by Cathryn Cade
Joran looked over at her, then back at the Serp, his gaze molten silver, his face hard as cerametal.
Then he fired his weapon and Zaë dove from her stool.
Even as his laser charge zipped red across the big room and another streaked toward her, something struck her in the back. Ryder, his lanky body carrying her to the floor beneath him.
They landed hard, but Zaë scrambled immediately to shove him off. Ryder grabbed her and held her behind the bar. “Stay down!”
They both winced as something exploded above the bar. Liquid sprayed, streaks of bright color and the strong scent of alcohol. Glass tinkled to the floor.
Staying low, Ryder moved toward the bartender, who was crouched low, a weapon in her hands.
“Someone’s gonna pay for this,” she growled.
“You’ll get your credit.” Ryder pushed past her.
Zaë followed him, her heart pounding so hard she felt sick, a strange taste in her mouth. “Is Joran all right?”
Ryder peered out, and then grinned. “Yeah, he’s fine.”
Zaë straightened, and peeped over the bar. Then she let out her breath, and hung onto the bar as her limbs quivered with the weakness of exquisite relief.As her breath fogged the face shield of her helmet, she yanked it off and set it on the bar, tossing her hair back.
Joran stood in the center of the room, Qala and Steele beside him, all three with weapons trained on the slavers.
Several of the slavers’ and their guards were down, some groaning in pain. The others sat glaring vengefully at Joran. Slidi’s face was pale as bone, her eyes blazing, but she sat with her head high. Hah, Zaë thought. She could behave as if she were above all this, but as Joran had said, the bitch was going down, with her compatriots.
Joran turned to look for her, and Zaë’s heart melted at the blaze of relief in his silver gaze as he found her unharmed. She smiled at him and gave him a little wave to show that she was fine.
“Now we’re done,” Joran said, and holstered his weapon.
The doors creaked open again.
“Not quite,” called a voice.
***
In through the open doors strode a vee of armed, helmeted IGSF officers, weapons cocked and trained in all directions. In their midst walked Cerul. Helmet under one arm, head high, she wore a look of glittering triumph as she surveyed the occupants of the room.
Joran held his hands out to his sides to show that he was unarmed. Adrenaline raced through his veins again, this time mingling with triumph in a fizzing cocktail.
“Why Commander, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you to our little gathering?”
She pushed her way through the rank of officers to face him, the glitter in her eyes showing she believed she held all the holodice.
“I am here to arrest you, Joran Stark, and all the other attendees of this disgusting abrogation of galactic and Frontieran law.”
He raised his brows. “Really? And what might the charges be?”
The buyers who were still unharmed watched grimly.
Cerul laughed, a tinkling, crystalline sound. “Ridiculous to the last, eh, Storm? Why on charges of not only attending, but this time conspiring to hold an illegal slave auction, to sell sentient beings for profit.”
He clapped one hand to his chest. “Who, me?”
“Yes, you,” she snapped. “And the others here in this place tonight.” She cast a look of rich satisfaction at the man standing with Joran, and then turned her gaze around the room, cataloguing those seated and those who had fallen. “Who do we have? Masterson, Steele, this woman who calls herself Slidi; Craal, a known whoremaster from Serpentia; Batma from Mauritius and all the rest of you. You’ll all answer to charges, and don’t think for a moment that stature or wealth will protect you—not this time.”
“Commander, don’t forget me,” called a new voice, deep and smooth as Joran’s, yet colder.
The crowd turned yet again, to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in the doorway. He wore an immaculate business suit, now spangled with rain, and his hair was cut ruthlessly short. He exchanged a meaningful look with Joran, and then turned his haughty gaze on Cerul.
Joran felt the usual pride tinged with irritation and affection as he looked into the face so like his own.
Cerul laughed again. “Ah, of course. The protective elder brother. Yes, even you, Logan Stark are not too big to be caught in my net.”
