by Cathryn Cade
Already dressed, Navos turned to her, but he looked preoccupied, a deep line between his arching brows.
“What is it?” she asked, her anger forgotten.
He gestured for her to follow him to the hatch. “I’ve just had a message from Commander Dragolin. I must go and meet with him.”
“Can I help?” she asked eagerly, hurrying beside him out into the passageway. “I could—”
He shook his head, obviously impatient to be away. “No. This is a private matter, for the command team. I will speak with you later.”
Hurt flooded her as he strode away, disappearing into an elevator. A matter for the Orion command team, of which she might have been an associate, had he not refused her.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She’d been the one to intuit that poor demented soul the night before. But just because she was a female, he considered her suitable only for a lover, not an intern. Not a valued teammate.
She could choose to use her powers to spy on him and his all-important meeting, but she had more pride than that.
She stalked into her room, fixed her makeup and her hair until she was once again the lovely creature that had captured male interest in the dining hall. In fact, she was bemused to see she looked even prettier now, with her lips swollen from kisses and her eyes heavy with remembered pleasure.
But the man for whom she’d dressed this way had just left her without an apology. She lifted a haughty brow at her reflection. So they’d used each other for pleasure. She’d heard such things occurred on space cruises. That was fine, then. She might not be as sophisticated as he, but she’d learn. Tossing her head, she sauntered back to the lido lounge, where music still pulsed. With a graceful shimmy, she joined the laughing dancers thronging the floor.
Chapter Eleven
Lt. Qwerx and Slyde Dragolin were waiting for Navos on the command deck. The Dragolin’s handsome face was grave.
“Sorry to disturb you, Navos. You’ve had little enough free time the past few days. But we’ve found the clinic where the surgery was done.”
“Where?”
“At the Mazarin Intel Clinic. It is in Indigo City, near your University.”
“Yes, I know of it. It is run by an old…acquaintance.”
His skin tightened as a beautiful, haughty face appeared in his mind. Beryl Mazarin, one of the coldest, most calculating women he’d ever met. At one time, battling to subjugate his emerging male needs, which seemed to him to stem from the human half of his nature, she had seemed to him the ideal woman. Only after she’d seduced him, and inveigled him into revealing confidential information from his work at the university, had he realized he was caught in the web of a predator with about as much real passion for him as a female spider for her mate.
He’d escaped, but with his pride shattered. The project on which he’d been collaborating was scrapped. Mazarin took the information and used it to open her own clinic. His collaborator, an elderly professor, had forgiven him, but it had taken years for Navos to accept his own naiveté and forgive himself.
Intellectually, Navos knew exactly what had drawn him to the icy beauty. His mother had been the opposite sort of woman. A human at the mercy of her emotions, which spilled over on her husband and son, keeping them all awash in constant drama. Beryl Mazarin had seemed the perfect female, the epitome of Indigon dignity and grace, with only the most subtle of emotions allowed to tint her beautiful face.
Even those had been false.
“The clinic owner is completely unscrupulous,” he said. “She manages to operate within the bounds of InterGalactic law, but I would never allow anyone in my care to set foot in the place. Most of her clients are from off-planet.”
“They go there for some kind of psychic care?” Slyde asked.
“Yes, help with insomnia, addiction, that sort of thing.”
Qwerx’s usually cheerful black eyes sharpened. “But you believe she uses questionable methods?”
“I’m sure of it. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn some of her patients aren’t entirely willing. And with this information, I would hope you can open a full investigation.”
“We most certainly will. And if this surgery was done at her clinic, perhaps it may even lead us to the source of the attacks on your Orion.”
Navos put in a holo-vid call to the IBI and within moments he, Lt. Qwerx and Slyde were face-to-face with the holo-images of the top operatives on Indigo. They looked grave, even for Indigons. The female he recognized as a former student. She’d been intelligent and a hard worker, although not highly intuitive. She introduced herself as Agent Skye and the man as Lt. Gentian. They both greeted Qwerx respectfully.
