate, and more so if she became pregnant. His older brother, Wylarric, saw Jace as a threat to his inheritance, and had already demonstrated that he was willing to kill to protect it.

  “May we accompany you to the medical bay to speak with these females?” Jace asked before Soth could further choke himself on the foot in his mouth.

  “No. You’re both keeping your distance for now, and that’s an order. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the importance of this mission. I’d like to keep distractions to a minimum.”

  “Of course, Captain.” Jace nodded.

  They were in a race against time. House Nightfall was attempting to purge all official evidence of their crimes. They claimed that the accusations against them were nothing but lies and slander, but with enough proof their house could be ousted from the ruling council. For now, Nightfall’s wealth had bought them enough allies to split the council down the middle. Nightfall and their allies believed that the fragile Cy’ren independence was an economic failure, and that their world should rejoin the Syndicate and return to their old ways—selling their less fortunate into slavery so that the wealthy prospered and the poverty-stricken were assets instead of liabilities.

  House Morningstar and House Sunsinger did not share that opinion.

  Captain Hawke sighed. “I’ll speak to the females. Harrow, speak with the indexer. And stay out of the med bay.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Jace replied. “If you can refrain from shooting me, I shouldn’t need medical attention.”

  “Don’t tempt me, Harrow,” she muttered. “Dismissed.”

  It was for the best. Distance would help him resist the lure of the female’s pheromones, but having caught a taste of them, he wouldn’t be able to resist for long. There was something unique about this female. Jace had felt the intoxicating draw of the phase before, though this was like comparing between a house wine and a rare vintage. Both would serve to get one drunk, with an entirely different experience. Of course, this manner of drunk generally ended with a mate and a child on the way instead of a hangover.

  Jace arrived at the indexer’s temporary quarters and pinged the room, but there was no answer. After trying twice more without a response, Jace keyed in the override and opened the door. The indexer’s refusal to answer at the station was fresh in his mind, as well as the worry that if the man had harmed himself then an entire station’s worth of people had died for nothing.

  The indexer paced a wobbly triangle between the bunk, the desk and a spot in the middle of the floor. He muttered to himself, shaking his head as he dragged a hand through his wild hair.

  “Sir?” Jace prompted. No response. The man’s display of irritation made his own skin itch. “Malcolm!”

  He ground to a halt and snapped to attention. “You! Why did you stop me? Do you know what you’ve done?”

  “Apparently not. It would help if you informed me.”

  De la Cruz’s brow furrowed as he scowled. “I almost had it. I’ve been chasing bits of data for weeks now. It’s scattered. Like trying to find a specific grain of sand on a beach, but I almost had it. Do you have any idea how difficult that is?”

  “Had what?” Jace choked down an impatient sigh. Most of the indexers he’d met were most certainly sociopaths, but never crazy. Then again he’d never met one who directly jacked himself into the system. Jace assumed most of them had minions to do that sort of thing.

  “The Lazarus project. I almost had the location of the test facility.”

  “I’m afraid I’m still lost.”

  “How can you be lost? Your ships have been going from one end of the Syndicate to the other looking for information on it.”

  Jace blinked as realization dawned over him. “The Lazarus project is the bioweapon researched on Nepheros?”

  “Of course it is. You didn’t know that? Oh…you didn’t know that. I should charge something for it. Alexi always handled that sort of thing.” The indexer flopped onto the edge of his bunk and held his head in his hands. “Alexi handled all the business details. He was supposed to get to a lifeboat.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Jace repeated. “Could you find the location again?”

  “Not from a ship. I need a better network connection. I can’t access enough of the data stream without a stronger signal, and I need more computing power to process it.”

  “Would one of the archives on Cyprena work?”

  Malcolm peered up at Jace from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He had dark eyes and a similar complexion to Captain Hawke—human coloring was so boring compared to Cy’ren. A gleam of light passed across the lenses, and Jace realized that they were data screens.

  “It might. I’d have to see one. I’ve never been to Cyprena,” the indexer admitted. “I’d suggest another jump station, but those seem to be dwindling in number.”

  “Right. I’ll update the captain. It will take a few days to get to Cyprena, after we get the VFF drive functional again. In the meantime the captain can arrange payment for whatever you do know about the Lazarus project.”

