Hero

by Cheryl Brooks

  Windura, who was now smiling at him over her coffee cup. It had to be her. Getting too friendly with a shipmate was probably a bad idea, but when she offered to clean up, he got a big whiff as she came around the table to take his plate. Generally speaking, Vessonian women had never been among his favorites, but she was nice--and funny too. Of course, having heard about Zetithian men from Layha, she was bound to be interested. He knew he should have tried to ignore her scent, but it was making his dick hard.

  Thankful that his nose wasn't nearly as good as that of his friend Manx--who only had to be downwind of a receptive female to get it up--and that his current style of dress camouflaged his reaction, Trag went off to his station. Performing another manual sensor sweep, he still didn't pick up on anything, which was odd. Still, they had a good head start and Lerotan's ship was one of the fastest he knew of--only Jack's ship was faster--having been modified by some Delfian mechanics who knew a few things most others didn't. Apparently their loop back toward Darconia was a move that Grekkor hadn't anticipated either. Trag chuckled to himself thinking that anyone following their last known trajectory was bound to be getting pissed by now.

  Later on, Windura brought him a cup of coffee at his station. Her scent was softer now--not enough to evoke a response--but it was still there. She liked him, all right, and when she squeezed his shoulder just before she took her seat at the tech station, he was sure of it.

  ***

  Micayla watched Windura with a pang of envy. There she was, talking to a guy she'd just met the day before, and she wasn't afraid to get friendly with him either. Not that she was being as friendly with Rodan--after all, who would want to be?--but she did speak to him, whereas Micayla was reluctant to open her mouth for fear that Rodan would start harassing her again. Trag, on the other hand, seemed to be very likable, and Windura wasn't being flirtatious either. She'd gone after her own coffee and had brought some back for Trag. Just a simple, friendly gesture, but the way he smiled at her...

  It wasn't the first time Micayla had ever considered having a closer relationship with a man, but so much more seemed to be riding on it now. Maybe it was just because he was a fellow Zetithian, which was also odd; she'd never had that much in common with anyone before.

  Lerotan's voice startled her out of her thoughts. "Guess we ought to let Wazak know we're coming. Micayla, send out a hail to Darconia, and ask if Tychar is there while you're at it."

  "Be great if Ty was there," Trag said wistfully. "Haven't seen him in ages."

  "We're going to see him?" Windura gasped. "Really? I can't believe--"

  Her excitement was cut short by an exasperated grumble from Trag.

  "Sorry, Trag," she said meekly. "Don't know what came over me."

  Trag laughed it off, but Micayla suspected that living in the shadow of a famous sibling bothered him more than he let on. Micayla could imagine it would be difficult, although she certainly didn't know from personal experience. Her stepmother, Rulie, had never married, and though Micayla suspected that it had something to do with her alien stepchild, Rulie had never admitted to wanting a husband--or other children.

  "I have you to love," she often told Micayla. "I don't need anyone else."

  Statements like that had made Micayla think long and hard before leaving Earth behind, but Rulie understood. "Your destiny awaits you," she had said the day Micayla left for her first post. "Don't waste the opportunity."

  She'd never said specifically, but Micayla wondered if Rulie had known that the day would come when she would begin to seek the answers to the questions of her past. Now many of those questions had been answered, but Micayla still didn't understand much about her own personal makeup. Was it common for Zetithian women to feel so little desire for men? And if so, what was the reason for it?

  She continued to ponder this while preparing the hail to Darconia, and sent it off with the hope that she would find someone--anyone--who could help her understand more.

  Micayla had just sent the hail when the ship gave a sudden lurch, nearly throwing her out of her seat.

  "What the hell was that?" Lerotan demanded.

  "Nothing on the sensors," Trag yelled as the ship took another hit. "The fuckers must have a cloaked ship!"

  "And a damned fast one too," Lerotan added. "Rodan, fire anything you've got in the direction that pulse blast came from!"

  "Already on it!" Rodan shouted.

  The third round blew out half the lights and sent Micayla sprawling onto the deck with Trag on top of her. The impact knocked the breath out of her, and she pushed against him, gasping for air.