“As it happens, Commander Navos,” Gentian said, obviously uncomfortable, “we’ve just received another request for an investigation. Sir, the Bluet family is demanding you yourself be arrested.”
Navos stared at him, shock blanking his mind. Beside him, Slyde Dragolin leaned forward.
“And why do they make this demand?” Slyde asked. His voice was quiet, but the two Indigons eyed him warily. Navos’s own skin prickled, a sharp reminder the man beside him was a dangerous predator. He was glad the Dragolin was on his side.
“I believe I can answer that,” he said. “They must think I had a hand in the boy’s death.”
“Why in the seven hells would they believe that?” Captain Steve Craig strode onto the command deck. He was scowling at the IBI operatives. “Someone’s been feeding them a load of skrog manure! Daron Navos is above suspicion.”
“As guard commander of the Orion, I will corroborate that,” Slyde said.
“Co-commander of the guard,” said his bride, sauntering forward to stand behind him. “And I will add my voice to theirs. Commander Navos is known throughout the galaxy for his high moral character.”
Navos sat dumbly. A strange emotion coursed through him—gratitude. He’d neither desired nor needed anyone to come to his defense in some time. It felt…good.
“Yes, Captain and commanders,” said Agent Skye. Her dark blue eyes were distressed. “We know this. I myself wish to prove these charges untrue. But you understand—”
“We must pursue our investigation,” her male partner finished for her.
“Yes, of course you must,” Navos said. “And I will cooperate fully.” He would indeed, but now that he’d discovered the real villainess—or one of them—he feared he was in for an ugly battle.
“As will everyone on the Orion,” Craig said. “Let’s get to work.” He and Sirena sat at the command console.
“Have you discovered why the boy was admitted to the clinic?” Qwerx asked the two other investigators.
“Diagnosed with depression. He received several weeks of psychic treatment. This cruise was suggested to, ah, cheer him. The family had the monitoring device placed because they were worried about him and wished to be able to check in on him.”
The Orion crew commanders gazed at each other, the grim realization written on their faces of just how awry the family’s plan had gone.
“So he was mentally fragile.” Navos struggled to maintain his usual detachment. “And something occurred last night that completely unbalanced him.”
“This monitoring device,” Craig said. “We discussed it just hours ago. Commander Navos believes it may have been subverted somehow, to cause the boy to act in a deranged fashion. I’d like to understand it better. You said it can be used to monitor, say, a rapist. But what happens when he acts out? How do they stop him?”
“The device can be used not only to receive, but to send a signal,” Gentian said. “It acts on the impulse center of the brain, to thwart the subject’s own suggestion and implant a new one. For example, if a rapist is about to take a new victim, the impulse would be triggered by his, er, excitement. It would immediately send an alternate signal. He would instead stand still and begin to recite his name, address and criminal record, over and over.”
“Thus warning possible victims away,” S
irena finished with relish. “He wouldn’t be able to help himself. Talk about the perfect deterrent.”
Craig nodded. “So there’s no need for law enforcement to arrive at star speed. They can take their time. Great idea, whoever thought of it.”
“It was the outcome of research at the university on Indigon,” Skye said proudly. “Commander Navos was one of the founders of the project, were you not, sir?”
Craig, Slyde and Sirena looked at him, all equally surprised. As he’d known they would be.
“Only in the beginning,” Navos said curtly. He’d been one of the founders of the project, until his research had been stolen by his lover and used to open the very clinic where the boy had had the device implanted.
All of which left him with the intuition that the ice spider had woven another web, one in which she intended to catch not only him, but the Orion.
He met Craig’s eyes across the command console. “Commander Blaze is correct—this project has indeed been used to thwart many a criminal instinct. But now…unless I’m mistaken, it is being used for evil.”
“How do you mean?” Craig looked preoccupied, as if he were still considering the new revelations about his second-in-command.
