by Susan Grant
Muffin threw his arm in front of Ian, the instinctive gesture of a man protecting his leader, at the same time Ian reached for his gun with adrenalized speed.
More laser-fire ended in an explosive crack of splitting wood that echoed through the forest. Then a woman screamed.
Tee!
Ian broke into a run. “To the ship!” he called.
Branches clawed at his face. Breathless, he burst from the treeline, skidding to halt at their ship’s landing pad. Right on his heels, Quin stumbled to a stop and aimed his flashlight at the Sun Devil.
Chest heaving, Tee squinted back into the beam, her eyes wild. From one hand dangled a smoking pistol; clutched in her other was a flashlight. Blood glistened on her forehead.
“Push,” Ian shouted. “Check the perimeter for intruders. Gredda, get the medical kit.” His crew took off in opposite directions.
As Muffin guided Tee away from the ship and sat her on the ground, Quin said, “I’ll get the auxiliary generator online—the one that should have come on automatically.”
“Why didn’t it?” Ian demanded. He’d left Tee alone with a faulty security system and told her to sleep? The deed was criminal, especially knowing that someone might be after him.
“Hell if I know, Captain. But I intend to find out.” Swearing at the ship’s computer the mechanic jogged to the entry ramp and, after a few false starts, manually started the generator. The exterior and interior lights came on bright.
Mollified, Ian walked to where Tee sat with her long legs sprawled out on the dirt. As he crouched in front of her, she gazed up at him with a slightly dazed expression. Something inside him gave way as an elemental need to hold her, to care for her, dwarfed anything he’d felt before. But instead of pulling her into his arms, he cursed the circumstances that kept them apart. “Gredda will fix you up,” he said gently.
“I’m injured?” She lifted a shaking hand to her head.
Ian snatched her fingers. “Don’t.”
“Something must have ricocheted and hit me,” she said. “I didn’t feel it.” She looked herself over. “I’m not shot, am I?”
Smiling, he took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Not that I can tell. Thank God.”
“Good. Now I can kill him.” Her mouth contorted with rage. “Preferably with my bare hands so that I can feel him suffer.”
“Kill him? Kill who? Tee, what the hell happened?”
“Someone tried to sabotage the ship.”
Stepping away from the thruster, Quin shoved his hands in his pockets. “Someone did sabotage the ship.”
Ian’s neck tingled. He took his comm out of his pocket. “See anything, Push?”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
Quin interjected, “I think I can have it fixed by mid-morning,” with grudging acknowledgment he added, “Tee chased whoever it was off before he did any real damage.”
Ian sighed. “Take what time you need to do the repairs right. When Randall leaves for Earth, I want us to be on his tail. I don’t want there to be any reason for us to be left behind, especially not sitting here nursing a busted ship.”
Gredda returned with the medical kit and Tee’s coat.
Tee winced as the big Valkarian tended to the wound on her scalp. “The power went off—the security locks, too,” she said. “I saw what looked like a person near the thruster, so I went outside to scare him off.”
“You shouldn’t have gone out alone,” Ian told her.
His concern sprang from his frustration at not being there to protect her, but she took it as an insult. “I quite understood the risk. I considered the situation desperate enough to warrant it. It was a decision that probably saved your ship.”
“And almost cost you your life,” he snapped. “You blindly charged into action. You should always think things through, make a plan.”
Her nostrils flared. “In other words, I didn’t handle this the right way.”
“The safe way, Tee,” he amended.
“Your way, you mean.”
They glared at each other. Prudence versus pluck, he thought.
Her tone softened—only a fraction, but enough to tell him she’d finally recognized the worry in his tone. “I tried to reach you, Ian. The power went off before the call went through. My personal comm was in my quarters, and in the dark I didn’t think I had enough time to get it and save the ship. When he saw me come out, he started firing. I fired back. Then he ran into the woods. I nearly put that tree branch on his head.”
In unison, the crew’s eyes veered to a huge smoldering branch crushing a grove of wet fern-like plants.
