Frost Station Alpha 1-6: The Complete Series (6 page)

“Gal who?” she asked, sounding puzzled.

“I don’t know what you call it now. I need you to send a message to your government leaders.” Assuming she
was
the communications officer. He should have asked. His mind didn’t seem to be functioning at one hundred percent. It was a wonder he had managed to track her. Though he’d almost lost her when she veered into this strange zoo, the animals’ powerful scents burying hers. He’d thought her clever even as he’d gnashed his teeth at yet another delay in obtaining her.

“Sorry, I don’t have their scans.”

“Their what?” This time, he was the puzzled one.

“You know, their contact information. Who
are
you, anyway?”

“Someone your history has apparently forgotten.” He couldn’t quite keep the bleakness from his voice, but he doubted she would recognize it for what is was. “You will
find
the contact information.” He turned her around, keeping a hand on her upper arm and the other around her neck.

She tensed, and he thought she might fight him again.

He tightened the grip on her throat. “I
can
cut off your air until you pass out, then simply carry you to the comm station.” Indeed, that might be the safer bet, but his wounded leg did not want to support his own body at the moment, much less a second one. He’d carry her if he had to, but he would prefer she walk.

“Asshole,” she said.

He snorted, more amused than angered by her defiance. She had looked young the times he’d glimpsed her in the light, but she acted like an experienced veteran, more fearless than some of the men he’d faced up above.

She let him maneuver her through the pigs and over the fence, though she checked him a few times, probably trying to see if she could slip away while he was climbing over things. Given his wound, that wasn’t an unreasonable thought, but he kept her close, his grip sure. A little pain would
not
make him lose a prisoner.

The comm in his bracer beeped as they left the lab and returned to lit corridors. He risked letting go of her arm—he still had his grip on her neck—to answer it.

“Makkon.”

“Sir, we’ve got the civilians out of those vault rooms,” Zar said. “We’re tying them up and putting them in a lounge we found on Deck Three. Does that work?”

“That’s fine.” A lift came into view down one of the corridors, and Makkon directed his prisoner toward it.

“Brax said we should question them to make sure we’ve found everyone and to see if there’s anything else here that might be useful in your talks with GalMil.”

“Question them or interrogate them?” Makkon stepped into the lift with the woman. He was going to have to ask for her name. It seemed he should know the name of the person who had shot him twice.

“He wasn’t specific on the particulars, sir.”

“I bet. Just tie them up for now. They’re our bargaining chips. Don’t hurt them if you don’t have to.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Same doesn’t go for soldiers, I guess,” the woman said.

“Sorry,” Makkon said. He truly was, but wasn’t surprised when she snorted with disbelief. “We’ve got the station. You cooperate, and there’s no reason we need to kill you.”

“Cooperate, turn traitor, funny how the definitions of words change, depending on which side you’re on.”

He said nothing. He couldn’t blame her for being bitter. In her situation, he would be too. And he would resent that he had lived when all of his comrades had died. The fact that he didn’t particularly
want
her as an enemy didn’t matter. That was the fate he had chosen when he and his men had agreed to come on this mission. Killing and most likely their own deaths, as well. A pity, but sacrifices had to be made.

The lift stopped on Level One, engineering. He’d pressed the button for Ten, the level with the communications station on it. Makkon lowered his rifle and pulled the woman back into the corner with him, prepared in case the door opened to an enemy.

Dornic stood there, his rifle equally at the ready, though only held with one hand. He had a toolbox in the other hand. They grunted at each other and lowered their weapons.

Dornic stepped into the lift, his thin blond braids dancing around his shoulders, a contrast with his brown skin. He lifted an eyebrow at the woman. “Keeping one for yourself?”

“Don’t be crude,” Makkon said. “She’s the communications officer.”

Dornic raised his bushy eyebrows, looking at her neck, or perhaps his hand wrapped around it.

“She didn’t want to be captured,” Makkon added.

“No? Odd.”

