Collision Course

by Helena Maeve

  The thought had come to Eve after her second glass of wine when Barnabas had proudly announced that he was a minister as well as a bartender, a gunslinger and even, for select clients who could afford his services, an optometrist. It had been a shock when Neil had agreed—and even more so when Felix had kept his objections to himself. Perhaps he had been as smashed as the bride and groom. Eve certainly wouldn’t hold it against him. They hadn’t had much of a wedding. There were no rings, no certificate. Her white dress and red shoes had belonged to Neil’s mother—and that was by far the least strange thing about the ceremony.

  Somehow, the ghosts that loitered in his family’s house hadn’t surged out of the woodwork to attack Eve. Her fear of being put in a cage had yet to materialize. Perhaps because it was there, though, they didn’t mention the ceremony or the bond that united them. Or maybe Neil just thought it was all a big mistake.

  “What you said before,” Neil murmured, drawing her attention back into the present. “Was that just a spur of the moment thing, or…?”

  Eve frowned, her brow knitting together as she pretended to think back to the past few minutes. “It might’ve been… But that doesn’t make it any less true.” She sucked in a fortifying breath, trying to put a lighter slant on that slip of the tongue. “Haven’t you figured out by now that I only spring out the L-word on a guy when I’m having athletic, life-affirming sex? I would’ve thought that’s obvious…”

  She watched it sink in by increments. Neil went from timid, to dismayed, to something that seemed to approach quiet exuberance. At no point did he break out into a grin. It almost had her worrying.

  “This is supposed to be the part where you pump your fist into the air and do a backflip,” Eve pointed out. “You know, in case you’re looking for ways to react that don’t involve saying it back.”

  Neil pretended to scowl. She knew it was pretense because he had linked his hand with hers over the bed sheets, threading their fingers together. “Would you give me a minute? I’m trying to think of an original way to say it back. And possibly ask you to marry me. Again. For real this time.”

  “You want to do it in a church?”

  “It not like I’m allergic. Or a vampire.” Neil rolled his eyes. “But that’s not the point.”

  “Take your time. I’m just going to get some shut-eye in the meantime. Wake me when you decide on whispering sweet nothings to me in ancient Atlantean.” She didn’t need to force levity into her voice. Some things were just certain, like the ground beneath their feet and the presence of falling celestial bodies hurtling past the planet somewhere higher than human—or shifter—eyes could see.

  It wasn’t long before she felt his breath against her ear, whispering the words. They weren’t in ancient Atlantean.

  Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

  Saa’ar Chronicles: Isolation

  A.B. Gayle

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Ethan groaned and rubbed his fingers across his temples, trying to reduce the throbbing inside. What godforsaken hole am I in now?

  A quick scan of his room didn’t help. Bed, desk, chair, cupboard, small bathroom. He’d spent half his life sleeping in quarters like these. Bog standard demountable army room, the same in every fuckin’ UN base on Earth.

  He groaned again.

  He wasn’t on Earth.

  He wasn’t even on a planet that resembled Earth. Instead, he was stranded on a freakin’ space station. The familiar surroundings always confused him.

  It was the Commandant’s fault. Before all the personnel were woken from their coma-like sleep, she had inspected the section that the Saa’ar had cleared out for their use. When she’d discovered how primitive and bare it was, she’d ordered Ethan and Tinker and his small team of engineers to temporarily transform the empty void with the flatpacks and wall linings that they’d brought for their new colony. She claimed it would prevent the personnel from becoming homesick while they waited for the Saa’ar to return. From what he could gather, the ship that had brought them from Earth was just a shuttle, but their big starship was more like an ore tanker and not equipped to take ‘beings of their size’ on the inter-stellar jump, so another vessel, more suited to their needs, was coming to get them. Or, at least, that’s how she explained it.

  Personally, he’d have preferred leaving the dark alien walls with their patterns and symbols uncovered. That way he wouldn’t wake up every morning and wonder where the bloody hell he was, especially after having too much to drink the night before.

