Space Cowboy Survival Guide

by Long, Heather

  He cut around the containment unit and found nothing but shadows and darkness.

  “Interesting,” a man’s voice replied, cool and composed. Shaw stilled to listen as lights shorted out on the deck, plunging them into darkness save for the faintest of light hovering at the control panels. “You’re more worried about the ship than your passenger.”

  Withdrawing deeper into the shadows and away from the fraction of light, Shaw slid the strap of the shotgun onto his shoulder then pulled the knife from his boot. “You’re not going to hurt my passenger. The bounty wants her alive.” He didn’t know that for certain, but the fact she’d fled a marriage and her father needed her to complete the contract meant she more likely than not had to be living and breathing to do it.

  “True,” his nemesis replied. The man’s voice seemed everywhere and nowhere. Not easy to do in the cavernous confines of the hold. It wasn’t coming over the intercom system, which meant he had to be close. “Why don’t you agree to drop us off at the next populated colony world, and I’ll take her off your hands and not do anymore damage to your ship?”

  “That’s a possibility,” Shaw agreed, moving quietly on a wider sweep of the hold. The closer to the hull he went, the fainter the man’s voice. “I could also save myself a lot of trouble and put you out an airlock.”

  “How does that save you trouble? And before I pull the next one, red or green?”

  Control circuits.

  Shaw canted his head, the little weasel was in the ducts. “Green means go—red means stop. What do you think?”

  It was an old joke, and one which apparently didn’t impress his audience. “Is that a riddle I’m supposed to solve?” His accent didn’t sound familiar. Then again there were hundreds of colony worlds.

  “Depends,” Shaw hedged as he tapped a code into the datalink, then brought the intercom online. “Are you good at riddles?” His voice echoed as it came from the different speakers. The comms ran through the whole vessel.

  “Clever.” The man chuckled, and Shaw narrowed his position down to one of two vents. Just as Shaw reached the first vent, however, it blew outwards in a controlled concussive blast.

  His ears throbbed. The force hadn’t been enough to take him off his feet, but the flash bang burned like a bitch. Shaking it off, he muttered. “I’m keeping track.”

  “Of what?” Real curiosity lived in the question and it came from elsewhere in the hold. The man was either half-serpent and could slither through the ducts. Or he’s not in them at all. He’s using communicators.

  Annoyed, but still impressed, Shaw evacuated the area of the damaged vent and considered his options. The darkness shrouded everything, but he knew the full layout of his hold. He could move through the whole ship blindfolded.

  “How much the damage you’re doing to my ship is going to cost you.”

  His voice carried on the comms, but Shaw held position and listened. If his intruder had set up communicators in the various vents, he’d had time to think it through—or he thought fast on his feet.

  “Fortunately, her bounty is a pretty penny. I’d even be willing to cut you in for a finder’s fee. What do you say, Sullivan?”

  “We don’t know each other well enough for you to use my name.” He countered, then focused on where the storage crates were. The out of place ones. If aligned correctly, he could be hiding among them. Not a stretch if he’d had time to plant explosives.

  “The name’s Kestral. I’d say pleased to make your acquaintance, but I have a feeling it would be one-sided.”

  Not the stacks.

  Not the containment pods.

  Not the backup gear.

  Kestrels were a bird of prey. They hovered over their prey.

  Leaving the hold, Shaw sealed the hatch, then slid into one of the maintenance hall. The narrow passageway gave him access to sensor panels and other electronics. It also gave him a place to store items he didn’t want found in a general search. The hatch to enter was disguised as a wall panel. It was one of the few design pieces of the Gilly that appealed to him. Census taker or not, he enjoyed the idea of a smuggler’s hold. The maintenance hall took him around the crew quarters. If one knew where to look, one could access any of them—including the lounge.

  “Sullivan? Did you fall asleep?”

  Trailing his fingers along the panels, he kept count of the separations. The dark didn’t impede him. The hum of the engine beneath his feet and the knowledge the environmentals were secure from his sabotage let Shaw take his time. At the lounge panel, he slid his knife back into his boot then readied his pistol.