The woman only glowered as the lift started rising again. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes determined. Hoping for a chance to escape? Makkon suspected she would be trouble if they let her live, but he couldn’t imagine shooting her. Funny, since she’d had no problem shooting
him
, but he’d always respected people who put up a good fight, men or women. Of course, he was unlikely to become attracted to the men.

“Who
are
you people?” the woman asked. She was staring at Dornic’s tattoo. The fanged countenance of a tunnel wolf marked the left side of his face.

“Send my message, and you’ll find out,” Makkon said.

The lift stopped at Level Three, and she chose not to answer.

“Comm station needs some repairs,” Dornic said. “Might have to wait.”

The woman’s lips pinched together in what might have been a smile.

“We found the grenades already,” Makkon said, watching her face. “Unless Brax managed to set them off.”

“No, but he was putzing around with the computer, trying to keep a report from going out, and tripped something else. A few circuits burned.”

The woman’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.

Dornic hefted his toolbox. “I’m on my way.”

“All right. Let me know when it’s fixed.” Makkon stuck his foot in the door. “This is where Zar’s putting the prisoners, right?”

Dornic nodded. “Lounge at the end there. There’s only one door leading in. Easy to guard.”

“Got it.”

Though Makkon was tempted to take his prisoner up to the comm station and breathe down Dornic’s neck while he worked, he decided he had better check in and make sure no interrogations were going on. While he was there, maybe he could find a first-aid kit.

“Out,” he told the woman.

She complied silently. Scorch marks lined the walls of the corridor. He wasn’t sure whether his men had battled someone down here, or if the station had been attacked before. It’d had a larger complement of soldiers guarding it than his team had expected, and he still wasn’t sure they had found everyone.

“You have a name?” Makkon asked as they walked.

Most of their uniforms had surnames stitched on the chest, but she still wore a TacVest. He supposed he should remove that—he’d only been focused on weapons earlier—and then he could find out. He’d rather have her first name, but he would take anything.

He got nothing, at least not from her lips.

Since she hadn’t tried to escape for nearly three minutes, he lowered his hand from her neck and gripped her only by the back of the arm. She did not react, but even from the side, he could see the calculation glittering in her eyes. She’d probably already done the equation and decided she couldn’t come out on top with him, but he couldn’t guard her twenty-four hours a day. The rest of his people were as strong as he was, but assuming nobody had been killed, they still had only ten men. They would be spread thin watching all of their prisoners over the next several days. She might find an opportunity to slip away. And then what? Whoever was on guard would catch her and shoot her. He had to accept that might happen, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He wasn’t sure why.

Because you think she’s pretty and like the way she shot you, idiot.

He snorted at the words from the all-too-frank back of his mind, loudly enough that she glanced at him. He decided not to mention that he was chatting with himself.

Makkon stopped when they reached the lounge. A loud voice—someone giving a lecture about what would be done to anyone who tried to escape—seeped out through the closed door. He should have gone right in, but he stopped the woman and turned her to face him. There was nothing friendly or welcoming about her set jaw and cold glare, but he still found himself thinking inappropriate thoughts as they finally faced each other, only a few inches between their noses. Between their lips.

In that moment, a thought occurred to him. What if he could make her sympathetic to his people’s mission, or, if not that, make her sympathetic to
him
? Enough so that she wouldn’t make trouble, that she would work the comm station for the messages he would need to send back and forth to the government. Then he wouldn’t need to worry about her trying to shoot his men and escaping.

Sounds nice. How’re you going to manage it? Helping you would make her a traitor. The military probably still shoots traitors.

Makkon didn’t respond to the inner voice, but he did acknowledge that it would be much easier to knock her out with drugs until they needed her for the messages. If she were a man, he wouldn’t have any problem making that decision. If Dornic found a way into the comm system, and they could send the message without her, then none of this would be needed. He wished that mining craft they had salvaged had a way to contact the government, though even if it had, they would have needed the powerful satellite that this station used to get the signal all the way back to the core worlds.

“Do I have something in my eye?” the woman asked, watching him warily.

