by Kyle, Celia
“That’s what the computer says it is. No reason to believe it’s wrong. Besides, it looks like it’s one of the old Titian-class ships, so you know that’s got to be IHC. They’re the only ones who run those hunks any longer.”
He’s not wrong. The IHC rarely changes ship designs. It makes them all the more recognizable.
“What do you wanna do?” he looks to me.
I take a moment to think. I hold too many lives in my hands to make rash decisions. “Does that fancy computer of yours tell you how many are on board?”
Swipt scrolls through the report. When he finally speaks his voice is filled with disbelief. “It’s reporting a crew of thirty.”
Okay, now I know something’s up.
“Thirty? On a vessel that large? Either your computer’s borked or someone’s lying. A partially registered IHC freighter with a skeleton crew all the way out here in League space? I’m not buying it. Set a course,” I tell him. My decision is made and anticipation makes my blood sing in my veins.
“Yes!” Swipt exclaims and punches the coordinates into his command console. “I love when you’re impulsive like this! Arrival in ten minutes.”
I head to the comms station and pick up the intercom, advising my crew that we’re taking a little detour. If my hunch is right, we’re about to stumble upon a payload of salvageable cargo.
It doesn’t get any better than this.
As we clip toward the Frontier, my first mate, Grantian, appears on the bridge beside me.
“What have we got?” he stares out of the massive viewscreen before us at the stars racing by. He stands in his typical pose, arms crossed over his chest, mouth set in a grim line. Before he joined my crew, he was part of the Kell Hounds mercenary outfit and from the look of the scars that crisscross his body, he’s not someone to be met on the dark side of any moon.
“A gift, I think,” I tell him.
He snorts in response. “Hope you’re right. Remember the last time you acted on a hunch? We almost didn’t make it off Gur alive. Damn Coalition bastards...”
“Those Coalition bastards just paid your salary for the next month with our last run, so watch your tongue,” I tell him. “Never forget that we’re equal-opportunity pirates. We go where the gold is.”
Grantian only nods, but I know he knows I’m right.
“Initiating coupling sequence. Gimme two minutes and we’ll be locked,” Swipt reports as the thump and thud of our connection to the Frontier begins.
“Go rally the troops, Grantian.”
He gives me a mocking salute—we’re not big on formalities in this outfit—and leaves the bridge to wrangle my core group of warriors. I trust no one in the galaxy more than Grantian, Swipt, Montier, Zandar, Lokyer, Nicari, and Kintar, and there’s no way in fuck I’m heading onto a sketchy IHC freighter without them. Whenever shit goes awry, it’s always when they’re not with me. I’m not risking it this time.
Once the Queen has successfully coupled onto the loading bay of the Frontier, I make the call to board. As soon as my foot touches down onto the other ship my suspicions are confirmed. Something’s not right. It’s eerily quiet inside, like a tomb. The engines have been shut down, so it’s merely floating in the black of space.
“Montier, find out what’s happened here. Check their logs,” I tell him.
If anyone can figure out what’s up with this place, it’s Montier. He’s a world-class engineer with a brain that never quits. If he doesn’t know something, you can bet your horns no one else does either.
He pulls out a data pad and begins typing furiously, trying to hack into the ship’s digital memory core. By the look on his face, it’s not going well.
“Core’s buggered. I can’t get in. I don’t have access to anything—comms, locks, controls, life support—nothing. But this is strange…” his voice trails off.
I know that tone.
“Focus, Monty, what’s strange?”
“All the ship’s energy is being diverted to the hold.” He finally gives me his attention.
This situation just keeps getting more fucked with each passing second. There’s absolutely no reason for all the ship’s energy to be going to its hold—unless there’s something alive down there. A big something.
“Do you at least have access to a map?”
“Negative,” Montier’s reply is immediate.
“Well then, let’s haul ass,” I tell them.
