by C. J. Barry
Fortunately, Syrus’ mission could wait. He had to deal with Mora and Wex and then he could go after the Mask. After that, he would honor Syrus’ final wish.
Satisfied with his new strategy, Grey tried to relax. The uneasy feeling persisted. Giving in to the compulsion, he rolled off the bed and pulled on a pair of shorts. A quick walk around the cottage would ease his mind. He picked up the laser pistol next to the bed and checked the setting. Living in the sanctuary held no guarantee of safety for any Kin-sha. Cidra's hostile greeting of him confirmed that.
Slapping the pistol in his palm, he turned to leave and suddenly stopped at the window. Moonlight filled the night sky, casting the woods in a ghostly glow. And in the middle of the courtyard stood Cidra looking up at the giant moon, her back to him.
He knew without a doubt she was the reason for his uneasiness. He set the pistol down and rested a shoulder against the window frame. Watching her white nightgown flare gently around her legs, his mind drifted to what she would do aboard his ship. Even with her extensive training, he had little use for an accomplished Kin-sha in his operation. Long-dead artifacts rarely gave him much of a struggle. It was going to be a challenge to find a position for her.
But one thing was certain. She was not going to be his partner. Partners meant compromise. He was the captain of his own ship so he wouldn't have to compromise.
A faint breeze wrapped the gown snugly around her, cutting a clear silhouette in the moonlight. Those long legs were something. His body raced ahead of his mind as an unexpected wave of awareness blazed through him.
He shook himself, remembering where his libido had gotten him in the past. He'd already made that mistake with Mora. He had ignored his own hard and fast rule: do not get involved with a crewmember. He grimaced at the hard and fast part. Not a good choice of words at the moment, but the rule remained. Business as usual, especially with this one. She was trouble all the way, no matter now innocent she claimed to be.
What worried him the most was that he almost believed her tonight when she told him she knew nothing about the box. Almost. He'd already played the fool one too many times today.
It all seemed perfectly clear until he saw her wipe a hand across her eyes, her shoulders shake. Grey backed away from the window and blew out a long breath. She was crying. She didn't seem like the kind of woman who cried easily. In the vastness of the sanctuary, she looked small and alone.
Grey paced his room, feeling guilt and anger and wondering why he felt the need to do something. Then he turned and walked to the door.
* * * *
Night was as quiet as the day was loud in the woods of Avion. Cidra stood alone in the moonlight on a planet she both loved and hated, trying to forget who she was.
The sanctuary swept out around her. A swirl of wind haunted the trees and cooled her sweat-dampened hair, sending a shiver through her. The dinner conversation must have been what triggered that wretched nightmare again. After all this time, she thought she had finally outgrown it. A tangled confusion of screams and fire, smoke and siege, dragging her down into its dark terror. They were the twisted memories etched in her mind of how she had escaped the hand of death long ago.
Cidra drew in a shuddering breath. Like every day for the past ten years, she wondered what happened to them that night, how they died, why she had been spared. She would never know. She wasn't sure which was the crueler fate: dying with them or living without them. Tears streamed down her face in a silent purge of injustice and grief. Cidra hugged herself tight in a vain effort to control the trembling.
There were days when she missed them so much. Too many times she'd wished for a different life, to be someone else, anyone else. Now she had that chance to rectify the past, to build herself a new future. But regardless of Syrus’ order, she knew it would be her duty and her mission. Grey Stone had his own agenda.
Anger flashed through her. He thought she set him up. She still couldn't believe it. Why would he think such a thing? Not that it mattered. It was perfectly obvious that he didn't want this mission, and he was even less enthused to harbor her. The only reason he agreed to take her was because of Syrus.
A new flood of tears burned down her face. For once, she didn't fight it, allowing the pain to crash over her in waves as if it would somehow redeem her. She cried for her parents and brothers, her life as she had once known it, for a mission that seemed impossible for her to achieve alone.
Abruptly, another sensation broke the desolation that engulfed her. Her danger sense triggered. Cidra spun around to find Grey standing there, bathed in moonlight like a divine apparition.
