Star Cruise

by Veronica Scott

  Midorri found him there, sliding into the depression in the ground with a miniature avalanche of dirt and pebbles, butting his hip as she reverted to her natural green hue.

  “We have to wait,” he said, petting her soft fur with his gloved hand.

  Shift change finally ended. He gave it another half hour to allow the new guards to lose their fresh edge and sink into boredom, although the thought of being so close to Tyrelle honed his own level of alertness to a knife edge. Finally he lifted Midorri’s head to gaze into her golden eyes. “I hope you know what you’re doing, my friend, or she and I are both in trouble here. Where’s Tyrelle?”

  Assuming her sandy camouflage, the animal crawled from the ditch and slunk across the open space. As covertly as possible, moving an inch at a time, hoping his secondhand shielding was as effective as Midorri’s natural deception, he followed. Rising to his feet in the cover of an outbuilding, he hastened to follow her through an alley to yet another structure. Hopefully, he surveyed the long, low, one-story building, with a series of blank doors.

  Midorri trotted unhesitatingly to the third door from the end and scratched, at it as if hoping to dig a hole through the portal.

  Nerves on edge at having to be in the open, he joined her, examining the setup, which featured a coded lock, and a small, closed panel, for passing through food trays, he guessed. This looked as much like a prison as anything he’d ever seen. Pulling out a device he’d acquired from Red, no questions asked, he placed it over the lock. Breathing a prayer to the Lords of Space, he activated the control and a moment later was gratified to hear a sharp buzz as the door swung ajar, releasing a puff of slightly cooler air.

  Blaster at the ready, he stepped inside.

  Nearly tripping him in her haste, Midorri wound through his legs and launched herself at the room’s occupant.

  Gaunt and bruised, Tyrelle stared at him, clutching the excited, wriggling pet and staggering backward to the narrow cot under Midorri’s weight. “Owen?”

  He crossed the space between them in two strides and brought her to her feet with his free arm, hugging her as Midorri slithered free. “Are you all right?”

  Tears in her eyes, she clung to him, the alien pet dancing and chirruping at their ankles. “I feared I’d never see you again.”

  “I’m getting you out of here today.”

  “But I gave my word—”

  “Sweetheart, there’s no way in seven hells you’ll survive another year in this black hole. And I have a feeling the SCIA already has a lot of evidence against these guys, judging by how much they knew about Combine operating procedure. The Agency wants to make their case stronger, more dramatic, by having you inside. I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself to help Agent Bitch get a promotion or a bonus.” He was working to get the collar off. The restraint wasn’t explosive any more but Red had told him the SCIA hid their recording devices inside, since Tyrelle’s physiology made accepting the usual implants impossible. Her body expelled them. Tucking the collar in his pack, to send to the SCIA later, he straightened and checked her from head to toe. Gently he touched her cheekbone, where a purple bruise spread. “Whoever did this is a dead man walking.”

  She leaned her head on his chest. “Being the SCIA informant is my chance to redeem my honor, to come to you with my head high.”

  “Don’t you know by now I love you so much I want you any way we can be together?” He gave her a little shake. “Nothing is wrong with your honor. Listen, you signed an agreement to stay here as a spy for the SCIA for up to a year, at this facility, right?”

  “Yes. But the ringmaster is planning to ship me off again next week, to commit another murder.”

  “Well, I didn’t sign any agreements, and I’ve wired this place to blow sky high in about a half an hour, so we’ve got to get moving. If this complex is nothing but abandoned rubble, and the people who imprisoned you are dead or scattered, there’s no reason for you to stay. Your job for the SCIA is done.”

  “But where will we go? How can we—”

  “I have plenty of credits. We can buy a two-person spaceship. I know places we can go far away from here, lie low and live happily together for the rest of our lives.”

  “You’d give up your ship? Your career? For me?”

  “You’re everything to me, and yes, I’d leave all the rest of it behind to save you. Now, what about your fellow prisoners? Are the others in this building?”

