Deep Indigo (18 page)

He shook his head as he ambled to the empty chair. “Naw, I tell ya, this ship is freaky enough as it is lately. It’s like I was tellin’ Commander Mra. The
Orion
oughta be renamed the Love Boat, with all the couples gettin’ cozy.”

He nodded wisely at Navos. “That’s one o’ them ancient Earth I stories from the galactic archives. Fascinatin’ things in there. They even got what they used to call books,” he said, gesturing. “Made out of paper, from trees.”

“I’m aware of books,” Navos said, dropping into his chair. The absurdity of the situation finally overcame him and he started to laugh.

Ogg snorted. “Yeah, an’ are you aware of the amour I’m talkin’ about? I was in the arboretum a few days ago and there was couples right in the underbrush! A guy can’t even go for a stroll after supper.” He shook his head.

Navos laughed harder, his head tipping back as he let humor overtake him. Ogg began to chuckle as well.

“A most disturbing experience for you,” Navos managed, as he regained control of his voice. He gave a last snort of laughter as he imagined what the mechanic would say if he knew Navos himself had been among the lovers en flagrante.

Ogg shuddered elaborately. “Yeah, but that ain’t why I’m here. Don’t know how the hell we got goin’ on that, anyway.”

He sobered. “I’m worried. All this stuff that’s happened—the serious stuff, I mean. What if they get into my reactor? What are we gonna do then?”

Navos straightened. “We will see to it they do not.”

The two men looked at each other. They both knew what would happen if they failed—the ship would be blown into bits so infinitesimal there would be nothing to reclaim.

Chapter Twenty

Nelah sat in her small stateroom, staring at the bouquet of flowers on the small table. Lovely blossoms spilled over the lip of the clear Serpentian glass vase, in shades from cream to deep mauve, lilies nodding amongst the fragile tracery of star-breath. There had been no note, but the message was clear. Each time she looked at them, she remembered Daron whispering to her in the night, calling her his flower.

She wiped her wet face again and dropped the sodden tissue in the waste bin, already overflowing. Damn him. How dare he remind her of such tender moments? She’d tried to warn him, to help him and instead he’d turned on her. He hadn’t trusted her.

Tears welling up yet again, she fell back on the narrow bed. She curled onto her side and the flowers blurred into wavering streams of color.

Her com-link chimed again. She ignored it, as she had all day. It was him again. She knew he wanted her forgiveness and she’d given it to him, but she wasn’t sure she’d really meant it. He’d hurt her too deeply.

She closed her eyes against the pain and finally slept. And dreamed.

She awoke and turned her head and he lay beside her, his dark head on the pillow, his long body slack with sleep. The power of those deep indigo eyes covered.

It would be so easy to extinguish that power for good. She smiled to herself. He’d let her into his room and she’d let him use her body for his pleasure. Now, he was at her mercy.

There, in the recessed shelf nearby sat the Serpentian glass sculpture. Small, but heavy. He would feel nothing until it was too late.

Just pick it up and hit him with it. And if the first blow wasn’t enough, strike him again and again, smashing it into his hard skull until the dark blood flowed down and Daron Navos was nothing but a lifeless cipher.

Never to hurt her again or look down that arrogant nose of his, lording it over those around him, so sure he was the best! Never, never, never—

Nelah woke with a great gasp, sitting up and scuttling back against the wall in terror. With frantic motions, she gathered up the comforter and held it in front of her, hunching her body around it. Oh God, ohgodohgod, what was happening to her? She stared at the walls of her tiny room, her breath coming in quick shuddering gasps, her heart pounding.

“No!” she choked aloud, denying the horrible images that had somehow come from her own subconscious. “No, no!”

The sound of her voice steadied her a little and she tipped her head back against the wall and drew a deep breath. It was all right. She was awake now—really awake. She was not in Navos’s bed, about to kill him. She was alone in her own stateroom.

It had only been a nightmare. The worst one of her life. She pressed her hands to her forehead, wishing desperately she could reach inside and rip out the hideous images.

