Jess Granger

Berkley Trade ♦ May 4, 2010
ISBN-10: 0425234150
ISBN-13: 978-0425234150
Amazon

Chapter One

Cyn always liked watching women move, but there was nothing sexier than an angry woman moving with a purpose. Commander Yara cut across the dingy pub with the swift efficiency and cold grace of a falcon.

Perfect.

He tapped his fingers on the crooked table. The staccato rhythm punctuated his thoughts as he watched his adversary from the corner of the Freedock bar. On the far side of the base from the military platforms, the Freedock, or Scum, as the base personnel liked to call it, was the dock for traders without supply contracts looking for surplus or to fill trade gaps with the Union base.

Perched high over the platforms, the pub had a nice view of the desolate oceans of rock beyond the atmosphere shields. The sharp, metallic smell of cooling starships mingled with the scent of hot gear grease. It wafted into the pub in spite of the wheezing filtration system from where the automatic haulers shuffled empty freight containers like square-backed beetles. This was his world, and she had just stepped into it.

From the look on her face, she seemed keenly aware she’d just stepped in something. Cyn chuckled. She had a commanding enough presence in her uniform, but he couldn’t forget his very first impression of her. She reminded him of a lovely pixie with short, flyaway green hair. Now that pixie was pissed.

This was going to be fun.

“What do you mean there’s only one ship?” Her voice carried through the bar as she leaned toward the bartender, giving Cyn a healthy look at her ass.

He eased deeper into the shadows, kicked his boots up on the table and enjoyed the show. He knew who he was messing with. He’d been studying her for months. She was a Union commander, next in line to the throne of his home planet, and the only thing standing in the way of the revolution brewing on Azra.

But right now, for all her power and prestige, she was nothing more than a traveler searching for stage passage in the Scum. Lucky for her, he was the only one around with a ship. He made damn sure of that.
The encrypted nano-link he’d injected into his ear buzzed.

Through the low hum of interference, he heard Quad Sergeant Nalora’s voice as if she spoke directly into his head. He scratched his neck below his ear to try to adjust the damn thing. “You got her yet?” she asked. Even though she was somewhere on the base, the link sounded weak. The temporary transmitter would probably cut out soon.

“I’m on her,” he answered under his breath. His fellow revolutionary had risked much to help facilitate this meeting.

“Good, don’t crack this out, or we’re all dead.”

“It’s war, Sergeant,” he warned. It wouldn’t be pretty. It wouldn’t be nice, and there would be blood.

Azra was at the brink. The lower classes were about to rise against the high cities, but so far, the upper classes knew nothing. He intended to keep it that way. Yara was the lynchpin. She was the clear popular choice for heir to the throne. If the Grand Sister chose to step down, Yara would ascend peacefully as the new Grand Sister of Azra in a seamless transition that left no chinks in their security system, no opportunities for his people to strike.

He couldn’t let that happen. He needed chaos. He needed a blood duel for the throne to crack open the Elite’s defenses, and hopefully their unforgiving control over the planet.

“Any news on Palar?” he whispered. Yara’s rival had a solid following and a bloodthirsty nature, but a weak mind. She was just the sort of person who could start a war without knowing it, and he wasn’t going to miss his opportunity to take advantage.

“She’s edgy,” Nalora admitted. “She’s ready to take down the Grand Sister, but she doesn’t have the guts to face Yara for the throne. Yara would thrash her without blinking. You may have to hold onto her for a while before Palar has the confidence to strike. You think you can handle her?” Cyn waited half a beat. “Don’t answer that,” Nalora added.

Cyn hadn’t stopped watching the lovely commander. It was a shame that his plans couldn’t include anything more than kidnapping. He didn’t need complications, yet her wild green hair made his palms itch to touch it, smooth it. He wouldn’t mind letting his hands smooth a couple of other things. It was impossible. He knew what it meant to be Elite. For as much as she looked like a pixie, the women that ruled his home planet were hard, brutal, power-hungry and cold. This one would be no different.

According to his information, Yara was a talented fighter, driven, focused, absolutely dedicated to her bloodline, loyal to the Elite, but untested in true war. He’d use that weakness to his advantage.

“Can’t we just kill her?” Nalora grumbled. What was it about future Enforcers that made them so cavalier about handing out death?

“You elected me leader, so shut up and follow orders. If Palar strikes before I can deliver the goods and the hack the com array, we’re screwed. The timing of this has to be perfect.” They only had one shot to breach the Elite security systems. Everything had to go according to plan.

“So you’re going to use her like a piece in your game of chest?”

