Andromeda's Rebel

by Debra Jess

  "Like what?"

  "Like you own the secret to taking over the universe." Daeven's whisper warmed her soul.

  Her headache eased. "It would sure be nice if I did."

  "If you return tonight, comm me. Joran's ready for you."

  Her heart jumped in excitement, but her nerves told her a different story. "Really?"

  "Really. If you want to back out though…"

  "No!" She immediately quieted. Who knew how far the echo would carry? "No, I'm not backing out. Not now. I want this, Daeven."

  "Okay."

  "Who knows, maybe I do own the key to taking over the universe."

  "May the Guardians protect us if you do."

  She disconnected on that comment.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Whatever the director hoped to accomplish at the spaceport fell apart by midafternoon. Storming onto the shuttle with Ramsey close behind, she didn't have to tell Tamarja she had failed to free the prisoners or to find out where their next destination would be. Her body posture screamed “home,“ and Tamarja was only too happy to accommodate the unspoken command.

  Tamarja had only dragged herself onto the shuttle two hours before, taking advantage of the shuttle's more luxurious accommodations to ease her headache. The shuttle's massage feature did wonders when applied directly to the back of her neck. Even the sensitive skin around her collar nubs seemed to loosen under the vibrations.

  With her headache diminished, she could concentrate on flying, an activity guaranteed to keep her mind in the present. Even as they launched, Tamarja could sense the tension around her shoulders drifting away.

  Knowing this could possibly be her final flight if something went wrong tonight, Tamarja slowed the return trip as much as she dared. She wished she had time for a last flyover of Twenty-Two or perhaps Facility Twelve at the beach. She wished she could lower her altitude to see some of the native aves or fly over the ocean for a last look at a walhoon. Instead, she enjoyed the aerial view. It was the view that soothed her soul.

  All too soon the flight came to an end. She dawdled, chatting with Dace and his crew until dawn's corona just touched the tops of the mountains. She couldn't hold off any longer. Daeven and Joran waited for her.

  The sun's rays cast long shadows by the time she borrowed a floater and made her way to Joran's dungeon. She couldn't think of any better description for his living quarters. If she survived this, she would have to try to talk him into a home renovation, starting with the lighting.

  Daeven met her at the back door.

  "How are you feeling?" he asked as he reached out for her with a soft, sweet kiss, one that lasted longer than expected.

  She put some extra enthusiasm into returning his kiss. "Much better. It's amazing what a little massage can do for headaches and tense muscles."

  "Don't let the director catch you using her private playpen."

  "I'm the captain." Tamarja stretched herself to stand at attention, ignoring a last pulse of pain from the back of her head. "It's my responsibility to personally make sure all equipment functions properly and is up to standards. Including the pilot herself."

  "If you say so." Daeven gave her a "you're-asking-for-it" smirk.

  "I do." She followed him as he started down the hallway to the living quarters. The dankness of the hallway that had permeated the living quarters had disappeared, along with the harsh white lighting and contrasting dark shadows. In its place was a dry, cozy room filled with soft, warm illumination and the largest bed Tamarja had ever seen.

  "What happened?"

  Joran appeared from an alcove off to one side. "A little redecorating to make tonight's operation more comfortable."

  "Are you kidding me?" Tamarja couldn't help herself. She walked over to the bed that took up nearly the entire space of the living quarters and ran her hands along a print bedspread. "There's comfortable, and then there's comfortable. I really don't require this kind of lavishness. How did you get it down here? Why do you have it down here?"

  "Why? It's just a little something I cooked up in case the pup here ran off and got himself injured." Joran tilted his head toward Daeven, who rolled his eyes in response. "If you'll pull up the edge of the blanket…"

  Tamarja did and saw a series of monitors, quietly blinking and flashing from where they were inserted under the mattress.

