Jaxar

by Nancey Cummings

  “Hard to say. It’s slow going with the debris,” Rohn answered.

  The warlord growled, his displeasure crackling out of every comm unit in the battlecruiser. Every male in the room instinctively stood straighter. “I’m sorry to report that we’re unable to sweep the area clean while we’re under attack. Have your fighter cover the shuttle and make do.” Then, “Have a team search for escape pods.”

  “Pilots deployed for search and rescue,” Rohn said.

  “Initial reports suggest that the cargo ship self-destructed,” Jaxar added. Readings scrolled by on a screen. That couldn’t be correct. “The energy signatures indicated a sudden rush from the main engines, most likely venting a gas that combusted with the atmosphere. There are too many safety protocols to let that happen accidentally. You have to work very hard to blow yourself up in such a manner. Could be a bomb.”

  “Find me those pods. We need to know why they’d rather blow themselves up than be rescued by us.”

  “I suspect the answer is the destroyed cargo,” Mylomon added. “I suggest we run a search on the vessel’s crew, the most recent port of call, and favored routes. This could be an instance of smugglers turning on each other.”

  “Make it happen,” the warlord said.

  Jaxar had trouble imagining what could be so valuable that lives had to end. Nothing good. Or perhaps nothing they wanted a Mahdfel clan to catch them holding.

  Minutes ticked by. The scans located clusters of debris large enough to hide an emergency pod. Debris continued to bounce off the ship’s hull.

  “What was that?” the warlord snapped.

  “Rerouting power to strengthen the shields,” Jaxar replied. He motioned to two members of his crew and they sprang into action.

  “Damage?”

  “Minimal, sir.” Jaxar recognized the head of security’s voice, Seeran.

  “The initial blast burned through the shield’s reserves, but as long as we’re not moving, we have enough to maintain full strength and replenish,” Jaxar added. The ship’s engines generated considerable energy, but it was not efficiently distributed due to the ship’s age.

  “Docking with the vessel now,” Mylomon said, his voice interrupted by static. Harsh clanging noises, the sound of forced entry, dominated the audio channel.

  New information gathered from the team’s handheld devices streamed in. Battle made the information a contradictory mess, as the marauders actively tried to block the signal.

  “None of this data makes sense,” Jaxar muttered. The ship presented as a mishmash of parts and systems patched together, a veritable puzzle and he loved working his way through a problem to find a solution. “This is a gift. A true mystery. Thank you. I’m having such a good time.”

  “I dislike how much you are enjoying this,” Paax said, his tone annoyed.

  Mylomon barked orders to his team. The occasional blaster shot pierced through the sounds of battle. Jaxar gritted his teeth. Using projectile weapons on a space-going vessel was exceeding reckless. A stray spark could cause a fire or puncture a critical safety device. A whole in the hull did not need to be large to cause catastrophic damage.

  Fools. Dangerous fools. He wanted to join Mylomon and bash a few heads together and maybe strap them to an oxygen tank and use it as target practice. Maybe.

  “We have secured the bridge and Engineering. Life support has been damaged,” Mylomon said. “We have injured beings. They are too critical to move.”

  “On it,” Kalen said.

  Orders flew across the channel as various teams mobilized. Jaxar organized techs to repair the life support functions while continuing to scan for signs of the emergency pods from the destroyed vessel.

  He was not enjoying himself, despite the bravado he showed the warlord. Normally on such missions, he bounced with energy and his crew reflected that sentiment. Engineering buzzed with excitement. Rescue and repair missions were one of the few opportunities to showcase his crew’s abilities as they seldom fought in the front lines. While working his way up the ranks, Jaxar had spent many battles dashing with his tools and frantically working while under heavy fire. It was an engineer’s rite of passage.

  Today, however, a sullen mood affected his crew and he knew it was his fault.

