Authors: Catherine Spangler
"I need to go with them," Lionia argued. "I am the most capable of handling the cretins on Calt."
"You are the best fighter, but Kiah and Marna can take care of themselves. I need you to watch over our mechanic and see that he does the repairs on the ships. Make sure he doesn't bother any of the women."
Lionia's expression turned mutinous. She hadn't wanted to take Radd back to Risa and had clearly expressed her opinion of male mechanics. Moriah's refusal to let her keep Radd shackled for the four-cycle trip hadn't pleased her, either. "He won't bother them, or he'll be carved into a thousand pieces."
"No mutilation or torture," Moriah ordered. "If he gets out of line, lock him up. I'll decide what to do with him when I return. Has he given you any trouble so far?"
"As if he could," Lionia retorted, her warrior pride obviously stung. "I could strangle the muckworm with one hand. But he insists on skulking around the ship, fixing
everything.
I find the sight of him disgusting. Unfortunately, your sister does not share that opinion."
"Celie? What do you mean?" Moriah asked, alarm clamoring through her. It hadn't occurred to her that Radd might be a threat to Celie. The girl was very naive. If the mechanic made one improper advance toward her sister, she'd let Lionia carve out his miserable heart.
"She follows him like a shadow," Lionia growled. "Asking him questions about everything he does."
Some of Moriah's tension eased. "So she's interested in the repairs. How does he react?"
"He answers her questions," Lionia admitted grudgingly. "He even allows her to do some of the work. I keep telling her to stay away from him, but she sneaks off to watch him every chance she gets."
"Anything Celie can learn from him will be helpful," Moriah pointed out, her fears allayed. Lengthy space runs could be very boring, and Celie had always been fascinated with mechanical matters. She couldn't see any harm in her watching Radd, especially under Lionia's suspicious scrutiny.
"I trust you'll keep Radd in line. Just get that shipment off to Calt. I'll be working on the iridon pickup. That reminds me—as soon as you get to Risa, send Roanne to meet me at Elysia. I'll probably go directly from there to get the iridon shipment. I'll update you on the status as often as I can. Any questions?"
Lionia hesitated. Moriah suspected she wanted to object to being left on Risa with the mechanic, but she didn't. "No," she said after a moment, "I'll take care of everything."
"I know you will. Can I speak to Celie now?" She chatted a few moments with her sister, who glowed with excitement over all the neat things she was learning from Radd. Celie also asked about Sabin.
"Oh, he's elsewhere on the ship right now," Moriah hedged, still bemused by Celie's apparent bond with the man. "Listen, I need to go, sweetness. I have other calls to make. I'll talk to you soon."
She signed off, then contacted Eark. The Shen always wore a deep hood that shrouded his face in darkness, and she had never seen his features clearly. Just shadows and angles. Even his voice, an odd, hissing whisper, was mysterious. But his information had always been accurate and his discretion unquestionable. He was one of her most dependable contacts.
"Greetings," he whispered. "I have been waiting to hear from you."
"I've had a few unexpected delays, Eark."
His head bowed toward his console, a dark oval of shadow all she could see in the hood's interior. "This is not your usual ship."
Sabin must have reactivated his homing device, she realized. Eark had noted the different frequency. Not that it mattered. She wasn't hiding from anyone right now. "Calling it a ship is debatable," she replied. "But I will be on board for about six more cycles, then I'll be back on one of my regular craft. In the meantime, please don't contact me. Let me contact you."
The hooded visage lifted toward her again. "I'm always compliant for you, Moriah. What is your wish?"
"What's the current status of the iridon? When will it arrive?"
"The shipment is still on schedule. I expect its arrival in approximately sixteen cycles."
Thank Spirit it wouldn't be there any sooner. "Is the delivery point still in the sixth sector?"
"Yes."
So far, so good. "All right. I'll stay in touch. We can arrange the actual coordinates for delivery when the shipment enters the quadrant."
"I shall await your call." Eark's whisper faded into static.
Moriah's next communiqué was to Commander Gunnar's flagship. The Leor officer happened to be on board, and flashed onto the screen with his usual intimidating effect. Stiffening, she locked gazes with him. Dark, glassy orbs returned her perusal, probing her soul.
