Shielder — A new Science Fiction Romance (Book 1, Shielder Series)

by Catherine Spangler

  She nodded, overwhelmed by relief, her attention fixed on the case. As the immediate joy of discovering Turi unharmed faded, worry about her predicament resumed. She shifted her attention to the man. He wasn't sneezing and his eyes were no longer red. What was he planning now?

  He seemed to read her thoughts. "Don't worry. That worthless creature is safe." He shot a damning glare at Turi. "As long as he's in the case, the dander is contained. I figure it's easier to let him live than to revive you from a seizure every five minutes." A determined expression crossed his face. "Now, about these seizures. How long have you been having them?"

  Shame and humiliation engulfed her. She couldn't bear to go through this again, to go though the degradation and disgrace. If he thought she was possessed, he might jettison her. Jarek wasn't around to protect her this time. Scrambling upright, she grabbed the blanket, barely preventing it from slipping off her chest.

  "There's nothing wrong with me."

  She started to get off the table, but he moved like light speed, grabbing her waist and pinning her there. His gaze bored into hers. "My examination and medical monitor say differently. Not just these episodes, but your leg—"

  "My leg is fine," Nessa insisted, struggling in earnest now. He restrained her easily, but she continued thrashing, mindless from rushing adrenaline. "There's nothing wrong with my leg! It's fine, it's fine, it's—"

  "Stop it! I saw your injury. And I want to know why it wasn't medically tended."

  She slumped back, trembling uncontrollably. "There's nothing wrong with me," she whispered.

  He stared at her, his expression incredulous, but he eased his grasp. "Your leg could have been repaired. And you should receive treatment for your seizures."

  She looked away. "I'm fine now, I tell you."

  "There's no dishonor because you have seizures. You have a condition—a medical condition that has a name—and a treatment. You don't have to suffer these episodes. And there are surgical procedures that could help your leg."

  Nessa refused to listen, refused to accept. She had survived too long by convincing herself she was okay, or at least functional. She didn't dare dwell on far-fetched hopes beyond her reach. She shook her head. "I can get by. Just take me to the nearest star base. Then you'll be rid of me."

  He exhaled angrily and released her. "Fine. Believe what you want."

  He took her tunic from a nearby cabinet and tossed it to her. "I sterilized this while you were resting, as you choose to call it. Get dressed. Join me in the cockpit when you're done. It's at the end of the corridor. We'll discuss the rules of this ship. And believe me, there are plenty."

  The panel whirred shut behind him. Nessa slid from the table, avoiding the sight of her scarred leg. Still trembling, she fumbled into her tunic, her cold hands clumsy. One thought dominated her mind—her rescuer knew about her intolerable flaws. He hadn't seemed particularly upset, but he might react later when he had time to reconsider the facts.

  Perhaps his mocking suggestion of a cure for her seizures was his way of reacting, a cruel response to another's unfortunate circumstances. He hadn't displayed any inclination to help thus far; her plight appeared but an irritating inconvenience to him.

  He might decide not to help at all. He might just turn her in at the nearest Controller prison. Fear churned in Nessa's chest. She had to find a way to check his navigational system and ensure he was really headed to the closest star base. But there was no time now. He was waiting for her in the cockpit.

  Her attention turned to Turi, still protesting in his container. She placed her palm against the cool plexishield, noting the filtered air vents on the sides. Turi flattened even more, trying to reach her through the barrier. She hesitated to release him. It was probably safer for him to remain in the case, especially if his containment averted further sneezing episodes from their host.

  "Sorry, Turi. I have to leave you here for now. But I'll be back." Nessa glanced around the room. Gleaming, antiseptic-white walls of cabinets filled two sides. The table she'd vacated ran half the length of the third wall. Only it looked more like a bed than a table, with one end slightly elevated. A computer screen headed that end.

  A counter skirted part of the fourth wall, where Turi's case rested. An array of equipment lined the counter and the inset in the backdrop. A huge instrument took up the rest of the floor space beside the counter. The broad base angled upward into a metal column almost as tall as Nessa, with a double eyepiece centered in it. Upon closer inspection, she identified it as a scanning electron microscope. She'd seen a picture of one while browsing Liron's computer data files. They were used mainly in medical research. This room must be a laboratory or sick bay.

