by T C Archer
“Hold on, sir,” the security officer said, his gaze on her. “I’m Carson Wang, resort security.”
“Resort security?” Fontana mimicked like a stupid mynah bird. He couldn’t be serious.
He held up a gold badge embossed with a hologram. The hologram in the badge pictured his head, rotating from a front view to a profile view. Stats scrolled in tiny letters too small for her to read in one bottom corner as a full-body picture rotated through a full 360 degrees in the other corner.
“A rent-a-cop?” Fontana shifted her attention to his face. “A rent-a-cop tracked me down over a coat?” She looked at the other man. “You’re the owner?” This was even more ridiculous than clothing thieves in a pet store. “Why not just have the resort wardrobe center make you another one?”
He looked exasperated. “The coat is handmade from Earth. I want it back.”
“I’m sorry,” Carson said, “but you can’t leave until we resolve this.”
“Just give us the coat.” The owner grabbed her sleeve.
Fontana yanked free. “I can’t.”
“You see.” His voice rose. “She thinks that because she’s young and pretty, she can get away with theft.”
She looked at the security officer. “What’s going on? Why chase me down for a coat?” And how had they found her?
“The coat is valued at twelve thousand credits,” Carson said. “That makes this larceny.”
“Larceny?” she repeated, once again feeling like a damn mynah bird. “You must be kidding!”
Carson pulled a stick from his back pocket and unrolled its screen to the size of a makeup mirror. It lit up, showing an insurance appraisal for one London Fog raincoat, with genuine lambs wool liner, worth twelve thousand credits.
Twelve thousand credits was more than she made in a year. “I suppose you’ll arrest me if I don’t return the coat?”
His brows furrowed in surprise, and she couldn’t blame him. She was wearing the coat. Why not just hand it over?
Fontana couldn’t help herself and asked, “What’s the jail time for nudity in a public place?”
His frown deepened.
She glanced over her shoulder at Rodin. He was gone. Goddamn him. She was betting he’d moved up his departure time to now. Fontana faced the men.
The owner of the coat glowered. Whether she gave them the coat or not, Carson would arrest her. If she ran, he would have her description plastered across every law enforcement and communication device on the space station in sixty seconds. If she stripped off the coat, he wouldn’t need to get her picture on the wire. The riot that would follow her would tell him exactly where she was. Still, she might get lost in the uproar.
Fontana shrugged. Slowly, she unbuttoned the bottom buttons hip high, then did the same from the neck down. Careful to keep the coat closed, she started to unbutton the last button. What would Brent think about the fact she was about to run naked through Sagitariun? Suspicion flickered in Carson’s eyes. Fontana flashed a smile, then stripped off the coat and threw it at him. The coat owner screamed like a woman. Carson blinked; then his eyes narrowed in the instant before she whirled.
Fontana sprinted down the boardwalk. A group of men halted outside a café and jostled into one another in an effort to get a better look as she streaked past. Fontana glanced over her shoulder. The men had moved toward the center of the walkway to better see her. Several other small clusters of gawkers stood sprinkled across the path, still as stone. Carson wasn’t giving chase. A loud catcall drew her attention ahead. Two young men and a woman leered as she approached. Fontana veered right onto a narrow street.
If Carson had called ahead to have her intercepted on the promenade, she needed to stay off the main boardwalk. Her first priority was to find some clothes. Would she have better luck sneaking into a private quarter on the habitat deck? Maybe she could find something that would offer enough of a disguise to get her to the docks without being noticed.
Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to keep her from leaving Sagitariun. Was that someone Stephaney, and was she trying to keep Fontana from being there when Jenny arrived home on Earth? Was there more to what had happened with the Track Cartel than what Fontana already knew? A large arm shot out of a small, open storefront door and seized her. Fontana grabbed the arm as she was dragged inside. They went down, him on top of her. Fontana drew her fisted hand back to strike the side of his head.
“Fawn.”
She froze at the sound of the familiar male voice, and Brent’s face snapped into focus only centimeters from her face. He grinned.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I could ask you the same thing.” He lifted a brow. “Running naked in public? How’d you manage that?”
“That damn coat,” she muttered.
Amusement flickered in his eyes; then he jerked his head up when shouts rose in the lane outside the shop. The sound of feet pounding on the ground echoed on the walkway. His arms tightened around her, and he heaved, rolling them to the side and out of view of the door. He stopped the roll, still on top of her. They remained motionless as half a dozen men sped past the shop.
Brent looked at her. “For you?”
Fontana shoved at his chest. “Get off me.”
He undulated his hips against hers. “I like this.”
He was an actor playing a part, but the knowledge –- along with the awareness of his chest pressed against her naked breasts and his growing erection—only deepened the pain.
“How did you find me?”
“Ahmed told me you’d checked out of the hotel. I figured you’d be at the spaceport.” He grinned. “I could see you from above, a quarter of the way around the alley, streaking like a jaybird.”
“I’ve got a transport to catch,” she said.
“Not until you tell me why you’re leaving—and without saying good-bye.”
“There’s no need to pretend anymore. I know you’re part of my fantasy.”
He frowned. “We’ve been through this. I’m—”
She shook her head. “Don’t.”
