He stood naked, with a black stone knife in his hand. He held it aloft. He could kill the universe with this thing.
But he wouldn’t.
She held the clan symbol in her hand; the trio of shining flat stones stood for everything that was good and right and true.
No, they didn’t.
He handed the knife back to Roxanne. She gave the jewelry back to Pyr. They tossed the symbols aside. And smiled at each other.
“All right,” he said. “Now what do we do?”
She grinned at him. “What do you think?”
“Shalsae,” Roxanne said. She hit the pillow beside Pyr’s head with her fist. “Damn. I knew this was going to happen!” At least they were alive and back in the solid objective world. Shalsae didn’t kill you, but changed you forever. She recalled with an angry groan how the ceremony was begun—with a koltiri teleporting. The rite was also called Soul Catching. Well, Pyr had caught her, all right. She’d brought this on herself, but at least this time she wasn’t nauseated as an after-effect of teleporting. No, this time she was married in the most permanent, perfect way it was possible to be! “God damn it! Why’d we have to do this now?”
“Shut up and enjoy it,” Pyr said, and rolled her onto her back.
She wrapped her legs around his hips. “That’s easy for you to say,” she complained. “You’re not scheduled to be saving the universe this afternoon.”
“It’s on my agenda,” he said, and slowly kissed her breasts. “After we’re through here.” She had large breasts, and he had to be thorough. Nipples to kill for. She gasped as he touched the tip of his tongue to one.
“Who says we’re going to get through here anytime soon?” She sank her nails into his shoulders and drew him down for a long, hard kiss.
“Not me,” he answered eventually, breathless, senses reeling.
“What happened to our clothes?”
He kissed the top of her thigh. “Does it matter?”
“No. Do that again.”
“Rather do this,” he said, and moved his mouth lower still. He knew she enjoyed it because he felt her pleasure as much as she did. She giggled. It was an unexpected sound. He didn’t think he’d ever made a woman giggle before, certainly not in such a low-down dirty, sexy way. He laughed, couldn’t stop it from bursting out of him, and vocal laughter was something he indulged in very rarely.
Get used to it.
He didn’t know if the thought was his or hers, but it only made him laugh harder. The sound filled the room as he collapsed on top of her, shaking with merriment. It occurred to him that he’d interrupted a supremely romantic, erotic moment, and that made him laugh as well.
Roxanne watched Pyr’s face when he began to laugh. The sight and sound of his pleasure sent a shudder of love and longing all the way through her. When had she ever been aroused by laughter? she wondered. And why hadn’t she been? Humor was integral to life, and she loved life. She loved the man who was laughing, even when he dropped his considerable weight on her like a hard-muscled slab of permacrete. She laughed with him, and kissed the top of his head and ran her fingers around the tip of his elegantly pointed ears to see if they were ticklish. From the way he responded, she discovered that his ears were indeed sensitive, but they weren’t ticklish.
“Oh, good, a new erogenous zone,” she said, and began exploring the possibilities of what she could do with his ears. Within a few moments, Pyr wasn’t laughing, but he was making some very interesting sounds. “Temples,” she whispered huskily to him. “Touch my temples and I’m yours.”
“Really?” The look of euphoria on Pyr’s face was replaced by curiosity. The bright glitter of his eyes fascinated her. They were the most beautiful, sharp blue she’d ever seen. She’d thought that since she’d first seen him, and she’d hardly had reason to find the man attractive at the beginning. And how few days ago that had been? Now she couldn’t look at him without finding him perfect, and she’d pretty much found him perfect before melding into Shalsae with him.
“My parents were bonded like this,” she said while he kissed her temple, the words coming out in sporadic bursts.
Didn’t know it was possible to bond with an alien.
Stick with me, kid, and we’ll explore lots of possibilities. But we have to save the galaxy while we’re exploring each—
“Other. Damn!”
“Demons!”