  "I don't remember giving you permission to snoop. I'm waiting for you. Now." The arrogant voice booming over the com jolted Nessa from her speculation. There was probably a holoviewer as well as the intercom in the room. She hastily located her boots.

  When she tried to put on the first one, she found her pouch of coins stuffed inside. She'd forgotten all about the money. Relief rushed through her. At least her rescuer wasn't a thief, whatever else he might be. She stuffed the pouch back into her tunic pocket and pulled on her boots.

  The panel opened automatically at her approach. She stepped into a corridor illuminated by glowing light strips running along both the top and bottom of the walls. Fresh, temperate air issued from overhead vents.

  She walked slowly along, craning her neck to see every detail. An electronic hum alerted her to an alcove ahead on her left. As she approached, she realized the alcove was actually a recessed chamber. A man stood just inside, watching her. Of medium height, with short blond hair and intense green eyes, he wore an expensive-looking tunic over leggings.

  "Well, what have we here?" he drawled, looking her over. "You don't look like a wanted person to me."

  Nessa gaped at him. She had assumed her rescuer was traveling alone. "Who are you?"

  "Nathan Long, at your service," he answered with a graceful sweep of his hand and a small bow. He straightened, his eyes calculating as they again swept her from head to toe. "I'd be delighted to foster an acquaintance with such a lovely lady. If you'd be so kind as to deactivate this force field, we could get to know each other better. The deact pad is to your right."

  Knowing full well no man would ever find her attractive, Nessa ignored his charming smile. "You're a prisoner?" She eyed his cubbyhole curiously. She'd never seen a ship's brig before. A narrow bunk and wall-recessed hygiene facilities were all it contained.

  Nathan sighed dramatically. "I'd prefer to think of it as temporary custody. What's your name? You look like you might need some assistance yourself. If you'd release me, I could—"

  "You could rot in the Abyss," a deep voice rang out.

  Nessa whirled. Her rescuer strode toward them, scowling. He halted mere millimeters away, forcing her to tilt her head to look up at him. He glared at the prisoner. "As a matter of fact, you will burn in agony, Long. I'll make certain of it."

  The prisoner shrugged indifferently. "I doubt that, McKnight. You don't have anything on me. No proof. Just your deranged hallucinations."

  So her rescuer had a name. McKnight. Nessa rolled it around in her mind. McKnight bared his teeth in a feral grin. "Oh, yeah? Then why do you suppose the Controllers have a galaxy-wide sanction out for your capture? One with a reward of five thousand miterons attached?"

  At the mention of the Controllers, a shiver racked Nessa's body. Nathan wasn't unaffected either; apprehension flitted across his face, but rapidly changed to arrogance. "Just a little misunderstanding, McKnight. I'll be free very quickly. You'll regret the day you crossed my path."

  "I'll have no regrets when you suffer a slow, painful death," McKnight growled. Grabbing Nessa's arm, he pivoted and marched toward the end of the corridor, dragging her with him, heedless of her stumbling gait.

  "Getting pretty desperate, aren't you?" Nathan sneered after them. "I didn't think females were your type.
She's pretty scrawny, but she doesn't look like a boy to me."

  McKnight stiffened. He held his silence, but sped their pace. Breathless, Nessa noted two more brig cubicles as she bumped along behind him. A prison ship! This must be a Controller prison ship. Which confirmed McKnight was one of their designated agents.

  He halted before the panel next to the airlock, the same one he had demanded she enter when they boarded the ship. "You still need to go through decontamination, along with your possessions. All of them. Wait here." Whirling, he strode back down the corridor, entering the area Nessa had just vacated.

  Having never experienced decontamination, she stared at the panel warily. A flashing light a few feet to the right of the panel drew her attention to a computer screen inset in the wall. The screen displayed a spacescape. Curious, she touched the screen. Instantly the image rippled, replaced by a gallery of holograms. Faces—rows of faces. Beneath each hologram were listed physical characteristics of each person, their last-known location, and the reward offered for their capture and delivery to the Controller prison base on Alta. At the bottom of the screen, a map depicted the entire quadrant, with flashing cursors on the last-known locations.