“It’s chess, Nalora, and yes. We need to keep Yara talking with her allies on Azra. Palar won’t strike while Yara’s still a viable leader. She’ll have to eliminate Yara from the picture. That gives us time to deliver the weapons and hack the array. As soon as we let it leak that Yara’s been taken hostage, Palar will immediately challenge the Grand Sister. If we control Yara, we can start this war when we have the perfect advantage, like pushing a button.” The static deepened. The nanos wouldn’t last much longer.

“You play too many games.” Nalora’s voice turned icy.

“I’m good at games.”

“You’d better be.” He listened to the annoying buzz as the nanos in his ear fizzled out, cutting off his communication. It was one thing to lead trained soldiers used to orders. It was another to try to band together thousands of individuals burning with pain and rage and little discipline in their lives. Still, they all looked to him as their one hope for freedom. Kidnapping the commander would be comparatively easy.

Yara scowled with the cold expression of a future queen, but the Icanlen bartender’s face remained as hard as her bald head. He listened carefully to their conversation.

“I am not going to pay some rankock-licking Earthlen scum for passage on a junked together freight hauler that doesn’t even look capable of flying through the atmosphere shield. When will another ship arrive?”

Cyn crossed his arms at the insult. At least his disguise was working. After living on Earth for more than a decade, he knew how to impersonate them. It didn’t take much to hide his Azralen heritage, just some hair dye, some antique Earthlen eye-lenses, his alias, Cyrus Smith, and the bracers that covered his Azralen coloring and traditional tattoos. Sometimes the low-tech route worked best.

He glanced through the dingy force-shield and down to the docks below. Steam rolled over the smooth black body of his I.S. Cruiser, illuminated by the glowing orange gravity generators. He’d busted the poor ship to make it to the base in time to intercept Yara, but it was more than capable of flying through the atmosphere shield.

“We’re between trade cycles. Next ship is at least a month out.” The bartender grasped the sanitizer hovering over the worn bar and resumed her cleaning as if she’d heard it all before, and didn’t give a damn about any of it.

“Shakt.” Yara cursed. Cyn smiled, enjoying her frustration. Now what was she going to do? She squinted as she looked around the dim interior of the bar.

“How can a Union base be completely devoid of any free trade traffic?” she lamented.

How indeed. Cyn pulled in a lot of favors to clear out the other transports, and Nalora had tied up the trade schedule with some perfectly timed rearrangements of the free trade docking permission cycle. Because Yara’s return home was considered personal leave, she wasn’t allowed to use military resources to travel. Not that it would help. The military ships were too busy moving the fourth front to play chauffeur to a commander heading in the opposite direction. If she wanted off the base, she only had one choice—him.

An enormous feline strutted out from behind a bench in the corner. It twitched its large tufted ears while its dark coat shifted over its chunky build. It was the type of cat that could take down prey five times its size, and for this cat, that equaled a small hippopotamus.

Crap, not a korcas.

**********

“Not now, Tuz,” Yara grumbled, nudging him aside with her leg. Her scout hissed, let out a low, irritated growl then he grabbed her by the ankle with his prehensile tail.

She hefted the overweight feline to her shoulder and stroked his swirling black and gray fur.

“Ona give me patience,” she prayed as she turned toward the dark corner of the bar.

A pair of black boots and the frayed cuffs of some old blue canvas pants from Earth propped up on a cracked synthwood table. Tuz growled and flicked his tufted ear against her cheek. She placed him on the floor and ordered a refill of whatever the guy was drinking from the bartender.

The woman pulled a bottle of amber liquid with a black label out from under the bar.

“You know anything about him?” Yara asked.

“Cyrus is safe enough,” the bartender replied. “Could do worse. He doesn’t like to take on passengers as a rule, but he has his papers and I haven’t heard a word against him.”

Yara flexed her fingers around the drink as she stepped back into the shadows of the bar.

The man in the corner leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his honed chest. There was nothing soft or tired about him. He bore no evidence in his body of long stretches of time spent in macrospace as he delivered his goods.

No, he was built like a cat, sleek muscle and lazy curiosity in his gaze as he watched her approach. She wasn’t fooled. Tuz always looked like that just before he pounced.

“You Cyrus?” she asked, getting to the point as she placed the drink on the table near his large foot. She felt a tingle slide down her spine.

“Commander,” he answered while tilting his head in a half-hearted acknowledgment of her authority. He had elegant, angular features roughened only slightly by the waving black hair curling around his ears from under his Earthlen ball-cap. “What can I do for you?”

“Don’t play games. You know why I’m here. What’s your price?” The faster they got in the air, the better. As it stood, she wouldn’t be able to leave the base until that night. If she didn’t reach home soon, a bloodbath could ensue.

He leaned forward and wrapped his long fingers around the drink in a slow, deliberate fashion, teasing the crystal before surrounding it in the heat of his palm. Yara found her attention fixed on his hand.

