Hunter's Light, Pella's Quest

Hunter’s Light Pella’s Quest Work in Progress

SHARON VANDER MEER

Copyright © 2018 Sharon Vander Meer All rights reserved.

ISBN: ISBN-13:

DEDICATION

Work in progress.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Work in progress

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Backstory At the conclusion of Thunder Prime: Fog Island, Pella Soames is twelve, an orphan, it would seem, the victim of circumstances beyond her control. But she has no intention of remaining a victim.

Now a grown woman, with a transport business of her own, Pella uses all the resources available to find out if her mother is alive and captive of the Chandorian Brutus Tauk. But getting on Chandor isn’t all that easy. Getting information is even harder. And she must take on work to support her quest. She and her crew of four move people and cargo across the known universe, a lucrative business that gets in the way of Pella’s goal, to find her mother…

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Chapter 1 Aboard Polaris The woman beats at her attackers. Her body splits apart as a RHACS drub enters her. Not the first one; not the first time.

“Run,” the woman shrieks. “RUN!” And the child does.

Pella awoke bathed in sweat and dripping tears. A shudder of guilt and horror scraped like thorns across her skin. A familiar tone penetrated her wounded brain as she rolled off the bunk and stood.

“Soames!” Strong, controlled, unlike the turmoil centered in her gut.

“Captain, the shuttle is cleared to land on Chandor.”

Commander Gouyen Walker’s statement knocked residual effects of the nightmare to the back of Pella’s mind.

“Noted. Who's taking him down?”

“Aoife. Wants to get him to talk.”

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Not going to happen. Their passenger’s poor disguise fooled no one, but if he wanted to cling to the illusion of anonymity, so be it. His privilege. He’d booked for transportation, not companionship. She couldn't help but wonder. Goodwin Harp, self-appointed leader of New Way traipsing around the galaxy on a reconditioned transport? It made no sense.

“Hope she doesn't expect much,” Pella said “You know Aoife, looking to gain an inside track.”

She let the comment pass. “Notify me when the shuttle has landed on planet.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Pella dragged a shaky hand down her face. She had not intended to sleep, but several months in space jumping from one launch platform to another drove her to her bunk, and opened a door to the pain of her nightmares.

Like it mattered, awake or asleep, the dream pursued her.

She hid like a coward while Re-Hab Assimilation Camp human drubs traded off assaulting her mother. And then she ran away.

Pella hated to remember, but could not forget. It is what drives her.

Somewhere in the galaxy her mother lives. She is sure of it. Her search will not end until she learns the truth.

Pella suspects her treacherous father knows where her mother is. She wants to find him, too, and ask that very question. After all, her mother is a captive because of his deceit.

Bile rose like a hot geyser. She hurried to her lavatory expecting to upchuck, but a few deep breaths and a cold cloth on her face calmed her unsettled system.

Her reflection in the mirror over the sink was anything but impressive, but she appeared to be in control, not at all the bundle of anxiety that ravaged her insides. Discipline was second nature to Pella.

“Captain?”

“Soames, here.”

“The shuttle has landed on Chandor.”

“Thanks.”

“And Captain?”

“Yes?” “Adams' cabin is clear and unlocked. Your visit will go unrecorded.”

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Chapter 2 Goodwin Harp The gilded city flashed in the setting sun. Voluptuous exotic flora breathed poison into the atmosphere. Despite his mask and protective gear Goodwin Harp shivered, but didn’t slow down. He matched Emtet J'fal’s rapid pace step for step.

Harp’s rejuvenated body, massive ego, wealth, and an incredible memory convinced him he was superior to all other beings. Behind the mask and protective suit Harp had the appearance of a youthful and robust mid-fifties. His brilliant mind retained data he considered of import, including the contents of the book. He was the book. Should something happen to him before he reached his goal, everything would die with him, but he would not fail. He would become the greatest 10

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human who ever lived, bringing the Deity of Deities to the galaxy. And he would be immortal.

The skin on his face stung as icy fingers of cold penetrated the mask.

Oh, how he hated this accursed place, but he needed these beings to solidify his standing galaxy-wide and establish New Way as the only way. First, he had to get to Bonnak Wallace, a direct descendant of the planet's original settlers. Without Wallace’s support, New Way on Chandor was dead. And there were other compelling reasons to gain access to the planet. Perhaps it was best in the long run that his emissaries had been rejected, forcing him to come instead. Harp needed Wallace’s cooperation, but he needed Chandor's rich resources of minerals and essential industrial gemstones more. He would not give up until he won Wallace over.

J'fal raised a cautionary hand. Harp stopped beside him with eyes lowered as a wizened Chandorian passed by flanked by guards and a bevy of exquisitely adorned Chandorian fems. Ugly as mud, to Harp's eye, but no doubt real beauties by Chandorian standards.

So why, he wondered, did the males of Chandor seek true human fems, paying any price to possess one? Testosterone? It plagued every male in every species. Harp no longer had interest in fems for sexual purposes. When his sex drive diminished, he was glad to be rid of the animal urges of his body. Sex got in the way of ambition. Fems were nothing but trouble. For the same reason, he never had progeny. Filthy beggars all of them.

J'fal waved his hand bringing Harp back to the moment. He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulders as they moved on toward the government bureau entrance.

The door sighed open as they drew near and closed behind them with a hollow thud. Darkness was instant, followed by pinpoints of light that flashed randomly. Harp stumbled into J'fal.

“Fo can deca!”

Harp stilled, hiding the fury that raged through him. To have an inferior call him a clumsy shit deserved reprimand, but not now, not under these circumstances. But he would not forget.

A panel slid open revealing a well-lit austere waiting area. As they stepped through J'fal motioned to an industrial bin.

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“Dispose of the protective garment and be seated. Wait until you are called. When you are ready to leave, I will bring a replacement protective suit and return you to your transportation.” With that he strode away and left through a door marked in universal galactic: No Entrance. Violators Will Be Detained.

Rumor had it that detainment meant being sent to the Chandorian mines never to be seen again.

Having been unceremoniously discarded like stinking garbage, Harp did as instructed. Under the protective garment, he wore a form fitting body suit. This he covered with a golden-threaded tunic from his backpack. His silver white hair, released from the confines of the protective suit, cascaded down his back in a shimmering fall. Confident his appearance was now appropriate for meeting the ruler of Chandor, he turned his attention to his surroundings.

Humanoid Assigned Need Artificial Intelligence units sat at terminals spaced around the perimeter of the room. At the center was an arrangement of upholstered chairs for the comfort of those who were waiting. The seats were empty.

Harp approached one of the male ANAIs. It continued working as though he didn't exist. Harp resisted the temptation to pull out his weapon and obliterate the useless pile of components that made up the pseudo-human, and then remembered, he wasn't carrying a weapon. It was not allowed.

Harp resented talking to any ANAI as though it were human, but he did not intend to spend hours in the waiting area when he was the only one with business to conduct.

“When will Director Jonfellow be available?”

The ANAI worked without pause as it spoke.

“You will be called.”

“I have an appointment.”

“You will be called.”

Harp seethed. He needed to make his case to Jonfellow and speak with Wallace. As a man of consequence across the galaxy it was reprehensible to be put off in this manner. Inexcusable! His lips thinned and for an instant a hint of his former visage appeared, his eyes fired by hate for everything beyond his control. Nevertheless, he was

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here as a petitioner. He must focus on his objective. He must bide his time.

Chapter 3

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Aboard Polaris Pella sat back on her heels and looked around Harp’s Spartan cabin.

There was nothing that didn’t support his claim to be James Adams, a galactic trader. Of the fourteen passengers the Polaris carried when it left Earth, Harp was the only one booked to Chandor, the planet most distant from Earth. Harp had kept to himself, requesting meals be sent to his cabin. He was traveling alone, no aides or servants. Suspicious.

Every time Pella had seen him on VidNet, he was surrounded by guards and acolytes. She shrugged it off. No business of hers. He’d paid handsomely for privacy and special treatment. With his creds in her account, her business with him was done, except for taking him to Alpha 9, his destination after leaving Chandor.

She accepted that her uneasiness stemmed from Adams/Harp being on Chandor, the place she wanted to be. Not that the Polaris crew hadn’t been on Chandor, but only with access to Shirefel, the only metro on the planet. It was one thing to deliver cargo to intake; quite another to have access to the holdings of the elite. And that was Pella’s goal. To get to the holding of Brutus Tauk. What she would do when she got there ran headlong into a wall of ignorance. It seemed an impossible goal. She had no contacts on planet and no way to access protective gear, the only way true humans, and most off worlders, could survive outside the city.

As she left Harp’s cabin and headed for command bay, she trailed her fingers along the walls in passing, still delighted – and sometimes unbelieving – that this beautiful ship belonged to her. Before it was the Polaris, it had been Thunder II, the second transport in the Casey clan’s original company. As the company grew, the transport had been relegated to use for parts. During the time she was still working for Jake Casey, she had asked to purchase it. No, he’d said, just take it. It’s no use to the company. Pella couldn’t abide the idea of accepting what amounted to charity. The Caseys had done enough. She struck a deal to haul cargo and passengers at half rate with the rest of her income going to pay the debt on Thunder II.

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Three intense years of hard work earned her enough to make the ship hers. It had a new name and a new purpose. With the help of her crew she’d honed the Polaris into a sturdy craft, and created a successful transport company ferrying people and cargo about the galaxy.

She should have been content, maybe even that thing referred to as happy, but every time she began to get comfortable, she remembered her mother’s screams.

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Chapter 4 Landfall Safe Haven had been destroyed years ago by RHACs and Amalgamated World Organization of Rebel Insurgents – more commonly known as AWORI. But nothing could keep the survivors down. The village had been recreated and strengthened. It now boasted a population of more than five hundred souls, a mixture of earthers and off worlders. Pella knew most of the residents, or they knew her.

As she ambled across the open area in front of the rebuilt meetinghouse, self-absorption deterred anyone from approaching. Pella returned greetings with a wave or a quick nod, but kept walking.

James Adams/Goodwin Harp, had disembarked on Alpha 9. He was a fool of the first order if he thought his disguise effective. He looked about as much like a galactic trader as Pella looked like a Chandorian.

A whooshing flap brought a grin to her face and a burble of laughter to her lips. The ungainly dragaun loped toward her with wild joy. His wings flapped gracefully to maintain balance. Booder pecked at her short-cropped hair and cooed.

“Hey, get off now.” She tried to sound stern, but laughed as he spread his wings and exposed his snowy breast in trust. “Dumb draguan!”

The dragaun batted his long lashes.

“Sorry, Pel, he got your scent and I couldn’t hold him back.” Elvira Hummiford trotted up and huffed a labored breath. She slipped a lead rope over Booder’s slender neck and tied it to her belt.

“Now, girl, give me a hug and tell me what you’ve been up to!”

Before Pella could pull away, she was enveloped in a warm embrace.

Elvira had taken her into her home, yet Pella felt no closeness to her or anyone else. She quickly disengaged and resumed walking. After a moment, Elvira was at her side and talking about life at Safe Haven.

Pella heard the words, but paid little attention to their meaning. Loss pricked at her soul. Everything about Safe Haven was a reminder of the life she once had. Her goal was singular. Until she found her mother, 16

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everything else was of little import. And then there was the matter of her father. Why did he scorn everything he claimed to believe in by betraying the people who trusted him? It was a question she planned to ask when she tracked him down. As a child, Pella had loved her mother and father – dam and sire in legal terminology – without question. She believed they were smarter and stronger than anyone. Now she focused on finding Trish and exacting revenge on her father. Jake Casey, who had suffered most because of Henry Kyper's betrayal, had never blamed him for the consequences of his duplicity. Pella did.

“It’s mighty good to see you, my girl,” Elvira said, interrupting Pella's wandering thoughts.

“Won’t be around long; just a stopover for Polaris to get a system check.”

Elvira’s brow lowered. Pella ignored the look and recounted a story about Jada, the fem-kinder of their mutual friend, Kobi Arbruster. It was idle talk, something Pella wasn't much good at, but it stopped Elivra's familiar lecture about how awful it was for Pella to travel all over the galaxy with an all-fem crew, and how dangerous it was to not have a capable man or two on board. Elvira allowed the conversation to move to less contentious topics, but Pella knew it wasn’t over.

The stone-paved courtyard that fronted the log cabin where Elivira lived with her bondmate, was alive with colorful flowers blooming in pots and patches. A vegetable garden flourished to one side of the yard.

Joey sat on a stone bench, his concentration on the piece of wood taking on new form under the deft use of his carving tools. Pella studied the piece as Elvira detached the rope from her belt and lead Booder to a pen inhabited by several other dragauns.

“Joey,” Pella said in greeting.

He grunted and continued his work. “‘Bout time you come ‘round.”

“And hello to you, too.” It had been a long time since Pella let his taciturn manner affect her. She much preferred it to Elvira’s need to have more from her than she could give.

“Nice work.” The sweeping wingspan of the eagle emerging from the wood took Pella’s breath away. Joey was an artist with his hands and in his spirit. He ran long fingers over the carving.

“Wood’s coming good.”

“In your hands, the wood always comes good.”

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Joey turned red as fire and rubbed his wrinkled cheek with workworn fingers. “Go on with you, gel, and let me be about my business.”

“Indeed. The man’s plenty full of himself as it is. He don’t need nobody shining his apple. Elvira grinned proudly and kissed him on the cheek before she headed for the front door.