I gotta give credit where it’s due. Even though it seems like this situation is about to go tits up, they follow me without hesitation.
Navigating the narrow hallways of an unfamiliar ship lit only by emergency lighting isn’t easy. We get lost a few times, but with Montier’s uncanny knack of finding his way around, we always end up headed in the right direction. I make a quick diversion to the bridge, wanting to see if there’s any crew left to stumble upon, but I immediately wish I hadn’t.
Because they’re all fucking dead. Every last one of them are in various states of very, very dead. The creepy part is there’s no sign of what killed them.
I really hope it’s not whatever’s down in the hold.
We continue making our way down there anyway, not only because of the energy diversion but also because that’s where the cargo will be. We’re smugglers, after all, so Priority Number One will always be getting the goods.
Unsurprisingly, the doors to the hold are locked tightly, too. Montier tries working his magic one more time to no avail, so I bring in Zander, our weapons tech, to assist Grantian with breaking and entering. I’m a little concerned with what we’ll find on the other side but not enough to turn back now.
Within moments they’ve used a saw and one of Zander’s bolt guns to blast a hole clear through to the other side. They both back off as the smoke clears, allowing me to enter first.
What started off as a great day is quickly spiraling down into one big clusterfuck. Staring back at me is a large gathering of human women, wide-eyed and in all states of emotion. Some look confused, some are crying, and one actually passes out.
“What the fuck is this?” I’m unable to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.
No one answers me, but there’s movement at the back of the group. The crowd parts to reveal a very tall, very beautiful woman, with flaming red hair, gorgeous brown eyes, and a body I definitely wouldn’t mind running my hands over. She begins interrogating me immediately.
“Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are we here? Are you the bastards responsible for locking us up?” she demands, nostrils flaring.
I haven’t had much experience with humans, but if they’re all as hot-headed as she is, I don’t think I want to.
“I’m sorry. I believe what you meant to say was, ‘Hello, Captain Solair, thank you for arriving just in time to save me and my friends. How can we ever repay your kindness?’ That’s me, by the way. I’m Captain Solair, but you can just call me Solair. We’re not a very formal crew. And your name is?”
Her jaw hangs open, eyes wide, in a look of horrified shock. “Are you kidding me right now? You come busting in here like a bad action holovid with no answers and expect me to be grateful? We’ve been locked in here for days!”
“Be that as it may, this ship is disabled and its crew are all dead. If you wish to leave here, my ship and crew are your only option, Miss…?”
She’s going to give me her name, even if I have to force it out of her. Despite her misplaced ire, she’s piqued my interest. Not only is she gorgeous, but she has a very unique scent that feels like it’s reaching out and drawing me in. Her scent reminds me of the hills of Kilgar, of the twin suns rising on a crisp dawn as a breeze dances across the plains. Of…
As soon as I notice it, the thought hits me light lightning.
This woman. This human woman.
Could this be my jalshagar?
My fated one?
The one in the galaxy I am to mate with?
It can’t be.
But every f
iber in my body is screaming that it is so.
The concept of jalshagar is an old one. It harkens back many millions of years, to teachings our religious leaders say was handed down by the Precursors themselves through our Elder Scrolls when they seeded life on Kilgar.
It’s an old concept that’s almost fallen into the annals of history, but one my father taught me when I was very young. In our common era most people choose their mate, but the Elder Scrolls of the Kilgar state that fated mates do exist, recognized at first by their scent, and confirmed upon the first shared kiss.
I can’t imagine kissing this livid woman, but if she actually is my mate…
Yes, this day has definitely turned into a clusterfuck.
“Dawn. My name is Varia Dawn,” she says a little sheepishly, as if realizing I’m not going to let up. “You can call me Varia. I apologize,” she says the word through gritted teeth, as if it pains her to utter, “for coming at you like that, Solair, but you have no idea what we’ve been through. We’re nearly out of food and water and… I’m a little on edge.”
