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

by Catherine Spangler

  Engrossed in the IAR link, she discovered fabulous other worlds, while Chase stared stonily at the controls. Even as she tried to ignore him, Nessa found herself drawn to him. She sneaked furtive glances at his handsome profile, admiring the breadth and power of his shoulders.

  Memories of his touch and the desire their mating had evoked filled her mind and sent strange sensations coursing through her body. She tried to push the disturbing feelings away, but every time she saw Chase, they surfaced.

  He seemed unaffected by her presence, however, remaining aloof and distant. Bitterly, she understood his coolness all too well. He wanted nothing more to do with her, with her ugly body and freakish seizures. Although she'd faced this scenario for ten seasons, had dealt with being spurned and ignored, somehow Chase's rejection hurt worse than the others.

  So she buried herself in the computer, trying to push aside the ache that arose in her chest every time she thought about him.

  She kept an anxious check on their destination. Thirteen days had passed since she'd been injected with Orana, almost half the time she had left. She should have been in Santerra five days ago. Dark fears of not reaching Santerra, of failing at her mission and then dying an agonizing death, nagged her. But she reassured herself with the knowledge that they would arrive at Star Base Intrepid in three days. She'd still have almost two weeks to get to Santerra. So far, no signs of the disease had surfaced.

  On the third day out of Calt, she slipped quietly into the cockpit. Staring at his terminal, Chase ignored her, as he had the past two days. Sliding into her seat, she immediately checked the destination screen, which she did every morning shift.

  Shockwaves spiraled through her. Bold, ominous letters flashed across the screen: Destination: Elysia. Nessa stared at the words, dread settling in the pit of her stomach. Not only were they headed away from Intrepid, but Elysia was still another day away.

  She gripped the console, trying to calm the ensuing panic. How could she convince Chase to take her to Intrepid without revealing the fact she was a Shielder? She stared at his stiff, unyielding back. No matter that he had treated her injuries, no matter what had passed between them, including the shared intimacy of mating, he was a shadower.

  Capturing and turning in Shielders comprised a shadower's financial mainstay. Controllers paid handsomely for Shielders, who could be identified by a simple blood test. Of course, shadowers couldn't go around the quadrant giving blood tests, which was why they frequently hired renegade Shielders. Traitors, like Sabin, who knew their own kind instantly, and who were granted immunity by the Controllers. Why Sabin hadn't revealed Nessa's identity remained a mystery.

  Even if Chase cared enough for her to forego financial gain, he wouldn't be able to override the formidable mind control implanted during indoctrination. A mental domination so powerful, it had enabled the Controllers to rule the quadrant for hundreds of seasons.

  No, she couldn't tell Chase the truth, not even after lying naked in his arms and allowing his invasion of her body. The insidious shroud of Controller influence infiltrated even the most private moments. If Chase knew she was a Shielder, he would surrender to the inexorable compulsion to turn her in.

  Gathering her courage, she rose and moved behind him. "Captain McKnight, I'd like to speak with you." She managed to keep her voice calm, but her control faltered when he swiveled around, his expression cold.

  "What do you want?"

  Clutching at the fabric of her tattered robe, she drew a deep breath and asked Spirit for a mighty dose of bravery.

  "I want you to honor your word to take me to Star Base Intrepid. I want to go there immediately."

  * * * *

  Nessa stood stiffly before him, glimpses of pale flesh peeking through her torn tunic. She wanted to get to Intrepid as quickly as possible, and probably not just for that damned eclipse, either. She'd made it quite clear she wanted nothing further to do with him. Not that he blamed her. Yet even as he stared at her, his focus shifting to her sensuous mouth, his body stirred.

  He should be concentrating on guessing Dansan's next move, but he couldn't stop thinking about the velvety smoothness of Nessa's skin. Of her cries of passion, her incredible tightness around him as he'd taken her innocence.

  Knowing he'd been the first man to touch her so intimately affected him profoundly. The urge to possess her pulsed through him like a primitive litany, accompanied by an equally strong urge to protect her. He must put an end to these dangerous feelings—and quickly.