Pella rolled her eyes. Joey was rock solid and as humble as hardtack.

Elvira motioned Pella to enter the house ahead of her. The cramped yet comfortable room was as familiar as Pella’s own breath, but there was no sense of homecoming, only a sharp sadness. From the rustic but serviceable kitchen, the tantalizing aromas of roasting meat and savory stew made her stomach rumble.

“Will you be here for a while?”

The hope in Elvira’s voice made Pella uncomfortable. She shrugged and let the duffel bag strap slide from her shoulder.

“I worry about you and those fems. The lot of you thinking you can handle anything. Don’t think I don’t respect that independence, but there’s independence and then there’s foolhardiness!”

So, she wasn’t going to let it go. “We’ve been through this. I can take care of myself.”

“If you were just doing merchant trade and passenger transport, I might agree, but this nonsense about looking for Trish will lead to nothing but trouble.”

Pella bit back a sharp retort. Her response, when it came, was measured and calm. “I’ve been through the so-called legal channels, and got nothing but the official line; you know that. Without creds to lubricate the wheels of The Law, I have no choice but to search on my own.”

“Could be the official version is true. She died...”

“NO! She did not die on Fog Island!”

Pella was as shocked by her outburst as Elvira.

“She didn’t. I would know.” Her softly spoken words were more to bolster her often flagging confidence than to reassure Elvira.

“It’s not what you want to hear, but it’s time to accept what is and move on with your life. You’re strong willed, but you can’t keep hoping for the impossible.” Elvira’s words cut like a knife.

“That scum Chandorian took her for a broodmare, that’s what I know.”

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“You don’t know that. All you know is anger and hate,” Elvira said gently. “It’s eating you alive.”

Pella picked the duffel up from the floor and held it defensively between them, warding off words she did not want to hear.

“Pella?”

“Leave it, Elvira. I think I’ll head out, see what’s stirring. I’ll take a room at the Wayfarer. Be more convenient.” She ignored the instant flash of hurt that crossed Elvira’s face.

“Please, Pel, stay. I have your room ready. I won’t say anything else about…”

“Better this way. I’ll be coming and going a lot. You take care now.”

She hurried out determined to keep at bay tears of anger and hurt.

The stone bench was empty. An unexpected blessing. Pella didn’t feel like explaining to Joey why she was leaving, not that she had a good reason. She owed them so much. Following her rescue from Fog Island, she’d had the option of staying with B.J. Conner or going into a Supervised Educational Boarding School. The SEBS was out. Being confined to a system that directed every hour of a person’s day scared her witless. As for staying with B.J., that wasn’t an option. Her father’s betrayal stood between her and everyone else, a barrier too high and too wide.

With no place to go, she had returned to Safe Haven. She was grateful to Elvira and Joey for taking her in, glad to have a roof over her head and food in her belly, but as much as they treated her as their own, she could never care for them in the same way. Somewhere in the galaxy her mother was alive. To forget that would be disloyal and heartless. In her gut, she knew it was equally disloyal and heartless to treat Elvira in such a callous way. She didn’t want to hurt her or Joey, but listening to the constant badgering made her irritable and prone to say hurtful things.

A lump lodged in her throat. For a heartbeat she considered going back, but activity around her shuttlecraft grabbed her attention. Several curious kinder ran their hands over the exterior and tried to look in through the darkened observation shield. Of greater concern were three scruffy drubs leaning against the hull. Mixed earther/off worlder was evident in two of them, but the third appeared to be a true earther.

“Hey! Get on now!” she shouted.

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The kinder giggled and scurried away. The men regarded her with distrust, lust, and dismissive amusement.

“Be needing transport to Duketown,” the true earther said.

“Don’t take passengers.”

He crossed his arms and blocked Pella’s way to the shuttle’s hatch.

“You got room and we’re willing to pay. Just to Duketown. That’s it.”

“I guess you didn’t get the part about me not taking passengers.”

“Look, little fem-fem, I’m asking nice. I could just as easy take that control device away from you and give you a ride instead.”

The smarmy way he said it suggested the ride wouldn’t be in the shuttle nor would it be to her liking.

The other two elbowed each other and guffawed. “Yeah, and then it’ll be our turn,” one of them said.

Pella shrugged, helpless little fem giving in. “Put that way, guess I’ll have passengers.”

The sudden switch sent a look of mild disappointment across the punched-in face of the man who blocked her path. After a moment, he flashed a grin exposing yellow teeth.

“A fem with sense!” He stepped aside and gestured toward the hatch with a sweeping bow, as though he owned the shuttle. The other two crowded close. A nasty look about them jacked Pella’s suspicions into overdrive.

She touched the sensor on her wrist com and two things happened: the shuttle rose from the ground and Pella took out the obvious leader of the scruffy lot with the heel of her boot in a foot-fighting power move she’d learned from Aiofe Lake, the Polaris navigator and meditech.

She turned her energy weapon on the other two. They backed away with arms raised.

“Pella! What’s going on here, gel?”

Joey trotted up with several men behind him.

“They wanted to go to Duketown. Didn’t want to take ‘em.” She tapped her com device and the shuttle settled back to earth.

“Quite a trick that,” Joey said as the craft settled and the hatch slid open.

“Remote.”

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Joey grinned. “Figured as much. Don’t mean that anyhow. The other thing, knocking that drub out.”

Pella watched as the village men secured the two mixed-breeds and picked up the one she’d knocked senseless.

“Gives me an advantage.”

“Little gel like you, need all the help you can get.” She heard the teasing behind his words. Unlike Elvira, Joey had no doubts about her ability to take care of herself.

“Uh, Pelgel.” He swiped a rough hand across his mouth as he watched the prisoners being led away. It was obvious he was struggling with what to say. She decided to let him off the hook.

“I know Elvira sent you, and I guess I’m glad she did. Don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up.”

“You didn’t need me with that lot. Who’d they think they were dealing with?”

Pella’s lips curled up in a smile at the sideways compliment.

“Elvira wants you to come back,” he said, taking the grin right off her face. “When she finds out about this she’ll sure as fire want you back.”

“Don’t tell her. Say I was already away when you arrived.”

“Won’t fly. That fem has eyes everywhere.” It wasn’t a criticism; it was a fact.

“I do have business in Duketown. Might as well get it done sooner than later.”

Joey chewed on his lower lip. He worried about her as much as Elvira, but kept his thoughts private. After a moment of cogitating, he patted her shoulder awkwardly before turning toward home.

“Take care of yourself, Pelgel.”

She watched until he was out of sight, and then boarded the shuttle.

She programmed in her destination, and sat back, dizzy with fatigue.

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Chapter 5 The holding of Brutus Tauk The Tauk holding was one of the largest on Chandor, a hostile planet of extremes. Chandor was rich with minerals and gems sought galaxy wide. Temperatures inside the rock-hewn living quarters were carefully monitored to assure comfort for the non-Chandorian inhabitants. Multiple layers of Alzaiersian glass – the same as that used in Chandorian space riders – offered impregnable protection. The decor was subdued yet elegant, warm and comfortable.

Guards roamed the upper battlements and watched for qzzls and huqzzls. The ferocious qzzls had dominated the planet before humans arrived. They were not human but had much the same skeletal form and reproductive organs. When explorers realized survival would depend on accommodating to the environment, their scientists developed a species that could withstand – and thrive – on the planet by splicing together cells from human clones and qzzls. Over time a race of beings emerged superior in many ways to humans. Huqzzls, an unexpected byproduct of early experimentation, were creatures with human cunning and animal instincts, more dangerous and unpredictable because they hungered for something they could not have: a human body to go with their human minds.

Morning light filtered through the heavy glass, casting soft glow on the fem’s face. Trish Soames was fretful, weary and angry. She did not allow any of this to show on her countenance as she stood by her male kinder’s bedside and treated his injuries. Trish had learned to accept that which she could not change. The price exacted for the life of her beloved earther fem kinder was one she paid willingly.

Now she looked down on her youngest kinder, a human male, longing to give him the comfort of her touch. He would insist on doing the same training as his Chandorian brothers, and see what it got him?

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her. It wouldn’t be long before he could not compete at all. He simply didn’t have the physical strength.

Trish carefully dressed a deep wound on the boy’s chest. She thanked The One his breathing was normal and he wasn’t running a fever. The risk was great when Chandorian claws scraped into earther skin. She put her thumb on each of Dorn’s eyelids and carefully lifted the lid so she could see if his eyes were reacting to light. Satisfied, she bathed him carefully and then covered him with a heavy woven spread.

It wasn’t the first time she’d put him back together after his brothers mauled him.

“He is resting well,” the Chandoiran medic said. “He will be soon recovered.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for helping me.”

“It is my duty.” The medic bowed slightly and left with no further word.

Duty! Trish was sick of hearing about duty. On Chandor duty was a sacred trust. Emotions, the Spirit, love — these were nothing on Chandor. Only duty mattered. If she could get Dorn off the planet, perhaps he could see this was no way to live. Perhaps he could be earther and not feel he had to be the ultimate Chandorian, because he couldn’t be. He had stubborn determination, but insufficient body size and strength. He would never fit here. He couldn’t even go outside without protective gear. If only...

There were a hundred thousand “if onlys,” and one reality.

She sighed and gave in to the need to touch her kinder with a loving hand, brushing his dark thatch of hair off his forehead. Even in sleep he seemed to frown at her. She dropped her hand and swallowed back threatened tears. That would not do.

She returned to the work she’d set aside when the medic brought Dorn to her. Work and the love she had for her kinder were what kept her sane during the years she had been the slave of Brutus Tauk. Yes, she was bonded to him, but in the truest sense she was a slave. At first, she had hated the Chandorian with everything in her, but as their kinder were born her heart softened. It was impossible to not love the kinder that came of their union. Even though she seldom saw them, Ben’thor, Wil’fane, and J’ag, Andrea, Me’Anna, and Feiree were dear to her. She hadn’t been allowed to raise them, so she wasn’t as close to 24

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them as she wanted to be. All but Me'Anna treated her mothering with confusion and mild disdain. Her Chandorian eldest daughter genuinely tried to understand Trish's need to nurture.

Dorn remained with her because as a male human he was no use as a warrior or for anything else, by Chandorian standards. Her heart continued to ache for Pella, the kinder she left behind on earth. She prayed fervently to The One that her fem kinder was safe. Trish's willing bonding to Tauk had saved Pella and that boy from being enslaved at the very moment rescuers came to break into the island enclave of insurrectionists. Despite his involvement in everything from slave trade to black marketeering, Tauk had escaped the subsequent trials and punishments following discovery of an attempt to take over the Galactic Council. He had remained unscathed by legal action while many who trusted him were now serving a life sentence as a RHACs, reconditioned beings who lost their essential selves and became empty vessels with no self-will, or so it was believed. Even in her isolation Trish had heard rumors of bands of RHACs going on rampages. She had experienced that for herself when the RHACs came to Safe Haven and destroyed the village before AWORI arrived and rounded them up, but not before she had been raped. The impregnation that had come of the brutal attack had never reached full gestation, which she did not mourn.

True to her word she willingly went to Tauk’s bed. Why she — of all the fems Tauk could have — was his chosen continued to baffle her. He had no patience with weakness and treated the male kinder of his loins with sharp discipline and no show of love. His only attention to the fem kinder — one of whom was highly prized because she retained her earther characteristics — was to be sure they were well cared for so they would be prepared to mate with a Chandorian male when the time was right. Dorn he ignored altogether.

Human fems were well-treated on Chandor and highly sought.

Many across the galaxy assumed this was related to desire. Trish had learned the true reason. Chandorian genetics had weakened. The fems were not producing well. Earther DNA was needed to energize the species. Chandorian males mating with human fems was deemed to be the answer, and it was working.

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Dorn moaned and turned on the bed, crying out sharply when his movements attested to at least one broken rib. The medic had wanted to take him for a body scan. Trisha refused. She suspected the Chandorians were none too kind to Dorn when he was under their care. She had what she needed to bind his torso so the bone could knit, but she would wait until he was fully awake. To assure he would sleep for at least twenty-four hours, she tapped a key on the life monitor that allowed more of the pain meds to course through his veins. The meds accelerated healing and acted as a sedative.

The door to her chambers sighed open. She stepped back from Dorn and hurried from the room to greet Tauk.

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Chapter 6 Gathering Goodwin Harp surveyed the crowd. He looked every inch a spiritual force. Tall and broad-shouldered, his long silver white hair was swept back from his face and fell in rippling waves down his back. His piercing eyes were glacially intense, fringed with dark lashes and accented by finely arched brows. His robe was a muted brown edged subtly with gold trim. The impression was of humility and restraint.

The garment was the best creds could buy and held powers invisible to the casual observer.

“Whom do you believe?” His voice thundered across the gathered crowd. “Those who make idle promises or he who can cause wonders to happen.” He raised his right hand, fingers splayed, and a rainbow of colors arced from one finger to another and back again. He closed his hand into a fist and when he opened it a dove blossomed and after a hesitant second, made a throaty coo, spread its wings and began to soar above the crowd.

“Blessings of the mighty one be with you,” he said, his words barely more than a whisper. The crowd watched the bird soar higher and higher until its white feathers blended with the white of passing clouds.

“You honor false gods and false claims!” The thundering voice brought the crowd’s attention back to Harp and riveted it there.

