Unchained

by C. J. Barry

  Grey shot him a homicidal look and wondered how much frustration he could vent with a fist to Decker's face. “Report or leave,” he snapped, slowing his pace to a fierce walk.

  Decker held up a hand. “I'm reporting. I used the security codes you gave me and pulled the shipment information from the Avion archives. There's not much more than we got out of Syrus’ box. So after that, I broke into the Dakru information system."

  Grey stopped dead on the TrackMat, grinding the automatic sensor to a halt. “Find anything?"

  "Not much. Not what I expected.” Decker shook his head. “I managed to get into the files on the Dakru shipment from Avion.” He grinned. “I wonder if they realize how bad their security is."

  "If they didn't know before, they do now. You could lead them right back to us,” Grey charged.

  Decker shrugged. “You said be creative. I figured I might find some answers. Besides, it's going to take them a while to trace it back to us, if at all. I left a mess of false trails."

  Grey stepped off the TrackMat and snagged a towel from a side chair. “I hope it was worth it."

  Decker winced. “I'm afraid not. If I didn't know better, I'd say someone cleaned up those files already."

  "You think someone got there before you did? When?” Grey asked, wiping the sweat from his face.

  Decker shook his head. “Couldn't say. But it seems to me that there should have been more information. I pulled every file relating to that shipment. The contract negotiations were intact, but I couldn't find anything on the delivery schedule."

  "Maybe they store those files somewhere else,” Grey suggested.

  Decker glanced at him righteously. “I blew that system wide open. I could see everything they had. It just wasn't there.” He started towards the exit. “I'll send you copies of the files, but I don't think you're going to get much out of them."

  Grey tossed the towel over his neck and walked out with Decker. “I'd sure like to know who got to those files before we did."

  * * * *

  Later that evening, Commander Plass leaned back in his chair to digest what he'd uncovered in Dakru's archives.

  The negotiations and communications with Avion for the vaccine seemed completely legitimate. All the proper forms were filled and filed, terms established, contracts signed. Routine, no deviations, no indications of deceit or treachery. Very smooth, very normal, with one notable exception. Tausek had handled nearly the entire affair personally.

  That didn't surprise Plass.

  At the time, Tausek was the d'Hont Commander and the responsibility of Dakru's security and safety fell to him. What disturbed Plass wasn't what he found; it was what he couldn't find. The front-end existed, the back-end didn't. No reference to the actual delivery of the vaccine, anywhere.

  That information would have been highly secured, but it should have existed at some level. Arrangements, no matter how covert, must have been established for the safe conveyance of the cargo. Either those arrangements were never entered into the system, a major oversight, or they were deleted, which brought up a whole new list of questions.

  It could have been contractual neglect on the part of Avion, but he doubted it. Dakru would have never agreed upon a contract without a concrete delivery plan.

  And Avion had no access to Dakru's system to erase them. A break-in at that time would have been detected in the same manner as the more recent incident. And no Dakruian could delete a file without following an elaborate process. Only the highest-ranking officers had that level of clearance.

  Following that, he had reviewed the d'Hont activity for the time period of the alleged shipment. Even if Avion had no intention of fulfilling its obligation, Dakru would have been expecting a shipment, a rendezvous. The records should reflect it, but they didn't. No orders were issued.

  Plass dug further and found the usual array of training missions, escorts, and surveillance. Only one other incident stood out during that time period. The elite fighter unit was called out to destroy a plague-infested freighter and a few smaller ships bent on seeking refuge on Dakru. The quarantine policy for the planet forbid any such refuge and was backed up by military force, as was the case here.

  Plass snorted. So much for the stringent quarantine policy. The plague had arrived just the same.

  As he scanned the records, he noted with pride that it must have been quick work to take out the infested ships. Under Tausek's orders, Plass had supervised the purchase of those Saurelian fighters himself. They were a marvel in engineering, stealth, and ultimate killing prowess. The d'Hont pilots wasted no time in proving that.

  As expected, the attack was orchestrated by then Commander Tausek. Odd that the details were so sketchy, so unlike Tausek's thorough style.