  At the next possible opportunity, he'd get Nessa to a star base and out of his life. He'd been foolish to give in to temptation and head for Elysia. Marak had been among those who murdered his people, true, but he was merely one of Dansan's lieutenants, acting on her orders.

  Besides, Marak was an idiot, leaving trails as clear as a nebula. Chase would easily get him sooner or later. But since he'd come this far toward Elysia, he'd go on and capture Marak.

  Then he'd take Nessa to Intrepid. The sooner the better. She created a definite distraction from his goal.

  Revenge. It was all Chase had left, his entire purpose for existing.

  "Captain, did you hear me?"

  He met her gaze. "I don't like ultimatums. I make the decisions on this ship and I give the orders. I have some business to take care of on Elysia."

  Her hands clenched into fists at her side. "Keeping your word should also be your business, Captain."

  He checked his rising temper. Nessa could rouse his emotions with alarming swiftness. "You seem to forget that I'm a shadower. It's not my word that's important; it's my ability to track and capture criminals. The survival of the fittest is all that counts. Not some misplaced code of honor. But my word is good. You'll get to Intrepid—when I decide to go there. Argue with me again, and you'll finish the journey inside the brig."

  He didn't like threatening her, but fear helped foster distance between them. He needed some way to keep her in line, for she exhibited a surprising determination and tenacity.

  She paled, as she always did when he mentioned shadowers or talked about the brig. Her slight body trembled, and he wondered again at her fear of shadowers and being locked up. Silently she retreated to the relative safety of her cabin.

  Chase turned back to the computer, feeling strangely alone.

  * * * *

  Nessa released her safety harness and slowly left the cockpit. Already beside the hatch, Chase checked his weapons. She watched the now-familiar routine, noted the remote expression blanketing his face as he mentally readied himself for the challenge ahead.

  Why? she wanted to ask. Why do you do this? How could you hunt living beings and turn them in for money? Suddenly it mattered very much that Chase was a shadower, and not just because of the threat he posed. Shadowers were the scourge of the universe, the lowest of the low. She knew Chase to be more worthy than that. But Controller indoctrination destroyed free will—and the choice between right and wrong.

  Chase strapped on weapons and slipped on a backpack containing a portable body wheeler. The enormity of his chosen occupation swept through Nessa. She had lain with him, allowed him to touch her with shocking intimacy. She had yielded her body to a shadower. An odd trembling seized her and she steadied herself against the wall. She had to elude him and find a way to Santerra.

  "Captain McKnight, about my earlier suggestion—I could catch a transport here on Elysia."

  He looked at her, his eyes impassive. "I've already given my answer. The transports leaving Elysia are not safe for a lone woman. We'll only be here a day. After that, we'll head for Intrepid."

  Day fifteen—time rapidly diminishing—and she couldn't trust him. "But I read in IAR that Elysia is a big trading center. Large numbers of people come here to buy and sell all kinds of goods. Surely commercial transports are available."

  Chase shook his head as he slid a gun into a shoulder holster. "There's a lot you don't understand. Yes, many wares are sold on Elysia. Whatever can be desired can be pu
rchased here. That’s why I can't allow you off the ship."

  Nessa mulled over his odd words. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't plan to buy anything, except transport to Zirak."

  Opening the portal cover, Chase scanned the outside landscape, like he always did. "Not just material goods exchange hands here. Bodies, souls, human dignity. They all go to the highest bidders. Greed and lust drive this marketplace."

  He snapped the cover closed and turned back. "Some claim Elysia is the most beautiful planet in the quadrant," he said, his voice edged with steel, "but its essence—its soul, if you will—is blacker than that of Calt, or Alta, or any of the penal colonies."

  She shivered, although not from cold. He must be referring to the slave trade openly practiced on Elysia. Yet how could that, or anything, be starker than Calt, or offer darker memories? Especially after losing Turi there. "I don't care what kind of transport Elysia offers. I must get to Zirak, and quickly."

