Star Cruise_Stowaway

by Veronica Scott

  The agent clearly didn’t like the captain’s interference with her immediate custody of Tyrelle, but this was Fleming’s ship and he briskly swept them all out of the room, turning on the threshold. “I can’t hold her off long, Owen, so say what you have to say fast.”

  The portal slid shut behind him.

  Say what I have to say? I couldn’t do that if I had a lifetime. Owen’s throat and vocal cords were frozen. He was icy cold, in shock. Never in his worst nightmares had he expected this outcome. He’d been shockingly naïve about the SCIA’s singlemindedness and Tyrelle’s vulnerability to their pressure.

  “The agreement’s only for a year,” Tyrelle said. “I’ve done several in the Combine’s hell already. Will you…would you mind if I ask to get in touch with you then?”

  He gathered her in and kissed her. She molded her body to his with a passion matching the emotions raging in his heart. He tasted her tears on his lips. “You’re the bravest woman I ever met, and I will find you, I swear it. I’m not losing you, not now, not ever,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I never expected to have even a moment of happiness again, but Thuun saw fit to bless me, to give me hope, by sending me to you,” she said. “I draw strength from you to accomplish the rescue of the others.”

  A sharp knock on the door heralded the end of their time.

  Owen tightened his arms around her. “Don’t go, don’t risk yourself. We’ll find another way. I have resources. We can get off the ship, disappear where neither Anjali or the Combine can find us—”

  “I must carry out the tasks I’ve agreed to accomplish. I’ll never be free to come to you otherwise.” She stood on tiptoes to brush another kiss on his lips, silencing his protest. “You and I are people of honor—we couldn’t be happy if we fled. This service will atone for my sins. Be safe, Owen Embersson. I can’t ask you to wait for me, but if it’s Thuun’s will I survive my task, I’ll get a message to you somehow.”

  “I’ll wait as long as it takes. Be safe.” He heard the portal opening as Tyrelle stepped away. He had to lean on the table for support as she left the room, head high, no backward glances. Pride and admiration for her mixed with anger and frustration over his inability to help her. He wanted to hurl the chair across the room, break the mugs and decanters, shatter the vid screens…

  “You okay?” Jake stood just out of arm’s reach.

  Owen took a deep breath, then another. The next steps began to coalesce in his mind. Planning. Logistics. Yeah, he knew what he had to do.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The hop to Devir Six took a week. Owen lived on the cargo deck as usual, arriving early and staying long after his crew had ended their shifts. His scale models gathered dust in his cabin, as he’d no energy or desire to work on them. He forced himself to eat. Jake passed him word Emily had seen Tyrelle, prepping her for cryo sleep, and that she was understandably emotionally subdued but physically fine.

  Two of the three male SCIA agents were technical geniuses, who spent time on the cargo deck while the third man stood guard, repairing the damaged Combine crate and presumably making their own secret enhancements.

  Owen gave them a wide berth, staying in his office until the agents completed their tasks and left. On the third night, he sprawled across his bed in his cabin, reviewing his decisions and plans.

  Midorri finished eating the leftovers of Moby’s dinner and hopped up on the bed next to him, making crooning sounds.

  “You miss her too, don’t you?” he asked, scratching the animal’s head above the eyes for a moment before rising and going to the mug where the single red rose still bloomed as if fresh cut. He bent to smell the fragrance.

  Midorri jumped onto the table.

  More on a whim than for any other reason, he separated a single petal from the flower and offered it to the pet.

  Midorri took it in her two top paws and rubbed her nose on the velvety surface.

  “I wish you could take it to her, girl, let her know I’m thinking about her.”

  Rising to sit on her haunches, Midorri tucked the petal into a marsupial-style pouch Owen wasn’t previously aware she had, and scampered off the table, scratching at the door.

  “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” Owen let her out and watched her head toward the gravlift in her surprisingly effective but ungainly trot. Scarcely daring to get his hopes up, he said as he closed the door, “Maeve, if Midorri’s going where I think she’s going, can you help her?”

