Pets in Space® 4

by S. E. Smith

  The Network was beyond cautious toward anyone entering its command center. The scan and disinfection protocols would sniff out any explosives she might be smuggling, but if she made it that far, it might already be too late.

  Maura whimpered again and stirred, sitting up to brace her front paws on his chest and stare into his eyes. “No Sona.”

  His SpyDog wasn’t capable of expressing complex thoughts. No Sona could simply be a statement that she wasn’t present, or it could be a warning that she sensed something going down, though she hadn’t said Sona bad. What might be going on between her and Garr at this moment?

  Rigel’s throat tightened as he considered the possibilities.

  “Sona not bad.”

  Still difficult to decipher Maura’s exact meaning. They’d been in Garr’s quarters a long time—nearly double the time he’d been questioned. Was there a problem? What was taking so long? Was she in trouble?

  Was Garr?

  Or were they…

  He really didn’t want to think about all the possibilities. But maybe he’d better check in with them.

  He got to his feet with Maura cradled in his arms and took a step toward Garr’s quarters.

  The seal to the captain’s cabin parted and Rigel sat down again. Maura’s ears perked and she gave a yip in greeting as Garr and Sona returned to the galley.

  Rigel studied them both openly, looking for changes in Sona’s expression or Garr’s body language that signaled a newly struck alliance—or dalliance. But Garr’s darkened visor hid any clues his expression might’ve revealed, and Sona was as calm and controlled as ever.

  Garr motioned Sona to her empty chair and took his seat across from Rigel.

  “All right,” Garr said. “Based on our discussions, I’m satisfied you’re both on the up-and-up about your situations and your standing with the Network.” He turned to look at Rigel. “I had my doubts about you.” His chin angled toward Sona. “A bit less so now.”

  “Good to know,” Rigel answered in a dry tone, tamping down a spike of irritation. It was him Garr was doubting?

  It seemed Sona had spoken well of him.

  He cast a quick glance her way. She acknowledged it with a subtle nod and the barest hint of a smile.

  “We’re still under a communications blackout, which means I can’t confirm your stories with headquarters. Once it’s lifted, it’ll be up to Command to sort out the status. Until then…” Garr waved a hand. “I recommend you both be on your best behavior.”

  “How soon will we rendezvous with Spirit?” Sona asked.

  “I don’t have a timeline.”

  Sona’s eyes sparked. “You realize it’s critical.”

  “We absolutely have to be onboard Spirit before she jumps,” Rigel asserted. It would take an ordinary ship more than a calendar to reach the remote Network command center. And for security reasons, the data Maura carried couldn’t be transmitted via the quantum entangled skip buoys. If he missed the transport, all bets were off.

  “Both of you relax. You’ll get where you’re going.”

  Rigel got to his feet. “I’m going to need your guarantee.”

  Garr pushed his chair back and stood abruptly. “I got you off Banna and I said I’d get you to Command. Don’t question me again, boy.”

  It was difficult to stare down a man wearing a visor, but Rigel attempted it anyway.

  Finally, Sona stood. “I’ll trust you at your word.”

  “Well, at least one of you has some respect,” Garr grumbled. “Get yourselves settled in your quarters. On the left, past my cabin. I’ll be on Flight.”

  Garr strode to the galley entrance and stopped. “By the way, the ship only has two berths, so the two of you will be sharing.” His visor angled toward Sona. “Unless you’d prefer other arrangements.”

  Rigel tensed.

  Sona eased back in her seat. “We’ll make do.”

  Garr gave a curt nod and headed to the lift.

  Rigel wasn’t sure what he resented more: the awkward prospect of bunking with his ward—he could no longer think of her as a prisoner—or Garr offering himself as an alternative bunkmate.

  It seemed Garr found her attractive. Rigel could understand why. But that was a dangerous thing to dwell on. He packed those thoughts away. “Let’s get settled.”

  Rigel located the entrance where Garr had pointed him and opened the seal on a musty compartment. The cabin was dim and sparse with a couple of battered lockers and two small bunks separated by only a couple of handspans.

