by Loren Rhoads
This trip shouldn’t be as eventful, but Revan was by nature cautious. Jonan’s chief order was to reconnoiter a deserted Templar world and report if anyone had been there. He’d given Revan the coordinates of a specific tomb and asked him to make certain it was still sealed. Revan didn’t know what had been in the tomb. It didn’t matter. He’d see what he could, report back, and return home gratefully as soon as he was allowed.
They had arrived in the target system without incident. The family’s ships, though antiques now, were meticulously maintained. Jain’s orbital scans of the planet showed that it was as uninhabited as reported. Revan had ordered the transport set down outside the bunkers being abraded by the gritty winds. The way the airlock door hung open made it clear that whoever had been camping on the cemetery world had abandoned the place.
The encampment had been pretty thoroughly ransacked, Revan observed. The bunkers had been emptied of everything small enough to carry away, except for broken and worthless odds and ends: an armchair leaking its stuffing, a torque wrench with stripped gears, miscellaneous flywheels missing teeth.
The guards fanned out between the buildings looking for evidence that might identify the looters. Revan didn’t expect to find much, aware the thieves would hardly leave a calling card. But they’d left in enough of a hurry that they hadn’t scoured the site clean. A direct hit from space would have done the job handily. Either they’d known they’d attracted Jonan’s notice and panicked or they’d found what they were looking for—whatever Jonan was looking for—and everything left behind was inconsequential.
One of the guards inched forward, studying the broken airlock of the largest building with a forensic scanner. Revan’s chief hope was that one of the thieves had had a record in the Empire. If one of them could be identified, Revan would be able to track the rest. It was a straw, but Revan was hopeful enough to grasp anything that would get him home sooner. He never felt safe out in the galaxy.
The bunker’s internal air smelled singed. The power feed from his transport’s generator must be overloading the bunker’s less-than-standard wiring. Revan grinned without mirth as he checked the charge on his hand torch. The guards would have to be cautious, or they’d accomplish the demolition the looters hadn’t bothered with themselves. It’d be all too easy to burn this place down and leave no trace.
Jain came hustling back, his taciturn guard in tow. “They were robbing graves!” he announced, titillated and horrified simultaneously.
Revan smiled affectionately at his nephew without pointing out how obvious that assumption was. “How can you tell?”
“Well, they put the tomb slabs back when they were done, so the looted tombs look untouched. But there are loader tracks all over. They’re filling in with sand, but they’re not erased in the shadows of the mountains, where the wind doesn’t reach.”
“Well done, Jain. Can you tell which tomb they opened last?”
“I’ll figure it out, Uncle Revan.”
“Good. If we know where they stopped, chances are we’ll know what they were looking for—whatever was important enough to bring them, and us, to this rock.”
* * *
When Sloane returned to the yacht, Raena sat at the comp terminal, one foot tucked under her, unconsciously spinning a stylus in one hand. She smiled up at him, not the least bit guilty about being caught poking around.
“What are you up to?” Sloane asked as he crossed the cockpit to plant a kiss on the top of her head.
“Spying.” Raena pulled him down so she could kiss him, hard and fierce.
He held her face in his hands as he straightened, gazing down at her as if he could capture her image on his retinas and hold it there. Her hair rayed out from her head in an uneven corona, black as space. Her dusky skin seemed polished, unlined by time. She barely looked twenty.
Sloane’s gaze slipped past her shoulder to the computer screen. He’d never seen Thallian in person, but he’d heard enough about the man’s exploits when he was tried in absentia. The wanted poster was old, although apparently still valid. The bounty hadn’t been collected at least. Enough zeroes trailed the number that even Sloane was impressed. Wanted for war crimes, it said.
The man on the screen was strikingly handsome: angular face, spade-shaped beard, silver eyes surrounded by lines that implied a love of life, a sense of humor, things not borne out by the list of offences for which he had been sentenced to death.
