Alien, Mine (33 page)

“How’s everything going, Sandrea?”

She looked up into Ragnon’s concerned face.

“As you can imagine they’re pretty relieved to be escaping from here. At this point I doubt they’re even considering the future. I’m hopeful they’ll adjust. What have you been up to?”

He grinned. “Causing havoc and despair amongst the enemy. Then the General ordered me back here to get this Bluthen transport operational.”

Dovzshak jogged down the ramp and made a beeline around the craft to the other side. Kendril and the other medics secured the rescued with caring concern into seats. Sandrea couldn’t help but keep a directorial eye on the proceedings, but she did manage to keep from butting in.

“The ships in orbit have confirmed this is the only compound,” Ragnon said.

Profound relief flushed through her body.

“Are they experiencing much opposition?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but I doubt we’re in any immediate danger otherwise the General would have us dusted off already. Come and have a look at this.”

She followed in Ragnon’s wake to find Eugen and a number of soldiers gathered around a gleaming, black shuttle, bristling with what she assumed was armament. She rolled her eyes. A bunch of boys ogling a piece of hot machinery. That seemed to be pretty much a Universal constant. Drawn closer by Eugen’s presence, she ambled forward and ran her eyes over the craft; it practically leaked testosterone.

“New toy?” she asked, halting by Eugen’s side.

“One we’d certainly like to examine more closely,” he agreed.

“But?”

“We are experiencing a great amount of difficulty gaining access.”

A sudden, deep, menacing vibration, like a huge sub-woofer about to overload, filled the air.

Eugen raised a hand to his ear-comm and then roared, “Get that transport away!”

She swung as she pinpointed the sound. A huge, black disc rose above the building roofs. The object fired an almost continuous stream of light toward their position. Soldiers scattered, shards of tarmac exploded to the hit of energy bolts. Eugen shoved her into the cover of the shuttle. Off balance, she braced for a forceful impact against its hull. Her stomach dropped as her back encountered no barrier and she fell.

“Eugen!”

He turned, saw her sprawled on the craft’s floor, grabbed Dovzshak, and shoved him in after her. Something soft and unseen brushed over her. She rolled to her knees and scrambled out of the way onto the edge of a pilot’s seat. Ragnon clambered in, Eugen hot on his tail. Something gripped her nape and suctioned to the top knob of her spine. Through the forward screen she saw a beam of energy cut towards them. A spurting trail of debris littered its wake.

Her splayed hands gripped the console in front of her. Her hammering heart gripped her ribs.

Shields. We need shields!

Dexter scrambled onto her head, his tail swaying back and forth before her eyes.

“That is
not
helpful, Dexter.”

The craft bucked as the energy beam hit. Eugen dropped into the seat beside her.

“Whatever you’re doing, Sandrea, don’t stop.”

“Me?
What’m
I
doing?”

“Keeping us from being blasted into fundamental molecules. Please do not cease your actions.”

“There’s something in here with us.” Dovzshak’s voice held a wealth of unease.

Dammit! I didn’t have time for this.

“Pretend it’s not there,” she flung back over her shoulder.

“
What?”

“It’s even more scared than you are. Ignore it.”

Eugen’s hand gripped her forearm gently.

“Can you get us airborne?”

She eyed him with concern. He seemed to jiggle all over the place from the beating the craft endured.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing now,” she said.

The slight pressure of his fingers sent reassurance straight to her heart.

“Yes, you do. You must be thinking about something, doing something.”

A smile tremored across her lips. “I’m thinking with desperate tenacity about shields and my hands are glued to the screen panel.”

“Alright, so keep doing that. Now, follow my words, thrusters half.”

The craft throbbed to its own beat.

“Good, bearing, no belay that, think of taking a vertical flight path.”

The ground lurched away. As their craft’s shuddering intensified, her instincts made a grab for stability.

“That’s good, Sandrea, well done,” Eugen murmured. “They seem to be making a rather concerted attempt to keep this piece of equipment out of our hands.”

