by S. E. Smith
“Choosing the easy way?” he asked in a deep, gravelly voice. “The hard way is more fun, but this is more profitable. Take their weapons.”
Several of the pirates moved forward, searching the Starlight’s crew and confiscating their weapons.
A male borian approached Peyton. The human woman—who’d always been introverted and timid but was amongst the best engineers in the business—whimpered and cringed away. The borian grabbed the back of her neck with one of his big hands and drew her closer.
“Got a few exotic ji’tas here, Vrykhan,” he said.
Umae, a borian herself, spat at the pirate’s feet. “You are a disgrace to our people.”
The borian pirate drew a knife from his belt with his free hand and angled its point toward Umae. “But a wealthy disgrace.”
Kiara growled and darted toward him, dropping a hand to her blaster. “Leave them alone!”
The big tretin stepped in front of Kiara, and she collided with him; it was like running face first into a brick wall. Before she could back away, he clamped a hand on her shoulder, his grip tight enough to nearly make her knees buckle. She cried out in pain; there was no doubt he could crush her bones to powder if he wanted to.
With his free hand, the tretin broke Kiara’s hold on her blaster and plucked the weapon out of its holster. He passed it to one of the nearby pirates. Leaning down so his face was level with hers, he ran the back of a clawed finger down her cheek.
“So soft,” he said, trailing his finger toward her lips. When she turned her face away, he grinned, revealing wicked fangs.
“Sod off, you knob-headed mingebag,” Kiara said.
His grin widened. “So spirited. What does this look like to you, Brazzik?”
The male borian glanced at Kiara. “Merchandise, Vrykhan.”
“Unique merchandise,” Vrykhan replied. “These soft ones are terrans. Very rare and in high demand.” He dropped his gaze to Kiara’s chest and grabbed her jacket with his free hand. “I think I can see why.”
Tekel lunged at the tretin.
One of the pirates slammed the butt of his auto-blaster into Tekel’s face, knocking him aside. “Don’t you fucking move!”
Vrykhan’s long, pointed tongue slipped out from between his sharp teeth and ran along his dark lips.
Kiara punched him in the face and hammered her forearm onto his, but Vyrkhan made no indication of pain—his head moved a centimeter, his arm not at all. He tightened his hold on her shoulder. Kiara’s legs gave out as fresh pain jolted through her, but his grip was so strong that he held her upright.
He swung her around, slammed her back into the wall, and tore her jacket open like it was made of paper.
“Well now, what is this?” He hooked a claw beneath the chain of her necklace and lifted it off her collarbone. “A balus stone? You let one of those Dominion worms fuck you in exchange for this?”
Kiara pressed her lips together and stared at the pendant.
Vyrkhan curled his fingers around the stone.
Don’t.
The tretin yanked on the necklace. For an instant, the chain bit painfully into her skin, and then it snapped, producing a flare of stinging pain on the back of her neck.
“No!” Kiara thrust out a hand to reclaim the necklace, but Vrykhan lifted it out of her reach.
He tossed the pendent to Brazzik. “Hold on to that. Those things sell well enough that it’s worth fencing with the rest of the cargo.” Looking back at Kiara, he grasped her chin and turned her face from side to side. His hold on her was firm, punishing. He finally released her shoulder to brush the tips of his claws through her hair. “Such a pretty thing. You’ll earn me a lot of credits.”
Vrykhan shoved away from Kiara, forcing her against the wall again and knocking the air from her lungs. She stumbled forward, but Tekel—blood trickling from his cat-like nose—forced his way over and caught her by the upper arms to steady her before she could fall.
“I want the merchandise moved into the cargo hold and this ship’s systems up and going,” Vrykhan commanded. “Set course for Caldorius. We’ll offload everything in one go.”
Several of the pirates slung their weapons over their shoulders and hurried to the ship’s control stations as the others herded Kiara and the crew toward the door at gunpoint. Tekel helped Kiara walk; her legs remained unsteady.
“You will face justice for this,” she said.
“And you’ll face a miserable life of slavery, my little pet, probably sucking off some wealthy merchant’s stem for the rest of your years,” Vrykhan replied. “Should’ve died fighting.”
“Ship is low on fuel, sir,” one of the pirates called. “Its course was locked in for the nearest refueling station, Janus Six. They already checked in as making their approach.”
“That’s a Dominion station,” another said.
“We divert the course, and they’ll come looking,” the tretin grumbled. “How far will this ship make it on its current stores?”
“Just far enough to leave it stranded in space. It won’t make the meet-up location or Caldorius, that’s for sure.”
Vrykhan growled. “Brazzik, stay aboard with ten men. Match their species”—he jabbed a finger at Kiara and the others—“as closely as possible, and keep three men in the hold to guard the goods. Stop, refuel, and move on. This haul’s too valuable to lose. Start moving the merchandise as soon as you get to Caldorius, but keep the terrans. They’ll fetch a premium price, so I’ll have to contact the right purveyors.”
“Bastard,” Kiara muttered, wishing she could blast those bloody teeth out of his skull.
“Do not fuck this up, Brazzik,” Vrykhan said. “Get there in one piece, and you can have a go at the female borian.”