  Sona cast a wordless glance his way, her pupils dilated in the dim light.

  Maura gave a cheep and left her perch on his shoulder to play on the berth nearest the seal, burrowing under the blanket to explore. “Guess that’ll be my rack,” he muttered to Sona.

  She nodded, a slow smile spreading over her lips as she watch Maura’s antics.

  Rigel got busy unpacking the few items in his satchel. Food for Maura. A collapsible granule container to set up for Maura. Treats for Maura. And a couple of changes of clothes for himself. He always traveled light. With a glance over his shoulder, he conceded that Sona traveled even lighter. She had no bag, only what she wore on her body.

  Her tall, trim, synth-leather clad body. Gods of Gellen, don’t go there.

  Rigel straightened. “Sorry.”

  “Why are you apologizing?”

  “For the less than stellar accommodations.”

  “I once served on a Rathskian patrol ship with a crew of forty-seven men—and one woman. Sharing a berth with you isn’t a hardship.”

  “Good.” Rigel met her eyes. “You were Rathskian military?”

  “Yes.”

  “No wonder you can handle yourself.” Rigel stiffened, realizing what he’d just implied. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way—”

  “You’re not wrong,” she said quickly. “My training was useful on more than one occasion.”

  Their gazes touched briefly.

  Maura poked her head out with a high-pitched squeak and gave Rigel a happy little StarDog smile. If she could’ve grasped the nuances of a sly wink, she’d probably have done that, too.

  “Were you an officer?” Rigel asked.

  She met his eyes briefly. “Junior grade.”

  Huh. Something they had in common. He’d served as a young ensign in the Carduwan fleet, until his ego-driven older brother started rising quickly through the ranks. Headed for the top, the rumors said. Potential fleet admiral.

  Rigel couldn’t stomach the idea of being his older brother’s subordinate. He’d requested discharge at the first opportunity and submitted his papers to the Network to join their espionage ring. Knowing Captain—and later, Commodore—Gant personally had been a boon. Though it still galled him that his brother’s connections had helped secure his security clearance.

  Rigel bent to stash his satchel under the bed. He reached out to pat his StarDog where she was squirreling through the covers and got a muffled purr in response.

  Sona said, “She’s a trusted companion, isn’t she?”

  “That, too,” Rigel answered, choosing his words carefully. “But you saw her capabilities when we confronted those cutthroats in the hangar.”

  “Yes. But that’s not what I meant. She’s closer to you than just a pet. Or an—what did you call her?—asset.”

  “I work solo, so having a StarDog as a partner gives me an edge.”

  “Still not what I meant.” Sona shifted, changing the tilt of her head from left to right. “The work you do can’t be easy. Especially working alone. There must be times you don’t feel so isolated when you have her for company.”

  Rigel thought of the assignment on Parol when he and Maura had taken refuge under a bridge as a winter monsoon dropped torrents of frigid rain around them. She’d fallen asleep cuddled inside his open parka, purring quietly as he stroked her in reassurance and waited out the storm. Without the companionship of his warm little StarDog that night, the cold and gloom would�
��ve been unbearable. “At times,” Rigel finally answered.

  “The other StarDog I knew was very clever, but nothing like Maura. She couldn’t untie knots. She didn’t have bio-camo properties. She was a companion. Not a tool.”

  “How did a StarDog come to be aboard Wisdom?” Rigel asked, steering the convo away from his partner.

  “Luna belonged to two members of Captain Gant’s crew—a navigator and his fiancée, a communications officer, who raised her. The woman’s name is Adini Kemm.”

  “Kemm,” Rigel repeated with a lift of his brow.

  “General Kemm’s daughter,” she confirmed. “Before he joined Command, her father operated the Network lab that bioengineered StarDogs, so it wasn’t surprising his daughter had one as a pet.” Sona edged closer to Rigel’s bunk and placed her hand over the wiggling lump under his covers. “I was an outcast on Wisdom. At times, Luna was my only friend. The only one who truly trusted me. The only soul who would come to visit and keep me company. I miss her.”