  “None of them are here. I learned several died in an attempt to escape while I was gone, and the other three were sent out on jobs.” She swallowed hard. “My sister among them.”

  Acknowledging her grief, he hugged her again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish we could’ve rescued her today. You ready?”

  She nodded.

  He glanced at her feet. Thin-soled sandals, better than barefoot. At least the chains were gone. “Stay behind me.” He headed toward the door.

  Midorri barred his way, growling.

  “Damn, someone’s coming. Quick!” Stepping past the pet, he led Tyrelle out the portal and ran along the alley between the two buildings, away from the sound of the approaching guard.

  Angry shouts rose behind them.

  He heard shots fired and zigzagged to the left, Tyrelle right behind him and Midorri scampering at her side. They skidded around the corner and came to a sudden stop as four armed guards faced them in the next alley. Owen shot immediately, blaster set on auto mode, and was savagely satisfied as the enemy fell while he and Tyrelle ran forward.

  More guards sprinted into view in front of him, and shots came from behind as well.

  Grabbing Tyrelle by the elbow, he dragged her into the small vestibule of a building appearing to be a warehouse.

  “We’re trapped,” she said, doing a double take as she looked closely at him. “You’re wounded!”

  “Bastard got off a lucky shot, nothing more than a graze. Keep an eye out while I try to break this lock so we can escape through the building.”

  “You can’t go anywhere,” said a cheerful male voice from the end of the alley. “We have men stationed on all sides of your location. Might as well surrender to our tender mercy. Give up now, and I won’t beat you too much.”

  Tyrelle touched the bruise on her cheek. “Cosimil.”

  “Yeah?” Owen leaned out, shot in the direction of the voice, ducking back in the next breath. “Bastard won’t be touching you ever again.”

  “I want them alive,” said a new voice, female, cold, clearly in command. “We need to know who he is, where she met him and how the system broke down. She’ll doubtless be compliant once she sees him suffering. Empathy is her core skill after all.”

  “Fuck that.” He got the door open, grabbed Tyrelle and thrust her inside. The warehouse lights were already on. Hearing noises ahead, he ran to the left, pushing Tyrelle to cover behind a stack of large shipping containers. The edge of a blaster beam caught him as he followed her, and he crashed to the floor, crawling the last foot on sheer willpower, his left leg useless. “The explosions commence in five minutes,” he said, checking his wrist chrono. “I planted charges along the perimeter of this building too. You have to go—get outside and head for the hills. Midorri can guide you to the groundcar—she’s a lot smarter than we gave her credit for, and you can read her mind besides. You can engage the autopilot—it’s labelled. I’ll cover you to distract them.” He pulled her close for one last kiss, then fumbled in his pocket for his personal AI. “Take this. The activation code is your name. It’s got all my banking information, contacts who can help you—”

  “I’m not leaving you.” Wide eyed, she interrupted him.

  Shots crashed into the containers shielding them, and they both ducked.

  Midorri whined and curled as close as she could get to Owen’s side.

  “I love you,” he said to Tyrelle. “And the only thing I want right now is for you to survive.”

  “Which is all I want for you.” Before he could stop her, she stood,
raising her hands and walking into the aisle. “Let him live, let him go and I surrender.”

  “Good girl,” said the female voice. “But I’m afraid we can’t very well let your boyfriend walk. He obviously knows too much.”

  Swearing because Tyrelle stood between him and the enemy, blocking his aim, Owen strove to remain conscious.

  Midorri suddenly swarmed up his body as if he was a tree, putting her paws on his ears, curling her tail around his head like a furry blindfold.

  He tried to shake her off even as he dimly heard Tyrelle’s voice, chanting. The acoustics of the warehouse served to echo and amplify her song. Her death song, he realized, as chills ran through his body. Midorri chirped and purred continuously as if to block the effect of Tyrelle’s music for him. The Combine ringmaster, her companions and guards staggered, collapsing to the floor like rag dolls, next to the body of the man he’d shot earlier.