“Why wouldn’t he erase himself entirely from the historical record?”
“Because he’s vain,” Raena said with certainty. “He wants to be certain he’s remembered.”
Sloane didn’t know how to answer that. Instead he asked, “Any clue where he’s hiding?”
“Not yet,” Raena said seriously.
“Must be somewhere deep and dark,” Sloane said. After the words left his lips, he regretted them.
“Not as deep or dark as it ought to be,” Raena threatened. Without looking away from the screen, she added, “It’s strange to think that the War is over.”
“War’s been over a long time, darlin’.” Sloane’s answer came out more flippantly than Raena deserved, but it was too late to recall it.
“But the Templars—don’t you feel bad about what happened to them?”
Sloane sank into the pilot’s chair and started locking the yacht down. “The plague was fast, targeted. Something engineered. It wiped the bugs out within the course of a year. The Emperor was implicated in its dissemination. Everybody else in the galaxy—all the non-humans—rose up, banded together. They would have exterminated us . . .”
“So humans turned on those responsible for the plague,” she guessed.
“It was horrible. Everyone was under scrutiny. It was risky to travel, hard to find work . . .” There was more, much more, but Sloane knew he’d have time to share it with her later. “You’re lucky you missed it,” he said, meaning to joke.
“Yeah,” she agreed seriously. “Since I’d been Thallian’s aide, I would have been on the wrong side of the purge.”
Sloane left the silence alone while he finished locking up. Then he changed the subject. “I’m glad you’re awake. A taxi’s coming for us.”
“Where are we going?” Raena stood and stretched, indifferent to how ridiculous she looked in the oversized clothes. Even wearing her high-heeled boots, she’d had to turn the cuffs on the cargo pants back enough times that the pant legs hung awkwardly. The gray-green sweater she wore drooped off one shoulder. Its hem fell most of the way to her knees, which made Sloane smile. He reached out to ruffle her soft hair.
“I’ve got a city place, kind of a hideout. As far as anyone here knows, I’m a legitimate dealer in Templar artifacts.”
Raena frowned at that, but didn’t comment.
Sloane continued, “We can hang around here a couple of days, until I sell some of the stuff I brought along. Then when we’re flush again, we can go anywhere in the galaxy you like. So think about where you’d like to go.”
“I will.” She seemed more serious than the situation warranted, but Sloane didn’t pursue it.
She went down the gangplank first and waited at the bottom while he closed up the yacht. When he turned, it felt bizarre to see her standing there, still as a statue, dressed in borrowed clothes, and gaunt to the point of concern. He’d been searching for her so long and there she was, smaller than he remembered. She still looked deadly. Something about her—her stance? her stillness? the muscles obvious beneath her ill-fitting clothing?—marked her out as dangerous. The pedestrian traffic of the busy commonway between the docking slips swerved around Raena as if they sensed her otherness. She watched the variety of life forms with an intensity that seemed focused on potential threats.
Sloane moved to join her before somebody started something that Raena didn’t have the strength to finish.
* * *
After they’d settled into Sloane’s apartment, the doorbell rang. Sloane checked the monitors and saw the building’
s concierge android waiting outside with an armload of shipping cartons. Sloane palmed the locks open and reached out for his packages without a word to the machine.
Raena came to help him bring the boxes in. “This one’s for you,” Sloane told her, gesturing with his chin to the one on top.
She set the others on the sofa, then drew his knife from the top of her boot to open the one he’d indicated. Folded inside lay an evening gown of indigo silk.
“Hope you like it,” he said as she held it up.
“It’s lovely. I’m going to try it on.”
She grabbed the hem of Zilla’s sweater and tugged it over her head. Amused, Sloane noted that modesty was a concept foreign to Raena. It apparently didn’t occur to her that she could go into the bedroom to change.
He hoped the dress would fit. He’d had to guess her measurements, settling at last on the smallest of the standard sizes. He turned back to opening his other packages—food and other necessities—while Raena fussed with fixing herself up.