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“There is one who is chosen to lead you to the promise. You must seek him!”

From behind him music that had until that moment been so subtle it was hardly noticeable, now swelled. Beautiful and intense, the music whispered yearning and pounded with a pulsing beat, like a heart measuring the passage of time. Harp raised his hands and the music softened, having done its work. The crowd experienced a hunger for something none among them could identify. A desire for… something.

“Be not troubled,” Harp said, his voice now gentle and comforting.

“Wait for the one who is coming. He is near. He will bring hope where there is only despair, fullness where there is emptiness.” The music built again, now voices were added chanting a tone, no discernible words; a thread of haunting sound that pierced the heart. Tears gathered in the eyes of some, others were openly weeping. If asked why, none present would have had an answer.

Inside Harp’s shuttle, Bahn Graeland paced. He didn’t know what to make of the message, but he was certain of one thing, Master Harp was not going to like it.

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Chapter 7 Lodging A child with long yellow hair and knobby knees wandered about in confusion. She tried to get someone to see her, but everyone was like her, stunned and broken. People lay on the ground who would never get up again. People she had known her whole life. Fires erupted all around.

Even when she stopped someone, words couldn’t get past the knot of raw terror in her throat.

A ping nudged Pella awake. The dream lingered, fingerling tatters of fear threaded through her soul. She focused on the vid screen. Chase Cantina and the Wayfarer Inn spread out below the shuttle. The sprawling property owned and managed by the Mendoza clan was a welcome sight.

To the left, the original cantina flashed with bright light even in daytime. To the right, and connected to the cantina by a glassed-in atrium, lay an enormous complex. The five-story structure housed an excellent lodging establishment with a dining hall frequented by patrons from across the galaxy. The hotel’s reputation for excellence 29

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was widely known. A place to rest. Pella feared such would be denied her. Her sleep was too often populated with nightmares.

As the shuttle coasted to a docking station, she gathered up her duffle, stepped out and locked down the shuttle. Thankfully a glideride provided by the inn, awaited her arrival. Inside the lobby, she dodged off worlders and true earthers, as well as inn droids busy with maintenance and baggage delivery. ANAI desk staff handed out room keycodes to registered guests who hadn’t been smart enough to request remote delivery. The ANAIs patiently explained to unregistered guests there were no rooms available. Arguments raised the level of noise to an annoying pitch.

Pella tuned out the noise and started for her room. A familiar looking figure crossed her line of sight. Henry Kyper, she was sure of it!

Because of her short stature, she couldn't see over the heads of those around her, so she dodged through the crowd and tried to keep the ginger-haired man in sight, but he was soon lost in the crowd.

She stopped and rubbed her eyes. Uncertainty crept in. This wouldn’t be the first time she mistook someone else for her absent father. She hadn’t seen Henry Kyper in more than twenty years. He would have changed. Gotten older. The man she remembered hadn’t been into enhancement techniques or age-reduction treatments. Had his philosophy changed? If so, he could be standing right next to her and she’d never know.

With an in-drawn breath of frustration, she turned back and headed toward the glide that would take her to her room. She was bone weary and desperately needed sleep, but she couldn’t take her mind off the possibility she’d missed a chance to connect with Henry Kyper. She’d spent years expecting him to show up and explain himself; praying to The One that he would, and hoping never to see him again.

All those years ago Jake Casey had explained to twelve-year-old Pella why Henry Kyper did what he did. He had agreed to use Jake as a bargaining chip to get Trish Soames back from the Chandorian Brutus Tauk, or so he claimed. Pella didn’t believe it. Her sire – her beloved father – had used his position at Safe Haven for greedy gain. That decision led to the attack that took many lives and resulted in her mother becoming a slave.

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Pella bit the inside of her lower lip and relied on years of self-control.

She wanted with every fiber of her being to believe her mother still lived, and yet she did not know. Elvira’s words came back to her.

“Could be the official version is true.”

And maybe it wasn’t. Pella could not rest until she knew for sure.

A ping from her wrist com alerted her to an incoming call. She tapped the sensor to see who was trying to reach her.

“Bartholomew Casey,” the unit announced.

She tapped off the sensor, in no mood for a Bart Casey lecture. He was worse than Elvira.

“You can work for us,” he would say. “You’re putting yourself at risk,” he would say. “We can help you,” he would say.

He didn’t get it. None of them did.

Pella hiked the duffle higher on her shoulder and headed for a glide thinking of nothing more than the hope of blessed rest. She’d scarcely gone ten steps when a brute stepped into her path. She sidestepped to avoid running into him but his beefy hand grabbed her duffle and pulled her toward him. Between surprise and bone-weary exhaustion, she wasn't quick enough to spin away. She found her face planted hard against a rancid tunic, her arms trapped by brawny arms that felt like iron bands. She couldn’t move or make a sound.

“I got a knife just under your ribcage, fem fem,” he whispered. My guess is your little bitty heart is just a stumble away from being jabbed.

One word and I’ll cut you. Understand?”

The hold he had on Pella's head relaxed slightly so she could nod.

She ignored the burn to her cheek caused by his rough firburcok leather vest and focused her mind on escape.

“Good. Now walk with me and don’t try any of your tricks. Got it?”

Pella nodded again as he snaked the hand holding the knife under her tunic and encircled her waist. An observer would think they were a cozy couple. The knife pricked the underside of her breast when he transferred her bag to his left shoulder and held onto the strap. Her left side was snugged up to his right side with her arm slightly forward but caught between them. She was well and truly trapped.

A warm trickle oozed down her side.

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Pella didn't resist as her abductor headed for a back exit. She whimpered and trembled. He all but carried her through the service door into gathering darkness.

“What do you want me for? Please, let me go,” she whined. Real tears were easy to come by. She was furious at herself. She should have been paying attention, not chasing a ghost. Any thought of rescue fled when the motion sensor lights didn't come on, which meant the surveillance cameras wouldn't work either. No one was around.

Unusual in a busy place like the Wayfarer. No doubt the drub had accomplices. She had to get away, and she had to do it now.

She went limp. The sudden dead weight of her body threw her abductor off balance. He swore as she wriggled out of his grasp. The knife slashed against her side and then ripped her tunic as she spun out of his reach. She took advantage of the stunned seconds before he reacted and aimed a kick fueled by adrenaline-filled fury at the arm still holding onto the knife. The snap of bone shocked the man momentarily, and then curses poured from his lips as he reached for his energy weapon. His outpouring of profanity intensified when his broken arm didn't cooperate. He weaved to block her escape and scrambled to get at his weapon with his left hand. Pella removed a small cylinder from her pocket, released the catch that held it closed and pressed a tiny trigger. The projectile embedded in the folds of the man's thick neck. He clawed at the needle, but nothing he could do made a difference.

“Who are you? What do you want with me?” Pella demanded.

Garbled sound came out. Nothing more. He dropped to his knees.

Terror washed across his face. His bones seemed to dissolve as he collapsed. Not a reaction you could fake. He was down.

Pella plucked the needle from his neck, and retrieved her duffle, no easy task as he was half-laying on it. She wrestled it from under him and stepped back. Her foot skidded slightly when she stepped on something. The drub’s knife. She slipped it inside the duffle and hurried away.

Once inside the Wayfarer, Pella located a public com unit from which she called the med clinic about a drunk laying behind the inn.

She couldn't bring herself to leave him there. The drug wouldn’t kill him, but he would be mighty sick.

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Pella stepped into the lavatory off the lobby. Her heart was racing with a combination of anger and befuddlement. What was going on?

Why was she suddenly the focus of someone's interest? She swept aside the tear in her tunic and saw a trickle of blood from where the knife had cut her twice. The wounds were sticky and painful, but neither appeared to be serious. She gently cleaned the area as best she could and left the lavatory.

“Pella! Are you okay?”

She wanted to continue on and ignore the voice, but she couldn't. A rush of feeling she couldn't name coursed under her skin. She turned and looked up into the kind – and at the moment worried – eyes of Bartholomew Casey.

“What? Of course, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?” The heat of her lie spread up her neck.

Bart's scrutiny made her flush deepen and her heartbeat speed up.

“You don’t look okay. You look exhausted.” He looked at the ragged edge of her tunic. “And your tunic is ripped. What happened?”

“Got caught on something. That's all.”

Before she could put space between them, he pulled her into a brotherly hug. Pella breathed in the smell of him, masculine with a hint of whatever soap he used. She pushed back.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Heard you were earthside. Wanted to say hi.”

“And you just happened to be out here in the middle of nowhere.”

His skin darkened. Bart wasn’t any better at lying than Pella. Never had been.

“Elvira contacted you, right?”

He nodded.

“She’s worried about you.”

“Been taking care of myself for a long time. Don’t need anybody worrying about me.”

“Pella…”

“Hey, it’s good to see you and all.” She backed away. “I gotta meet somebody in a few. Work. You take care now.”

She didn’t look back to see if he was watching, but could feel his eyes on her as she mounted the glide.

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Chapter 8 Chalice of the Valley Goodwin Harp templed his fingers and bowed his head before the crowd. As he stood in silent meditation, the area cleared quietly, mere whispers of cloth the only sounds as the audience left. When he was sure he was alone Harp raised his head and hurried to the exit, and from there to a waiting shuttle equipped with everything he needed to stay in touch with key followers. As the pilot lifted off, his aide handed him a com message and waited for instructions. Harp slipped the device into a reader. Whatever reaction Bahn Graeland expected never came. The Prophet merely nodded and closed his eyes. He didn't open them until the shuttle landed at Chalice of the Valley.

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The austerity of the adobe house and adjacent Chapel was restful and pleasing to the eye, fitting into the barren landscape as though the ocher and sienna structures had risen out of the sandy soil. No fence prevented the faithful who lined up in orderly lines from approaching the spiritual center of New Way, the fastest growing religion in the galaxy.

The simple structure to the right of the chapel bore a discrete sign that read in galactic universal language: Please Respect the Privacy of the Prophet. The request was mostly honored, but there were a few who sought a private audience with the renowned holy man. If a curious follower chanced to get past the unpretentious wooden door, the home’s simplicity and minimalist decor subdued the intruder.

White on white walls, a white marble floor with gold veining and white furnishings presented a calming space unencumbered by distractions.

A further deterrent came in the form of a white-robed true earther who sat at a white utilitarian desk just inside the front door working at a well-disguised vid kiosk. His sun browned skin and light from the monitor seemed garish in the pristine room. The man’s primary job was to assure supplicants got no further than the entry. Only the worthy – carefully screened – were allowed to approach the Prophet.

Goodwin Harp’s recruits were loyal followers of New Way and enthrall to Harp. Chosen to safeguard the Prophet, each had been selected based on intelligence, pliability and ruthlessness. Candidates underwent rigorous indoctrination combined with physical training and exercises in mental discipline. Nothing interfered with their ability to perform when called upon.

The seeming lack of luxury in Harp’s residence was deceptive. It was constructed of the finest materials and created by master craftsmen from across the galaxy. The only place excess was evident was in Harp’s operations center, and that in an area inaccessible to unauthorized personnel. It was the heartbeat of New Way and the point from which many conflicts had been instigated. Harp’s New Way grew because when he promised wealth and power to a convert, he made it happen from the operations center, located in the bowels of the earth below the unassuming Chalice of the Valley Chapel.

If it was determined punishment must befall an errant society, the order went by Harp’s command to the right people and war broke out, 35

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or a “natural� disaster struck, decimating the offending society, after which New Way would come to the rescue or establish peace, often by way of a brutal ethnic cleansing.

In his previous life Goodwin Harp had accumulated massive amounts of data on the powers that ruled the galaxy. He used it to manipulate, bribe, and blackmail to get what he wanted. Not directly, but through emissaries who would protect his identity at the risk of their own lives.

Publicly he was loving and benign, a bright force in the dark confederation of planets. His powers were mystical, his charm rooted in generosity, compassion and mercy.

New Way constructed med facilities for the poor, SEBS for abandoned kinder and colonies for elders and others whose homes had been the streets of cities and towns across the galaxy. As its spiritual leader, Harp became synonymous with New Way. He was a trusted advisor to those who wielded power over governing bodies large and small. Goodwin Harp and New Way were the personification of goodness.

He did not claim to be anyone special, yet was regarded by the lowly and the mighty as the answer to what was wrong in government and society. He encouraged worship of house gods and praised cults for their benign influence and humanistic values. None were criticized and all were respected, yet these cults and religious orders were dwindling as more and more earthers and off worlders joined New Way. Everything was working, yet Harp was not satisfied.

From his secure quarters, as coolly simple at the rest of the house, via vid Harp observed the faithful as they left alms, lifted up prayers and made requests. A carefully designed program would determine which of the requests would be fulfilled based on what the return to New Way would be. The grateful faithful who paid for the privilege of being blessed. When it counted he made sure they were.

He slipped out of the simple garment we wore in public and handed it to a serving girl who left the room quietly with downcast eyes.

Beneath the robe Harp wore a long-sleeved scarlet shift that reached his ankles. He knew he was beautiful and that some believed to look at him directly was a sacrilege. He neither encouraged nor discouraged this thinking. Anything that instilled awe of him added to his mystique.

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“Your gathering went well,” Graeland said. “More than two thousand — many of them off-worlders — have been added to the faithful.”

“Yes, Bahn, time well spent.”

“Your enemy continues to do you harm.”

