by Cathryn Cade
He was sitting in his office, gazing unseeingly at Cirrius fading in the distance, when the door hissed open. Steve Craig stood in the opening.
Navos looked up wearily, raising his brows in silent question.
Craig walked in and sat in the chair across the desk. “Daron,” he said. “We’ve known each other for a while. We’re friends.”
“Yes,” Navos agreed, nonplussed at the remark. “We are. Do you need something—”
Craig shook his head. “No, no. I, uh…” He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable but determined. “Daron, I know you are a very private man. I don’t like to intrude, but damn it, if even a soldier like me can see something like this, it’s pretty clear.”
Navos stared at him, unwillingly fascinated. “And that would be…?”
Craig’s lean cheeks reddened, but he spoke doggedly. “Love. You and Ms. Cobalt. Nelah.”
Navos could not have been more shocked if Steve Craig had struck him across the face. He stared at his captain, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. He had the strong desire to laugh, or curse.
“Love? A maudlin emotion and, while I understand it afflicts most of the planetary beings in the galaxy at one time or another, it is not a state for which I have ever wished.”
Craig eyed him wisely. “Uh-huh,” he said. “You’re not exempt, you know. You may be Indigon and cool as ice, but when the right female comes along, even the mightiest of us fall.”
“That is lust, surely, and ingrained for the procreation of species.”
“Oh, sure. But so much more.” His silvery eyes softened and a smile kicked up the corner of his mouth. “It’s when just the sight of her punches you right in the gut and you get that great big swell of pride in your chest, because she’s yours. Out of all the fools in the galaxy, she picked you.”
His gaze hardened and he looked like the warrior he was. “It’s when you’d gladly die to protect her, when you’d give up anything to keep her safe and happy.”
His brows drew together thoughtfully as he considered Navos.
“And for men like me and you, it’s when her happiness is more important than your own stiff-necked male pride.”
Navos absorbed all of this. He stared down at his hands on the desk.
“I would do…anything to make her happy again,” he whispered, forcing the words out. “But, I—I have no idea what that is. She won’t…speak with me.”
To his shock, Craig chuckled, a richly satisfied sound. “Ah. That bad, huh? Well, then. If you’re in that deep, my friend, you’ll figure it out.”
He clapped one hand on Navos’s shoulder and then left. Navos could have sworn he heard whistling fading in the distance.
Navos’s next visitor was Sirena. He sensed her before she arrived, of course. The fiery Serpentian had an aura so strong the air around her simmered.
He rose politely as she sauntered into his office, expecting to discuss the investigation. But having seated herself with languid grace in the chair opposite his desk, she studied him with a look that sent suspicion skating over his shoulders. He lifted his brows at her in inquiry.
When she straightened in her chair, he tensed. She was up to something.
She smiled faintly. “You look as wary as a man watching a serpent coil to strike, Commander. Don’t worry, I’m here to help you.”
“With the investigation? Your assistance has been invaluable,” he said politely.
She dismissed the life-threatening situation with a wave of her hand. “No, no. With something equally as important. But which I fear you are ill-equipped to handle.”
He gripped the arms of his chair. Oh, seven hells, no. Not again! “Madame, if you are here to offer your advice on a personal matter, I beg of you, save us both the embarrassment.”
She raised an eyebrow in delicate astonishment. “I’m not embarrassed. And you shouldn’t be, although I see by the look of princely haughtiness on your face that you are.”
She shook her head. “And save the no-doubt killing retort trembling on your lips. I will make this short and then I’ll never speak to you so again. Daron, you are an exceptional man. As tactician and second-in-command of this ship, there is no one any of us would rather have at our sides. But you are a man.” Her sultry smile reminded him she was a renowned expert on his sex.
“And you are a man of deep feelings. Don’t think you can go through your life and ignore them. You and I have more in common than you realize,” she said, rising to pace over to the porthole and gaze out at black space. “I thought I could go through life without opening my heart to anyone—without making myself vulnerable.”