  “The animal is my pet too, Owen, and has access to all areas except the captain’s cabin, the bridge and the meditation garden. I won’t put any obstacles in her path.”

  He had to be content with the AI’s statement.

  Next morning Moby and Midorri were waiting on the cargo deck when he arrived. The animals followed him into his office and sat expectantly next to each other on the edge of his desk.

  Grumbling a bit, he opened the jar of cat treats, which Midorri relished as much as Moby did, and threw them each two or three.

  When Midorri had gobbled hers down, she chirruped to get his attention and then assumed an awkward sitting position, top paws going to the tiny pouch.

  Holding his breath, afraid to hope, he waited while the animal worked a small item free and offered it to him.

  Losing interest in him, the two pets started a mutual bathing session. Midorri’s long green tongue combed Moby’s fur efficiently while the cat used her pink tongue to delicately groom the other’s flanks.

  He held a lock of Tyrelle’s hair in his palm. Raising the beautiful green, fernlike curl to his face, he caught a whiff of her unique, delicately floral scent. “I’m getting you out of this mess,” he whispered. Stowing the precious lock of hair in the pocket of his shirt over his heart, he called up the cargo offloading plan for Devir Six and immersed himself in the details.

  The comlink pinged. He keyed it open, and Captain Fleming stared outward. “Agent Paterson has requested you not be on the cargo deck while Tyrelle is placed into the cryo chamber and the crate is sealed. I told her this is my ship, but you command the cargo deck and only a stupid captain pisses off the guy in charge of his livelihood. Passengers are the gravy, but cargo is the bread and butter, I informed her.” Seeming surprised Owen hadn’t said anything, he cleared his throat. “I figured you’d rather be there.”

  “Yes, I would. Thank you, Captain. When are they coming down here?”

  “In an hour. Jake’ll be there too, but your people are banned from the deck during the operation. Get them gone now. Then when SCIA is done and has left the area, your crew can configure the crate with the other cargo to be offloaded at Devir Six. No special handling. All routine.”

  “Got it. “

  “I went out on a limb for you, don’t blow it. Paterson made it clear she’ll arrest you and press charges if you interfere with her or try to talk to Tyrelle. Fleming out.”

  The link closed with a click.

  Maintaining his calm with an effort, Owen left the office and reassigned his staff to work on the lower deck for a few hours. As the crew members exited via the gravlift, Jake emerged from the transport tube.

  “Fleming send you to make sure I behave?” Owen said, leading the way to his office.

  “As ship’s security chief, I’m here to ensure everything goes off smoothly. And yeah, maybe a bit to keep you from getting in trouble with the SCIA.” Jake poured himself a mug of coffee and sat. “I don’t like this any more than you do, or the captain does, but Tyrelle’s an adult, and she agreed to do this. We were all witnesses.”

  Owen heard the gravlift door open. “They’re early.” He walked to the door of his office and watched as Agent Paterson led a small parade, including Dr. Shane, across the deck toward the open Combine container.

  One of the SCIA men carried Tyrelle.

  “Fucking seven hells, I can’t believe Agent Paterson put that thing back on her!”

  Jake had his arm in an iron grip and maneuvered himself in front of Owe
n, blocking his view. “SCIA had to make her wear the shackles and the necklace. Think, man, if the Combine picks her up and those have been removed, the ringmaster’ll know she’s been found out and kill her.” He was right up in Owen’s face. “She agreed to this, remember? She knew what she was getting into.”

  Through clenched teeth, he said, “Just tell me the necklace is still disarmed.”

  “It is. None of us would ever agree to hanging an explosive device ‘round her neck. The Combine won’t know the difference and has no reason to check.”

  Owen stared at his friend. “Give me your word as a soldier.”

  “Red went up to the SCIA suite, inspected the contents and locked it himself. She’s all right. Soldier’s oath.” Eyes narrowed, maintaining his grip on Owen, Jake assessed him critically. “Can I let go now? You calm?”

  He jerked his arm free. “Yeah, let me get a last glimpse.”