  He rubbed his hands over his face. “That’s fine. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Jace nodded and absently tugged at the collar of his armor as sweat beaded on his brow. It was too warm—his armor didn’t breathe well, and the environmental controls must have been damaged in the battle. He made a mental note to tell Sam of it after he notified the captain of the new development. In fact, news of this importance should be delivered to Captain Hawke in person, despite her orders to stay out of the medical bay. He folded his hands behind him as he headed in that direction, and dismissed the slight tremor running through his fingers as merely a side effect of the earlier battle, because the Second Son of House Morningstar could never be affected this greatly by a few phase pheromones.

  There was something soothing about Dr. Morgan, though Bryn was far too anxious to be calmed at the moment. She held Sabine’s hand and stood at her bedside—her mate had been sedated again while the doctor worked. At first Bryn had snarled and hissed at Dr. Morgan like an ill-tempered felinoid from Cyprena’s surface ruins—all teeth, claws and bad attitude—but the doctor seemed unaffected. Bryn respected that.

  “Her temperature has returned to normal, for now. Are you both up to date on your inoculations?”

  “Yes.” It was the only good thing their master had done for them, though there wasn’t any kindness in his intentions. He needed his girls healthy to work, and he didn’t want to risk infecting paying customers with any embarrassing diseases.

  “I found uppers in her blood work. Does she use recreational drugs?”

  Bryn blinked in surprise. “No, never. That’s not possible…” She trailed off, and then she squeezed Sabine’s hand as the realization settled over her in an icy wave. “That son of a bitch. He dosed her. I knew he was sedating her, but not that.”

  “Your master?” Dr. Morgan asked, and Bryn nodded. “That’s not uncommon. It explains her extreme symptoms. She’ll experience withdrawal over the next few days as the drugs leave her system, but after that she should be fine. How long has she been in phase?”

  “A little over a year. Can you help her? The master didn’t want to cure her. Sabine…” Bryn’s throat tightened, and she paused to take a deep breath. “She earned more, like this.”

  “There is only one cure that I’m aware of. I can research if there are chemical alternatives, but it may be crueler to keep her like this than to allow her to mate.”

  “She has a mate,” Bryn replied sourly. To her mind, it seemed crueler to give Sabine to a new master simply because he had a cock and Bryn didn’t. Sabine had lived her entire life as a slave. She deserved to know freedom. If Sabine could last until they reached Cyprena, Bryn knew a few male shadow swords of her house would be willing to help without insisting on a permanen
t mate arrangement. Provided they were still alive. Five years was a long time in the life of a shadow sword.

  “May I treat your wound?” Dr. Morgan asked.

  The request was put so politely that Bryn was startled—polite humans were few and far between in her line of business. The pain hadn’t let her forget about the graze, but she was more concerned with Sabine’s health than her own. She’d had more than one shot burn through her armor during her time with the resistance.

  “It’s fine.”

  “It will only take a few moments to treat.” Dr. Morgan patted the empty diagnostic table next to Sabine.

  Bryn eyed it warily. Fear of being separated from Sabine flooded her with a rush of battle-readiness, giving her tired muscles new strength. It could be a trap, the fear whispered. The doctor wanted to get her away from Sabine to give her mate to one of the ship’s males. A low growl bubbled from her throat, but the doctor smiled gently.

  “You’re safe here,” she assured Bryn. “If I don’t treat your wound, it could become infected.”

  She couldn’t protect Sabine if she suffered from an infection, and laser burns could be nasty. Bryn reluctantly stalked around to the other bed, unstrapped her weapon belt and stripped her stolen jacket off. The doctor appeared as unaffected by Bryn’s nudity as Bryn was.

  The jacket’s owner was probably dead, and she didn’t even know the man’s name. Guilt twisted her stomach. The man didn’t deserve that end. In general, Bryn didn’t hate her customers. Sex was a natural need, like hunger or thirst, and she understood the importance of satisfying it, particularly for spacers who spent their lives crammed inside the confines of a ship. But there was no forgiving that Bryn and the other females were forced into their roles in the brothel, so she saved her venom for her master. He deserved the fiery death he’d gotten, unlike the many innocents who had died on the station. Bryn still didn’t know the reason behind the attack, and Dr. Morgan was tight-lipped with information.

  Bryn glanced down at the wound on her hip and frowned. Bryn had forgotten how ugly a laser burn could be, even just a graze. Luckily it looked far worse than it felt. Blackened flesh gouged a straight line across her hip—a few inches higher and to the left and she would’ve died from a gut shot.