by Kali Argent
The nanocytes came with other benefits as well. She’d just celebrated her two-hundred-and-twelfth birthday, but she didn’t look a day over thirty. She’d never been sick, not even a sniffle. She could even monitor her vital signs and instantly know the current weather conditions with just a thought.
The augmentation also had its drawbacks…like watching everyone she’d ever loved die.
“Where’s your lexcom, Lieutenant?” she teased, pushing away the depressing thoughts.
Xavian’s eyes slid sideways toward his partner. “I didn’t expect to be visiting the landing fields today.” Turning to the young guards, his jaw set, his dual-colored eyes—one green, one deep amber—darkened with anger, he folded his arms over his chest and grunted. “Explain.”
“We were told to search the ship,” the fresh-faced, blond recruit answered, his tone bordering on petulant.
“Were you told to destroy the cargo and assault the crew?” Xavian countered.
“We thought we heard something coming from behind the crates.”
“You thought you…” Trailing off, Xavian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I swear to the cosmos they get stupider every year.” Dropping his hand, he pulled himself up to his full, intimidating height, shoulders back. “The cost for what you destroyed will be deducted from your weekly units. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with the commander. You know how much he loves this kind of bullshit.”
“Yes, sir,” both males answered at once.
“Go.”
With a two-fingered salute, the guards turned and hurried away, leaving only Vane and Xavian on the tarmac with Aeryn and her crew. Deucalion stood under the rear wing, leaning back against the ship with his arms crossed. Mila still wouldn’t look at anyone, and Katana remained tense, her posture defensive.
After a quick round of introductions, Aeryn approached the back of the ship to inspect the damage. Lights from the cargo bay shone out onto the tarmac, glinting off the glass of the broken bottles and reflecting in the puddles of wine. An entire crate of wine destroyed, and three more boxes of other random goods had been upturned and sat askew on the cargo ramp.
“Once you have an inventory of everything that was damaged or broken, I’ll personally see to it that you’re compensated for every unit.” Xavian’s hand landed on her shoulder, and he squeezed gently. “You have my word.”
In many ways, the universe hadn’t changed much over the millennium. People of every race still desired power and fortune. Only now, instead of wads of paper and bits of germ-infested metal, the Interplanetary Committee had established a common currency known as Galactic Standard Units, or “units” for short.
Aeryn didn’t consider herself greedy. She did, however, expect to receive a fair payment for services rendered. When possible, she required advance payment before securing especially hard to find objects. Much of her so-called inventory consisted of commodities such as fruits, vegetables, and Earth treats not found on other planets. Peanut butter was in high demand on Crimnia. The Stravoris loved pralines, and the Nekros had a penchant for all things cinnamon.
It wasn’t just about the units, though. She had a reputation. Her customers knew they could count on her to deliver. Not once had she been late with a delivery or come up empty handed—not until now.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Xavian hadn’t been the one to disrespect her crew or destroy her cargo, and taking out her frustration on him wouldn’t accomplish anything.
“Is that the wine my mother ordered?” Vane asked, his expression pained.
Aeryn grinned. “Nah, that’s a simple red wine from Earth. It’s cheap, but popular on the space stations.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the front of the craft. “I keep the iwahni wine and a few other big ticket items in my quarters. Just in case.”
The lieutenant rested his hands on his hips as he bobbed his head. “I am sorry about this whole damn mess, Chase.” He tilted his head toward Xavian. “We’ll take care of it. You have my word.”
“But you’re also relieved your mom’s wine is safe,” she teased.
“Undoubtedly. I’d never hear the end of it.” Frowning, he lowered his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Hell, I probably won’t anyway. Somehow, this is going to be my fault.”
“Way to make this about you, Schiva. Really,” she drawled, “my heart is breaking for you.”
Beside her, Xavian snorted, shrugging when his partner turned to glare at him. “What? She has a point.”