She turned on him, her lovely eyes haunted. “I shudder to think what would have become of me—a pathetic, lonely old woman, comforting myself with memories of my conquests, if my splendid Dragolin hadn’t broken through my defenses.
“And such will be your fate, if you don’t reach out and take this lovely young woman who is so obviously your equal in talent and intellect. And who looks at you, I might add, with such banked passion in her eyes I’m surprised your flight suit does not burst into flames.”
Navos held up his hands, unable to bear any more. “All right,” he said. “All right. Thank you, Sirena.”
She was silent and he let his hands fall to his desk. Unwelcome or not, this proud woman had opened her heart to him, made herself vulnerable. “I…I do hear you,” he said. “I do.”
She nodded slowly. “I see that you do,” she answered softly. “Then the rest is simple, Commander. Do what you must.”
She glided out of the room.
Navos rose to stalk over to the window. As unwelcome as their outspoken advice had been, Craig and Sirena were both right. He could not lose her.
When the door opened yet again, he whirled to see Ogg’s short, wiry figure in the doorway.
Navos scowled at him. “Ogg, I warn you. If you are here to offer romantic advice, turn around and go away.”
The mechanic’s weathered face screwed up in a grimace. “Romantic advice,” he repeated as if it were a phrase in a new language. “Who in the seven hells do I look like? Dr. Lovejoy?”
He shook his head as he ambled to the empty chair. “Naw, I tell ya, this ship is freaky enough as it is lately. It’s like I was tellin’ Commander Mra. The Orion oughta be renamed the Love Boat, with all the couples gettin’ cozy.”
He nodded wisely at Navos. “That’s one o’ them ancient Earth I stories from the galactic archives. Fascinatin’ things in there. They even got what they used to call books,” he said, gesturing. “Made out of paper, from trees.”
“I’m aware of books,” Navos said, dropping into his chair. The absurdity of the situation finally overcame him and he started to laugh.
Ogg snorted. “Yeah, an’ are you aware of the amour I’m talkin’ about? I was in the arboretum a few days ago and there was couples right in the underbrush! A guy can’t even go for a stroll after supper.” He shook his head.
Navos laughed harder, his head tipping back as he let humor overtake him. Ogg began to chuckle as well.
“A most disturbing experience for you,” Navos managed, as he regained control of his voice. He gave a last snort of laughter as he imagined what the mechanic would say if he knew Navos himself had been among the lovers en flagrante.
Ogg shuddered elaborately. “Yeah, but that ain’t why I’m here. Don’t know how the hell we got goin’ on that, anyway.”
He sobered. “I’m worried. All this stuff that’s happened—the serious stuff, I mean. What if they get into my reactor? What are we gonna do then?”
Navos straightened. “We will see to it they do not.”
The two men looked at each other. They both knew what would happen if they failed—the ship would be blown into bits so infinitesimal there would be nothing to reclaim.
Chapter Twenty
Nelah sat in her small stateroom, staring at the bouquet of flowers on the small table. Lovely blossoms spilled over the lip of the clear
Serpentian glass vase, in shades from cream to deep mauve, lilies nodding amongst the fragile tracery of star-breath. There had been no note, but the message was clear. Each time she looked at them, she remembered Daron whispering to her in the night, calling her his flower.
She wiped her wet face again and dropped the sodden tissue in the waste bin, already overflowing. Damn him. How dare he remind her of such tender moments? She’d tried to warn him, to help him and instead he’d turned on her. He hadn’t trusted her.
Tears welling up yet again, she fell back on the narrow bed. She curled onto her side and the flowers blurred into wavering streams of color.
Her com-link chimed again. She ignored it, as she had all day. It was him again. She knew he wanted her forgiveness and she’d given it to him, but she wasn’t sure she’d really meant it. He’d hurt her too deeply.
She closed her eyes against the pain and finally slept. And dreamed.