Chapter 29
Two more people pushed their way in past the troops guarding the entrance. A man and woman, both slim and patrician and blonde, wearing elegant travel clothing, their faces tanned from the sun.
“What is the meaning of this?” the man asked of the room at large.
“Who are you?” Cerul demanded in return.
“Sir Samuel and Lady Glora Braveling,” the man said, in a cold voice that said what he thought of being accosted by a mere planetary commander of troops. “We are here to pick up our daughter who has been rescued by Mr. Stark.”
Cerul blinked. “You must go and wait on your ship. I’m on official business here, and can’t be disturbed.”
Lady Braveling stepped forward, the picture of an outraged mother. “And what could possibly be more important than rescuing our daughter?”
They looked like her, Joran thought. Or, she looked like them. He dragged his gaze away from Zaë’s parents and jerked his head at Logan, indicating he should get the couple out of harm’s way.
“I’ll tell you what is more important,” Cerul trumpeted. “The arrest of these conspirators for the sale of human flesh!”
She opened her mouth to go on, but a voice cut across the big room. A feminine voice, full of shock and awe. Joran smiled to himself. His lady had perfect timing.
“They’re gone!” Zaë called. “They’re all gone!”
As one, those mesmerized by the swift unfolding of events turned to follow Zaë’s slender arm, pointing up to the power cages lining the rough ceiling of the bar.
Every last one was empty.
Joran gave them all a few secs, and then he let loose a chuckle. It felt good. They weren’t quite out of the asteroid shower yet, but damn, he loved the looks of disbelief on all their faces.
“Why so they are, darlin’,” he called back. “So they are. It’s as if they were never there to begin with.”
Zaë met his look across the room, and he grinned as he watched her cock her head, searching his face for the answer to this puzzle. Looking into those blue eyes, the rest of the company faded back, like this was a joke just between the two of them.
The IGSF commander whipped around from gaping at the empty cages, trembling with rage. “Where are the slaves? I demand to know what you’ve done with them.”
Joran shrugged. “Haven’t done anything with them, Aqa. You see—” he waggled his brows at her, unable to resist drawing out the moment. “They were never here to begin with.”
“Of course they’re here,” she raged. “We all saw them.”
He shook his head. “Nope, and I’ll prove it. Sharena?”
Cerul flinched as the blond warrior woman reappeared, this time hovering in midair between him and Cerul, only no hovie platform or cycle held her up.
And now, Sharena’s beautiful body was fully clothed.She wore a sleek golden yellow flight suit, with the insignia of a ships guard, her blonde hair neatly coiffed. Hands on her hips, she smirked at the commander. “Greetings from the LodeStar ship Cassiopeia. Did you enjoy my performance?”
The huge, golden skinned man with black hair appeared at her side, wearing the same uniform. He smiled with a flash of white teeth. “Greetings. I am Maro, also of the Cassiopeia.”
With a last wave, the two slowly faded from view.
“Holovid, Commander, every last one of ‘em,” Joran said.
“Ho!” One of the Maus reared to his feet, shoving the table out of his way. “You cheated us all?”
Joran kept his eyes on Cerul, whose face was mottled with a dangerous shade
of purple, her Indigon gaze such a fierce blue her eyes seemed to burn.
“Afraid so,” he said. “There was no auction, not really. Oh, these folks came to buy, and they thought they were buying, but I’m not selling anything. And the honest business folk here were in on the whole thing, so I think you may have trouble making any charges of flesh peddling stick to us, Cerul.”
“You conspired to trick the IGSF,” one of her officers cried. Arc, pushing his way forward.
“No,” Joran said, his gaze icing on the man. “I informed our assigned liaison, Sergeant Mecham, when she asked, that there was nothing going on here tonight that would be of interest to the IGSF. You and your boss refused to listen to her.”
He waved an arm at the seated slavers. “Why don’t you get busy and arrest these slimers and the rest of us can go home?”