Yeah, she was definitely starting to like the guy. “So, out of curiosity, who or what exactly are you looking for that has security so tight?”
Several silent moments passed as an unspoken communication passed between the two Nekros. Just when the quiet had started to become awkward, both males nodded.
“We’re looking for an Atrean dignitary named Asa Brax.”
“Why?” Well, it explained why Kyro had become tense upon hearing she’d just come from Atrea. Still, it didn’t explain why guards had ransacked her ship. “What did he do?”
“He has a lot to answer for.” Vane’s upper lip curled as he growled.
“He was involved in a plan to kidnap Vane’s mate, steal relics from Pandora, and incite war between Atrea and Nekron.” Xavian’s posture tensed, and he echoed Vane’s growl. “He’s a fucking parasite who feeds off the suffering he causes.”
In her experience, none of the known races needed much of a reason to go to war, but she didn’t say that out loud. “What kind of relic? Something valuable? Something people would pay a lot of units to get their hands on if given the opportunity?”
Xavian regarded her carefully. “You could say that. Why do you ask?”
The Blue Fog wasn’t the only place in the universe where people liked to talk. “Rumor has it something big is happening on Earth. Some kind of high-stakes auction.”
“I don’t know.” Threading his fingers through his long, ebony hair, Xavian looked to his partner, then back to Aeryn. “I can’t see Asa Brax handing over something this powerful, not even for the right number of units.”
“It’s a lead,” Vane argued. “Which is more than we’ve had since he disappeared. I think it’s worth checking out.”
“Fair enough. I’ll contact the commander.”
Vane waved his hand to stop Xavian. “I have a better idea.” His gaze returned to Aeryn. “Get the wine. We’re going to dinner.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Are you sure about this? Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“Stop fretting, nikka.” Without thinking about it, Xavian touched the crown of Aeryn’s head and gently combed his fingers through her silky hair. “Neith loves visitors, and there will be enough food to feed an army. You’re not intruding.”
A slight frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she moved half a step to the side, forcing him to drop his hand. Fuck, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking, or why he’d felt he could touch her without permission. She probably thought he was a fucking creep, and he couldn’t blame her.
Fisting his hands inside his pockets, he stared down at his feet as they continued up the winding walkway that led to Commander and Elder Schiva’s massive mansion on the hilltop.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“What?” A beautiful smile graced her lips, and she shook her head slowly. “No, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. I like to look at people when I talk to them. You’re a giant, so it’s hard to do that when I’m standing right next to you.”
The answer pleased him, and warmth spread through his chest and belly, chasing away the chill of the night. “Thank you for agreeing to this. I’m sure it cuts into your schedule.”
“Well, you’re not wrong, but this is important. I’m willing to help if I can.” She shuffled closer as they climbed the wide steps to the commander’s front door. “Stop being so formal. It makes me twitchy.”
Xavian grinned. He hadn’t consciously altered his speech pattern, but he’d been doing his best to appear unobtrusive so as not to frighten her. A foolish and unnecessary endeavor, however, since he couldn’t imagine Aeryn Chase being afraid of anything.
She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met, and he’d met a lot of people from many races in his very, very long life. It had been clear from the beginning that she cared about her crew, considered them family, and she would bury anyone who tried to hurt them. She was tough, capable of taking care of herself, and she didn’t tolerate rudeness or bullies.
Unlike many of the merchants who were simply in it for the units, Aeryn was honest, and she looked out for her customers. The broken wine bottles hadn’t been about the ruined product. She’d been upset because she had clients counting on her to deliver. It was a quality Xavian both respected and admired.
Katana spoke, possibly asking a question, but he couldn’t be sure. Without his lexcom, it was just a bunch of jumbled syllables that immediately put him on the defensive. It wasn’t the female’s fault. The Jurdanian language was harsh with lots of hard consonants and guttural sounds that always came off as angry, not matter what was being said.