She awoke and turned her head and he lay beside her, his dark head on the pillow, his long body slack with sleep. The power of those deep indigo eyes covered.
It would be so easy to extinguish that power for good. She smiled to herself. He’d let her into his room and she’d let him use her body for his pleasure. Now, he was at her mercy.
There, in the recessed shelf nearby sat the Serpentian glass sculpture. Small, but heavy. He would feel nothing until it was too late.
Just pick it up and hit him with it. And if the first blow wasn’t enough, strike him again and again, smashing it into his hard skull until the dark blood flowed down and Daron Navos was nothing but a lifeless cipher.
Never to hurt her again or look down that arrogant nose of his, lording it over those around him, so sure he was the best! Never, never, never—
Nelah woke with a great gasp, sitting up and scuttling back against the wall in terror. With frantic motions, she gathered up the comforter and held it in front of her, hunching her body around it. Oh God, ohgodohgod, what was happening to her? She stared at the walls of her tiny room, her breath coming in quick shuddering gasps, her heart pounding.
“No!” she choked aloud, denying the horrible images that had somehow come from her own subconscious. “No, no!”
The sound of her voice steadied her a little and she tipped her head back against the wall and drew a deep breath. It was all right. She was awake now—really awake. She was not in Navos’s bed, about to kill him. She was alone in her own stateroom.
It had only been a nightmare. The worst one of her life. She pressed her hands to her forehead, wishing desperately she could reach inside and rip out the hideous images.
Was it possible her subconscious really held such obscene rage? She was angry at him, yes, and more deeply hurt than she could ever recall, but the thought of physically hurting him, of striking that proud, beloved head, made her moan with anguish.
Nelah shook her head vehemently. She could never hurt him. She pushed aside the now-soggy coverlet and clambered off the bed. Her legs were wobbly, her head light. Well, no wonder, holed up in this room for a day and a night. She had to get out of here.
Stripping off her nightie, Nelah stepped into the tiny shower-dry. She stayed in it a long time, the hot water streaming over her in a kind of absolution.
Dressed and dry-eyed, if still shaky, she set off for breakfast, for food, but mostly to be with other living beings. To find some kind of normality.
Tessa Craig was in the dining hall and she waved Nelah over to her table with a friendly smile. But as Nelah sat, the look became concern and she laid a warm hand on Nelah’s arm.
“How are you? Steven told me what happened. I don’t know a great deal about your powers, but it must have been very difficult, subduing that man.”
Nelah looked at her carefully, but there was no subterfuge in the warm golden gaze. Captain Craig had evidently not shared the more embarrassing details, such as the way Navos had turned on her, accusing her of being the culprit.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Tired.”
She imagined herself saying, “Oh and in a dream I just murdered the man I love.” A cold shiver racked her.
“Have some coffee.” Tessa Craig reached for the carafe and poured the rich, dark liquid into Nelah’s cup. “It always wakes me up.”
Nelah took the proffered cup and drank. Just holding the steaming brew in her hands warmed her. With an effort, she smiled back at the other woman.
“You’re right. It does help.”
“The Orion serves only the finest coffee,” Tessa said proudly. “And the food is to die for.”
Perhaps she should die for it. Imagine being so proud of a tacky cruise ship. Great floating hulk of commercialism. All that money—they didn’t deserve to have it all. It should flow to the beings with the real power. Indigons were the ones who should be in control, not these human fools.
Nelah set her mug down with a little crash and pressed one hand to her middle, coffee churning in her stomach. She blinked and focused on Tessa, who was looking at her strangely.
“I’m sorry,” she managed. “I—I don’t feel well. Will you excuse me?”
Without waiting for an answer, she bolted for the door. Her mind whirled. Where had those horrible thoughts come from? She liked Tessa Craig—even wished that they could be friends.
This was backlash from the horrific experience of the evening before. It must be. Navos was right—she wasn’t strong enough to manage her empathic powers. She walked down the passageway, dodging groups of tourists and crew headed for the dining hall.
