by Cheree Alsop
Tariq’s hand caught her fingers where they ran along the pages. He squeezed them gently, beckoning for her to look at him.
“Liora,” he said, his voice soft.
The way he said her name sent a shiver through her skin. It was a sensation she had never felt before. She wasn’t sure she liked that he had such an effect on her.
“Please look at me,” he implored.
Liora closed her eyes.
Tariq let out a quiet breath. “Liora, whatever you did…” He paused, took another breath, and tried again. “Whatever that was, when I saw you, your pain was so real I felt it. That image will haunt me for the rest of my life.”
His words ate at her. She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come back for me. It wasn’t safe. You could have been killed.”
“And if I didn’t, you would have.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered.” The whisper escaped Liora’s lips before she could stop it.
Tariq put his fingers under her chin and lifted so that she looked him in the eyes.
“It would have,” he replied.
Tension filled the air with an energy Liora had never felt before. She wanted to press her lips to his and kiss him, something she had never done to anyone in her life. The urge to caress his jaw and run her fingers through his mussed hair was so strong she had lifted her hand before she realized what she was doing.
Emotions crossed Tariq’s eyes, clouding the reflection of her searching gaze. He closed his eyes and shook his head. His hand lowered.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Liora was about to stand when his fingers touched her neck. Fire trailed where his skin met hers.
“I was hoping this would fade before you awoke.”
Liora glanced down, but she couldn’t see what he was talking about. “What?” she asked.
“Where the thorn pierced your skin. I thought it would go away, but it looks like you might be wearing it for life.” At her confused expression, a look of sympathy brushed his face. “You don’t know.”
Liora shook her head. “I’m really not sure what you’re talking about.”
Tariq rose and held out his hand. Liora took it, touched by his consideration. He let her fingers go and crossed to the washroom. He held the door open and motioned for her to enter.
Liora did so wordlessly. Her Damaclan instincts told her not to turn her back on him, but she shoved them away. If he wanted to kill her, he would have left her to die on the red planet.
Her thoughts were swept away by the image in the mirror.
Liora’s short hair was a mess and her face pale, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. In the mirror, the dark marks along the right side of her neck were visible. She stepped closer, pulling the collar of her shirt to the side so she could see.
The place where the thorn had pierced her skin just above the point where her neck met her shoulder was black as though dyed by the darkest ink. Branches trailed way from it, streaking up her neck and down past her collarbone. Some were thicker, and others were barely a hairline.
“It looks like a tree,” she said.
A breath escaped Tariq as though he had been holding it. “It’s your Damaclan blood,” he told her. “It fought back. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
His fingers brushed her neck. The sensation was slight, but sent tingles across her skin. She met his gaze in the mirror.
Tariq’s light blue eyes were troubled as he watched her.
“Why do you look at me like that?” she asked.
He lowered his gaze. “Because I can’t look at you any other way.”
“I know.” Her words came out soft. The understanding in them brought Tariq’s gaze back up to her. Liora knew she had to be honest with him. “When you were unconscious in the cave, I tried to help you with the pain.” The admission was hard. She swallowed. “Instead of covering it, I was drawn into the memory you were having. I-I saw your wife and daughter, and I saw the man who killed them.”
Tariq stiffened slightly. He searched her face in the mirror as she spoke. She knew she couldn’t stop. He had to know the truth.
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Tariq, it was Obruo, the chief of my clan and the man who raised me since I was born.”
Tariq shook his head.
“He’s supposed to be dead,” she continued. “Everyone was killed.” She shook her head, still unable to comprehend why Obruo was in Tariq’s memories years after her clan had been slaughtered by the nameless ones. It didn’t make any sense.
“But you’re human, too,” he said as if he needed something to hold onto.
Liora nodded. “My mother loved my human father, but he had to run because my mother was already married to the clan chieftain. Obruo sent ships to kill him when he found out what my mother had done, but they never located him.” Her voice quieted. “I was raised Damaclan under Obruo’s roof.”
Tariq lifted a hand as if to touch her cheek, but he pulled it away before he reached her.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Liora.”
Cold washed through her cheek where his touch should have been and she realized how much she had wanted it.
“Me, too,” she replied, her voice just above a whisper.
She left him in the medical wing with a lost expression on his face. She had never felt such heartbreak before. She didn’t know why she cared about Tariq, but his look of hurt stayed in her mind when she pulled her blanket and pillow to the floor. The fact that he was probably sitting against the wall again without a book in his hand to distract him filled her with guilt.
She held the book to her chest and closed her eyes with its weight keeping her from falling apart.
Chapter 20
Lieutenant Argyle’s crew had worked through the night re-facing the sides so that the Iron Falcon looked like scraps; luckily, thanks to the beating the ship had received when they fled planet F One Zero Four, the work hadn’t been too hard.
The crew had changed out of their regular uniforms into what O’Tule called, ‘Questionable attire so bad, hopefully it’ll scare away any inquiries.’ Their faded, rag-tag clothes that were a mismatch of outfits Shathryn and O’Tule had found in a closet somewhere looked almost comical. Liora was the only one who had been able to wear her regular attire because it didn’t bear the Coalition emblems.