They swore at the same’ time, and found themselves kneeling on the rumpled bedclothes, facing each other. Their desire was in no way diminished, but their attention turned outward once more, to life and death beyond the shelter of this room. Damn! Roxanne swore again. She was aware of his arousal and of how his body glistened with sweat. She was on fire. Her pulse raced and all she wanted to do was touch him and stroke him and feel him inside of her.
No, it wasn’t all she wanted. Or her conscience wouldn’t have suddenly kicked back in when her body was demanding completion and satisfaction. “What is the matter with me? Do I have some sort of martyr complex?” She kept her gaze locked with his as she pushed hair away from her face. Pyr reached out to take her hand. He kissed her palm, then placed it over his heart and held it there. She turned a bleak smile on him. Why did I have to remember so soon—
Because it is who you are. Who we are.
It’s not fair!
Why was she always getting married in the middle of a crisis? Why couldn’t she and Pyr make time for each other? “Why now? Why did we have to bond because you wouldn’t let me escape?”
He tilted his head to one side; humor sparkled in his eyes as much as desire. “I think it has something to do with our being born to be together. That is correct, isn’t it, koltiri?”
“Of course. Embarrassingly romantic, but correct.”
“I’m told I’m something of a romantic. While you are more of a bloody-minded pragmatist.”
She pointed back and forth between them. “You sure you’ve got that right?”
He nodded. A smile curled his mouth. She wanted to kiss him while he smiled. She’d become quite fond of kissing. She sighed instead. “Wrong time and place, right man. A big wedding would have been nice. Why couldn’t I be able to pick out a dress? And have a wedding shower? A honeymoon would be a lovely thing.” She slapped her fist down on the bed. “Instead, we still have to cure the known galaxy of Sagouran Fever and kill whoever’s spreading it.”
He grabbed her free hand and pulled her to him. “Perhaps I should have let you go,” he said. “So you could work on saving the galaxy while I concentrate on the bad guys.”
“I’d rather we do it together.” She held him close and took comfort in the strength of his embrace. The heat and scent of his skin was distracting. She wanted to make it completely distracting. To give herself—give them—at least a few hours of bliss. They had to get something settled first, for both their sakes, because he was as likely as she was to suddenly revert to responsible adult behavior in the middle of what should be a magnificent, intimate moment. Instead of wasting time with making love in fits and starts, it was best to get things settled now. “But we have to do it for everybody,” she went on. “Your people, the Systems, the Bucons. Everyone.”
“I’ve never been opposed to that. I was looking for a way to save my people first. That’s all.”
“That’s fair. I was going back to Nightingale when you stopped me. I was going to cure the Systems first. But if the Systems government decided not to make the cure universally available, I would see that the koltiri didn’t let them get away with it.”
Pyr shifted his weight and eased her backwards. They settled on their sides, limbs entwined. Roxanne was almost comfortable, except for the aching need coiling through her, and the damnable conscience that wouldn’t let her do anything about it yet. His erection pressed against her stomach. She closed her fingers around it, and began a slow, subtle stroking motion.
Pyr made a small needy sound in response, but his thought was quite coherent when it entered her mind.
You’ve compromised enough.
Killing Trins is one thing, she agreed. “That’s as much of my soul as I can sell.”
I know. My soul is yours. Trust and respect flowed to her through their bond, as intense as physical desire. And my honor is yours.
He closed his eyes and simply let her go on touching him for a while. His pleasure seeped through her, giving her pleasure and urging her on. After a while his thoughts surfaced once more. Do you have the cure?
Formula for a vaccine. Close to the cure.
“When you find the cure, we will share it with everyone.”
A flash of joy went through Roxanne, but Pyr gave her no time to respond to his words. He kissed her with an intensity that left her gloriously mindless. Fireworks replaced words and all friction between them was the sexual kind. They needed and they gave, desires blended. There was nothing separate about them. He moved over her and into her. She held him and rose to meet him, but at no point did he end and she begin. Not for a long time, and even then they only parted a fractional distance into two separate satiated bodies, tangled up together in the equally tangled bed linen.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“You sure this will keep me from catching it?”