Harp smiled thinly. “To call them enemy gives them power. What little they had has waned.”

Graeland nodded. Although he did not agree with the prophet’s assessment, he dared not voice his doubt. The Way was experiencing resurgence. The One was an unseen power that did not strut across stages and send manufactured light from one hand to another.

Followers of The Way sought neither supremacy nor wealth, only redemption and love.

Graeland didn’t understand the concept, or why The Way followers were so opposed to Harp who had indeed done much good earth side and across the galaxy. They particularly decried any suggestion he was The Chosen.

Initially, Graeland thought it foolish for Harp to call his movement New Way, but soon learned the prophet, as always, was right in believing the similarity of names would lure the ignorant and unwary into thinking The Way and New Way were the same.

“Is there anything you need before I retire, Prophet?”

“To your rest, Bahn, you have served well this day.”

In truth, Harp could scarcely wait to be alone. He was weary to the bone and he had much to think about. He sat at a small table set with fine linen and cutlery, a bottle of Alzaiersian wine, bread and cheese. He partook of the simple meal, and then rang for the dishes to be removed.

On the outside he appeared calm; inside fury consumed him. His plans had been thwarted. He did not know why a skinny waif of a girl was important to Ekzak Jonfellow, but establishing New Way on Chandor was dependent on Pella Soames being turned over to the Chandorian. She had slipped through Harp’s grasp twice. Incompetent fools!

Most infuriating was that she had been in his hands! The diminutive captain of Polaris. If only he had known at the time that she was the price of access to Bonnak Chandor Warren.

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What was so important about this nothing fem? She had no power, wielded no influence, and could hardly be considered wealthy. What was her value and to whom? Harp sensed that if he knew the answers to these questions his position on Chandor – and the galaxy – would be secure.

Chapter 9 Visitors Pella stayed upright, but barely. All she wanted was blessed rest. She didn’t want to think about the attempt to abduct her. She didn’t want to think about Bart Casey. She didn’t want to think at all. She stepped off the glide, tapped in the code to open the door, and entered. A broad-faced earther male and a Chandorian fem lounged on the divan.

The fem pointed an energy weapon at her.

For a second or two she thought she’d somehow opened the wrong door. She started to back out with an apology on her lips. Two things prevented that from happening: the earther, a huge man nearly seven feet tall, bounded off the divan and slammed the door shut; at the same time it dawned on her, there was no way anyone could access the room

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without a proper code. This was her room. These people were intruders.

Frack! What in space was going on? Focus, focus, focus!

“If you’re here to rob me, you’re going to be mighty disappointed.”

“Shut it,” the fem said in universal galactic. “Do what we tell you.”

She looked mean enough to eat space rocks, and Pella didn’t feel like arguing.

“We are going to leave here. You are going with us.”

Pella needed time to think, come up with a plan.

“And why would I do that?” she asked, gripping the strap of her duffle bag. Maybe she could hit one of them with the bag, throw them off balance.

The fem’s grin held no humor as the giant earther loomed over Pella, presenting a compelling reason to cooperate.

Pella shrugged. “Have it your way.”

Her would-be captors exchanged surprised looks.

“Just like that? No arguments?” The Chandorian fem didn’t like it.

Pella lifted her shoulders again. “Outnumbered,” she said, and nodded toward the energy weapon. “Outgunned.”

The Chandorian relaxed. She’d been told this one was a fighter, but Soames didn’t seem to have much fight in her at all. The fem sneered, and jerked her head toward the earther. “Bring her to the pod.”

Pod? Pella’s eyes darted around the room.

“Don’t know why I had to come at all,” he grumbled, yanking Pella toward the center of the room where she now saw a sheen of something on the floor, a glimmer. “You coulda done this one without me.”

“Yes, I could have, but the request was for two. We are paid accordingly. Shut it, and move.”

“Don’t tell me shut it! You shut it!”

Pella squirmed and struggled to break free of the earther’s grasp, encouraged by their hostility toward each other, delighted with the possibilities it presented.

“I do not know why they put me with you,” the fem said. “You have no honor.”

“Honor? You think this is honorable, taking some fem from earth to…” The zap of energy from the fem’s weapon knocked the earther back, shocking him in more ways than one. Pella jumped away from 39

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him, her arm tingling from transference shock. She immediately went into spin.

“SHUT IT!” the fem screamed, concentrating on the earther, whose flushed face spoke of building fury.

Pella’s kick knocked the weapon out of the fem’s hands, surprising her. Just as the earther lunged toward his partner, the visitor alert sounded.

“Security,” a woman’s voice said through the com.

Pella’s intruders made to grab her, but she had recovered the fem’s energy weapon from the floor. She held it on them.

“Stay where you are!”

Instead, they joined hands and stepped into the shimmer in the center of the room. And vanished.

“Security!” A loud knock replaced the visitor alert tone.

Pella stuffed the energy weapon behind the divan and hurried to the door. She barely had it open before a uniformed security guard charged through. She looked around the room, suspicion clear on her bulldog countenance.

“I heard yelling.”

Pella had no clear idea about what had happened to her intruders, and was certain she couldn’t explain it to anyone else.

“Entertainment vid. What can I do for you?”

“Wayfarer Chief of Security Reylena Lansing.” She flipped open an ID while continuing to scan the room. Nothing appeared to be out of order. She turned her attention back to Pella.

“There was an incident earlier. A man was found behind the inn, drugged and shook up. Vids show the two of you leaving together.

Want to tell me what happened?”

Pella wondered how much Lansing knew. Security vids were everywhere, but she was sure the vids near the door she and her abductor had exited through had been disabled.

“Nothing. He was trying to get in my pants, that’s all. I ran away as soon as I got outside.”

“Why didn’t you ask for help or try to get away when you were still inside?”

Pella’s internal debate lasted only for a moment. She opened her duffle bag and drew out the knife.

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“He had this pressed up against my ribs. I was afraid he was,” Pella licked her lips, which suddenly seemed as dry as the sand that blew across the dunes. It was all catching up to her. The bungled attempt at Safe Haven, the man with the knife and now, the two who had mysteriously disappeared moments before. Someone was after her. Her knees wobbled. By force of will she got herself under control. “I was afraid he was going to kill me.” Just saying it made her give into the fear she’d been holding at bay. She sank into a chair. “Sorry, it just sort of hit me.”

“And you were able to break free and run away?”

Pella swallowed and nodded.

“Why didn’t you report it?”

Pella shrugged. Involving cops – private or galactic security –rarely lead to any good. You never knew who you could trust. She didn’t say any of that. After more questions that went nowhere, Lansing gave up, but not before she gave Pella a ten-minute lecture on being a good citizen by reporting crime so as to keep the galaxy safe.

Lansing’s parting instruction was for Pella to remain available.

After the Wayfarer chief of security left, Pella walked around the room, inspecting everything. The shimmer in the middle of the room was long gone. If her visitors hadn’t fought with each other, she would have disappeared with them. She was targeted. Three times. Why? Her stomach growled. Sleep deprived and famished. Not a good combo.

Sleep would have wait.

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Chapter 10 A gathering Trish Soames took Tauk’s heavy cloak with no show that its bulk nearly made her go down. She was expected to endure and overcome without complaint. Tauk had offered to provide her with servants to run the household. Trish refused. Aside from the belief these “servants” were slaves brought to Chandor against their wills, if others did the work, what would she do? Although the property was a self-cleaning unit that required little maintenance, she rather liked doing food preparation, looking after guests and providing refreshment to any who came to call. She also managed Tauk’s legitimate properties and holdings, assured his life ran smoothly, and bore his kinder.

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“You are well, Tauk?”

He turned his intense gaze on her. When Trish had first been taken, she had quelled under its force. No longer. She had come to know one of the genetic bumps in the road for Chandorians was the difficulty of focusing on objects that were close to them. Their vision was suited to hunting and scouting. Technology could enable them to adjust the deficiency with lenses developed for that purpose, but one of Tauk’s weaknesses was a reluctance to undergo any treatment that would alter him in any way.

He grunted and rolled his broad shoulders. “Did you secure the agreement for launching my fleet of cargo ships?” he asked. They spoke in Chandorian. Trish was a natural linguist and knew many languages from her time at Safe Haven.

“It is done.”

Again, he grunted as he lowered himself into the only chair that would accommodate him. “There will be guests. I have arranged for ANAI to prepare the meal.” He detailed who was expected so she could create a menu for the ANAI to follow.

“You must be present when guests arrive.”

“As you wish. May I ask if there is something in particular I should listen for?”

A deep rumble made the chambers in his chest expand. “You know too well my motives.”

Her knowledge of Chandorian and several other galactic languages was a well-kept secret. Most of the off-worlders who came to the holding assumed her to be an ignorant earther. They spoke freely in front of her and often said things that made her blush, things about her and what they would like to do to her. She did not share this information with Tauk. He would most likely laugh it off and perhaps offer her up for entertainment. Everything else she reported to him, often passing on information that fattened his galactic creds balance.

“If there is nothing more, I will see to the menus.”

“Is the human well enough to attend?”

His words as she turned away stilled her, and sent a burst of terror through her heart. The human he referred to was Dorn. Tauk never spoke of him in any other way. She kept all reaction from her features as she shook her head.

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“Unlikely. He has at least one broken rib and other injuries that require healing. I increased his pain meds, which will keep him asleep for many hours.”

“He will not thank you when he learns he could have spent the evening in the company of his brothers.”

A combination of hope, disquiet and suspicion warred in her breast.

Nothing gave Dorn greater pleasure than being in the company of his brothers, despite their rough treatment of him. Tauk was right, her son would not be happy when he learned she had prevented him an opportunity to be with them under any circumstances. Suspicion told her Tauk had an ulterior motive, one she would not like.

Still, hope was born anew in her breast. Her greatest wish was for her kinder to be close, to learn to care for one another. She knew that would never be the case. Dorn’s brothers and sisters were being trained in the Chandorian way, which did not include being sensitive to the needs or desires of others. Dorn took part in the training at his own insistence. He knew more about Chandorian ways than all of them put together, yet retained true earther insight and innate kindness that could not, or would not be beaten out of him.

“Will there be anything more, Tauk? I must see to arrangements.”

He regarded her with something in his eyes. It was a look she could never quite decipher. It was almost as though he hated her, and yet by any standard he treated her well. He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

That evening, when Trish entered the gathering hall on Tauk’s arm, she was pleased to note everything was superbly done, according to her instruction. She’d only had hours to bring it all together and was delighted with the outcome.

Dressed in a manner befitting the bondmate of a wealthy overlord, her gown was of the finest silk, trimmed with handmade lace and embroidered with gold and silver threads. She took great care that the design was modest, which enhanced her statuesque figure making her more alluring than many fem guests who flaunted their physical attributes provocatively.

She nodded graciously as she greeted Tauk’s guests, and when the moment was right she left his side and began moving through the crowd, ostensibly to act the role of conscientious hostess. She had 44

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grown accustomed to the din of having multiple ethnicities of off worlders around her. She made sure the ANAI servants kept glasses filled and trays of food offered to guests. She walked among them, stopping occasionally to talk to someone who wanted to try out his or her eartherspeak. There were several true humans present, mostly diplomats Tauk entertained to maintain the illusion he respected them or at the very least, their positions.

She was speaking to the true earther ambassador from Galactic Council when a name arrested her attention and sent a chill down her spine. The speaker was the squat representative from Brolota, laughingly referred to as the Planet of Perfection. Brolota was indeed a paradise, filled with beauty, bird song, and pristine waters. Despite its seeming perfection, humans couldn’t survive in its atmosphere. Early human colonizers took a page from Chandor’s development strategy, and sought to acclimate to the planet by becoming like the dominate species, birds. Splicing avian DNA into developing human clones failed time and again. There was no apparent change, until the next generation. When clones mated, something happened in the womb during gestation. Instead of healthy human babies, creatures that looked somewhat like newly hatched chicks emerged. The clones lacked any sense of discernment between human kinder and what the clone fems of Brolota produced. They took the offspring to their breasts glad to have produced something so unique. The true humans from whom the cells for the clones had been taken were horrified. The kinder were grotesque. The humans wanted to obliterate them, but the clones rebelled, refusing to take part in further testing and research. In the end the true humans were outnumbered. They took the only means of wiping out these atrocities by tricking the clones into leaving the ship with their offspring and then leaving them behind to perish.

Most of the clones did indeed die, but the kinder survived and thrived under the tutelage and love of those who remained, male and fem clones who retained the scientific knowledge of some of the finest minds in the galaxy. From the original eighteen kinder borne of human clones – seven fems and eleven males – came a civilization of ugly (by human standards) beings whose grotesque exterior surrounded hearts full of mercy and kindness. The wings of the Brolotagans never developed for flying; they were too heavily encumbered with muscle 45

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and flesh, but they did work beautifully as a means of transportation allowing the creatures to spring forward over long distances. The people of Brolota were not beautiful, but their planet was highly prized for its wealth of medicinal ingredients that came out of it. The Brolotagans were also brilliant marketers and developers. They created islands where — for a price — visitors could spend many happy hours in paradise protected by Alzaiersian glass domes.

Trish rather liked Brolotagans. They were not inclined to preen and pose. They were honest and easy to be around. She completed her conversation with the Galactic Council ambassador and went in search of the Brolotagan, Bender Sfitisch by name. She found him standing by one of the windows looking out at the courtyard.

“My Lord Sfitisch, I trust you have everything you need.”