  The full implication of the data hit Nessa just as the panel down the corridor slid open. Frozen with horror, she stared at McKnight coming toward her, the heavy plexishield case containing Turi resting easily on one arm.

  The prisoner in the brig, the computer information, McKnight's sense of urgency, all pointed to one thing. He wasn't just a designated Controller agent. No, he was something far worse.

  This man was a shadower. A bounty hunter.

  And in this quadrant so cruelly ruled by the Controllers, Shielders were those most frequently hunted.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Holding the lanrax against her chest, Nessa rocked back and forth on the bench. She buried her face against the creature's midnight blue fur as it chattered softly. Observing the decontamination chamber from the cockpit viewer, Chase was oddly reminded of a mother and child. Preposterous. The lanrax was an animal, not an infant.

  Yet as he watched the seemingly mutual exchange of comfort, Nessa's frantic plea echoed in his mind. You don't understand…he's all I have! A vision of her eyes, huge and dark in her pale face, flashed before him; eyes that had briefly opened a doorway into a well of loneliness and pain.

  He knew pain when he saw it. Knew it intimately.

  How it felt, more shattering than a laser blast to the gut. How it tasted, the bitterness of despair and impotence. How it smelled—most especially how it smelled; rancid fear, charred and decaying flesh. How it looked, contorting once-beautiful faces as death's merciless claws ripped the soul from the body.

  Chase leaped from his seat and pivoted away from the images on the view screen—and in his mind. This ragtag pilgrim was of no concern to him. The whole universe was filled with unfortunates. He had no time for any of them.

  Yet Nessa's mutilated leg, her seizures, her obvious poverty, continued to haunt him. He'd been tempted to jettison her tunic, a pitiful excuse for even a rag, along with her boots, which were riddled with holes and too large for her feet. She hadn't been filthy, but she hadn't been clean either. The decontamination chamber would take care of that problem.

  But it wouldn't eliminate the disruption to his plans. Chase balled his hands into fists, nagged by misgivings he had harbored when he first intercepted her distress signal. Nessa hadn't given him any real cause for concern, but he made it a point to be suspicious of everyone. Her ship had been stranded right in his flight path. Coincidence? Or one of Dansan's attempts to decoy him?

  Not that he'd allow anything—or anyone—to deter him. Nessa had no weapons, nor could she access his ship operations. Instinct told him she posed no real threat. Even so, he'd find out everything he could about her. He'd watch her every move until he left her at Star Base Intrepid, four days away.

  The beep of the subspace transceiver drew his attention. He punched the com pad. "State your message."

  "You were supposed to contact me at 1500 hours, McKnight. Sudden memory lapse, old man?"

  Blazing hells. Taking care of Nessa, he'd forgotten about Sabin, the one person who'd never let him slide. "A small delay, Travers. I've got Nathan Long. Caught him stowed away on a freighter headed for the Verante constellation."

  "Well, son of an Antek. Long's been evading capture for as long as I can remember. How'd you get a fix on him?"

  "Let's just say he double-crossed one of his closest associates, who was only too willing to disclose Long's location."

  "I've got a lead on a max-level offender in Alta's sector. A lot of reward miterons riding on this one. Since I'll be traveling near the prison base, I can take Long and turn him in," Sabin offered. "Where do you want to hook up?"

  "I heard Dansan's been spotted on Saron. I'm headed there now, but I'm two days out." Good thing Nessa was in decon, Chase thought. She wouldn't appreciate the delay in their flight schedule.

  "You've had more false leads on Dansan than Alta has moons. You never give up, do you?"

  The ever-present pain and hatred spilled from Chase's soul. No, he'd never give up. Although well aware of his obsession with Dansan, Sabin had no inkling of Chase's real reason for pursuit. Chase intended to keep it that way. His partner might not buy the explanations, but he knew when to mind his own business. "You know how it is, Travers. I could use the miterons."

