Shadower (38 page)

He released her abruptly, and she fell forward against the desk. Grabbing her chin, he forced her to look at him. Eyes the color of the morning mist—cold, ruthless—challenged her to further folly. "I have full rights over you. You will do as I say. If you oppose me in any way, I'll take an electrolyzer rod to you. It won't leave any outside marks to alarm your betrothed. And after I shock you within an inch of your inconsequential life, you'll still do as I say. So what will it be, woman?"

Bitter defeat, laced with a debilitating sense of helplessness, burned in her chest. She should have known arguing would only make her uncle more determined to enforce his authority. She pushed herself upright, resisting the urge to rub her throbbing arm. "I concede to your wishes, Uncle."
For now.

"I knew you'd see reason." Vaden sank back into his chair and belched loudly. "I expect your future mate to be well pleased, especially with that hair of yours."

Leors had no body hair, and were reputed to hold a fascination for the hair common to other races. Eirene's was as black as a full eclipse and flowed to her hips. She would cut it off, find some way to make herself repulsive, she thought, battling rising hysteria.

She must find a way to circumvent this trade. She would be defenseless in the clutches of a Leor male. The race was renowned for its fierceness and cruelty—and worse, for its ability to probe minds. It would only be a matter of time before they discerned her secret. No telling what they would do when they discovered she was an Enhancer.

She showed no more of her inner turmoil to Vaden. Her fate would be far worse if he knew the truth. Besides, nothing could be gained by her protest of his decision. The system of male dominance had been in place on Travan for hundreds of seasons. A lone female couldn't battle that system. She'd been a fool to argue with him. But she would find a way out.

Her gaze dropped to the desk, cluttered with priceless artifacts Vaden personally claimed from pirating raids. An idea took form, and she was desperate enough to try it.

"Nothing else to say, I see," he growled, pouring more wine. "I should have known you wouldn't be grateful that I traded you to someone who will keep your bed warm." He waved her away. "Return to your quarters. Tomorrow you'll be bathed and clothed appropriately to meet your betrothed."

He eyed her ragged robe with distaste, his gaze coming to rest on her breasts. Seeing her opportunity, she used her unique power, locking onto his surge of desire, amplifying it, sending the blood rushing to his groin, lust pounding through his body. A momentary diversion was all she needed to act on her idea. As his eyes closed with the overwhelming desire she'd induced in him, she grabbed two jeweled daggers, prizes from his past raids, then withdrew. She quickly fled the opulent chamber, leaving him to his raging libido.

Not that her uncle was one to suffer any desire long. "Blazing hells! Stane!" Vaden bellowed as she left, then demanded his usual consort: "Get Sarina here immediately. I need her—now!"

Once outside, Eirene stumbled back to the bleak women's compound, stunned and frightened. She had no choice but to flee. Her uncle would come after her, of that she was certain. He didn't like being thwarted, plus he'd have to deal with the Leors to whom he'd traded her, and no one crossed them. They'd be furious if the agreement was not honored. They might even hunt her down themselves.

The sudden rumble of an incoming ship caught her attention. No! Surely the Leors weren’t arriving a day early. Her panic intensified, adrenaline flooding her body. She looked toward the orange sky. Thrusters surged as a silver ship lowered toward the landing pad. It didn't appear to be a Leor ship, but she had to be certain. Lifting her robe, she hurried closer, moving between the trees.

From the shelter of the copse, she watched the hatch open and the ramp lower. An attractive woman with flowing golden hair strode down the ramp. Eirene was both relieved and astonished. Not a Leor, but a
female
— clad in a flightsuit, no less! How odd that this woman would come here. Disdaining females as inferior, Travan men traded only with male-dominated cultures.

The men on the landing pad appeared as surprised as Eirene, turning to gawk at the young woman. Several of them strutted forward, but halted when a second female, very tall and fierce-looking, emerged from the hatch, a laser rifle in her hands.

The first spoke. "I'm Captain Celie Cameron. We're here to deliver the Elysian liquor and other supplies that Vaden Kane ordered." She tossed back her hair, her gaze sweeping the gaping men clustered in a tight group. "Is there a problem?"