The Brolotagan bowed slightly, a difficult maneuver given his girth and short stature. “Laaaaady Triiiiish, caaaall Fiiiiiitz. Issss forrrr humaaaaan.”

“As you will, my Lord Fitz…”

“Nooooo nooooo looooord. Fiiiitz.”

Trish smiled. “Fitz it is then.” How was she to bring up the name she had heard spoken moments before?

“Uooooo haaaave aaaaask?”

Trish blushed. It was easy to forget that among the many talents the Brolotagan possessed, uncanny instinct ranked high.

“Uooooo speeeeeak.”

Trish regarded the Brolotagan in silence. She could never be sure when Tauk was setting a trap for her. In the early years, he had done it often to test her loyalty. He did not understand that his price for disloyalty was one she wasn’t willing to pay. Pella’s safety and freedom were paramount. To have her kinder’s name spoken by the Brolotagan had — for a moment — tempted her to drop her guard.

“Is there something you need?”

“Uooooo trrrrrust Fiiiiitz.”

Trish smiled kindly. “I trust all who enter Tauk’s home.”

He shook his head and smiled tightly.

“Uoooooo fooooool.”

From anyone else Trish would have taken offense, but Brolotagan difficulty with human speech forced them to communicate in a short46

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phrase manner that necessarily resulted in sometimes offensive delivery.

Trish merely found it charming and much preferable to the agonizing formal and deceiving manner of dialogue with most off worlders. She wished she could let him know while she could not speak Brolotagan, she could understand it. But that would be opening a door Tauk would not want her to go through, nor was it a risk she was willing to take.

“If there is nothing you require, I must see to my other guests.”

“Trrrrrrust meeeee.”

His countenance changed suddenly and a broad smile exposed tiny sharp teeth.

“Lord Tauk,” he exclaimed, falling into his own language. “I’ve been trying to explain to this ignorant earther fem that I require more heat in my quarters. She does not understand, I fear.”

Tauk looked from Trish to the Brolotagan, ever suspicious of any lengthy contact with his bondmate.

“This fem is the birthing vessel of my kinder, Brolotagan. I excuse your insult based on ignorance of her status. An ANAI will be assigned to assure your comfort is complete.”

The Brolotagan bowed humbly with profuse apology and gracious thanks before hurrying away using his wings to propel him through the crowd.

Tauk turned back to Trish. “You neglect your duties.”

“I did not wish to offend your guest.”

“You spent much time speaking with him.”

“Listening.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Meaning?”

“I was listening. His request was laboriously delivered and took time.”

Not for the first time Trish was grateful Tauk was unwilling to be enhanced in any way, otherwise he would read the lie for what it was.

Why was she protecting the Brolotagan? She should tell Tauk everything Fitz had said, but the Brolotagan’s ruse about accommodations had been his way of protecting her. She could do no less.

“Shall I return to the other guests?”

In the tense moment that followed, Trish willed herself to calm, allowing no hint of the turmoil going on in her heart and mind.

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In an uncharacteristic move Tauk raised his hand and with one long finger stroked the curve of her cheek, a gesture that might seem tender to an observer. “Do not think to betray me.” He walked away to join his guests.

Chapter 11 In the game Bart Casey’s lean body stretched as he jumped for the ball. He snatched it out of the hands of his opponent and charged down the court. His long legs carried him across the goal line to a mix of cheers and boos. Creds flew from one account to another as bets were paid off.

Bart grinned as the man he’d bested clapped him on the back.

“You win this time, but you’re on for a rematch next week.”

“What, old man, you looking to lose again?”

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Jake Casey cocked an eyebrow. “Old man?”

The two walked companionably as the game room cleared out. Bart could tell his father had something on his mind.

“How was your trip to see Pella?”

Color traveled up Bart’s neck. “How did you know?”

“B.J. told me. She’s worried about you. Both of you.”

“I guess you could say it went about the way it usually goes. She’s fine. She doesn’t want to work for Thunder Transport. She doesn’t need anybody for any reason.” Bart looked away to avoid the frown of concern on his father's face.

“Pella must work her way through this thing with her mother. I wish it were otherwise,” Jake said. “But I do understand.”

Bart didn't understand. Why couldn't she just let it go!

Once they left the rec area, Bart headed for a spansalator that would take him to the Thunder Transport docking ring. He tossed Jake the ball and grinned.

“I’m off to Launch Alpha tomorrow. It'll be a sixty-day loop before I get back. We’ll have that rematch then. Maybe by then, you’ll be in shape.”

Jake made a rude noise and punched Bart lightly on the shoulder, a solid, muscled shoulder. His pride in his male kinder – his son – shone in his ready smile, right before his countenance morphed into lines of concern.

“Be careful out there," Jake said. "The work you are doing, it will be dangerous.”

“You’re okay with it though, right?”

Jake was still for a moment.

Was he going to reverse his support, Bart wondered? Not that he needed his father's permission or approval.

Jake gave Bart’s shoulder a squeeze and stepped back. “You’re the only one we can trust to do this. Be safe.”

Bart watched his father until he was out of sight, and then boarded the spansalator. To all appearances, he seemed a happy-go-lucky man with nothing on his mind. Not far off the mark. Bart enjoyed a comfortable life, and the satisfaction of doing work he loved. His greatest worry was Pella and her dangerous choices. Those choices would catch up with her one day. If Brutus Tauk held Trish Soams 49

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captive, keeping her whereabouts secret for more than twenty years, he would not easily give her up, assuming she was alive, which Bart doubted. Pella’s constant poking at the wound of her mother’s loss would end up with Pella being the one to bleed. It made him sick in his spirit to think about it.

Galactic politics, a serious subject not even his closest friends would expect him to care about, also ate at him. His priorities were making cred and having a good time. Galactic unrest was having an impact on the first, which was interfering with the second. That's what he told himself, but whatever happened would impact people he cared about, his father's sib, Alexandra Jaleese and her kinder and bondmate, the kinder of his father and B.J. Conner, twins who at fourteen, were already pressuring Jake and B.J. to let them enter pilot training.

Fourteen. Couldn't wait to grow up. He chose to forget, he'd been the same.

Many across the galaxy were too busy surviving to care about the corruption in the Galactic Coalition Council. Power shifted from one faction to another with no evidence the power plays led to worthwhile change. Planets were leaving the coalition and demanding sovereignty.

Self-rule, no galactic taxation, and release from the heavy burden of coalition regulations. Independent planets – severed from coalition rule – also relinquished services, sanctioned trade and protection, resulting in widespread crime, poverty and the rise of the AWORI. Amalgamated World Organization Rebel Insurgents was a fancy name for mercenaries with no conscience. AWORI leadership – for a price – stepped in when ties between independent planets and the coalition were broken.

Goodwin Harp, a self-proclaimed agent for change, was the only one who seemed to understand what the growing rift was doing to galactic relations. Bart admired his policies and his approach. The New Way philosophy put roofs over people’s heads and food in their bellies.

Harp gave the disenfranchised hope and purpose, providing work to those who wanted it. His army of Defenders of New Way were teachers and counselors, helping those who wanted to form farm co-ops, start free schools, and build factories. Work previously done by re-hab assimilation camp drubs was now being done by true earthers and off worlders. The RHACs were put into health centers where they were 50

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cleaned up, given regular meals, and led in healing meditation. Harp was doing good work helping lots of people, true earthers and off worlders alike. For all these reasons and more, Bart was drawn to the New Way philosophy and its charismatic leader.

His father was not so impressed. Jake’s antipathy toward New Way kept Bart from becoming active in the movement. He respected his father too much to defy his beliefs.

Jake hadn’t been a believer before the incident on Fog Island.

Whatever happened on the day Bart and Pella were rescued from AWORI who were bent on taking over the GCC, had changed Jake Casey from a stubborn disbeliever, into a dedicated Way follower. He had become a trained Teller and traveled the galaxy to spread the message. Jake and Barth's grandfather, Ezra Casey, had joined forces and become a leading transport company with locations on every major planet, which made Jake’s Teller missions possible. The Casey-ConnerJaleese clans had come together to develop free instruction centers where kinder from every race could learn a trade. For those who had no home, a home was provided. The difference between what Jake was doing and Harp’s plan was negligible, and yet Harp’s schools thrived while the Casey efforts struggled. Plagued with defecting teachers who went to work for Harp, maintenance problems and student unrest, the schools had limped along until Jake and Ezra made the expensive choice to staff the centers with ANAI. Adapted Need Artificial Intelligence units were not subject to any influence outside their programming.

This change didn’t stop all the problems, maintenance issues and breakdowns continued, but more students were getting what they needed. Bart didn’t understand why Jake wouldn’t merge his schools with Harp’s as the New Way leader had suggested. It would have made sense, but Jake was stubborn about some things. His lack of trust in Harp was one of them. Harp was one of two people in all the galaxy Jake avoided; the other was Bart’s mother, Helen Knuevean. Bart didn’t want to have anything to do with her either; she’d never been there for him growing up. He did want to see her one more time to thank her for providing an escape for him and Pella. They’d been held prisoner, destined for slavery, and barely made it out when the AWORI stronghold had come under attack. It was the only decent thing she had ever done.

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He wrenched his mind away from thoughts of that frightening time. All it did was make him think about Pella and the disastrous course she was on. He didn't want to admit it, but her rejection hurt him deeply. It’s not like she was the only woman in the galaxy. He had no lack of admirers, although to think on it made him uncomfortable.

He’d been with other fems, but no one tied him in knots the way stubborn Pella Soames did.

As he approached Thunder Prime he contacted the only crew member on board, Froggy Jump.

“Jump, here,” the cargo and booking tech answered.

“Status?”

“Cargo loaded and stabilized. Farrell is waiting delivery of power cubes. Passenger roster is light, but we will pick some up on Launch Alpha. We're good to go on schedule.”

“ETA for the power cubes?”

“0930. Take about half hour to install.”

“Notify crew we’ll be launching on schedule.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Bart headed to his quarters, an austere cabin more tech center than living area. The bunk was in its day position, flush against the bulkhead leaving room for Bart to move around. He sat in a molded seat next to the built-in desk and began a search based on the list of missing Tellers he’d been given by Kobi Arbruster. The Galactic Security section commander was a longtime friend of the family and the one who had became suspicious about Teller disappearances.

Bart was apprehensive about what he had been asked to do, but excited by the prospect of doing work unrelated to hauling passengers and cargo around the galaxy. It helped that his movements wouldn’t be suspicious. Going to planets from which Tellers had disappeared wouldn’t raise questions, as long as he had something to deliver when he arrived. No problem there. He had passengers and cargo lined up for delivery to planets in the various launch quadrants that would bring in cred to the company, and plenty of it. All he had to do once he arrived was ask the right questions of the right people.

“Listen to the scuttlebutt,” Kobi had said. “Find out what you can, but don’t put yourself in danger.”

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How dangerous could it be? If Pella could hie around asking about her mother, what harm could it do for him to ask about a few missing Tellers?

Thinking of Pella made his gut clinch. His trip to see her still rankled. When he saw her in the embrace of some man at the Wayfarer, he’d turned away, angered that she would reject him but hook up with someone so rough and odious looking. Even as he turned away he realized there was something odd about the way the man was holding her, by the time he turned back, Pella and the man had disappeared.

He didn’t know why he bothered to care. Her entire life was focused on revenge against her father and finding her mother. Nothing and nobody mattered outside that. When Elvira contacted him and asked him to reason with Pella, Bart had almost laughed. Reason with Pella. Like that was going to happen. He’d tried to reason with her for years. So had his father and B.J. She was beyond reason when it came to her objectives.

That didn’t stop him from wanting to gather her in his arms and keep her safe.

With difficulty, he returned his to attention to the vid and the names of the missing Tellers. The tendrils of worry about Pella did not go away, they were too deeply entwined around his heart and in his mind.

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A Telling Goodwin Harp sat in the circle with other followers of The Way, attentive and quiet. No evidence of his fury shown on his face. The two hired agents had failed despite costly resources he'd put at their disposal, or rather, his trusted agents had. No one must know he was involved. More alarming was that he wasn't the only one looking for the fem. Who else had an interest in abducting the young transport pilot and for what purpose? He pushed the questions out of his mind and turned his attention to the seated man at the center of the circle.

The Teller was rather good. It was obvious he believed what he was saying. Harp believed it as well.

The Teller, dressed in simple garb, a man like any other, sat in a chair at the front of the room. His appearance did not speak of authority or superior knowledge. When he spoke his voice was well modulated and comforting.

“Listen. Hear the words shared through time. There is he who is elected, who brings delight to the soul of the One who has put his spirit on him. He will bring judgment but not cry out, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street. He shall bring forth truth. He shall not fail nor be discouraged until he sets judgment in the earth. All shall wait for his law. The One who created the heavens, and stretched them out; he who spread forth the earth, and all that comes out of it; he that gives breath and spirit to all.

“The One called him in righteousness, and will hold his hand, and will keep him, and give him for a covenant of the people, for a light to all, to open blind eyes, to bring out the prisoners from prison, and those who sit in darkness.

“The One remains, his glory goes to no other, nor praise to images of stone. The former things are come to pass, and new things does the One declare.”

Silence followed his words. Did any present comprehend the meaning? Harp thought not, but it was more likely they simply accepted without question. Groups like this were perfect for his purposes.