“Pretty sure,” Martin answered Axylel. He stood by the sickbay bed where Axylel sat. He held the hypo in his hand and waited patiently. The vaccination was as much a test of the boy’s progress as it was a precaution against catching Sag Fever again. That Axylel didn’t violently object to having any kind of drugs administered was a good sign of his mental resilience. He certainly didn’t look happy, though.
Axylel looked even more dubious at Martin’s answer. He concentrated on studying Martin’s face rather than look at the injector. “What’s it made from?”
“Rust.”
Axylel flashed him a furious look. “You want me to get hooked again?”
He’d explained about the plague and the drug being a construct. As expected, Axylel showed no surprise, though he made no comment. Now Martin said, “A vaccine is made from a small amount of the disease agent. Rust is already a sort of twisted variation of a vaccination. We just twisted it a little more. One shot will immunize you. No addiction.”
“Everything about this is twisted.” Axylel hopped off the bed and turned his shoulder toward Martin, presenting a bare arm.
Martin administered the shot before Axylel could change his mind. Then he leaned against the bed and watched as Axylel began to pace the room again. He noticed that Axylel never approached the door. They were not locked in the sickbay, but the young man showed no interest in leaving the confined space they shared. Axylel didn’t want to be alone, either. If he was alone, Martin concluded, the humiliating memories he didn’t want to let surface might start working their way up out of the dark.
They were working their way out, quiet-like, with the gentle urging of a nonjudgmental stranger. Martin had done most of the talking during hours of conversation. “They aren’t going to leave you alone much longer,” he said now. “Your friends and your family.”
Axylel stopped pacing and turned to him. “The people I owe a report to, you mean.”
“One and the same, aren’t they? I always have the same problem,” Martin said. “Being married to the executive officer of the Odyssey makes it hard to give complete and full reports sometimes.” He stretched his long legs out as far as they would go in the narrow space between the beds. “One time, I calmly and professionally reported that I slept with a woman to obtain much-needed information. Commander Aquilar calmly and professionally noted this information source. Then Rafe Aquilar took me someplace private and beat the shit out of me—and I let him. Fortunately, he didn’t let Reine and Betheny take a turn. Course, Betheny’s pretty forgiving about doing what you have to do, but Reine would have given me one of those disappointed looks she’s got a patent on. You know about those kind of looks?” Damn, he was homesick. Talking about family was supposed to be for Axylel’s good, but it didn’t make Martin Braithwaithe feel any better. At least, ensconced aboard a giant sector ship surrounded by its own fleet of warships, they were safe from the plague. Unless he was missing for too much longer, at which point Rafe and maybe the others would come looking for him. He had to get out of here before his family put themselves at risk. Maybe he could get Roxy to teleport back to the Odyssey, if he could get her to leave at all. Big if. Her and that big stud elf were—
“I know about those looks.”
Axylel’s answer brought Martin’s attention back to his patient. “Your dad have a gift for looking disappointed?”
“No. Mik.”
“Really?” The engineer was an interesting man, and his relationship with the captain’s son a subject worth pursuing.
Before Martin had a chance to ask another question, the door to sickbay opened. Martin came to his feet as he watched Axylel face the person who entered. Martin turned to see Pilsane crossing the room. The blond alien carried datacubes and had completely dropped his cool Bucon mannerisms.
“Time’s up,” Axylel murmured. There was a flash of mindless panic in his eyes, gone almost before Martin saw it, but resentful-ness remained. Martin watched as the young man squared his shoulders and faced the officer. “You decided we’d talked enough. Was it something you overheard?”
“I wasn’t paying much attention,” Pilsane responded to the implication that he’d been monitoring their conversation. He put the datacubes next to the access slot at the lab station that hooked into the main ship’s computer. “Just background noise while I worked on these.”
“He has the whole ship wired,” Axylel told Martin. “But he usually denies it.”