Not him. Not now. She lowered her head and struggled to pull herself together.
He stepped closer. “Cidra."
Grey's fingers slipped under her chin, gently lifting her face to his. His eyes were gray pools filled with warmth and strange understanding.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want his sympathy. The very thought sent a surge of energy and strength through her.
"I'm fine,” she said, opening her eyes to meet his. “I can take care of myself."
His expression darkened in the moonlight. Warm fingers dropped from her chin. The air became distinctly cooler.
"I hope so,” he stated in a tight voice. “I don't have time to play guardian."
She nearly growled. “Who do you think has been watching over Syrus and Barrios all these years?"
A wry smile crossed his face. “I'm surprised you had time with all the plans you and Syrus were making."
Cidra's eyes narrowed. “I knew nothing about this mission before tonight. If I had, I wouldn't have picked you to help me."
He took a step toward her, charging large and broad into her personal space. She held her position at the clear intrusion.
His voice was low and menacing. “Let's get one thing straight. I'm the best you are going to get because no one, and I mean no one, would take this mission except me. But I don't have to be happy about it."
She clenched her fists at her sides. “And neither do I."
CHAPTER THREE
Tausek, the supreme ruler of Dakru, surveyed his kingdom from the solitude of his private chambers towering over the land. He stood silent and motionless in the darkness, a black figure casting no shadow, seeing all. The entire floor rotated slowly atop his twenty-story tower building. A bank of windows offered a generous panoramic view of the Capital City.
As usual, the sunset had been glorious. A blood red spectacle only a true native of this scarred, sterile land could appreciate. A violent sunset for an equally violent world.
Far below him, barrel fires dotted the unlit streets of the city like strings of lights. Silhouetted figures moved around the meager flames. It must be cold tonight, he mused. The street cleaners would have a busy morning picking up frozen bodies. The thought warmed him for such was life on Dakru. The weak perished, leaving room for stronger, healthier hands. A most profitable cycle.
Charitably, Tausek contemplated the wretched souls of his world. Criminals, murderers, outcasts, refugees—the collective scourge of every planet in the sector. The hands he needed to harvest the precious black treasure called Thorite from Dakru's underground mines. Thorite ruled supreme as the key component for space travel, an accelerator necessary for the jump to hyperspace. Crystals so rare, so perfect, cold and black as the night. Dakru was infinitely rich with them. The veins ran deep, far, and wide.
Unfortunately, Thorite's crystalline form was brittle, its face layers twisted beneath the ground. Mechanical extraction had proven too damaging to the mineral's delicate hexagonal rods, making manual harvesting a necessity. Hands. Expendable hands.
Tausek never had any trouble finding them. Dakru gladly opened its doors to all, offering nearby worlds an outlet for their social problems, prisoners, and exiles. A surprisingly hardy lot. Finding themselves stranded on this desolate world, they had no choice but to work for food and shelter.
Regardless of their strength or spec
ies, eventually they all perished. Thorite was, for all its beauty, quite deadly. Its toxic presence devastated a being's lungs beyond repair. Tausek deemed treatment pointless, merely creating a negative impact on profits. After all, hands were so easily replaced. As long as societies ran on emotions, his steady supply was guaranteed. Anger, rage, jealousy, greed—they were the sins that filled prisons and eventually populated Dakru's mines.
Deme slid her long, furred body along his leg, a fine clicking noise emanating from her throat—uncharacteristic affection for such a notoriously lethal creature.
"Easy Deme, my pet."
An identical set of luminescent eyes peered at him from behind a chair. The pair of corvits were a gift from a grateful customer. Deme and Deik were mates for life, dedicated to each other and their master. Tausek found them immensely intelligent, loyal, and useful. They obeyed his simple commands flawlessly: stay, come, guard, and his personal favorite, target. With their razor sharp claws and teeth, they were born killers. Unlike Tausek's human forces, the corvits had never failed him.