He stood, a golden light in the dim room. “Well said, Teller, well said indeed.”

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Murmurs of agreement followed his words. The Teller nodded a hesitant acceptance of the accolade.

Harp spread his arms, the wing-like drape of his sleeves and the shimmering folds of his robe giving off a subtle light. “Of whom does the Teller speak?” he asked those seated.

Followers looked from one to another and then toward the Teller, who leaned forward, a slight frown on his pleasant put plain face.

“Teller, of whom do you speak?”

The man was surprised by Harp’s direct question and hesitated a beat too long.

“Do you not know?”

The Teller’s complexion darkened, perhaps because he hadn’t been given time to answer or perhaps because he didn’t have an answer. Harp knew Tellers told the stories they retained, but did not know – or had not explored – the meaning of those words.

“The words come from the one who wrote The Way,” Harp said.

“The One who promised to send the truth teller, the judgment giver.

The one who opened the door to New Way, an enlightened way full of promise, new beginning, new hope.”

Everyone’s attention had shifted to Harp. His mesmerizing presence was a magnet that could not be ignored. The Teller watched with growing alarm, looking beyond the man’s confidence and melodic voice. This handsome proponent of New Way made him uneasy. He quelled the urge to demand attention come back to him. To do so would be futile and counterproductive. He listened for a brief time and silently slipped away. He hadn’t gone far when pain like he’d never known passed through him. He walked through the darkness of oblivion and into a blinding light.

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Chapter 13 Surprise, surprise The room’s com tone wakened Pella from a deep and – for the first time in months – dreamless sleep. The image of B.J. Conner on the vid screen set her in motion. She wasn’t any more anxious to see B.J. than she'd been to see Bart. B.J. would be another voice trying to convince her to get on with life. Forget the past. Forget Trish Soames. Wasn’t going to happen. Until she had absolute proof her mother was dead, she would never stop looking for her.

Pella showered, dressed in record time, grabbed her gear, and fled the room. The insistent tone of the com chimed as she closed the door.

She hurried to the nearest glide, alert to anyone who crowded too close, or who paid too much attention to her. Turned out, caution was not required. Hardly anyone was around. Either they were sleeping in or had other things to do.

Still, the attacks had her jumping at shadows. Instead of going through the lobby to reach the cantina, where she planned to grab a mid-morning snack, she headed out the front door and approached the original entrance. The anachronistic swinging half doors were little used, which meant she was more likely to see trouble coming. Once inside, all bets were off. The place was already rocking. Jabber clanged louder than usual, but perhaps that was just her nerves. She much preferred life aboard Polaris. Her two days of trying to get a lead of who might be after her, had netted zero results. Time to meet up with her crew in Duketown.

She paid for her food and boarded a glide, punching in the location of the shuttle. Relieved to arrive without being waylaid, Pella keyed open the shuttle’s hatch and boarded. Alzaiersian menthane washed over her. She staggered and buried her mouth and nose in her elbow, but it was useless. The sedative effects were more than she could overcome. Sensing more than seeing her abductors, she instinctively 57

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lashed out with her booted foot, and had the satisfaction of landing a kick that knocked the protective mask off one attacker before the menthane took her down. A hood enveloped her head, but before everything went black, the face of the man she kicked registered in her mind's eye. Henry Kyper, her father.

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Chapter 14 Hunter’s Light Dorn shivered with cold and staggered under the weight of the outerwear wrapped around him. He’d been excited to be included in the hunting party with his father and brothers. He hadn’t thought about the misery of being wet and cold. As Chandorians, his father and siblings were insulated by thick skin. They only needed heavy cloaks to protect them from bitter winds. To complicate matters, Dorn had to wear a filter mask, which slowed him even more. But he couldn’t allow any of that to affect him. His brothers were waiting for the right moment to make his life even more miserable.

The prey this night was huqzzls. The creatures had been venturing closer to Shirefel, plundering villages of low functioning mixed-breeds, creatures neither human nor qzzl nor Chandorian. Stories recounted by those who’d witnessed these attacks told of fierce and merciless creatures bent on destruction and murder. Their human brains trapped in the body of feral and unforgiving animals made them brutal and sly.

The hunt was aimed at a colony believed to be breeding near the main water supply for Tauk’s holding.

Early evening was the best time for hunting no matter what the prey. Hunter’s light outlined oncoming prey against approaching darkness. Trackers could easily bring down the hunted.

“Human! Take point,” Tauk commanded.

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Surprise had the boy hesitating a second too long. The power of Tauk’s laser whip pierced all layers of Dorn’s clothing and stung to the core of his being, but he let no evidence of his agony show. He’d endured far worse at the hands of his brothers.

“Aye.” He trudged ahead to the sounds of grumbles from his brothers, which Tauk silenced with a curt command. Dorn wasn’t sure why he was being given this important job, but he didn’t intend to fail, which in this case meant assuring the hunting party received no surprises before it reached its destination.

Through his earpiece he could hear quiet instruction to his sibs and others in the party to fan out and remain in contact.

“Human.”

“Aye?” “Do not disappoint me.”

The shiver that ran through his body was not from the cold. “Aye, Father.”

Why was he being given this opportunity? His father couldn’t stand the sight of him but gave Dorn the most important job of the hunt. It didn’t make sense. The boy was honored, yet terrified by the prospect of the battle ahead, assuming there would be one. The huzzls were canny creatures and might have somehow determined their pack was at risk and moved on.

Unbidden the face of his mother popped into Dorn’s head. She had been furious when she learned he and his brothers were to take part in a hunt. She had come as close to arguing with Tauk as Dorn had ever seen. He’d feared for her life. The Chandorian who fathered him did not take well to anyone questioning his power or his right to rule in his own holding. Dorn was sure only his mother’s physical weakness kept Tauk from striking her. Instead Trish Soames had been confined to her quarters under guard, until the hunt was over. He could still hear her pleas on his behalf ringing in his head. The others were at least suited to the hostile environment of the planet, she said. He was not. It embarrassed him and made him angry that she singled him out and asked for special treatment. He might have true human form, but he was Chandorian! He had no love for the seed planet. Still he had to listen for hours to his mother droning on about its beauty and benefits.

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“You can go anywhere on earth without a filter mask,” she would say.

“There is nothing so beautiful as the ocean! It goes on forever and is always changing.”

“Birds live in trees and some have more colors than a rainbow.”

Dorn hated his humanness. He wanted to be like his brothers; powerful, handsome in the way Chandorians were handsome – virile, strong, logical, fearless.

At the moment he could attest to the fact that he was not fearless.

He was shaking as much from terror of what lay ahead as from the cold seeping into the folds of his clothing.

He heard the sounds along the com of individuals checking in and reporting. In his turn Dorn said simply, “Dorn, clear,” and moved on stealthily through the growing darkness, his eyes on the horizon where hunter’s light gave advantage to those who would take it. His sensor readings showed no evidence of approaching life forms. What Dorn could not know is that the danger lay not ahead, but below. Not until the world collapsed below him did he realize he was done for. Before roaring death ripped at his throat he screamed into the com, “Traps, Father! Traps.”

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Chapter 15 Taken Pella’s eyes flew open chasing away phantom dreams. Her throat was raw. A colossal headache pounded. A mental check list of aches and discomfort continued as she rolled off the bunk. Dizziness washed over her. She slapped a steadying hand against the cold plastiflex bulkhead and groped for her com only to realize it was gone. So was her weapon.

Other than her dungarees and tunic, she’d been stripped. Even her boots had been taken.

“Hey! What do you want me for?” she yelled.

The words bounced back in the confines of the small cabin. Fear tainted her mouth with bile as her gut roiled.

The cabin was equipped with bare essentials, a small toilet and washbasin bolted to the hull. Pipes snaked from each to an energy converter somewhere on the vessel. She made use of the convenience and couldn’t help but wonder if she was under observation. She washed her hands and splashed water on her face to knock the edge off a persistent buzz inside her head.

The slider into the cabin was locked tight, no surprise there. The bunk, standard for transports, was welded to the hull with little more 62

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than a sleep pad thrown over a layer of TechStiff construction material.

A blanket of sorts, so thin you could see through it in spots, lay in a tangle on the floor. That was it. There were no overheads or storage units. A worrisome possibility wormed its way inside her head. Slave transport.

Pella’s knees went weak. She collapsed onto the bunk. So much had happened in the last two days. She’d thought she could handle anything, but this…

Time slogged by. She held the blanket clutched in her hands.

Gradually determination returned. She had no idea how long she’d been knocked out by the menthane, but she was awake and able now.

She would fight back. She would get out of this.

Pella stood. There was very little room in the cramped space but she worked her way through a series of movements designed to loosen stiff muscles. It also helped focus her thinking. When an opportunity for escape came, she intended to be ready.

Time passed. Minutes? Hours? It was hard to tell. Her stomach growled. She returned to the bunk and lay down. Her eyes glistened with tears, but she refused to give in to any emotion that would show weakness. A sudden chill blew across her skin and then the odor hit.

Menthane! Instinctively she buried her face in the blanket, and held her breath until she could hold it no longer. She breathed out and used the blanket as a filter against the methane when she breathed in. It stank of unwashed bodies and was filthy, but in this moment, it might prove to be her key to survival. After a time, the chill dissipated, but she kept the blanket over her nose and mouth.

A sound startled her. She twisted on the cot and saw the cabin door slide open. A server droid rolled through and stopped. A lower panel rose. Mechanical arms reached inside, pulled out vacpacs of food and set them on a fold down table Pella hadn’t noticed. She stood slowly. The droid ignored her. It had one purpose and one purpose only. Nothing Pella did would distract it. In no time the panel slid back down as the droid reversed toward the door.

With the blanket still covering her face, Pella took the few short steps to the door and stepped out behind the droid. The door slid closed and the lock mechanism clicked into place. So, the menthane 63

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was intended to put prisoners to sleep while food was brought in. Still, it was surprising there were no guards around.

She looked right and left down a narrow corridor. Doors like the one she’d just come out of were spaced along both sides, about eight feet apart. She saw no evidence of vids watching the corridor, but didn’t trust that it wasn’t so. She followed the droid hoping it would lead her to a way out. It stopped in front of a door, unlocked it with a tone signal, and rolled inside. A kinder lay on a bunk identical to the one in the cabin she had just left. It was a young fem. She lay with her eyes closed in drugged sleep. The droid put out the vac pacs of food, rolled back out, locked the slider, and moved on to the next. Feeding time.

When it rolled to the next cabin and went inside, Pella hurried past without looking at the occupant. She couldn’t help anyone if she didn’t get out herself.

The corridor was eerily quiet as she headed toward the end of the passageway. She knew there would be a lift at each end but couldn’t decide which way to go, uncertain whether she was fore or aft.

Transports were laid out in a similar fashion. Deck one at the topmost level would house command bay, a ready room for crew to hang out between shifts, crew cabins, and a dining hall and lounge for paying guests. Deck two, where she was standing, would be for cargo and cabins for guests, in this case prisoners. Deck three would be for everything related to running and maintaining the transport. It also held the kitchen, food storage, and docking bays for shuttles and cargo droids.

Unsure of the best option, she ran barefoot toward the closest lift.

She stepped on and debated internally. Up or down? Command bay, or the hold – and if she was lucky – access to a shuttle.

She touched the up arrow and trusted the One that she would not ascend into the arms of a crew member or guard. The quick trip up ended in the ready room. There was no one around. What kind of captain went off and left her ship deserted? The prisoners were drugged to keep them from making trouble during food deliveries, but there should be guards.

It was perhaps foolish to go to deck one, but she needed to get her bearings and gather information. She didn’t know where she was, the ship she was on, or whether she could get away. Her best chance of 64

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being picked up was to send a signal that could be tracked back. The face of the young fem she’d seen earlier niggled at her conscience. She could not leave without releasing her and the other prisoners. Beyond that, they would be on their own.

Her bare feet made no sound as she approached the door leading to command bay. She put her ear against it but heard no sounds from the other side. She glanced around the ready room in search of a weapon.

There was a conference table butted up to the port side bulkhead, with four chairs on each side. Whoever was responsible for mess duty hadn’t been around. Empty plates, bowls, mugs, and plastacine utensils were scattered across the table. The smell of food hung in the stale air.

Furnishings were bolted to the deck. Storage bins lined the walls, but when she tried to open them, she found they were passcode protected.

She was starting to sweat. She had to get a move on.

Pella wiped sweaty hands on her pants, armed herself with two plastacine knives gripped together in one hand, and stepped up to the command bay door. It began to slide open. Her heart pounded as she dove under the table. She made herself as small as possible.

Booted feet clomped toward her hiding place. An upside down face grinned at her. She recognized him immediately.

“I see you got a ride out of Safe Haven.”

“Feisty thing now ain’t ‘cha.”

Pella hated the word feisty.

He motioned her to come out from under the table. She complied.

The knives didn’t amount to much in the way of protection, but she held onto them as though they were. He stepped back, out of reach of any possible attack.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“Saw you leave the cabin.”

She stood loosely, ready to take advantage of any opening. He kept his distance.

“How’d you get away?”

“I thought you said you saw me.”

“I meant, how did you avoid the menthane?”

So, they didn’t have vids in the cabins. That was helpful, in what way she couldn’t be sure since she had no idea how she was going to get away from the brute standing in front of her.

