The Starlight Rite

by Cherise Sinclair

  Handler nodded.

  “Please verify that she has received suitable punishment, and then put her into a cell until tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, sir.” Handler pushed her through the door to the inner building. The overwhelming smell of cleanser couldn’t eradicate the scent of fear, and Mella’s stomach clenched.

  Abel came down the hallway. “Manager sent me to help. She’s back, eh?”

  Handler nodded, then asked Mella, “Be you caned? And where?”

  “My bottom.” She felt her face flush.

  “Bend over.” When she’d complied, Handler set a hard hand on the back of her neck, keeping her there. “Check the beating,” he ordered Abel.

  Mella felt her skirt being raised, exposing her bottom. A painful touch on a welt made her jerk and caused Handler’s grip to tighten.

  “One. Two,” Abel said, pressing hard on each stripe as he counted. “Nine and ten. Exactly ten, no more, no less.”

  “Good. Escort the unshuline to an empty cell and notify the kitchen she be added to the rolls.” After letting her stand straight, Handler frowned at her. “Be you sure that your next master will know you attempted escape. Not again will it happen.”

  * * *

  Feeling as if he’d left part of himself back at Arewell Enclave, Dain arrived at the Planetary Security Building. At least his return to work would divert his mind from the little thief. His office smelled stale, and paper piles cluttered the desk’s surface. One corner of his desk had a stack of comunit messages with a framed photo lying on top to prevent them from toppling.

  Dain picked up the picture of Rebli and Mella that he’d brought in last week. His niece knelt beside the little thief in the shade garden while Mella wiggled a long string in front of a felin. The memory of her infectious laughter when the felin had pounced stabbed into Dain’s chest, leaving an ache behind.

  Jaw tight, he set the photo on his desk and picked up the stack of messages. With a sigh, he dropped into his chair and started reading them.

  After a minute, he turned the photo to face away. Scorch it all, anyway. He put in a call to Blackwell and then forced his mind away from curves and softness and comfort.

  He had work to do, starting with the notifications and reports clogging his infounit’s in-basket. A LastDay party had grown too raucous. Fighting. Not unusual for the Trytron Enclave; seamen liked to brawl. His enforcers had handled the infractions well. He punched Delete.

  Someone had robbed two great houses, but the detective on the case had a good lead. Delete.

  Wulkor attacks had increased in the backcountry. He tagged a note to ask Planetary Defense to send a militia squad to help eliminate the predators.

  The final report on the singer’s ship explosion waited for him, along with the form to release the death certificate. Dain started to hit his Signature button, then remembered he’d asked for the biological report from the lab. He brought it up and glanced at it.

  Then stopped and read it again.

  When the singer’s ship had docked, it carried the captain, two crew, and one passenger—Armelina Archer. But the report noted only three bodies in the debris. Now, with an explosion and a fire, the lab’s estimate could be wrong, but… He frowned at the signature on the bottom. The head of the lab, Old Argulinin, was known as Anal Argulinin because he never missed a detail and never made a mistake.

  So unless Ekatae’s blazing sands had frozen over, someone from that ship had survived.

  He was deep into reviewing the reports when his secretary signaled. “General, Nathan Hamilton has arrived for his appointment. Colonel Blackwell is here also.”

  Dain went to the door and saw the singer’s husband sitting in a chair in the reception area.

  And Blackwell… Dain gave an exasperated sigh. Blackwell was leaning over Esosha, one hand on her desk, the other on her chair, fencing the secretary in. Esosha’s face was flushed, her voice sounded husky. Thrilled and intimidated.

  By Cernun’s spear. Best deal with Blackwell first, before Esosha got too flustered to do any work at all. Dain nodded at Nathan and held up a finger. “Give me one more minute, and then we can talk.” He turned to his cousin. “Blackwell, leave my secretary alone.”

  Blackwell grinned and ran a finger down Esosha’s pink cheek before strolling over to Dain. “I heard you wanted to speak with me. Since I stopped next door to check on the new soldiers assigned to my battalion, I figured I’d convince you to have lunch.”