  Flattening his palm against the release, he slid the panel back silently and pointed his weapon at the man illuminated by his datapad. “Son of a bitch…”

  “Kestral.” Shaw gave him the single, two syllable greeting before he shot him.

  The weapon’s stun threw the other backwards and his datapad landed on the floor next to him. Stepping into the lounge fully, Shaw stalked toward him then fired at the datapad. Two shots and it went up in a shower of sparks.

  The lights came on and gave him all the visibility he could require. The man on the floor groaned and showed his palms. “That hurts like a bitch,” he muttered.

  “Since you’re still talking…” Shaw shot him again. The second stun did the trick. The man’s eyes rolled back, and he slumped even as his body continued to twitch.

  “Good girl,” Shaw murmured to his weapon. Kneeling, he searched the bastard, removed his weapons, then went for something to secure him. He had some ties that would work.

  After binding his wrists, ankles, and knees, Shaw took the weapons to a cabinet and secured them inside. “Status, Zed.”

  “Cycling internal sensors. Jamming signal still present.”

  “On it. Monitor the lounge. Let me know if sleeping beauty awakes.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Well, at least Zed didn’t question that order. It took Shaw ten minutes to locate and disarm the other communicators. When Zed confirmed the jamming signal had been erased, he set out to find Tika.

  She was in the life pod, as he’d expected. A trickle of blood oozed from the cut on her head. Her pulse was steady, however, and the pod’s sensors listed her vitals—likely a byproduct of the system coming back online. Scooping her up, he carried her back to her room and set her on her bed. Then he went for the medkit.

  A sizeable goose egg had begun to form along her hairline. “You are going to have a hell of a headache.” Snapping the ready-ice-pack from the kit, he felt the rapid cool against his fingers before he set it against the injury.

  “My apologies, ma’am.” Keeping it as clinical as he could he ran his hands over her extremities then her torso. No other obvious injuries or broken bones. “We’ll get you x-rayed after you wake up.” If he’d found a wound, he’d have tended it, but he wasn’t going to strip her without her permission.

  Snapping a monitor on her wrist, he checked his datalink then synced them. Pulse, respiration and blood pressure reported on his screen and all listed in the green.

  “Zed, take over monitoring Tika.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Now, time to decide what to do with Kestral. The airlock seemed too obvious, and the guy possessed skills and a knack for negotiation. Shaw had an offer to make him, and he almost hoped the guy would say no…

  5

  Rule #13: Tomorrow is the most important day of your life. Live to see it.

  Tika Anderson

  “I don’t understand why you’re keeping him on board.” She disliked whining, but the words certainly came out strident. Shaw didn’t seem to care, because he continued to drink his beer while he watched the other man. At least her would-be kidnapper was bound, hand and foot, to a chair and remained unarmed.

  “Don’t be frosty, lady-o. I only planned to return you to your papa—intact, I might add. I’m a man of my word.”

  Before she could respond, Shaw lowered his beer bottle and said, “Are you?”r />
  Everything about their prisoner irked her. His dark, thick curly hair feathering over his ears. His deep, black shining eyes which didn’t seem to possess a pupil. The truly annoying, cocky grin as if he knew something she didn’t. Handsome didn’t begin to cover it, and he was the last type of man she should ever be attracted to, yet her stomach did little flip-flops every time their gazes collided.

  “Am I what, Sullivan?”

  “Told you we didn’t know each other well enough for names.” The chastisement in the captain’s tone brooked no argument.

  “As you wish, Captain.” The way he drawled the title peppered it with disrespect. “Am I what?”

  “Are you a man of your word?” No emotion colored Shaw’s tone and, while she thought she’d gotten to know him over the last few weeks, she couldn’t read his mood. What did he really want to know about this man?

  “He’s a bounty hunter,” she argued, losing the battle against her outrage. “He attacked me.”