The men glanced toward the second female, who shifted the rifle a notch higher. They shook their heads. "Well, then," Captain Cameron said briskly, all business. "I'll need four of you to unload this cargo. And I'd like Commander Kane present to sign off and transfer the funds."

The men moved to do her bidding, muttering among themselves. It didn't sit well with them to take orders from a woman, but if Vaden had contracted those supplies, he'd be furious if they weren't unloaded. The woman with the rifle watched their every move as they carried the crates from the ship.

Amazed and heartened, Eirene knew she'd just found her way off Travan. She would stow away on that ship. She didn't care where it took her. She felt inside her robe pocket for reassurance. Her fingers slid along the hilts of the two jewel-encrusted daggers she'd taken from Vaden's desk. Thank Spirit she hadn't inflicted any serious harm when she used her powers on him. After Rayna…

She pushed back the remorse. She was grateful for the daggers. The jewels in them were extremely valuable. Wherever she landed, she had the means to find her way to Elysia and pursue her lifelong dream. But before all else, she planned to ensure her uncle's agreement with the Leors would be irreversibly nullified.

She would lose her virginity at the first possible opportunity.

*  *  *  *

Saron

Jarek san Ranul downed the glass of liquor, feeling it burn all the way to his gut, but the fire in his throat didn't come close to the pain in his soul.

"More?" Blake san Damien offered, raising the bottle.

"No." Jarek set the glass on the bar. "No use drinking myself senseless. It won't change anything."

"I guess not." Blake refilled his own glass. "Sorry about your father. We've lost a good man and a great leader."

They'd lost more than a great man and leader, Jarek thought, his heart heavy with grief. They'd lost a way of life. A way of life that had been intentionally and systematically torn away from them.

Anger warred with his grief—anger that had built steadily over the past fourteen seasons, as Jarek had watched his people being decimated. Their only crime, that they were Shielders, genetically resistant to the Controllers' mind domination. The destruction came in many forms: engineered disease, Anteks, shadowers, slavers, and even Shielder traitors.

As a reconnaissance scout for his people's pitifully small militia, Jarek had seen it all—entire colonies reduced to smoldering ruins, disease-ridden bodies, the remains from mass executions. Regardless of who inflicted these atrocities, the Controllers were behind every diabolical act.

"I guess you'll be traveling to Liron to take your father's place as Council head," Blake said, breaking into Jarek's dark thoughts.

"And do what?" he growled in answer. "Tell them they might as well surrender to the Controllers and get it over with?" He hurled his glass against the opposite wall. It shattered into myriad pieces, just like the Shielder race was being splintered.

The bartender scowled and activated the vac. The little machine whirred into action, systematically scanning and suctioning the floor.

"Careful," Blake cautioned, glancing around the nearly empty bar. "We don't need to draw attention to ourselves."

He was right, of course. Ordinarily, Jarek took extreme precautions, but his riotous state of mind was impeding his common sense. "How can I go back?" he demanded in a low voice. "How can I be responsible for the safety and welfare of an entire colony of people, when I can't guarantee their existence for a single cycle, much less a season? I can't even guarantee the people on Liron enough food to eat, or medicine and supplies to meet their needs."

"No one can," Blake argued. "Blazing hells, man, they're coming at us from all sides. None of us can make any kind of guarantees. But that colony needs your leadership."

Jarek clenched his fists, frustration a bitter bile in his throat. "That's not enough. We're just sitting echobirds. We don't stand a chance if things don't change—and fast."

"And just how do you propose we change things? Go openly against the Controllers in the hopes of defeating them?"

Jarek said nothing. They both know that an open assault would be suicide. He hated this feeling of helplessness. He was used to action, and yet, there was very little he or anyone could do against the Controllers.

His thoughts turned to the idea that had been plaguing him for over a season. One that had become a burning obsession, haunting his thoughts, taunting him with its possibilities. If ever there was a time for desperate, foolhardy measures, this was it. "I want to check out the twelfth sector," he told Blake.