“Is this an attempt to butter me up?” he asked as he took a slow sip. The rat was sharper than she initially thought. Yara watched the muscle in his neck flex then lifted her gaze to his impossibly dark eyes. All thought melted away from her as she stared into his eyes. Black as space and just as deep, they seemed full of sexual fire as they met hers with blatant challenge.

She wasn’t used to men meeting her gaze. Azra was a female dominant culture and men knew their place. Here on the Union base with the myriad of cultures and people, her rank and reputation kept others from looking her in the eye. Her stomach fluttered.

He lowered the glass. “If it was an attempt, I’m sorry to say you suck at it.” A wicked smile full of sin and promise spread across his face as those dark eyes laughed at her.

Rankock licking was an understatement. She wouldn’t stand for this. She couldn’t let him get to her. Even as she thought it she realized he already had gotten to her. She tried to stifle her irritation, but couldn’t manage to suppress it.

“Listen, you . . .”

“Rankock-licking Earthlen scum?” He tilted his head as he watched her. “I’ll concede the Earthlen scum bit, but I draw the line at rankock licking. Licking rankocks isn’t my idea of a good time, Pix.”

Yara wasn’t sure what pix meant, but she was certain it wasn’t a term of respect. Her irritation blossomed into red hot anger. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I am still a commander on this base. You will address me as such or I’ll watch you rot in confinement for a week.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he took another drink. “Yes, sir.”

He placed the glass back on the table, never once breaking his eye-contact. “I’m sorry. I don’t take on passengers. You’re out of luck.” He leaned back into the shadows, giving her a reprieve from his gaze.

“Everyone has a price,” she hissed, unable to contain her ire. Did he think he could just dismiss her? “Name yours.”

Tuz leapt up on the table and glared at him with slanted yellow eyes only a shade lighter than hers. The table nearly tipped under the cat’s substantial weight.

“No deal, I’m allergic to cats.”

“Take a pill,” she quipped.

“There’s no pill for attitude.”

Great, he thinks he’s smart.

Tuz hissed, as if he agreed with her assessment.

“Tuz wouldn’t disobey me,” Yara stated. Her cat growled and swished his thick tail. Which wasn’t entirely the truth, but she could be reasonably sure Tuz wouldn’t kill the bastard. She just couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t bleed a little.

Cyrus kept a wary eye on the cat. “Sixty thousand.”

Yara felt as if she’d just taken a blow to the gut. “You’re out of your mind.”

“No, I’m the one with the ship and you’re desperate.” He downed the last of his drink and placed the empty glass between them. She found her gaze inexplicably drawn down to the glass. It lingered there a moment before she could snap out of it.

“How long will it take your ship to reach Azra?” she asked. She shook the image of his hand caressing the glass out of her mind and focused. He had caught her unprepared, but now that she was in the thick of it, she wouldn’t lose control again.

“It should take four days to reach Gansai, and one to repair the converter. After that, it’s an hour long macro-leap tops.” He leaned forward, locking gazes with her again. Oh, he knew this was a battle, the filthy rat.

“Wait a minute. The converter on the macro-drive is damaged?” Her shock slapped her in the face, followed by the sting of disappointment. This would not be an easy trip.

“It’ll be an easy fix. Don’t worry, the transwave systems still work.”

“You mean we have to travel transwave?” Her voice pitched up on the last word. She’d get there faster floating adrift in a pressure suit than using the outdated leap tech.

He shrugged. “You could hold your breath and try to jump, but I don’t think you are going to make it off this base any other way.”

“Fifteen,” she snapped as she crossed her arms and glared at him. “You’re not worth sixty.”

“Are you sure?” He let the sexual suggestion drip with innuendo as he said it.

Elite warriors were supposed to remain celibate. Very few adhered to that rule. She had neglected it in her youth, and now her transgressions haunted the back of her mind. She had enough experience to recognize this game for what it was, but not enough to numb her to it.

He watched her with a sinful look. “I know for a fact I’m worth forty-five,” he added.

“I’m not paying more than thirty-five.” She’d let his innuendos fall on deaf ears. “If the Grand Sister wants me that badly, she’ll send transport herself. I don’t need you.”

“But do you want me?” The fringe of his dark lashes lowered, turning his gaze into a polished seduction. He smiled, that damn smile.

Her dagger sunk into the worn chair with a satisfying thunk.

Yara enjoyed the look of surprise on the trader’s face as he looked down at the dagger lodged just centimeters from the seam of his crotch, then back up at her. It was all the answer she felt like giving him.

“Do we have a deal?” She stood straighter and looked down at him.

The Earthlen slowly rose to his feet, forcing Yara to look up to meet his arrogant gaze. Again that annoying shiver rushed down her spine, and she felt a tingling in the backs of her thighs. Her heart beat faster with a sudden rush of adrenaline. She felt as if she was about to begin a long and difficult sparring match, one she wasn’t sure she would win. Why did she like that feeling?

