Pirate: Space Gypsy Chronicles, #1 (15 page)

“I disagree. I mean, your choices are buy me this so I have something to wear for work or I’m sure I can find a vendor who can make us a uniform. Don’t make me dork us out in matching, brightly-colored one-pieces.”

He shook his head. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“No. I learned how to haggle with one of my foster parents. She knew how to get the best deals.”

“Less haggle, more like browbeat. I think with a little background on the species and items, you might prove useful in bargaining situations.”

“Finally, a real job,” she exclaimed. “Which means I need clothes. Don’t forget, as your official spokesperson, I need to look the part.” She batted her lashes for good measure and held in a giggle.

A smile, brighter than a sun she’d not seen in forever, split his lips. “Unbelievable. You win. This is on me. I can’t have my
cousin
and only crewmember going around looking like a pauper. It reflects badly on me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Glad it’s all about you.”

“About time you realized it.” He winked. “Take your time shopping. I’ve got to go speak to another vendor about something. I won’t be far. Stay out of trouble.”

Easier said than done. She watched Rafe’s ass as he strutted off to a location a few storefronts down. He bent to speak to a man, who was not even waist high. She might have called him a dwarf because of the long beard and stocky stature, except for the long tail waving from his behind.

Reassured Rafe remained close by, she turned to peruse the wares. To her surprise and delight, the shopkeeper, in broken English—which, he confided, he’d taught himself without an implant—had her size, which he exclaimed was perfection.

Apparently wide hips were considered a sign of prestige out here. Whatever. She was excited to have something other than a jumpsuit to wear, and she jumped at the chance to change. As the shopkeeper bundled her purchases for delivery to the ship, she used a room inside his store to change.

Emerging, she smiled and thanked the storeowner before heading back to the street area. A peek didn’t show Rafe where she’d last seen him.

Had he gone inside?

She chewed her lower lip. Should she stay here and wait, or go find him? She compromised, strolling instead to peek at the wares spread on a table within sight of the clothing store and where she’d last seen Rafe.

Bent over to peek at a fist-sized crystal, which held a pattern that kept changing, she screamed when someone deliberately grabbed her ass and said, “Will make good dinner.”

R
afe didn’t
plan on letting Emma out of his sight. She drew too much attention. Bad attention—at least for her. But when she entered the clothing store, he knew he had a few moments to spare to see exactly what Huegga wanted to show him.

An old acquaintance, Huegga owned an antiquities shop where he dealt in rare items. Rafe had corresponded with him before when he visited and via messages. As a pirate who often needed to offload items of questionable origin, Rafe knew a fair share of antique dealers. He kept hoping one of them would stumble across a clue—and not charge him too much. Although, if they did try to cheat him, he’d just steal what he wanted. He didn’t like to let a thing like locks stand in his way.

“What is it you’ve found?” he asked as Huegga led him inside the shop. Only the dimmest of light illuminated the space. Relics from the past always looked more mysterious in the dark.

“I am not sure what to call it, but it made me think of you, so I locked it away.”

A tingle of excitement threaded through him. He made sure it didn’t show. “How did you come across this object?”

“It was part of the lot of items I claimed at auction when they cleared out Gil’s place.” Gil being an antiquities dealer who’d met an untimely demise—at the end of a knife.

“You’re not keeping it in the front?” Surprising since items kept hidden couldn’t attract buyers.

“I am not sure of its worth. I wanted a second opinion before setting a price.”

In other words, Huegga needed the right buyer willing to part with credits. Given Rafe had already parted with a good sum for news and rumors, he wasn’t inclined to spend more.

Until he saw it, and his decision was cemented the moment he held the warm fragment.

It’s one of the pieces I’ve been looking for.

“Who else knows you have this?”

“No one.” Huegga shook his head. “But the moment I saw it, I thought of you.”

Of course he had. The symbol carved on the metal fragment was one Rafe knew well, and he wondered if the jagged edges would match any of those on the pieces he’d already found.

“Did any notes come with it? Do you have any idea where Gil might have found the fragment?” A clue would be nice since no one seemed to know their true origin.

Thus far, the pieces he’d acquired appeared in the hands of dealers, and one rare piece was located in a museum on Earth—was being the key word. It now hid onboard the
Annabelle
.

Huegga shook his head, his tight braids whipping. “It was wrapped in leather and at the bottom of a box of junk. I almost threw it out.”

“How much for the piece?”

A calculating look appeared in Huegga’s eye. “One million credits.”

Rafe snorted and dropped the metal shard. “For a piece of scrap metal? Keep it. I simply wanted it as a knickknack for my mother.”

The haggle began, ending somewhere higher than Rafe wanted, but he wasn’t leaving this shop without it. The fragment might be useless to Huegga, but to Rafe—who had been looking—it was a part of the puzzle he’d set out to solve.

“Unhand me!” The scream and yelled words from outside on the street made him grin. At last, someone had chosen to challenge him. Time to wrap up his business here. He tapped at his arm, activating his embedded chip that handled banking affairs. “The credits have been transferred.”