  "It's a modified biobed, just like they use in medical. As for the how―you'd be surprised what one can acquire through bartering and bribery. The hardest part was actually finding a bed that was large enough to accommodate the equipment, but couldn't be traced like an actual biobed. Had the ladies in Acquisitions all atwitter over my choice, not that this colony offers many options when it comes to interior fashions. I mean, this bedspread must have been regifted multiple times before it fell into my hands."

  Tamarja started to climb onto the bed, but Daeven stopped her. "You might not want to be in uniform for this. Did you bring anything else with you to wear?"

  She thought about the contents of her satchel. She had an extra uniform, an extra set of underclothes, and one other item. "What about my sleeping gown? Would that be easier?"

  Daeven looked over at Joran. "I think that would be the best idea."

  "I'll just change in here," she said, walking into the semiprivate alcove that acted as a small kitchen. It only took her a moment to whip off her uniform and pack it away in favor of her sleeping gown. Thank goodness she'd stuck with the prim, modest one Manitac provided her. She had considered seeking Jita's advice on a new one if her relationship with Daeven proceeded to the next level. Now she was grateful for the conservative cut. No reason for Joran to see more than he had to.

  She returned to the main room where the two men stood talking quietly to one another. Joran indicated that Tamarja should lie on the bed. She managed to climb on with a boost from Daeven. Once she settled in the center, Daeven stood on one side, insisting on holding her hand.

  "Drink this first." Joran handed her a glass filled with a white liquid. "Don't worry, it's imported milk. Something to buffer your stomach. I had hoped to find an injection system to deliver Black Wave directly into your bloodstream, but that was one item I couldn't get without creating undue notice. Black Wave tends to ravage the stomach lining for those foolish enough to swallow it on an empty stomach. Lucky for you, I've liquefied and diluted an amount that should be more effective than what you experienced before, but not enough to kill you."

  "Um, Joran, did Daeven tell you what I want you to do it if this doesn't work? I mean, if I wake up, but I'm not right…in the head, I mean."

  "Yes, he did mention your desire, and no worries on that end, either. It'll be quick, painless, and I'll have a cover story for when security locates your body."

  How easy he made it sound. Where in Andromeda did a doctor learn to be so cold blooded? It was too late now to question Joran's origins.

  "Are you ready?" Joran asked.

  "You can still back out," Daeven reminded her, squeezing her hand lightly.

  Tamarja squeezed back. "I'm not backing out." She turned to Joran. "I'm ready."

  Joran half turned and lifted another glass off the nearby shelf. This one contained a darker liquid, which he handed to her. A few tiny lumps floated on top, giving it a most undesirable-looking texture.

  "The effects will be immediate. I can't emphasize enough the need to drink the whole glass. We may have to help you in that area."

  "Whatever it takes." Not waiting for her nerves to get the better of her, Tamarja raised the glass in a mock toast and, still keeping a firm grip on Daeven, began gulping the bitter contents.

  So many people, so many places, she couldn't slow them down and make sense of the tumble of information. She reached for one thread, grabbed it, but it slipped away, unraveling into the fog. Another memory would appear, words babbled into her ear. She couldn't move. Her chest contracted in a vise grip. She gasped for air, arching her back, trying to expand her lungs, break free into the nothing
ness of space. Sweat poured down her face, into her eyes, stinging. The pain focused her energy, gave her purpose. Another image―a man. She knew him. She stumbled after him, following him wherever he would take her.

  "You must leave, Tama, tonight."

  "Why, Papa, what's going on? I thought you secured a contract with Loresians. You'll need every pilot available for transport."

  Her father stopped, turned, and trailed a finger down her cheek. "It's too late, Tama. Manitac has us on their radar now. We've grown too big for them to ignore. They've offered me a buyout. They want us gone, out of business. We've claimed too much of their profits as it is. This isn't a winnable fight."

  She lowered her voice. "What about the Shadows? Couldn't we go to them for help? They have attorneys working the system. They've been known to help people who get caught in Manitac's web."

