by Myla Jackson
Storms of Passion
By
MYLA JACKSON
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Storms of Passion
Copyright ã 2003 Myla Jackson
ISBN: 1-55410-010-0
Cover art and design by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2003
Look for us online at:
www.zumayapublications.com
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Dedicated to my sister whose excitement and commitment to writing equals my own.
CHAPTER ONE
"I’d rather die with my planet than have my people forced into slavery, you Durakee scumbag!” Mayla, Princess of Shandal, yanked the dagger from the fallen Durakee captain. She wiped the blade clean on the side of her thigh and surveyed the bridge. The bloody battle was over, her people victorious.
Among the fallen Durakee crewmembers, lay Shandalans Mayla had known all her life. Her friends. One woman lay on her side, an arm flung out, a laser pistol still clutched in her hand. She stared with lifeless eyes at the deceased Durakee next to her.
Mayla choked back tears, forcing a wall of steel around her heart. “Sinsal, check the status of the engine room.”
“Yes, Princess.” Sinsal, Mayla’s second in command, stared down at the blood on her hands. Then she rubbed it off on her shirt, leaned over the console and pressed the communications button. “Engine room, report.”
A few seconds ticked by before a female voice answered, “Sinsal? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“And the princess?”
“I’m here. Is that you Ridha?” Mayla asked over Sinsal’s shoulder.
“Yes, Princess. Thank the stars you’re alive!”
“What’s it look like down there?” Sinsal asked.
“We’ve established control, but there’s damage to the engine. I don’t know how long it will take to stabilize. Our thrusters are operating at one-third capacity, not enough to get us to light speed.”
“It’s good to hear your voice,” Mayla said softly.
“And yours, Princess,” Ridha replied.
Mayla swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to ask, “What about casualties?”
“We killed the Durakee engineers and we lost Brandan and Luc,” Ridha replied.
“Chassat!” The muttered Shandalan curse did little to lessen the pain in Mayla’s heart. She’d led her people into this mess--she could blame no one but herself for being so gullible. Another thought sent chills across her skin. “Were they able to send a distress call to their planet?”
“No, Princess.”
“Good, then no one must know what occurred here. The Durakee hold too much power in the Intergalactic Alliance. If they find out we killed their crew, we’ll be hunted by Intergalactic Security Troops throughout the galaxy. Spread the word to each Shandalan. We can speak to no one of what has occurred, today. Now, let us take care of the injured.”
The able-bodied helped the injured to the ship’s infirmary. When the count was complete, they’d lost twelve. Twelve of eighty--the last load of refugees from Shandal. Ten of the twelve were Shandalan men, systematically exterminated by the Durakee soldiers aboard.
Mayla stood at the helm, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, reminding herself to breathe. So many lost. So many more already in the hands of the Durakee, forced into sexual slavery on Palathea.
“Princess Mayla?”
The concern in Sinsal’s voice shook Mayla from her mental flogging. She opened her eyes to stare at her second in command. “Yes, Sinsal.”
The woman’s head drooped and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“The deception wasn’t your fault, Sinsal.”
She raised her head, her eyes full of the pain of failure. “But I should have known. I was responsible for arranging this transport. Therefore, I’m responsible for those who’ve died.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I agreed to the arrangement and, ultimately, I’m responsible for the fate of my people. The situation shakes me to the core. Those filthy Durakee would have enslaved my people!” Mayla pounded her fist against the console.
“Now that we know,” Sinsal’s voice was low and insistent, “we can stop them.”
“Do they not know what would happen if we were forced into slavery?” Mayla shuddered, her sensual sensors shriveling. “Sexual slavery is torture to the Shandalan.”
“Like what happened to Cristan?”
“Yes. Slave traders captured her and forced her into prostitution.” Mayla stared through Sinsal, recalling the not so distant past and the sight of her sister when they brought her back to Shandal. “She was so weak when we found her, we couldn’t save her.”
“What happened?”
“Because of the sexual abuse, the chemicals of her sensual reactors worked in reverse and sapped her strength. She died a broken women.”
The piercing whine of the ship’s warning system wailed across the bridge.
Sinsal glanced at the small view screen on the console and inhaled sharply. “Princess, I don’t think our troubles are over.” She touched a panel and the large view screen appeared in front of them. In the middle of the picture loomed a large blue and green planet with orange clouds swirling around it. Lights flickered ominously inside the clouds. “We’ve drifted too close.”
“Can’t we pull away?”
Sinsal pressed her finger to the communication link. “Ridha, how much power can you give us?”
“We’re working the thruster problems, but we need time.”
“Time is something we don’t have,” Mayla said. “Do we have enough thruster power to break out of orbit?”
“No, but we may have enough to land.”
“Is the planet habitable?” Mayla stared at the view screen.