  This was going on too long. The enemy was dead or dying, and Tyrelle still sang, voice wavering a bit, volume reduced. Caught in her own rage. She’s going to kill herself too at this rate. Maybe that’s what she’s trying to do. He shook Midorri off and fought his way to his feet, leaning on the cargo container. He took one step. “Tyrelle!”

  Spinning, she stopped in mid-syllable, rushing to catch him as he collapsed, although the best she could do was to break his fall, because he was so much bigger than she.

  He heard weapons fire outside, coming closer. “Now what?”

  Jake and Red burst through the door, blaster rifles at the ready.

  “I don’t know what the seven hells you guys are doing here, but this place is about to go sky high and us with it,” Owen said.

  “Forgot to invite us to your private war?” The two men came forward to grab him by the shoulders and retreat. “What happened to the bad guys?” Jake said as he and Red raised him from the floor.

  “Tyrelle used her power on them.”

  “No shit.” Red glanced over his shoulder at the massed bodies. “I’m glad she never had cause to use it on us.”

  “I wouldn’t,” she said. “You’re my friends, you helped me.”

  As the small group cleared the door, Clint and Jayna moved in from the sides, weapons ready.

  “Time?” Jake said.

  “None left. Forget about me, get her to safety.” Owen said through gritted teeth.

  “Not happening. We don’t leave people behind. Captain Fleming and I see eye-to-eye on the primary mission objective.” Jake steered them to the left.

  Owen heard the hum of a shuttle overhead. The craft set down in a clear spot just ahead, and the ramp opened as the first explosions sounded on the opposite side of the compounds. “Timers a bit off,” he said, lightheaded from loss of blood.

  “Sirens in the distance,” Red said. “We gotta go, boss. If the SCIA gets boots on the ground while we’re still in the field, the situation gets ugly.”

  “More complicated anyway,” Jake agreed with a tight grin.

  The team from the Zephyr hustled to the flitter, Jake and Red partially supporting, mostly dragging Owen, while Jayna made sure Tyrelle was protected and moving. Midorri scampered at her side. Weapons hot, Clint brought up the rear, covering their six.

  Blaster in hand, Emily stuck her head out the door of the ship. “Quinn says hurry—we have incoming.” She retreated as the squad burst into the flitter. “Bring him to the rear. I got my medkit out in case. This crazy op sounded like one where casualties might happen.”

  Owen heard Tyrelle asking, “Will he be all right?”

  “He’s got the best battle field doctor in the Sectors, right here,” Jake said as the craft lifted off and went vertical.

  “I’ve seen worse.” Emily’s voice carried the professionally cheerful reassurance. “Giving you something for the pain, Owen.”

  Despite his growing weakness, he tried to push her hand away. “Can’t let the SCIA have Tyrelle.”

  “We’ll take care of it, you have my word,” Jake said, leaning over Emily’s shoulder. “Let the doc do her work. Your lady will be right there when you wake up, I promise.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Three days later, Owen sat in his cabin on the Nebula Zephyr, contentedly watching Tyrelle dish up the last course of the dinner Chef Stephanie had sent especially for them. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position for his leg, which Emily had done her best to salvage. For now he had a few cyborg parts, but Emily swore the next time the Zephyr arrived in port near a Sectors battleship, she and Owen were going over so she could call in favors and run him through a military rejuve resonator. Right now, he didn’t care. Having Tyrelle safe with him made the sacrifice of his leg a small thing.

  Smiling, she brought him his plate and a glass of wine. “How’s the pain?”

  “No problem.” He moved aside the model he’d been working on to make room for the dinner.

  Head tilted, she studied him. “I hear a small echo of a lie there. After dinner, I’ll give you another healing energy treatment.”

  “You can’t spend all your energy on me,” he said.

  “Chief Takkei gave me my own access to the meditation garden – I can replenish myself.”

  Moby hopped on the table, sniffing Tyrelle’s plate hopefully.

  Owen firmly shooed her off. “You already had dinner, greedy cat. Scoot.”