  Plass rubbed his eyes wearily. There wasn't much to go on. A few discrepancies, missing information and a real nagging sensation that something bigger lurked.

  * * * *

  She should have practiced more.

  "Landing gear down.” Cidra's voice sounded distant over the pounding of her heart.

  More time in the SymPod.

  "Docking site identified and locked in."

  More practice landing.

  "Quad stabilizers on-line and operational."

  Less time flying around. Less time playing.

  "Thrusters one-quarter power. Main engines shut down."

  Her hands were sweating, her breathing deep and rapid. Panic threatened to strike as Vaasa's busiest port loomed precariously beneath her.

  Grey had insisted she land Calíbre on Vaasa—alone. The atmospheric entry vector had been smooth, the port controller's approach sequence straight-forward, the docking site satisfactory, and the pilot scared out of her wits.

  Grey stood behind the helm station, arms folded and relaxed. He alone seemed undaunted with the idea of a novice attempting such a delicate procedure. Cidra prayed he didn't see her hands tremble while she maneuvered the large ship over the small red landing mark in the corner of a bustling, cavernous landing bay.

  The deck crew remained conspicuously subdued and Cidra could feel their concerned glances her way. She was now close enough to see the faces of the ground personnel waving Calíbre in. The churning mass of activity parted just enough for them to land.

  Cidra tuned every ounce of concentration into the landing, checking and rechecking current status from the plethora of displays surrounding her. After what seemed like an eternity, a gentle thump confirmed touchdown. Cidra shut down all systems with a small sigh of relief.

  "Landing cycle completed,” she announced while giving silent thanks.

  The deck crew chatted freely and dispersed in haste, leaving her and Grey alone.

  Cidra gathered herself, stood up and smoothed her jumpsuit trying to act as though nothing momentous had just occurred. “Now what?"

  Grey placed his hand on her back and ushered her down the portside corridor.

  "I ordered a ground shuttle to take us to my home. It should be waiting. Is Barrios ready?"

  Cidra slanted him a smile. “Are you kidding? He can't wait to visit the market. I don't think he cared much for Mora's cooking."

  She wanted the words back as soon as they slipped out and threw Grey a conciliatory glance. He said nothing, but she sensed the sparkle slip away into foreboding darkness that accompanied any reference to Mora. Cidra cursed the woman for ruining yet another bright moment.

  They exited Calíbre in silence and were immediately assaulted with the blunt essence of Landing Bay Number Sixty-two. As predicted, Barrios was busy loading bags into the waiting ground shuttle amid the mass confusion and deafening noise.

  Cidra stopped, overwhelmed by the chaos swarming around Calíbre and several other large ships in the general vicinity. The walls reverberated in the deafening clamor of massive surging engines, shipping containers being unloaded, voices straining above the discord. The air hung thick with the smell of fuel and lubricants.

  The bay bustled with a strange assor
tment of humans and aliens. Old acquaintances waved and embraced. Information blared from speakers high above the bay, barely discernible. Orders were shouted from every corner. Cidra caught fragments of several languages, voices of various modulations, and a few vulgarities mixed in.

  She jumped when Grey touched her arm and spoke directly into her ear over the noise level. “I'll be back in a minute. There's someone I need to talk to."

  Cidra nodded, fighting the rush of awareness the intimate gesture triggered.

  He squeezed her arm. “By the way, nice landing."

  She shot him a brilliant smile.

  For a brief moment he froze, his silver eyes intensifying as he stared at her. The smile faltered. Air crackled between them. Without a word, he headed out through the throng of activity. She breathed. What was that all about?

  Cidra followed his progress to a big man standing under the belly of a massive, black ship. As he approached, the man turned and greeted him sportingly.

  "Hey, are you going to help or what?” Barrios yelled at Cidra over the pandemonium as he flung another bag onto their waiting shuttle. She dismissed him with a careless wave and set to work.

  As soon as the gear was loaded, the driver gestured in no uncertain terms that he was ready to depart. Now. Cidra surveyed the bay anxiously and found Grey still in deep conversation with the other man. She hated to interrupt him, but the driver was becoming downright belligerent. After persuading him to wait a few more minutes, she hurried toward the twosome.