  Dain glanced at the clock. Almost noon. He’d been busy all right. And still was. “I’m too behind for a break. I wanted to ask you for a favor. Another one.” His jaw tightened. “You left Mella at the Indenture Hall?”

  “I did.”

  Conscious of the fact that his secretary and Hamilton were present, Dain lowered his voice. “Buy her. She deserves better than being a doshuline in a brothel, even if we didn’t suit.”

  Blackwell’s eyes narrowed. “She caused you pain, Cousin. You sure you want her in my hands?”

  He hadn’t thought about Blackwell’s overprotective loyalty and how he’d probably take his anger out on Mella. “Just for the moment. Buy her, and I’ll find her somewhere else to go.”

  “You’re as softhearted as a pyr sleeping with new lambs.” Blackwell scowled. “Fine. I’ll get over there sometime today. But you’d best remove her quickly, or I’ll show her how that beating should have been done.”

  “Thank you, panthat.” Dain squeezed his shoulder and then turned to the Earther. “Nathan Hamilton, please join me.”

  Hamilton entered the office smiling. “It’s good to see you again, General Dain. And please, call me Nathan.”

  Ignoring the request, Dain politely shook the man’s hand Earther fashion and motioned for him to have a seat.

  Smoothing his blue silk suit, Hamilton took a chair. “I want to leave the planet today. Is the certificate for the Earth officials ready? You told me it wouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”

  “I believe I said that just yesterday.” Dain kept the irritation off his face and didn’t add that the finalization grew more distant by the moment.

  An hour ago, he’d pulled a young enforcer off patrol to review the dockside security vids from the evening of the bombing. If a body was missing, then that body must have left sometime before or after the explosion.

  He’d ordered another tech to examine the vids of the stalker more closely. Perhaps Hanwell and Nilard missed a clue. His gut told him something was off. Very off. He tilted his head at the annoying Earther. “I have a few details yet to tie up. I hope the wait hasn’t proven too onerous for you.”

  Hamilton’s smile thinned. “Nexus is an entertaining planet, but I have business to return to. I need you to get this fini—” He choked, his eyes widening.

  Did the man have heart problems? Dain rose to his feet. “Are you ill?”

  Hamilton gave a weak laugh and leaned back in his chair. “No. I just got something stuck in my throat.”

  Lie.

  Dain had long ago abandoned trying to truth-say constantly. It was a truism that everyone lied, and people constantly used white lies in everyday conversation: You look fantastic. I feel fine. My husband has asked after you. But a perceived heart attack had shot Dain’s adrenaline level up, and stress strengthened the truth-reader talent.

  Hamilton hadn’t choked. “For a minute, I thought you were having heart problems.”

  “Nah. My health is fine.”

  Truth. Then what had disturbed the man? Something on the desk?

  Before Dain could pursue the matter, Hamilton stood, pulling his cuffs down. “Well, if I can’t collect the death certificate, I’ll get going. Hopefully I can postpone my business a bit longer. If not, I assume you can send a courier with the papers to Earth.”

  Still standing, Dain nodded. “Certainly.”

  As the man hurried out of the office, Dain shook his head. Earthers were strange. After taking the chair where Hamilton had sat, Dain eyed his des
k. All the reports lay too far away for Hamilton to have read them. The only thing that the Earther could have reacted to was the picture of Mella and Rebli in the enclave garden.

  He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair and frowned at the photo. Mella came from Earth. Did Nathan Hamilton know her? If so, why hadn’t he mentioned it?

  A crawling sensation crept up his spine, like when he’d hunted wulkors with a spear, knowing their pack lurked nearby. Danger. Hamilton was hiding something. But what?

  He raised his voice. “Esosha, please summon Hanwell and Nilard to meet me in half an hour.”

  “Yes, General.”

  Dain punched a number into his comunit. “Have you discovered anything interesting?”

  “I have, General.” The tech’s voice was filled with excitement. “But something entirely different than what you wanted. I’m uploading the data to your infounit now. Let me explain…”

  * * *

  Mella paced her cell, rubbing her arms. Fear of tomorrow’s auction prickled her nerves like dissonant music. Uncomfortable, but nothing close to the pain of losing Dain. That reverberated through her body like a heavy bass drum. Blinking back tears, she remembered how his eyes had looked so unhappy, his face so strained.

