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

by Catherine Spangler

  Slipping the helmet over his head, he punched the hatch control and turned to her one final time. "I've programmed the brig force fields so you can't deactivate them. Stay away from Long. We'll take off as soon as I return."

  He still didn't trust her and probably never would. She didn't trust him either, which made it imperative she gain full access to his computer system. Realizing he waited for acknowledgment of his orders, Nessa nodded, and he strode out, the hatch whirring shut behind him.

  "Nessa! Nessa, come here," Long wheedled from his cubicle.

  Ignoring him, she went to the cockpit. She needed to find her supplies and her weapon, needed to exert control of all computer functions —just in case.

  At the computer, she began searching for the hidden files every system contained. It took some time, but she finally found what she was looking for: the PWL file, the heart and core of the computer. It contained the security codes and passwords necessary for accessing all operational ship functions.

  As expected, the file was encrypted, but that didn't deter her. With Jarek's indulgent permission, she'd spent seasons secretly exploring Liron's computer system and accessing technical IAR files. Those files had taught her how to program and more importantly, how to access any information in a computer data bank.

  For another hour, while she listened for the hatch tone heralding Chase's return, Nessa painstakingly created a program to decode the file. It might take days to fine-tune a program that could eventually break the code on the PWL. It would almost certainly take several trial-and-error adjustments. But she had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she finally closed the file, her decryption program hidden and running. Then she searched the read-only files until she located full ship schematics. They led her to the location of Chase's general supplies.

  General storage was located near the lab and fortunately, not secured. Nessa searched through the shelves of blankets, food particle refills for the replicator, and tools. Weapons and money were kept under secured, coded locks at other locations on the ship. She found her bag of supplies, along with her knife.

  She slipped the knife back into her boot and hid her bag in her cabin. Pleased with her accomplishments, she returned to the computer in the cockpit to browse IAR files until Chase returned. He had initially barred her from the cockpit without specific permission, but he'd rescinded the order when he'd granted her access to read-only computer information. Nessa settled in, anticipating an enjoyable interlude in IAR.

  Some time later, she heard the hatch tone. She quickly exited her file on various religious cult beliefs and celebrations and left the cockpit.

  Standing with his back to the hatch, Chase pulled off his gloves, then his visor, exposing bleeding scrapes on his face. Nessa was surprised to find him alone. She'd automatically assumed the trip to Saron had been in pursuit of a wanted felon. Scowling fiercely at her, Chase turned and headed down the corridor, yanking off his utility belt.

  "Captain," she gasped when she saw the bleeding wound on his upper back, near his left shoulder blade. "What happened?"

  "My sources were wrong," he growled, not breaking stride. This trip was a total waste!"

  Nessa hurried after him. "What happened to your shoulder?"

  He jerked to a halt and threw the helmet against the wall. "A damn Jaccian decided he wanted my weapons and any miterons I might be carrying."

  "Too bad he didn't want your head as well," Long sneered.

  His jaw clenched tightly, Chase opened the weapon vault and tossed the gun and stunner inside. Appalled at the blood oozing from his upper back, Nessa stepped closer.

  "Captain, your shoulder—"

  "I'll tend to it!" he snapped, pounding the vault pad. "Just leave me alone!"

  "Let him bleed to death," Long advised.

  Chase leveled a glare hotter than a nuclear explosion at the prisoner. "Shut up, Long, or I'll put you under for the remainder of the trip."

  He strode to his cabin and opened the panel.

  "Captain!" Nessa protested, alarmed he wasn't headed to the lab. "Your shoulder is bleeding heavily."

  Chase stood ramrod stiff, his entire body radiating tension. "So?" he ground out, not turning.

  "You can't let it go. Surely you have supplies in your lab for treating wounds?" she persisted, concern overriding the desire to avoid his anger.

  He turned his head and looked at her, his expression cold. "You let me worry about that."

  Not at all squeamish, Nessa had treated Jarek's injuries more than once. "It will be hard for you to tend your back. I—I can help you."

