by Viola Grace
Champions of Terra - Deal with a Dhemon
By
Viola Grace
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Champions of Terra - Deal with a Dhemon
Copyright © 2006 Viola Grace
SERIES ISBN: 1-55410-732-6
Cover art by Angela Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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I would like to thank Barb for reading everything I shoved at her, and being honest about it. And Silas, without whom writing would not be possible.
Chapter 1
The ship coming in is loaded with Rranik warriors. You’re going to have your hands full tonight, Sam.” Moran was cheerful as he watched his friend getting ready for her evening at the Nodak Space Station brothel. Samantha Vorning was a dancer and entertainer of earth extraction. Holograms of her performances were making the station famous and making her quite wealthy.
“Aw, man. I hate the Rranik laments. Do they have any other requests?” She tucked her auburn hair behind one delicately pointed ear and put in an earring. She eyed the effect in the mirror, then removed it and selected another.
“The Warrior Laments, as well as any other songs you choose. As long as the laments are first.” Moran averted his eyes quickly as she dropped her clothing in a heap and began to sort through her costumes. Her naked body gleamed in the dim light of the dressing room, her hunter tattoo visible on her thigh, the trident dagger picked out in vibrant metallic hues.
“Stars Sam! Could you warn me before you do that?” His face turned a funny shade of silvery purple as a flush came over him.
“Do what? Oh the clothes. Sorry. I forgot.” She reached out and threw a caftan over her golden skin. “You do know that Adal doesn’t care if you see me naked. She knows that we’ve been friends for years.”
“Yes, she knows that. And I know that, but you’re still an attractive female. I can’t help basic responses.”
“Yeah, but we were trapped on that mining station for months, you saw all that there was to see. It’s all old territory to you. Plus, we aren‘t even sexually compatible.” She winked at her friend of three years and then continued her search. “Moran, have you seen the costume armor that the M’dil ambassador sent me? Ah, here it is.” She held up the armored breast plate and grinned. “Perfect. I may insult every Rranik there tonight, or it will be one helluva show.”
She turned her back to Moran, stepped into a gauzy skirt, and tugged it up to her waist. “Can you get Adal in here to help me with my hair?” She shed the caftan again and put a cropped top on to pad her from the armor.
“Look how fast I go.” Moran bowed to her and left the room with Sam struggling in the confines of fabric and metal. As he exited the door he reminded her, “And don’t forget to call Negotiator Tyrell as soon as the set is over.”
“Yes, mother.”
* * * *
One hour later a vision in rainbow silk and silver armor walked out onto the stage at the Nodak Station brothel and entertainment complex. The crowd froze in astonishment. Disapproval came from the audience in a wave. Sam took a deep breath and cued the drums. She began the first of the Warrior’s laments. With a twist. As she chanted about being away from home and fighting wars that were not their own, she began to dance. Her movements speaking clearly of longing and loneliness.
The crowd was silent. The Laments were normally performed with a soberly dressed performer standing still on the stage, chanting and singing each lament in turn. The sight of her standing there in a parody of the Rranik armor defied all of their traditions. It was shocking. It was titillating. And it was fabulous.
As she twisted and turned her body in time to the drums, and chanted and sang the laments of an injured warrior on the field of battle, she grinned. Apparently they were not going to lynch her after all.
With a glow of sweat coating her body she completed her set onstage and then wandered off to the bar, still in costume.
“So Adal, how do you think I did?” She was gloating now.
“I think that every whore on the station is busy at this particular moment, and that there will soon be a run on armor for the women. So all in all, pretty good.” Adal’s silvery skin was lit by the dim lights behind the bar, giving her an ethereal appearance.
Her delicate features were echoes of those of her human friend. She had chosen to be female shortly after meeting Moran, and used Sam’s features as a template as she began her transformation from gender neutral. She bore no jealousy towards Sam, Moran’s best friend and partner hunter for the past three years. They had fought together, been sent to a mining colony to track a slaver together, and been assigned to Nodak together. But the Ontex could only mate and reproduce with their kind. No alien species could possibly take Adal’s place in the mating bond.
“Do you think I can get another holo deal out of this performance?” Her eyes sparkled. Their moss green depths amused to the core that she had become a star performer. The holos were exceedingly profitable. Her voice and dance recordings were plastered across the galaxy and people paid to look. They were very popular with the crews of deep space vessels. She guessed that all of those belly dance classes she had taken back on earth were finally being given a practical application. She also combined elements of hula and ballet, performing in a natural manner that was moving and graceful.
“Probably. Heads up, Moran’s trying to get your attention.” Adal jerked her head in a manner she had copied from Sam.
She turned to face him as he bore down on her location near the bar. “What is it, oh illustrious manager?”
