Vattermann abruptly backed away, releasing Krista so abruptly she lost her balance, sliding down the wall to settle into a huddle on the floor. She remained there, carefully checking her face for damage, as Vattermann began to pace, still muttering imprecations to himself about Sydney Chambers’ background, habits and intelligence. Krista had almost gathered herself together enough to attempt to stand when she saw her tormentor’s face brighten with an idea; she abandoned thoughts of moving when he swung to face her once more. In a blink he raised a hand toward her, pointing at her as an accuser might point at a suspect.
“You!” His voice snapped at her, but his tone was more challenging than accusing; she dared to draw a breath when she saw his face turn from anger to disgust.
“Oh, stop quivering like the coward you are and get up on your feet,” he ordered, revulsion clear in his voice. “For once, I’ve thought of a way that you can actually be useful to me.”
Krista climbed to her feet but kept the wall against her back, fearful that she might fall without its support. “Anything you need, Hans,” she told him, somehow managing to keep a quiver out of her voice. “Anything. You know that.”
“Sheist,” Vattermann breathed, the disgust in his voice clearly mirrored on his features. Then his look became one of all business, and he eyed Krista with speculation. “You are scheduled for a run to Outpost Station tomorrow, ja?”
“Ya — I mean, yes, Hans,” Krista almost stuttered in her anxiety.
“Jawohl. Gut. While you are there I have some extra jobs for you to do.”
“Of course, Hans.”
“You will see if you can find out anything from those useless friends of yours,” Vattermann said, speaking slowly as he thought out his plan on the fly. “Any information at all about Sydney Chambers, the TSM, and what Outpost Station is planning to do about our operations. Is that clear enough for you?”
Krista nodded.
“Also. Put out some feelers on the docks and anywhere else you can think of — find out if there are any mercenaries around that we can hire.” His face gained a smug sneer as he thought about that possibility. “Put out the word that I want to make sure that this weibchen of a TSM captain gets everything that’s coming to her.”
Krista swallowed hard, but nodded in assent. “Anything you want, Hans,” she told him. “No problem.”
Vattermann turned away at that, but Krista immediately knew that she had said something she hadn’t intend, somehow used the wrong words. Even with his back to her she could hear his breathing change, his body begin to firm. When he turned back to her the rage was gone from his face, along with any sign of disgust or calculation, replaced by one, simple, primal look.
Lust.
Krista felt her own features sour with revulsion and quickly schooled her face to blank impassivity. She straightened and, though she knew what was coming, took a pair of steps toward Vattermann.
“You may be heading for the station for a few days,” he said, and his voice had become thick with the hunger that glowed in his eyes, “but you are here with me for right now. And before you do anything else, I am going to remind you again just what your place is in this organization.”
Krista swallowed the bitter bile that leaped into her throat, but opened her arms in welcome all the same. “Anything you say, Hans,” she told him, her voice as impassive as her features.
With little care and less compassion Vattermann grabbed Krista, pulling her into a slobbering kiss and smothering embrace. Soon he had dragged her across the floor to an overstuffed couch where he began to quickly and roughly tear at her clothes, nearly drooling in anticipation of his pending conquest.
Krista lay still, merely letting everything happen, while her thoughts drifted back to the memories she’d been enjoying when Vattermann had arrived....
3
Three Years Before
Krista Sperry was in heaven, though few others would apply that description to the run-down hulk of a spaceship she was currently piloting. In fact, pretty well anyone who saw the thing instantly classified it as junk — layered with corrosion, dents, and the myriad signs of disrepair that under-funded private transports were wont to acquire. For all appearances the disreputable freighter Kierkegaard danced dangerously along the razor-edge between eyesore and deathtrap. To Krista, though, the hulk was something else, something wonderful and quite rare in her life: A haven. An escape. A refuge from the nightmare of life with Hans Vattermann.