  Some of the tension eased from his shoulders. "Can you now?"

  "I can try." She hesitated, wondering why in the universe she was offering to help a shadower.

  He sighed, swaying slightly. She realized the wound must have weakened him more than he would admit. Her conscience kicked in, reminding her of all he had done for her.

  "You've assisted me so much, Captain. Please let me help in return."

  "All right." Reluctantly, he turned toward the lab. "Let's get this over with."

  In the lab, Nessa watched him gather equipment on a motorized cart, moving efficiently despite his wound and the loss of blood.

  Chase pointed to an inset wall receptacle. "Place your hands in that. When the beam cuts off, they'll be sterile."

  He steered the cart to the exam table, then opened the seam of his flight suit. "Have you ever used an infrared sterilizer?" He peeled his top off, detaching it from his pants and tossing it into the corner.

  She stared at his bare chest, at the swells of muscle tapering down to a firm waist. "N-no."

  He turned around and reached up, activating the switch on a metal box about the size of a holoviewer. In spite of the nasty wound, the sight of his broad shoulders and the powerful rippling across his back when he moved sent a funny sensation churning through her.

  A metal arm lowered the unit above the exam table. Chase levered himself onto the table and lay face down. "Put on the medical gloves—they're on the cart. Then get one of the sterile cloths and the silver container off it," he instructed. "Pour some of the compound on the cloth and clean the blood away from the wound."

  Nessa approached him. Even prone, his large body dominated the table. She marveled at how golden his skin was, how smooth, stretching over the solid wall of his back. Taut buttocks curved down to powerful thighs. The sudden temptation to touch his rear, to see if it was as firm as it looked, shocked her. Spirit, what was wrong with her?

  Swallowing hard, she forced her attention back to the gaping wound. She followed Chase's instructions, carefully loosening the dried blood and blotting it away, along with the fresh blood oozing from the laceration. It looked like a laser wound to her, although she'd only seen a few. It must have hurt, but Chase never flinched.

  Calmly, he guided her through the procedure. She lowered the infrared sterilizer just above the wound and adjusted the settings. When the sterilizer beeped off, she deadened the skin with a spray from the cart. Then she placed a suture unit over the injury, listening to its odd hum as it sealed the edges of the wound together. All this advanced technology amazed and fascinated her.

  Finally, she bandaged the wound, placing a self-adhesive fabric over it. Chase's skin felt incredibly warm and smooth, even through the gloves. She'd never touched anyone like this before. The fluttery feeling in her abdomen returned, and of their own accord, her fingers lingered over the swell of his shoulder. His scent wafted up to her sensitive nose, musk and male and blood, oddly stimulating. She inhaled deeply.

  Was this what the desire to mate felt like? The inexplicable rush of emotions; this sensitivity to another person—how they looked, how they felt, their scent? She'd read about mating, of course, had seen Shielders embracing and kissing, up among the rocks near her primitive hut on Liron.

  Nessa had often longed for a normal life like the other colonists enjoyed. She knew her yearnings w
ere foolish and futile, but still, she'd wondered what it would be like to have a lifemate, to enter into the mating act, to bear children.…Pain slashed through her, and she unintentionally dug her fingers into Chase's shoulder.

  "Damn!" Flinching for the first time, he turned his head and squinted up at her. "What are you doing? Is that bandage on yet?"

  She stepped back, her heart skittering into an irregular beat. "Yes. I think it's done."

  He swung himself up and shifted his legs over the edge. "Are you all right? You're flushed."

  Her hand flew to her heated face. "I—I'm fine. But we need to tend to those scratches on your face."

  "I can do that."

  She suddenly, desperately, wanted to touch him again. "No, let me. Do I use the compound in the silver flask?"

  Grudgingly, he nodded, and she took another cloth and the flask from the cart. She found his face as fascinating as his body. The high, pronounced cheekbones, the two furrowed lines between his brows, the gold specks in his eyes, the full curve of his lips. She committed every detail to memory.

