Maverick

by Cheryl Brooks

  Also by Cheryl Brooks

  THE CAT STAR CHRONICLES

  Slave

  Warrior

  Rogue

  Outcast

  Fugitive

  Hero

  Virgin

  Stud

  Wildcat

  Rebel

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2018 by Cheryl Brooks

  Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Dawn Adams

  Cover images © CURAphotography/fotolia.com; cemagraphics/fotolia.com

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  An Excerpt from Mystic

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Chapter 1

  Larsanken Tshevnoe’s ship touched down on one of the two designated landing sites on Barada Seven, a world he hadn’t visited since the age of six. Not much had changed in twenty years. The same thatched hut housed both the spaceport control center and the immigration office, although Larry was willing to bet the thatch had been replaced a time or two in the interim. The sky was still purple, and the land, what there was of it amid the vast ocean, was covered with a dense jungle, save for the coastal flats and a distant range of snow-capped mountains. Having turned over his pulse pistol—no weapons of any kind were allowed on Barada—he exchanged a few credits for triplaks, the local currency, and was given the customary cup of fuuslak juice, which tasted like a mixture of pineapple and tomato juice and had the reputation of improving the drinker’s mood without inducing drunkenness or addiction.

  The natives hadn’t changed, either. They were still the same skinny, nimble-fingered, toad-like creatures he remembered, the only discernable difference between the sexes being that the females wore a bikini-style bit of cloth tied around their chests in addition to the tiny shorts that were also worn by the males. With mouths nearly the full width of their heads, forked tongues, and orange, wart-covered skin, Larry suspected they needed a daily dose of fuuslak juice simply to enable them to look at one another without vomiting.

  Larry didn’t have that problem. A lifetime spent aboard his parents’ starship had introduced him to creatures far more foul-looking than these, some not nearly as pleasant-tempered or possessing such musical voices.

  His mother, Jacinth—better known to half the galaxy as Captain Jack Tshevnoe of the starship Jolly Roger—had warned him about the Baradan natives’ most peculiar attribute of all.

  “Watch out when they start waving their hands at you,” she’d said. “They use a form of mind control on damn near everyone. Tried it on me once.” With a smug grin, she had added, “Didn’t work, of course, but it still pissed me off. Might be why I haven’t gone back there much. You might pick up some of that fuuslak juice while you’re there, though. I’ve had a few requests for it.”

  To the best of Larry’s knowledge, Jack had never returned to Barada, although he suspected that Althea had. He’d been listening to her wistful reminiscences of that world for nearly twenty years. “Such peaceful stillness,” she’d said. “The sense of joy and harmony in the air…sublime.”

  And then one day, she was simply gone.

  She’d left a message behind, of course. She was too fond of her family and her shipmates to leave them wondering. She only said she’d gone someplace where she could find peace.

  Her parents, Tisana and Leccarian “Leo” Banadänsk, weren’t surprised. “I’ve always known she would do something like this eventually,” Tisana had said after reading the note. “She’s descended from a long line of Mordrial witches. It’s in her blood.”

  Tisana and her husband had been a part of Larry’s life for as long as he could remember. Like Larry and his brothers, Althea was born aboard the Jolly Roger, along with her brothers Aidan and Aldrik. That set of triplets was a year younger than Larry’s litter, and he’d known them all their lives, growing up in a closer relationship with them than most cousins enjoyed, despite the lack of blood ties between them.

  Swallowing the last of his fuuslak juice, Larry paid for three barrels of the stuff to be delivered to his ship, set the empty cup on a bamboo tray, and left the office. He was perhaps a meter from the door when the inevitable junior guide approached him, albeit with a slightly different sales pitch than he might have expected.

  “You are Zetithian, I see,” the boy announced. “I am called Elvis. For three triplaks, I will take you to the Lady Althea.”

  Larry blinked. Clearly, any Zetithian who landed on Barada was expected to visit the one already in residence. “My, that was easy.” He paused, frowning. “The Lady Althea, you said?”

  “That is what she prefers to be called,” Elvis replied. “She says it lets everyone know she isn’t a native of this world.”

  How anyone could have mistaken a Zetithian for a Baradan of either sex was beyond Larry’s comprehension, but if Althea wanted to set herself up as some sort of exiled noblewoman, that was her business.

  He only needed to find her.

  “Seems like her surname would do that well enough,” Larry said. “I’m guessing there aren’t many Banadänsks around here.”