He realized he had been staring at her. Thinking perhaps his humor might appeal to her, or at least soften her attitude toward him, he hmmed and pretended to examine her eyes. As if he hadn’t already noticed everything about them, the gray-green that was more gray than green against the backdrop of her dark uniform and that a darker rim ringed her irises, giving them a striking look. “No, they’re fine.”

She glared back at him.

“Listen,” Makkon said, “I meant what I said. If you cooperate, I’ll make sure you’re still alive when your ships arrive.”

“Bite my ass.” She twisted in his grip as much as she could and faced the door.

“Well, I suppose that’s a possibility too.” A wild notion that he might somehow seduce her jumped into his brain—possibly the lower brain instead of the upper one.

But from the tense way she stared straight ahead, she didn’t find the idea appealing. Sighing, he waved at the sensor to open the door. He walked in first to make sure his people wouldn’t twitch and fire at the sight of a soldier. Zar’s rifle pointed toward them, but he immediately lowered it.

“Good to see you, sir.” Zar glanced at Makkon’s leg, but he didn’t say anything about it.

Makkon gritted his teeth. He thought he’d been hiding that limp well.

More than thirty men and women in civilian clothes sat on couches, at tables, or against the walls, all with their wrists bound behind their backs and their feet tied together. Most of them were older than forty, with at least half having gray hair. He wouldn’t dismiss anyone on age—Brax was nearly sixty and still fought like a monster—but he didn’t spot any among the scientists who looked like trouble. There were two injured soldiers sitting against the far wall under a porthole that looked out over the shuttle bay doors and the mining ship. He knew the solar storm had kept the station’s sensors from noticing its approach but almost laughed when he realized that if someone had been sitting in here, playing games and looking out the window, they would have seen everything.

One of the soldiers was unconscious, his head lolling against his shoulder and blood smearing the floor under him. The second was also injured, one arm blown off with laser fire. His eyes were open and alert—the laser must have cauterized the wound so he hadn’t lost too much blood—but he didn’t look like he would be much trouble, either. Good. Aside from Zar, Rebek and Kumar were the only ones standing guard in the lounge. Once his team had control of all the necessary equipment on the station, and everyone had been captured, he should get more people down here. He wanted to make sure there were enough personnel to ensure his woman wouldn’t be able to plot up an escape attempt.

When did she become
your
woman?

He flicked an imaginary finger at the voice and walked the woman to a table. He could have told Zar to search and tie her, but didn’t want anyone else groping her.

“Comm officer?” Zar asked, walking along beside him.

“Yes.”

Zar glanced at his leg again, probably wondering if she was the one who shot him. Fortunately, he didn’t ask. That was good, because Makkon didn’t want to admit that some young female communications officer had been the one who managed to hurt him. He didn’t want to admit to being hurt at all. Once she was safely tied with the others, he would find that first-aid kit.

Though Makkon did not ask for it, Zar kept his rifle pointed at her while he removed her TacVest. He finally got her name, since it was indeed on a patch on her uniform. Pavlenko. The rank designs had all changed since he had last dealt with the system’s military, but from her age, he doubted she could be more than a lieutenant. Or she could perhaps be a sergeant, if she’d gone straight into the service instead of to school, but the fact that the brawny veteran had been trying to make sure she escaped made him believe she was an officer.

He kept his search professional as he dipped into her pockets, though his fingers wouldn’t have minded lingering. He pulled out a small personal computer and dropped it on a table, along with a supply of ration bars. She must have planned to hide out until she could make her way to that auxiliary communications station. He also tossed the weapons he had confiscated from her earlier onto the table.

“Throwing knives?” Zar’s brows rose.

Yes, he’d thought them an odd choice for a comm officer. Of course, he carried an ice axe around for close combat—and because he was strong enough to chop through military-grade combat armor that could withstand laser fire—so who was he to judge?

Pavlenko did not respond. She was staring straight ahead, probably trying to pretend Makkon wasn’t standing so close. He’d spotted her doing a quick scan of everybody in the room when they first entered, her gaze lingering on the injured soldiers, but now she merely focused on a wall panel.