Martin shrugged. “I never admit to overhearing anything on the Odyssey. What they don’t know they can’t court-martial you for. Right, Pilsie?”
“Something like that,” Pilsane said. “You do what you have to when most of your crew are pirates.” He took one of the chairs at the workstation, slotted a cube, and swiveled to look at them. “Time is up, Ax. I’m sorry, I wish I could give you time to recover from what that bastard did to you, but we have to deal with this thing right now. Today.”
“Thing?” Axylel asked. He stood with his arms crossed, a gesture both defensive and defiant. “Which thing is that?”
Martin rubbed the back of his neck. “I can think of three or four emergencies myself. Which one is top of your list, Pilsie?”
“Imminent destruction,” Pilsane said. “We have a fleet surrounding us, ready to escort the Raptor to Bucon Prime. Waiting with less and less patience, I might add. If we go to Bucon Prime, the renegades from out on the Rose border won’t be leaving, even if we do have the admiral’s word. I trust him, but his word won’t keep the other warlords around the emperor at bay. We have no friends at court. If we hand over the koltiri to Manalo right now, we’re likely to be shot out of space. All those trader lords that joined Manalo’s fleet know that Pyr is a candidate for taking over Halfor’s job—and they don’t like it. If Manalo leaves without us, we’ll have to fight our way through the trader fleet.” He looked sternly at Axylel. “Away from the border, we are vulnerable. We left the border to find you. Make it worth our while to have found you.”
“No pressure,” Martin said, coming up to put his hand on Axylel’s shoulder without taking his gaze from Pilsane’s. “No pressure at all.”
“Has to be done,” Pilsane said. He concentrated on Axylel. “We have to find the source of the plague and the Rust. For the People, and to use as leverage with the Bucons.”
“It’s more important than politics,” Martin put in. “But I understand your point,” he added at Pilsane’s look. “By being responsible for taking out Halfor, controlling the koltiri’s getting to the emperor, and stopping the epidemic, your People will put the Bucons deep enough in debt to do anything you want. They pay their debts.”
“Not just the Bucons will owe us if we stop the plague,” Pilsane replied. “The United Systems is dying as well.”
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“Maybe we should let them all die and keep the cure for the People,” Axylel spoke up. “It’s a thought,” he went on as both Martin and Pilsane turned incredulous looks on him. Martin was glad to see that Pilsane didn’t like this idea. Axylel shook off Martin’s touch. “Why not let the demons, with all their wars and scheming, die? All they want to do is use us.”
“And we need to use them. We can’t hide behind the Veil anymore.” Pilsane stood up slowly. “Ax, you’re the one who’s always admired the demons. Outworlders,” he corrected, with a polite nod to Martin. “Studied them.” He chuckled. “Without you, I don’t think I could have learned to think like a Bucon. You like the outworlders.”
“Halfor was a bastard,” Martin said. “Every world has people like him. The Halfors of every species are in the minority, even among the Bucon.” Except the Trin, he thought, they are all bastards, and still felt like a hypocrite. “Not everyone on every world the plague touches deserves to die.”
“I don’t deserve to die of Sagouran Fever or to be addicted to Rust,” Pilsane said, reminding Martin that he had yet to be cured by Roxy. “I want to stop this plague for very selfish reasons. And if we do only keep the cure for the People, we still have to destroy the source of the plague. Finding out who and where was your assignment, Ax. You volunteered for the job.”
Axylel spun away from them. “I know that!” He turned back. “I don’t remember anything. Halfor—” He pointed at his head. “Halfor wanted to know what I knew. If I knew anything, I hid it too deep to get back.”
“You better get it back,” Pilsane said. “Because if we can get out of here, we need somewhere to go.” He tapped his stack of datacubes. “Lots of good stuff here, but Halfor didn’t have a clue who makes the Rust he got from his suppliers.”
“What about the suppliers?” Martin asked, professional curiosity piqued. “Stev Persey on that list?”
Gates of Hell Page 29