  "The Shadows have gone underground. Stratos destroyed what little status they gained as a viable alternative to Manitac. They can't fight Manitac legally anymore. Even if we could find them, we'd have to go underground too." Her father shook his head. "If I refuse their buyout offer, Manitac will make me disappear."

  "We can't let them get away with this!"

  Her father ignored her distress and activated the door to the slip. Inside their new ship―the green-and-gold Starcatcher―floated under bright lights. "I'll negotiate with them for as long as I can, lead them to think that I'll consider the offer. I'll fight, for what it's worth, but I know it won't be enough."

  He stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders—large, warm hands that used to scoop her up and make everything better. "You are my last unbonded child, the only one who still works with me. I've already released a worm into the ‘cast ‘net. In a few hours, you and this ship will cease to exist. By the time Unity figures out that I have a child unaccounted for, you will be far away."

  "Fighting to get you back," Tamarja promised. "I'll join the Shadows if I have to, but I will get back at Manitac for this."

  "I can't control you once you leave this port. You'll be on your own." He smiled a small smile. "You always were my little rebellious one. You should have listened to your mother and joined her on Bregarlos."

  She threw herself into her father's arms. "I would have hated Bregarlos."

  Her father held her close. "You would have adapted, but you made your choice. You chose to follow your father instead of your mother. What did I ever do to deserve such devotion…?"

  Devotion. She needed devotion. She needed…something. Her mind glided closer to the surface of sanity. She opened her eyes but didn't see, and she heard voices but not the words. Singing. Yes, singing. She thought she sang for a long time, but wasn't sure. She reached out, but something caught her hand, restraining her. She fought as hard as she could but couldn't remove the thing from her arm; it wouldn't let her go. Then her mind dived again, back down deep into the heart of her world.

  The miserable acoustics caused her ear-piercing voice to reverberate back on itself in the middle of the abandoned space dock, but she didn't care. Three years, three horrible years sucking down lousy jobs ferrying questionable cargo to barely legal outposts such as this space station, and she was still no closer to finding the Shadows than she was when her father pushed her onto this journey.

  She belted out another anguished lyric. Her song grew more twisted and out of tune as she gave in to the cheap hootch she'd purchased from the bug-eyed station tinker haunting the third level. Her father had disappeared despite his attempts to negotiate.

  Guardians, she hated them! She slammed her bottle onto the deck, the boom echoing over and over again against the unused grav-resisters and pallets towering over her.

  "Has the phantom actually surrendered?"

  Tamarja looked up and almost fell back as she focused on the man standing over her. She fumbled for her ear jack. She could handle herself in a fight if she had to―when she was sober―but it never hurt to comm security. ‘Course, she wasn't certain if the toll collectors she paid after landing were really security or just locals trying to make extra credit on a station where extra was nonexistent.

  "P-P-Phantom?" Even in the low lighting he didn't appear threatening. She still kept her hand on the jack.

  The man didn't seem to mind. He sat down opposite her, cross-legged like her, picking up her bottle and inspecting it. "Yeah, from the old fairy tale. The deformed phantom hides under an opera house scaring people and kidnapping beautiful women while singing." He paused for a sip and then choked. "Or something like that. Literature never held that much interest for me."

  "I'm not sure I should be flattered."

  He let out another cough and a hoot. "Potent stuff. And don't worry about flattery. I was never good at that either."

  She yanked back the bottle and took another long pull. "So you're not worried that I'm going to kidnap you and drag you to my lair?" Her own disappeared status demanded she be careful about who she socialized with, especially out here on the edge of the frontier. After three years of enforced celibacy, however, who could blame her for drunkenly flirting with a complete stranger with wild brown hair, a boyish grin, and lousy fashion sense?

  The stranger laughed. "Well, now that you mention it, I don't think I'd fight you too hard if you tried."

  She eased her hand off her ear jack. "Since flattery isn't your strong point, and you're not here to discuss ancient fairy tales, why're ya here?"