  “Right.” Jaxar clapped his hands together and every male snapped to attention. “Let’s dazzle the warlord and show him what we can do with our brains. Braax, locate the emergency pods. They should be generating a signal or beacon. Narisse, figure out how to clear debris. We don’t need to damage Rohn’s fragile little ships and we have injured beings to transport. Let’s not give the pilots a reason to blame us for their bumpy rides.”

  He pointed at the males and rattled off assignments. A familiar energy settled over the department.

  “We found something,” Mylomon said.

  Chapter 17

  Vanessa

  Two days.

  Two days had passed since Jaxar had Van hustled out of Engineering. They found something on the pirate’s cargo hold. No one said the p-word but the other ship was totally a pirate ship, right down to the welded-together aesthetic.

  From her angle, she couldn’t see the video feed and stretched on her tiptoes for a better view.

  Stupid tall aliens.

  Everyone in the room went quiet. Whatever they saw, it was more than damaged engines or failing life support. During the walk back to her cabin, she peppered Fennec with questions, but he nodded and avoided any concrete answers. He was deceptively clever like that.

  It wasn’t like Van expected Jaxar to share top-secret info. The Mahdfel were doing their Mahdfel thing. She got it, but it would have been nice if he sent a message just to let her know he was okay because she was worried.

  Ugh.

  Van shoved the filter into the slot with more force than necessary. When did she become so needy? Twenty-six years of her life she managed well without Jaxar and three weeks of dating had reduced her to a worried mess. He was fine. The battle was over. He was busy doing engineer things and he did not need her yapping at his ankles begging for attention.

  So what if she missed him? Sure, they had dinner together almost every night now. Once she fell asleep on the sofa while watching a documentary on textile manufacturing—he was interested in everything, but some of the documentaries were dull as dirt—and he didn’t want to disturb her, so they stayed that way with her stretched out and her head in his lap nearly all night.

  She liked that he always had a funny story to tell or gave her the amusing highlights of his day. He brought in little things—coffee, new work gloves, even ice cream once—because he thought she might enjoy them. She liked that he wanted her to know he thought of her. She even liked the moments of silence—rare, because Jaxar liked the sound of his own voice—when they just sat in the Night Garden and held hands.

  Van knew that her default moods were stormy and grumpy. The emotional baggage she dragged behind her was not for the faint of heart, but Jaxar had given her nothing but sunshine and clear skies. She liked how she felt lighter around him, how it was easier to laugh because he appeared so damn delighted when she did.

  Fine. She missed him. She’d gone two whole days without seeing her alien boyfriend and she was all grumpy about it. She felt funny inside. Soft. It was gross how much she liked him.

  Van occupied herself with the algae tanks, despite there not being a lot to do. The tanks had basic maintenance for years, which led to sub-optimal performance, but they shaped up nicely with a bit of deep cleaning and chemical rebalancing. Despite being on a starship, algae tanks on board were as boring as the algae tanks on the Vel Mori moon.

  On the second day, she wandered down to the Night Garden. An older male, Hillam, supervised the restoration of the garden. He claimed to be retired and older than most nebulas, but he moved with spry deftness, so Van wasn’t sure how seriously to take him. Hillam put her to work in the garden, mostly thinning out the overgrown patches, which was fine by her. Even abandoned for
who knows how long, the garden was lush and filled with fascinating specimens. Curiosity compelled her to try matching samples to a database, but she failed to find any information on more than half. She sent clippings to Esme for identification.

  “He’s not here,” Hillam said. Snowy white hair pulled into a long braid and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were the only things that betrayed his age. He kneeled at a raised bed, trowel in hand and radiating such tranquility that Van wanted to sit and watch him for hours.

  “I’m bored. Algae is boring.” She kicked at the freshly raked gravel.

  He huffed with amusement, showing a glimpse of fang. “Youth is wasted on the young. Come.” He rose in one smooth motion. “I have things in pots that need to be moved to other pots.”

  Van repotted until her shoulders ached. Hopefully, she worked herself hard enough to fall asleep in her empty bed—and since when had Jaxar’s presence been necessary for her to fall asleep? Sure, he was warm, and she snuggled right up next to him, strictly for warmth. She did not need to listen to the rhythm of his heart as she drifted off to sleep and she definitely did not love his soft, sleepy face when they woke.