A soft bell chimed in the tower room. Deme and Deik leapt to attention and moved stealthily to flank Tausek.
"Enter,” Tausek ordered, not turning. His tower was a fortress. There was no need to fear his enemies here. Besides, he knew who it was—his eyes and ears of the universe, Commander Plass.
The door slid open and Commander Plass entered, impeccably dressed in a standard d'Hont uniform, a small insignia the only indication of his superior rank and his d'Hont designation.
He stopped a suitable distance in front of Tausek and saluted.
"Permission to report, sir."
"Proceed."
Plass replied, “I have word from Avion that Syrus Almazan has died, apparently of natural causes."
"So the great teacher of the Kin-sha, fallen at last,” Tausek observed calmly. “Is that the last of his family?"
"Only a niece survived him, sir. A young woman. Her name is Cidra, I believe."
Tausek's black eyes narrowed. “Cidra.” He tasted the word slowly. “An unusual name. A name not easily forgotten. Tell me Commander, why does that name sound familiar?"
Plass hesitated. “I don't know. Do you wish an inquiry?"
Tausek's mouth twitched. “No need. I know where I've heard that name before. Jarid Faulkner had a young daughter named Cidra."
Plass balked. “It can't possibly be the same person. As you ordered, we killed everyone in that house. There were no survivors."
"Perhaps you missed one.” Tausek turned his back to Plass. “You will personally investigate this matter. I'll expect your report shortly."
Before the door had slid shut behind Plass, Tausek knew what the answer would be. Instinct was not an emotion; it was a tool.
He had no doubt that she was alive. While she lived, the daughter of Jarid Faulkner was an unacceptable threat. She was the only person left capable of destroying his power. She must be found and eliminated. With her, the reign of the Kin-sha would end. Using the d'Hont as his own personal weapon, Tausek would control the sector, unconditionally and unimpeded.
Only then would the master plan continue.
* * * *
As Grey's K12 short-range transport jet cleared Avion's atmosphere, Cidra marveled at the breathtaking glory of space. Masses of brilliant stars wove an intricate pattern across an endless darkness, a tapestry crafted for eternity. Opaque veils of light shimmered through a myriad of galaxies, curtains of green, white, and red. Swirls and spirals, rivers of light separated by a black nothingness. Beauty beyond words. Beauty beyond boundaries.
With great reluctance, she pulled herself away from the incredible view.
"So you think this was from the original Dakru shipment?” She held the slim ampoule of Ximenes vaccine from Syrus’ box up to the main cabin lights.
Barrios answered from behind her amid a shuffle of papers. “The serial number assigned to that vial falls within the reported range on the printed manifest from Syrus’ box. The manifest dates and details match the time of the Dakru shipment."
He mumbled, “I'd sure like to know how he got his hands on these documents. We are talking highly classified information here. They must have been stolen. But the real question is, how did Syrus get a vial from that shipment?"
Cidra pondered the implication. “Maybe it's true. Maybe it never left Avion."
"I don't buy it, Cidra,” Barrios stated flatly. “Your father would have done his part."
She hesitated. “You don't think Syrus had anything to do with the disappearance of the shipment, do you?"
Barrios sighed loudly. “No, but he knew that it didn't just vanish, that's for sure. We'll know more when we decode and run this holo recording aboard Stone's ship. Too bad Syrus didn't have a holo deck to play it on."
She glanced back at Barrios twirling the stubby, cylindrical cartridge containing the holo recording from Syrus’ box in his fingers. It could hold a massive amount of three-dimensional visual recordings as well as raw data.
"Any idea what's on it?"
Barrios shrugged. “Haven't a clue. Maybe nothing.” He grinned at her. “Maybe answers."
An affectionate smile touched her lips. This morning Barrios had accepted an offer as head cook onboard Grey's ship. She suspected Barrios was more interested in Syrus’ mission than the position. Regardless, he would never know how much his presence meant to her.