"Why? There's nothing there but a black hole."

Jarek drummed his fingers on the bar. "Maybe we'd find some sort of natural hyperspace. A wormhole—inside the black hole."

Blake looked at him as if he were crazy. "What makes you think there would be a wormhole?"

"Stories about the Enhancers, for one thing. Many believe they used a portal in the twelfth sector to travel to other worlds." Jarek sat back, awaiting his friend's reaction.

"Enhancers haven't existed for over two hundred seasons," Blake scoffed.

"But there are numerous stories about them traveling to other worlds through a vortex. We might be passing up a major opportunity if we don't check this out."

Practical as always, Blake shook his head, doubt etched on his face. "So, maybe there is a wormhole inside the black hole. But how in blazing hells could a ship enter it without being crushed to debris?"

It was a good question. "I have some ideas about dealing with that particular problem."

"Okay,” Blake said, “for the sake of the argument, let's say you locate this wormhole and travel through it in one piece. Exactly what do you expect to find at the other end?"

"Shamara,"
Jarek said softly, the word reverberating through his very soul.

Confusion replaced disbelief in Blake's eyes. "Shamara? What in the Fires is that?"

"Sanctuary. Shamara is the Shen word for sanctuary." Jarek stared at his friend, tension humming through him. "I want to find sanctuary for our people. I have to believe there's a way."

He hated to place all hopes for Shielder survival on one questionable theory. But he didn't see any other options, so he was going to do just that. And pray to Spirit that he was right. If he was wrong, the Shielders would soon be extinct.

*  *  *  *

Saron

Massive, overwhelming culture shock. Her wildest imaginings could not have prepared Eirene for Saron. She leaned against the rough stone wall of a mercantile, staring all around. Men and women mingled freely, like equals. Imagine that!

There was the cacophony of bustling activity: masses of people, the babble of voices in a hundred different languages, the roaring of skimmers and incoming ships. Clapping her hands over her ears, Eirene lurched away from the wall and staggered toward the center of the base.

Still, she couldn't cover her eyes to avoid the visual assault on her senses. It was fascinating—the brightly colored clothing; women in flightsuits and leggings instead of robes; the shops selling all kinds of products, wondrous things from all over the quadrant.

The worst thing was the sensory overload. The emotional bombardment from the crush of beings swamped her. Excitement, greed, lust, anger, fear, violence. She struggled to block them out, succeeding somewhat, but was left incredibly drained.

And Saron was just a stopover planet. She couldn't begin to imagine what Elysia, the trade center of the quadrant, might be like. But she was determined to make her way there, after seeing to the crucial disposition of her virginity. The odds of her uncle or the Leors coming after her were too great to put it off.

First order of business—getting currency and making a few purchases. She needed to find a jeweler and sell a stone from one of her daggers, then buy new clothing and rent a room where she could rest and clean up.

Then on to the Pleasure Dome, to seek temporary employment as a courtesan. She would be safe from harm there, and she imagined that they screened their clientele. Yes, that was the best place to take care of her most pressing problem. Drawing a deep breath, Eirene put her plan into action.

*  *  *  *

"The equipment you're seeking is very rare. So far, I haven't been able to find any." Celie Cameron sipped her drink, regret in her dark brown eyes. "I suspect if we do locate such material, it will be very expensive. I'm sorry."

Jarek gripped his drink. "I don't understand why you can't find equipment that analyzes electromagnetic distortions. Surely it's necessary to map out undeveloped sectors of the quadrant. And what about superconductors? Don't we use them in our intra-quadrant hyperspace routes?"

"I don't understand, either. I thought the same thing you did." Celie leaned forward, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. "Unfortunately, the Controllers place more emphasis on dominating the quadrant and sucking it dry than exploring and mapping new regions."

"The greedy bastards aren't exactly visionaries, are they?" Blake commented.

"No, they're not," Celie agreed. "Very little exploratory equipment is manufactured. As for our internal hyperspace, it's all artificial, and the equipment to maintain the tunnels is manufactured on an as-needed basis. All of that is done under strict surveillance."