Shathryn wore a sequined purple shirt that matched the exact shade of her hair. The gray work overalls O’Tule had on made her green skin stand out even more. Tariq looked especially humorous in the brown and yellow checkered shirt and torn blue pants while Devren was at least able to pull off the patched black and pink striped shirt Shathryn had found. Hyrin shocked everyone when he came out of his room wearing an orange dress with a matching wig.
“Did you already have those?” Devren asked, keeping his voice level.
Hyrin laughed. “Shathryn dared me. I think it looks great with my eyes.”
Tariq shook his head. “We all look ridiculous.” His eyes flickered to Liora before he turned away.
“Speak for yourself,” Shathryn replied, smoothing the front of her shirt. “I might have to wear this color more often.”
“At least you’re not stuck in crappy coveralls,” O’Tule complained.
“You were too short for the slacks. We’d have to roll them up by at least half,” Shathryn reminded her.
The speakers beeped and Duncan’s voice announced, “Captain, we’ve reached the Gaulded.”
Everyone waited on the bridge with anxious expressions. The SS Kratos pulled slowly up to the loading dock of Gaulded Seven Zero Eighty-nine. Their worst fear was realized when the head officer Belanite of the Gaulded approached their ship as soon as they landed. A Gaul paced on either side, obvious security with their blade-tipped horns and the semi-automatics strapped across their chests. The Belanite’s moon crest on his uniform reflected in the Kratos’ lights.
“What’s going on?” Hyrin asked, his eyes on the security camera�
��s screen.
“I’m not sure,” Devren replied. “But I’d better go find out.”
He made his way to the loading ramp; everyone crammed as close behind him as they could get. He glanced back at his crew before he hit the button to open the door.
“Could you give me a little space?” he asked. “Perhaps we should try looking a bit less suspicious.”
The crew backed off quickly so that only Devren and Tariq stood in the entryway. Devren pushed the button.
“Good morning, Officer,” he said as soon as the ramp touched the ground. “It’s a pleasant surprise to be greeted by your fine company.”
The Belanite’s gaze swept over the crew behind Devren. He looked at the captain.
“Do you have any Damaclans on your ship?” he asked without preamble.
Ice rushed through Liora’s veins at the direct question. Nobody lied to a Belanite. They had expected him to ask if they were with the Coalition or if they had been anywhere near the Cetus Dwarf Galaxy. Devren had been prepared to give indirect answers that weren’t lies; however, nobody had expected the Belanite’s question.
Devren and Tariq looked back at Liora. She stood near the rear of the crew. The other crew members shifted, attempting to hide her from sight.
Devren finally nodded. “Yes, Officer. We have a Damaclan aboard our ship. She is a part of the crew and—”
“Bring her forward.”
The Belanite’s command left no room to argue. The crew flattened to the sides of the hallway. Liora took a steeling breath and walked down the path they formed.
“Be careful,” O’Tule breathed, her fingers tightly linked in Shathryn’s.
Liora nodded. Instead of stopping at the top of the ramp like she wanted, she continued past Devren and Tariq to the bottom.
The Gauls were larger even than those she had fought on the last Gaulded. She hoped they weren’t related. The sound of their breathing was like bellows inside their massive chests. She almost expected steam to come from their noses.
“Are you the only Damaclan aboard your ship?” the Belanite asked.
The orange-scaled Belanite looked her over as one might inspect a zanderbin hide before purchase. He took in the tattoos on the side of her neck and visible at her wrists. His gaze paused on the marks from the poison. Its curved lines and random structure were so different from the severe Damaclan tattoos that the contrast seemed to surprise him. When his eyes met hers, they were questioning.
She held his gaze. “I’m the only one.”
The Belanite nodded. “Let her pass. She’s not the one we’re looking for.”
Relief flooded through Liora. She heard Hyrin’s echoing sigh up in the ship.
“If I may, what Damaclan are you looking for?” she asked.
The Belanite gave her a small smile that surprised her. Belanites weren’t known for their cordiality. “Someone far different from you. He’s a big brute, ugly for a Damaclan. He has the same tattoos as those on your neck, and he seems to have taken a vendetta against the Gaulded.”
“Why?” Devren asked, coming up behind her.
“We’re not sure,” the Belanite replied. “The investigation has been ongoing since the explosion.”
“Someone attacked a Gaulded?” Tariq asked with disbelief in his voice.
Since the Gaulded were neutral, they were considered untouchable by nearly all races regardless of their political standing. While disputes often happened aboard the pressurized chunks of debris that had been welded to form the mismatched trade structures, they were settled quickly by either the individuals or the Belanites’ ruthless security. An attack on a Gaulded itself was unheard of.
“Gaulded Zero Twenty-one was destroyed after the aforementioned Damaclan left a bomb upon departure,” the Belanite said, his voice level. “When we catch up to him, he’ll understand the full meaning of cruel and unusual punishment.”
The way the Belanite said the last phrase without any inflection in his voice made it sound even worse. He turned silently with his Gaul security guards and left. The crew of the SS Kratos watched him go.