  Agent Vorson was coming his way, juggling an upset Moby in one arm and an equally complaining Midorri in the other. “Can you gentlemen please take charge of the animals?”

  Owen reached for his cat, secretly pleased Moby had left claw marks on the man’s arm. A tiny payback for Tyrelle.

  Jake took Midorri, who purred and licked his hand.

  Without another word, the man pivoted on his heel and stalked to the shipping container. Fredricks met him, and the agents exchanged heated words for a moment, turning to glare at Owen and Jake. The newcomer beckoned to Owen. “Agent Paterson wants you.”

  “I’d better come too.” Jake thrust Midorri into the office and shut the door as Owen dropped Moby inside.

  The two animals scratched at the portal, voicing their complaints.

  Owen took a deep breath as he approached the cargo container, Jake at his heels.

  Tyrelle stood beside Agent Patersson, with Emily by her side.

  The male agents grudgingly retreated a few feet.

  “Are you all right?” he said, as if none of the other people were present.

  She nodded.

  No one got in his way, which was a good thing. He took her in his arms, not caring what anyone thought, ignoring Agent Paterson’s exclamation of annoyance. Having her safe against his heart felt so good, so right, even if for only a moment. “What do you need from me, sweetheart?”

  “You were the one who saved me and got me out of this container. Will you be the last friendly face I see?” she asked, voice husky with unshed tears. “Please? leaving you is…harder than I expected.”

  He picked her up tenderly, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “I’d do anything you asked of me, even this.”

  “You place her in the pod, and I’ll administer the cryo solution, make sure it’s functioning properly,” Emily said, her voice tense and unhappy. “I want to reiterate I’m doing this under protest and disagree with the entire procedure.”

  “Duly noted, doctor, for the tenth time. When you’ve finished, my men will take over and seal the container.” Anjali tapped the toe of her elegant shoe impatiently.

  With infinite care, he lowered Tyrelle into the cramped space, helping her find the most comfortable position possible and then held her hand as Dr. Shane hooked up the cryo system. Owen and the doctor waited until Tyrelle’s eyes drifted shut and her grip on his fingers slackened. He forced himself to let go and step away.

  Emily walked to Jake’s side, taking his hand as if in need of support or comfort, and together the couple drew Owen toward the office.

  “There’s nothing more you can do now,” she whispered.

  Behind him he heard the bang as the container was sealed, the sound like a knife to his heart, but he kept walking, refusing to succumb to his urgent desire to have one more glance. These people have no idea what I can do.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A major shipping hub in this Sector, although not a governmental center, Devir Six hosted a Cargo Master Guild Hall so there was nothing odd or unusual about Owen taking one of the Nebula Zephyr’s personal flitters to the surface, ostensibly to conduct business. The ship would to be in orbit for a few days, while the passengers sampled the planet’s many beautiful amenities. As he moved among the crowds at the spaceport, he didn’t attract much notice—just another spacer in nondescript utilities—with his unusual pet perched on his shoulder. A number of men and women in the crowd sported their odd alien furred and feathered companions, as if to proclaim the fact of their extensive journeys among the stars.

  He reached up to pet Midorri. They both knew her leash was for show only and wouldn’t stop her for a second if she wanted to bolt. He’d come to realize she was a lot smarter than anyone had been giving her credit for, and he hoped she might come in handy during the next few days. He booked a nondescript hotel room under a false name, showing the desk clerk Midorri’s phony registration disk. After all his years dealing with permits and government forms, he was good at creating them. Bare bones, the room was exactly like the other thousand cubicles in the hotel, good for crashing in between flights. The anonymity of the place gave him cover for the next phase of his plan. He opened the bag of fast food he’d bought from a street vendor, gave Midorri half the mystery meat and activated his personal AI, checking for the signal from the tiny tracking device he’d planted on Tyrelle’s shipping container two days before the SCIA did all their techno wizardry. Right after the appalling meeting where Tyrelle had agreed to this insane plan, in fact.

  So far she remained at the spaceport, somewhere in the millions of containers moving into, through and out of the distribution system. He set the AI to alert him when the crate changed location and sat back to wait.