  He jerked slightly as she cleaned the cuts, and she drew back, concerned. "Does it hurt?"

  "Only when I fly too low."

  "What?"

  He grinned and her heart danced again. "That's an old joke, Nessa. Haven't you ever heard it?"

  She shook her head and returned her attention to the cuts. The heat Chase generated wrapped around her, along with his scent. He remained as silent as she, and by the time she finished, every nerve in her body stood on edge, and her skin tingled with odd sensations. She stepped back, at a loss for words.

  He slid off the table and took the cloth from her hands. As always, his massive presence dwarfed her. "Thank you. I'll clean up. Throw your gloves in the incinerator over there. You might want to sterilize your hands again."

  She complied, watching him covertly while he put everything away. Was this breathless sensation she experienced at the sight of his bare skin and beautifully delineated muscles another aspect of the mating fever? Not that it made any difference, she told herself.

  She had accepted long ago that she would never have a lifemate. Who would want a cripple who suffered from unexplainable and frightening seizures? Even without her defects, she'd still be undesirable. Too thin, too plain.

  Best to keep her focus on her mission, to remember time was running out. Nessa shuddered, assailed by thoughts of what would happen if she failed. No, she refused to think about that now.

  Instead, she headed toward the cockpit where she could lose herself in IAR and the knowledge it offered; could read about far-off places, exotic animals, and myths of hidden treasures.

  Where she could pretend—if only for a little while—that she was normal. And maybe just a little bit pretty…and desirable.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Nessa's fingers flew over the keyboard. She paused to study the screen, her expression rapt as she scanned the data presented there. Distracted from plotting position coordinates to transmit to Sabin, Chase leaned back to watch her. Oblivious to his scrutiny, she soaked up the knowledge on the screen like a wilted corona plant absorbing water, her dark eyes shining with the wonder of discovery.

  Without her usual mask of distrust, she looked almost pretty. Her face still held the gauntness of hardship, but her skin glowed with golden tones, and her tousled mahogany hair had some body and sheen to it. Obviously, she made use of the cleansing stall in her cabin's lav.

  She leaned forward eagerly as the image on the screen changed. Regret swept through Chase. Once he'd been just as hungry for knowledge, eager to learn anything and everything. He'd been innocent and trusting and zealous in his desire to help others.

  Once.

  Now he knew better. Bitter hatred and self accusation disintegrated the regret. He had learned the hard way—trust no one. And he'd been a fool to think he could ever be competent in his chosen profession. How many lives had been lost because of that self-centered delusion?

  He gripped the console, a flood of memories churning through him. Anger and disgust burned in his gut. Dragging in a deep breath, he forced the memories away, for now. He could never banish them entirely. He turned his concentration back to the orbit coordinates and relayed them to Sabin.

  Fortunately, his partner had been willing to change the meeting location. When Chase had received word that Dansan had been seen on Calt, he'd immediately contacted Sabin, asking that they rendezvous near Calt instead of Intrepid.

  The coordinates sent, Chase tried to focus on other matters, but his attention kept returning to Nessa. Her fixation on the screen hadn't wavered. Giving up all pretenses, he leaned back in his seat. "What has you so fascinated?"

  She started, glancing at him guiltily. He knew she wasn't in any unauthorized section of the computer; she couldn't gain access to anything but general information without a security code. Only a person with considerable expertise would be able to locate the PWL file in this system, much less decode it. Her guilty reactions must be the result of a lifetime of conditioning.

  She glanced back at the screen, her face lighting up. "The planet Vilana. Is it true it rotates so fast that it has three sunrises and three moonrises every standard ship cycle?"

  She presented an odd blend of suspicious distrust and childlike simplicity. Chase felt certain her life up to now had been harsh, yet she radiated innocence. He'd bet a thousand miterons she'd had minimal experience with men.

  She acted skittish around him, yet at the same time, he sensed her growing awareness of him as a man. He recognized the subtle reactions; the way her eyes flared when he got close, the delicate flush of her skin, the tautening of her breasts beneath her tunic.