He smiled again as he offered her a hand. “I’ll take you on, Commander.”

**********

Yara stopped by her quarters after an awkward farewell party hastily thrown together by some of her lesser officers. She doubted any of them would miss her. She was just another commander, and a new uniform would take her place. She suspected a third of the people there had never even seen her, but were only there for the cold food and an excuse not to work.

At least Tuz had fun. He took a good chunk out of some poor lieutenant’s leg.

Her scout blissfully scent-marked her single bag of belongings with the side of his face. Clothes, weapons, they all stowed neatly in that bag. She double-checked the room as a force of habit more than anything. Empty, gray it was as if the years she’d spent living in this room made no impact on it at all, just like it had made no impact on her. She felt nothing as she shut the door on what should have felt like a home.

She’d been born, raised, groomed, and trained, her entire lineage preparing her for one single thing, the day she would take over the throne. She had no room in her life for anything else. Azra needed her now.

With a sense of foreboding, Yara accessed the stored messages in her com unit and listened one more time to the warning from one of her closest allies on Azra. The message was in code, and she wanted to be sure she didn’t miss anything.

Palar was planning to light the fire in the temple. If she initiated a blood challenge, she’d probably kill the Grand Sister, and Yara and her supporters would have to fight her and her faction to the death for the throne. She had to return home and show Palar she wasn’t about to back down. She would inherit the throne peacefully once the Grand Sister decided to step down.

She wondered if the Grand Sister knew of Palar’s plot, and that was the real reason she was calling Yara back home. It made sense. The Grand Sister couldn’t be serious about sending her on a bloodhunt for some worthless mudrat traitor. She knew her training partner’s defection was a scandal, and that the Grand Sister was furious about it, but finding the traitor’s brother, Cyn, and seeking justice through him was pointless. It wouldn’t bring Cyani back.

Yara wandered toward the Scum, unsure how she felt about returning home. No matter how much she had been pressured into her position as one of the Elite, something didn’t quite fit. She felt the weight of expectation, and it cut into her like binding straps tied too tight. But she didn’t want a bloody coup to tear the Elite apart, either. Her planet needed her to be what she’d been bred to be. A leader. She would maintain the peace and order of her planet. Azra didn’t need change, it needed consistency.

Perhaps when she assumed the throne, the emptiness would ease. It was probably nothing more than a need to fulfill her purpose. Doubt crept into the dark corners of her mind. What if it was something else? What if she assumed the throne and the dark emptiness never went away? She tried not to think about it. It didn’t matter.

Tuz stalked along behind her, occasionally leaping forward to tag the back of her heel with a paw. They passed fewer and fewer people in uniform as they found their way through the maze of endless halls toward the far end of the base. She knew to keep moving. Tuz tended to launch his full scale attack on her boot whenever she stopped.

The slick and polished halls of the Union base deteriorated to chipped slab floors with dingy walls as she entered the Freedocks. The constant clatter of haulers shuffling shipping containers in the warehouses echoed under the large force shields. The shields arched like giant bubbles over the gravity generators on the rough ground below.

She still didn’t understand. There should have been at least seven free trade transports unloading supplies with hundreds of people milling through the halls on the way to processing and accounting, or the bar.
Her unease grew as she stared across the Freedock to the dark ship waiting for her on the other side. Her captain leaned against a landing strut, waiting.

She’d spent hours looking for something, anything, even a complaint of hull vermin against him. She found nothing. That alone was odd.

Her neck began to tingle, her skin growing sensitive as her heart beat faster.

She wasn’t afraid of him.

If he tried to pull anything, she’d just kill him, or Tuz would.

He crossed his arms against his chest, his simple synthlin shirt gaped just enough for her to catch the edge of a scar on his chest. Who was he? In the modern age, scars were rare on people from tech, especially on Earth. That planet had at least a thousand year history of seeking physical perfection through medical intervention. How did he get one? She had a sinking feeling it wasn’t from a medical procedure. It was a mark of violence.

The muscles in her legs suddenly felt heavy and uncoordinated.

She still wasn’t afraid of him.

But he made her nervous.

“Commander,” he greeted with a nod of his dark head. The orange glow of the gravity generators reflected in the lenses of his eye shades.

Yara didn’t like being unable to see his eyes. She didn’t trust him.

She walked forward with a steady and deliberate stride. It would be fine. As soon as she reached home, she could put the Earthlen out of her mind forever.

“Captain,” she responded holding her head higher even though she felt flushed. She tried to tell herself it was only the radiant heat from the ship.

“Are you ready for this?” He smiled. It was a blatant invitation, and an even more blatant challenge.

“Absolutely,” she answered.