  Ethan groaned and rubbed his head again. Boy, although it tasted vile that Skootch sure packed a punch. Carefully, he stretched all the kinks out of his body. Reality flooded through his brain like it did every time he awoke nowadays. These standard-sized beds used to cause him grief because his legs jutted out way past the end of them. Stepping on the land mine sure fixed that. How fuckin’ ironic.

  Ethan closed his eyes and idly stroked his morning woodie. Unfortunately, ever since the explosion, sex had become a distant memory. Pity, because given the chance, his cock still performed perfectly. He spat on his hand and resumed rubbing. It seemed like years since he’d been able to bury his shaft into some tight, wet pussy. Even an amateurish blow job would make a welcome break from Mrs Palm and her five daughters. He shouldn’t be griping, though. At least he still had his hands. Not being able to give himself relief would have been a fate worse than death. Though, come to think of it, maybe death would have been a better alternative. It was only when under the influence of the grog or at least lost in lustful fantasies that he managed to push the memories away.

  His hand stilled for a moment as screams from the past intruded…his screams. In a way, the fact that his mates never knew the missile was coming was of some small consolation.

  Taking a deep breath, he replaced that nightmarish vision with one of a room full of naked women, screaming with pleasure at the sight of him. Ah, that’s better. Now which one should I pick? The slim blonde beckoning him to join her on the satin covered bed? Judging by the pale curls covering her pussy, the colour didn’t come out of a bottle. Yep. Blondes were definitely more fun, but this one reminded him too much of his ex-wife. Fashionably thin. Tanned skin like leather. He preferred women with curves in all the right places.

  Shoving that image out of his brain, Ethan replaced it with a wide-eyed brunette who was gazing up at him with adoring eyes as she sucked on his cock. He wet his hand again, trying to kid himself that the moisture was coming from her mouth. The girl gagged slightly as she tried to swallowed him all the way down, giving him an apologetic grin before going back to her task. Nah, she’s too young. He liked his women more mature. Ones that knew what they were doing.

  Over in the corner, another naked woman posed provocatively, leaning over the edge of a nicely padded sofa, showing off the soft, pale skin of her delicious arse. Now, she’s just begging to be fucked! When his fantasy female realised she’d captured his attention, she cupped her boobs in her hands and gave him a smoochy air kiss. Ethan groaned and increased the speed of his masturbation. As he did, the image wavered slightly, the blonde tresses turning russet red and her features morphing into those of the uptight, snooty Doctor Sinclair. Where the fuck did that come from?

  Ethan snorted and forced the unlikely scenario away, concentrating instead on the way the woman’s breasts spilled over her slim hands. His own were itching to take their place. The speed of his rubbing increased, and all the different strands of tension that had been bugging him for weeks transformed into rivers of blood that funnelled into his cock. Boy, was he hard! Fucking someone as hot as that doggie-style woman had to be his ultimate fantasy. Maybe she was the one he’d choose. The slick wetness of his cock couldn’t wait to delve into that tight c—

  An ear-piercing screech rang out, driving the images away. Damn. Ethan lifted his head and reached across to shut off the alarm.

  Big mistake. The walls threatened to collapse in on him as the r
oom spun crazily.

  With a groan, he collapsed back onto his bunk, both hands pressed against the sudden pain in his stomach. Shit, Abu said I was drinking too much!

  The softly voiced warning rang in his head again, ‘You’re getting a stomach ulcer, Ethan, and your liver has been compromised. If you don’t stop drinking, you won’t live to see forty’. Except it wasn’t Ethan who had died, but Abu.

  The rivers of blood halted as if they were snap frozen—in this case, chilled by memories of a more recent tragedy. All had been going well until most of the aliens headed off in the shuttle to join their starship, leaving only a few to look after them until the replacement ship arrived. Shortly afterwards, the remaining aliens started dying and nothing Abu or his team had been able to save them.