  Elvis shook his head so fast his features blurred.
“None at all. But many of our names are Terran in origin.”

  The fad of naming their children after Terran musicians was another aspect of Baradan culture that hadn’t faded. Although if there had ever been a singer named Althea, Larry hadn’t heard of her. Aretha, yes. But not Althea. That particular name was a reflection of her mother’s expertise in herbal medicine.

  “Three triplaks, you said?”

  Once again, Elvis’s head moved too quickly for even a Zetithian’s eyes to maintain focus.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Larry muttered. “Do you want payment before or after?”

  “Before,” Elvis replied.

  Larry eyed the boy with a measure of suspicion. While he’d inherited his father’s physical characteristics, his business acumen came from his mother, who rarely wound up on the short end of a deal. “How do I know you won’t run off once I pay you?”

  “You don’t,” Elvis admitted. “But we are a very honest and truthful people.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Larry reached into the pocket of his khaki trousers, fished out three of the carved pebbles the Baradans considered valuable enough to use in trade, and dropped them onto the boy’s outstretched palm.

  “Thank you very much,” Elvis said, mumbling slightly. “Shall I take you to the Lady Althea now?”

  “Absolutely,” Larry said with a grin. “Lead on.”

  * * *

  Althea glanced up from her botanical sketches to find Larry Tshevnoe staring at her. “That didn’t take long,” she remarked.

  “Four years?” He shook his head. “I suppose not. Especially when you consider it took Mom six years to find her sister.”

  With a reluctant chuckle, Althea got to her feet. At first glance, she didn’t think Larry had changed much in that time, although he might have filled out a bit. They were still almost exactly the same height with dark hair falling in spiral curls to their waists. Even though his mother was human, he was all Zetithian—from his pointed ears and catlike eyes, right down to his smooth, beardless cheeks. Despite the fact that her eyes were green as opposed to black, they’d often been mistaken for siblings. However, upon closer scrutiny, she could see that something had changed. A different aura, perhaps. “You look more like your father than ever.”

  Larry shrugged. “Minus the scars. Never having been a slave has its advantages.”

  “I’d imagine both of our fathers would agree to that.” With a flick of her brow, she added, “Although it sure beats being dead.”

  “Maybe.”

  His complete lack of expression had her on alert. Too bad he was the one person whose emotions she couldn’t sense. A mystery she’d never quite been able to solve.

  “So, Larry…gonna tell me why you’re here?”

  “Isn’t making sure you’re alive and well enough?”

  She drew in an unsteady breath, glancing at the jungle that surrounded them. “Not really. You of all people should’ve known where I would go and that I’d be safe here.”

  “Okay. So I lied.” Cocking a hip, he folded his arms across his broad chest. “I haven’t been looking for you for four years. In fact, I came straight here.” He nodded toward the trail to the coast. “With a little help from Elvis.”

  That much she could believe. “You still haven’t told me why.”

  “I missed you, Al.” A wicked grin revealed his fangs. “Or should I call you the Lady Althea?”

  She flapped a hand. “Whatever.” That look had always unnerved her, and she suspected he knew that.

  “I’m going by Larsan these days, myself. Sounds more, I dunno…sexy? Manly?”

  That last bit dragged yet another chuckle from her. “As if you needed any help in that department.” Zetithian males hadn’t been dubbed the hottest hunks in the galaxy for nothing, and Larry Tshevnoe was a prime specimen.

  “More mature, then,” he conceded. “Mom doesn’t like it much, but you know how she feels about those crazy Zetithian names.”

  Althea nodded. Upon learning that the slave she’d bought was named Carkdacund Tshevnoe, Larry’s Terran mother had opted to call him Cat, which was much shorter and more descriptive of a man with feline characteristics. Althea was grateful that her parents had gone with shorter names, and while Althea Banadänsk was still a bit of a mouthful, it had Larry, Moe, and Curly’s full names beat all to hell and back.

  “So why here and not Terra Minor?” he asked. “Or do you enjoy the distinction of being the only Zetithian on the planet?”

  “Not particularly,” she replied. “And that isn’t the reason I came here.”

  “I didn’t think it was.” His unblinking gaze remained riveted to her own. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  She should have been able to explain why some planets disturbed her more than others, but she couldn’t. Not to him. Not someone whose emotions were so unreadable.

