Shadower (22 page)

Fortified by these thoughts, she sponged cool water on him, over and over. Her arms ached, but she continued. As his skin cooled a little, he became more vocal, tossing and calling out unfamiliar names. She soothed him, persuaded him to sip a little water.

Once he opened his eyes and stared straight at her. "You!" he rasped. "I should have known you'd be here."

"Where else would I be?" she muttered, although she wasn't sure he recognized her.

Finally, the alert went off in the corridor, warning of an approaching ship. She covered Sabin with a thin sheet so he wouldn't chill, then returned to the cockpit. The subspace transceiver was hailing, and she answered.

"I'm approaching," McKnight said. "Bring the ship to a standstill and await my boarding."

"Will do." Moriah entered the commands, slowing the ship until it was barely drifting. She went to the airlock to meet Sabin's partner, bracing herself for the docking jolt.

McKnight stepped through the airlock, his size overwhelming. Half a head taller than Sabin, he was broader through the chest, more massive. Dark blond hair framed a harsh, chiseled face, dominated by cold gray eyes that pinned her to the spot. While Sabin moved with lethal grace, this man exuded a grim power that reminded her of Commander Gunnar.

She tilted her head to meet his penetrating stare, refusing to let him intimidate her. "Captain McKnight."

"Captain Cameron. Shall we dispense with formalities? Where is Travers?"

She led him to Sabin's cabin. He'd thrown off the cover and rolled to his stomach. McKnight set down the black case he was carrying and snapped it open. He rolled his partner onto his back.

"Keep away from me," Sabin muttered, slapping at McKnight. "Don't look at me like that. I won't be tempted by you."

McKnight glanced at Moriah, his golden eyebrows raised. "He's been delirious," she offered lamely. Pulling what appeared to be some sort of scanner from the case, McKnight sat on the edge of the bunk and ran it over Sabin, his face impassive. He lowered the scanner. "Alberian flu," he pronounced.

"That's what he has?"

McKnight nodded. "He probably got it at the prison on Intrepid."

Panic swirled through her. "The prison? Then Celie was exposed, too. She had it once when she was fourteen." At least Janaye had called it the Alberian flu, and the woman knew a lot about illness. Celie had been very sick for more than a week. Moriah stared at McKnight anxiously. "Is it worse the second time?"

"You can only get it once."

"That's a relief."

"Have you had it?" McKnight picked up the scanner and strode toward her.

Spirit, he was big. "I've never been ill," she answered, taking a step back. "I'm very healthy."

He grabbed her arm, halting her retreat. "Be still." He ran the scanner over her. She heard the faint hum of the instrument. "Ever had any inoculations?" he asked, studying the readouts.

"No." With her father's drinking, they hadn't had enough money for food, much less frivolous things like preventative medicine.

He looked up from the scanner, his steely eyes pinning her to the spot. "We're going to take care of that right now. You do have the flu incubating. But not for long."

She couldn't afford to be sick for more than a week. "Then you can give me something to stop it?"

"Dead in its tracks. I can also give Travers something to speed his recovery. I need to get the serums from my ship."

He left and returned a short time later with a second case. Sitting next to Sabin, he took out a medical hypochamber and a vial. He filled the cylinder with the liquid, his movements sure and efficient, and injected the medication into Sabin's neck. Moriah was fascinated. She'd never been to a healer, or seen any medical procedures. Obviously, Sabin's partner had received some medical training.

"Your turn." McKnight pulled out several vials of medicine and two more hypochambers. "I'm going to give you the antidote for the AF, as well as inoculations for all common illnesses."

Apprehensive, she watched him fill the cylinders. She had no idea what to expect. He gestured her closer, and she moved forward slowly. "Have you ever had an injection?" he asked.

"No." She wondered what one felt like, but pride kept her silent.

A small smile tugged at his generous lips and, for a moment, he didn't look quite so formidable. "It's only a small sting," he said, his deep voice laced with amusement. "Come on."