  Then Abu had died.

  All the MedPath personnel who had been looking after the aliens were immediately isolated in strict quarantine and the rest of the contingent had been ordered to stay in their quarters as much as possible. Now all they could do was wait until Dana Sinclair determined if Abu had caught one of the aliens’ diseases. If so, all their lives might be at risk.

  Time to get up. He couldn’t put it off any longer. No doubt the Commandant would be hassling him for an update from MedPath. In the last two weeks, he’d tried to heed Abu’s advice about not drinking too much, but his friend’s sudden and unexpected death had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. He’d grown to like and respect the man. At least he’d been better company than the other three humans who had been awake during the journey from Earth to the space station.

  He hadn’t seen much of the Commandant or Ramirez and often wondered what they got up to behind the closed doors. They certainly spent a lot of time together, but given their age difference, he found it difficult to imagine them having sex. He hadn’t even been able to get to know the Saa’ar, because Isaac, the only person who could understand what they were saying, was always in his cabin with one of the alien females, and there was only so much conversation you could do with pointing fingers and smiling. That had just left Ethan and the tall African doctor together to spend their free time playing chess and chatting about life, the universe and everything in it. Now Abu was dead too. Seemed that becoming one of his friends was a death sentence.

  Ethan sat on his bunk for a few minutes, staring at the cartoon on the wall in front of him. His nephew had given it to him as a farewell present before he left.

  A frog had its hands wrapped tightly around the throat of a pelican that was trying to swallow it. Its skinny legs were planted against each side of the bird’s beak keeping them apart. The caption said ‘Never Give Up’. The hopeful expression on the frog’s face got to him every time.

  Pushing away all memories of things he would rather forget, Ethan dragged out a cloth and wiped over the top of his prosthetics. Usually he cleaned them before going to sleep, but last night he’d been lucky to find the bed.

  Automatically, he went through the routine of checking the skin on the end of his legs and putting on fresh stump socks. Bitter experience had taught him to be careful. Finally he put on his fake legs, adjusting the suction. The doctors had been amazed when he told them he didn’t want the latest bionic ones that screwed straight into the bone. How could he explain to them it wasn’t that he liked the old fashioned ones? They were all he deserved. My reminder…

  Once his prosthetics were in place, he staggered into the bathroom. Fuckin’ head. With shaking fingers, he fumbled for the packet of painkillers he’d stashed away.

  As he swallowed the capsules, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

  Boy, do I look like crap. Time for a shave.

  After lathering up, he raised his old straight razor and turned his head. The sight of the pale, puckered scars triggered his usual reaction.

  Coward.

  Finding some clothes to fit him took a few minutes. He laughed sadly when he pulled on his last possible pair of fatigues. The top button wouldn’t fasten. Either he’d put on more weight, or the clothes were shrinking.

  Abu was right.

  Time to give up the grog.

  * * * *

  Giving his stomach a final rub to ease the burn, Ethan entered the two-room office he shared with Dreher, Ramirez and their computer expert, Hu Chang. None of them had arrived yet.

  He sat at his desk and logged on. The young Asian arrived soon after and put some ComPads onto his own desk. “You look like shit this morning. Been hitting the Skootch again?”

  “Yeah, well as of today, I quit.”

  The look of disbelief on Hu’s face made Ethan wince. Seems his friend thought he already needed AA. Bit far to attend meetings. Ethan snorted and returned to his examination of the screen in front of him.

  What a come down. Ethan Patrick O’Reilly, former leader of the world famous UN Ranger Rapid Deployment Team, feared by the whole merc army…now a desk job Johnnie in charge of counting panels and rivets. It wasn’t the hardware that worried him. They could always use the materials they found when they arrived on the planet. It was the food situation that had him bothered. When the aliens realised they were dying, they sealed off a large section of the Space station. Despite all his skills at breaking people out of captivity, he hadn’t been able to open a simple door. They’d tried everything—explosives, drills…you name it.