  Even his facial expressions didn’t always provide the right clues. With other people, she could feel their emotions and compare them to their facial expressions and body language. But there was something different about Larry. Something deeper. Something she’d never quite been able to fathom.

  Truth be told, she’d never unburdened herself to anyone. Her own mother didn’t know how her powers worked. She had an affinity with animals, although it wasn’t the sort of two-way telepathic conversations her mother had with them. Her own communication was more subtle, like a suggestion or a request for a specific behavior instead of the mind-control techniques the Baradans used. She didn’t have to wave her hands the way they did, either. The exchange was entirely mental.

  Her primary element was earth, and sometimes she was sure it spoke to her. Not in actual words, but with feelings, emotions. One thing she was sure of: land didn’t like being moved or cultivated. For that reason, earthquakes were despised only slightly more than the plow. Barada Seven was different from just about every other planet in the known galaxy in that it had never been farmed. The inhabitants took what they needed from the jungle, living in absolute harmony with their environment. The ground still smarted from the few offworld-type dwellings that had been constructed there.

  She lived in the trees like the Baradans, climbing a ladder made of vines up to her bedroom each night. Fruit was easy enough to come by. Some species produced year-round, and though others were more sporadic, there was always something available, although she questioned the edibility of a few of them.

  “I like it here,” she finally said. “It suits me.”

  “I see.” That’s what he said, but did he really mean it? Larry was an enigma when he should have been comforting. After all, knowing what everyone around her was feeling was exhausting, which was the main reason she’d chosen to live in relative seclusion.

  “Think about it, Larry. This is the way my mother lived until my father came along. If it hadn’t been for your parents tempting them with adventure and the chance to see the galaxy, they would probably still be living in a cabin in the woods of Utopia. I had my fair share of thrills growing up on a starship. I felt the need to settle somewhere.”

  “Geez, Al, you make it sound like you’re in your nineties instead of your twenties. Sure, I left home and have my own ship now, but I’m not using it to hide.”

  “You’re different. You don’t have a thousand years of Mordrial witch ancestry telling you how to live. And I’m not hiding. If I’d been hiding, you wouldn’t have found me.” She couldn’t be sure, but his expression suggested he would have found her anyway.

  “Okay,” he said. “So you’re not trying to hide. Were you expecting someone? The first kid who pegged me as a Zetithian offered to bring me here.”

  “Elvis set himself up as my official helper, whether I actually need his help or not.” Which she didn’t. She didn’t have to wave her hands to get a srakie to fetch bolaka fruit from the jungle’s canopy, nor
did she expect one of the little ratlike monkeys to ride around on her shoulder. They came when she needed them. “How much did he charge you?”

  “Three triplaks,” Larry replied. “Seemed reasonable enough.” He glanced at the sketch she’d been working on. “So what do you do here besides draw plant pictures?”

  Trust Larry to take a less-than-compelling interest in her work. “I’m compiling an encyclopedia of the local flora.”

  He arched a dark, elegant brow. “Wouldn’t it be easier to take pictures?”

  Unclenching her teeth, she exhaled sharply. “You’re missing the point, Larry.”

  “Ah,” he said with a nod. “I get it. Busy work. You’d be finished in an hour if you were using a camera.”

  Althea somehow managed to catch herself before letting loose with a full-fledged growl. “I’m starting to remember why I left home in the first place.” Before he could say another word, she went on the offensive. “What about you? Why are you here?”

  “Wondered when you were gonna get around to asking me that. I need your help.”

  “Oh?” To the best of her recollection, Larry had never needed help with anything, much less admitted it. “What’s the matter? Your comsystem go on the blink and you need a telepath?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my comsystem, and even if there was, I wouldn’t need a telepath. There isn’t a comsystem in existence that I can’t fix. Besides, you’re an empath, not a telepath.” He stopped and shook his head. “Hold on, Al. You’re changing the subject. You know how I hate when you do that.”

  “Best form of evasion ever invented,” she said with a shrug. Still, if Larry Tshevnoe was asking for help, it was probably something important. “Okay. I’ll tell you. I came here to escape all the mental noise. The racket on Terra Minor is awful, and Earth is even worse. Rhylos is almost unbearable.”

  “I, uh, take it there’s less noise here.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Being here is like putting on noise-reducing headphones. Not entirely quiet, but close.” And then there was Larry, who never had caused the kind of mental static that most people did. His presence hadn’t altered the level in the slightest, which was probably why he’d been able to sneak up on her.