A glance at his watch and Huegga nodded. “Received. Here is your purchase.”

Rafe rewrapped the fragment and tucked it into his shirt. He wore a harness under the fabric with another sheath for a knife and a pouch for other things. Nimble fingers and tentacles were a problem in the space stations. “If you come across any more items like this one”—he patted his hidden pocket—“send me a message. Me alone. I’d like to surprise my mother on her birthday.” A lie he knew Huegga didn’t believe, but, again, part of the game they both played.

Turning on his heel, Rafe strode out of the shop, ducking under the low doorframe not meant for men his height. He was just in time to see a very tall being, nine feet at least, toss Emma onto its beefy shoulder. Not that she went willingly. She kicked and flailed with her fists. Rather ineffectually, he might add. The Syklopp probably didn’t feel a thing.

As he moved toward them, Rafe bellowed, “What are you doing with my cousin?”

Pivoting to face him, the Syklopp focused his one eye on him. “Smells good. Make roast.”

Human males had a problem with blood draining from their brains to their dicks. But with the Syklopp, they got stupid when they got hungry. “Not with her you aren’t. She doesn’t belong to you.”

“I want.”

“She’s not for sale.”

“No buy. Take. In the road. Free.”

Rafe really would have to do something about her lack of visible brand. He’d hoped the fact that she traveled with him would indicate her off-limits status. Apparently not. She needed either to get a tattoo delineating her ownership status or a collar. He couldn’t wait to have that argument with her.

“Hey, wench, wanna bare an ass cheek so I can put this brand on you?”

He could just imagine the slap. As for getting a collar around her neck, he would prefer to give her a creamy necklace. Later. First, he had to save her rump roast.

“She is not free because she belongs to me. She’s family. And much as she might drive me a little crazy, I can’t allow you to eat her.” The only one who would do any eating was him. Eventually. He’d wear down her resistance at one point.

“Me take.”

“No, you aren’t.”

There were a few immutable facts on space stations. One, most things had a price. Two, some people still preferred to steal. And three, no law would stop someone from punishing a thief who’d taken his property.

Drawing his knives from his boots, Rafe jogged toward the Syklopp, hands by his sides, blades pointing down.

The Syklopp grinned. “More dinner.”

Now some people might wonder how a simple-minded race like the Syklopps ever made it to space. Simple. The males might be dumber than rocks—their heads hard as stone too—but their females were smart. Alas, whatever female owned this brute wasn’t with him, so it was a tad too dumb to realize he’d pissed off the wrong man.

Rafe might be only two-thirds its size, but he was deadly. His rapid run brought him within paces, but he wasn’t about to fight hand-to-hand, or fairly. Feinting to the side, he leaped into the air and landed atop a table. Bent his knees and leaped again.

The lumbering ogre-ish male swung a meaty fist at Rafe, but he’d already ducked under it. His knives flashed, and the coppery smell of blood, with a hint of something sulfuric, filled the air.

The Syklopp looked down at its chest, bleeding profusely, the symbol Rafe had cut into it deep enough to scar, but not kill.

“Put the girl down, or my next strike won’t be so gentle,” Rafe warned, his voice deep and cold.

“Do as he says, imbecile.” The cuff in the back of the Syklopp’s head rocked it as his mistress, another towering specimen, took him to task. “I said to buy me some dinner. Not take a Rhomanii girl off the street.” The female Syklopp, resplendent and tall in her bright yellow dress and towering headpiece, turned her one-eyed gaze his way. “Apologies. It is my son’s first foray into the world. And his last if he doesn’t listen better.”

“No harm done.” Especially since Emma was back on her feet, looking annoyed as hell but not in the least injured.

“Come, you fool. Let us tend your wound and use it as a reminder next time to do as I say.” Issuing a non-stop harangue that had the younger Syklopp’s head hanging, the pair tromped off.

The wench glared at their retreating backs. “That was rude.”

“Not really. That kind of thing happens all the time.”

“Was he seriously going to eat me?”

“Roasted over a fire and sprinkled with spices. Yes.”

She shuddered. “Thanks for coming along when you did.”

“Don’t thank me. Any captain would have done the same.”

“Let me guess, because of your reputation.”

He smiled. “You’re beginning to understand. I see you found clothing.” He perused her new ensemble, which she’d chosen with care. She’d not opted for anything too provocative or womanly, instead choosing sturdy, if form-fitting, cargo pants and a plain cotton T-shirt. She’d also chosen to fetter her lovely breasts in a practical sports bra. What a shame. He did so enjoy a little nipple action. It was the reason he had Annabelle turn down the temperature on the ship.

“Thanks again for the clothes. The guy said the rest of it would be delivered to the ship?” she said on a querying note.

“It will be. Commerce is taken very seriously on the way stations. Those who cheat customers don’t stay in business for very long.” Usually because their body was drifting in space.