Tee growled, “I wish I had.”
“Practice will make perfect,” Gredda said from beside her. The big woman was concentrating on her ministrations, covering Tee’s abrasion with healer-film. Then she ruffled Tee’s hair. The short green-brown locks on her forehead sprang straight up and stayed there. “There. You’ll live.”
Tee climbed to her feet. Ian tried to assist her, but she pushed away, clutching his jacket around her. Her pale eyes blazed with indignation. “I want some clarification about this job of mine, and I want it now. The same cargo that was in the hold the day I came aboard this ship is still there. We haven’t made a single act of trade in the entire time I’ve worked for you. You say we’re checking out your competitor, but we’ve been following an Earth senator. Come on, Ian. How stupid do you think I am?”
Quin coughed. Gredda fiddled with a loose stud on her vest, and Muffin whistled silently, drumming his fingers on his upper arms. “I’d better check the perimeter again,” Push said and made an abrupt about-face.
Ian couldn’t think of anything to say. With her aptitude for galactic politics, it had been inevitable that Tee would guess his identity before long.
The young woman drew herself up to her full height. “I’ve worked hard for you, Earth dweller. I’ve risked my life for you. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. Yet still you don’t trust me. What more do I have to do to prove my loyalty to you and this crew?”
“Nothing, Tee. You have a right to know everything.”
Her voice lost its edge. “You’re not a trader, are you?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m not.”
She let out a quick, harsh breath.
“My name is Ian Hamilton. I’m the heir to the Trade Federation and crown prince of the Vash empire. I haven’t broadcast that fact because I wanted to keep a low profile. I wouldn’t have been able to learn what I have otherwise.”
Shivering, Tee dabbed her nose with the back of her hand. For the first time since he’d met her, she looked truly afraid. “You have enemies, Ian,” she said finally.
“I get that feeling.”
“It’s time you found out who they are. I—I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
He shifted his weight. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“You don’t know who you’re up against.” Something in her tone struck him.
“Do you?” he asked.
Her breath formed clouds in the chill air as she squeezed her hands together, a gesture he’d come to associate with her tension. The entire crew gathered around them, listening intently. “There was a man at the market the day you and Muffin took me shopping. He was staring at me from across the street, so openly that the merchant noticed and called my attention to it. He was wearing a cloak and hood so I couldn’t see his face, but as he turned away I was able to see his eyes.” The flicker of true fear—was it for him?—that crossed her face vanished so fast that he wasn’t sure he’d seen it. “Ian, he was Vash Nadah.”
“A Vash? Here?” His blood surged. That truly was suspicious. His stepfather’s people infrequently left the interior of the galaxy.
Tee continued, “Because I didn’t know who you were, then, I didn’t say anything. It doesn’t excuse my negligence, but I was so focused on self-preservation that I didn’t stop to think he might be a danger to you and the crew.”
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“After the near-miss with those Dars on Blunder, I can see why,” he acknowledged.
“Then, on Barésh, when we got separated, I was followed. It was the cloaked Vash again, and this time we talked. He let it slip that he was on Donavan’s Blunder.”
Ian thought of the loony bartender and his warning. Watch your back. “Who was he, Tee? Did he say?”
“Klark Vedla.” A muscle jumped in her cheek, and her face gleamed with perspiration despite the frosty air. “You know him, yes?”
“Yes.” He was more familiar with the prince’s older brother. Ché had been first in line for the throne until Ian entered the picture.
“Klark was here, Ian. Tonight. He damaged your ship.”
Her statement hit him like a two-by-four between the eyes. A surge of fury rolled through him. “To heck with the ship; he almost killed you!” He’d hoped his dedication to the Vash, his participation in the Great Council, his work to become the perfect Vash prince, would have reassured anyone who disagreed with his selection as Rom’s heir. But now it was clear that any such optimism was premature. The Vash Nadah were pacifists on a galactic scale, but what about on a more personal level? It wasn’t like them to resort to violence, but what if they saw him as a threat to their cherished age-old bloodlines? How far were they willing to go to keep one of their own on the throne? And now that he suspected foul play, how should he handle it? The execution would be as critical as the resolution.