Finally, she drew his attention back by saying, “It’s beautiful, Gavin.”
The floor-length gown he’d chosen for her fell from diamond clips at her shoulders, leaving her sleek, strong arms bare. The draping of the low neckline implied more cleavage than Raena actually possessed, but the way it shifted when she leaned forward pleased Sloane.
The color might have been a mistake. The deep blue lured his eye in the designer’s catalogue, evoking the emotions he felt for her. Now, seeing her wear it, he wondered if he should have chosen something brighter. On Raena, the indigo looked chemical and harsh, emphasizing the steely component of her coloring. It made her look dreamlike and unreal.
Raena smoothed the skirt over her hips and looked up at him with shining eyes. “I’ve never had anything so nice,” she said.
Another man would have something magnificent to say to that. Sloane managed, “You look good enough to eat.”
“Hungry? I could be on the menu.” She grinned up at him. He remembered that she was scarcely tame.
“Later,” Sloane promised. “You should eat something first before we hole up, and there’s nothing in my cupboards. What are you hungry for?”
She turned the question around. “What do you recommend? You must have had someplace in mind when you ordered this dress.”
He smiled at her. “Let me call them to see if we can get a reservation.”
She laughed, honestly amused, as he crossed the room to the computer screen.
“What’s so funny?”
“Pirates . . . excuse me, grave robbers . . . making dinner reservations. How the galaxy has changed.”
Sloane wondered if she saw it as an improvement. Still, his credit was good and she deserved a special meal. He concentrated on the computer screen as he pulled up the city directory.
* * *
Kavanaugh felt glad to be back on his own ship, even though the air smelled weird after it had been in storage for so long. He leaned back in his pilot’s chair and propped his new boots on the console.
He stared out the view-screen at a quasar flickering in the distance. There was a time when he’d spent so long in space that ground felt strange beneath his feet. In the months he’d been working for Sloane, he’d spent more time on the dirt than in the air. It felt odd to be alone again. And to have enough money to buy company, if he wanted it.
He scooped the Templar jewel casket off the console and held it in his lap. His fingers traced its edge, searching for the hidden catch. The dark brown box was formed of some kind of Templar metal buffed smooth without a hint of sheen. It swallowed light.
Kavanaugh’s thumb found the catch. The lid irised open soundlessly. He looked inside, not ready to touch the blackness coiled within.
Sloane hadn’t noticed when Kavanaugh snuck in to the makeshift bathroom and collected a lock of the hair Raena had sawed off with the knife. Kavanaugh swept the strands together as best he could, pulled a lace from his shirt, and knotted it around a sheaf that was easily as long as his leg.
He thought he remembered Raena’s hair being as black as space. Now with space to compare it to, her hair was clearly blacker. Space, at least this corner of it, had enough ambient light to brighten it.
It was hard to admit that it never occurred to him to look for her after she’d disappeared. When Raena stepped off of Doc’s ship into the storm twenty-some years ago, she’d said she knew how her story ended. Thallian was looking for her and absolutely wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead.
Raena had convinced Kavanaugh that she would die before being taken captive. He’d always believed that was what had happened. He knew her wanted posters had gone down, anyway. He’d hoped that meant she took Thallian down with her. Now, thanks to Gavin, he knew that wasn’t true either.
Without touching the coil of Raena’s hair, Kavanaugh closed the casket. He’d save the evidence of Raena’s survival for when he needed it. If he needed it.
He leaned forward to switch on the comm. This wasn’t going to be an easy call to make.
CHAPTER 4
“Ready?” Sloane asked, offering the crook of his arm.
Raena clasped it and pressed close against him, feverishly warm. “You’ll have to help me remember how to behave in public.”
“You’ll do fine,” Sloane said as he swept her through the door.
“Like falling off a wall,” she agreed. “How hard can it be?”