  And then her mind presented her with the happier times. How he’d smile, his cheek creasing, the sun lines around his eyes deepening. How strong his arms were when he held her and how safe and wanted he made her feel. His lips would tease hers, and his fingers would play her body as surely as she played the harp.

  Stop thinking of him as a lover. She dropped onto the cot and winced when her tender bottom hit the hard mattress. Think about seeing him with the murderers and Nathan and how friendly they all appeared.

  Safety didn’t lie in his arms; safety required distance from him. He was evil. Think about the way he’d hurt her, caning her so hard she couldn’t sit comfortably. He was an abusive bastard who liked to… She sighed. No, he hadn’t enjoyed it. She’d seen the pain in his face, and Blackwell had confirmed it. Dain hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but he’d given his word to the Indenture Hall, and he wouldn’t lie, even about something so small.

  But that didn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t lie…because he was law-abiding. Honorable. She curled her hands around her knees, trying to think rationally, despite the hope rising in her chest.

  Last night, Blackwell hadn’t appeared surprised that Dain didn’t evade his responsibility. He’d disliked seeing Dain suffer, but he’d known Dain would see her punishment through. Because Dain was an honorable man.

  He was.

  A man honorable in the little things would be honorable in the big ones.

  Certainty blasted through her like a cold wind, so overwhelming that she closed her eyes. He hadn’t been part of the plan to murder her.

  He was head of the enforcers, yes, but he couldn’t have known about the plot or he’d not have allowed it to happen. He’d met with Nathan and the enforcers, but she must have misinterpreted their being friends.

  Oh Prophet, Dain. She’d been an idiot. Nathan’s betrayal had shaken her so badly, she hadn’t trusted her own senses.

  That meant she could tell Dain her identity. She laced her hands tightly together. Would he help her get justice? Keep her safe? Her heart began to hammer as other questions whispered in her mind like a song. Would he forgive her and take her back?

  She ran to the door of the cell, staying clear of the restraint field, and yelled to the attendant down the hall. “I need to make a comcall. To report a crime. Can I use a comunit?”

  He eyed her for a minute and then nodded. “We allow calls to the Port City area. Nowhere else.” He brought her a comunit off the desk. “Who to?”

  “Dain.” Dain what? Oh dear. “He’s high up in the enforcer stuff, and…um…” Her brain went blank. What was his clan name?

  The guard snorted. “You’re the Earther, aren’t you? Happens Nexans only have one name to a person. It’s unique; there’s only one Dain on the planet. But don’t think to call him as a joke. He’s General Dain, head of Planetary Security, and he has the sense of humor of an irritated regstal.”

  “That’s him.”

  “Good luck, Earther.” He punched in the number, handed her the comunit, and moseyed back to his desk, shaking his head.

  “General Dain’s office,” a woman answered, and Mella felt like crying. She wanted to hear Dain’s voice so badly. Was this his secretary?

  “I-I need to speak with General Dain, please.” Her certainty eroded away by the second. What if he refused to talk to her?

  “He’s in a meeting. May I take a message?”

  Heavens. She sucked in a breath and searched for self-assurance. “Yes. P-please.” Her voice wavered, and she tried to firm it up. She didn’t succeed. “W-would you tell him Mella called and…” What could she say? “Um, tell him I’m sorry, and I trust him, and my name is Armelina Archer.”

  She heard the secretary’s gasp, ignored it, and doggedly continued. “And that I’m not dead.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nilard and Hanwell entered Dain’s office together, big men in black uniforms with zappers on their belts. Sitting at his desk, Dain eyed his two enforcers and suppressed a growl. Now he looked closer, the signs of uneasiness were easy to read—tighter muscles around eyes and mouth, slightly wary posture. He pointed to the two chairs in front of his desk. To the right of Dain’s chair, Srinda sat quietly. On the left, Tech Gregior leafed through the papers on his lap.

