Hero

by Cheryl Brooks

  "Yeah, now I know," she began, but added, "and I still don't know very much. Just enough to know I'll never see my homeworld or any family I might have had there."

  Trag waved a hand at the starry sky--a sky almost as clear as the view from a starship. "I used to lie out here and look up at the billions of stars up there thinking just how small and insignificant this planet--hell, this whole solar system!--was in comparison to the rest of the universe. And me least of all; one tiny little being on a world where I didn't belong." Gripping another handful of his hair, he exclaimed, "God, I wanted to get off this rock! And now, it's the only place I feel at home--but it's still not right."

  "I think I know what you mean," she said. "Earth is my home, but I never felt as if I belonged there; I was always an outsider. Remember what Kyra said about all of us living on one planet? It'd be nice, wouldn't it?"

  Trag laughed scornfully. "There aren't enough of us left to fill a space cruiser, let alone a planet. I think we're a lost cause."

  "Jack--it was 'Jack' wasn't it?--doesn't seem to think so. Tell me about her."

  Trag chuckled. "She bought Cat at a slave auction so he could pose as her master when she went to Statzeel to try to find her sister who was a slave there. In fact, all Statzeelian women are slaves. Does that tell you anything?"

  "That she's completely crazy?" Micayla suggested with a wry smile.

  "Probably," Trag admitted. "But she loves Cat to pieces, and he--" He stopped abruptly, his expression sobering as he bit his lip and looked away again.

  "What is it?" she prompted, noting his sudden change of mood.

  "Nothing," he replied. "Just--nothing." He surged to his feet and turned, holding out his hand. "Come on. You'll be all right now. Let's get you to bed."

  In any other context, his words might have been suggestive, and when spoken by a naked hunk, the effect tripled, but if he was intending to share that bed with her, it wasn't obvious. His long, thick cock was right at eye level, displaying a decided lack of interest--something that, if all the talk meant anything, most men's would have done. She wasn't interested either, though she thought she should have been, but the reason for that escaped her.

  "Tell me something else," she began. "When I landed on Lerotan's ship, even though we didn't exactly get off to a good start, he seemed to think you'd be glad to see someone like me, and yet you weren't--at least, it didn't seem that way--and you probably should have been. Why were you looking for a Zetithian woman if you didn't want--"

  Trag's stormy expression cut her off, but instead of yelling at her, he let out a resigned sigh. "Because I knew I'd never find one," he replied. "I could keep on feeling the way I do about Kyra while pretending to want someone else and no one would ever realize it."

  "But you did find one."

  "Yeah, I did." Pinning her with a look, he added, "Jack won't like this a bit."

  Micayla didn't have to ask what he was referring to. "Don't tell her."

  "If you think that'll make any difference," Trag snickered, "then you've got a lot to learn about Jack."

  Later that night, Micayla lay in her bed staring up at the ceiling. Thanks to the moons and the lack of cloud cover, it was rarely completely dark on Darconia, but it really didn't matter; she wasn't looking at it anyway. She was thinking.

  That little bit of time spent alone with Trag had changed her opinion of him. She was even beginning to suspect that they could become friends. She'd eventually get over the need to tear hunks out of him; she only needed to get used to being around him. Then it would go away.

  Windura's steady breathing indicated her deep slumber, but Micayla was as far from sleep as she'd ever been. She couldn't see herself as a member of Lerotan's crew forever, even though it wasn't much different from her previous post. She was, after all, doing the same kind of work, just in a different setting. Pretty soon she'd feel like one of the crew, Rodan would prove to be nothing but hot air, and Hidar--well, Hidar would molt and would hopefully be more chipper. The men would eventually understand that she wasn't like other women and would quit teasing her. She'd just be one of the guys.

  Right. If only it didn't feel so wrong.

  ***

  Beontal faced the viewscreen with casual indifference. "Let me be sure I understand this, Mr. Grekkor. You want a hooker to question regarding the death of the Norludian merchant?"

  "Yes, I should have thought that was self-evident when Dolurp asked for one."