“You need to do another set. The Rranik are getting restless and demanding more entertainment.” Moran looked harassed.
“Wow, come to think of it, they have been getting louder.” She looked through the crowded room, noticing the variety of species present. There was an Enjel, obvious by his wingspan, several Wyorans both male and female, Ontex and even a few Azon whose eyes followed her carefully as she moved around the room. Her eyes focused on the large gathering near the stage, and as she watched they began to pound their tankards against the table with a steady beat.
As she watched, one of the mauve skinned Rranik stood and began to recite one of the laments. The goblin-like creature was off-beat and off key. In a few seconds the other patrons would riot.
“Oh, holy crap. I’d better get over there.” She strode over to the rear entrance of the stage and took the steps two at a time. She cued up the sound with a few gestures and stepped into the spotlight.
She was on her third number, the audience rapt with attention when the attack came. She was halfway through a spin when the blast struck her. She flew backward, striking the floor. Pain flowed through her, emanating from her shoulder. Dazed and disoriented she sat up slowly. There was a tangle of bodies at the base of the stage and Moran and Adal running toward her. Sam felt a warm river running down her arm, and lo
oked down to see a trail of crimson snaking its way to the floor. That was the last thing she saw for several hours.
Chapter 2
Medical bays were the same all over the Alliance. Designed to accommodate any number of species, they were extremely utilitarian. Foreign metals were everywhere, diagnostic equipment, and medical devices designed to cater to the needs of aliens from across the galaxy were carefully stored against the walls.
It was the clean, metal-washed ceiling that Samantha noticed first as her eyes fluttered open. The second thing she noticed was the medical tech that was bustling and clicking around her arm. Several species were unable to speak Alliance common. It did not mean that they were unable to participate in Alliance matters. The C’vil were crablike, short and stocky. They also made excellent physicians. With practice, a well trained medical assistant could learn to speak C’vil. They acted as translators as well as assistants. It was the assistant who addressed her as the doctor made unintelligible sounds as he prodded at her arm.
“The blaster impact did not go all the way through, but you’ll have limited use of the arm for several days. We’ve used the regenerator on you, but it has only replaced the torn tissue. You’ll have to relearn to use your arm.” He was matter of fact as he passed on the doctor’s diagnosis, then left to attend to another patient the doctor was prodding and clicking at.
Moran and Adal came into her view. Their faces were relieved, silver skin flushed with concern. The mottled purple under their jaw lines told Sam how worried they had been.
“Ok guys, what the hell happened?” She scooted up in the bed as best as she could. Not an easy task given that she had no strength in her left arm.
“You were shot.” Adal’s voice was close to tears. She took a shuddering breath and wiped at her nose, which had begun to run with emotion.
“It was an assassination attempt. The shooter struck while you were on stage, and hoped to kill you. Fortunately he failed.” Moran held his mate close to him and comforted her with a hand stroking down her back in an endless pattern.
“I know what happened to me. What happened to the shooter? Did someone see him?” With fumbling fingers she drew the medical gown close to her and started to ease her way off of the exam bed.
“You could say that. The shooter is dead. He was an Enjel tracker.”
Oh, so that is what the Enjel had been doing there. “Dead? How?”
“Your new fans, the Rranik, became incensed when you were shot. They tore the tracker to pieces.” Moran did not seem too choked up about the death of the assailant. In fact he seemed pleased at the way things had turned out.
“Doctor. May I go?” She raised her voice to be heard over the noise of the bustling medical bay.
At the flapping of the appendage that passed for a hand and fingers, she hopped onto her feet and was grateful for the support of her friends as they helped her out of medical and to her rooms.
Her com unit was blinking when she was dropped off at her tiny apartment in the bipedal quarters.
“Great, the perfect capper to the perfect evening.” She reached over and triggered the communications link that would activate the call previously recorded.
A metallic voice sounded as an armored faceplate filled the screen. “Samantha Vorning. Please contact me immediately. The matter is urgent. You are in danger. Again.” The screen went blank and Sam leaned back and sighed.
“No shit.” Grimacing at the numbness in her arm, she punched in the release codes to send the signal to the Alliance satellite. From there it was sent from relay to relay at a speed she couldn’t even imagine. In three minutes, the connection was made on a secure channel and the face plate was back in the screen.
“Samantha, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.” The voice was flat and mechanical. The sentiment was not.
“Thanks Tyrell, I am happy to see you too.”
“Based on your pallor, I think you know why I called.”
“I have a good idea.”
“Trackers have been deployed. Apparently one of your many fans obtained a DNA sample from one of your costumes and leaked the information to the arena cartel. They’ve put a substantial price on your head. Dead or alive, preferably dead.” Tyrell stopped for a moment to let the information sink in to Samantha’s head.