“How do they get the stuff there? I wouldn’t have thought you’d let anyone onto the ship while you’re not there.”

“No one goes aboard. There are messenger crews, whose only task is to deliver goods and parts. They use specialized thruster machines. They anchor merchandise orders by the bay doors. Annabelle then uses the onboard crane to drag them in.”

“That seems like a trusting system.”

“Not really. The ship can protect itself from invaders.”

“What if someone hacks your ship’s computer though?”

“Then I shall mock Annabelle mercilessly for letting anyone past her security systems. Here we are.” During their talk, he’d steered them away from the marketplace. He stopped before a metal door. He knew she wouldn’t recognize the symbol carved on its surface, so he drew her attention to it. “If ever you are in need of a place to rest, a place that is neutral and free of ambush, look for this.” He traced the intricate swirl with the slash across the middle. “Every way station and civilized planet has at least one. Think of it as a hotel and embassy rolled into one.”

He placed his palm on the screen beside it. It analyzed his print, his DNA, and probably did a credit check. While the Kaupo establishments never turned anyone away who asked for aid, their accommodations did have a ranking system. The lowest level was free, but it came with little to no amenities. If a male wanted a real bed, private bathing facilities, and food, then he could request it and receive it for a price, a price he could pay.

Choke on that, Uncle. You always accused me of not working hard enough for what I had. Accused me of relying on the family money and being a leech.
He’d proved his uncle wrong. When Rafe left, he’d taken nothing with him. Not even the family name.

As a bastard son, he was considered an embarrassment. His father was a stranger, a traveler passing through who went by the name Abaddon. First or last, no one knew for sure, but this Abaddon had left his mark behind in the son he begat.

The family called Rafe’s conception rape, but in private, his mother admitted it was seduction, a seduction she couldn’t resist, despite the shame she knew it would bring.

“
He had something about him, something other worldly. As if he’d seen great things. And when he turned his gaze on me, I couldn’t resist.”
Even years later, his mother never failed to smile when she recalled Rafe’s father. Rafe, however, cursed the man who’d left and ensured his life was a living hell.

Luckily, Rafe’s sisters didn’t bear the stigma of his ignoble birth, the family arranging a marriage for his mother, smoothing over her shame with a dowry of credits. But that marriage didn’t erase the fact of Rafe’s existence.

When he grew tired of his uncle’s barbs and thinly veiled threats, born of a hatred he could not grasp, Rafe left. Left despite the tears of his mother, and in the process, he severed all ties. As he set course on a new path, his own path. He chose a name for himself, Aba’ddon, and while he might be the only Aba’ddon in existence—unless his father still lived—he made sure people knew it. Hoped one day to see recognition in someone’s eyes, somewhere. Surely his father had left a trace? If so, he’d yet to find it.

But he kept trying as he traveled the galaxies in search of answers.

Under that name he acquired not only prestige and infamy, but also wealth, enough wealth that the Kaupo sanctuaries kept his preferences saved in his file. When the exterior door of the hotel opened, they weren’t ushered into the lower level with pallets on the floor and a plain broth for sustenance. Instead, he and Emma were met with the gleaming interior of an elevator cab.

Stepping in, Rafe leaned against the wall and smiled when he noted Emma reluctant to follow. “The walls won’t bite.”

“I’m more worried about you.”

He laughed. “You should be.” Not reassuring words in the least, but they made her snort. “Get in before it takes off without you.” The elevator would never so rudely treat a guest, but she didn’t know that.

“I don’t know how Alice dove into that rabbit hole. Each time I come across one, I want to run away.”

“But you won’t run because, at heart, I think you’re an adrenaline junkie.”

“Am not.”

“Is your heart racing?”

“Probably because the air’s a little thin.”

“Are your panties wet?”

“I might have peed myself when that one-eyed dude grabbed me.”

“Why don’t you just admit this all excites you?”

“It does. But I can’t figure out why because, at the same time, I want to throw up, pee my pants, and huddle in a ball.”

“Exaggerations. That is what fear would have you do. You’ve the spirit of a traveler.”

“Which means?”

“You won’t let fear control you. So stop procrastinating and get your ass in here.”

“Bully,” she accused him, and yet she stepped into the elevator. She stared suspiciously around as the door slid shut behind her and the cab moved. “It feels like we were just swallowed by a space-age coffin.”

“Less coffin, more bullet to our destination.” Indeed, in the time it took her to make that observation, they arrived. The door slid open to reveal opulence. Nothing but the best for Ra’fhai Aba’ddon, outcast son of the Zyngary. An outcast who’d made a name for himself and never looked back, despite the many pleas from his mother.

Given Rafe had stayed at this hotel before and his information was on file, they didn’t have to do something so trite as check in. As soon as he’d placed his hand on the scanner outside, the Kaupo knew his preference. It was the same everywhere he went. A large room at the top of the inner meteoroid, the curved window offering a panoramic view of the marketplace and other buildings within the dome.