  “I know.” The mild response from Shaw did little to ease the tension in her gut. “How about we let him answer the questions?”

  The verbal nudge failed to assuage her concerns. Folding her arms, she leaned against the wall. Her head hurt. Her mouth remained dry. Good looking didn’t excuse bad manners or assault. Shaw had given her safe harbor and saved her from being taken back to her father in leg irons. It didn’t change her aggravation with keeping Kestral on board.

  “Yes.” One syllable, no further explanation and the captain nodded.

  “All right,” he set his beer down. Tika half-imagined he’d pull out his pistol and shoot the bounty hunter. In fact, she fantasized the image of him shooting the bastard, then dumping him in a life pod and dropping him off at some backwater. What she didn’t picture, however, was him slapping a bracelet of some kind on the man’s wrist before he cut him free of his restraints. “I’ll be holding you to that.”

  Kestral rubbed his wrists as Shaw returned to his beer, then looked at the device on his wrist. “This really isn’t my color.”

  The wristband was thicker than the one she now sported, but hers had been for medical reasons.

  “It’s not for fashion.” Shaw didn’t sound concerned as he took a long pull of his beer. “What can you tell me about the Port of York?”

  That was it? Tika opened her mouth to protest, then clamped it shut once more as Kestral rose and strolled in her direction. The captain was just going to let him wander free?

  “Then what is it for?” The question left Kestral’s lips a moment before he was within arm’s reach of her, then he hissed and grabbed at his arm before retreating several steps.

  “Behavioral recalibration.” The captain sounded almost bored. “To steal your earlier phrase, you’re a clever guy. You might figure out how to remove it. If you do—Zed notifies me, then I take care of you.”

  “It limits my movement?” Kestral flexed his arm, the black silk of his shirt matched the black band.

  “Restricts it. Port of York?” Undeterred, the captain took another drink and tapped two fingers against the tabletop.

  “Restricts it how?” It was hard to determine who was more stubborn on the subject—the captain or Kestral.

  “Keeps you honest. Keeps you away from things you shouldn't touch.” Then he gave a significant look in her direction. “Now, Port of York?”

  Kestral studied the band on his wrist even as Tika found herself doing the same. He restricted his movements? It kept him away from her?

  “The Port of York is just a myth,” said Kestral, even as he scratched around the edges of the band as though it irritated him. “It’s a smugglers port, the perfect place to find anything you need for the right price.”

  Tika wanted to yell aha, because that's what she had guessed, though the captain hadn't believed her. While Shaw mulled over the information, Tika took a couple of steps in Kestral's direction. He was still looking at the band and not at her. However, as soon as she got within arm’s reach of him, he let out a hiss then jerked his gaze upward before he retreated again.

  Oh, she could have fun with this.

  “Behave, Tika,” Shaw said, though he didn't seem remotely disturbed at her actions. Folding her arms again, Tika gave him a sweet smile—the same smile she used on her parents when she wanted something. Shaw shook his head. “So, what are they keeping in the main dome?” His attention was on Kestral once more.

  “Does it really matter? And exactly what sets this thing off? Getting near the lovely lady-o does, what else?”

  “You're restricted to the lounge, the kitchen services area, and your quarters.”

  He got quarters? Tika scowled once more then glanced at the captain. “Please tell me his quarters are not right next to mine.”

  “As fun as it might be, based on the range of the band, no his quarters are right next to mine.” But why?

  “You know, I'm good with just getting off at your next stop.” Apparently, Kestral wasn't so fond of the band on his wrist.

  “So, I guess you aren't a man of your word.” Something passed between the two men, something Tika couldn't define or explain. She glanced from one to the other, though neither man seemed forthcoming with an explanation.

  “Fine. We made a deal, and no I don’t prefer the damn airlock.” Kestral flung himself down into one of the chairs and spread his hands as though in a gesture of surrender. “The central dome at the Port of York is where they handle all the slaves.”

  Tika’s stomach twisted in disgust. “Slaves?”