  "Don't you dare hiss at me," Trag warned as he rolled away. "I'm really not in the mood!" Scrambling to his feet, he returned to his post and waited until Rodan had fired the pulse cannons before sending the ship on an evasive maneuver, muttering, "Nobody has ever caught us with this gambit; this better not be the time they do."

  "Keep firing aft, Rodan!" Lerotan ordered. "Don't stop until something explodes."

  Micayla clambered into to her seat, barely able to breathe as her console began flashing. "It's a hail!" she gasped.

  "I don't want to talk to them!" Lerotan yelled.

  Another pulse blast rocked their vessel and Micayla's arm hit the receiver control. The viewscreen flickered to life with the image of a snarling wolf-like creature staring at them.

  "Prepare to surrender your vessel and be boarded!" he said. "We are only seeking your passengers."

  "We don't have passengers!" Lerotan growled. "Only crew!"

  Glancing at Windura, Micayla shook her head, feeling completely confused. It wasn't Grekkor. It was someone else entirely.

  Lerotan obviously knew something about him, though, because he snarled: "No Nedwut ever will board my ship."

  "Then we will destroy it," the Nedwut said.

  "Like hell you will," Lerotan shot back, but the viewscreen went blank as Rodan fired another round. Trag was still engaged in evasive maneuvers that, coming on top of getting the wind knocked out of her, were making Micayla want to throw up, but at least the blasts weren't hitting them anymore. If nothing else, she had to admit that Trag was a darn good pilot.

  It was all Micayla could do to hang on to her station--let alone her breakfast--when Trag finally let out a shout of triumph. "You got him!" he crowed as he set the ship on a straight but divergent course.

  "Great shot, Rodan!" Lerotan said with a grin as the shock wave buffeted the ship.

  "You don't suppose Grekkor was on that ship, do you?" Micayla said hopefully.

  "I doubt it," Windura commented. "He doesn't strike me as the type to do his own dirty work."

  "What I'm wondering is where that last blast came from," Rodan said, scratching his shiny bald head.

  "You mean you didn't fire it?" Lerotan demanded.

  "That's exactly what I mean," Rodan replied. "Unless it was a delayed reaction."

  "Hmm," said Lerotan. "Perhaps we have a friend out there somewhere."

  "If we do, they're cloaked too," Trag reported. "Because according to my sensors, there's nothing out there but debris."

  "And since when do Nedwuts have cloaking technology on their ships, anyway?" Rodan said, shaking his head. "I never heard of that."

  "Makes keeping Zetithians alive a bit more difficult," Lerotan said grimly.

  "Sorry to be so much trouble," Trag grumbled. "Guess I'll just go jump in an escape pod and eliminate the problem."

  Lerotan rolled his eyes. "Forget it, Trag. We need you. And besides, you aren't the only Zetithian on board anymore."

  "No way am I sharing a pod with her," Trag said, pulling his cloak around his shoulders. "It's cold enough in space as it is."

  ***

  Safely aboard the cloaked Okeoula, Veluka was chuckling his scaly, black head off. Jack would really owe him now.

  Chapter 8

  "Hmm, Darconia, huh?" Jack mused as she read the deep space missive Larry had just given her. "Been needing to go there anyway. It took some do
ing, but I finally found that video I promised Dragus."

  "A video for Dragus?" Cat drawled. "I cannot imagine what that would be."

  "It's not that kind of video," she said with a quelling glance. "Dragus has more things on his mind than you might think."

  "You astonish me," Cat said dryly. "I cannot recall anything being on his mind but--"

  "Not in front of the children," Jack cautioned.

  "Aw, Mom!" Larry complained. "We know all about Dragus."

  "Yeah, he's that guard who's got the hots for Earth women," Moe said.

  "Who told you that?" Jack demanded.

  Moe looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "Dragus," he replied. "Who'd you think?"

  Jack shook her head ruefully. "The things you kids have been exposed to! Maybe I should have left you on Earth to be raised by my parents."

  "Yeah, right," Larry chuckled. "No way would Grandma ever be able to put up with us."

  "She told you that?"

  "Sure did," Larry said with a nod of his curly head. "Said she didn't want to be responsible for a bunch of precocious boys." Larry seemed puzzled, adding, "What's precocious mean, anyway?"