“It’s marked as a hostile environment,” Sinsal answered.
“But will it support life?”
“Yes. It has an atmosphere similar to Shandal.”
Tapping her fingers against the console, her mind raced through all the possibilities. Without power, they had only one choice--land the craft.
Mayla punched the communication link and stated calmly, “Shandalans, brace yourselves. We’re going to land. And by the look of the storm ahead, it promises to be a bumpy ride.”
* * * * *
“Establish orbit and alert the landing party.” Khetan, captain of the salvage ship, checked the readings on the ship locator equipment.
“Are you sure this is the place?” Max, Khetan’s first officer, gazed down at the view screen on the console and his forehead wrinkled.
“According to the beacon signal coming from the planet below, the Durakee ship landed there.”
“Then they picked a rotten place to land.” Max replied, looking up at his captain. “Tatama is designated a hostile environment.”
Khetan shook his head an
d adjusted the scanner to pinpoint the exact location of the downed ship. “Uninhabitable or not, that’s where it is. I don’t plan to stay. We’ll get in, retrieve and get out.”
“Did the Durakee tell you what exactly was on the ship?” Max asked.
“The deal was to retrieve Shandalan gems of great worth,” Khetan replied.
“I didn’t think Shandal had any gems of any great significance. The only things they have of value are their women.”
Khetan glanced at Max whose brown eyes shone dark in contrast to his pale blond hair. “Isn’t their planet dying?”
Max tipped his head to the side and touched a hand to his jaw. “The last word I heard on the Intergalactic News was that an asteroid, the size of a planet, had entered Shandal’s solar system. The gravitational pull from the asteroid plus that of Shandal’s sun is ripping the planet apart.”
“I remember hearing about that.” Khetan pushed a hand through his hair. It was getting too long. He’d have to get Jepal to trim it soon. He glanced down at the sensor. Nothing, yet. “I thought they’d relocated their population to an alternative world.”
“Me too.”
Khetan looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps Trekar will enlighten us.”
Max rested his hands on his black, leather-clad hips and shook his head. “I don’t know what his problem is, but he’s had a bug up his ass since we left Durak.”
“He better get over it long enough to tell us what we’re after.” Khetan abandoned his vigil at the scanner and paced across the deck. “The sooner we retrieve the cargo, the sooner we can be out of here.”
“Then what?”
Khetan stopped pacing and stared at Max, his expression stony. “I have business on Felan.”
Max’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared into the blond hair hanging down over his forehead. “Bandar returned?”
“Yes.”
“Still after that Felanian sleaze? How long has it been? Six months?”
Khetan didn’t answer, but his right eye twitched with the extent of his controlled anger.
Max reached over and pounded Khetan’s back. “You should have kept the crystals and sold them to intergalactic smuggler’s for twice the dakas Bandar promised.”
“I don’t do business that way. The crystals didn’t belong to me. And, I don’t risk the lives of my men over a lousy handful of money.” Khetan’s blood still boiled as hot as a Velathan lava pit. “If the Durakee hadn’t insisted the Tatama salvage job needed immediate attention, I’d be on Felan, slamming Bandar’s lying ass against a wall.”
“I can think of a lot more interesting people to slam against a wall than Bandar.” Max’s smile tilted one corner of his mouth. “In fact I know of a very hot and sexy red head on Felan. I could use a little R & R, come to think of it.”
“Your brand of R & R has nothing to do with rest and relaxation, Max.” Khetan shook his head, the sudden rush of anger easing away at Max’s comments. “I don’t know how you do it.”
An eyebrow cocked upward on the first officer’s face. “Do what?”
“Leave a girl in every port.”
“I don’t hear any of them complaining. In fact I hear of a few singing my praises from one end of the galaxy to the other.”
“More like you leave broken hearts from one end of the galaxy to another. I’m surprised the women aren’t waiting to kill you instead of welcoming you.”
Max spread his arms spread, his brown eyes twinkling. “What can I say? They love me!”
Khetan shook his head again. “Some day your ways are going to catch up with you and a woman will break your heart.”
“I can’t imagine loving only one woman. There are too many beautiful women in the universe to settle on just one. Why, it would be purely selfish!”
“Mark my words. When you fall, you won’t know what hit you.”
“I have too many more women to woo to fall for just one. You’ll take the plunge well before I will.”
“Neither of us will if we don’t get off this ship occasionally. Let’s do this job and get out of here.”
Max nodded toward the view screen displaying the blue and green vista of Tatama. “Do you think anyone survived?”
“We’ll find out.”
“Did you know my father was picked for the colonization crew the Intergalactic Alliance sent to Tatama?”
“No, I didn’t know.” Khetan glanced up. “Did he go?”
“No. He got sick the night before they left and was pulled from the mission.”
“You never mentioned it.”