She didn't know this man from the Exalted Controller, but her instincts told her she could trust him. Besides, she didn't want to risk becoming as sick as Sabin was. Halting before McKnight, she pulled her hair away from her neck. She stood stiffly, jumping a little at the low buzz the first hypochamber made when it discharged into her neck. It did sting, but the discomfort was minor, just as he had told her. She was more relaxed for the second one.

She watched McKnight repack his case, puzzling over his actions. She could draw only one conclusion. "You're a healer, aren't you?" she asked.

The small amount of warmth on his face evaporated into a frigid mask. "No."

"But you have medical supplies and you know how to diagnose illness."

He picked up the case and swung toward her. "I said
no
! I am
not
a healer." Some unreadable emotion blazed in his eyes. "You will not tell Travers I was here, or that I treated him," he demanded fiercely. "You won't tell anyone about this. You'll regret it if you do. Understood?"

She didn't understand at all. McKnight was lying. He was obviously a competent healer, but for reasons of his own, wanted no one to know. Not that it mattered. She had secrets of her own to hide. "I understand. I won't tell anyone about this."

"Then I'll be off." He strode through the panel. Outside the cabin, he turned. "Travers will be recovered in about two cycles. Be sure he drinks plenty of fluids. Replicate some plain broth for his first few meals."

"I don't know how to use a replicator."

McKnight rolled his eyes. "Then I hope you like amargrain and protein sticks."

"I'm starting to get sick of them," Moriah admitted.

"Come on, then." He gestured toward the galley. "I'll show you how to replicate some broth."

She followed him to the gallery, and he instructed her on replicating broth. Afterward, he prepared to return to his ship. Stopping beside the airlock, he fixed Moriah with his mesmerizing stare. "I would follow you to make sure you reach Elysia, but I must catch up with someone who's reportedly at Odera. I expect you to head directly to Elysia. I'll be tracking your progress."

Despite his words, she sensed he now trusted her. "I'll set course for Elysia immediately," she promised. "And I'll take care of Sabin, as undeserving as he is."

A brief smile touched McKnight's lips. "That should prove interesting. Contact me if there are any problems."

Then he was gone. Musing over the oddness of Sabin's partner, Moriah went to check on their patient. Already, he was resting easier and his skin was cooler. She pulled the blanket over him, telling herself it was natural to feel relieved that he was better.

She just wanted to fulfill her promise and put all this behind her. That was all she cared about.

*  *  *  *

"What are you doing, muckworm?"

Radd turned from the airlock control plate he was tightening and faced the Zarian female. Brandishing her ever-present dagger, she radiated hatred and distrust. The woman was definitely too uptight. She needed to loosen up, starting with the golden hair pulled back tightly from her face. He didn't mind her form-hugging leather bustier, though, or the leather leggings. They only served to emphasize her magnificent figure. Too bad she appeared to loathe all men in general— him in particular.

He didn't take it personally. In a quadrant so cruelly dominated by the Controllers, he met many beings who had been adversely shaped by horrendous events. While most of his acquaintances might attribute Lionia's hostility toward him to the fact that he wasn't particularly attractive, and to the mistaken assumption he had little experience with females, Radd knew better.

He understood more about a woman's psyche than the vast majority of the males in the quadrant. He'd learned much from his father, a renowned paramour of Elysia's Pleasure Domes; and from his sister, who was a courtesan on Saron. Besides, he was
very
good with his hands.

"Stop staring at me, muckworm. I asked what you're doing."

He ignored the blade hovering near his throat. "Adjustin' your airlock to the proper pressurization."

Breath hissed from her tightened lips. "You presume too much, serpent. This airlock has been functioning well. I will tell you what needs to be repaired and when the work will be done. Return to your cabin."

She glowed with anger and arrogance. Radd imagined all that passion being channeled into something infinitely more pleasurable than verbal sparring. He felt certain a sensual encounter would be a new experience for her, because she wore a Zarian virtue chain draped loosely around her slender waist. Despite her apparent aversion to men, she chose to honor the Zarian tradition proclaiming her status of chastity for all to see. Intriguing. He'd have to give the matter some thought.

Shrugging, he snapped his tools onto his belt. "Whatever ya want, Lionia. It's your ship."

