Micayla felt a surge of emotions. Regret for not having run after him, despair that she might never see him again, and envy that Dana had actually spoken with him--and all this because of a man she'd never even met. How very odd...
***
Trag went back the way he'd come with a heavy heart. Nothing in his entire life had prepared him for the way he'd felt that morning, and he'd spent twenty years of that life as a slave. The fact that he'd been a free man and the pilot of a starship for the past three years didn't matter--he still felt trapped.
"Inheriting" a fortune in jewels from his former master might have provided him with the means, but something was missing from his life and until that space was filled, he felt adrift. He'd opted to take the job as Lerotan Kanotay's pilot, mainly because he couldn't come up with a better plan. Living among Lerotan's rough, uncouth crew was nothing like he imagined freedom would be, though his years of slavery might have had something to do with why he felt that way. Lerotan had teased him more than once about having been the Darconian queen's pampered pet.
Unlike Trag, his brother, Tychar, had done something far more interesting with his life, but he had talent as a singer and a woman who loved him. Trag could have gone on tour with Ty's band, but playing the flunky younger brother to a rock star didn't appeal to him in the slightest. There would always be a place for him aboard Jack Tshevnoe's ship, but Trag thought it was a bad idea for so many of the few remaining Zetithians to be together on one vessel. If the Nedwuts attacked and blew the Jolly Roger to bits, it would wipe out half of the six that were left of his species.
At least the six that were known. There could have been others in hiding, but with the increased bounty being paid on Zetithians, the Nedwut bounty hunters were more determined than ever to capture the remaining few. This meant that Trag often had to fight to stay alive and though he hoped to find other survivors--perhaps even a female--the odds were slim. Just that morning at the breakfast table while their ship cruised toward Orleon Station, Lerotan had teased him that perhaps this was the day. Trag, however, had not been quite so optimistic.
"Maybe," he had said. "But knowing my luck, even if we did find a Zetithian woman, she'd probably already have a mate, or she'd be the wrong age for me."
"And she'd automatically want you if she was the right age and not taken?"
This comment hit Trag like a stun blast to the chest. "I hadn't thought of that."
Lerotan roared with laughter. "Let's say we do find one that's eligible, what's to say she'd be so desperate that she'd want you?"
"Well, I--if I'm the only one left that doesn't have a mate," Trag sputtered, "she'd have to take me!"
"Oh, yeah. I'm sure I'd want a woman who only took me because of a lack of options."
Trag scowled at Lerotan but knew he was right. "I didn't mean it that way," he said. "What I meant was that if she's Zetithian, she wouldn't want anyone but another Zetithian."
"Oh, so it's different with the women?" Lerotan said skeptically. "You can do the Terran female/Zetithian male thing but not the other way around?"
"That's right," Trag said, crossing his arms firmly. "Hell, they didn't want us half the time, and we're irresistible. What makes you think they'd want anyone else?"
"You cocky Zetithians," Lerotan said with a wag of his head. "Always think women will want you no matter what. Well, let me tell you something, Trag. The males of other species have cocks as big and fancy as yours--some even have more than one. You aren't that special."
"Well, someone must've thought we were hot shit or they wouldn't be so set on making sure we were all dead," Trag grumbled. "That's Jack's theory, and I'd be willing to bet she's right."
"Suit yourself," Lerotan said, leaning back in his chair. "But I can do things with a woman that you can't, and you don't see anyone trying to crash asteroids into my planet, do you?"
Trag knew it was true but hated to admit it. Dark-skinned and handsome with a long, black braid that hung over one shoulder, Lerotan looked human, except for the tail, and the rune tattooed on his left temple only added to his allure with women. Trag hadn't seen a woman turn him down yet; in fact, they tended to line up for the chance to be part of a threesome or get double-fucked when he used his tail on them. Trag had had the misfortune of walking in on him once; the tuft of his tail had opened at the point, enabling the erectile tissue inside to protrude, looking for all the world like a spare cock. He had almost as much control of it as Trag had with his own penis--which was considerable. Trag was good--and it was a given that no woman had ever complained--but he certainly couldn't do two of them at the same time.