“Your involvement in tracking Kyra Dannick and pointing the Alliance to the Arena Station has been exposed. That’s the reason your physical appearance was altered. To hide you. Your public appearances have now made you a target.”
The faceplate did not offer any indication of amusement. “I’m sorry. I never meant to put myself in danger after all the trouble you went to. I love the changes in my body. I especially like the fangs, oohh, and the pointy ears. I love the pointy ears.” Her grin was infectious, the fangs flashing in the reflection of the screen, but the mask facing her was unmoved.
“We have to get you somewhere safe, Sam. I have contacted a number of worlds, and found one willing to take you. There are certain strictures in your behavior that will be necessary, but nothing to onerous. The rep from this world will contact you tomorrow. Be ready to leave immediately.”
“Where are you sending me Tyrell? C’mon, I need to know.” Samantha’s voice was plaintive.
“That is all I can tell you. Take care Sam, I miss you and want you to be safe. Transmission out.” The screen went black.
She sat in silence for the better part of an hour, then stood up and looked around her rooms. “Well hell, I had better pack.”
Chapter 3
The next morning, only a few hours later actually as she had been in medical for most of the day, she briefed her friends on her travel plans. They were accepting, but concerned. Moran promised to stay by her side until the contact was made and she was escorted from the station. He assigned himself as her bodyguard, and Adal agreed.
Adal recommended a few items she might like to take with her, as well as copies of her performances on holo disk.
“They’re what started all this trouble, but what the heck.” She accepted the disks and returned to her room with Moran escorting her, his eyes alert and his body tense.
She had not been expecting another attack so soon, but Moran had. As two attackers came at them in a frontal assault, one snuck up behind Sam and tried to use a gas canister to knock her out.
She whirled to confront him as he frantically attempted to get within reach to apply the gas. Her training as one of the Alliance’s best hunters kicked in, and after a few grunting contacts of flesh meeting flesh, he was down for the count. She turned to watch the other battle continuing only a few feet away. Her mouth opened in a hiss, and her fangs gleamed in the overhead lighting of the station as she crouched and prepared to pounce as soon as she saw an opening.
Moran was faring well against his two attackers until one of them tried to use a nerve gun, Sam darted in just as he fired, and collapsed to the floor screaming. The attacker who had fired the gun ran down the hall, the other was unconscious at Moran’s feet.
He contacted medical for immediate assistance and wisely kept his distance from her while she fought the impulses that the gun had triggered. Every sensation was too hot, too strong, too loud. All of her nerves had been irritated to their limits and were making their presence known. As bad as it was for her, it would have killed Moran. The Ontex were far more sensitive than humans, physically.
When the medical team arrived, they used an air lift to transport her. Even that gentle pressure on her skin felt like being caught in a windstorm.
The doctors on duty consulted, and decided to tank her. All of her clothing was removed. Life support was inserted and muscle relaxants and pain killers would be administered via the IV’s. With a splash and a sigh of relief, she found herself floating in the tank. Her body weight born by the water which was a gentle pressure on her sensitized flesh. Ah, comfortable.
Four hours later, her ride showed up and he was not impressed by what he saw. She was astonished. Sam had
known that much of the mythology of her world was due to alien sightings, the species names becoming garbled over time. The alfar of the Admar, The angels of Enjels —wings and all—, and here before her was a demon. Or more precisely a Dhemon. Of the planet Dhema.
She floated close to the glass of the tank and observed him at length. His hair was black, confined in tight braids that wove tightly against his scalp to fall in metal banded disarray beyond his shoulders. His skin was a fascinating shade of burgundy, and his eyes glowed yellow as they questioned the doctor. He was not happy.
Sam admired his strong physique, the corded muscle of his neck, leading down into shoulders wide enough to support a chest and arms that looked like they could crush her with one blow. Her gaze roamed lower to take in the columns of his thighs and was relieved to find that his feet were encased in boots and not the hoofs of legend. He did seem to have two tiny horns on his head, however, so she guessed that there had been some truth to the tales of the ancients of humanity.
Her hands pressed flat against the glass of the tank as she absorbed every detail of the representative of the race she was being hidden in. All-in-all he was an extremely handsome specimen. It would not be too arduous a task to spend time with others of his race, from a strictly observational point of view.
As the doctor waved his claws to the tank, she jerked back and hid her naked form as best as she could, with tresses of her hair and the blue liquid flowing in gentle currents around her. The dhemon turned to look at her floating in the tank and his scowl deepened. She could see the furious discussion that he held with the doctor, and the doctor’s gesticulating wildly as his assistant tried to translate.
The dhemon stomped out and Sam relaxed into the tank once again, sleeping as best she could with her body registering the lightest touch, even in the liquid.