  Rigel could relate. It couldn’t have been easy being a Rathskian on a ship commanded by a man dedicated to ending the Alliance. “Maura’s really taken to you, too.”

  Again, a faint smile came to her lips and she lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Maybe because StarDogs see beyond my appearance, beyond my subspecies, and sense what’s in my heart. And in my head.” She eased down onto the bunk beside his playful partner, leaving only a small span of space between them, and stroked Maura tenderly.

  Rigel’s throat suddenly went dry. “Maybe so.” She was sitting very near. The growing sparks of attraction—of unsettling fascination—he was feeling toward her needed to be stamped out in a hurry. This was crazy. And completely unprofessional.

  Not to mention dangerous.

  The sounds of Sona’s soft laughter startled him out of his pit of awkwardness. Maura was playing a game of peekaboo, popping out of the covers with a sassy squeak then diving back underneath. A game she only played when she was happy and completely at ease in her surroundings.

  Sona lifted the covers to expose the merrily chittering StarDog. “I see you.” She laughed.

  Maura slipped out of her self-made burrow and dashed across the covers to Sona, springing forward to tap her muzzle gently against Sona’s nose.

  Sona rocked back. “What was that?”

  “That was a StarDog kiss,” Rigel said, trying hard to hold back a grin. “She really likes you.”

  Maura was chasing her tail in tight circles on his bunk between them now, a sign of obvious glee.

  “This must be puzzling for you,” Sona mused, not looking his way. “When you don’t share her feelings.”

  After several moments of weighty silence, Rigel finally said, “I don’t dislike you.”

  “You just don’t trust me.”

  “Trusting someone can be lethal in my line of work.”

  She rose, all grace and control. “I’ve had many opportunities to end you during our time together.”

  “That goes two ways.” He looked up at her.

  “We worked as a team to reach the shuttle.”

  “We did.”

  “Yet to you, I’m still the enemy.”

  He didn’t answer her. But he didn’t glance away either.

  Maintaining emotional detachment became a struggle when her gaze went smoky and direct. Something raw and uncomfortable shifted inside him.

  It was Sona who broke the connection, turning toward the wall of the cabin. To his surprise, she drew a curtain from a shallow recess and pulled it forward, separating their two bunks with a fabric partition. “I’m going to sleep now, Agent Blackline,” she said flatly, and disappeared into her personal territory, the curtain billowing in her wake.

  Rigel went still on his bunk. What had just happened? Maybe she was right about how he judged her, but he couldn’t afford to let his guard down any more than he already had.

  Maura looked up at him with sad, brown eyes and whimpered.

  “What?” Rigel asked softly.

  The StarDog crept into his lap. She was highly sensitive to his mood. Always had been. He stroked her soft, golden coat for a long while, but she didn’t purr. The only sound in the quiet cabin was Sona’s breathing growing ever slower and softer.

  Finally giving in to weariness, he eased back and stretched his legs out atop the bunk. Maura burrowed into the warm space between his arm and side and went still. Rigel stared, wide awake, at the dented ceiling of the cabin.

  Chapter Eight

  Sona awoke to a silent cabin. Deep sleep had come easily. So easily that she hadn’t been aware that Rigel had left their berth. Strange. Under normal circumstances, she was a very light sleeper, alert at the faintest sound.

  She rose, gathering the synth-leathers she’d left draped across the foot of her rack. She was about to slip them on over her t-skins when the cabin seal creaked open. A little golden StarDog head peeped up at her from under the privacy divider.

  “Good morning, little one.”

  She went to one knee to pet the creature then heard Rigel’s voice.

  “Captain Garr made breakfast if you’re hungry.”

  “I am.” She got back to her feet with the StarDog in her arms. “I’ll dress.”

  After several moments, Rigel answered with an odd catch to his voice. “I’ll be in the galley.”

  Sona placed Maura on her covers, pulled the synth-leathers on and made quick work of tidying her bunk. On her way to the seal, her gaze strayed to Rigel’s bed. He’d left it in disarray. Her attention lingered on the rumpled sheets and carelessly shed covers as she walked to the exit.

