Starshine: Aurora Rising Book One (38 page)

“I have an Artificial. I imagine it’s clear what I intend to use it for.”

“Hmm. Is it registered?”

She regarded him over the top of her martini in a manner indicating she questioned either his intelligence or his sanity.

He gave her a mild chuckle. “Right. Silly of me to ask.” His own eyes grew serious—briefly. “Just be careful, okay?”

She signaled the bartender for another drink. “Noah, darling, I am
always
careful. I value the life I have now quite highly.” After the bartender departed she shifted to face him. “So, what do we do now?” The glimmer in her eye suggested she had something in mind.

Though she was only a year or two younger than him, back when she had lived on Pandora he’d thought of her as a little sister; someone to be protected. The times he had seen her in the years since had been friendly but businesslike, and brief. Now, though…she clearly no longer needed protecting, and appeared more than his equal. And my god but she was a stunner.

He smiled, this time with a wicked flair of another sort, and leaned into the bar and closer to her. “I tell you what. First, I’d like to buy you dinner. Then, perhaps a little dancing. And later, if all goes well, I’ll show you a side of Pandora you never got to see when you were living on the streets.”

She arched an eyebrow, but her lips curved gracefully upward. “Oh? And where might that be?”

“My apartment, of course.”

34

SIYANE

S
PACE,
N
ORTH-
C
ENTRAL
Q
UADRANT

C
ALEB LAY ON THE COT
and stared up at the ceiling, barely visible in the dim light. He wanted to hit something. Anything. Instead he stared at the ceiling.

For one, hitting anything—the wall for instance, or one of the tables—would result in a loud noise sure to bring her running. And he did
not
want to bring her running. It had been late into the evening when, scarcely able to keep her eyes open, she had finally retired downstairs and given him the solitude, the space to think, he desperately craved. For another…well, that was plenty reason enough.

A portion of his brain busily formulated a plan to get to Seneca. Despite the dramatic nature of the report, he worried his government didn’t
truly
understand the seriousness of what they were facing. He had discussed the situation with the leader of the investigation team heading to Metis, a Major Fergusson. The guy seemed sharp enough, if a typical special forces type. Still, he needed to be there, else they were liable to get everyone killed. Or worse, with no one reminding them to keep their eye on the ball, get distracted again by the bloody war and lose sight of the real threat.

He groaned to himself. He was a patriot, as far as it went, but it wasn’t as though he cared for politicians, bureaucrats
or
military leaders. The war was idiotic, a fool’s errand likely to end in tragedy for far too many involved. Or worse—again—a trap they had all been ensnared in, one certain to leave them easy pickings for the aliens when they showed up to feast on humanity.

He felt like a traitor, relaxing here on this ship while others ventured out to confront an unimaginable threat.
Granted
, he was the one who had alerted them to it. But he should be doing more.

After six days on the ship he was familiar with the functions of the vast majority of the controls and screens. He at most required her very minimal input to fly wherever he desired. He had no doubt he would be able to force her into providing him access to the controls, and without even harming her—assuming she didn’t fight him like a possessed hyena.

Which she would.

Thus, in order to take control of the ship and get himself to Seneca or even an independent world, he’d probably need to hurt her.

And he didn’t think he could do that.

No matter how angry at her he was right now—which happened to be
quite
angry—he didn’t wish to cause her harm. He understood she had legitimate reasons for acting as she did. And though she clearly bore personal animosity toward the Senecan government if not its people specifically, he doubted she actively wished them ill. She was doing what she thought was necessary. It simply happened to conflict rather directly with what
he
thought was necessary.

He definitely didn’t
want
to hurt her. But more to the point, he wasn’t at all sure he was even capable of doing so…

…because he was emotionally compromised.
Badly.

His training, his rules of engagement, his experience and the teachings of his superiors and his mentor all told him he should take control of this vessel and use it to get wherever he needed to go. Only he wasn’t going to do it.

Another in an already fairly long line of rules discarded in the face of Alex Solovy.

Two hours later he still lay awake. He pondered the nonsensical, suspicious events leading to this new war and how they might have occurred; he considered his options going forward. But mostly he brooded about the alien ships at their portal and the dark feeling of dread which had taken up permanent residence in his gut since witnessing them.

He heard her come up the stairs, her steps slow and a bit uneven. She didn’t come over right away; it took a minute before her faint outline appeared on the other side of the privacy screen.

“Caleb, are you awake?”

He considered whether to let his muscles tense, to confront her again or to hide behind feigned sleep. But the situation would be no better come morning.

“No.”

There was no breath of amusement in response. “I’ll drop you on Romane tomorrow.” Her voice sounded flat and toneless, belying the significance of her words. “It’s the last independent world still somewhat nearby. I’ve shifted our route and input the new destination.”