  Who knew what foodstuffs the aliens had stored in there? Their own supplies would last for a couple of months, but they still didn’t know when the Saa’ar would return.

  The door opened again. “Good morning, gentlemen. How are you?”

  Ethan gave a perfunctory nod in response. He’d taken an instant dislike to the Commandant shortly after lift-off. She was the oldest member of the mission. Over fifty if the BioFile was to be believed. A walking tribute to modern plastic surgery. He hated the way her short grey hair was permed. Looked like a bloody helmet. But what really gave him the shits was the way she peered at him over the top of her spectacles.

  “How are you progressing with your game installation, Mr Chang?”

  Hu opened the machine in front of him. “It’ll be ready for everyone who wants it by tomorrow. The source code Isaac brought with him is loaded. Now I need to put the game on all their ComPads and link them to the server.”

  Hu and Isaac had come up with the brilliant idea of installing an online computer game. While the majority of personnel were confined to their rooms, only allowed out for short periods of exercise, morale had become a real problem. Anything to keep them amused. Personally, Ethan couldn’t see the attraction of running around shooting arrows at people. He’d done enough of that in real life.

  “The sooner we can put an end to this quarantine the better.” She approached Ethan. “Mr O’Reilly, we need a definitive answer from MedPath on how Dr Abu-bakara died.”

  Without waiting for an acknowledgement, she swept into her adjoining office.

  Yes, ma’am, no, ma’am, three bags full, ma’am. If he’d been twenty years younger, he would have pulled a face at the door as she left. After a lifetime of receiving orders from superior officers, you’d think he’d be used to being told what to do, but the way she gave the orders annoyed the shit out of him. Too much like the old dingbat of a teacher who’d turned him off History forever.

  Ethan flipped off his stock report. Time to send another IntCom to MedPath.

  * * * *

  Dana looked up as the door to her office opened. Olga poked her head in. “Do you need us for anything?”

  “No, I’ll be fine.”

  Olga and the Thai anaesthetist, Thanksin—the other members of her quarantined team—had quickly struck up an intimate relationship. Luckily, one of the main stipulations for joining the International mission had been the ability to speak English. Not that they needed much for the sort of communication they did when Dana wasn’t around.

  The door closed behind her assistant’s short, sturdy figure.

  Dana stood, enjoying the silence, trying to re
capture the sense of anticipation she’d had when they left Earth, convinced they were embarking on a grand adventure. Participants had been chosen from as many countries as possible—carefully selected because they excelled in their chosen field. Unfortunately, while she had studied the subjects during training, her knowledge of pathology and microbiology had been pretty basic. Those had been Abu’s specialities.

  The ping of the IntCom pulled Dana’s mind back from her daydreams.

  From: E. O’Reilly

  Subject: Report on Dr Abu-bakara’s Death *** Urgent ***

  Six stars this time. There’d only been four yesterday.

  Any lingering attraction or sympathy she might have felt for the big man had vanished as soon as he started bombarding her with these daily demands for results. Damn it, she was doing her best.

  Since being woken from her induced coma, Dana hadn’t seen much of him. She’d been too busy working with Abu—at first, cautiously getting to know their hosts and then trying to save their lives once they started falling ill. The only time she had seen Ethan was when he’d arrived fully kitted out in a biohazard suit to shift the three dead Saa’ar onto the autopsy table in their makeshift morgue then into the freezer where they were currently being stored. While he had been happy to chat with Abu through their headphones on that occasion, when she asked for his assistance so she could examine the doctor’s lifeless body, he hadn’t said a word to her.

  Dreher hadn’t insisted on a full autopsy, thank God. So, Dana just concentrated on taking samples to check for evidence of infection. That had been bad enough.

  Normally, she never cried. Not when her favourite short-hair collie had died, nor when she’d broken her leg falling out of a tree. However, the morning after Abu died, she’d been able to squeeze moisture out of her pillow.