Brazzik grinned.
“Yaril, stick with him. We’ll find you on Caldorius after I’ve met with the ertraxxan,” Vrykhan said.
A reptilian ilthurii nodded and moved toward the control consoles.
“Move it,” one of the pirates growled, jabbing the barrel of his blaster into Kiara’s back to shove her along.
Tekel tensed, sticking alongside Kiara as she staggered forward. She felt his claws extending; he eased when she placed a hand on his forearm. Mason wrapped an arm around Peyton’s shoulders, holding her close, as Umae and the female volturian, Inara, glared at their captors.
Kiara released a heavy breath through her nostrils and turned her face forward as she and her companions were ushered off the bridge. Had she made the right choice? This way meant they’d probably live, that they had a chance…but if an opportunity for escape didn’t come up, what sort of lives would they be forced into?
Come on, Cypher. We’re counting on you.
Commander Syntrell Volcair Vantricar held in a sigh and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as he reviewed yet another ship’s manifest. He’d chosen to renew his military service after earning the right to carry the name of his ancestral qalar, and he’d done so knowing his rank could eventually mean a focus on administrative duties despite—or even because of—his exemplary combat record. The leadership of the Entris Dominion often rewarded its most decorated soldiers with positions considered safe and easy, like Volcair’s current command of Janus Six, a Dominion-operated space station. Though the station was important as a potential base of operations for Dominion fleets and served as a checkpoint and refueling station for private trade vessels traveling in and out of Entris space, life here was monotonous.
Every day during his three months commanding Janus Six had seen endless perusals of shipping manifests, security clearances, and requisition forms to keep the station—which was not unlike a city floating through the vacuum of space—adequately stocked to provide for its garrisoned soldiers, long-term residents, and passing travelers. The crises he dealt with were not matters of life and death, but of keeping congested shipping lanes flowing, of mediating between angry merchants and rival crews, and of delivering justice to the diverse people who passed into his
jurisdiction.
He often caught himself yearning for simpler times—for the black-and-white reality of combat.
For the life he’d briefly led on Earth so many years ago.
“What is the situation with this one?” he asked as he brought up the next manifest.
“Trade frigate registered with the United Terran Federation,” Lieutenant Beltheri, who stood near his desk, replied. “It is pre-cleared, en route to Deduin. One of the docking guards flagged it. Suspicious behavior from the crew.”
Volcair grunted; suspicious behavior was a common reason for his soldiers flagging docked vessels. Most of the time, nothing came of it—some of the commercial crews were in deep space for months-long stretches and were in understandably deteriorated emotional states when they arrived. But sometimes there was more; the Dominion was not without enemies and malcontents.
He scanned the ship’s information. The Starlight, port of origin on planet… Volcair straightened in his seat.
Earth.
Not surprising; Earth was the terran homeworld, and the United Terran Federation had only colonized a handful of worlds thus far.
His throat constricted as he manipulated the file to show the registration information.
Owner: Kiara Moore
Terran; UTF Citizen
Licensed for trade in UTF and Entris Dominion Territories.
Fingers suddenly numb, he touched the control on his uniform’s breast to activate his commlink. “This is Commander Volcair. Who flagged the terran ship?”
Lieutenant Beltheri furrowed her brow.
After several seconds of quiet, the comm crackled to life, and a male said, “It was I, Commander. Ensign Korian.”
“What did you see, Ensign?”
“Two of the ship’s crew disembarked to engage the refueling process and present their official manifest, Commander. They seemed impatient and anxious beyond reason.”
“No recorded distress signals,” the lieutenant said, preempting Volcair’s suspicion—pirate hijackers were known to take hostages to persuade captured civilian crews to get stolen ships through checkpoints unhindered, but it was too soon to assume such a case here.
“Was one of them a female terran? Dark hair and brown skin?” Volcair asked. His heart thumped as hard as it had during his first combat drop.
“No, sir. A borian and a volturian,” Ensign Korian replied.
Volcair leaned forward, propped an elbow on his desk, and dropped his forehead onto his hand. Kiara was the vessel’s owner, but that didn’t mean she was on board; countless ships were owned by individuals who never set foot upon them.
But there was a chance she was aboard the Starlight. And if she was…
Was she avoiding him? Was her crew in a hurry because she’d instructed them to get the ship out of the station as quickly as possible, thus eliminating any chance of seeing Volcair?
The very thought of it hurt, but thoughts of Kiara were always bittersweet. He’d been so sure about his relationship with her for most of his life. So sure their paths would meet again, and that when they did, they’d be forever intertwined.
Fate had decided otherwise years ago.
If she is here, I must see her. Just one more time.
“What is the Starlight’s current departure status?” he asked.
“On hold, sir,” replied Lieutenant Beltheri, “pending your approval.”
Flattening his hands on the desk, Volcair pushed himself to his feet. “I will speak with the crew personally.”
Beltheri frowned and said, “Respectfully, sir, we have several more cases to review, and—”
“I will attend this matter personally,” Volcair said. Anxiety churned in his gut, but he forced it down; he needed closure. He needed to know she was happy. Needed to know she was safe.