Her eyes narrowed and the blade whipped within a millimeter of his throat. "How dare you address me so insolently? I am the captain of this ship, while you are a prisoner, lower than scum. You will address me with the proper respect or suffer the consequences."

Yep, she was capable of a major meltdown all right. Radd calmly met her brilliant glare. "As ya command,
Captain.
I'm here to serve."

He turned toward his cabin, unconcerned by her weapon. If she had planned to use it, he'd be carved up with intricate Zarian designs by now. Strolling down the corridor, he hummed to himself. His original assessment of the situation had been correct. The lady was way too tense and uptight. His personal recommendation: a complete overhaul. Tough job, but he
was
the best in the quadrant.

And…he was very good with his hands.

*  *  *  *

Sabin finished off the food on his plate. "Never thought I'd enjoy amargrain or protein sticks so much, but after that liquefied prison slime you forced on me, they taste pretty damn good."

"That so-called slime was broth, and it was intended to help your recovery," Moriah retorted, thoroughly irritated.

He had been a horrible patient, demanding, petulant, and downright cantankerous. He'd endured her care for only one cycle before he'd rallied and asserted his authority. But although he appeared completely recovered after only three cycles, he was still in a bad mood.

"Help my recovery!" he said. "I'm surprised it didn't kill me. I have to tell you, if that refuse is all you know how to replicate, then I understand why you don't cook."

She considered dumping her plate over his thick skull, then decided against it. In his current mood, he was likely to do anything. She held her silence as he rose. "Do the clean-up," he ordered, striding through the entry.

She grabbed the edge of the table to keep from hurling something after him. He was the most arrogant, obnoxious son of an Antek—oh! Jolting up, she began tossing dishes into the sterilizer. Angry thoughts tumbled over one another, finally slowing. An unwelcome reminder of how concerned she'd been when Sabin was so ill slid in, diffusing her anger.

It hadn't meant anything. It had only been concern for a fellow being. She'd have been better off taking advantage of the situation and dumping him like she had before. But she'd given her word. She refused to consider the notion that there might be more to her actions than honoring their agreement. She finished cleaning the galley and headed for the cockpit. Sabin was hunched over the navigation console, a frown on his face. He looked up when she entered.

"What is this?" He motioned toward the screen.

What?" she asked, moving to the console.

He jabbed a finger against the screen. "This."

She leaned closer and studied the monitor. The screen was split, with the onboard time base on one side and the location verifier sensor on the other. Her chest tightened. She had altered the records of detouring to meet McKnight, but she hadn't possessed the technical expertise to adjust the computer's internal time base. As soon as Sabin was on back his feet, he had verified that the ship was on course to Elysia. She had hoped he wouldn't check further.

"I don't know what's got you concerned," she hedged.

"According to this, we're almost half a cycle behind where we should be." he paused, his mouth set in a grim line. "Perhaps you can explain this inconsistency."

Any answer she gave, no matter how vague or neutral, would alert him to the fact that she'd been able to override his security codes. "I have no idea. I didn't notice any ship dysfunctions."

Suspicion sparking his eyes, he stared at her. "I hope you're telling the truth."

"Why would I lie about problems with the ship? I certainly couldn't have altered anything, not with all your security measures."

He considered her words then pivoted toward his chair. "Then the damn navigation module is messed up again. I need to find Radd."

Good luck with that,
Moriah thought with gloating satisfaction as she slid into her seat. She accessed IAR and pulled up her files on the sixth sector.

Moments later, Sabin said in a deceptively soft voice, "You couldn't explain the time lapse, but perhaps you can explain this."

She looked up, an ominous premonition slithering through her. "What?"

"Five communications sent from this ship, all on the two cycles I was too sick to move. Is it possible I was so delirious I don't remember making them? Hmmm, I don't think so. Most of these subspace encryption frequencies don't look familiar. No, wait, one of them does…it's McKnight's!"

Sabin rose from his seat and strode over. "Who gave you permission to use my communications system? And how in the blazing hells did you access McKnight's frequency? That was security coded!"