Max shrugged and grinned. “You should be happy he was pulled. If he’d gone, I wouldn’t be here today. The landing party was trapped on the planet for two weeks, surrounded by horrific storms. By the time the storms cleared they’d lost thirteen of the twenty-five-member crew. My father could have been one of them.”
Khetan shook his head, his mouth tightening into a grim line. He’d quieted the sound of the warning beacon with which the Alliance had marked the planet. But the emergency warning lights still strobed throughout his ship as a reminder of the danger this planet represented.
A green light flickered on the control panel.
“There it is!” Max exclaimed.
Adjusting controls, Khetan zeroed in on the location to scan for life signs.
Khetan frowned, adjusted the scanner, then straightened. “Bring Trekar to the bridge.”
Max punched a button on the console. “Jepal, the captain wants to see the Durakee.”
“Yes, sir,” the head of ship security responded.
Khetan smiled at the seriousness in Jepal’s response. Head of security was considered a joke since the crew consisted of only twenty men. All of them were former members of his fighter squadron. They shared a common bond of battle and looking after each other.
Khetan had assigned duties on the ship to keep the men busy and out of trouble. If problems arose on a salvage mission, he not only wanted strong backs, but intelligent men, agile in a fight and accurate with a laser pistol.
A few moments later, Trekar of Durak shuffled onto the bridge in a long purple robe, trimmed in brilliant gold and red braid. Next to the mix of drab but serviceable garb the crew wore, Trekar looked like royalty.
The Durakee’s arms overlapped across his stomach, his hands buried in the long sleeves of his robe. Beady eyes narrowed until they almost disappeared in his pale white skin when he caught sight of the blue and green planet swirled in wisps of light orange clouds. “You’ve found the Durakee ship?”
“According to the Intergalactic Signal Registry, yes.” Khetan’s eye twitched. Trekar brought out the worst in him.
“What are we waiting for?” Trekar demanded. “Why aren’t you on your way down to retrieve the...gems?”
Khetan bit hard on his tongue to keep from saying exactly what he felt about Trekar’s whiny voice and barely veiled impatience. If he didn’t need the money to pay his crew, he’d have thrown the Durakee off the ship a long time ago, purple robes and all.
The pompous windbag had created plenty of trouble since he came on board. With his constant demands and dissatisfaction with everything from the food to the way a crewmember looked at him, he hadn’t made any friends during the long trip from Durak to Tatama.
“I’m not sending a shuttle down until you tell me what we’re bringing back. I need to know how many men to send in the landing party.”
The Durakee dropped heavy eyelids low over his eyes, effectively hiding his expression. “We will need all of your crew and I will go with you, as well. I know what it is I’m looking for. And we must bring back all of the survivors, as well.”
Khetan crossed his arms and shook his head. “Not good enough. I want more information, like what kind of gems, and what are they stored in? Either you tell me what we’re retrieving or we leave now.”
Trekar hesitated, then drew himself up to his full height and looked down his long hawkish nose. “As you wish. We’re to bring ba
ck the Shandalan princess and her royal entourage.”
Max took a step closer to Trekar. “Are there any gems to be recovered?”
Trekar’s glance darted from Max to Khetan. “Not exactly.”
Max’s brown eyes darkened and he strode closer to Trekar, his fists clenched.
Khetan’s hand shot out to halt the first officer’s progress. Although blood burned in his veins, he schooled his face to reveal none of his inner anger. “Let me get this straight. We’re here to retrieve people. Then why did you tell me we were here for a shipment of gems?”
“You’re obviously mercenary by trade. Why would you want to retrieve people?”
Khetan’s eyes narrowed. The Durakee was lying. “The real question is why you felt it necessary to keep the Shandalans a secret? Unless you’re retrieving them to sell as slaves. If that’s the case, count me out. I’m in the business of cargo salvage, not slave trading.”
“Neither are we of Durak. The princess and her enclave were promised safe passage as the last of the Shandalans to be relocated from their home planet.”
“You’d better be telling the truth. I kill people who lie to me,” Khetan growled.
“I told you we would retrieve gems. Shandalan women are considered gems of great renown. What do you care, anyway? You will be paid the same as if it had been a shipment of Batarian lasers.”
Khetan’s gut told him not to trust the Durakee. But if he wanted the second half of the agreed amount, he had to go along with Trekar. “I don’t like it.”
“But you’ll do it.” Trekar’s lips rose in a miniscule smile of superiority.
“Only because I won’t leave anyone stranded on a hostile planet, assuming they’re alive. How many Shandalans were aboard?”
“Eighty.”
Khetan shook his head. “Scanners didn’t detect life around the ship, which means we’ll have to search. Max, notify the landing party.”
“I will go too. As the emissary in charge of bringing the Shandalan to Durak, it is my duty to assist.”