  Sure enough, midmorning the next day, the dot representing the container traveled out of the spaceport at a steady rate, probably loaded onto a cargo hauler, taken into the low hills surrounding the city and settled about a hundred miles away. After the dot had been stationary for two hours, he tapped the screen and said to an interested Midorri, “Found the place.”

  He had a few more preparations to make, drawing on a credit balance in a New Switzerland banking institution that would amaze his fellow crew members. His one-of-a-kind scale models were extremely popular with collectors throughout the Sectors. He charged accordingly and up till now he’d had very few things he wanted to spend his funds on. He’d gladly empty the entire account if the balance would bring Tyrelle to safety and freedom.

  Having purchased a sturdy, used utility groundcar with credits on the table and no questions asked, he and Midorri drove away from the city, taking to the hills soon after leaving the fringes of civilization. Owen assumed the Combine selected Devir Six for a hideout in the first place because of the convenient access to a major spaceport and a big, uncaring city on the go all hours of the day and night, with plenty of rough terrain close by for concealing clandestine activities. The location worked for him. He found a safe spot to leave the groundcar, camouflaging it thoroughly and setting the disruptor shield to block scans from above, before he and Midorri set out cross country toward the Combine’s compound.

  Once he’d identified his target, he’d had Maeve scan the area and send him detailed reports. She remained a military AI at her core, after all. He wondered if anyone other than himself realized the kind of subtle modifications she’d gradually made to the Nebula Zephyr, to recapture certain capabilities she was used to wielding. Jake, maybe. Fleming knew, he was sure. Owen had given Maeve strict orders not to divulge what he was doing on the planet’s surface to anyone unless the captain asked her directly. The AI’s undivided loyalty belonged to Fleming and she’d never lie to him, nor would Owen expect her to. But she didn’t mind engaging in artful omission, and she’d relied on Owen to procure unusual cargo for her use on occasion. Besides their shared history of mild deception, she liked Tyrelle and didn’t much like the SCIA agents.

  Once he reached a hill overlooking the compound, he took up a position and studied the buildings, identifying vulnerable points and watching the guards. Quite a few groundcars an
d flitters were parked at the rear of the complex. Some kind of meeting or party maybe. He grinned. Good day to blow the place up. The guards sure weren’t up to military standard. One was asleep, two were playing cards and none of the others was actively standing their post. He supposed the Combine had grown used to being untouchable, which meant overconfident.

  Midorri made her questioning noise, resting a tentative paw on his knee.

  Time to move.

  He might not be Special Forces like Jake and Red, but he’d had advanced training and he hadn’t spent his entire time on active duty running logistics depots, as these Combine bastards would soon learn. After checking his pack full of small but highly effective explosives, he opened the shirt pocket over his heart and withdrew the lock of Tyrelle’s hair, glowing even more vividly in this stark landscape.

  Midorri tilted her head and flicked his wrist with her long tongue, purring loudly.

  “Find her for me,” he said to the pet. “And don’t get caught.”

  Midorri scampered away from him, heading toward the compound.

  A moment later, Owen blinked as he realized he could hardly see her, the vivid green of her fur fading as she converted her pelt into a color closely resembling the sandy color of the rocks she crossed. Pondering what other abilities the creature was gifted with, he put the precious lock of hair safely in his pocket and moved out himself, heading toward the first of many spots he’d selected for planting his bombs. He lacked enough ordnance to blow up the entire place but figured he could create an effective diversion and kill more than a few bad guys. Keep them occupied while I sneak Tyrelle out.

  He skulked through the Combine installation, setting charges in inconspicuous spots, sabotaging vehicles as he proceeded, ignoring bouts of laughter and yelling alike from the room in the main building where the raucous meeting was occurring, but taking care to plant three of his shape charges in the structure’s vulnerable points. He easily avoided the guards at shift change, hunkering in a drainage ditch and remaining motionless while the men and women moved to and fro, all of them clearly anxious to get out of the heat.