  Greatly offended, Moby sat down to bathe her tail, her back to him. Midorri pounced on her from a hiding place under the chair, and the battle commenced as the two rolled across the deck, kicking and biting with mock ferocity and sheathed claws.

  Tyrelle leaned over to watch, smiling at the antics. Then she studied his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I hate not knowing what’s going to happen, what the SCIA is going to do.” He reached for her hand. “I wish I hadn’t gotten shot like a bonehead recruit on his first deployment. I wish we could have escaped, gotten away from this planet entirely and lost ourselves too deep to find in the outer Sectors.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself, my love. And I don’t think you really want a life on the run, one of hiding.”

  “I want to protect you.”

  Before she could answer, the door chimed. “Captain Fleming is here to see you,” Maeve announced.

  Owen and Tyrelle exchanged startled glances. “Let him in.”

  Captain Fleming never called on crew members in their quarters, not even his officers. He maintained a clear separation between himself and everyone else. You went to him, he didn’t come to you. This could be bad. Owen braced himself for whatever might happen. He wouldn’t allow himself to be separated from Tyrelle again.

  The captain crossed the threshold, unsmiling and serious as always. “Please don’t get up on my account.”

  “Would you like something to eat?” Tyrelle asked. “Or a glass of wine?”

  “Nothing for me thanks, I ate earlier and I’m on duty. Coffee if you have it would be great.”

  She loved the drink as much as he did, so Owen had taught her to brew coffee their first day together in his quarters. She nodded and walked to the kitchen space to make a cup.

  Fleming drew another chair to the table and sat. “Given your injuries, Owen, I figured I should hold my final briefing on this incident here in your cabin.”

  “Before you say anything else, sir, please don’t blame Jake and his team for what I did, or Dr. Shane. Their coming to rescue us was a literal lifesaver, and I’ll take responsibility for putting them in harm’s way by my own actions. I don’t want SCIA repercussions against them.”

  Fleming took the mug of hot coffee from Tyrelle with a murmured, “Thank you,” and politely half rose as she sat down. She pulled Midorri into her lap as if to calm her nerves. “I always had Special Forces Teams as key elements of my strategy when I commanded a battleship,” he said as he sat and stirred cinna spice into his drink. “When I agreed to join the CLC Line, I saw no reason not to have a similar capacity on board. As we’ve seen in recent years wit
h the rise in space piracy and other challenges, even a civilian vessel may need a core of well-trained operators at some juncture. Jake Dilon is one of the finest Special Forces officers I ever met, and I back his decisions. Anything he and his team did for you was under my authority. I’m the man in command, and the responsibility is mine.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Fleming turned his attention to the other occupant of the cabin. “Miss Tyrelle, while your decision to work for the SCIA as an informant was admirable and courageous, I had serious concerns with the way Agent Paterson coerced you, a mere three days after we’d rescued you, to sign her agreement. I conveyed my concerns directly to certain interested parties in the Mellurean hierarchy.”

  “You—you went above Agent Paterson’s head to the Mellureans?” Incredulous for a moment, Owen recalled all the rumors about Fleming’s connection with the mysterious, powerful alien race, leverage responsible in part for Maeve escaping termination when her original military ship host was decommissioned, and becoming the AI for a cruise liner commanded by Fleming.

  “Agent Paterson told us herself the Mellureans had an interest in the case.” Fleming sipped his coffee and shrugged.

  Although Owen thought he detected a gleam of amusement in the captain’s dark eyes.

  “I merely sent messages through my own channels. As I anticipated, the Mellurean Council wasn’t pleased to hear how Tyrelle, a priestess among her own people, and a woman with serious psychic powers, had been treated by the SCIA. The evidence you already provided, the evidence on the sensors you took into Devir Six and the evidence found in the ruins of the Combine installation is more than enough and generating significant new leads.” His eyes crinkled as if privately amused, which he explained a moment later. “I’ve been given to understand Agent Paterson has been removed from the case and reassigned to duty in an outer Sector.” He unzipped the pocket of his utilities and extracted a shiny new personal AI, which he slid across the table to Tyrelle.