“Or they’re trying very hard to kill us,” she grumbled.

She aimed a suggestion at the craft. A bolt of light blazed across the intervening space and impacted on their enemy’s shields. The huge vessel pitched violently.

“And perhaps that is why,” Eugen said. “Turn a half circle.”

“Half circle, right.”

Their craft rocked and shuddered under a continuous barrage of fire.

“Can I fire on them again?”

Eugen glanced at the console in front of him.

“Our fighters are engaging—”

“Please.”

“No, Sandrea, the fighters will take care of it and if they don’t, any one of a number of destroyers who are making way towards us, will. Despite your excellent handling of the machine we are receiving multiple strikes and our shields are failing. We need to remove ourselves from
their
line of fire.”

Excellent handling, yeah right. If that’s the case, how come they keep hitting us?

She concentrated on following his directions, pointed their nose skyward, and climbed like a homesick angel. Her link with the spacecraft strengthened and the line of where she ended and the shuttle began blurred into ambiguity.

A warning caught her attention. “Uh-oh.”

“What is wrong?” Eugen asked.

“We’re being followed by a yellow bleep.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She jerked her chin at a screen. “Yellow bleep, coming this way.”

Eugen peered past her to the console panel on her left. “Uh-oh indeed.”

“I’m guessing from the tone of your voice that on the ‘Big Cosmic Scale of Bad Things’ this is pretty high up?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What is it?”

“A cold nuclear missile, quite probably with a shaped charge.”

“They sent a
nuke
after us? Bit of overkill, don’t you think?” The significance of his last words penetrated. “
Shaped
charge? You mean all the force of the explosion will be pointed at us?”

“Correct. We need to attain our maximum speed.”

“I hate to tell you this, General, but as soon as our nose pointed skyward, I put the metaphorical throttles to the firewall. The only way we’re going to go any faster is to catch the shock wave as it encounters us.”

“You know how to do that?” He sounded incredulous.

“Waves come in many different forms, my General. On Earth a lot of coastal people surf water waves. And if you’re a keen boatie, you’d better know how to surf your craft safely down a big swell.” She clamped her lips together. “Oh dear, I guess four missiles would be worse than one?”

“That would be an accurate assumption, yes.”

“Bugger.”

A second later, the nukes exploded. A discreet alarm hardly expressed the severity of what approached.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know,” she muttered at the warning.

“Brace for impact!” Eugen ordered.

The leading edge of the shockwave struck. The craft shuddered, the stern lifted. Then the main swell of energy slammed against the hull and hurled them forward. Positive Gs shoved Sandrea back into the cushioned seat. She focused on the feel of the craft. A minor imbalance manifested in the shuttle’s flight attitude. Alarm jarred along her nerves. The starboard side of the shuttle threatened to yaw into a terminal broach. If that happened, it would be game over. They’d be rolled, decelerate, and the full force of several nuclear explosions would pulverize them.
She adjusted port thrusters to compensate.

Keeping the stern dead-on to the wave front took every ounce of skill she possessed. A rapid succession of commands to alter the shuttle’s bearing streamed from her brain while in the background her mind kept screaming
Go straight, go straight, go straight
! She wondered if only she experienced the roar of quantum particles slamming into their shields, or if the others heard the banshee scream of high energy doing its damnedest to breach their protective barrier and de-molecularize them all.

The wave began to lose coherency, and the shuttle nosed ahead. Exultation surged in thundering pulses from her heart. Darkening sky signified their approach to the mesosphere as the thinning atmosphere scattered less sunlight. They maintained escape velocity, tore through the thermosphere, breached the exosphere and shot into the blackness of space. A dazzling sun shone with brilliant, golden radiance off their starboard quarter.

“Woo
hoo!
” Her high-pitched squeal of survivor triumph ricocheted around the cabin. “Who’s up for that again?”

Eugen, Dovzshak, and Ragnon all regarded her with strained expressions.

“Can we keep this?” she asked Eugen.

“The Alliance will, Sandrea. It will need to be analysed.”

