The Skypirate

by Justine Davis

  “There is truth in that,” Califa agreed, her expression telling Dax that she knew quite well that most of those who went to Alpha 2 had two things in mind: finding a whore and a drink, not necessarily in that order. Or in the case of the infamous Legion Club there, a slave and a drink. She shivered visibly, and Dax wondered if she was thinking that, were it not for Rina’s garrulousness, and hence Dax’s interference, she, too, could have wound up there, servicing the very forces she’d fought alongside.

  “Still,” she felt compelled to caution him, “there are others who come there for the Archives. Shaylah’s medical officer went there every time he got leave.”

  He knew it was true. Perversely, the most brawling of all Coalition outposts was also home to the most extensive of its Archives, a massive collection of records, documents, and microbooks from all of the worlds that had been forced into the Coalition by threat—or fact—of annihilation.

  It was there, he recalled suddenly, that she had seen the dulcetpipe she had told him of, in the exhibit of treasures from the then newly conquered Trios.

  “Watch yourself,” Roxton warned Rina, sounding only half joking, “he’s getting that look. He’s up to something.”

  Dax pulled out of his thoughts, but not before promising himself to think over what had just occurred to him.

  “Never mind,” he said brusquely. He reached out and tweaked Rina’s upturned nose. “Set course, navigator. We’ll find something to amuse you when we get there.” The girl brightened at the promise, and headed off for the bridge.

  Roxton lingered, looking at Dax warily. “What are you scheming on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Sure. And you didn’t intend to be noble and sacrifice yourself when you made that crazed strafing run on that Coalition warship.”

  Dax glanced at Califa; those words were too familiar. She lifted her brows in an expression of utter innocence.

  “Are you two in collusion?” he asked sourly.

  “I might consider it,” Roxton said easily. “The lady seems to get things done.”

  Dax saw Califa’s gaze fly to the old man’s face, both surprise and pleasure displayed in her expression.

  “Besides,” the first mate added, chuckling, “anyone who can yell at you and get anything but a laugh has my respect.”

  She has mine, too, he almost said, but bit back the words. He’d meant what he’d said to Rina; he wasn’t sure if he could forgive—or forget—Califa’s past, especially Dare. But he did respect her. He did admire her courage. And God knew he wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman.

  It came to him then, the realization of what he’d let himself in for. Having her around from now on was going to be a brand-new kind of torture.

  “I’m going to get some food,” he announced suddenly.

  “Good idea,” Roxton agreed, “but that’s not going to distract me. What are you planning?”

  Dax sighed; there were times he wondered how he’d ever been able to hide anything from the man. “Nothing. Yet. Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  He shrugged. “A little shopping of my own.”

  “Personal?” Roxton’s surprise was evident. And no wonder; Dax couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone after something for himself. He wasn’t sure he was going to do it now, but the idea had appeared, full blown and tempting, and he wasn’t sure he could resist it.

  “Does shopping mean the same thing this time as it did last time?” Califa asked, eyeing Dax suspiciously.

  He grinned at her, just to see the incredulity widen her eyes. It did.

  “Rina was right,” she cried in exasperated tones. “You do need a keeper.”

  She walked out of his quarters, head high. Dax was thankful she’d done it before he’d had the chance to ask her if she wanted the job.

  Chapter 16

  CALIFA WATCHED Rina switch the holograph disks. In a moment a new star system image replaced the one that had been hovering, all bodies in constant motion, over the table in their quarters for the past hour or so.

  “How do you do that?” she asked as she watched the various orbits, and the streak of a comet that arced through the display at regular intervals. Rina adjusted the brightness of the display before she answered. The girl had apparently decided Dax was right, that Califa was as much against the Coalition as she, and had resumed talking to her. Califa felt surprisingly glad that she was no longer out in the cold with the little pixie.

  “I just . . . look at it,” Rina said.

  Dax had told her Rina was what they called an “exact navigator,” that rare person who could study a star system or a sector chart and commit it to memory for all-dimensional recall later, as if it were no more difficult than breathing.

  At least, he’d told her that when he’d been speaking to her; he seemed once more to be avoiding her. She tried not to think about it, tried not to wonder if it was because she had failed to please him as he had so incredibly pleased her that night. He had said it didn’t matter, that his lack of climax was a Triotian trait, but she wasn’t at all certain. But then she recalled that Wolf—Dare—had had a reputation for endurance among those who used slaves, a reputation like Dax had among, according to the crew, most of the females in the system. Perhaps there was truth, then, in what Dax had said.

  And he had, after all, sent the clothing she wore now, a loose shirt and comfortable, flowing trousers that fit her much better than Rina’s flight suit. He’d found another of those, as well, that fit her better, somewhere in the stacks of crates and cases that were piled high in the cargo bay, awaiting off-loading at the storehouse.

  But that didn’t explain why he was avoiding her. Unless he was frightened by what happened between them, as she was. That seemed absurd, and she forced her mind back to Rina.

  “You just look at it? That’s all?”

  “From all angles, for about an hour, then . . .”