He's light-years away,
she reassured herself.
"Captain," he rasped. "I've been waiting to hear from you."
"My apologies, Commander Gunnar. I was delayed on Star Base Intrepid."
His expression hardened. "You seem to be experiencing an unusual amount of difficulties, Captain. I would hate to question your competency."
She certainly wanted to avoid that. "The problems have been related to ship repairs, Commander. I have corrected the situation by adding a qualified mechanic to my crew."
"Then I trust there will be no more lapses in communication."
It was a command, not a question, and underlaid with a not-so-subtle threat. She would have to find a way to circumvent Sabin and stay in contact with Gunnar. "No, Commander. I will be on this ship temporarily, for six or seven cycles. Then I'll be on my regular ship. You already have that homing frequency."
"And now I have one for your current craft."
Surely it would be virtually impossible for Sabin to discover the Leors were tracking his ship. Why would he even check? "The arrival of the iridon is on schedule, Commander," Moriah said. "It should be in this quadrant within sixteen cycles, and will be delivered to the sixth sector. I'll have exact coordinates several cycles ahead."
His stared at her impassively. "Very well. I'll be awaiting our next contact."
The viewscreen went blank. She sank back in her chair, suddenly shaky. Nothing had gone right from the start on this deal, and failure would end her life. She caught herself.
She would not fail!
The deal was worth the risk. It would bring a lot of miterons, enough to finish irrigating Risa and begin construction of permanent structures. She could pull it off. And she would.
As soon as she got free of Sabin Travers.
Sabin
! How long had she left him alone? Moriah looked at the chronometer. Less than an hour had elapsed, but she remembered how he'd burned with fever. Guilt and concern cut through her. She hurried to his cabin.
He lay very still on his bunk, but she heard his labored breathing from the entry. He thrashed when she touched him, but he didn't wake up. He felt even hotter, if that were possible. She re-wet the cloth and wiped his face. The water seemed to evaporate as soon as it touched his skin. Panic elevated her heart rate. He was burning up. Surely he wouldn't die. She knew nothing about illness, only that this was serious, enough to incapacitate him.
She had the sudden thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to escape. But, no, she couldn't do that. Sabin had treated her wound from the Jaccians. He had spared her life when she discovered the Shielder colony, and he had protected Celie. Every shred of honor within her demanded that she help him now. That—and an emotional pull she didn't dare want to admit or recognize.
But what to do? Stroking his hair back from his damp skin, Moriah stared at his flushed face. If she only knew of a nearby healer, or someone to call for help…There
was
someone she could call. Chase McKnight, Sabin's partner. He might know where to find a healer.
Returning to the cockpit, she tried to access Sabin's communication log. Like the navigation pod, it was secured by code. Frustrated, she clenched her teeth and began typing furiously. She gave a sigh of relief when she found what she sought—the decoding program she'd created when she had hijacked the ship. Sabin obviously hadn't had the time to determine she'd accessed his PWL file, which gave master access to everything on the ship.
She wasn't a computer genius by any stretch. Celie had much more ability in that area. But their father had been a liar and a thief, and he'd taught them early on how to do his dirty work for him. That had included stealing ships, which had come in useful a time or two. So Moriah did have enough basic knowledge to get past the security measures on most computers.
She reactivated the decoding program, and the codes appeared on the screen in proper alphanumeric sequences. There they were—the override codes for both the communication log and the navigation system. Now she could access the subspace frequencies for all Sabin's contacts, erase the records for her own unauthorized communications, and set the ship's course for wherever she desired. Not that she intended to change course, unless it was necessary to find a healer.
She found Chase McKnight's frequency and connected, wondering how much time had been lost while she overrode Sabin's lockouts. It seemed to take forever for the hailing signal to reach a satellite and then locate Chase's ship. "McKnight here," finally came the gruff voice.
"Moriah Cameron here. I'm with Sabin Travers, on his ship."
"I know who you are. Turn on the viewscreen."
She complied. No reciprocal image appeared. "Something must be wrong," she said. "I can’t see you."