  “Vanessa, I have a task for you,” Hillam said, drawing her thoughts out of her obsessive funk. He held up a spun glass globe. “Apparently these are designed to float.”

  Van carefully examined the globe. It was not a perfect sphere but had a slight tear-drop shape. The material was thin but appeared to be durable. Inside was a layer of dust. “Some species of algae produce a lighter-than-air gas. That could be what’s inside.” She gave the orb a shake, stirring up the dried remains. “I can run some tests to identify the species. We might be able to reconstitute this if the species is hardy enough. Some algae can survive for years in a drought. Just add water and boom.”

  “No boom,” he said, his voice calm and teasing.

  She found a groove at the tear-drop end. The glass twisted open. A cloud of funky, desiccated moss wafted upward. Hoping she didn’t get a face full of toxic dust, she closed the lid before she inhaled too much of whatever that was. “I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow.” She needed a shower and then food.

  Van tossed her dirty clothes into the cleaning unit and showered off the dirt and sweat of the day. They had only shared a bed a few nights—clothes on, no sex—but it had been the best sleep. No nightmares or restless tossing and turning for her.

  He better come home soon. She didn’t need him to fall asleep, but it was a better quality sleep with him, so she was just being practical and not sentimental.

  In the cafeteria, she sat alone but did not mind. She enjoyed the lush planters filled with herbs and small edibles. The hydroponics crisscrossed the room, allowing her to reach up and pluck a fresh strawberry. She had just cleared her plate when Nakia sent a message. Apparently, the letter they sent had received a response.

  “You didn’t rush through dinner, did you?” Nakia asked, handing her a steaming mug.

  “All good.” Van sniffed the mug.

  “It’s lemon ginger tea. I’d offer you coffee, but the smell makes me a bit queasy. The lemon ginger is all I can stomach right now.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Average morning sickness, they tell me.” Nakia patted her belly, a huge grin on her face.

  “Oh.” Van’s mind played in a loop, asking the same two questions: was she jealous, and could she stand to see another woman so happily pregnant? She concluded that she was not jealous—so not jealous—and she was happy for her friend. “Any other problems?”

  “Not really. They gave me this monitor patch.” Nakia lifted the hem of her shift and exposed a thin piece of flexible plastic adhered to her skin. “It beeps when I don’t drink enough water.”

  “Rude.”

  Nakia laughed. “I’m just glad the little guy won’t grow on this ship. I can’t wait to get to Sangrin.”

  “What do you mean?” Her only friend couldn’t leave her now.

  “Rohn’s retiring. We’re staying on for another month or so until he gets his replacement settled, which won’t be a moment too soon. I’ve had enough of fighting.” She crossed her legs and Van caught a flash of white plastic at her ankle.

  “Oh! I… Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.”

  “No worries. I have a prosthetic leg.” She tugged up the skirt and revealed the glossy finish of her artificial calf. “It happened a long time ago, during the war.” The skirt fell back into place. “Considering I had a building fall on me, I got lucky.”

  Van nodded. “I could tell you about my nightmares from the Invasion.” And her panic attacks and crippling fear of intimacy. Basic survivor stuff.

  A black cat jumped onto the table to investigate. “No, Princess,” Nakia said, setting the cat back down on the floor.

  “You have a cat,” Van said, eager to change the subject and flaunt her masterful observation skills.

  “Yes. I brought her from Earth. Lots of the mates have pets. All small, I think, but I’m sure if the warlord’s wife wanted a pony, they’d make it happen. I’ve seen dogs, cats, and birds. There’s a Sangrin animal. It looks like an ermine but it’s the size of a Labrador. So cute.”

  “I had hamsters once,” Van said. She leaned down and held out a hand to Princess, who gave a curious sniff. The cat must have decided that the stranger was acceptable because she butted her head against Van’s hand. “Oh, she’s so soft.”

  Princess jumped on the table again.