“It’s not a problem, Varia. Clearly we cannot leave you all here. You’re more than welcome aboard my vessel, the Ancestral Queen. We have enough room to take you wherever you were going,” I tell her. Though she will be going nowhere beyond my ship.
She furrows her brow, confusion on her features as she regards me. Her eyes look me up and down, lingering on my muscular chest and arms. Perhaps stupidly, I can’t help but wonder if she likes what she sees.
“We have no idea where we were going.” She shakes her head. “We… do you really not know anything about this ship?”
“We answered a distress call. You didn’t activate the beacon?”
“Definitely not. As I said, we’ve been locked in this damn hold for days!” Her exasperation is growing again.
“Now, Varia, please be calm. I assure you, I’ll help you sort this out, but I need you to work with me, not against me. Can you do that?”
I watch her as she eyes my crew interacting with the other women in her group. Our doctor, Nicari, has already begun initial assessments of the women, and she watches him the closest of all. Most of her comrades aren’t as indignant as she is, seemingly grateful that we showed up when we did. They’re chatting up the crew and even hugging them.
So many emotions cross Varia’s beautiful face, but I can’t get a read on any of them.
“Well?” I ask. I’m getting tired of waiting. I want to get the hell off this deathtrap ship immediately, even though my crew is about to get much, much bigger.
She eyes me like I’m a viper waiting to strike but finally nods her agreement. “Looks like the cavalry just arrived.”
Chapter Three
Varia
While Solair’s crew continues to bustle through the hole they cut into the hold, the Kilgari captain and I remain a few feet apart, staring at each other like angry cats.
Although let’s be clear, he’s a very, very dashing angry cat.
“I would just like to reassure you that my intentions are nothing but honorable.” Solair’s golden-skinned face stretches into a grin. “Besides, it seems to me that you don’t have much choice but to accept our help.”
He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean I have to like the situation. The galaxy is filled with regretful women who trusted the wrong sapient, and I’d rather not be one of them. One of the Kilgari, carrying a bulky case in one hand and a portable scanner pad in the other, pushes through his fellows and marches into the midst of my fellow survivors.
“Hey, stop that. What do you think you’re doing?” I reach out and snag his sleeve as he runs the scan over the throng of Frontier women. His gaze snaps to me, and he licks his lips nervously before looking to Solair for support.
“You can relax, Varia. This is our ship medical officer, Nicari. He’s just trying to help.”
“Well, he needs to ask permission before he just starts scanning people at random. Hey, Ilya, what do you think you’re doing?”
I gape as the mechanic, grease still staining her knees, elbows, and face, shakes hands with one of the tall, golden-skinned Kilgari crew. In my opinion, she’s being much too friendly with a complete stranger. She turns her gaze on me, grinning from ear to ear.
“I’m just saying hello to Swipt here. Say hi to our captain, Swipt.”
The handsome, lanky stranger smiles at me and offers a wave. “Hi to our captain.”
I run a palm down my face, trying to contain my anger and frustration.
“First of all, I’m nobody’s captain. Second, we all need to keep our distance until—oh for God’s sake, Fiona, you too?”
The tech turns toward me and shrugs even as she stands near a Kilgari who has far more interest in her than I think is healthy.
“They’re saving our lives, Varia. The least we can do is not be rude.”
I look at my charges and find that Fiona and Ilya are not alone. All of the survivors who are out of cryosleep are now mingling with Solair’s crew. In my mind, we were separated into two distinct lines—a carry-over from my days in the military—but I keep forgetting that the other women have no such experience. Despite the potential danger, they seem all too eager to embrace our would-be saviors.
The Frontier lurches hard to starboard, and only those of us with space legs manage to keep our footing. This means me, Fiona, the Kilgar crew and almost nobody else. I stumble a bit, but that cheerfully annoying Solair grabs my arm to steady me without asking.