Besides, she reassured herself each time she looked at her hulking mechanical baby, just like beauty, ugliness is only skin-deep. Beneath the layers of rust and filth purred the heart of a lion ... the one thing of value that had come from the months of hell Vattermann had already put her through. Hans had paid for a complete re-fit and upgrading of her ship’s guts. Not for Krista’s comfort or safety, of course; she was well aware that he would mourn her death only long enough to dance on her grave. No. The Kommandant wanted the low-profile access to Outpost Station gained by Krista appearing to drive a junker, but would take no chance at losing the obscenely valuable — and quite illicit — cargos that Krista transported for him during her regular runs to the station.
In fact, it was those regular runs and that access which had driven Vattermann to impress Krista in the first place; the sex he demanded of her was merely a continuing reminder of his control over her. That he enjoyed the sex was, for him, icing on the cake.
She loathed his very touch on her skin.
Krista shook her head to clear her thoughts. No need to keep going over it; water under the bridge … though every time she looked at him, she was reminded of just how closely he controlled even the most intimate parts of her life. She was his for as long as he wanted or needed to use her; he had seen to that by attaching her family. Her nephews were already impressed, pirates-in-training at the ages of nine and eleven. Her mother, sister and nieces were constantly watched — kept close, vulnerable at any moment to be slaughtered should Krista make a wrong choice.
She shook her head again, disgusted with her own weakness. Mourning the matter could not fix it, and right then she needed to concentrate on transiting into the Cyg-C system. It was a simple, almost routine matter, to be sure, but it still required her attention.
The instruments had no sooner registered clear than an alarm blared loud in Kierkegaard’s control cabin. Krista felt a surge of shock run through her. She frantically began to scan for whatever might be threatening her ship — space rocks, or debris, or incoming missiles — until it dawned on her that the alarm signaled an incoming SOS, not an incoming threat. With a shaking hand she reached out to snap on the in-system transceiver. Though Hans had impressed on her never to talk to strangers, she decided that an SOS overrode even Vattermann’s lack of humanity.
She was equally surprised and relieved when the voice that broke from the receiver was that of another woman.
“... broken down, too far out to be contactin’ Outpost Station,” came the voice from the dark. “I don’t have the part that I’m needin’ to repair my ship. If you can hear me, please home in on my signal. Repeat, my name is Chloe O’Shaugnassey. I’m pilotin’ freighter CB2-1373 and have broken down, too far out to be contactin’ Outpost Station. I don’t have the part that I’m needin’ to repair my ship. If you can hear me, please home in on my signal. Repeat....”
Krista snapped off the audio and stared at the now-silent receiver. “Well what do you know,” she muttered to herself. “Another woman broken down in the black.”
A thrill raced through her — an unexpected chill that she hadn’t felt in months, not since she’d been a care-free pilot plying the freight lanes, in a ship that she’d scrimped and saved for since she was a child. A thrill at the memory of that care-free young pilot sending out a very similar message, only to have it answered by Hans Vattermann....
Still, she hesitated. What if word gets back to Hans that I broke schedule? What if this woman is just fronting a ship full of pirates....
She flipped the switch that activated her transmitter. “Freighter CB2-1373,” she said. “This is Krista Sperry in freighter CA2-7795. I am in receipt of your distress call. I can’t guarantee that I’ve got the part that you need, but I’ll stop by and see if I can lend you a hand anyway. If nothing else I can give you a lift to Outpost Station. Be there soon as I can.”
Krista set the message on a repeating loop while smiling at her unprofessional language — sure not the way they teach it in school, she chuckled to herself as she activated the send function of her transceiver. But screw that, too. Even if there are a bunch of pirates in that ship, it’s going to be good to talk to another woman again. A woman who’s not working for Hans Vattermann, that is.
With that, she busied herself with slowing Kierkegaard’s motion and locating the source of the distress call.