“Yeah, but I’m guessing you’re gonna need humans to fly it.” He turned a rather nasty shade of pale. “Are you alright?”

Apprehension continued to spark in his eyes, but he nodded.

“You can reduce our acceleration now,” he said. “The destroyers have claimed a kill.”

“They got it?”

“It is confirmed.”

She powered back and turned her gaze to the two privates and the now visible, scrawny laraxdon that huddled behind Dovzshak.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a pet, Dov.”

“Pet?”

“Yes, pet, don’t sound so incredulous. Don’t Angrigans have pets?”

“Sure we do, just not ones that can rip our throats out.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Did the transport make it?”

“Yes,” Eugen replied. “Within minutes it will dock on the
En-Da
. We will follow.”

“Right then.” She relaxed into her seat with growing familiarity. “Tell me the way.”

Chapter 17

“ . . . Where the Bolt of Cupid Fell”

Fear stalked Mhartak.

For the past five days he’d watched with growing unease as Sandrea distanced herself from him. They’d barely spent two hours together in private. She busied herself with the comfort and care of her countrymen and the Gaillings. Her preoccupation with the humans
from the moment the fighter had docked on the battle cruiser savaged his emotional balance. As soon as they’d landed, she’d rushed off with barely a word in his direction.

Coordinating and implementing a defensive cordon to integrate the new territory gained by the Alliance strike into Bluthen space consumed a large amount of his time. Yet whenever a spare moment presented and he sought her out, she seemed . . . aloof, unwilling to engage with him on even a social level.

He hadn’t touched her intimately in days.

The bond developing between her and the human, Rod, felt like a serrated blade tearing at his connection with her, ripping them apart inch by painful inch. Her interactions with the man often emphasized his own lack of understanding of Earth’s social intricacies. A joke or inference shared between Rod and Sandrea would totally miss his grasp.

In their company, he found himself an outsider in his own world.

He’d withdrawn from their discussions on colonizing a moon with Earth-like qualities and retreated into reading their reports. He hadn’t doubted she loved him when her commitment to him was based on the assumption that all ties with her origins were conclusively severed. But now . . . her restrained behaviour rocked the very foundations of his heart. Even in sleep she seemed distant, turned away from him, keeping to her side of the bed.

She’d prolonged the agony of the biosync simply to find these people. The mere fact of their proximity would call to her genetic makeup.

She would want to be with her own kind.

He would sacrifice it all for her—his life, his career, anything, but the cultural chasm between them seemed to widen with every breath he took.

He had to let her go.

The shattering wreck of his dream of a life together sliced deep within his heart. Desolation clawed through his chest, constricted his lungs, and robbed him of all thought but the need to survive past the fracturing of his soul.

Sandrea sat in the passenger seat of an interplanetary transport and stared at nothing.

Two weeks. How the hell am I supposed to survive without Eugen for
two
weeks?

Once this craft left the
En-Da
, the battle cruiser was headed elsewhere. Around her the subdued Gaillings and humans settled in for the journey to their new home. Dexter’s tummy warmed her shoulder, his gentle snores a comforting refrain humming below her ear.

“Ambassador?”

She ran over the proposals she, Rod, Kat, and Behdahn had cobbled together for the combined settlement on New Earth. They would be happier there than on the Angrigan home world. Mrilala, though beautiful to the Angrigan eye, was mostly arid mountains and very little rainfall.

“Ambassador?”

T’Hargen’s flair for organization saw to it that his offer for prefab buildings, food, and fuel would be waiting on New Earth when they arrived. Other supplies from the Alliance would arrive over the next few weeks. She wouldn’t be surprised if T’Hargen upped shop and moved from the planet he lived to New Earth. The sparks that flew off him and Kat were . . . entertaining to say the least. The two of them fighting a losing battle against their attraction would keep her mind off missing Eugen—occasionally.

“Excuse me, Ambassador?”

“Sandrea.” Kendril’s voice penetrated her thoughts. “Ensign Higgs is speaking to you.”