“She wants to know if you informed your commander that you were arriving with guests,” Aeryn translated. “In our experience, showing up uninvited and unannounced never goes well.”
“He knows,” Vane assured her.
Aeryn nodded to Katana just as the front door of the mansion opened, spilling inviting light out onto the shadowed porch. A female with dark, untamed curls and a bright, welcoming smile stood just beyond the threshold, her eyes shining with happiness and warmth.
“Well, it took you long enough.” Stepping back, she waved everyone into the house. “Hey, Xee.”
With a wink, Xavian scooped the female off her feet and spun her in a small circle. “Hey, Charli. Gotten into any trouble today?”
They both laughed when Vane grumbled under his breath and pulled his mate into his arms for a lingering kiss. “You two will be the death of me.”
Xavian genuinely cared about the vibrant female, and because Vane loved her, he’d die to defend her. Still, he thought of her only as family, a younger sister, and nothing more. Logically, Vane knew that, but mated males had trouble separating rational thought from instincts. Plus, Xavian just liked to push his friend’s buttons.
Charli rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic.” Her arms encircled his neck, and a smile stretched across her face as she leaned into her mate. “Hey, handsome. Did you bring the wine?”
“Right here.” From the inside of her jacket, Aeryn removed a long, slender bottle made of a deep purple glass that changed colors depending on how the light hit the surface. “Enjoy.”
“Oh, you’re an angel.” Releasing Vane, Charli took the bottle of wine, examined it briefly, and pulled the pilot into a one-armed hug. “You must be Aeryn. I’m Charlotte, but you can call me Charli.”
“You ordered that painting from New Orleans. I remember you.” Aeryn seemed surprised by Charli’s exuberance, but she smiled and patted the female on the back. “I have an apartment there, so if you ever want anything else from the city, let me know. I try to spend a couple of weeks in New Orleans after every run, just to recharge.”
“You’re from New Orleans?” Charli’s eyes widened, her lower lids brimming with moisture. “Do they still play jazz in the park?”
“And on Bourbon Street, and just about everywhere else in the city.” Tilting her head to the side, Aeryn furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. “Honey, when’s the last time you were there?”
“Technically, a few weeks ago. In reality, it’s been about nine hundred years give or take.”
Xavian expected Aeryn to be confused, but her expression cleared, and she bobbed her head knowingly.
“Ah, so you’re the Atrean halfling everyone is talking about—the lost princess brought here from the past.”
“That’s me. Though, I don’t know that I was lost.”
“You’re probably right about that.” Both females laughed, and Aeryn patted Charli’s back again, this time with an air of solidarity and comfort. “Well, if you ever want to see New Orleans again, you let me know. There’s always room on the Nightshade.”
They spoke more about Earth and the city they’d both grown up in as everyone removed their jackets and passed them to one of the service droids to hang in the hall closet.
“I don’t think returning is a good idea,” Vane interrupted the females. “For all intents and purposes, she’s supposed to be dead.”
“The rules of time travel are complicated,” Xavian added, trying to diffuse the situation when Aeryn stiffened and glared.
“It’s been nine hundred years. Everyone she knew is dead. Their grandchildren are dead. No one knows her, and no offense, but no one cares. It’s not going to disrupt your precious timeline.”
Though Xavian hated to admit it, her reasoning was sound. Unfortunately, they’d never encountered a situation like Charli’s before, so they’d played it safe, erring on the side of caution. Timelines were finicky things, often disturbed and altered by the tiniest change, but in an Earth city of nearly two million, Charli would be just another face in the crowd.
Vane didn’t look convinced, but when Charli turned to him, breath bated, he smiled and tucked a lose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll talk to the Time Keepers, but I can’t make any promises. Okay?”
“Okay.” The petite female bounced up on her toes and threw her arms around him again. “Thank you. Even if I have to wear a bag over my head while I’m there, I just want to see it. Just one more time.”