It took time to triangulate the position of the other freighter, overcome the Kierkegaard’s momentum and bring the two vessels into proximity, then even more time to align their access portals. Krista had never had to perform a docking maneuver anywhere but at Outpost Station or the docking platform orbiting her own world, both of which boasted the latest in grappling and maneuvering aids. She managed, though, and now stood in the outer passage of Kierkegaard’s internal gangway, staring at the hatch of the other ship.
She found herself swallowing hard, nervous at finally meeting this other woman, this person whose situation could have been her own. CB2-1373, the legend painted on the foreign vessel confirmed: CB2, indicating a ship registered to the second world of Cyg-B, definitely not owned by a person she would have met before. She’d managed a quick record check during the hours that the rendezvous had required; CB2-1373 was indeed, according to the official Confederacy records for 16 Cygni, registered to a Chloe O’Shaughnassey ... whatever that proved. Kierkegaard, after all, was registered to one Krista Sperry ... but belonged, for all the purposes that mattered, to Hans Vattermann and his band of pirates.
Krista shivered briefly, then steeled herself, snagged the hammer regulations required to be kept available for use as a knocker, and pounded it against the closed hatch.
It was only moments before the hatch swung inward to reveal a dainty young woman, clad in a standard and well-worn shipsuit. Krista paid little attention to the woman’s clothing, though; rather, she found herself instantly captivated by the most stunning mop of red hair she had ever seen, surrounding a narrowish face and highlighted by eyes of piercing green. The woman was filthy and disheveled — she had clearly been spending quality time with her ship’s grimy guts — yet Krista still found herself raking at her own dull brown hair, recalling with a pang that she hadn’t felt the need or desire to look pretty in far too long a time. She stared at the woman, lost in a feeling she couldn’t describe, until the vision in front of her spoke, breaking the spell.
“Kristin?”
Krista had to shake her head once and try not to gasp before she could manage a reply. “Krist-a, actually,” she said, and managed a dry chuckle that was as much nerves as humor. “That’s me. I guess that makes you Chloe.”
The redhead’s face glowed when she smiled in response, in spite of the grime. “That I am,” she said, and her voice was a brogued wonder to Krista’s ears. “Welcome to my broken-down hulk of a ship, and thank you more than I can say for answerin’ my hail.”
Krista couldn’t help but smile — at the woman’s lilting voice, at her self-deprecating manner, at her obvious relief at being rescued. God, if only, Krista thought in the privacy of her own thoughts … but aloud, said only, “No need to thank me, Chloe, really. I couldn’t leave you stranded out here — I’ve been in your position. It’s not comfortable.”
Chloe’s eyes sparkled at Krista’s warm words, and she nodded.
“Anyway,” Krista went on, then had to clear her throat. “Like I said, I can’t guarantee that I have the part you need. My ... ah, my employer ... doesn’t exactly like to keep me well stocked with spares.” She grinned, feeling in control for the first time in ages. “On the other hand, that’s made me have to get pretty good at patching things together.”
Chloe smiled again. “Thank you,” she said, looking as though Krista’s words had made her a bit jealous, “even if you don’t need to be hearin’ the words. I’ve never managed to wrap my head around anything mechanical. My uncle takes care of keepin’ the ships flyin’. All I do is fly ’em.”
“Your uncle?” Krista found herself frowning. “Huh. Another man trying to keep a woman as ignorant as he can, I bet.”
Chloe’s head snapped up and her eyes burned into Krista’s. “No,” she said, and there was no missing the flash of anger in her voice. Then she closed her eyes for a moment and visibly fought to keep her temper in check.
“No,” Chloe continued quietly, “it’s not like that with my uncle. Oh, I’m knowin’ exactly what you mean, Krista,” she added, “but truth be told I really don’t like mechanical stuff. God love him, Uncle Patrick has tried and tried to make a mechanic out of me, but I fight him like the hell-cat that I am. You see, I’m a wee bit of a nerd. I do all the computer stuff and paperwork for the business. Give me a terminal and a problem and I’m in heaven, singin’ with the angels.”