  "That's an English word which means that you're advanced for your age," Jack replied, "which is certainly true. I don't know many seven-year-olds who could do what you guys do. Must be a Zetithian thing."

  "Nope. It's the Terran/Zetithian cross," Moe said knowledgeably. "'Least that's what Dad said."

  "He only said that because he wants me to feel like I had something to do with it," Jack said roundly. "Don't believe everything he tells you." For her part, it was difficult not to take everything Cat said as the gospel truth. One glimpse of his long, lean body and beckoning smile would have her buying bridges in Brooklyn and lakes on Darconia in no time. Good thing he was so honest...

  "I have never lied to our children," Cat insisted, his black eyes flashing with indignation. "They are very intelligent, and I believe it is because of you."

  "I know you think that, Cat," Jack said impatiently, "and neither of us are what you'd call stupid, but I wasn't flying a ship at that age."

  "Did you have the opportunity?" Cat countered. Moving closer, his eyes began to glow and Jack had no doubt that this was one disagreement he was going to win.

  "Well, no," Jack admitted. "I don't suppose I did, but--"

  "I have no doubt that you could have," her husband said firmly. "Therefore it is no surprise to me that our children can."

  Jack's eyes narrowed. "You're sweet-talking me again, Kittycat. You want something, don't you?"

  Cat smiled wickedly. "Can you doubt it?" he said, beginning to purr.

  "Maybe later," she said with a grin. Actually, there was no "maybe" about it. Jack knew he would work his magic on her just as he always did. He was completely irresistible, and he knew it. Damn him.

  Larry and Moe returned to their stations giggling. They knew a whole lot more than their parents thought they did.

  ***

  Trag sat down at the dinner table feeling slightly unsure about the meal he'd prepared. In a fit of pique, Hidar had not only refused to fix dinner but had also refused to explain what was what in the galley, so in some cases, Trag was forced to make a guess.

  "I can't wait to get to Darconia," Rodan said, sitting down next to Micayla, who shifted away from him slightly. Though Rodan's stench had improved considerably since the ladies joined the crew--a side effect for which Trag was extremely grateful--Micayla obviously wasn't longing for a closer relationship, no matter what Rodan might have in mind.

  "And why is that?" Micayla asked, cocking her head toward him. "Got a thing for big, scaly lizards?"

  "No," Rodan replied. "You don't have to wear clothes on Darconia." Leering at her, he added, "And once you see me naked, you'll want me so bad you'll be down on your knees begging."

  Micayla let out a sardonic laugh and rolled her eyes. "I doubt it, Rodan, but you can keep dreaming, if you like. I'm just not interested."

  Rodan snickered. "You haven't seen me naked."

  "And I hope I never do," she said smoothly, "though I'm not sure it would make any difference."

  Rodan laughed and dug into his dinner, obviously not the least bit discouraged.

  Trag was looking forward to visiting Darconia himself, partly for the chance to see Kyra again, but mainly for the warmth. He'd spent years wishing for a cooler climate, only to discover that "cooler" meant he was uncomfortably cold most of the time. He also missed the freedom of being nude, and without missing a beat his mind made the leap to Kyra and how he'd teased her to stop wearing her long dresses and wear nothing but jewelry like the Darconian females did. She had finally given in but had never seemed very comfortable with it--no matter how terrific she might have looked.

  Trag considered his two new shipmates carefully and decided that while Windura might adopt the Darconian style eventually, he couldn't see Micayla ever doing it, no matter how hot it was. She wore that space station uniform as though perpetually anticipating a formal inspection; everything tucked, buttoned, and zipped up tight. She wasn't what you'd call timid, though--the exchange between her and Rodan proved that--but she did seem awfully quiet sometimes--even aloof--especially around Trag.

  This irked Trag because she seemed able to talk to everyone else on board, which didn't make a bit of sense. She was Zetithian, for heaven's sake! He ought to at least be able to talk to her. Peering at her surreptitiously across the dinner table, Trag pondered this until he simply couldn't stand it anymore.

  "So, Micayla," he began. "You're from Earth, right? Any idea how you got there?"