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Suddenly an alarm rang through the ship: SECURITY BREACH DECK TWO… SECURITY BREACH DECK TWO The abrupt sound startled the man. He swung his eyes away from Pella just long enough. Her kick landed deep in his crotch. The air whooshed out of him. He grabbed for her as he fell to his knees, but she danced out of his way. Even with no boots a well-placed kick could do a lot of damage. She landed a second kick at his temple and stunned him further. He groped for his energy weapon with one hand while he protected his throbbing man parts with the other, but his grip was shaky and he dropped the weapon. Profanity and threats spewed with near incoherence from his mouth. Pella lashed out. This time she led with the heel of her right hand and hit him with all the power she had in her. He’d been watching her legs and didn’t see it coming. She followed up with the plasticine knives aimed for his eyes. She wasn’t fast enough. He grabbed her arm in a death grip. Instead of resisting she rolled toward him managing to pick up the energy weapon as she did so.

She pulled the release, discharging a burst of energy into his heart.

His eyes rolled back in his head and he went down. She checked to make sure he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

The alarm continued. Nobody else appeared, but she didn’t think that would last. She hurried onto the bridge and located the com. She tapped in the frequency for Polaris and waited for a response. No one answered. Not surprising. The ship was, after all, in for an overhaul.

Without her personal com, she had no way of reaching her crew members individually. She tapped in a distress message and left the com open. Hopefully Gouyen Walker could trace the location. She then located what she hoped was the release to open all the cabin doors.

Unlike the weapons locker, it was not passcoded. She touched the keypad. It went from red to green. It also initiated a second alarm, this one much louder and more strident.

She sprinted out of command bay. The man by the table had not stirred. She was tempted to give him another zap to make sure he stayed down, but feared it would kill him. Instead she headed aft toward the lift she knew would be located there, prepared for resistance, and grateful for her newly acquired weapon. She turned the power up to high-level stun before cautiously entering the main lounge, and went 66

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still. True earthers and off worlders were seated at several small dining tables, yet none reacted to her entrance. Nor did they react to the alarm that continued its claxton cry. It only took seconds for her to realize they were either dead or drugged. She didn’t hang around to find out which. She threaded her way through the eerie tableau and entered a narrow passageway lined with doors. Crew cabins and the head. All the doors were closed. This was all too strange.

Pella hurried on determined to get off what was beginning to feel like a ghost ship.

Chapter 16 Dorn’s realty check Dorn woke to an overwhelming stench. He lay still and stifled his gag reflex as he took in the alien scene. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, terrified by unfamiliar and claustrophobic surroundings.

Fires burned brightly in what appeared to be a cavern. It was hot, too hot. Qzzls prowled – some upright, some like the animals they were. Why were they here? Qzzls were protected. No one would harm them. And he saw several beings like him. Humans, true earthers. Ten? Fifteen? They wore no protective gear. Was he no longer on Chandor?

“Turn him back,” said a gravelly voice. The man sat at a rough table with a fem. His language was earthspeak. Like his mother, Dorn was a natural linguist and knew many languages, a skill Trish Soames insisted 67

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he keep secret. While he didn’t always obey his mother – often out of obstinacy, but also because he fought to be independent of her as he tried hard to be Chandorian – there were times when he sensed her wisdom far outpaced his stubborn nature and limited experience.

“The elements well get him.” The fem said. She sounded weary.

“What care we!” The gravelly voice boomed and echoed in the small space causing the pacing qzzls to growl. The humans shouted agreement. The agitation of the qzzls escalated.

“He is the spawn of Tauk!”

“Shut it, Gordon,” the fem said. The bite of her words had the desired effect, but the man’s furious countenance telegraphed his displeasure.

More murmurs from the humans; more growls from the qzzls.

“Offtet!” The fem’s shouted Chandorian phrase for ‘quiet now,’ was like flipping a switch. With few exceptions, the qzzls quieted, though their pacing continued.

The cavern returned to quiet broken only by the crackle of wood burning in carefully tended fires. Dorn’s eyes had adjusted to the poor light. He could see there were about as many males as fems, most were older, like his mother, but there were a few like Dorn, pups in Chandorian vernacular, kinder by true earther reckoning.

“The boy is like us, Gordon, we cannot turn him out.”

“He’s of the house of Tauk! He was with the hunting party. He warned them!”

“He is like us, Gordon. He could not know he was betraying his kind.”

Dorn wanted to cry out that he wasn’t their kind, he was Chandorian, but he remained silent swallowing back fear and outrage.

“We don’t know that his message got through. Hunter’s light has gone and the hunters have returned to the holding.”

Gordon barked a laugh and several others joined him. In Dorn’s experience with laughter, which wasn’t much, it wasn’t nice laughter.

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“Tauk’s way of getting rid of the weakest link in his family line,” someone said.

Fury and a fear that the speaker was right surged into every cell of Dorn’s body. He sprang from where he lay and rushed toward the voice.

He crashed into several humans and pummeled anyone who got in his way with fists toughened by years of training with his far stronger brothers. He released years of rejection, pain, disappointment and built up anger. The yelling and fulminating fury set the qzzls off again.

“Restrain the boy!” The fem commanded. “The rest of you calm the huqzzls. Tranquilize them if you must!”

The fight went out of Dorn as suddenly as it had come upon him.

The roughness with which he was handled was unnecessary but not surprising. He’d inflected injury to several of his captors. Their anger was evident in the way he was jerked around with brutal disregard for his safety. Before long the creatures called huqzzls – not qzzls after all – were calmed.

“Bring the boy to me,” the fem said.

One of the men started to bind Dorn with a length of rope.

“Do not tie him,” the fem said.

Gordon strode to where Dorn was being held. He yanked the boy free from the grasp of others and brutally wrapped the rough rope around Dorn’s wrists, yanking it tight before knotting it. He then pushed him toward the fem, who now stood in the firelight, the flames causing her long golden hair to look like ribbons of fire cascading over her breasts.

Gordon’s push sent Dorn stumbling forward. Unable to retain his balance, he fell at the fem’s feet, his face scraped raw against the rocky floor. He did not cry out and valiantly held back tears that sprang to his eyes.

The fem dropped to her haunches beside him and laid a soothing hand against his throbbing head. When she spoke the ice in her voice chilled the room.

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“Gordon, see to the huqzzls.”

“That be no job of mine!”

“See to the huqzzls now or it will become your permanent job.”

“You would choose it over your own?” The man sounded genuinely puzzled.

Another of the true earthers put a hand on Gordon’s shoulder, but the bigger man shook it off.

“I’ll no be a herdsman,” he growled.

“You will do as you are told,” the fem said coldly, “or you will be banished.”

“You… you wouldn’t!”

The man next to Gordon again placed a hand on Gordon’s shoulder and this time whispered something in his ear. Gordon sucked air between his teeth and looked ready to strike the man, but subsided.

He stormed away shouting in a cadence that indicated language to which the milling creatures responded by following him out of the cavern.

After a tense moment the fem let out a breath and helped Dorn to his feet. She took a knife from the scabbard at her waist and sliced though the rope.

“Leave us,” she said to the shadowy figures who remained. There were no protests as they left quietly.

The fem regarded Dorn without comment for several moments before motioning him to sit on one of the rough hewn benches. He thought to be contrary and refuse, but between the knock he’d taken to his head when he fell combined with wariness, fear and excitement, he scarcely had energy left.

He sat, his back straight and his chin up.

“Name?”

Again Dorn thought about refusing to cooperate, but as quickly abandoned the idea.

“Dorn.”

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“Dorn? That is not a name, it is a word, and one I would hardly use to describe you.”

A warm fire lit in the boy’s gut. “No, I am not weak, but it is my name. Weak. Dorn.”

“Nor are you Chandorian.”

Dorn was on his feet, towering rage taking over better judgment.

“I AM Chandorian. I am of the house of Tauk!”

“Sit, boy.” Her controlled manner and the fact she did not threaten him in any way calmed him. He returned to the bench. Maybe because she reminded him of his mother, who rarely lost her patience with him or any of his brothers and sisters… or Tauk, except for this time, when he and his brothers were included in the hunt.

“I am Ablea.”

Dorn swallowed. He had a hundred questions and wasn’t sure which one he wanted to ask first. His greatest concern was for his father and brothers.

“You are concerned for the rest of your hunting party.” She said it gently, watching him with kindness in her eyes.

Dorn looked away, ashamed his concern was obvious.

“Your warning must have reached them. No one else was caught.”

She studied him in silence. “Nor did they search for you.”

“This cannot be so. My father…”

“You do not strike me as someone who wants to be lied to. The traps are not meant for Chandorins. Only someone as small as you could have fallen through. They are for the pigs.”

Dorn felt he should take offense at being called small and compared to a pig, but something in the fem’s smile and kind eyes quelled his anger.

“The question now is what to do with you.”

“You can return me to my father.”

Instead of answering, the fem stood and walked to a cook fire. She was dressed in a simple long sleeved tunic and pants. Dorn had come 71

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close enough to manhood to know she was beautiful and well formed.

Her hands might have belonged to a different person. They were mannish with squared fingernails and marked with many scars. She ladled a soupy substance into a bowl and brought it to the table along with a spoon made of wood.

The soup’s aroma hit his nostrils and called his hunger into being.

His stomach growled and his mouth watered. He pushed the bowl away.

“You must be hungry,” Ablea said, nudging the bowl back.

Dorn swallowed. “No.” “You would rather starve?”

Dorn gnawed at his lower lip as his stomach betrayed him with another rumble.

“We… I do not eat qzzl.”

“Qzzl?”

“They say true earthers eat qzzl. You are true earther. You eat qzzl.”

Ablea’s face betrayed a quick succession of emotions that bled from humor to horror to disappointment.

“And who are ‘they’ who say true earthers eat qzzl?”

Dorn shrugged looking every bit a frightened kinder.

“This is a mostly vegetable soup with bits of firburcock. We haven’t been able to acquire much meat, so what we have we use to flavor the broth.” She spoke as though instructing someone in the culinary arts and Dorn relaxed. “Protein comes from legumes we grow. When we can, we trap pigs. Today we trapped you.”

The aroma of the soup was working on him. Having been assured he would not be consuming anything that contributed to his DNA, he picked up the spoon and began to eat. When he’d finished he placed the spoon in the bowl and set it aside.

“Thank you.” It was less politeness and more a sign of his mother’s upbringing, which demanded respect for others.

“You are most welcome. More?”

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Yes, he wanted more, but felt it would be somehow wrong. He couldn’t take from those who had little to spare. That this was contrary to his desire to see the end of these earthers did not register. His mother had raised him to be kind despite his resistance to the very notion of caring about the well being of others. Chandorian rights were paramount.

“As you will,” she said.

“Why does it stink so bad in here?” Now that his hunger was mostly satisfied the smell seemed worse that ever.

“Sulphur. The huqzzls add to it. Their musk is a deterrent to biting insects.”

“Those creatures were huqzzls?”

“Yes.” The boy frowned. “I thought huqzzls were violent.”

“They can be. When agitated they lose control.”

“Like when everyone was yelling.”

“Yes.” “If they’re dangerous, why do you keep them around?”

The fem picked the bowl and spoon up from the table and went to a cauldron set over a flame. She dipped each into the pot of water and then set them to drain.

“They’re only dangerous when provoked or commanded to protect.”

“I don’t understand.”

The fem shrugged into a heavy cloak she had picked up from a pile of similar garments ranged against the wall, and then took down a filter mask much like the one Dorn had worn earlier.

“I must go out. Don’t try to leave; you won’t survive. If the atmosphere doesn’t kill you the cold will. I’m sure you know this, but I won’t have your death on my conscious. To make certain you don’t get yourself into trouble, I will leave a guard.” She touched an amulet she 73

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wore around her neck. There was no sound but in no time at all a handsome silver huqzzl entered. It regarded Dorn with chilly disdain.

“This is Otto. He will take care of you.”

The huqzzle stood upright and was taller than Ablea. Intelligence shone in Otto’s grey eyes. Dorn felt as though the creature could read his mind. The huqzzl emitted a series of sounds. Ablea laughed.

“Yes, it is unusual, but take care of him, please.”

“It talks to you?” Dorn asked in surpise.

“Every creature talks to you; you just have to listen. Now, while I am away don’t try to leave this area. Otto will carry out his imperative to keep you here even if he must injure you to do so.”

Dorn swallowed and nodded.

When Ablea was gone the boy and huqzzl eyed each other warily.

Chapter 17 Polaris crew 74

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Aoife sat forward, her full lips in a pout. Her dark hair fell so that it hid three parallel scars that marred her left cheek. The newbie, Jada Hawthorne by name, was bubbling with excitement about something, Aoife wasn’t sure what, nor did she care. The kinder never slowed down. Not that she was a kinder. Like the rest of them, Jada was in her twenties, but nearer the lower end. At twenty-nine Aoife felt ancient.

Jada just seemed so damned young. The captain had taken her on as a favor to a Malchorian in the Galactic Security Service, some friend of hers. Aoife wasn’t about to question the woman who had saved her life when all she wanted was to be converter fuel, but Jada’s constant peppy attitude wore her out. Aoife absently touched the scars hidden by her hair and as quickly pulled her hand away.

Gouyen laughed at something Jada said. Aoife’s mood darkened.

She had wanted to stay in the room they all shared at the Eames Dispatch lodging facility. First Pilot Gouyen Walker wouln’t be put off.

So here she sat, unhappy and restless. Magda didn’t have to come, why did they force her?