Hmm? Oh! Right, Ambassador, that’s me now.

She focused. “Sorry, Ensign. What can I do for you?”

“There’s a transmission for you, Ambassador. General Mhartak.”

Eugen!
A smile danced to her lips.
Heck, we’ve only just cleared the hanger deck. Couldn’t do without me for two minutes, huh?

She unclipped her harness and followed the ensign through the seated rows of refugees to the relative privacy of the unoccupied aft section of the craft. The ensign tapped a small viewscreen and Eugen’s image appeared.

“There you go, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Ensign.”

She turned her smile to Eugen and her delight faltered. He looked all . . . stoic. A muscle twitched in his cheek.

Something is wrong.

“Sandrea.”

“Yes?”

He opened his mouth. Hesitation flickered in his eyes.

“You experienced no difficulties with your departure?” he asked.

Should they?

A shiver of apprehension trickled down her nape. “No. I believe we’ll be clear of the
Vega
’s sub-space field in a few minutes. Were you expecting trouble?”

“No! No, I . . . I’ve received a communiqué to advise T’Hargen’s supplies have landed on New Earth.”

Great. Christ, Eugen, you’re scaring me.

“That’s wonderful. We’ll be able to start work straight away, keep everybody’s mind busy.”

“Yes. Have you . . . have you everything you need?”

She stared at him. Something was seriously wrong. Her eyes searched the frame of her view of him for a threat. But even if Eugen had a gun pointed to his head, he wouldn’t act this, this . . . what? Distressed?

“Eugen—”

“I . . .”

She waited for him to continue. His clamped jaw worked in agitation. For a fleeting moment his beautiful, green eyes hardened with—

Terror?

“Spit it out, Eugen. What’s troubling you?”

His nostrils flared.

“Sandrea . . . I understand your attachment to me was based on the unavailability of suitable partners.”

Dreadful premonition stomped through her gut.

What the fuck was
this
about?

“I realize that now—” His voiced petered out. His throat worked a swallow. “—that now those parameters have changed so your preferences may have altered.” He cleared his throat. “Should you decide to remain on New Earth, I will, of course, honour your decision.”

He wanted her to stay away?

No, that couldn’t be right.

“You want me to remain on New Earth?”

His mouth opened, closed, then his lips sealed together in a strong line. A long, harsh breath lifted his chest. “Yes.”

Shock and astonishment held her captive, chilling the marrow in her bones. She stared at the viewscreen while pain pushed strangling tentacles through her heart.

“Eugen, I—”

“I must go,” he interrupted. “Good-bye. And thank you.”

The connection severed.

Anguish carved a deep hollow through her chest.

He didn’t love her?

The hell he didn’t. He went into
water,
faced down a deep, primal fear for
her
, not some alien useful to the Alliance. He’d done nothing but look out for her from the moment they’d met. She cast her mind back over the past few days, revisiting every scene with Eugen and examining every nuance of his reactions.

A pattern of withdrawal emerged. One she’d missed because of her determined attempts not to be a distraction from his busy schedule. She closed her eyes, dropped her head back on her neck, and groaned. That space she’d given him was the cause of her problems.

He thought she preferred the company of humans.

Fuck!

She stiffened. Her eyes snapped open, then narrowed with suspicion. Angry disbelief seared through her.

No! He thought she preferred the company of Rod.

Goddamn it! This was about him being bloody noble.

He was standing aside so she wouldn’t feel obliged . . . God, she loved that man, but she was going to wring his neck! She stalked back through the craft.

“Rod,” she ground out at him in passing, “there’ll be a delay.”

“Trouble?” Kat asked.

“There will be.”

Fierce determination surged through her veins and she stormed into the cockpit.

“Turn us around, Lieutenant, we’re going back to the ship.”

“Sorry, Ambassador, we can’t do that,” the pilot dismissed.

The bastard didn’t even glance at her.

“We’re on a schedule,” he continued. “Whatever piece of clothing or jewellery you’ve left behind can be forwarded to your destination.”