  ***

  Never having encouraged him to speak to her, Micayla glanced up at Trag in surprise. Unfortunately, she now had to fight the urge not only to hiss at him, but to bite him as well. The desire to sink her teeth into his succulent flesh was almost overwhelming. In fact, the only way she could answer his question without attacking him was to avoid looking at him entirely. "My family was being chased through a spaceport," she replied, staring down at her plate, "and my mother handed me off to a stranger--my stepmother, Rulie--and told her to keep me safe. She took me to Earth."

  "And your real family?" he prompted. "Do you know what happened to them?"

  "They were killed," Micayla said, still keeping her head down.

  "I'm sorry about that," Trag said warmly. "I was lucky that way--Ty and I were captured and sold together. You must feel very lonely."

  This sounded like another version of Rodan's approach, but rather than getting into a lengthy discussion, Micayla opted to cut it short, replying with a terse affirmative. She couldn't deny that she felt something for him--though she wasn't quite sure what it was--but talking to Trag made her uncomfortable. She didn't trust the unfamiliar reactions triggered by his presence.

  "I'm surprised Jack never found you though," Trag went on. "She's put out the word all over the galaxy about what happened to Zetith and that the Nedwuts were responsible. I can't believe you didn't know you were Zetithian."

  "My stepmother did her best to keep me safe--from everyone," Micayla replied. "If she heard anything about it, she would have assumed it was the bad guys looking for survivors."

  "True," Trag agreed. "I'm not sure I would try to contact Jack if I'd been in hiding like that. Of course, Earth's a pretty safe place to hide--even from us."

  Micayla's curiosity got the best of her. "What do you mean by that?"

  "We can't land there," Rodan chimed in. "We're all undesirables." The emphasis he put on that last word, along with the accompanying chuckle, suggested that he was either proud of the fact or thought it was ridiculous--Micayla wasn't sure which.

  "Can't go to Terra Minor either," said Trag. "The toughest immigration and landing regulations in the galaxy, though Lynx did get them to allow any Zetithians needing refuge to go there--with the exception of me because I've been hanging out with these guys."

  "Which means we'll be considered undesirables too, I suppo
se," Windura said bleakly, "or murderers."

  Micayla started to ask what she meant but then remembered Grekkor's accusation implicating the two women in the death of the Norludian. "So we're outlaws now, huh?" Micayla mused, shaking her head as she stabbed at the food on her plate. "Guess we'll be on the run until we can clear our names--which, under the circumstances, doesn't seem very likely." She paused with a forkful poised before her lips. "What is this anyway? Fish?"

  "Um, that's part of the problem," Trag said. "Hidar used to do all the cooking--I've only recently started doing it myself--and there's some stuff in the stasis unit I'm not sure about. I thought it might be Kreater beast, but--"

  "If it's Kreater beast, then it's okay," Windura said soothingly. "This is what it's supposed to taste like."

  "Yes, but what if it isn't?" Micayla said, still scrutinizing the bit of meat on her fork.

  "I guess outlaws like us can't be too choosy," Trag said with a shrug. He appeared nonchalant, but something in his tone of voice told Micayla that it had been the wrong subject to broach--maybe even worse than hissing at him. Then his expression clouded and she was sure of it. Way to go, Micayla.

  "Hasn't killed us yet!" Rodan said cheerfully. Downing the last bit on his plate with gusto, he upended his bottle of ale, draining the contents before letting out a satisfied belch.

  "I'm not sure you're the best one to judge, Rodan," Windura said. "Something tells me it would take more than rotten Kreater beast to kill you."

  "He actually likes Hidar's cooking," Trag whispered to her, "if that tells you anything. It's nearly killed me several times."

  "Well, I don't think this would kill anyone," Micayla said. "But I certainly wouldn't kill for it."

  Trag's eyes darkened ominously. "I'd like to see you try figuring out what all that shit is," he snarled. "Maybe if you go rub Hidar's wings he'd tell you."

  "I'd rather not," Micayla shot back.

  "Well then lay off, Ice Queen."

  Micayla knew she'd hurt his feelings, but the attack hardly seemed warranted. "Ice Queen?" she echoed indignantly. "And just what do you mean by that?"