  "I followed you down here because I need a ship, an unregistered, pre-Manitac ship, and I believe yours will do nicely. I'm Dr. Rory Silvah, by the way, and here's what I have in mind…"

  Disappointment settled in her stomach. Sure, she'd take the job, whatever it required to keep her fed and clothed, but some tiny piece of her feminine heart had hoped he really did want her, and just her. She hadn't had anyone show an interest in her for so long…

  She could see again, but the world swam in crazy formation; heat, wind, and sand blew through the desert, through her hair.

  "I still wish you would let me go alone this first time, Rory. Just in case a problem develops. There's no reason to risk the entire crew. I could orbit, land, and take off again with all of you on board if nothing goes wrong."

  "Waste all that time? All that fuel?" Rory shook his head.

  During their six months of reconditioning her freighter, everything had been rationed, down to the last drop of water.

  "Nothing is going to go wrong. I promise. I've run more than enough tests to check the integrity of the shielding. Besides, the Shadows are dictating the timetable on this, not me. They only have a limited window of opportunity to sneak through Manitac's security net. If we don't meet them in time, they'll disappear, and who knows when we'll get another opportunity like this."

  Tamarja slipped out of his hold. Before she'd met Rory Silvah, she had searched for the Shadows, the only shining light that could help her find her father. Why did she suddenly have doubts? "Are you sure you're ready for this? We're leaving an awful lot behind, Rory. Even if this works, even if we escape detection…we'll never get back what we've had here, the life we built together."

  Rory waved off her concern. "We have nothing here. The natural resources are boundless, but we only need one―the black-wing spinners."

  "I don't see why we need those particular spinners. Couldn't we pick something less deadly?"

  "They're just for distraction, Tamarja, to keep Manitac from looking at your ship too closely. We don't want them to discover my new shielding system. If we're detained, all Manitac needs to know is that I'm cataloging life on Caspia Minor and bringing samples back to the university to study. They won't take a harmless bug seriously. These spinners they'll take seriously and might even want to try to bribe me to keep a few for themselves to sell on the black market."

  Tamarja shuddered slightly at the thought of those spinners getting loose on some poor unsuspecting population. "They're so gruesome."

  "Only if you're bitten by one." Rory cupped her cheeks, so she h
ad to look him directly in the eyes, those lovely hazel eyes that held the genius that could free Unity of its dependence on Manitac. Free all of them and find those who were lost. If his new shielding system worked.

  "All right," she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Let's fly."

  The golden stars at the edge of her vision swarmed, distorting the face in front of her. The face twisted, shifted, and the soft hazel of Rory's eyes darkened, turning to pure blue. She knew this face, a hard face, but she needed to focus on the eyes. That's where the true story always lay. Everyone had a story, but she needed to see their eyes to know the truth. As she sank back down under the waves, she reached out for those blue eyes.

  Those eyes, staring at her. Deep blue, the color darkened by pain. Lots of it.

  "Don't make me have to hit you."

  Manitac security actually asking her to behave? Usually they hit first and asked later. She stilled the hand poised to stab him with the small eating utensil they had allowed into her cell. She let the utensil drop into his empty, waiting hand. He effortlessly crumpled the utensil, rendering it useless as a weapon and as a kitchen tool. Only then did he release her hand, the one she had used to try to stab him.

  Three days since her capture, along with Rory and his science crew, and she hadn't seen another living soul. Manitac security shoved her food into her cell through a small door near the ground, dissolved from the other side. They hadn't even been charged with anything, merely detained for suspicious behavior. This blond-haired security officer was the first person she'd seen since then.

  "I'm not done eating yet," she complained, pushing the tray on the floor behind her with her foot. Everyone had a Manitac interrogation tale to tell. Starvation was a feature in more than one.

  "I wasn't going to take the food away from you." He activated his ear jack. With a few swipes of his stylus, she heard the hum of energy feeding the security cameras located far above her head slow. Before the hum completely died away and the camera shut off, the officer removed his jacket and started to unbuckle his belt.