Was it possible her subconscious really held such obscene rage? She was angry at him, yes, and more deeply hurt than she could ever recall, but the thought of physically hurting him, of striking that proud, beloved head, made her moan with anguish.

Nelah shook her head vehemently. She could never hurt him. She pushed aside the now-soggy coverlet and clambered off the bed. Her legs were wobbly, her head light. Well, no wonder, holed up in this room for a day and a night. She had to get out of here.

Stripping off her nightie, Nelah stepped into the tiny shower-dry. She stayed in it a long time, the hot water streaming over her in a kind of absolution.

Dressed and dry-eyed, if still shaky, she set off for breakfast, for food, but mostly to be with other living beings. To find some kind of normality.

Tessa Craig was in the dining hall and she waved Nelah over to her table with a friendly smile. But as Nelah sat, the look became concern and she laid a warm hand on Nelah’s arm.

“How are you? Steven told me what happened. I don’t know a great deal about your powers, but it must have been very difficult, subduing that man.”

Nelah looked at her carefully, but there was no subterfuge in the warm golden gaze. Captain Craig had evidently not shared the more embarrassing details, such as the way Navos had turned on her, accusing her of being the culprit.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Tired.”

She imagined herself saying, “Oh and in a dream I just murdered the man I love.” A cold shiver racked her.

“Have some coffee.” Tessa Craig reached for the carafe and poured the rich, dark liquid into Nelah’s cup. “It always wakes me up.”

Nelah took the proffered cup and drank. Just holding the steaming brew in her hands warmed her. With an effort, she smiled back at the other woman.

“You’re right. It does help.”

“The
Orion
serves only the finest coffee,” Tessa said proudly. “And the food is to die for.”

Perhaps she should die for it. Imagine being so proud of a tacky cruise ship. Great floating hulk of commercialism. All that money—they didn’t deserve to have it all. It should flow to the beings with the real power. Indigons were the ones who should be in control, not these human fools.

Nelah set her mug down with a little crash and pressed one hand to her middle, coffee churning in her stomach. She blinked and focused on Tessa, who was looking at her strangely.

“I’m sorry,” she managed. “I—I don’t feel well. Will you excuse me?”

Without waiting for an answer, she bolted for the door. Her mind whirled. Where had those horrible thoughts come from? She liked Tessa Craig—even wished that they could be friends.

This was backlash from the horrific experience of the evening before. It must be. Navos was right—she wasn’t strong enough to manage her empathic powers. She walked down the passageway, dodging groups of tourists and crew headed for the dining hall.

Navos! This was all his fault. All of it. Without him, everything would be wonderful. A life of ease, of doing exactly as she wished, using her powers to gain everything she could ever desire.

And all she had to do was go to him. It would be so easy. He would let her in and believe her when she slipped into his arms. Then she would wait until he turned his back, or fell asleep, and smash! With him out of the way, she could proceed with ease. And make it look as if that which followed was all his fault.

“No!” Nelah didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until a portly Barillian passing the other way turned and stared at her, blowing an offended note out of the tall pipes on his purple skull.

She bowed quickly in apology and hurried on, directionless, wishing desperately she could outrun the strange thoughts bombarding her. Her heart was pounding, her breath quick and shallow.

She must go to him. She must!

“No. No, no, no.” She struggled to take a deep breath through her clenched teeth. She would go to the gym; that was it. A deep yoga workout would calm her and relax her body. Then things would return to normal.

But it grew worse. By mid-morning, Nelah was barely hanging on. She hadn’t eaten since the day before, had forced down only a few sips of water. She could not sit for longer than a few moments and, wandering the passageways, she found herself nudged insistently toward a quadrant of the ship she knew nothing about. She approached a sealed hatch with a pair of Serpentian guards standing in front of it. Through it, she could see crew members working before large instrument panels, machinery blinking.

“This is a restricted area,” said one of the guards, stepping forward. “I must ask you to return to the passenger area.”

Nelah stared at him.
The fool. With one little surge of power, she could bring him and his friend to their knees, begging for mercy. Then she would be in through those doors. She would command the crew members to obey her. How she would laugh as they steered the ship toward disaster. Perhaps a nice little collision with another ship? Or a nearby meteor shower might be fun.