“What’s going on, Fawn? Why leave without saying good-bye?”
The question reached his eyes and twisted the knife deeper into her heart. He was good. Real good. How had the resort’s scenario algorithm known she would chase him through Spacer Jack’s? Computers weren’t gods. They could no more predict she’d grab that raincoat than they could predict she’d be waylaid by two of the strangest criminals she’d ever encountered and be forced to wear nothing but the raincoat she’d stolen. They couldn’t possibly know she would duck into that shop. Could they? Quantum computing of infinite scenarios simultaneously. The meaningless words came back from a briefing she’d attended once, gods knew when. Fontana shook off the thought.
She had to get out of here. First, she needed clothes. No, first she had to get Brent off her before the feel of his erection pressing on her stomach became too much and she fucked him right there.
“Get up,” she said. “I have somewhere to be.”
It seemed he would refuse, and an odd sense of elation surfaced. But finally he pushed off her and pulled her to her feet. The pain returned, this time like a dull knife sawing its way through her heart.
Fontana registered shelves filled with computer components right before Brent pushed her into a small alcove. Her back made contact with the wall, and she was struck by the reversal of their roles. When she’d dragged him out of Spacer Jack’s, it had been she who’d backed him up against the wall. He’d had someplace to be just as she did now.
“It’s been nice,” she began, her mouth a bare centimeter from his chest.
He grasped her chin and tilted her face up. “And it’s about to get a lot nicer.”
Chapter Fourteen
Brent’s face lowered toward hers.
Fontana tried to lean away from him but was stopped by the wall as his mouth covered hers. Pain rammed through her. She had to get off Sagitariun, had to be anywher
e but where he was. He thrust his tongue past her lips. Desire steamrolled over the rational thought that Brent was just playing a role. Fontana sucked him deep. He kissed her back, crushed her against the wall, then released her. Her head reeled.
He began unbuttoning his shirt. “We’ll start with this.”
“Brent—”
“Hush,” he ordered, and shrugged out of the shirt.
Fontana came face-to-face with the bare expanse of his chest. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—give in to the desire to plow her hands through the downy hair that covered the muscled flesh. He swung the shirt around her and nodded for her to put her arms inside the sleeves. She blinked, then realized he was dressing her. Her heart pounded, and she hated the disappointment that washed over her. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and deftly buttoned the shirt.
When she was finished, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Where are you going?”
Fontana hesitated, then remembered this was a play. “Your cover’s blown.”
He grinned. “We knew that when I ran naked through Spacer Jack’s.”
“No. Your cover in my fantasy. I discovered the truth.” He frowned, and she added, “The strategy was a stroke of genius. Convince me I’m involved in your fantasy, when the fantasy is really mine. You completely threw me off the scent.”
“Fawn—”
“Please,” she said. “Don’t.”
He hesitated. “All right. But why run? It looked to me like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Something came up,” she said.
His gaze sharpened, and she realized she’d blurted a too-ready answer.
“What transport are you on?” he asked.
“The one I was about to board when security stopped me.”
“I’m surprised the captain didn’t offer you his shirt when you returned the coat.”
“Not everyone is as giving as you,” she replied.
A corner of his mouth twitched. “I am a giving sort of guy, aren’t I? But your explanation doesn’t account for why you were naked under the trench coat. What happened to your clothes?”
Fontana recalled the pet-store thieves. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Not believe you? Never. Still want to get off Sagitariun?”
“Duty calls,” she replied.
“Okay, let’s go.”
She grasped his arm. “What have you got in mind?”
“Getting you a ship.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“The brotherhood.”
* * * *
Half an hour later, dressed in the pants and shirt Brent had bought for her, Fontana sat beside him in a tiny tavern with Swayne Jgferhan, engineer/captain of the Dawn Rising. Brent draped an arm over her chair and sipped his Langon ale. He hadn’t been kidding when he said brotherhood. Swayne knew Chief Engineer Jason Ryder, who knew Markeson, who knew Sikes Callahan, the captain of a ship Brent had tinkered with five years ago. The distant association bonded the men with a glue that rivaled the cartel, a glue that had gotten her a spot on the Dawn Rising.
“How many credits?” Fontana asked.
Swayne lifted his mug of ale to his lips and looked at her over the brim as he took a long gulp. His forearm bulged to the size of a ham hock, and Fontana wondered if it wouldn’t pop right off his massive arm.
“Never mind the credits, Fawn,” Brent said.
She kept her gaze locked with Swayne’s. “This is a pretty big risk. If customs finds out you took on an unregistered passenger, you’ll end up in the brig.”
Swayne flicked Brent a she must be kidding look and set his mug back on the table.
Brent gave her a squeeze. “Customs only knows what the engineers tell them.”
The words were spoken with a casual arrogance that she couldn’t dismiss. He was telling the truth. Did engineers rule the galaxy?
“You going?” Swayne asked Brent.
“I—”
“There!”
Fontana jerked her head in the direction of the high-pitched male voice.
“It’s the owner of the coat,” she hissed. “What does he want? He got his coat back.”
“The reason you need off Sagitariun?” Swayne asked Brent.