She sat beside the door of the taxi, head leaned against the window, staring out at the darkening city with devouring eyes. Everything interested her. She even followed the self-propelled street sweepers, nosing into every cranny. Sloane had never paid much attention to their rodent-like scurrying.
Sloane fought down the urge to chatter, filling her up with details of all the years since she’d walked free. He wanted to share with her, to cheer her, but feared that the catalog of everything she’d missed would only depress her. He tried to convince himself that Raena would question him when she was ready to know more about his life or the galaxy at large.
Pedestrians of every species jostled along the walkways. Raena stared at their feathers and finery, their furs and fashions, absorbing it silently. Sloane knew she had been on the run long months before her capture. Surely, she had seen some of these peoples before. Then he reminded himself that she’d been imprisoned a long time. Perhaps she’d forgotten that humans were the minority in the galaxy. Especially now, after the War.
As the taxi found an opening and accelerated upward, Raena studied the other vehicles around them. Sloane didn’t even know if she could drive. Maybe that was something she’d like to learn. It would give her a measure of freedom though, and the thought made his chest cramp. If she could drive, she might leave him.
He’d have to be certain she’d stay before he gave her the means to go. That was important.
In the channels where the sky was visible beyond the high-rises, it burned a bluish violet, lambent and achingly beautiful. The light reflected in Raena’s eyes, lending their blackness a soft glow. Sloane darkened the taxi’s windows so that Raena would turn her attention to him.
“This is a lot to get used to,” she said.
“Understatement of the year,” he teased.
She smiled and slid across the oversized seat to lean against him. Sloane realized how much he took for granted now: that the taxis were built to accommodate creatures larger than humans, that it was unusual to see another human face on the street. Raena couldn’t disappear here. She stood out by virtue of her species, her size.
The taxi made a sudden swoop upward when it reached the correct building. It connected to the external elevator track, which lifted them up the outside of the tower to the correct floor. When the elevator halted, the taxi’s doors peeled open.
Raena took Sloane’s hand and allowed him to help her from the car. He wasn’t sure if her trembling was from the shock of being out in the world again or if she was faint with hunger.
The mait
re d’ led them to a quiet table. Window tables were exorbitant on an hour’s notice. Raena turned her chair away from the view so she could watch the room: force of old habit. Sloane wondered if she would ever live it down. He hadn’t, personally, but until now, he hadn’t had Raena to watch his back.
She appeared overwhelmed by the menu. Nothing suggested by the fanged waitress tempted her. Most of it was alien and unfamiliar, so Sloane took over and ordered for them both. Raena smiled gratefully. Then she concentrated on sipping the glass of water set before her, savoring each icy mouthful. A delicate purple flower floated in it.
“I could live forever on floral water,” she said quietly.
Sloane tried the water himself, but couldn’t taste the flower.
When the salad came, flowers garnished it as well. Raena didn’t move forward to help herself, so Sloane served some onto her plate. She trailed her fork through it.
“You must be hungry,” Sloane observed as he speared a bite.
“I guess so.” She looked up from her plate. “The way the red sauce streaks the greens is pretty. Don’t you think?”
Swallowing quickly, Sloane encouraged, “It’s good.”
Raena scooped up a forkful of food and put it into her mouth. Her teeth closed on her lip and she winced. The food went down with a gulp. What color she had drained from her face.
“We shouldn’t have come,” Sloane said hopelessly. “It’s too soon . . .”
She shook her head, sipped the water again, then speared another forkful of salad and put herself through the whole painful process again. After she’d choked that bite down, she said, “Eat to thrive: Ariel’s father drilled that into me.”
Both of them were relieved when the meal was over. Sloane helped Raena into a taxi and wasn’t surprised when she fell asleep. So much for getting lucky after their big first date. This time, now that the apartment complex was familiar with her, he didn’t have any compunction about lifting her in his arms and carrying her home.