“Easy.” He cranes his neck, gold eyes scanning the walls as if he can peer through them to see the condition of the outer hull. “This ship is on the verge of coming apart. We need to get you safely aboard my ship, the Ancestral Queen.”
“Hands off, buddy.” I yank my arm out of his grasp, a bit miffed by how familiar the Kilgari captain is acting with me. What was with that weird look he gave me when we first met, anyway? I don’t know a lot about the Kilgari race, so I don’t have much frame of reference.
“I’m sorry, Varia. I only sought to help.”
“So, you keep saying.” The ship lurches again, and I rub the bridge of my nose and sigh. “All right, we have to get off of the Frontier while we still can. For the time being, we’re going to accept your offer.”
“Wonderful.” He grins ear to ear, and for a moment I’m struck by the fact that if he weren’t so overbearing and full of himself, he might be cute. Solair gestures grandly. “Please, if you’ll come with us?”
I turn to the other survivors and raise my voice. “All right, listen up. We’re evacuating this prison and taking Captain Solair up on his generous offer of refuge. Take anything that might be useful, but only what you can easily carry.” I can’t keep a grimace off my face as my gaze snaps back to Solair. “I swear to god, if this is some kind of trick and any harm comes to my people, I’ll make you regret it.”
“Your dedication to those under your command is highly commendable, Varia. Of course, you are right to be wary, but in this instance your suspicions are misplaced. The Kilgari are not Reapers, nor Gur slave traders. The Kilgari respect and admire women, perhaps more so than other sapient species because females of our kind are so very rare.” His smile fades, and he quickly amends his statement. “That sounded like the ominous beginning of a bad holovid story. I assure you we are not looking to ‘shore up’ our supply of your sex—that is, of women—on our home world.”
I bite back a nasty retort, trying to seem at least a little grateful, because like as not, they did just save our bacon. And to be honest, I want to trust Solair and his people—rough around the edges though they may be—but experience has taught me to withhold such trust until I have concrete evidence it won’t be taken advantage of.
Our combined crew makes its way through the damaged, darkened corridors of the Frontier. When the freshly cut rectangle connecting our two ships appears, I remember the women still in cryostasis.
“Wait, Captain. What about the women who are still cry
o’d?”
“Cryo’d?” He cocks his head to the side. “That didn’t translate to Galactic Standard.”
“You know, cryo’d—cryostasis.” I shake my head, frustrated with what seems like my loss of control of this situation. “We can’t just leave them behind.”
Solair’s eyes narrow with thought before he turns to one of his men.
“Montier, send an engineering team to facilitate the safe transport of the cryopods. Make sure they’re in full environmental suits, or even class four hard armor, in case of a hull breach.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Solair returns his golden-eyed gaze to me and arches his brows high on his face. “I hope that will assuage your concerns, Varia.”
“Yes, thank you.”
We step through the cut-out section of the Frontier’s hull and into the Kilgari ship for the first time. She’s an older model, definitely built before I was born, but she seems sturdy enough. Here the odd cinnamon-esque tang of Kilgari body odor is stronger, but not overpowering.
I remain in the cargo hold as long as it takes to ferry the survivors aboard. It rankles me to see my fellow survivors mingling so freely and easily with the Kilgari crew while the cryopods are carried on, but there’s not much I can do about it. I’m not even officially in command. It’s just that no one else was stepping up to do it.
Marion, our de facto cook, elbows her way through the crowded throng to my side, her face crossed with worry. “That’s all one hundred and seven of us, Varia, including those still in stasis, but I’m a little bit worried about them getting everything they need on a ship full of—ahem—men.”
“Tell me what’s on your mind, Marion.”
I’ve come to rely upon Marion a great deal in our short association. While I might be the default leader of the survivors, Marion is our matron saint. Even with the limited supplies available in our prison, she’s managed to keep us reasonably healthy and can work wonders with freeze-dried rations. Makes me wonder what she could do with actual ingredients.