Wild fury ripped through her. She needed to get to her mate and some self-important, little upstart would
not
thwart her. She buried her hands in his clothing, hauled him around to face her, and shoved her face into his.

“Turn this damn craft around
now!”

Dexter’s unsheathed tail pointing at the Magran’s neck may have had something to do with his hasty compliance. Or it could have been the homicidal gleam in her eye.

Mhartak roamed the corridors of the ship in a complete daze, functioning on automatic. He tried to focus on the logistics of building further on the advantage they’d gained over the Bluthen, but memories of Sandrea laughing with him, loving him haunted his mind. The loss of a future he coveted above all else tore him apart.

Their—
his—
quarters appeared before him. The door opened to a touch he couldn’t remember executing. His feet drew him to their bed. He stared at the covers, but all he could see was Sandrea, her naked body glowing with satisfaction, her eyes alight with love. His shaking hands wrapped around her pillow and crushed it to his face. Hungry for any particle of her, he dragged in a long, deep, breath, his lacerated heart soaking in her scent.

“I think you’d better explain yourself, Eugen.”

Dear g’Nel, now I’m hearing her voice.

“Eugen?”

Uncertainty corkscrewed through his insides. He turned slowly toward the door, afraid to face a dream that could not withstand the evidence of reality.

Sandrea marched toward him and poked him in the chest. “Were you lying when you said you loved me?” she demanded.

“No!”

“Then what’s your problem?”

Disbelief swamped his senses. He reached out and touched her.

She was real.

His eyes roamed her face, drank in her every feature.

“Goddamit, Eugen! How
dare
you! What the hell sort of fickle piece of space slut do you think I am? You think I tell all and sundry I love them?”

She was real. She was here. She was very annoyed.

Joy held him immobile. Her fist raised and thumped him in the chest.

“Answer me, dammit!”

The depth of her anger answered every doubt, healed every self-inflicted emotional wound. Elation blazed through his restraint. His arms shot out and lashed around her in an embrace just shy of imprisonment. Her stiff figure warned him that her temper was not improving. Her head reared back and she glared up at him.

“I’m waiting, Eugen.”

His mind raced.

How am I to get out of this?

“I, ah . . .”

“You
what
, Eugen Mhartak?”

He really shouldn’t be pleased she was livid with him. She pushed her hands against his chest and her glare intensified.

“You thought I’d taken one look at a human male and decided you weren’t good enough for me, didn’t you?”

The effort to keep an elated smile from his lips proved a serious challenge. The thought occurred to him that his lips could be far better occupied.

“Don’t even think about it, General, I am most severely displeased with you.”

He smiled, couldn’t help it.

“Perhaps you would let me make it up to you?” he enticed and tried to draw her rigid form closer.

He waited for her lips to part in tart reply and responded to the chance. Cradling her head, he commandeered her mouth and poured every ounce of his love and passionate devotion into his kiss. She softened against him, and then he felt her make a grab for her anger. He lifted his head and gazed down at her with solemn contrition.

“I am truly sorry, my love.” He caressed a thumb pad across her cheek.

“Humph,” she snorted, then mellowed. “Why did you think that, Eugen?”

“You have been so remote.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was trying not to cling.”

“My love?”

Her sigh moved her breasts against his chest with delightful pressure. His cranial ridges flushed with pleasure.

“I figured you’d be pretty busy with all that’s happened. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to me as well.”

“Obligated?” He frowned and ran his hands down her back to cup the round firmness of her buttocks.

“I knew you’d have loads to do and I didn’t want you to think I— Eugen, that’s most distracting.”

“Is it?” He bent his head and nibbled her neck while his hands continued to massage.

“You do realize you’re man-handling an Ambassador, don’t you?”

“Really?” he murmured, not diverted from his purpose.

“Yes, really.” Her head rolled back to allow him greater access to the tender, receptive skin at the side of her throat.

“Well, what would the Ambassador care to dine on this evening?” he asked dutifully between sipping kisses.

“You.”