Cerul stood, shaking with rage, her gaze still focused on him. Joran set his feet, and clenched his hands into his belt to stop the sudden, nearly irresistible urge to draw his weapon and aim it at her and her troops. Shit, she was one strong Indigon. Sweat broke out, rendering his palms so wet they nearly slid off his belt.
“And you can stop trying your mind tricks on me,” he said, forcing the words out. “Got some Indigon in me as well, enough to block you.”
For a little while longer anyway, so he hoped to hells something broke here, besides him, because his own hand still fought to obey her silent command, and give her troops an excuse to shoot him down where he stood.
“You think you’ve won,” Cerul said, speaking as if the two of them were alone in the big room. “But I will have the final play tonight, Il Zhazid.”
She moved then, gesturing briskly to her officers. “We’re going. No one else leaves this lodge. Secure all exits.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Joran called. He moved, but two of the IGSF officers moved as well, weapons trained on him as their commander strode toward the open doors, flanked by the rest of her officers.
“I know what you’re planning,” Joran yelled. “And so does everyone else here.You’ve got enough firepower trained on this lodge to blow it and us off the mountain. You think you can get rid of us all, and no one will care. But you’re wrong, Cerul. You try this, and the whole galaxy will know about it.”
She paused, turned back and looked at him. “And are you going to stop me, Il Zhazid? I think not.”
“Perhaps not. But I can, and I shall.” A cloaked figure stepped forward from the shadows at the edge of the room, and pushed back his hood.
Complete and utter silence took the big room. Even the thunder and wind outside calmed for a moment. Cerul whirled, staring at the man like a specter from one of the seven hells.
“Xen Sou?” Samuel Braveling said, sounding even more perplexed. “You here?”
The slim, silver haired man bowed politely. “Indeed. And I must congratulate the younger Mr. Stark on a most clever scheme. He has fooled everyone. Including,” he said in a clear, cold voice, “Commander Cerul.”
Joran turned his head and exchanged a look with Logan, who winked. Creed had come through, in a big way.
The mysterious auction attendee was none other than Sa Xen Sou, retired Zhen Lou monk, now an attache to the Alliance Governing Council itself, a body that ruled the IGSF.
In other words, he was Cerul’s boss.
“You—you have no authority here,” Cerul sputtered. “This is a military operation. I’m arresting Joran Stark and his confederates.”
“You have no grounds to arrest me,” Joran pointed out.
“I don’t need this travesty,” she said. “There are still the charges remaining from your last debacle.”
“Enough,” said Xen Sou. He strode forward, standing between Joran and Cerul. “Commander, in threatening all these outstanding citizens here tonight, without due process, you have made a very grave mistake.”
He paused portentiously.
“As representative of the Alliance Council, I am relieving you of duty as commander of Frontieran troops. You will relinquish your command, and be escorted back to the base by your officers.”
“And we will certainly corroborate this,” Braveling added in ringing tones.
He looked around Cerul to Joran, and held out his hands, his handsome face crumpling. “Now, sir, please—where is our daughter?”
***
Logan watched with satisfaction as Joran’s lady stepped forward. She really was lovely—perfect for his younger brother.
The Bravelings moved to meet her, skirting the confrontation in the middle of the room.
Unfortunately, Slidi took this opportunity to make her move. She slithered through the beings ranked between Joran and the door, and stopped at Logan’s side.
She put her hand on his arm, and smiled up at him.
“Logan Stark,” she crooned. “The great man, here to rescue his little brother, and save the day. What a hero you are.”
Logan looked down at her with distaste, her perfume rising in a noxious cloud, malice slithering like a live thing behind her jeweled gaze. He lifted his hand to grip hers, and remove it from his arm. “Slidi. You finally found your milieu, I see.”
Surprisingly, she didn’t react to this. Instead, she smiled even more seductively. Then she darted up with the speed only Serpentians could muster, and pressed her mouth to Logan’s, a hot, slick kiss that was weirdly sweet, as if the thick gloss on her mouth was fruited.