"You don’t need to see me," came the terse reply. "Why are you contacting me? Where is Travers?"
Obviously, McKnight didn't believe in standing on formality. "He's very ill, and I was hoping you might know of a—"
"Ill? What's wrong with him?"
"He's burning up with fever, and he's not coherent. Actually, he's not really conscious."
"Not conscious? How high is the fever? Has he had any seizures?" McKnight snapped out questions rapid-fire.
"I have no way of taking his temperature. I haven't seen any seizures. But he doesn't seem to know where he is. He thrashes around when I try to help him and I need to find—"
"Transmit your coordinates."
The man was every bit as infuriating as Sabin. "But what I really need is to contact a healer—"
"Transmit them
now.
"
Realizing McKnight wouldn’t help until she did, Moriah did the calculations and pressed the send button. After a slight pause, he said, "Damn, I can't be there for eight hours. If only you could head my direction, we'd be able to cut the time."
"I can, but how's that going to help Sabin? He needs a healer."
"Are you telling me you can override his lockout code?"
No sense denying it. "I already have. That's the only way I was able to access your communication frequency."
"You'd better not be thinking of running," McKnight warned. "If you do, and he dies, I'll hunt you down and turn you over to the Controllers."
"Would I have contacted you if those were my plans?" she retorted, thoroughly irritated with overbearing males, not to mention her integrity being questioned. "I certainly wouldn't have admitted to having control of the ship."
A moment of silence ensued before he answered. "Your logic is sound. Just be forewarned that I'll be tracking every move that ship makes."
You and everybody else.
"I won't take the ship off course, except to find a healer. Now, about Sab—"
"I'm transmitting the coordinates you need," he interjected. "Use them to reset your course, and put the ship on maximum speed. We should rendezvous in four or five hours. In the meantime, try to get the fever down. Start by sponging Travers in cool water. If that doesn't work, use ice water. If he gets chilled, stop the process and cover him. Try to get him to take liquids. Contact me immediately if he gets worse. Understand?"
"Yes, but—" The connection went dead. Moriah threw up her hands. McKnight was more hard-headed than Sabin. And what could he do?
But she had no other choice. She didn't know anyone else to contact. Resigned, she studied the incoming coordinates from McKnight. Naturally they were the opposite direction of Elysia. Great. Half a day lost, at least, and she couldn't see the benefit of it. Sabin needed a healer, not a Controller agent.
However, McKnight's advice made sense. She had bathed Celie in cool water when she'd had high fevers as a small child. Maybe McKnight would know what to do for Sabin. She reset the ship's coordinates and headed for his cabin.
He was hotter than the sands of Calt. He opened his eyes when she felt his face, but they were glazed, with no sign of cognizance. Sweat beaded his forehead and dampened his hair, but he didn't appear chilled. She opened the top of his flightsuit and eased his arms from the sleeves. He tossed his head and mumbled incoherently. He was so ill, so helpless.
A surge of emotion constricted her chest, and she tried to ignore it. She couldn't, wouldn't, allow herself to care for any man. If she felt anything at all, she told herself fiercely, it was compassion. Maybe a little gratitude.
She sponged his face and chest with cool water, trying not to notice the swell of muscles beneath smooth, glistening skin. Beautifully delineated biceps and pectorals indicated he kept himself in prime condition. He'd been naked the night she had seduced him, but the cabin had been dark. Today had been her first real look, and she had to admit he was magnificent. She froze, the cloth clutched in her fist. She'd found Pax repulsive in every way, although many women thought he was very attractive. How strange she didn't feel revolted by touching Sabin.
How strange she could stroke his bare skin, could experience an attraction toward him, without hideous memories of Pax rearing up. Instead, other images, sensual images of Sabin entwined with her, swirled through her mind; a kaleidoscope of intimacies they had shared.
Her breathing almost as ragged as Sabin's, Moriah forced the disconcerting images away, telling herself her reactions were simply the stress of the past few cycles. She owed him gratitude, nothing more. She was just unsettled right now, out of her element. In a few short cycles, he would be gone from her life and she would continue as before.