“I’ll ask,” Vane repeated, but he met Xavian’s gaze over her head, his eyes wary and his expression guarded.
Xavian understood. The Time Keeper Consulate consisted of six Nekros representatives. Together, they had established specific and resolute laws for time travel, though they left the punishment for breaking those laws to the governing body of the race. For Vane’s transgression of bringing his mate through time and space to save her life, he’d been sentenced by the elders to nine lashes from a fire whip.
It had been terrible to witness.
The Time Keepers granted permission for time jumps, collected debriefing data upon return, and studied the timeline of the universe to adjust current policy for any minute changes. The problem, however, was that many races had mastered time travel. Most, like the Nekros, relied on technology to accomplish such a feat, but that didn’t hold true for every race.
The Crimnians, with their vast magic, didn’t need a machine to transport them. Neither did the Morphlings. Xavian often wondered why the Morphlings didn’t simply transport themselves back in time to stop Atrea’s invasion of their planet. He’d found only two answers that made sense to him.
Either the Atreans had discovered a way to suppress the ability, or the Morphlings understood the universal implications of such a significant change in history. Considering the number of rogue Morphs who had escaped Atrea’s tyranny, he leaned more toward the latter, which gave him a whole new perspective on the race.
“Captain Chase,” the commander greeted as he entered the grand foyer. He was still dressed in uniform, his black shirt, pants, and boots creating a distinctive contrast to the more delicate creams and golds of the room. “Thank you for coming. If you’ll follow me, we can speak in my office before dinner.”
Charli patted Vane’s hand and kissed is cheek. “I’ll help your mom.” Casually, she hooked her arm around Mila’s, gently but firmly leading the female toward the kitchens at the back of the house. “Have you ever had pachi before? It’s kind of like quail, which tastes nothing like chicken by the way.”
Aeryn watched the two females exit the room, her eyebrows drawn together, and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Xavian could practically see the wheels spinning in her head, and he guessed she was debating whether or not to stop them.
“She’ll b
e okay.” He rested his hand on the captain’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Charli has good instincts. She won’t let anything happen to your engineer.”
“Yeah, okay.” She continued to watch them, relaxing a little when Mila didn’t try to pull away or run screaming. “I just worry.”
“I can accompany her,” the Crimnian male offered.
He spoke in a thick accent, one similar to what Earthlings referred to as Italian, but at least Xavian could understand him without a lexcom.
“Actually,” Commander Schiva interceded, “I’d like for you to attend the meeting as well, Mr…”
“Ivo. Deucalion Ivo.” He offered the commander his hand, bowing slightly at the waist as they shook. “I’m not sure what assistance I can offer, Commander.”
“Come. I’ll show you.”
If anyone considered arguing with the commander, they quickly thought better of it. Silently, they followed him down a curving hallway adorned with sculptures, paintings, and bright, colorful vases with bouquets of fragrant flowers—all courtesy of Vane’s mother. At the end of the corridor, a set of double doors stood like imposing sentinels, guarding the commander’s sanctum beyond their borders. Without flourish or grandeur, Commander Schiva pushed open both doors and marched inside, leaving the rest of them to hurry after him.
The room contained the same plush carpet that lined the floor of his office in Pandora, except in a deep chocolate color rather than burgundy. Instead of the sterile white walls and harsh white lights, this office felt welcoming, inviting, the walls painted in muted tones of beige and gray with bronze accents and soft, amber lights. A seating area with overstuffed chairs and intricately carved tables replaced the utilitarian glass conference table. In the center of the room, a gleaming wooden desk occupied the space where the commander’s chrome desk sat in the compound.
Already seated in one of the squashy, sand-colored chairs, Chronicler Cato Darrod jumped to his feet when they entered the room, hastily pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his narrow nose. In his other hand, he held a holopod, a small, silver disk that he twirled nervously between his fingers. His shaggy mop of auburn curls bounced around his face, and his billowy green uniform swayed with every small movement.