Still, he couldn't let Lerotan think he was better at pleasing one woman than he was. It was a matter of pride. "I know you've essentially got two tools, but can your fluids trigger orgasms?"
Lerotan took a sip of his drink and smiled. "I like to think it's my own efforts that make women scream for more, rather than drugging them with some kind of orgasmic cock syrup."
"Yeah, well, somebody else must have felt that way too, but trust me, it wasn't a woman!" And especially not Kyra. Trag pushed himself away from the table and lunged to his feet. "We're coming up on the space station."
"Well, be careful," Lerotan warned. "I don't want the paint scratched."
Trag rolled his eyes and headed off to the helm, not bothering to reply.
Orleon Station was about the size of a small moon but was shaped like a crystal with points in every direction, its growth seemingly haphazard as new sections were added on. Once the pride of the sector, it had become seedier with age, and those of Lerotan's ilk frequented the dingier bars seeking the illegal goods that had been banned from the station in the beginning but were now the more common merchandise.
It was rumored that the new commander was attempting to clean up some of the corruption, but Lerotan had made the comment that it was probably too late for that. Trag avoided arguing with Lerotan about what he sold, but also knew from having met Jack that it was possible to amass a small fortune by dealing in legal commodities. Unfortunately, while Jack had a knack for knowing what would sell on every planet she visited, from medical supplies to exotic cuisine, Lerotan just knew a good weapon when he saw one.
The first hail from the station brought Lerotan to the communications console to respond. "Captain: Lerotan Kanotay. Ship: The Equalizer. Cargo: weapons of all kinds for all kinds of buyers." He said this last with the same smirk as always, and Trag suspected he derived some sort of pleasure from putting it that way. No, Lerotan would never give up the arms game--at least not until someone killed him.
"Permission granted to dock on level ten, section thirty," the reedy-voiced Kitnock said. "Follow the beacon."
Trag stared at the viewscreen wondering how anything that looked like a collection of twigs could possibly need a mouth that big in order to feed itself, but he was distracted when a red light began pulsing at one of the points of the crystal. Aiming the ship toward it, he was momentarily startled by a soft jolt on the controls. "Looks like someone installed a damn tractor beam since we were here last," he growled in disgust. "You can't blame me for scratched paint this time."
"Lucky you," Lerotan said. "Guess I'll have to find something else to blame you for."
"Like what?" Trag demanded.
Lerotan cocked his head to one side and pursed his lips as though trying to remember. Then his eyes widened in surprise. "Do you know, I've never had the slightest bit of trouble with you? Never had to bust you out of jail, patch you up after a fight, or pay off a woman you got too rough with."
"No shit," Trag grumbled. "If I'm so wonderful, then why the hell don't you pay me more?"
"I suppose I should," Lerotan said amiably. "Doesn't mean I will, but--"
"Just forget it, Leroy. You pay me plenty."
"No, I don't."
"Yeah, but I get to see the galaxy."
Lerotan laughed. "Now that you mention it, I'm probably paying you too much--and don't call me Leroy."
>
Trag leaned back in his chair and scowled up at his boss, but his expression brightened as the ship slid into the airlock with a loud screech. "There goes the paint. Leroy."
Lerotan shrugged and tried to hide his displeasure, but the twitching of his leonine tail gave him away.
Trag tried to focus his mind on shutting down the engines, but Kyra's memory was still there to tease him. Smiling at him. Laughing at one of his jokes. Rolling her eyes at what a poor musician he was. He was fairly certain no one suspected--certainly not any of his shipmates, who were as rough a band of mercenaries as you might find anywhere in the galaxy--but he was beginning to tire of the charade. He was tired of going into spaceport bars and feigning interest in the women who frequented such places. Tired of going through the motions when one of them smelled good enough to give him an erection. Sometimes he fucked them just because he could, but it wasn't what he was looking for, mainly because what he wanted apparently didn't exist--a woman who could make him forget Kyra.