  Kestral simply nodded. “Slaves. Usually people picked up from other colonies, shipped off planet, picked up for not paying a debt. Stranded somewhere. Doesn't matter how they get there, the central dome of Port of York serves as a clearinghouse. People come from all over. They bid on what they want then they take their prizes and they go home.”

  Stomach cramping, Tika glanced again toward the captain. “We have to go back.” Before the words even left her mouth, however, Shaw was shaking his head.

  “No. We only go forward.”

  “Slavery is more than just illegal, it's immoral.”

  To his credit, Shaw didn't look pleased, only resolute. “It depends on how you define morality. It also depends on the job. We don't know everything about every world that was colonized. Slavery might be perfectly legal on some of them.”

  Tika exchanged a glance with Kestral and, to her surprise, found an ally in her disgust.

  “None of the civilized worlds sanction slavery.” Kestral's tone brooked no argument. “It's a black-market business. Why do you think they do it behind locked screens and block sensors?”

  “How many worlds have you been to?” Was the captain simply changing the subject from one he didn't want to discuss? Or did he have some other endgame?

  “Enough to know the humanity sucks, no matter where it lands.” Kestral sat forward, his expression fierce and his eyes intense. That wiggly feeling she got in her gut the first time she'd seen him returned with a vengeance. He was just beautiful. Compelling. Attractive. So attractive, she actually found herself staring at his lips. What the hell was wrong with her?

  “Right or wrong, it makes no never mind.” At least Shaw didn't sound happy about it. If anything, Tika detected a hint of defeat.

  “Whatever you say. Wouldn’t be a good idea to try and bust an operation of that size anyway.” Kestral slumped back into the seat and closed his eyes as he slung his feet onto a second chair. “You live longer, and you live safer, when you stay out of other people's business.”

  Well so much for taking her side. “Says the man who boarded a ship to kidnap me and turn me in for a bounty.”

  “Cost of doing business.” Kestral didn't even sound disturbed by the description. “It wasn’t a dead or alive contract. It was definitely alive, in one piece, and unharmed deal. You shouldn't complain so much.”

  “Unharmed?” With her index finger, she touched the light bandage her forehead. The swelling she had from be
ing clocked in the head with the butt of his weapon earlier continue to throb. Even the pain suppressors Zed prescribed for her and the ice Shaw had placed on the injury did little to ease her aching head. “I feel pretty damn harmed.”

  Kestral gave her the most delicious smile. It was so full of charm, a hint of mischief, and maybe even a note of apology. “You'll heal, lady-o. Trust me, if I'd wanted you dead, you'd be dead.”

  “Wandering from the subject,” Shaw interrupted, then he took another long drink from his beer. “So the primary export for the Port of York is slavery?”

  “It's anything, really. It's anything a body can imagine. It's a smuggler’s den. All the shops in the outer domes? They are selling contraband. Some of it stolen from freighters, others hijacked from local colonies. If you have it, and you can't sell it where you are, you bring it to the Port of York. Are you really having trouble grasping this concept?” All the friendliness in Kestral's tone vanished.

  “No, I'm not. What I do want to know is how you knew to look for Ms. Anderson at the Port of York.” The moment Shaw asked the question, it occurred to Tika she had no idea how he’d tracked her. It was a great question. If they could figure out how the hunters were tracking her, then perhaps they could figure out how to avoid them.

  Kestral didn't answer, though he smiled. The smile vanished when his band zapped him again. He went from being relaxed to cursing and standing once more. “I didn't move.”

  “You ventured too close to my last nerve.” Shaw sounded so indolent, Tika had to laugh. She'd heard about ticking someone off before. She'd even heard of getting on the wrong foot with someone. But getting on their last nerve? It was new. After it earned Kestral a reprimand via his shock shackle, she decided she loved the turn of phrase.

  “Look, it's a trade secret, one I'm not sharing. I'll leave her alone. I won't go near her. I’ll stay in my assigned quarters and I'll honor my word. Anything else… That costs extra.”