  Beontal went from casual to skeptical in a heartbeat. "And would you be so kind as to tell me why a hooker--any hooker--would have the information you require?"

  "It has to do with someone else involved in the case," Grekkor said, reluctant to reveal anything further, but doing his best to conceal that fact.

  "Ah, so the two women had an accomplice?"

  "I believe so," Grekkor replied. "You need only to allow my man to bring one of the hookers to me for questioning."

  Beontal's smile was decidedly chilly. "I should have thought that was my job."

  "I only wish to be of assistance," Grekkor said. "I don't understand why--"

  "Why I wouldn't allow a possible witness to be extradited from my jurisdiction--a case that took place within that jurisdiction?" Lowering his head, Beontal eyed Grekkor with reproach. "Really, Mr. Grekkor," he chided. "Your ignorance astonishes me."

  "But I--" Grekkor felt that control of the conversation had definitely gone over to Beontal. It would have to be regained carefully.

  "Would it interest you to know that I've done a bit of checking into several backgrounds since you left the station so abruptly?"

  "I cannot imagine why."

  "There were witnesses to the fact that you were seen chasing those two women through the station--prior to the death of the Norludian."

  "I hardly think--"

  "That the testimony of others aboard this station would carry less weight than your own--or that of certain security officers who are no longer employed at this facility?"

  "No longer employed?" Grekkor tried to hide his reaction, but control was slipping again.

  "Yes, and I'm also beginning to question the wisdom of having allowed you to leave the station before this matter was settled."

  Grekkor's laugh was intended to be disarming but ended up sounding hollow. "Surely you don't suspect that I had anything to do with that unfortunate man's death, do you?"

  Beontal smiled again. "Let's just say I'm not ruling out any possibilities at this point in the investigation." He appeared to consult something on his desk before adding, "I am aware of your current heading and destination. When you decide on another, you will keep me informed, won't you?"

  "Most assuredly," Grekkor replied. "I wish to be of any assistance I can."

  "I'm sure you do," Beontal said pleasantly. "In the meantime, I'll be sending your man back to you soon--oh, and without any of the ladies you requested." His smile was quite genuine this time. "They are all needed here on the station--absolutely essential personnel, you know. I'm sure you understand."

  "Completely," Grekkor said, doing his best to match Beontal's tone. "I will keep you informed. Please, let me know when the mystery is solved."

  "Oh, there's no mystery," Beontal said. "It's only a matter of collecting the right... evidence." The weight he placed on his last word left Grekkor with no doubt that Beontal suspected that the evidence he had given was false.

  Grekkor signed off with the usual pleasantries before Beontal could see that he was beginning to sweat. If the station commander had believed him in the beginning, he certainly didn't believe him now. He had only to find evidence to support that belief.

  It was now more imperative than ever to find the Zetithian bitch and her Vessonian friend.

  And kill them both.

  How he had ever let them escape was beyond him. The disgusting Zetithian had been arrogant and deceptively dangerous. His mouth watered briefly at the thought of the pleasure he would have had in killing her. The fact that there were mo
re of them out there--they'd even been reproducing!--was like an itch he couldn't scratch. He'd poured more money into eliminating that race of cats than his legitimate business dealings could provide. The drug and slave trades were more lucrative, and though they did provide the needed funds, he was anxious for all Zetithians to finally be killed and the matter settled forever. The fact that many of them were on ships wasn't comforting--it was extremely difficult to track them--and he liked them better on the ground. He'd already sent Nedwuts to Terra Minor several times, but they'd always been caught before they reached their target. The survivors who lived on Earth could be dispatched by paid assassins, but even that was tricky. Earth wasn't the planet it once was, and villains were scarce there--those he could hire, that is.

  If only his minions had succeeded in killing that rock star! That would have been a coup, indeed. And that other hideous being whose wife painted portrait after portrait of him--Grekkor longed to kill him too. He'd spotted a painting in the office of one of his female competitors, and he was forced to admit that though it was indeed a fine work of art, the subject matter nearly had Grekkor vomiting all over the woman's carpet.