  “You can recall it? Exactly? Without the holograph?”

  Rina nodded, shrugging. “It’s no great thing. It’s just something I can do. Like Dax can use the flashbow.”

  Califa’s brow furrowed. “You mean not everyone can?”

  “No. It is a special weapon, beyond just its power. Few have been able to use it, those in whom the power has come down across generations.”

  “The power?”

  “To activate the bow.”

  Califa was thoroughly perplexed now. “But it seemed there was just a lever he moved and it began to hum.”

  Rina laughed. “Yes. But if you’re not one of the few, it does nothing. I tried it, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t bring it alive. And I know my father couldn’t, nor my mother. Dax is the only flashbow warrior I’ve ever known.”

  Something about the people she had just mentioned struck Califa. “Is it a Triotian weapon, then?”

  Rina gasped, her sudden paleness visible even beneath the stain that dyed her skin. She looked about to run. Califa hastened to reassure her.

  “Rina, don’t. It’s all right.”

  “You know,” the girl whispered.

  “Yes. I guessed, when Dax and I were talking.”

  “Dax?” Panic filled the girl’s eyes. “You know about Dax, too?”

  Touched by the girl’s fear for Dax, which was so much greater than her fear for herself, Califa said softly, “And both of you know about me. It is a fair trade, is it not?”

  Slowly, the tension left the girl as Califa’s words calmed her fears. “I . . . I guess so.”

  “I would never intentionally hurt you, Rina.” She took a breath before adding, “Or Dax.”

  Rina eyed her then, speculatively. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure what I feel for him,” she answered truthfully. “But it is . . . d
ifferent from anything I’ve ever felt before.” And that was already more than she should have said, she thought, reverting to the previous subject quickly. “So the flashbow is a Triotian weapon?”

  After a moment, with an expression that revealed relief at no longer having to watch her every word, Rina nodded. “A very ancient one. Few non-Triotians have ever even heard of it. Roxton hadn’t, nor had any of the rest of the crew. They have no idea what it is, just that Dax is the only one who can use it. I think they’re a little afraid of it.”

  Remembering the hole in the prison wall, Califa murmured, “I’m not surprised.”

  “Only one in a generation has the power to fire it. The flashbow warriors are legend among Triotians. They were the ones who brought peace to us, long ago, because armed with the bow they were nearly undefeatable. Now it is”—the girl’s voice caught as she corrected herself—“before the Coalition, it was mostly a ceremonial thing.”

  Califa was fascinated. “Is it a hereditary power?”

  Rina shrugged. “No. A new one is found each generation, at the time of transition, when the child begins to become an adult. Part of the transition ceremony is the touching of the stone. The stone responds to only one, the next flashbow warrior. That one is sent to learn from the current warrior.”

  “Even when you were at peace?” Dax’s father must have hated that, Califa thought.

  “Yes. It is still an honor to be the chosen one.”

  “Then it can be anyone?”

  Rina nodded. “Except that it is never one of the royal family. Something prevents it.”

  Too bad, Califa thought. If Wolf—Dare, she amended—had had that power, he might never have been taken. That having such thoughts when she had owned him would have been near unto treason, or that she herself had thought Shaylah near treasonous for harboring them, did not even occur to her.

  “How does it work?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. No one really does. It’s in the bolts, but no one understands why.”

  Califa blinked. “It’s in the bolts?”

  Rina nodded. “The bolts are made from a material found only in one place on Trios, and on no other world. That’s why Dax so rarely uses it. He has only a few left.”

  “What is this material?”

  “The material that’s in the ceremonial stone. It’s a strange combination of metal and rock. The scholars can’t explain it; they only mutter something about a reaction with a chemical common to the metal and the rock.”

  Califa thought of the hole Dax had left in the prison wall. “That’s some chemical reaction,” she said dryly.

  Rina grinned. “Isn’t it? I think they just don’t want to admit that there are some things they can’t explain away.”

  Califa smiled. Then something else Rina had said came back to her. “You said they were nearly undefeatable? From what I’ve seen, that weapon should guarantee it.”

  “It is amazingly powerful, more than any modern weapon,” Rina agreed. “But it is also exhausting.”

  “He did seem a little dazed afterward.”

  “It is always like that. The concentration it takes is intense, and it is as if the power is drained from the warrior. If he is alone, and the fight goes on for too long, the warrior can die from it.”

  Yet another way for Dax to fulfill his death wish, Califa thought grimly. Then another realization came to her. No wonder guilt racked him, no wonder he thought he could have done something, when the Coalition attacked Trios. If he was indeed the Triotian flashbow warrior of legend, perhaps it was even true. But one man, no matter what wonderful weapon he was armed with, could not have held out against the full strength and massed forces of the Coalition. Especially if Rina spoke the truth; he would have died in the effort, and the result would have been the same.

  And the flashbow would have wound up in some Coalition museum somewhere, Califa mused, an instrument of incredible destruction displayed no doubt beside an instrument capable of beautiful creation like Dax’s dulcetpipe—

  It hit her then, with the force of a blow. She knew what Dax was going “shopping” for.