  “She’s spoiled.” Nakia plopped the cat back down. Clearly, this was a daily struggle. “Rohn keeps feeding her table scraps so now whenever we sit down, she thinks it’s snack time. Okay, down to business.” She produced a tablet. “We got a response from the Vel Mori Holding Company.”

  “Really?” Van was certain that the company would have told her to go suck on a lemon.

  Nakia read the letter aloud, slowing down to repeat a few phrases. Basically, it came down to the company offering a generous settlement and termination of Van’s contract if she signed a non-disclosure agreement.

  Nakia lowered the tablet. “Basically, we have them by the balls. Why do we have them by the balls?”

  “There was an accident last week. The week before? An explosion and a fire. The company is being slapped with fines for safety violations and probably lawsuits,” Van speculated.

  “Ah. They don’t want us to file a complaint with the labor board because selling contracts without consultation is dangerously close to being…” Nakia waved a hand, searching for the correct word. “Human traffickers? Sentient being traffickers?”

  “Slavers.”

  A bitter expression passed over Nakia’s face. “Yeah.”

  Van reread the offer. The amount equaled the remainder of her salary plus a bonus for signing a non-disclosure agreement. Generous. Too generous. “Do you get the impression that headquarters had no idea what was happening in the field?”

  “I think they’re trying to control the narrative. One rogue agent or corrupt supervisors cutting corners to pocket the money. It’s a lot harder to write off sentient being trafficking as an oopsie, especially when they had the rest of the company to protect.” Nakia paused and looked back down at the tablet. “We should ask for more money.”

  “I don’t want to be greedy. What they’re offering is more than enough.”

  “What they’re offering is a drop in the bucket if the media gets a hold of your story.”

  “No media,” Van said. The last thing she wanted was her face plastered on all the news outlets. “Not that I have anything to hide,” she added, because that didn’t sound suspicious. “I’m a private person. I don’t want to be gawked at.”

  Nakia pressed her lips together and nodded. “Okay. No one wants to be gawked at. Give me a minute and I’ll let them know we accept their offer.” She tapped on the tablet for a few minutes. Van amused herself by petting the cat, who sat snuggling in her lap.

  “Done. Just sign here.”

&n
bsp; Van took the tablet and signed. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. The money should be deposited in your account in ten days, give or take, but your contract is terminated right now.”

  She gripped the tablet, reluctant to set it down.

  No more contract. She could leave the Judgment, go back to Earth, and see if she could get her spot back in her grad program. Her professor said he’d take her back without question. But she didn’t have to go back to Earth. The galaxy was full of universities and biodiversity. She could study xenoflora on Sangrin, or anywhere, really. Two years’ salary and the hush money made a decent chunk of change. She could do whatever she wanted.

  The possibilities spun within her imagination, leaving her dizzy. All she knew with clarity was that whatever happened, she wanted to do it with Jaxar.

  “What are you going to do?” Nakia asked.

  “I think I want a dog,” Van said.

  Jaxar

  Meetings were a waste of time. The only good that came of them was teasing Rohn, but the old male planned to retire with his mate and Terran feline and unborn son, so Vox took his place at the table.

  It was not the same.

  A projection filled the space in the center of the table. Paax planted his hands on the table and leaned forward. “How many females?”

  “Six,” Mylomon said. “Four Sangrin, two Terran.”

  An image of stasis chambers slowly rotated. Each chamber held a sleeping female. The chambers had been crowded into a hidden cargo hold, stacked on top one another despite potential damage that could happen from lack of ventilation. The occupants had no identification chips. They did not appear on the ship’s manifest, not that Jaxar expected pirates to keep accurate records. They were not passengers or medical patients being transported for care. It could only be assumed that the females were illicit cargo.

  “The chambers were installed poorly and drained power. Discovering them took no effort at all and they would not have continued to function properly without repairs. It was amateurish on every level, which makes me believe this was the first shipment,” Jaxar said. He loathed referring to the discovered females as a shipment. It felt wrong on every level.