Navos! This was all his fault. All of it. Without him, everything would be wonderful. A life of ease, of doing exactly as she wished, using her powers to gain everything she could ever desire.
And all she had to do was go to him. It would be so easy. He would let her in and believe her when she slipped into his arms. Then she would wait until he turned his back, or fell asleep, and smash! With him out of the way, she could proceed with ease. And make it look as if that which followed was all his fault.
“No!” Nelah didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until a portly Barillian passing the other way turned and stared at her, blowing an offended note out of the tall pipes on his purple skull.
She bowed quickly in apology and hurried on, directionless, wishing desperately she could outrun the strange thoughts bombarding her. Her heart was pounding, her breath quick and shallow.
She must go to him. She must!
“No. No, no, no.” She struggled to take a deep breath through her clenched teeth. She would go to the gym; that was it. A deep yoga workout would calm her and relax her body. Then things would return to normal.
But it grew worse. By mid-morning, Nelah was barely hanging on. She hadn’t eaten since the day before, had forced down only a few sips of water. She could not sit for longer than a few moments and, wandering the passageways, she found herself nudged insistently toward a quadrant of the ship she knew nothing about. She approached a sealed hatch with a pair of Serpentian guards standing in front of it. Through it, she could see crew members working before large instrument panels, machinery blinking.
“This is a restricted area,” said one of the guards, stepping forward. “I must ask you to return to the passenger area.”
Nelah stared at him. The fool. With one little surge of power, she could bring him and his friend to their knees, begging for mercy. Then she would be in through those doors. She would command the crew members to obey her. How she would laugh as they steered the ship toward disaster. Perhaps a nice little collision with another ship? Or a nearby meteor shower might be fun.
“Ms. Cobalt?” The guard was frowning at her now. Of course—he’d accessed her ID and had her name and passenger profile instantly.
The sound of her name snapped her out of her trance. “Yes, thank you,” she managed, forcing the words past her dry lips. “I—I’m sorry. Lost, I guess.”
She turned and forced her legs to carry her back down the passageway. Perspiration broke out on
her face, but she was shivering, cold and reeling. She’d just contemplated forcing a crew member to do something.
Something was wrong with her—horribly wrong. She could no longer delude herself that it was the result of her experiences.
She needed Navos.
She ran for the nearest elevator, but she could not escape the soft, taunting laughter echoing in her mind.
The receptionist at PanRra Corporation offices looked up with a professional smile as a tall, lean human walked up to the sleek console which enclosed her. Then she remembered she was supposed to be in mourning and sobered, settling her hair decorously around her throat.
“Good morning, sir,” she said with a melancholy tinge to her smooth voice. “How may I help you?”
She blinked as he turned the force of his silver gaze on her. Oh, my. This was a dangerous man. She wondered if he was one of the IBI investigators and as quickly cast that notion aside. He held himself as if he were accustomed to being in charge of the space around him.
“I’m Logan Stark,” he said in a deep, quiet voice that nevertheless held steel. “I’m here to see whoever is in charge, now that your boss is dead.”
Sifting alternatives, she nodded respectfully. “Yes, sir. Please, come with me.”
Logan Stark! Why, everyone in this office knew who he was—the head of the huge LodeStar Corporation and Rra’s most hated rival.
She would take him directly up to the executive floor. They would know what to do with him.
She ushered him upstairs in the lightning-fast executive elevator and left him with Rra’s personal assistant, whose green face was wan and pale.
The receptionist couldn’t believe the twit was actually mourning his dead boss. She certainly wasn’t and she knew most of the other corporate employees weren’t either. Rra had ruled the company like a cruel despot. Lately there’d been talk he was off his plant-stand.
As she rode back down, she sighed. She might be of a different race and happily married besides, but she knew an attractive man when she saw one. Logan Stark not only exuded power, but sexual appeal.