When he shoved her away, so violently she fell back into the grasp of one her slaves, her lip color was smeared, and he could feel that she’d left a similar smear of cosmetics on his mouth and chin.
Watching him realize this, she laughed, a gloating sound.
He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out his immaculate handkerchief and wiped away the smear of gloss, his face tight with revulsion. Then he dropped the soiled cloth on the ground.
“This is your last act?” he asked. “Pressing your attentions on a man who has nothing but disgust for you?”
“No,” she crooned. “Not my last. But possibly my best.”
“Then I’ve also pity for you. You’re pathetic.”
She let out a hiss worthy of a viper, her beauty gone in a grimace of hatred. “You won’t think so for long, Logan Stark. I’ve ruined you, and you don’t even know it.”
Unable to look at her any longer, Logan looked past her, to her two attendants, and his breath caught in his chest on a jolt of shock. He stared into the dark gold eyes of the beautiful male who supported Slidi, watching Logan.
“You,” Logan said hoarsely. “Who are you?”
He knew, though. He knew those eyes, and the shape of that face.
“He’s mine,” Slidi snapped. “And that’s all you need to know, Stark.”
Logan looked to her. “You no longer have any power here, so keep quiet.” He turned his attention to the man. “I can help you.”
The golden gaze burned brighter, and emotion tautened the high cheekbones. The man bowed, a slight but courtly gesture.
“I thank you, Logan Stark,” he said in a soft, husky voice. “But first I have tasks which must be accomplished.”
“But who are you?” Logan insisted.
“I was once known as Kai. Kai te Nawa.”
“Shut up, you!” Slidi turned on him, and slapped him viciously across the face. “I don’t keep you to speak.”
For one instant her slave—for her actions made it clear this was what he was—stared at her. Stark moved to grab her by the hair and throw her away from her victim, but something stayed him.
And he was deeply thankful he waited, as the man transformed before Logan’s eyes into one who at last saw his chance, and took it. He lifted one bare arm, flexed his slender, jeweled hand, and then back-handed the Serpentian across her face with a force and viciousness that sent her reeling. He caught her and did it again, until the slaver wavered and fell to her knees at his feet, gaping with shock.
“I speak now!” He tipped his head to hurl his words
down on her like stones. “And I act. And I will go on acting until everything Vadyal amassed, and everything you took when you murdered him, are gone, wiped out, dispersed among his victims and yours. All gone, do you hear me? All gone.”
“No!” she shrieked, clawing at him. “You can’t. You know nothing.”
“I know it all. Do you think you’re the only one who can listen and keep their mouth shut? The information you stole? I not only know it, I have it all, copied on a chip which is in a very safe place. The safest place in the galaxy right now.”
He pushed her back with one foot, and she fell against Logan’s legs. Logan shoved her at the nearest IGSF officer, who caught her with a grimace of distaste, but held on.
“Don’t let her out of your sight,” Joran called. “She’s the leader of the largest slave ring in this end of the galaxy.”
“No,” she wailed, her bruised face instantly morphing into bewildered innocence. “I was a victim too! Vadyal made me do it. He hurt me.”
But now Joran’s woman was at his side, her face pale, but her blue eyes fierce.
“That’s not true, any of it,” she cried. “She was the worst of all of the slavers. Torturing prisoners for her sick satisfaction. I saw her. I will be witness.”
Logan smiled to himself at this. She was a Braveling, all right, showing her mettle. And a fit partner for his younger brother. The pride glowing in Joran’s eyes said he agreed.
“As will many others,” agreed Kai te Nawa. He bowed again, this time to Lady Elliane. “I regret I was unable to ease your suffering.”
She gave him a look. “I saw you too,” she said quietly. “When everyone slept. I saw you slipping through the cages, helping those you could. And you helped me, as much as you could. Yours were the only kind words I heard during my captivity.”
He looked away, as if unable to bear her praise.
Slidi glared at her, with a virulence that was as reptilian as a hissing serpent. Then she made another lightning swift move and fought free of the officer who held her.