  His eyes narrowed. "Forget it, Nessa. I won't allow you to board an Elysian transport. I don't even want you walking around out there. And to make sure you don't leave the ship while I'm gone, I've reprogrammed the hatch. Only my code will activate it."

  He swung open the hatch. "It's 1200 hours now. I'll be back here by 1600 hours. We'll take off immediately." With those final, terse words, he left, the hatch slamming behind him.

  Nessa waited several minutes. Then she tried to open the hatch. Nothing. Anger swept through her and she kicked the hatch, then winced and shook her throbbing foot. Damning Chase McKnight to the fires of the Abyss, she limped back to the cockpit.

  In pure defiance, she sat in his seat and used his keypad. Accessing the PWL file, she pulled up her program…and froze.

  She stared at the screen, her heart rate accelerating. Her knowledge of encryption technology had paid off. The password file had been decoded, obviously by this third program, which she had started yesterday while Chase was exercising. With the push of a key, all of his security codes transmuted into legible alpha/numeric sequences, right before her eyes.

  Excitement raced through her. Nessa considered all the possibilities these codes offered. She could unlock Chase's vault and help herself to his miterons. Or open his armory and take his weapons, even hijack his ship.

  His ship…. The prospect whirled through her mind.

  With this ship, she could travel so swiftly to Santerra, she'd be there within seven days. She fingered the controls, imagining how it would feel to be in command of such an incredible space vehicle. Then her conscience stepped in. She couldn't do that to Chase, not after all he'd done for her. He had no family that she knew of. He had nothing except, perhaps, this ship. She couldn't steal it. Not when a public transport to Santerra was all she needed.

  She sighed. Well, she could at least open the hatch now. She'd take one or two of Chase's weapons for protection. No one would bother her if she pointed a wave-based weapon at them. And Chase would never expect her to leave the ship, so he wouldn't be looking for her.

  She printed off the codes and began accessing and scanning secured files. Now able to open Chase's armory, she took a charged stunner and a pistol. She also found a knife, similar to the knife she'd lost on Calt, which she slipped into her boot. She left the vault containing his miterons alone, not wanting to take more from him than she absolutely needed. Retrieving her bag of food from her cabin, she decoded and opened the hatch. With one last glance down the ship's corridor, she stepped out… into a virtual paradise.

  She stared in awe at the scene before her. Green and lush, Elysia sprawled as far as she could see, an oasis of the senses. Massive palm trees jutted up from the rolling landscape, waving gently in the balmy breezes. The scents of exotic flowers growing everywhere in profusion intermingled with the delicious aromas of cooking food.

  About four hundred meters away, the marketplace began, neat rows of brightly colored tents. Teeming masses of people packed the wide thoroughfares winding through the tent rows. Nessa heard the babble of voices, although she couldn't distinguish any words from this distance.

  She moved toward the tents, attracted like debris to a black hole. No one seemed to notice her. Her tattered pilgrim's tunic wasn't out of place here, she realized, not in this melting pot of beings and costumes. Looking for signs to the transport base, she stepped into the melee.

  Rows and rows of goods, a thousand times more than she'd seen in Moriah's mercantile, lined the tents. Merchants hawked their wares. Silks, weapons, food, clothing, computers—yes, computers! Animals, sound makers, and musical instruments, furniture, numerous items she couldn't even identify. Wondrous things!

  Even in her hurry, Nessa slowed to look at the different merchandise. She'd never seen anything like this marketplace and probably never would again. When she spotted lanraxes for sale, she almost stumbled. These were babies, their fur not yet long, but, oh, how they reminded her of Turi, with their chattering and hissing. They scrabbled about in a case, and the woman selling them wore gloves so they wouldn't smell her scent and bond with her.

  A lump rose in Nessa's throat and hot tears stung her eyes. Stars! She'd cried more the past four days than she had in ten seasons. Resolute, she shoved past the lanraxes, blindly shaking her head at the vendor's urging to buy one.