  Maura, following on her heels down the corridor, let out a soft trill. She smiled down at her little shadow.

  The scents of breakfast wafting in the corridor reminded her she hadn’t eaten much since yesterday morning onboard Wisdom. Hopefully, breakfast would entail something more to her taste than the unappealing pasta meal she’d picked at yesterday.

  She entered the galley to find the captain—helmet in place—supervising the auto grill. Rigel was seated at the table but rose when she strode into the room. What was this? A sign of respect? Or did he just prefer having a tactical advantage?

  He was so hard to read.

  Garr’s visor angled her way. “Sleep well?”

  “I did.” She scanned the small galley. “Can I help with anything?”

  “Just finishing up. Have a seat.”

  Sona took the chair across from Rigel, giving him a quick glance. He avoided her eyes, his attention fixed on Maura, who’d parked herself in his lap as soon as he sat back down.

  Why had Rigel chosen to rise so early? Surely, he was dog-tired after their ordeal yesterday. Clearly, he wasn’t comfortable sharing a berth with her. The tension in his face and body was evident. What did this fearless man fear? He was a study in mixed signals.

  Garr took two long steps to the galley table with three plates of food balanced on his arms. After distributing their meals, he took his seat in the empty chair.

  “Are we still in communications blackout?” Rigel asked.

  “We are,” Garr answered brusquely.

  “Any idea how long?”

  “They’ll make that call.”

  “There’s got to be a way—”

  “You’re one impatient bastard, aren’t you?”

  Rigel’s features went hard. “For good reason.”

  “Since it’s not something we presently have control over…” Captain Garr gave him a long, assessing look. “Might I suggest that you just put a lid on it?”

  Rigel’s gaze flickered to her before he focused on his plate and tucked into his food.

  “Tell me how much the two of you know about Mennelsohn craft,” Garr prompted.

  Rigel didn’t seem inclined to answer, so she did. “Which craft, specifically? Zaviar Mennelsohn designed vessels for half the known galaxy.”

  “I’m referring to his special prototypes.”

  “His e
xperimental craft,” she clarified. “They were his obsession. He developed them in stages, each new generation a more advanced refinement of his ideas. Each class was given a successive letter and each craft named for a paranormal element of original Earth. Demon. Goblin. Orb. Only two are now known to exist, both versions of his latest S-type series: Specter and Spirit. They’re the only two ships that can span the distance to MONA Loa in less than a calendar, but only Spirit is large enough to transport vessels in her internal bay.”

  “Aye,” Garr said thoughtfully. “Truth is, if he’d lived long enough, his prototypes could’ve turned the tides on the bloody Alliance. But I guess we’ll never know.”

  “Possibly,” Sona said quietly, sidestepping Garr’s subtle dig. “Unless his enemies reverse-engineered his M-drive and stole the technology for themselves.”

  Rigel snapped his head up. “Gods of Gellen, let’s hope not.”

  Sona jolted, the bite of his oath going deep. “Please…don’t say those words in such a way.”

  “What? Gods of Gellen?”

  Sona’s anger flared. He was striking at the very root of her culture and didn’t even realize. She managed to contain her ire before she spoke again. “Do you even know their names? The ones you curse?”

  Rigel shrugged off her question. “They don’t have names. They’re just statues of forgotten LaGuardian deities that stand in the Plaza of Gellen.”

  She huffed out a breath. “They aren’t forgotten. They aren’t deities. And they’re Draxian, not LaGuardian.”

  “I stand corrected,” Rigel said. “Prehistoric statues of ancient, mythological characters then.”

  Sona leaned forward in her chair, her voice stone cold. “That’s exactly what the Alliance wants you to believe.”

  He gave her a dismissive look. “You should know.” He made a stab at his im-eggs.

  “Excuse me, Captain. I’ve lost my appetite.” She pushed away from the table and strode away so quickly, Rigel felt the breeze of her passing.