“Ms. Cobalt?” The guard was frowning at her now. Of course—he’d accessed her ID and had her name and passenger profile instantly.

The sound of her name snapped her out of her trance. “Yes, thank you,” she managed, forcing the words past her dry lips. “I—I’m sorry. Lost, I guess.”

She turned and forced her legs to carry her back down the passageway. Perspiration broke out on her face, but she was shivering, cold and reeling. She’d just contemplated forcing a crew member to do something.

Something was wrong with her—horribly wrong. She could no longer delude herself that it was the result of her experiences.

She needed Navos.

She ran for the nearest elevator, but she could not escape the soft, taunting laughter echoing in her mind.

The receptionist at PanRra Corporation offices looked up with a professional smile as a tall, lean human walked up to the sleek console which enclosed her. Then she remembered she was supposed to be in mourning and sobered, settling her hair decorously around her throat.

“Good morning, sir,” she said with a melancholy tinge to her smooth voice. “How may I help you?”

She blinked as he turned the force of his silver gaze on her. Oh, my. This was a dangerous man. She wondered if he was one of the IBI investigators and as quickly cast that notion aside. He held himself as if he were accustomed to being in charge of the space around him.

“I’m Logan Stark,” he said in a deep, quiet voice that nevertheless held steel. “I’m here to see whoever is in charge, now that your boss is dead.”

Sifting alternatives, she nodded respectfully. “Yes, sir. Please, come with me.”

Logan Stark! Why, everyone in this office knew who he was—the head of the huge LodeStar Corporation and Rra’s most hated rival.

She would take him directly up to the executive floor. They would know what to do with him.

She ushered him upstairs in the lightning-fast executive elevator and left him with Rra’s personal assistant, whose green face was wan and pale.

The receptionist couldn’t believe the twit was actually mourning his dead boss. She certainly wasn’t and she knew most of the other corporate employees weren’t either. Rra had ruled the company like a cruel despot. Lately there’d been talk he was off his plant-stand.

As she rode back down, she sighed. She might be of a different race and happily married besides, but she knew an attractive man when she saw one. Logan Stark not only exuded power, but sexual appeal.

Lly eyed the man seated across the huge desk, just as he was eyeing her. She carefully schooled herself to calmness. She’d come this far, she wouldn’t fail now. No one knew she’d been anything but an innocent bystander to Rra’s death, a near victim of the megalomaniac madness that had lately afflicted him.

“So you’re acting in command of the company,” said Logan Stark. “Until the heir shows up.”

“Yes,” she politely. “I was Rra’s executive assistant until recently, so I know all that is necessary to carry the company through this difficult time, until his nephew arrives.” Fortunately Rra hadn’t troubled himself with such niceties as a board of directors, so there’d been no one to step in her way.

“The heir’s a school boy, isn’t he?” Stark asked.

She nodded. “In his last year at university.”

One of his bold eyebrows arched ever so slightly. “He’ll no doubt need guidance for a time, until he assumes control.”

She raised a brow back at him and nodded.

His eyes hardened and she felt a thrill of palpable danger. “You and I had better come to an understanding, then, Ms. Lly. I don’t know what happened on your boss’s balcony and I don’t care to.”

His implication struck home. If he did care to probe, he could cause her a great deal of trouble.

“What I do care about is my company and my ships,” he went on. “Which lately have been the target of one attack after another. The IBI and my people have been investigating and the tail of the comet seems to point straight to this office—to PanRra.”

Lly clenched her hands tightly together on the desk. He could prove nothing and even if he could, Rra had been in charge, not her.

“I’m distressed to hear this,” she said. She let her gaze fall to her hands and then lifted her eyes to meet his again. “I—I scarcely know how to say this, Mr. Stark, but…Rra had changed. He was not the man I once knew. I believe he suffered from a disorder of the brain, which caused him to undertake certain…unwise actions.”

She lifted her chin proudly. “I can assure you, however, such things will no longer occur. The PanRra Corporation will once again operate as the honorable company it once was.”