  Women. They were the root cause of his hatred. Grekkor shuddered at the thought of his wife with one of those cats. Amelyana had been a prize--a trophy of a wife and the most stunningly beautiful woman Grekkor had ever seen. She'd been his to possess--until that scum of a Zetithian had crossed her path. He could still recall the day they'd met. He'd taken Amelyana with him to a formal consortium dinner, proud to have her at his side and taking due note of the envy in other men's eyes. The elderly Zetithian ambassador had brought his son with him--a tall, handsome man with long blond hair and glowing green eyes. Grekkor should have killed him on the spot, if only for the way Amelyana had looked at him...

  Chapter 11

  When the Jolly Roger landed, Micayla's feeling that being just "one of the guys" was wrong intensified. Micayla had already seen how much in love Kyra and Tychar were, but the tie between Cat and Jack was even more pronounced. She later learned that this was partly because they'd been bonded together by a Zerkan healer, but Tisana and Leo were just about as tight.

  The ship had landed in the late afternoon, and the new arrivals gathered in the main room of Tychar and Kyra's living quarters. It was a large, boisterous party with children laughing and playing while the adults attempted to catch up on each other's news. After dinner, the adults remained at the table to talk, but even though she was sitting with the group, Micayla found herself withdrawing from the conversation, observing rather than participating.

  Having already met Trag and Tychar, Micayla had assumed that all Zetithian men had similar coloring, so she was unprepared for just how different they were from one another. Cat may have had long black hair like the two brothers, but he was more like a big, black leopard than a tiger. He looked older too, and if the scars on his body were any indication, he had seen some harsh treatment in his life as a slave, as had Leo, whose golden hair and eyes were like those of a lion.

  And the two women were complete opposites. Jack was tall and athletic-looking with short dark brown hair and brown eyes and looked tough as nails, but Tisana had a more feminine aura, and her long black hair and green eyes only added to her mystique.

  Micayla had been pelted with a million questions, leaving her little opportunity to ask many of her own, and feeling as if she needed a break, she had elected to have dinner sitting between Lerotan and Hidar--who was pushing his untouched plate of fruit away with distaste.

  "You aren't eating anything again," Micayla scolded him. "That can't be good for you. You're starting to look sort of... dried out."

  "I am fine," Hidar said firmly.

  "But you've got to eat something," she insisted.

  "I did," he said with a tiny burp. "I had a Big Mac and a large order of fries earlier. I am fine."

  "Well, you certainly don't look it," Micayla said briskly. "Your skin, or whatever you call it, is getting all dull and cracked. Lerotan said you were getting ready to molt, but is there anything that might help? I mean, you look like you could use an industrial strength moisturizer."

  Hidar's antennae began trembling and his wings sounded raspy as they fluttered nervously. "It is nothing to worry about," he said. "I require nothing."

  "You're sure you don't want me to put some lotion on your wings?"

  "Not now," Hidar said irritably. "But perhaps in a few days." Getting up from the table, he added, "I must fly now."

  Micayla wondered what he would be like after he had shed his old exoskeleton, but suspected that his personality wouldn't change appreciably. She turned away to hide her smile only to find Lerotan watching her.

  "You've got all these Zetithians hanging around and you're sitting there chatting with Hidar," he said as he leaned toward her. "What's the matter? Feeling left out of the family reunion?"

  "I wouldn't say that," she replied. She'd been hugged until her eyes felt loose in their sockets, and though she felt like less of an outsider than she normally did in a crowd, they were still strangers to her. "A little overwhelmed, perhaps."

  Lerotan smiled. "That's not surprising. Jack can do that all by herself."

  "She is different," Micayla agreed. Tisana had a dry wit and a slightly acidic tongue, and the men all seemed very nice and friendly, but the force of Jack's personality hit like a sledgehammer.

  "Better watch out for Jack," Lerotan warned. "She'll have you and Trag married before you know it. Manx and Drusilla were married on her ship, and, as captain, Jack performed the ceremony herself. There were other reasons for that, but personally, I don't think she trusted anyone else to do it."

  "I can't marry Trag," Micayla said flatly.

  "Oh, and why not?" he asked with a wicked grin. "What's the matter--got the hots for Rodan?"