  CALIFA WATCHED as Dax halted again, looking like some wild creature who had scented danger on the breeze. He looked around, and Califa froze in the shadows. She marveled at his finely tuned senses, to even suspect someone was close by. Especially when she knew he knew that except for the last group gone for their turn at the colony, the rest were still in the living quarters set up at one end of the big building. She had been there when Dax had left them a few minutes ago, saying something vague about a long walk to get used to being ashore again.

  Ashore. She remembered the instant when she realized they were truly aground. She had watched incredulously from the lounge as they had come in over a broken, rocky plain caught between two steep hills. It had seemed inevitable that they would crash; there was no place in this rugged, boulder-strewn landscape that could be even vaguely considered as a place to land a ship the size of the Evening Star.

  When a sudden, blinding flash of light made her jerk back from the port, she would have thought they’d hit except that there was no impact. When she’d looked out again, she’d seen nothing but soft, rolling ground and a large, square building that sat solidly backed up to a carved-out hillside.

  She had come out of her shock to Larcos’s laughter.

  “I love watching people go through for the first time,” he’d said.

  “Through? Through what? What in Hades just happened? We should be plowing up rocks by now.”

  The lanky engineer’s grin widened. “There are no rocks. At least, not here.”

  “But I saw—”

  “—a reflection. Of a canyon on the other side of these hills.”

  Califa blinked. “A reflection?”

  “Ever seen a mirage?” She nodded. Larcos shrugged, but his pride was evident. “Same principle. An image refracted by a layer of heated air.”

  “Another of your inventions?”

  “Probably my best,” he admitted modestly. “You could fly right over this place and never see a thing. And the rays used to project the image are enough to confuse any scanner.”

  So Dax’s hideout was safe from prying Coalition eyes, she had thought. Yet here he was now, planning to leave that protection and set himself up for capture. Or worse.

  She watched as he stood near the door of the storehouse, seeming to barely breathe. Califa could almost feel him listening, ears straining for any sound or movement. Then he shook his head, and she saw him grin, as if at his own foolishness. She knew as clearly as if he had spoken that he was hearkening back to what he’d said when they’d landed four days ago; while flying he was fine, but put him on the ground, and he was wound up and spun tight within a day.

  He walked to the waiting air rover. Califa had seen the quick little vehicle earlier, next to the huge camouflage shelter that housed the Evening Star at the base of the hill behind them. Later, Larcos had headed back to the big ship; the lanky engineer had been awaiting the chance to install the scanner enhancer Dax had picked up on Boreas as eagerly as the others were awaiting a night of revelry. Califa had watched him go, and seen that the air rover was gone. When she discovered it later waiting near the storehouse door, she knew Dax wasn’t going to waste any time making his move. And when he’d left the others, she’d known what he was up to.

  Now, in the moment that his hands went to the side of the rover to lever himself into the seat, she moved out of the shadows of the storehouse.

  He reacted swiftly, with a deadly precision that would have made a Coalition officer proud. He whirled, dodged to put the rover between himself and the shadows, and crouched, hand streaking to his belt for his disrupter, all in the same, smoothly continuous motion.

  Reacting as quickly, she dropped flat on the rocky ground in case he
fired first and verified identification from the body—a standard Coalition procedure. She opened her mouth to call to him, but before she could get the words out, she saw him straighten, release his grip on the weapon, and come out from behind the air rover.

  “Good way to get yourself killed, snowfox,” he said into the darkness.

  She got slowly to her feet, thankful the movement hid the little shiver that rippled through her every time he used the diminutive name he’d given her.

  “No,” she said, tilting her head to look at him. “Landing a ship the size of the Evening Star in a valley the size of this one—and through Larcos’s blasted screen—is a good way to get yourself killed.”

  “Landing isn’t the problem,” Dax said with a grin. “It’s the taking off again.”

  She could see the whiteness of his teeth even in the faint light. She walked around the air rover, running a hand along the side, then tapping the controls lightly as she came to a halt before him.

  “I thought the rule was only one group goes to the colony at a time.”

  He shrugged. “What are rules for, if not for bending? I’m a skypirate, remember?”

  She drew in a deep breath, and held it for a moment. Then she said, “You’re going for the Archives, aren’t you?”

  He stiffened. “Damnation,” he muttered. “How in Hades did you—” He broke off, as if realizing what he’d admitted.

  “It wasn’t hard to guess,” she said. “Not after the way you looked that day I mentioned them.”

  “You,” he said, his tone wry, “are too damn observant.”

  Only, it seemed, when it came to him. All her life, before Dax, she’d been blithely unaware of others. Or hadn’t cared. Another thing she wasn’t very proud of. But she couldn’t worry about it now. Now, she had to concentrate on one thing: getting Dax to give up this preposterous idea.

  “Don’t do it, Dax. The Archives are right next to the Legion Club, and there’s never less than a dozen Coalition officers on leave there.”

  “All drunk as slimehogs, or busy mating like brollets.”