  “Enforcers,” Dain said, tipping his head. “I have a few questions about some discrepancies in your investigation.” He had a growing fear that the two hadn’t just taken a bribe to overlook the bombing but had done the murder themselves.

  “Gregior, explain what you found on the tape.”

  From the technology-oriented Falconior kinline, the young tech enforcer possessed an almost mystical talent with vids and infounits. He stepped over to Dain’s infounit to project a security vid of the spaceport onto the far wall. As they watched, the man designated as the stalker appeared and walked down the dock.

  “That’s the person who blew up the singer’s ship.” Hanwell frowned. “We know this already, so—”

  Gregior interrupted him. “The problem is here.” He repeated the segment in extreme slow motion. Right before the stalker appeared, the picture fuzzed. “See that? Someone edited the vid. They did it neatly, but it’s definitely edited.”

  Dain leaned back, his gaze on Hanwell and Nilard. Frowning at the vid, Nilard ran a hand up and down his thigh. The more technologically oriented of the partners, he had the skills to corrupt the vid. “Nilard,” Dain said. “Did you edit this vid?”

  “No, of course not.” Nilard shot Dain a shocked look.

  “Lie,” Srinda murmured.

  From the dismayed looks on the two men’s faces, they’d just caught the intention behind her presence—that this was an interrogation with them as the suspects.

  “Hanwell, did you plant bombs on the ship?”

  “No.” The man’s face grayed, and beads of sweat appeared on his brow.

  Dain couldn’t read him at all. Apparently, the enforcer possessed enough talent to block Dain’s limited strength. Unfortunately for Hanwell, judges could penetrate any barrier.

  “Lie.” Srinda sighed and rubbed her forehead. Dain squeezed her shoulder. The concentration required to pierce a mind-block took its toll with headaches and nausea.

  “Hanwell, did Nathan Hamilton hire you to kill his wife?” Dain continued.

  The enforcer opened his mouth, and then his gaze shifted to Srinda.

  She waited. Dain waited.

  Hanwell’s shoulders slumped. “Yes. Herina help me, but he offered so much money. Enough that we’d be wealthy. And it seemed so simple.” He looked at Dain. “Dain, I’m—”

  Years ago, when Dain transferred from the militia into security, Hanwell had been the first enforcer he’d hired. Dain met his eyes.

  Han
well flinched and dropped his gaze.

  “Gregior, show them the other vid,” Dain said.

  The display changed to later in the evening. The flow of people in the spaceport had markedly increased. Firefighters and enforcers outnumbered the others. When a short, curvy woman followed a firefighter out the exit, Gregior stopped the vid.

  “Is that the singer? Armelina Archer?” Dain asked, staring at the hologram of Mella. She had a cut on one cheek, dirt and blood streaked her clothing, and terror swam in her eyes. He pulled in a slow breath, trying to control the fury searing his gut.

  “By Cernun, she’s alive?” Nilard stared. “How did she escape?”

  “Good question.” Dain’s jaw tightened. So the enforcers hadn’t known she survived. “Gregior, send a squad to the Felin’s Rest Hotel to arrest Nathan Hamilton. Then go pick up an unshaline named Mella from the Indenture Hall and bring her here.”

  Dain steepled his fingers and stared at the two enforcers. They’d betrayed him, their clans, and the Nexan people. For money. “Hanwell, start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

  When the man’s mouth closed in unspoken refusal, Dain let his anger show. “You two might recall that if a judge endorses that you committed a crime involving injury or murder, I am permitted to interrogate you using stadilaig.” Dain rose, planted his hands on his desk, and leaned forward. “If you do not start talking right now, you will be in the medroom within five minutes, and I will ask you questions until you are drooling idiots. I might even enjoy the sight.”

  “Truth,” Srinda murmured, and both men went white. Stadilaig often left just a husk of a person after use. Since it was only used on endorsed uncooperative criminals, no one particularly cared about the drug’s adverse effects.

  Hands trembling like leaves in a high wind, Hanwell cleared his throat. “A man approached us two months ago…

  * * *

  There were exactly eight steps from one side of her cell to the other. After going back and forth several dozen times, Mella started humming old marching songs to go with her pacing. Earth had a lot of military tunes.