Cidra handed the vial back to him. Filling the back seat of the small K12 jet, he looked relaxed although Cidra had never known him to fly. She wondered if he had logged some time in the SymPod.
The SymPod was the closest she had ever come to actual flying. Not much larger than a one-man escape pod, it simulated the piloting experience of a variety of ships, under any condition and battle setting. The flat console could replicate any ship and every control. Theirs was an older version, gleaned from the Avion government by the remaining Kin-sha, capable of training pilots under actual battle conditions without risk.
She had enjoyed the exercises immensely, logging endless hours, memorizing battle strategies, executing tried and true maneuvers, and making up a few new ones along the way. The SymPod was exhilarating, remarkably realistic, and completely safe. It was also the closest thing to freedom she could find on Avion.
Syrus had isolated her well, protecting her from danger of discovery. Unfortunately, that protection came at a steep price: the absence of friends, companions, peers. As a tremor of excitement whisked through her, she realized that was about to change. She covertly glanced at the man who had made it all possible.
Cidra watched him pilot the small jet, his big hands flowing over the helm controls with gentleness and familiarity, giving the K12 his undivided attention. It was almost sensual.
Suddenly Grey was asking, “Something wrong?"
She snapped out of her contemplation and felt the heat rise in her face. “How long before we rendezvous with your ship?"
"Not long. Calíbre is waiting outside Avion's sensor range."
"Why outside sensor range?"
Grey gave her a sardonic grin. “Habit."
She nodded and fingered the controls lightly.
Grey leaned back in his chair, evaluating her. “You want to fly?” He saw her eyes light up and abruptly flame out.
"I've only flown in the SymPod,” she warned.
His eyebrows arched. “You've never been off-planet before?"
"Never. Is that a problem?"
Grey tried not to frown. Only if you want a seasoned crewmember. “No. No problem. Take over for a while. It's a short flight to Calíbre."
They switched pilot and gunner seats and strapped down. Grey asked, “Does everything look familiar?"
She was slow to reply, totally engrossed in the panel of controls before her. “Close enough. Our SymPod was behind a few upgrades."
Grey nodded. “Why don't you try some basic maneuvers?” At least he'd find out what she could do.
She glanced at him
sidelong with the most enigmatic smile he had ever seen, and he immediately regretted his suggestion. She pulled the ship off autopilot, weaving and spinning through space with abandon.
While Grey was contemplating the fact that he had just unleashed a holy terror, behind him Barrios roared with laughter. “Did Cidra mention she practically lived in that SymPod?"
"Now you tell me,” Grey murmured, watching her flying skills with interest. She was a little wild but not bad. Maybe she could be useful on crew after all. Average would best describe the current level of piloting skills on Calíbre. She was definitely better than average.
Grey watched, mesmerized by Cidra's genuine delight as she commanded the ship through a smooth series of loops and dives. Suddenly she turned serious, bringing the ship squarely out of a barrel roll, her eyes wide, focusing straight ahead. Before he could question her, she plowed the ship into a power dive.
"Cidra, what the—” was all Grey could get out before a green laser blast shot across the bow.
"They're shooting at us!” Cidra gritted her teeth while pulling another evasive maneuver. “Who are they? How many?"
Grey scanned the displays. “One, a Victor Class III. Try to bring us around behind them and give me a target I can see."
Cidra didn't want to come around behind them. She wanted to panic. Her heart pounded in her chest. Some things the SymPod couldn't simulate. Impending death was one of them.
Beside her, Grey snapped, “Cidra, we don't have time to swap stations. Move it!"
Immediately, she launched the little ship into a series of evasive maneuvers and then switched to an Avion defensive pattern along with anything else she could think of, pushing Grey's little K12 to the limit. The Victor stuck with her, but its reactions grew sloppier as the maneuvers became more complex.
Concentrating fiercely, she forced a mental review from her armament training while diving and spinning her small jet between laser blasts. Victor Class III. Heavily armored six-man fighter. Good shields, four guns, superb speed. Against their K12 jet, sporting two guns, minimal shields, and excellent agility.