  "Oh, God, no!" she exclaimed with a quick glance at the other end of the table where Rodan sat chatting with Jack. Shuddering slightly, she added candidly, "As a matter-of-fact, I don't have the hots for anybody--never have. I mean, I want to--and believe me, I've tried--but I just don't feel it."

  "Ah, I see," Lerotan said. "Well, believe it or not, from what I hear that's supposed to be typical for a Zetithian female."

  Micayla stared at him in surprise. "You mean it's normal for me to have no desire for men?"

  Lerotan nodded. "Not sure how they ever got the job done on that planet. 'Course, that might be why they always have triplets and why the men are so..."

  "Irresistible?" Micayla said with a grim smile. "I'm sure they are, but not to me. Trag just--well, I'm beginning to think I might be able to be friends with him, but no more than that."

  Lerotan shook his head. "That's amazing. You should see what happens when he walks into a bar or a brothel. In less than ten seconds he's got women crawling all over him. Hell, most hookers'll do him for free."

  Micayla glanced at Trag, who was laughing at one of Cat's comments and looked as though he should have been irresistible to her--but he wasn't, at least not sexually. "Thanks for telling me that," she said absently. "About the Zetithian women, I mean. I've spent half my life wondering why men left me cold."

  She was gazing at Trag as she spoke, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She was remembering all the boys who had teased her mercilessly because she refused to go out on dates with them. Then there was Adam. She'd liked him and they'd had fun together, but the sexual nature of the relationship had eluded her. She'd always thought she was an aberration of some kind--no matter where she came from--and though it explained a great deal, it also raised questions. "So, did they have to kidnap females and force them into marriage?"

  "I don't really know," Lerotan admitted, "and I'm not sure Trag does either. He was raised offworld, you know; was just a kid when he left. You might ask one of the others, but I've never known one of them to have to use force on anyone. Like I said, Trag usually has to fight to keep them away... which makes you unique." He gazed thoughtfully in the direction of
the children, who were playing a game with Windura that involved scattering glowing gems on a carved stone surface and trying to get them to stay in the niches. "Kyra was in love with Tychar," he went on, "but even she was willing to give Trag some relief--something that a Zetithian woman wouldn't have done." His expression never changed as he added, "Wish I was that irresistible."

  "I don't think you have anything to worry about," Micayla said, forcing herself to smile. "You're what the girls on Earth would call a hunk."

  "Really?" he said lightly. "You might be surprised--but then, this isn't Earth."

  Something in his tone aroused her curiosity. "Think you'd have better luck with humans?"

  "I'm not saying I don't have any luck," he replied. "Just not the right kind."

  "Could be the company you keep," Micayla suggested. "It's hard to find a nice girl in the places you do business. I mean, let's face it; the night life at Orleon Station isn't exactly a church social."

  Lerotan rolled his eyes. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd been talking to Jack. She's been telling Trag that for ages."

  "It applies to you too," Micayla said. "And this planet definitely isn't the place to look, unless you like Darconians, and somehow I just can't see you living happily ever after with a lizard."

  "Not likely," Lerotan agreed. "But then, so are a lot of things." Pushing back his chair, he stood and gestured toward the bar. "Want another drink? That Darconian wine is pretty good stuff."

  She shook her head. Letting down her guard while Rodan was nearby--and naked--was a bad idea. "I'm sticking to water. Something tells me that getting tipsy on this planet would be a mistake."

  "Suit yourself," he said with a shrug. "One glass of water coming up."

  ***

  Trag looked up from his discourse with Cat just as Lerotan handed Micayla a glass of water and felt as though someone had just grabbed his heart and given it a quick twist. That brief feeling of shock was replaced by a surge of rage that shocked him even more. He'd never felt anything like it, and he was nearly coming out of his seat before reason prevailed. There was no reason why such a simple act of courtesy should arouse such a feeling of... what? Jealousy? He was about to dismiss it as nonsense when he remembered what Shentuck had said, though, upon further reflection, he doubted that Lerotan had given her a cup that he'd already drunk from--which unexpectedly eased his mind.