“If I didn’t send that boy to his death,” Navos said, “someone else did. And I believe Dr. Tentaclar was correct when he surmised the device was used to do it.”
Slyde nodded, his eyes narrowed.
“Someone may have been controlling him from as far away as a planet, or even a nearby space station. They could’ve subverted the signal somehow—suggested to him he wanted to break into the core reactor. That he had to, or die trying.”
Sirena gave a hiss of disgust and the IBI ops looked sharply at each other, then back at Navos.
“Commander Navos, do you believe this?” the woman asked, her eyes wide.
He nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so. I surmise someone in the Mazarin Clinic has been doing a great deal more research on the device, in secret. They’ve chosen now to unveil it.”
“And aboard the Orion,” Craig said with grim disgust. “This must be connected with the other attacks. It has to be!”
“Yes, it doesn’t seem coincidental,” Slyde agreed. “And I’m afraid it means we must be on the alert for another attack.”
“Which could happen at any time,” his wife added. “And if there are others on board with these devices implanted, there’ll be no warning, will there?”
“Which means we’d better be ready for anything, anytime,” Craig finished. He shook his head, scrubbing one hand over his short, silver-blond hair. “Damn. This is just like the good old days of the Solar Wars. And I didn’t miss ’em one quarking bit.”
The two IBI ops signed off after Navos assured them they had his sworn oath to stay on the Orion and await further contact. When the holo-vid had winked out, he waited quietly.
Steve Craig sat with his hands steepled before his face for a moment. Finally he dropped them and sighed. “Tell me about your involvement in this implant project, Daron.”
Unemotionally, Navos recited the sordid facts—how he’d conceived the idea for the implant and received funding and support from his mentor at the university. How Beryl Mazarin had seduced him and stolen his research to open her own clinic. How he’d forged ahead with another version of the project, after she’d quickly produced the implant now used by law enforcement.
“So your work has done much good in the galaxy,” Sirena said approvingly. “Even if that bitch got the credit for some of it.”
“She also made a fortune, if I’m not mistaken,” her husband said drily.
“Yes,” Navos said, “which should have gone to the university to fund research. However, I’ve been able to collaborate on other projects, which have replaced most of the loss.”
Craig was still frowning. “But it still leaves you on the hook, as far as the Bluet family is concerned. You’re the inventor of the device, you’re on board with the boy when he goes insane and dies. Ergo, you’re the perpetrator.”
“I imagine they had some help arriving at that theory,” Navos said. “She’s…most convincing.”
“Well, this time she’s gone too far,” hissed Sirena. She slapped one hand on the command console. “What colossal arrogance! Thinking she can take the Orion down and you with it.”
“Could she be the one behind all of the attacks?” Craig asked.
Navos shook his head slowly. “No. I don’t believe so—the other attacks do not fit the same profile. But…I suppose we can’t rule out the possibility.”
Qwerx, who had been listening quietly, now spoke up. His dark eyes held steely purpose. “Commander Halix thinks very highly of you, as do your colleagues, Commander Navos. Rest assured, the IBI will do all we can to find the real perpetrators and clear your name. I myself am aboard at the request of Mr. Stark.”
“Should he be in on the investigation?” asked Sirena. The founder and owner of LodeStar was known for letting his captains run their ships as they saw fit.
“I spoke to him, along with Lt. Halix,” Craig put in, shaking his head. “He’s on Pangaea at present. Said he had an idea about an old rival who might possibly be behind the attacks on us.”
“An entrepreneur as successful as Stark must have many old rivals,” Sirena said drily, but her emerald eyes were sharp. “Who is this one?”
“The IBI prefers not to mention any names as yet,” Qwerx said firmly.
Sirena sighed. “Your agency is going to try and stop us from taking care of the slime when we find them, aren’t you? I never get to have any fun.”
Craig bit back a grin. He stretched mightily and then pushed himself out of his chair.