“Oh.” Krista found her heart softening a bit at Chloe’s description of her uncle. “Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad, after all.” It’s been way too long since I’ve met a decent person, let alone a decent man, she decided, then looked more closely at Chloe and found herself frowning again. “Except that you don’t look old enough to be working as a bookkeeper, even if it is a family business.”
Chloe drew herself up as tall as her brief frame could manage. “I’ll have you know that I’m twenty,” she said, indignation dripping from her words. Then she sighed and relaxed a bit. “Well ... truth to tell, I’ll be turnin’ twenty in two weeks. Still and all, I’ve been workin’ for the company since I was twelve or so. When my parents were killed in a minin’ accident my uncle was all the family I had left. He took me in and treated me like his very own daughter — treated me even better than my parents had, to be honest, though my parents were slaves to the Company and didn’t have enough time or money to be spendin’ much of either on me.”
Krista somehow found the thought of a twelve-year-old doing a company’s books to be amusing, as said as much.
“Well, I was needin’ to be useful,” Chloe snapped back, then a gleam of mischief crept into her eyes. “Besides, it gave me the excuse I needed to be on the computer. I just love workin’ with computers.” She grinned.
Krista felt the last of the tension in her chest release itself at Chloe’s obvious delight with her place in the world. “OK, then,” she said, a small smile returning to her face as she relaxed. “I guess not all men are pigs, then.”
“Of course not,” Chloe affirmed, her grin undiminished. “There’s always a few chickens — and at least a few need to be bulls, don’t you know?”
Krista could only grin in response.
“But enough of chit-chattin,” Chloe pushed on. “I’m thinkin’ that it’s time we go take a look at the mess I’ve made of my engines.”
Krista nodded, still grinning, and followed the younger woman into her ship.
The engine room, when they arrived, was every bit the mess that Krista had feared from Chloe’s appearance and what the woman had told her. Panels were open everywhere she looked, some covers completely removed and nowhere to be seen. Parts lurked underfoot, waiting to be tripped over. But while the bulkheads were smeared with dirt and grime that Krista instinctively knew long pre-dated the current problem, her attention was immediately drawn to one open panel where fresh scorch marks were clearly vi
sible even amid the accumulated filth.
Abandoning Chloe at the room’s entrance, Krista made a bee-line for the sooty instruments, examining them closely when she arrived. “Wow,” she breathed after a moment, then turned back to look at her new friend. “I’ve seen this before. You’re danged lucky that your auto shut-down worked.”
“That much even I could know,” Chloe retorted with a groan, a slight edge of hysteria lurking beneath the words. “What I’m not knowin’ is what to be doin’ about it.”
“Huh.” Krista turned back to the panel, then slowly worked the upper half of her body through the opening, moving charred components out of the way and peering at the damage. “Well,” she said a pair of minutes later as she worked her way back out, “As I warned you, I don’t have the part —”
A look of pure pain flashed across Chloe’s face.
“ — but I do know a way to work around it.”
“You do?” Chloe’s eyes sparkled, and she clapped her hands together in either glee or relief, Krista couldn’t tell which. “You mean, you can make it work?”
“I can make it work temporarily,” Krista emphasized. “It won’t work all that well — you’ll be lucky to get half the power you’re used to, maybe even less than that. It won’t last long, either. But it should hold long enough for you to make it to Outpost Station if you’re very careful.” She eyed her red-headed companion. “I do hope that’s where you’re headed.”
“To be sure,” Chloe said with a sigh. “The monthly supply run.”
Krista smiled. “Great,” she said, finding herself almost eager to get started. “If you’ll let me use you as a spare pair of hands we should have you going in a couple of hours.”
Chloe absolutely beamed with happiness. “Wonderful! Thank you! That is — I mean, sure and I’ll help, however you need.”
Sydney Chambers Page 7