Jada was going on about some good-looking transport pilot who had been giving her the eye.

“You must be careful,” Gouyen said. “Most pilots are okay, but some of them are up to…” she blinked and blushed. “Up to no good.”

“You mean sex?” Jada asked innocently, although the twinkle in her dark eyes betrayed her irrepressible teasing nature.

Gouyen’s color deepened. Her culture was practical in matters of mating, but one did not talk about such matters in public.

Jada burst out laughing, and Aoife felt a tug at her lips. Gouyen was so proper she squeaked when she walked.

“Mother has had the talk with me,” Jada said. “I like that men look at me and I like to look back. It is harmless.” Her smile faded. “Nor do I wish to be distracted from my apprenticeship. Father thinks I will fail; Mother hopes I will.”

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The waitdroid approached and efficiently placed their orders in front of them along with a self-heat bag that held Magda’s meal.

As they age, Gouyen turned the discussion to maintenance on Polaris. Magda Ivanov, the ship’s chief engineer, said Pella’s suspicion that the thrusters were in need of repair or replacement had been right.

That meant down time for the transport and no money coming in to pay them. They might all have to find other work, at least for awhile.

“Magda tried to contact Pella to let her know, but the captain hasn’t responded. Have either of you heard from her?” Gouyen asked.

Aoife shivered despite the stuffy warmth in the bistro and press of bodies all around them. Being out of contact was unusual for Pella Soames. She wasn’t sociable, no, but she was always available. Aoife held her sudden prickle of worry at bay and tried to ignore Jada’s irritating chatter. She was grateful when her com pinged an incoming call, and then realized the others had received one as well.

“Magda,” Gouyen said. The other two nodded as one and touched the accept call key.

“We have a distress signal coming in and a message from Pella.” The chief engineer’s voice was hard-edged and impassive, but there was no questioning the urgency behind her words.

“On our way,” Gouyen said. “Where are you?”

“Command bay, Polaris. We have a problem.”

Aoife grabbed Madga’s bagged meal off the table as they hurried out.

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Chapter 18 The Polaris crew stymied Bart watched the three fems leave the dining hall. Still feeling stung

by Pella’s continuing rejection, he hadn’t approached them. He knew if he did, he would ask about her, and look like a fool for doing so. Still, there was something about their urgency when they left that sent alarms bells jangling in his head. He took one more bite of his fishburger as he stood up from the table, and then hurried after them.

It was Jada who stopped and turned to face him before he could catch up. The others stopped as well and looked back. Aoife frowned.

“Oh, great,” she muttered. And maybe, just maybe, it was.

“Bartholomew Casey!” Jada said with a grin. “I should have known it was you I sensed.”

Jada’s beneficial talents included empathy – which she didn’t think of as beneficial at all – and a psychic radar that allowed her to sense when she was being watched or sought. With the right connection, she could get inside the head of the watcher/seeker, if they were receptive, which Bart was not.

Bart nodded at the three and decided on a casual approach, despite the obvious agitated vibe the three were giving off.

“What’s up? I was going to stop by your table and say hello, but…”

“We don’t have time for this,” Gouyen Walker cut in. “Magda’s waiting for us.”

“What’s going on!” he demanded.

The last thing the captain would want was anyone knowing her business, even if her life was in danger. Knowing that, Gouyen tried to think of a way to be rid of Bart without creating suspicion.

Aoife took a more direct approach.

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“Come on. You might prove useful.” She strode away leaving the others to follow or not. Bart quickly caught up and they were was soon joined by Jada and a furious Gouyen.

“Fill me in, Aoife,” Bart said.

“Save it. We can all hear it together.”

Gouyen groaned the moment she entered the repair bay and saw Polaris. Magda stood hands-on-hips, legs spread wide, scorching a beefy tech with profanely punctuated threats. The transport was not in one piece; not even two. It had clearly been sectioned to implement repairs to the thrusters and who knew what else.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO START ‘TIL I CLEARED IT WITH THE CAPTAIN! PUT THIS BACK TOGETHER NOW!” Gouyen strode up to the two and put her hand on Magda’s shoulder. She nodded to the tech and pulled Magda aside. The Polaris chief engineer’s face was almost as red has her hair.

“Where have you been! We got a big problem here and…” she stopped as she glanced at her other crew mates and spotted Bart behind them.

“What’s HE doing here?”

Her fury matched Gouyen’s, but now was not the time to explain.

Plus, given the condition of the transport, Aoife was right, Bart might prove useful.

“Magda, calm down. Tell us what’s going on.”

Magda swallowed hard and flicked a sharp glance a Bart before continuing.

“That one,” she nodded toward the tech who stood glaring back at her, “contacted me because of an alarm that went off in command bay.

At least he was smart enough to know it might be a signal of some kind.”

“Yeah, and look at the thanks I get!”

“Thanks? Thanks! You idiot, you’ve made it impossible for us to…”

“Magda!”

Gouyen’s sharp tone stopped Magda’s building tirade.

“Cut to the facts.”

Magda flicked another glace at Bart. “You sure now’s the time?”

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Gouyen’s discipline and control was only matched by that of Pella Soames. At the moment, she was ready to rip flexisteel apart with her teeth.

“Later. For now, fill us in.”

Magda glared at the tech. “You’ve done your damage. Leave us be!”

He mumbled something under his breath that would have earned him more of Magda’s wrath had she heard it, and ambled out of the room.

As soon as the repair bay door closed behind him, Magda motioned for the others to follow her up the ramp to the Polaris entry hatch.

Instead of explaining, she punched a com key and stepped back. Pella’s voice filled the cabin.

“From command bay of an unknown transport in an unknown location. Appears to be a slaver. If you get this and come for me, expect trouble when you arrive. Activating a signal for you to latch onto.”

That was it. No doubt at all in her voice that her message would be received and acted on.

“I traced it back and found the location,” Magda said. “But we have a problem. As you can see, Polaris is in no shape to move and our only shuttle is wherever Pella left it. The Wayfarer would be my guess, or maybe Safe Haven.”

“Where is this location?” Gouyen sat in the first pilot’s chair with her eyes glued to the nav chart Aoife had up on the vid screen.

“More than seventeen hundred kilometers west of here,” Aoife said, pointing to a tiny spot off the mainland.

“Fog Island.”

The three fems turned at the hard tone in Bart’s voice.

“I thought Fog Island was deserted,” Jada said.

“Yeah, so did I.” Bart tapped his wrist com. “Edek.””

“Captain.”

The slightly alien features of his best friend and first pilot, regarded Bart quizzically from the tiny com screen.

“Is the Thunder Prime shuttle ready for a quick trip?”

“Sure. Where to?”

“Fog Island, off the coast of old California.”

“I know where it is. When are we leaving?”

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“I’m on my way. Don’t know what we’ll encounter. We need to be ready for anything.”

“Just a minute here!” Gouyen said, getting in Bart’s face. “You have no right…”

“Do you have a better idea?” Aoife asked the Polaris first pilot.

Gouyen licked her lips and shook her head. Pella was going to be so angry!

“May I inquire what this is about?” Edek asked.

“I’ll explain later.” Bart was headed for the exit hatch when Aoife stepped in front of him.

“You’re not going without me.”

“It will be dangerous. I don’t want to be worrying about you while I’m trying to rescue…”

“The signal stopped transmitting!” Gouyen said sharply. “We’re all going, Bart. Don’t waste time arguing. We can take care of ourselves.”

Bart shook his head in exasperation but didn’t argue. There wasn’t time. If it was indeed a slaver, Pella could already be off planet.

For her part, Gouyen knew they should be contacting Galactic Security and let them take care of whatever this was, but she also knew that wasn’t an option. Getting tangled up with GS in any way lead to delays, restrictions, and questions. Pella sometimes skirted the law, and Aoife had questionable credentials. Bringing in the authorities would lead to trouble. More than the abduction of Pella? It didn’t matter.

Pella would never forgive them if Aoife was detained.

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Chapter 19 A New Way Teller crosses the line Â

Goodwin Harp did not let anger get the better of him. That's what he told himself. Control was a way of life. Yet in this moment, if he could have gotten his hands on the fem beaming her message across time and space, he would have snapped her life out without a moment's thought. He carefully modulated his voice before speaking.

Bahn Graeland stood beside him, awaiting instructions.

"You are doing your work well, and I have received glowing reports about your presentations. It is not, however, a practice of New Way to solicit alms..." despite his resolve anger crept into his voice, "...like common beggars!"

The fem seemed unaffected by his spurt of ire.

"Platform Alpha is a perfect setting for a Teller of talent, one who can sell New Way to seekers," she said.

Harp's fury doubled.

"We are not selling anything, my dear," he said softly. "We are providing an open door."

She didn't scoff but Harp could see it in her eyes. "No, of course not. I can see I made a mistake adding to the coffers of New Way. It is an error I shall not repeat."

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Harp did not like her tone, but nodded as he studied the image before him. The fem's raven black hair and fair, fair skin were enhanced by the deep red of the luxurious gown draping her alluring figure.

"The garment you are wearing, is this how you dress for a Telling?"

For the first time the fem looked uncertain. "Yes, this is what I always wear."

At least she didn't lie.

"Inappropriate my dear, quite inappropriate. Were you not properly trained for being a Teller? It is a humble task that requires modesty and self-restraint."

She licked her lips and dipped her head respectfully. Too late.

"Forgive me Prophet."

"I'm afraid this won't do."

"What? You would not release me, surely. Prophet, I seek to serve.

You have provided well for me. I wish only to remain a Teller for New Way!" As well she might! Tellers in New Way were paid well for their loyalty and service. There was no need to collect alms. Harp wondered idly where those creds she'd collected went. Not to New Way, that he had already checked. He was furious with her but admired her nerve.

"My dear, New Way is about second chances." After a few more pleasantries he signed off. What a delightful young woman in so many ways. Back when he cared about bedding beautiful fems, he would have been attracted to her. What a waste.

"Bahn."

"Yes, Prophet?

"You know what is needed."

"Yes, Prophet. Do you wish another Teller to be sent to Launch Alpha to replace her?"

Harp thought a moment and then shook his head. "We shall wait.

If the field is so ripe for harvesting, perhaps I will go myself."

"Yes, Prophet."

After Bahn left Harp picked up a delicately made glass sculpture that had cost the earth. He turned it in his hands gently and then hurled it at the wall shattering the piece into hundreds of shards. It didn't completely rid him of fury, but knowing the fem's life would soon be over served to help him bank it for now.

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He was feeling restless. New Way was growing but he wasn't getting from it what he had expected. The adulation and fawning wore on him.

He had days when his stamina left him like a bird in flight. As the Prophet, his strength should be increasing, not diminishing. He should be growing more powerful. The tricks should no longer be tricks but feats of mystical power. He had done everything he knew how to do, leading people away from poverty. His companies across the galaxy provided thousands upon thousands of earthers and off worlders with work. By his efforts alone he'd stopped wars and started others. The undesirables were swept away by the mighty army of the Prophet. Of course, that's not what they were called. The armies were armies from across the galaxy infiltrated and usurped by Harp's legions of clones, all designed to follow his command and his alone.

The book was filled with wars and rumors of wars. It spoke of retribution against the disloyal and punishment for the unfaithful.

He was faithful. His prayers filled the chapel several times a day. He led the services of praise to New Way. He filled the coffers of the faithful and rid the galaxy of the unworthy.

And yet he was unsatisfied. He sought immortality. He sought the epiphany. He sought the indwelling spirit that turned him from the prophet into The Chosen.

He rubbed his face with trembling hands. And this fem, this, this NOTHING, evaded him. Where was she hiding? He released a sign of resignation and rose, gathering his strength. His people would find her.

He had other concerns.

He locked the doors signaling his need for solitude and called up the book. He began reading, once again looking for the way. _____________

The aft lift module was not at deck one level. As Pella stood there, it began to rise. She glanced around for alternative escape routes and spotted the emergency exit. She swallowed hard before running to it and tapping the keypad to open the hatch. She stepped gingerly on the first metal step of many that spiraled downward inside a vertical tube.

The steps were attached to a central pole suspended between the upper deck outer bulkhead and the superstructure of the hull. In between, the 83

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only thing that kept the spiral staircase in place was the housing that encased it. If you were the least claustrophobic you would go firburcock crazy in seconds. By now sweat was pouring down her body.

The grid pattern of the metal stairs cut into her bare feet as she hurried down. She realized she was breathing too fast. Her descent caused the suspension pole to sway resulting in a clanging sound that could no doubt be heard above the screaming alarm. She stopped briefly, drew in a deep breath, and willed herself to calm. She resumed her descent more slowly to prevent the pole’s sway. It didn’t stop entirely, but made her steps more stable. She had just gotten past deck two level when the door to the emergency exit on that level slid open.

Humans and off worlders leapt onto the steps, each clamoring to get ahead of the others. The result was chaos.

The alarm went silent.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Sharon Vander Meer has spent much of her career as a freelance writer, reporter and editor. She has been a storyteller since childhood and finds inspiration in everyday life. In addition to her latest novel, Blind Curve, she has written three other novels: Finding Family, Future Imperfect and the Ballad of Bawdy McClure. She has also written a book of inspirational readings, Not Just Another Day. Her books are available at amazon.com or by contacting her directly at sharon@oneroofpublish.com. She lives in northern New Mexico with her husband Bob.

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