Ian returned his attention to Tee. “Tell me exactly what happened in the arcade. What did this Vash do? What did he say to you?”
“He made me sit with him and share a drink. I didn’t want to stay there, of course, so he got angry and began ranting. He blurted that he thought his older brother deserved more power than what the king was willing to give him.” She shifted from foot to foot uneasily, and Ian found himself thinking that either she was scared or she was holding something back. After a moment she added, “The entire episode was very odd. It seemed all he wanted me to do was have a drink.”
“How many did you have?”
“Only the barest taste of one,” she shot back defensively.
“One taste?” he repeated.
There was dead silence. Even the night creatures hushed as an almost eerie calm invaded him. “You could barely walk out of that bar. Didn’t you wonder about that?”
“I blamed it on my low tolerance to alcohol and the strength of what I drank…” Her eyes widened with understanding. “You think it’s more than that.”
“Vedla’s been poisoning our pilots. All along.” Ian let out a quick pained laugh and raised his hands. “And here I thought you were all alcoholics.”
Tee grimaced. “The pilot that came before me, he killed him?”
“Deliberately—or accidentally through overdose,” Muffin agreed. “If he wanted to slow us down and keep us from catching up with Randall, it worked. At first.”
The crew grumbled with more observations and suppositions.
Ian struggled to control his rage. “But I didn’t fire you for drunkenness like he hoped, so now he’s after the ship. We’ve had more than our share of maintenance problems, Quin. Do you see any connection to Klark?”
The mechanic shook his head. “The malfunctions are too random. Different systems break down each time, and they’re systems he couldn’t get to. I wish he was the answer, Captain, because I’m damned tired of trying to fix our rotten luck.”
“And I’m damned tired of being a fool.” With his hand on his holster, Ian walked toward a thicket of trees a dozen yards away. “Go on inside, everyone. We’ve done all we can tonight. I recommend you get your sleep while you can. We’ll take care of Klark soon enough!” His proclamation worked; the crew left in higher spirits, mumbling about how the Vash saboteur was about to get his due.
“Hot damn!” Ian could hear his sister saying. “Ian Hamilton’s going to kick some ass.” Yeah, that’s what Ilana would like—a good old-fashioned ass kicking—and Tee would too, by the sound of it earlier. But that’s not how he operated. He’d taken all those years of Tae Kwon do on Earth so that he wouldn’t ever have to fight—and it had worked. He’d always been able to use his brains and his mouth to get out of every situation.
Vigilant for unusual sounds or movement in the woods, he tipped his head back and stared at the stars, but their stark beauty was lost on him tonight. If what the pixie said was true, Klark had been interfering with his mission from nearly the beginning.
Twigs crackled behind him. He didn’t have to see who it was; he felt Tee’s presence on a plane that went beyond the physical: affinity of thought. This must be what the Vash meant when they spoke of it.
“It’s cold, Ian.”
He took his jacket from her, and she donned her own coat. “If he’d wanted to assassinate me, I’d be dead already,” was all he said.
Her tone revealed her abhorrence of the subject. “Yes. I think so, too.”
He rolled his shoulders to ease the tightness in his neck. “If you take assassination out of the equation, every act he perpetrates appears calculated to keep me away from Randall. But why?”
“The answers lay inside you,” Rom would say. “Listen to your senses Ian, Trust them.”
Closing his eyes, Ian recalled, word by word, nuance by nuance, everything Rom had taught him about heeding his senses and taking his precognition to a higher level. The Vash Nadah valued the importance of intuition, over the centuries had raised its cultivation to an art form, but was he ready to do so himself?
His instincts had always been good. He’d inherited that ability from his mother and in recent years learned to hone it, thanks to Rom’s patience and expert instruction. Guide me…
Tee’s voice broke his concentration. “The more I ponder this, the more I think Klark wanted us to come after him. Tonight. Why else would he have let himself be seen?”