Chapter 2
Micayla met Windura for lunch as promised, but her hopes that Windura might help her hunt for a man she'd only seen for a moment were dashed in light of the direction he'd taken.
"You need to steer clear of sections twenty-eight and twenty-nine," Windura warned briskly. "The worst scumbags in the quadrant hang out down there."
Micayla looked over at her new friend with a slightly jaundiced eye. "I've seen scumbags before. This isn't my first post, you know. Besides, you've been down there and you obviously survived."
"Yes, but I'm a bit more streetwise than you, and not nearly as pretty. You might get kidnapped and sold as a slave."
Confident in her fighting skills, Micayla snorted her skepticism. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Oh, no," Windura assured her. "There are slave ships that dock here. It isn't advertised, of course--and Commander Beontal would have a fit if he knew about it--but it happens."
"Well, maybe you should tell the commander that," Micayla suggested. "If he's trying to clean up the corruption here, getting rid of the slavers would be a good place to start."
"Yes, but it might also get me in trouble with the slavers," Windura pointed out. "And they are not the kind of people you want to piss off."
"You're probably right about that," Micayla agreed, "but at least they don't come to this part of the station." Sighing, she went on, "I'd really like to find that guy, though--if for no other reason than to get a closer look at him."
Windura cocked her head to one side. "Why--was he that handsome?"
"I couldn't tell," Micayla replied. "Dana said he was, but what's even more interesting is that she thought he and I might be the same species."
"Really?" Windura said, her curiosity clearly piqued. "I know you don't know what you are, but there's something about you that seems so familiar to me." She stopped there, shaking her head. "I just can't seem to remember..."
"Got a cat?" Micayla prompted.
"No," Windura replied. "Why do you ask?"
"The kids back home always said I looked like one."
"And this man did too, huh?"
"Yes, and according to Dana, he could purr like a kitten."
"And you can do that?"
"Sometimes," Micayla replied. "But I have to be in a certain mood." There was only one thing that could put her in that mood, but this was a subject she preferred to avoid. She focused on Windura instead, noting her slanted ears and forehead ridges. "Can Vessonians purr?"
"No," Windura replied with a giggle. "And we don't have any magical powers, either--although some people think I have a positive effect on their computers. What about you? Can you do anything besides purr?"
"If I tell you, you'll think I'm crazy," Micayla said, shaking her head.
"Try me," Windura said, taking a bite of her sandwich. "I've met lots of crazy people."
Micayla ran a finger down the side of her frosty glass. "Well, as long as you don't mind one more," she began tentatively, lowering her voice.
Windura leaned forward, clearly intrigued, and Micayla glanced around at the crowded cafeteria, hoping the general din of a hundred other conversations was enough to drown out the one in which she was currently engaged. "I sometimes know things and I don't know how I know them. Does that make sense?"
"I dunno," said Windura. "What sort of things?"
"Like this station, for example. I'd never been here before--never even seen a hologram of it--but I knew what it looked like before I got here. Even knew where things were without looking at a diagram."
"That's pretty weird," Windura admitted, "but convenient. At least you'll never get lost--and you'll always know where sections twenty-eight and twenty-nine are."
"I suppose so."
"Ever see the man of your dreams?"
"Only in my dreams," Micayla said with a rueful smile.
"Or the park," Windura suggested.
"I don't know that he was the man of my dreams," Micayla said. "I just noticed him, that's all." She couldn't help but think there was more to it than that, though. That arrow to her heart had to mean something...
"Ever been in love?"
Micayla ran a hand through her curls, feeling the sting of tears just as she always did when she thought about Adam. He was cute and funny and she'd liked him a lot--perhaps even loved him a little--which made it that much harder to bear when he told her he was going to look elsewhere for love. She couldn't blame him for wanting to find a girlfriend who actually appreciated his lovemaking efforts rather than merely tolerating them, but it still hurt. "Not really," she replied. "But I keep looking."
"Might help if you could find a male of your own species," Windura said, "which might also explain why you'd feel so compelled to find that man you saw this morning." Tapping her chin thoughtfully, she added, "Too bad you don't know what to look for. Ever done any research?"