  Her spirits dampened, she hurried by the rest of the vendors. Beyond the stall area were two gracefully curved white domes, painted with colorful, exotic symbols. Nessa realized they must be the Pleasure Domes. She had read about them in the IAR, but she was just beginning to understand what they offered.

  Stunning men and women, dressed in sheer layers of silk, gyrated in sensual dances along the walkways leading to the domes. They beckoned to those passing by, trying to lure them inside to enjoy every type of erotic, physical pleasure—for a price, of course.

  Unbidden images of Chase's body over hers flashed through Nessa's mind. Pushing away the unwelcome thoughts, she skirted the domes. Relieved, she finally cleared the main market area, intending to stop someone and ask directions to the nearest transport station. Then she saw the slave section of the marketplace. She halted, riveted by the scene before her.

  She had read about Slaver's Square in the IAR, but she'd refused to dwell too long on the issue of slavery. So many people in the quadrant suffered under the cruel and abusive rule of the Controllers that the plight of slaves didn't seem any harsher than most. But the actual sight of the slaves, naked and bound by electronic shackles, brought home the horrifying reality in a way the computer couldn't convey.

  Age, nationality, and sex seemed to have no bearing on who would be enslaved. Small children, elders bent with age, white, black, orange, fur-covered beings, hairless beings; a variety of hapless slaves lined up in their shackles. They could only shuffle slowly; if they moved too far or too fast, the shackles issued a severe shock.

  The slave masters, dressed in glittering gold robes and jewel-encrusted sandals, ringed the slaves, threatening them with electrolyzer rods. An obese man with a neatly trimmed beard stood on the dais, calling out to potential buyers.

  "Hear, hear, citizens! Come buy a slave! Buy as many as you wish—we have plenty to choose from. No reasonable offer will be refused. Why do your own fighting? Or harvesting? Or upkeep of your dwelling or ship? Slaves are an economical way to do all that tiresome labor for you. They don't need much food or much space; they can sleep standing up. Our slaves are trained to see to your needs—and I do mean your every need."

  People milled around the square, physically inspecting slaves like they were animals. Nauseated, Nessa forced herself to look away from the morbid scenario. She tried to scurry by with her head averted, but the sudden sensation of another Shielder jerked her upright. Oh, no! Not Sabin. He couldn't be here. He just couldn't be.

  She didn't see Sabin behind her. Yet the presence of another Shielder persisted, and she rotated full circle, lowering her eyes against the appalling rows of naked slaves, then scanning the moving crowds. Nothing, no one
. Reluctantly, she turned back toward the slaves, finding the energy the strongest in that direction. But she found the sight of squalid, broken-spirited humanity unbearable and quickly looked away again.

  Even if a Shielder stood among those slaves, what could she do? She started the opposite direction. Still the pull beckoned. Gritting her teeth, Nessa spun around and moved back toward the square. Edging the crowd of potential buyers, she walked parallel to the line of slaves, not looking directly at them, but concentrating instead on the Shielder energy.

  When the energy level surged, she turned and looked. Two children, a girl and a boy, weary and bedraggled, lifted their eyes and stared back at her briefly, then fearfully looked away. Shielder children, for sale as slaves. The realization speared her like a laser.

  Reluctantly, Nessa approached the children. The stench of filth and human waste almost overwhelmed her, but she pressed forward, inexplicably drawn to these children. The girl, not much smaller than Nessa, appeared several seasons older than the boy, and approaching puberty. They both had dark brown hair, horribly matted.

  At closer range, she saw that bruises and welts covered their thin bodies. Intense anger swept through her. Only a monster could do this to defenseless children. She hated her helplessness in this horrible situation.

  What could she do?

  Buy them. The thought hurtled into her mind. She slipped her hand into her pocket and fingered her bag of coins. Four hundred miterons—all she had to get her to Santerra. The good of the entire Shielder race far outweighed the plight of two children, she reminded herself.

  But to leave them here seemed unthinkable. She reached out, touching the girl's shoulder. The girl started violently, lifting her head. Nessa stared into hazel eyes, dull with apathy and fear. "What is your name?" she asked, but the girl only shook her head.