Ian opened one eye. “Yes! That’s exactly it. A diversion—he wants to deflect my attention from Randall. He has to.” Euphoria made him forget his exhaustion. He let out a whoop, then laughed at Tee’s surprise. “Don’t you see? Klark is Randall’s associate!”
“Sweet heaven.” Tee breathed.
“He’s the one who told Randall about Barésh. He’s the one who showed him the fringe worlds.” It was the perfect conspiracy—A Vash royal facilitating interaction between troubled frontier worlds and Earth, encouraging a powerful Earth politician’s views of a self-ruling frontier, raising the specter of future galactic volatility the Great Council would insist only a full-blooded Vash king could handle.
“An unstable frontier would leave my stepfather no choice but to pick a Vash successor,” Ian speculated aloud.
Tee’s lips compressed. “Someone like Klark’s older brother.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m not going after Klark.” Remember your mission. “Klark’s the distraction. Randall’s the focus.” His gut told him so.
Ian flattened his hand on the small of Tee’s back and urged her toward the ship. “Randall’s getting ready to leave for Earth, and soon—I feel it. And Klark’s dangling himself as bait to keep me from going after him.” More supposition, he thought. Another guess. Did he dare risk letting Klark run amok while he concentrated on wooing Randall? What if his interpretation of Klark’s plan was faulty?
But time was running out. He had to trust his instincts, to believe in himself.
Ian’s eyes sought the stars once more. Each twinkle was a world he’d someday rule. But wasn’t that presumption, too, based only on a hunch—Rom’s premonition that his ascension to the throne would restore freshness to a stagnating society and unity to a galaxy on the brink of revolution?
A tremor ran through him. His destiny had its merits, he supposed, but it was clear that a serene and peaceful life wasn’t going to be one of them.
“At first light, I’m going to Randall’s ship,” he said.
“You said your proposal wasn’t ready.”
“We�
��re out of time, Tee; Randall’s leaving. I have to reassure him about Barésh…and about me, before he passes on his one-sided observations to Earth.” They stopped at the bottom of the entry ramp. “Besides, I have a few hours,” he added, then cracked a smile. “Who needs sleep anyway?”
“I’ll help you,” she offered.
Ian gazed down at his pilot. His fingers throbbed from the cold. Slipping his hands in his jacket pockets he said, “You have no obligation to do so, Tee.”
“I know I wasn’t part of your original crew, but I believe in you and what you’re doing. You care a great deal for Barésh and the worlds like it. You want to help them while also convincing Earth to stay in the Federation. I admire that…how you want to balance the needs of your home with the galaxy’s future.” Her gold eyes glinted strangely. In a tight voice she added, “You’ll make a fine king.”
The inevitability of their eventual separation sat heavy in his chest. And hers, too, if he was reading her right. She, like him, realized that they could never be together. And she too must be trying hard to pretend the ache wasn’t there.
He brought his hand to her cheek. This sweet-faced quick-talking pixie was trouble incarnate for him—a smart, irrepressible woman with Vash eyes and a questionable past. She kept him wondering what it’d be like to make love to her though his mind belonged somewhere else—anywhere else—and the need to touch her was so close to overpowering his better judgment.
“Please,” she said. “Let me help. I have…a yen for politics.”
“I noticed.”
“Then let me be a part of it all. Let me help.”
The years spent submerged in Vash culture had urged him to trust his senses, and those senses told him to take the assistance she offered. He trusted her. “Okay,” he said, unable to shake the feeling that in joining forces with Tee, he’d just spun his destiny into a sharp left turn.
Her face glowed. Smiling, he brushed his open hand over her hair, savoring the silkiness of the shorn ends against his palm. “Ah, pixie,” he said. “You wear your heart on your sleeve.”
She laced her fingers with his and brought his knuckles to her cheek. “What does that mean?”