  Her budding sensuality had a startling effect on him. Even now, as she looked back at him, he hardened. Blazing hells. There was nothing overtly sexual about her; she certainly wasn't one of the sophisticated, experienced women he preferred. He willed back the ironclad control he normally exercised over his body. It had just been too long since he'd been with a woman.

  Still, he couldn't resist moving to Nessa's side, squatting down to eye level. Her eyes widened at this invasion into her personal space. "It's true. Vilana has three sunrises and moonrises every single ship cycle. Too bad the weather is so foul and changeable. The heat scorches the land by day, while the nights are bitter cold. Three times a day. Hot, cold, hot, cold, hot…."

  Her delicate scent, compliments of recent bathing, tantalized him, increasing the pressure due south. But her eyes pushed him over the edge—dark liquid pools unconsciously reflecting a response she didn't yet recognize. That, and her full mouth that quivered enticingly. He couldn't resist. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers.

  She jerked as if she'd been struck. Holding her shoulders, he teased her lips with his tongue. She was new and sweet…and totally ignorant of how to respond. Heat roared through him like a wildfire. The urgent need to ravage her mouth, to fill his hands with those small breasts warred with common sense. She was too innocent for this, and his actions way out of line. What was he doing?

  He wrenched away, gasping for breath and sanity. Certain Nessa would be as shocked as he at his behavior, he wouldn't have been surprised if she fled the cockpit.

  She didn't. Staring at him, her face flushed, she raised trembling fingers to her lips. "That was a kiss," she whispered inanely.

  Her absurd remark helped clear his head. He stood and moved a safe distance away. "Have you never been kissed, Nessa?"

  She rubbed her mouth, sadness entering her eyes. "Not since I was a child. My parents used to kiss me at sleep time. But that was many seasons ago."

  He envisioned a young girl all alone, and unwelcome compassion flooded him. "Is that when you lost your parents?"

  She drew a deep breath. He noticed her hands clenched in her lap, which he had come to recognize as a sign of tension. "You might say that." She raised one hand to her mouth again. "But they didn't kiss me here. I thought…." She paused, her brow fu
rrowing. "I…isn't kissing part of mating?"

  Chase cursed himself. Such an innocent would be easy prey once he dropped her at Intrepid. He didn't have time to educate an orphaned waif about sex. But he also didn't have the heart to throw her to the wolves of the universe. He struggled to keep his answer objective and impersonal.

  "It is part of mating for most people. But many people enjoy kissing without mating. Do you understand what happens when people have intercourse, Nessa?"

  Her deepening blush told him she had some knowledge. "I've read about mating, but I've never…um, I'm not sure exactly how it's done."

  And his body would like to show her. Chase strode to his seat and sat down, willing his obvious physical reaction to subside. He faced the console. "I'll locate some instructional material on the computer for you."

  He awaited a barrage of questions. Although she hardly spoke at other times, when her curiosity was piqued, she interrogated him like an Antek would a prisoner.

  There was a long moment of silence, then she said, "Would you kiss me again?"

  He spun around in his chair. "What?"

  Nessa rose and walked over. She stared down at him, serious and intent. "Kiss me again. The other one was so fast, I didn't have the chance to see what it's really like."

  She touched his shoulder, and the blood pounded back to his lower body. "Nessa, I don't think—"

  "Do you just press your mouths together?" she asked, bending down. He started to rise from the seat, but then her lips touched his, soft as Saija silk. And as electrifying as a fully charged solar panel.

  He pulled her into his lap; her weight there only intensified his need. He grasped her face, his eyes probing hers. "There's more to it than pressing your lips together. Open your mouth. Touch your tongue to mine."

  Surprise reflected in her eyes as she considered this information. "But what about germs? I thought you said germs could be spread by—"

  "To hell with germs." His mouth came down on hers, his tongue plundering between her lips. She gasped but tried to accommodate him, opening her mouth too wide at first. But she proved to be an apt pupil, quickly adapting to his movements.