“Another Damaclan?” Devren said quietly. “You don’t think…”
“It’s Chief Obruo.” Saying the words aloud hit Liora hard. “It has to be. He’s looking for me.”
The fact that an entire Gaulded with merchants, tradesmen, mechanics, and families dependent upon the vocations within the post had been destroyed because of her left Liora feeling empty. The kind woman who had given her the Ventican clothing was gone. She had vowed to return and pay for the Zamarian’s generosity to a stranger. Now, because of her, the woman and her son had lost their lives. Zran had been right to fear her.
“Liora?” Devren said, his voice gentle.
She looked up to find the crew watching her. By the looks on their faces, they knew whatever Devren had felt necessary to tell them of her past. It was his duty as captain to ensure that his crew felt comfortable with each member aboard. Their safety and ability to work as a team demanded at least that.
Yet the looks of pity on Shathryn and O’Tule’s faces ate at her. Hyrin gave her what she thought was supposed to be an encouraging smile, but came out faltering. Devren’s gaze held hers.
“I know that look on your face,” he said. “I know you want to run. You think you’ll be protecting us.”
“Everyone I care about dies,” she said. Her voice wavered slightly despite her fight to keep it level.
“We have a lot more against us than a single Damaclan,” Devren reminded her.
“You don’t know Obruo.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know him, but I know you. You’re stubborn, angry, and the fiercest fighter I’ve ever seen.” He tipped his head slightly to the side. “The way I see it, you have two choices. You can run by yourself and do the best you can against Obruo alone. If you choose that option, we’ll do the same and fight our fight with guns and fists the way we know how.”
He gestured at the Kratos. “Or you can stay aboard this ship and we run together. We use our brains and our skills to outwit both the Damaclan chief and the scavengers, mercenaries, and Coalition ships intent on claiming the death machine for themselves. We need to buy ourselves time to get rid of the Omne Occasus, and we’re going to need all the help we can get in order to do that.”
Shathryn gave Liora a pleading look. “We need you, Liora! We’ve seen you fight.”
O’Tule nodded. “You’re an integral part of our crew now. You can’t just leave. We have to band together. It’s the best chance any of us have to survive this. You’re our sister, remember? Sister’s don’t walk away.”
“Come on,” Straham said. “You belong with us.”
It was Tariq’s gaze that completed her resolve. The hatred in his eyes matched her need for vengeance. They might not be able to make it as friends given their past, but they could be allies against the enemy who had destroyed both their lives.
Tariq nodded as though he guessed her thoughts. “Let’s fight him together.”
Liora’s answering nod was met with a cheer.
“Great!” O’Tule exclaimed, hugging Liora in her enthusiasm. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”
Liora lifted a hand. “I’ll stay on one condition.”
“Anything,” Shathryn promised.
“No more hugs.”
Liora’s words were met with laughter. Straham patted her shoulder on his way past.
“Time to pay the crew,” he said. “Come get your share.”
“Pay your crew elsewhere,” a Calypsan snapped from the dock, shattering the moment. The hooved man glared at them. “You’ve docked in my spot.”
“Nobody owns a spot,” Hyrin replied with a touch of discomfort. “It’s a Gaulded.”
“Just the same, I always dock here. Move your ship,” the Calypsan demanded.
Devren and Tariq crossed quietly down the ramp to the rest of the crew. Liora waited with her hand near her knife in case she was needed.
/> “I think we can settle this like gentlemen,” Devren said.
The Calypsan’s eyes narrowed. “Who says I want to?”
Tariq took a silver bar from Straham’s satchel and tossed it to the Calypsan. “There. That should cover your expenses for hauling your supplies further down the dock. Will that settle it?”
The Calypsan looked from the bar to Tariq as though contemplating whether he could get more from the human. Tariq’s glare said not to press his luck.
“Fine,” the Calypsan huffed. He stormed away.
“Take that from my share,” Tariq told Straham. He glanced at Hyrin. “Let’s get a drink.”
The others filed out after them.
Lieutenant Argyle paused next to Devren with a list in his hand. “It’s going to take a pretty copper to repair the Kratos.”
“Do whatever it takes,” Devren told him. He paused and smiled. “Put it on the Coalition’s tab just before we leave.”
An answering smile spread across Argyle’s face, raising his bushy mustache. “Yes, Captain. It’ll be my pleasure.”
A young repairman with bandages in the place of a pinky finger hurried beside him.
“Come along, Bonway. We have a few things to add to our list,” Liora heard Lieutenant Argyle say as they made their way through the ships.
Liora trailed after the other crew members. She had more money in her pocket than she had ever owned in her life. It felt strange to wander the shops knowing that she could buy what she wanted. She couldn’t make herself spend it; however. The thought of the Zamarian woman she would have given it to ate at her, burning holes into the joy she saw on the other crew members’ faces.
The women pulled her into the closest clothing stall.
“Try this on, Liora,” O’Tule pleaded. “It’ll look great with your eyes.” She flourished an armored vest with black and silver charms fastened across the front.
“No, try this one,” Shathryn said. She held up a purple and black jacket of worked zanderbin hide.
Liora shook her head. “Thank you, but I don’t need anything.”
She left the shop before they could protest.