Once she’d departed from Janus Six, he would let himself feel the pain of losing her anew—a pain that time seemed unable to heal.
Beltheri bowed her head. “Yes, sir.”
Volcair stopped before the lieutenant on his way to the door. Beltheri was a good soldier despite her relative lack of experience, and he had no doubt she would earn many honors during her service, but she was only a few months out of the officer’s academy—she undertook every task with a strict adherence to the rules, just as she’d been taught.
It was an admirable quality, but she would have to learn flexibility eventually—especially if she was ever deployed in combat.
“You have my leave to continue reviewing the flagged manifests, Lieutenant. I trust your judgment.”
Beltheri lifted her chin and stiffened her stance to attention. “Thank you, sir.”
Volcair nodded and exited the room. The seemingly endless number of responsibilities tied to his command faded for the first time since he’d come here, giving way to thoughts of Kiara. Excitement sparked in his stomach, mixing with his anxiety and creating something new, something nauseating and uncertain and uplifting.
He knew what he’d feel when he saw her—she is meant to be mine, my mate, my forever—but it wasn’t the truth. It hadn’t been for years. She had moved on.
And he feared he never would.
Volcair proceeded through the corridors at a brisk pace, offering hurried return salutes to the soldiers he passed. The journey from his command center to the bay in which the Starlight was docked wasn’t a quick one under normal circumstances—though Janus Six was remote, it was large—but his anticipation made it feel even longer than usual despite his haste.
He took a military-use-only shuttle to the docking bay and hesitated as he was crossing the upper catwalk. Kiara’s ship was there, docked with its aft portion inside the bay’s protective forcefield. It was a Thrassian-class frigate—a terran version of a popular volturian cargo ship, blending the volturian flare for style with a human practicality.
Just one more time…
Volcair descended the steps and strode toward the Starlight. Massive metal docking arms held the ship in place. That sparked a pang of guilt in his chest; would she think he was holding her prisoner? Was that what she’d thought when she found herself a new mate back on Earth, that she was finally freeing herself from promises made before she was old enough to know any better?
He climbed the ramp to the ship’s aft entry door and drew in a deep breath.
We were children when last we saw one another. We have both changed. Whatever we thought was between us…it was just innocent friendship.
Volcair was unconvinced by his own reasoning.
He lifted a hand and pressed the button on the control panel marked CALL in terran letters.
The small screen above the button flickered on, and a male borian with chiseled features appeared on it.
“Yeah?” the borian asked.
“I am Syntrell Volcair Vantricar, the commander of this space station.”
The borian’s eyes widened slightly, and he glanced at something beyond the edge of the video feed. “And? What do you want?”
“I need your crew to disembark.”
“Look, we’re on a tight schedule. We, uh…”
Another individual appeared on the screen—a dark-skinned volturian from the Kolduran qalar, by her violet-red markings. “We’re on a tight schedule, sir,” she said, glaring at the borian. “Cargo isn’t going to deliver itself.”
“And we haven’t done anything wrong. Our manifest is all in order,” the borian added, earning a sharper look from his companion.
Volcair kept his expression neutral; he understood Ensign Korian’s suspicions now.
“I need the two of you and the rest of your crew to come to the aft entry and disembark.” Volcair raised his left arm to access the control unit on his wrist. He kept it low, hoping it was out of view of the camera relaying his image to the people inside the ship, and flicked his fingers through the control screen to send a message to Lieutenant Beltheri.
Need a boarding crew standing by, DB9-14.
The borian and the volturian excha
nged a glance before the former grumbled, “Fine.”
The screen beside the door went dark. Volcair switched off his control unit and waited, the sense of dread in his gut thickening with each passing moment. Either Kiara really didn’t want to see him, she wasn’t here, or…
With a long hiss, a rumbling, and the whir of unseen motors, the airlock door released and swung inward. The interior door of the small chamber beyond was already open; the borian and the volturian stood in the doorway.
“Where is the rest of your crew?” Volcair asked.
“We’re it,” the borian said.
The female volturian frowned. “The others are resting. We’ve had a rough trip so far.”
Volcair shifted his gaze between the two. Something darted across the corridor behind them—something silvery and low to the floor. A moment later, Cypher peered at Volcair from just within one of the side doorways, revealing only two of his eyes, part of his narrow snout, and one large, backswept ear.
Volcair’s heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t seen Cypher—the only creature in all the universe he considered a true friend apart from Kiara—for nineteen years. Why was the inux acting so skittish?
It took all Volcair’s willpower to keep from outwardly reacting to the unexpected sight. He lifted his arm, activated his control unit, and summoned the ship’s manifest. “You have how many aboard?”
“Seven,” said the borian.
“Six,” replied the volturian.
Expressions darkening, the pair glared at one another.
Volcair was suddenly aware of the holstered blaster on his belt but dared not lower his right hand toward it.
“I see. There are six listed on the manifest for this trip.” He clicked his tongue, watching from the edge of his vision as Cypher silently crept into the hallway and approached, metal scales standing up and vibrating as though in alarm. “I will need to speak with the owner of the ship. If there is an error on the manifest, it will need to be resolved before we can move you into the departure queue. This sort of thing happens often.”