  As she slipped underneath the large ship and approached them, Grey pinned her with a stern expression. She stopped cold. Cidra debated turning back until the bigger man spun around and flashed a winning smile. Grey immediately strode forward to meet her.

  "The shuttle is loaded. The driver says if we don't leave soon, he'll find another fare,” she reported apologetically as he halted in front of her, hands on his hips, his eyes burning into hers.

  "Stone, old friend. Aren't you going to introduce me?” The man spoke up from behind him.

  Grey threw her a thunderous look and shifted just enough so she could meet his colleague. Cidra grimaced, making a very large mental note never to interrupt him in the middle of meeting again.

  "This is Cidra Almazan, the newest member of my crew."

  Then he said, “Cidra, I'd like you to meet Rourke Jaccar. An old friend of mine."

  Rourke stepped forward. He was even taller than Grey and bigger by a quarter. Long brown hair was pulled back into a tail, revealing a handsome face, an engaging smile and eyes full of mischief.

  Cidra shook his hand. “It's very nice to meet you, Rourke Jaccar."

  His smile was breath-taking. “Likewise. So what is your position on Calíbre?"

  Before she could answer, Grey interjected, “Pilot."

  Cidra glared at him.

  "She's excellent,” he said, ambivalent to her ferocious expression.

  "Of course. Why else would you employ her? You only hire the best.” Rourke gave him a half-hearted innocent look that prompted a deep scowl back.

  Rourke addressed Cidra. “If you ever get tired of working for this tyrant, look me up. I've been searching for a good pilot myself."

  "You better keep searching,” Grey said tightly.

  Cidra ignored him, too. “Thank you. I'll be sure to keep that in mind if the situation ever arises."

  She could almost feel Grey's wrath increase next to her. She didn't dare look into his eyes. It was bad enough she could hear every savage breath. It was his own doing. He needed to learn she was a grown woman and a fully trained Kin-sha who could handle herself.

  "We're leaving.” He grabbed Cidra's arm and giving Rourke another feral glare, he added, “And don't forget about our deal."

  Rourke folded his arms over his chest, his eyes fixed on Cidra. “I think I want to renegotiate my price."

  "Too late,” Grey muttered as he pulled Cidra across the landing bay, leaving Rourke to laughing.

  "Hey, take it easy on your excellent pilot. Look, I'm sorry I interrupted your meeting, but it was important. I didn't want to lose the shuttle.” Cidra fought to keep pace with him. The relentless heat and noise were wearing on her, to say nothing of the internal commotion Grey created.

  "Have you ever heard of being inconspicuous?” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Are you aware that every man in here is watching you?"

  "They wouldn't be if you weren't yanking on me like I'm a naughty child.” She knew he was furious, but so was she. He had no right to manhandle her this way. The attention they were drawing was downright embarrassing. If she hadn't already promised she'd refrain from using Kin-sha in public, she'd fight it out with him right here and now.

  Granted, it wouldn't be easy. He outweighed her, outpaced her, and he definitely had her beat in the unrestrained fury department. So much for Plan A.

  On to Plan B: distraction. Besides, she was dying to find out what kind of deal he'd cut with Rourke and if it had anything to do with her mission.

  How much angrier could he get?

  With all the innocence she could muster, she said, “Rourke Jaccar seems like a very interesting man. Have you known him long?” She winced as Grey's grip on her arm tightened.

  "You work for me,” he stated sharply.

  A primal growl rumbled through him. He'd deal with his old friend later. First, he needed to vent some excess energy. Raw, fierce possessiveness raged within. The fact that she could extract such a violent emotion from him so easily infuriated him to no end and only added to the potent emotional mix.

  When she had walked through the middle of the landing bay, long hair flowing, blue eyes bright, he knew he was in trouble. So much for keeping a low profile. He set his teeth. How was he supposed to protect her when she walked through the busiest bay in Vaasa looking like that?