Micayla laughed shortly. "Are you kidding? Of course I have! And my stepmother did too. She tried to discover what I was when she first brought me to Earth, but she never found a thing. I was practically a baby at the time, so I couldn't tell her much."
"And how did she wind up with you?"
"My real mother handed me off to Rulie just before she and the rest of my family were gunned down in a spaceport. Rulie never told me where it was. I think she was afraid I'd go looking for the killers or something."
"How awful!" Windura exclaimed. "I--I can't imagine what that would feel like." Windura sat quietly, as though playing the scenario through her mind. Then her expression darkened and she shuddered slightly. "I know one thing; I'd want to hunt down whoever did that to my family." She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed it thoughtfully before she spoke again. "Still, if you were a baby at the time, that had to have been at least twenty years ago. Have you checked into it lately?"
"No," Micayla replied. "I'd love to be able to write something other than 'unknown' in the slot for Planet of Origin on an application, but to tell you the truth, as I've gotten older, I've begun to wonder if it's such a good idea. I mean, what if it turns out that I'm descended from an ancient species of killer cats--the kind that have been hunted down and shot on sight for centuries?"
"Well, that might explain why there are so few of you left," Windura agreed, "and I can see why it would make you a bit leery, but nobody is going to be hunting someone like you, Micayla. You're no killer."
Micayla shrugged. "True, but Rulie wasn't crazy about me taking a post so far from Earth, which makes me wonder if she knows something I don't."
Windura laughed. "My mother didn't want me to work here either, so it's not like you're alone in that." Downing the last of her Rubean punch, she went on, "I still think it's worth looking into. Computers are my thing; I might be more successful--and who knows? I might even be able to find your mystery man."
"But you might also find trouble."
Windura eyed her speculatively. "Willing to take that risk?"
A hazy memory of that tragic day wh
en she lost her family in the spaceport surfaced briefly, only to be replaced by the compelling image of the man in the park. Micayla felt a pang near her heart and, suddenly, her concerns vanished without a trace. If nothing else, he was worth the risk. "Yes," she said firmly. "I believe I am."
***
As always, Trag's initial thought when he entered Orleon Station a few hours before had been that the place was trying too hard not to stink. A potent perfume wafted from the ventilators as he and his shipmates stepped through the double hatch on the airlock, and Trag's sensitive nose was the first to rebel. Sneezing violently, he motioned for the others to go on without him.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" Rodan had asked. "Don't like what you smell?"
"No!" Trag exclaimed. "And you wouldn't either if you had any sense of smell at all."
Rodan just grinned, revealing several large gaps in his stained teeth. As the ship's first officer, Rodan was as coarse as Lerotan was charming. Big, bald, tattooed, and fond of wearing leather and chains, Rodan hailed from a planet that must have smelled even worse than the station because the natives never seemed to notice just how bad they smelled themselves. At least, Rodan didn't. Trag had a hard time being in the same room with him. Most women didn't like him and even though he was rumored to be extremely well-endowed, they usually steered clear of him after one encounter. Apparently there was such a thing as being too big.
His other companion, aside from Lerotan, was Hidar, The Equalizer's medical officer and cook. Hidar was Scorillian--a hideous species of tall bipedal insects with translucent green wings and a triangular head--and, as such, had women the galaxy over avoiding him like the plague for which his planet was famous.
Having recovered from his sneezing fit, Trag followed the flashing lights on the walls of the corridor advertising the various shops on the main deck. He had no use for most of their wares; all he really wanted was some fresh fruit, though he doubted he would find it so deep in space. Darconians were vegetarian and ate their food fresh and uncooked, and, as their slave, he had been fed the same way. As a result, Trag had a hard time adjusting to the uncertain diet on board The Equalizer; he had to be almost starving before he ate anything Hidar cooked. It was always spicy, greasy, and sat in his stomach like a grenade just waiting to explode. Trag had always considered it ironic, but convenient, that Hidar was both the ship's cook and medic; after his cooking made you sick, he could treat your bellyache.
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