  "Okay, where are you headed after Saron?"

  "Star Base Intrepid. I have to deliver something."

  "Intrepid. That would work. I can pick up more supplies while I'm there,” Sabin said. “But it will have to be fast, so I can get to Alta. Can't let some other shadower get my quarry and collect all those miterons."

  "Intrepid it is, then. I'll need a day on Saron, so give me five days. Contact me before you enter the star base orbit and I'll transmit my coordinates. Signing off." Chase disconnected the signal, then returned to the decon viewer.

  He studied Nessa critically. She'd told him she was twenty-two seasons of age. She was little for an adult female, and way too thin. With her narrow hips and small breasts, she could even be mistaken for a boy, dressed in the right clothing. How long since she'd had enough to eat? he wondered. The scanty supply of food she'd brought with her wouldn't feed a child for a week.

  The strong pull to come to her aid irritated him. He didn't have time to be concerned over the fate of one bedraggled waif and her mangy lanrax. Not when the annihilation of an entire clan cried out for revenge. With a disgusted grunt, Chase turned off the viewer. The sooner he got rid of his passenger, the better.

  Just one quick stop first.

  * * * *

  "You are not permitted access to any part of this ship, other than your quarters and the galley. You may enter the cockpit only with my permission. You're forbidden to talk to any prisoners I'm transporting."

  Nessa nodded, unable to look away from McKnight's eyes. They glinted like magnasteel, taking on the hue of snowstorm clouds. No one except Jarek had made such direct eye contact in ten seasons, and she found it unnerving.

  "No unnecessary conversation or senseless chattering. I abhor distractions. And that creature—" He pointed at Turi in his plexishield case. "It stays in the case at all times. Are we clear so far?"

  His unwavering stare seemed to bore through her very soul. Shadower. This man was a bounty hunter. Outside of the Anteks, the Controllers' barbaric enforcers, shadowers were the scourge of the quadrant. They willingly underwent Controller psychic mind indoctrination for the sole purpose of receiving permission to hunt down proclaimed criminals and collect the rewards.

  It didn't matter whether or not the unfortunates they captured might be innocent. Nor did it matter that Controller prison facilities were said to be more horrible than the Abyss. Gold was ultimately the bottom line, because once indoctrinated, a person no longer housed even a microbe of pity or concern. They knew only the compelling, cruel dictates of the Controllers.


  "Answer me," McKnight demanded. "Are you clear on these rules?"

  His harsh tone sent shivers through Nessa. He couldn't possibly know she was a Shielder, she told herself. She nodded again. "Yes."

  "Most important of all, I'm the captain of this ship. I'm the absolute and final authority. My orders are to be obeyed at all times, immediately and without question. Any infraction of ship rules and you'll spend the trip in the brig. Understood?"

  Even sitting, he cut an imposing figure, filling the large flight seat, crackling with vitality and authority. The certainty he was a shadower added more danger to an already threatening situation.

  Nessa hoped the tension invading her body wouldn't trigger another seizure. "I understand, Captain."

  "Then see that you follow those rules."

  He swiveled around and studied a computer screen, punching rapidly. He appeared to have dismissed her, but she had no idea where her quarters were. So she remained seated, quietly studying the cockpit. Her focus settled on the computer built into the console.

  With a shock, she realized it was an OCIS-6000, the most advanced system in use. She'd read about the new computers on Liron's Information Access and Retrieval link, or IAR. They had only been available a few moon cycles, yet here was one right in front of her. She longed to touch the keypad, to delve into data banks reputed to retrieve information almost as fast as light speed.

  "What are you doing?"

  The harsh question jolted her out of her reverie. The familiar feeling of guilt, even when she had done nothing wrong, swept through her. She turned toward him. "I was just looking at the computer. I've never seen an OCIS-6000."

  His eyes narrowed. "Why would you be interested in my ship's computer?"

  He obviously didn't trust her any more than she trusted him. Desperately she wished she could access the navigational system and reassure herself they were headed to the nearest star base rather than a Controller prison. But she couldn't afford to arouse McKnight's suspicions any further.