  Somewhere halfway across Landing Bay Number Sixty Two, disgust and common sense finally weighed in. She was right. He was acting downright psychotic. At this stage in his life, it wasn't a pleasant revelation. He slowed his pace and shot a scathing glance around. Any onlookers had the common sense to turn away or steer clear.

  Cidra continued, undaunted. “No one can predict what the future holds, Captain. You may decide you don't really need me after all. It's not as if you had any choice to begin with."

  They reached the waiting shuttle and Grey shoved her into the cool passenger section next to Barrios. He sprawled into the seat facing her, eyeing her ominously as the shuttle lurched forward.

  She thrust her chin up. “What if you found a better pilot? What would you do with me then?"

  As Grey's eyes locked onto hers with devastating intensity, Cidra belatedly realized she'd pushed too far and now found herself trapped. Again.

  A few tense moments passed before Grey drawled, “Don't worry about it. I'd think of something for you to do.” He stated it with exquisite calm and conviction.

  Cidra stole a shaky breath and tore her gaze away from him to the scenery whizzing by. She was trembling all over and wondered if she would ever be able to handle the hypnotic impact of Captain Grey Stone's absolute and undivided attention.

  Vaasa spread out before her and it didn't take long to discover that this was a planet at ease with itself. Everything hailed of a gracious spirit with its wide tree-lined streets, immaculate homes, and spectacular natural beauty. Graceful domes and arches dominated the architecture and landscape.

  Through her extensive studies of the sector's planets and civilizations, Cidra knew Vaasa chose to embrace technology for convenience sake, but still clung to the simpler pleasures for day-to-day living. Vaasa's inhabitants were as relaxed and welcoming as their planet appeared. No false pretenses, no hidden agenda, nothing to conceal.

  Conversely, Avion came to mind with its rigid, restrictive society. A society controlled by the privileged few in the Central Consortium, the governing body, who fostered the undercurrent of conduct, superiority, and promotion of Avion to the rest of the univers
e.

  They portrayed Avion as a planet with high standards and morality, sophistication, and righteousness. And enforced that image through quiet coercion, deception, and propaganda. It was a dark secret known only to native Avions. Most accepted it for the chance to shine in the universe. Some, like Cidra, Grey and Barrios, saw it for what it was ... a lie.

  They had achieved it by hiding behind the shield of the loyal and highly respected Kin-sha. Although the Kin-sha were not native to Avion, they had been welcomed and promoted aggressively by the Central Consortium.

  In hindsight, it had been a grievous mistake for the Kin-sha. The same Consortium, intolerant of those who upset their carefully orchestrated image of Avion, had summarily condemned and abandoned the Kin-sha after the Dakru incident.

  Looking back, she realized Syrus had been wise to protect her from the same twisted sense of justice that had allowed the sacrifice of the Faulkner family. As Barrios observed, the Consortium condoned the d'Hont attack by its ambivalence or worse. She hated to admit it, but even Mora's condemnation of Avion had held truth. The Consortium indeed wielded the authority to dictate who received the vaccine. A power they were all too proud to brandish.

  The last emotion Cidra felt towards Avion was loyalty, but the fact remained. The redemption of her father, family, and the Kin-sha hinged on the redemption of Avion itself. Like it or not, they were one in the same.

  Barrios’ loud snoring snapped her back to reality.

  She slid Grey a cautious glance. Stretched out fully, his big frame commanded the opposite seat of the passenger section. His eyes closed, arms folded over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. Although she knew better than to think the hunter wasn't alert or dangerous, in repose he was fascinating and compelling.

  Unable to stop herself, she took a slow inventory of him starting with dark, supple boots that rose to his knees. Pants of a similar color fit muscular, long legs and lean hips perfectly. A crisp, white shirt offset the darkness of his pants and the wisp of hair visible in the open collar. He wore the laser pistol and blade, something he'd not done since they left Avion.

  Her eyes leisurely settled on his forearms exposed by the rolled up shirtsleeves. Big arms, well defined, strong, and hands that looked like they could handle anything. Capable of anything. She was deep into possibilities before the familiar tingle interrupted her thoughts. She stiffened and looked up to find him watching her with a smug, satisfied grin.