“I need sleep. Get some rest, all of you. Command team meeting after breakfast.”
He stopped before Navos and held out his hand to him. “Daron, I know you for a man of honor. We’ll see to it the rest of the galaxy knows it once again, as well.”
Navos took the strong hand held out to him and gripped it.
The Dragolins shook his hand as well and then glided off toward the gym. Navos turned toward his own quarters. Thoughts and emotion churned inside him.
Could Beryl Mazarin be the mastermind behind the series of attacks on the Orion? Surely not. He knew she hadn’t been ready to let him go when he’d left her, but surely she wouldn’t have gone to such elaborate, deadly lengths as waiting years to sabotage the cruise ship on which he was second-in-command!
That she’d somehow become involved with the real perpetrators, he could believe. She was unscrupulous enough to enjoy collaborating on a scheme this evil.
His reflection stared back at him from the mirrored wall of the elevator, a pale, grim man with burning eyes, deep lines etched beside his mouth. He forced himself to blink and unlock his jaw. He must relax, must find a way to put this terrible problem out of his mind long enough to rest. Bereft of his usual soul-deep calm, he felt off-kilter. It wouldn’t take much to destroy his fragile equilibrium.
Chapter Twelve
Navos stepped out of the elevator on the upper level, but in the passageway his footsteps slowed and then stopped.
Nelah. She filled his mind’s eye, lovely and tempting as a low-hanging fruit. Lust swamped him, surging through him like a wave, arrowing straight to his loins so his balls tightened and lifted in painful anticipation and his penis stiffened hard and questing as a divining rod.
He turned toward his quarters, his eyes narrowing as he pictured her there. Yes, she was waiting. Ripe and succulent as a plumquot, waiting for him to fill her with his passion. A cure as old as time for the danger and turmoil surrounding him.
He strode for his door, already unfastening his flight suit, heat rolling up through him.
He ignored a trio of tourists in evening wear who stepped quickly aside to let him pass. Disregarded the trio of Serpentian guards watching wide-eyed as he approached.
“Commander?” one of them said uncertainly. “Sir?”
Navos ignored them. Tossing his jacket aside, he put one hand on the fastening of his snug pants. Nearly there—she was so close he could almost feel her yielding to him as he thrust into her. In her arms he could forget, for a blessed time.
“Commander Navos.” Izard, the oldest of the guards, stepped into his path, his usually twinkling eyes narrowed with concern under his shock of green-gold hair.
“Izard,” Navos snarled. “You’ve fucked your way across the galaxy and back again. Now get out of my way, so I can do the same.”
The Serpentian’s mouth fell open like a sunning lizard. Behind them, a tourist gasped loudly.
The door to Navos’s quarters opened before him and he hove through it like a spacecraft through the last of a meteor shower. It slid shut behind him, closing out the gaping guards, staring tourists.
A soft giggle fell on his ears, rising above the music. Soft and throbbing, the melody and the laughter enticed him into the shadowed room, while her scent beckoned him—delicate perfume and aroused woman.
She lay in his bed, an offering of wanton grace. Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she drew one leg up and then slowly let it fall to the side, so she lay displayed to him, her nipples tight as buds, her bare pussy a blossom waiting to be plucked.
“You…” he growled, anger warring with the heat fogging his brain, realizing she’d played him like an untried youth. “You called me here!”
“Yes, Commander,” she agreed, curling a finger at him. “I called you here…for sex. Now, what are you going to do about it?”
To the rhythmic beating of a drum, he ripped off his pants and launched himself onto the bed.
Her eyes widened as he poised above her on his outstretched arms. He eyed her, then let his gaze drift down over her bare body.
“I’m going to take what you offer,” he said. “Every way I can think of.”
She lifted one small hand to touch his chest, a gentle, placating gesture. “Commander—”
“Oh, no,” he interrupted with one searing look back up into her eyes. “There’s no going back now, sweet flower. You’ve called the bee, now give up your honey.”