“I’ll have to backtrack a bit, but…it’s fine. I’ve been able to put the report in front of some ‘important’ people on Earth, so they can wait another day for me. We should be at Romane by late morning. Of course you can take a hardcopy of the data and the report when you go.”

He pulled the screen back, leaned against the wall beyond the edge of the cot and attempted to meet her gaze. Her eyes were so sleepy and unfocused it was difficult. Her hair was a tangled mess, tumbling to cover half her face and down over bare shoulders. She wore a white tank and navy shorts; the dark material was wrinkled and hung unevenly above her frankly
remarkable
legs.

He wanted very much to hug her. Instead he softened his expression. “Why did you change your mind?”

She gave him a tired, half-hearted smile. “Turns out I’m not very good at keeping prisoners.” She couldn’t keep up the smile, and it faded away. “I understand why you feel you need to go home—I understand you need to help protect your people. And you don’t owe me anything so….”

“Only my life.”

She made a valiant effort at rolling her eyes. “True, but I did try to kill you before I saved you, so it’s likely a wash.” She started toward the stairwell, but not before a sad, almost desperate shadow passed across her expression. “I’ll let you get some sleep. I just…thought you’d like to know.”

“Alex, why did you really want me to go to Earth with you?”

The words had spilled forth unbidden…and the answer suddenly seemed the most important words in the universe.

In her weariness she revealed a series of pained, frustrated emotions in her eyes and the quirking of her lips. Finally her shoulders dropped, as though she had given up. On what, he couldn’t say.

“Because what we saw terrifies me, and I didn’t want to face what it might mean alone. With you here, it all somehow seems a little less daunting. You…you make me believe maybe we have a chance. Intellectually I know you can’t do any more than I can to stop what’s coming but…but still you make me feel…safe.”

She squared her shoulders and stood up straight.
Proud. Defiant.
“But it’s fine. I’m a big girl, and I’ve spent twenty-three years facing challenges alone. I’ve got it covered.” She nodded sharply to emphasize the statement and started down the stairs.

“I’ll go.”

She froze, one foot hovering above the second step, and whipped her head over to him. “What?”

What, indeed.
“I’ll go to Earth with you.”

“Are you
serious
? We went through all this drama and angst—enough to fill a
smeshnoy
soap opera vid—and now you’re just—”

He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Do you want me to go with you or not?”

“Well yes, but—”

“Then quit bitching.” He gave her the smirk he had already figured out drove her nuts.

She stared at him for a second—and burst out laughing. It was uncontrolled, weary and beautifully genuine.

When she had minimally composed herself she gestured to the cockpit. “I’m going to go revert our route back real quick….” Halfway there, she paused. The dim light faded to darkness near the cockpit, and her profile was a shadow against blurred stars.

“Thank you.”

He merely nodded in response. After a breath he drew the privacy screen closed, lay back on the cot and closed his eyes.

What was he doing?

Following her, apparently.

When he had stood there and watched her, hair all tousled and tangled, gaze sleepy and unfocused, defenses worn away, defeated and near to broken but standing proud nonetheless…he had realized he simply wasn’t ready to let her walk out of his life.

Okay
. Going to Earth, then. To Earth Alliance Strategic Command, in point of fact—

His eyes flew open.

He had an idea.

“Sorry if I disturbed you, sir. I realize it’s very late there—or very early, I suppose.”

“It’s fine, Agent Marano. None of us are getting much sleep at the moment. Has there been a change in your circumstances?”

“Of a sort. I’d like to propose a new option.”

“I’m listening.”

“First I have a question, and I’d appreciate your honesty when answering. Did our government authorize the assassination of the Alliance Trade Minister?”

“To my knowledge it did not. As far as I’m concerned everything about the assassination is wrong…but events have moved beyond it now.”

“Perhaps not. One more question. Does the government desire war with the Alliance?”

“They do after Palluda. That kind of slaughter can’t go unanswered. But before the attack? No.”

“This war—I believe it’s a trap, one which will leave us weakened and defenseless when the aliens attack.”

“What are you implying?”

“I suspect we didn’t assassinate the Trade Minister and I suspect the Alliance didn’t attack Palluda. I suspect everyone has been tricked into going to war against one another. And I hope to find us a way out of the trap.”

“Okay, now I really am listening.”

“Thank you. I want to act as an unofficial, off-the-record envoy to Alliance military leadership. If I can prove to them we didn’t start this war, perhaps we can end it.”

“Well, that’s a problem, because I don’t have any proof—beyond the word of politicians—we didn’t start the war. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried like Hell to find it. But all the evidence points to Chris Candela as the assassin, which makes it damn hard to deny it was our doing with a straight face.”

“You think he’s not responsible for the hit?”

“I think I can’t prove he’s not responsible because the Minister’s body became an Alliance state secret approximately two minutes after he ceased breathing.”

“What if you could?”

35

DEUCALI

E
ARTH
A
LLIANCE
SW
R
EGIONAL
M
ILITARY
H
EADQUARTERS