“Yep,” Brent said, and Fontana wanted to throttle him.
“Docking bay twelve,” Swayne said. “Ten minutes. Cory’s theory is the key.” He finished his ale in one huge gulp, then rose and headed for the door.
The coat owner’s eyes widened, and Fontana thought the man would crumble. He melted into the wall as Swayne lumbered past.
Brent grasped her hand. “Come on.” He pulled her toward the kitchen.
They reached the kitchen door just as the coat owner shouted, “Stop, thief!”
She and Brent raced through the small kitchen and burst out the back door into an alley.
“Déjà vu,” Fontana said.
Brent flashed a brilliant smile. “Too bad we can’t finish what we started. Maybe later.” He pointed at a slight angle along the alley up ahead. “That’s where we’re going.”
The alley sloped up on its way around the station. The boardwalk appeared about a quarter of the way up. He started at a run. They reached the boardwalk, and Brent turned right, dragging her with him.
“Do you know where you’re going?” she asked.
“Docking bay twelve,” he replied.
“How do you know where that is?”
“I’m an engineer; I can see the layout in my head.”
Shouts went up behind them. Fontana glanced back. Carson had exited from the alley. She faced forward and pumped her legs faster. Brent pulled her down another arounder alley where everyone could see them; then they twisted and turned through half a dozen streets until even she wasn’t sure where they were anymore. When they emerged back on the walkway, she saw the designation for docking bay twelve. Brent pushed her ahead of him into the bay, then glanced back as he followed.
“There’s a crowd five bays down,” he said.
“Dammit,” Fontana cursed.
They pounded down the corridor to the large, round bay door. Brent stopped in front of the keypad and keyed in a series of numbers. The door disengaged, and a hiss followed as the steel rolled into the wall.
”What’s Cory’s theory?” Fontana asked.
He grinned. “Cory Matheson, a giant among engineers.”
“Did he build the super-warp drive?”
“No. He created the formula for how much beer a man could drink in order to stay drunk for a week without causing liver damage.”
Fontana blinked. “That’s Cory’s theory?”
“Pi over two liters, per ten kilos of body mass, per hour for three hours.”
Fontana snorted. Brent urged her through the door. She stepped over the small section of wall. Brent followed, and she faced him.
“You’d better head back; my fantasy is over.”
He punched in another series of numbers. The door slid closed, and he turned to her. “Not a chance.”
“Brent—”
“Don’t tell me your fantasy is for me to leave now?”
She stared. The man had balls.
Chapter Fifteen
This was not her fantasy. They were only one hundred kilometers away from Sagitariun, and already four fighters flew circles around the Dawn Rising like moths around a porch light, firing electron-beam weapons against the Dawn’s shields. One cruiser, presumably the lead ship, flanked the Dawn Rising, firing off exploding rounds with some kind of broadside-mounted cannon. So far, the shields held the onslaught at bay, but with no power to spare for the ship to go into warp. The fighters’ beams stabbed, stuck, and flared, then glanced off, spilling sparks of ionized gas from the Dawn’s thrusters.
Brent looked up from where he stood at weapons and shields.
“I told you to stay on Sagitariun,” Fontana told him.
“All this over a coat?” Swayne demanded.
Fontana wanted li
ke hell to say yes, but even a fantasy package meant for her wouldn’t shoot live fire. “No,” she said. “My guess is the Track Cartel.”
Swayne shot her a dark look. “They must want you bad to fire on us before we’re out of Sagitariun space.”
“Acknowledge,” came the order from Sagitariun space control.
Swayne cursed. “Sagitariun launched a frigate. We’ve got to return to the space station.”
“No power to jump into warp without lowering shields,” Brent said.
Fontana cursed. “We’ll all end up in the brig.”
“Yeah,” Swayne agreed, and veered toward the space station.
“No!” She grabbed Swayne and whirled him around.
He didn’t swing at her, though his fists were balled at his sides, but he glared a warning that said touch me again, and you’ll be looking for your teeth on the floor.
She pointed at the cruiser on view-screen. “Beam me over to the lead ship, then get the hell out.”
“I’ll lose my license,” he growled.
“Fawn,” Brent began, but Fontana ignored him and stepped closer to Swayne. “Give me your sidearm, and I’ll force you to do it. It’s your only way out. I know how to deal with these people.”
“Then deal with them over the comm,” Swayne said.
A cluster of manual-control panels, consoles, and video screens was all the bridge of the Dawn Rising held. The ship needed no personnel as long as the computer worked.
“Okay,” Fontana said, “give me a weapon, turn on the vid, and they’ll see I’ve taken the ship by force.”
“Nothing doing.” Swayne’s hand strayed to his holster.
She had to do something besides squint at the display. The fighters and cruiser had reduced the shields by 30 percent, and they were getting worse by the second.
The comm beeped, and the frigate came into view on the display.
“Damn,” Fontana cursed.
Swayne’s head swiveled in her direction. “What is it?”
“I know that frigate; it’s a Saber-III commanded by Major Sorens of the Galactic Coalition.”
“Dawn Rising, prepare to be boarded,” came a male voice over the comm.
“Sorens?” Swayne demanded.
