Rebel Heat (14 page)

“Most Shadow Assassins didn’t hold allegiance to any nation. We existed separate from the world above, so your laws and your leaders held no meaning for us.”

“Our laws held no meaning?” Lor’s tone took on a dangerous edge. “Disagreeing with our laws does not make you exempt from them.”

“I was simply explaining the way Nazerel thinks. Most Shadow Assassins connect the Rodytes too closely with the elders and the elders were corrupt and cruel.”

“But Nazerel is the exception?” Lor persisted.

Before Varrik could explain, Flynn was brought into the room between two Mystics. One of the Mystics grasped Flynn in two places, apparently keeping him from flashing out of sight.

“What is this about?” Flynn’s indignation would have been more believable if his gaze hadn’t been filled with fear.

Varrik crossed the room and looked deeply into Flynn’s eyes. “We know you gave or sold Nazerel a detailed report. We also know it had to do with genetics and ‘empowered offspring’. Now tell me what else was in the report and where you found the information.”

For a long time Flynn just stared back at Varrik. He hated having to involve Echo in these situations, but they needed to know what Nazerel had planned. He raised his hand toward his mate without taking his gaze off Flynn.

“You’re a traitor and I’m a coward,” Flynn sneered. “Nazerel is the only one who has been loyal to the men through all of this. He has put himself on the line over and over. I will tell you nothing that endangers him.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll find out for myself.” Without warning, he pressed his palms against the sides of Flynn’s head. His mental touch was not gentle as it had been with Phil. He shoved into the traitor’s mind and demanded answers. Flynn screamed and tried to shake him off, but the other Mystics held him firmly.

Echo’s warm hand touched Varrik’s shoulder. “Let me.”

The two words held a wealth of meaning. He was furious and acting on anger never led to good decisions. He would likely damage as much of the information as he extracted until he calmed down. Bowing to the wisdom of her approach, he eased back and let her touch the side of Flynn’s face.

When she finally stepped back from Flynn, she looked pale and her hands were shaking.

“Are you all right?” He wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her into one of the mismatched chairs.

“I’m fine. It always makes me shaky for a minute or two. It will pass.”

“What did you see?” Lor wanted to know. He motioned to the Mystics and they dragged Flynn out of the room.

“Nazerel has all of Sevrin’s research. Not just the summation you gave us, but her actual documentation.”

“That can’t be good.” Elias pushed to his feet. “But Nazerel’s not a scientist. What good does it do him?”

“I’m not sure what he has planned,” Varrik admitted. “But there is only one place information like that has any real value.”

“Rodymia,” Lor, Elias and Echo all said at once.

Varrik nodded, but his expression remained grim. “It looks like Nazerel is going home.”

* * * * *

Nazerel’s arm gradually released Morgan and she sank to her knees. Vertigo blurred her surroundings and softened the reality of what she had just experienced. Her stomach rebelled against the brutal acceleration and the ringing in her ears was starting to recede. She inhaled slowly, hoping the extra oxygen would clear her head. She’d heard descriptions of interdimensional travel, even seen a video of a Mystic Summoning the Storm, but nothing prepared her for the bone-jarring thrust of the conduit or the immense pulses of energy.

She heard voices, deep male voices speaking in a language she didn’t understand. Nazerel grasped her forearm and pulled her to her feet as he said something to the two guards who still had their weapons trained on the intruders, namely Nazerel and her.

Finger-combing her hair back from her face, she caught her first unobstructed view of her surroundings. The textured floor flowed into matte gray walls without seams or separation. Faint colors, purple, blue and gold marbled through the metallic surface, keeping the area from looking like a prison. The wall to her left appeared to be some sort of control panel, but there was no furniture in the room, no obvious purpose other than a reception and perhaps departure area.

Her attention shifted to the guards when the room held little of interest. They were both wearing dark blue armor that seemed rigid one moment and supple the next. It followed every bend and curve of their muscular bodies or it had been sculpted to make them appear more impressive. Their weapons were sleek daggers with sharp-looking edges and controls were inset in the hilts. Could they launch projectiles or an energy stream from the blade? How the hell would they aim them? She’d never seen anything like them.

Nazerel motioned toward her and the lead guard nodded.

“What’s going on? Where are we?”

“Silence,” Nazerel snapped. Then in a sharp, impatient tone he added, “I’ll explain everything when we’re alone. Now lower your gaze.”

She paused for another assessing glance at the guards, before following Nazerel’s directive. Both guards had short dark hair, and blue-ringed dark eyes. The one who spoke most often also had cobalt strands threaded through his hair. Both had sharp, angular features and semi-hostile expressions.

The less-talkative guard motioned them onward while the apparent leader remained in the strange room. Nazerel’s hand lingered on her arm as they followed the guard down one passageway after another. The corridors were rounded, making them feel more like tunnels than hallways and many of the walls had ladders leading to other levels. There were no windows, no natural light. Was this an underground complex like the Bunker?

Or were they on a spaceship?

The possibility dropped like a stone into the pit of Morgan’s stomach. It wasn’t as if her people had more hope of finding her on an alien planet than on a movable spaceship. Still, somehow the idea was even more daunting. If the guards’ blue-ringed eyes and angular features were any indication, Nazerel was exploring his Rodyte heritage.

After indicating a doorway with a sharp jerk of his head, the guard strode back the way they’d come. Nazerel opened the door with a command in the same staccato language he’d been speaking with the guard.

She waited until the door closed behind them to speak. The room was small, the furniture built into the walls. It reminded her of the holding cells in the Bunker, an ultramodern prison cell. “Where are we? And why are we here?”

“We’re docked at Space Station 438. And this is where I need to be.”

She scowled at him, much too anxious to appreciate his sense of humor. “Spaceships dock at space stations. Are we on a spaceship?”

“This is the
Fotrastal
, which roughly translates to
Undaunted
. Welcome aboard.” He looked around the room with obvious distaste. “Once the commander finds out we’ve arrived, I suspect he’ll move us to more comfortable accommodations. The guard was being an ass.”

“Are we in Rodyte space?”

He shrugged. “I think SS 438 is considered neutral, but the crew is Rodyte and I think that’s what you’re really asking.”

“Why do you ‘need to be’ on the
Undaunted
?” It was unlikely he’d explain, but she had to try again.

He clasped his hands behind his back and stared past her. “I promised my men a better life, freedom and a chance at a future of which they could be proud. I haven’t given up on that promise.”

The answer surprised her. His men were in custody on Ontariese, likely headed to prison. How did he intend to change their situation from a Rodyte spaceship?

Before she could ask for a clarification, a buzzer sounded in the small room. Nazerel looked toward the door and spoke another Rodyte word. The door slid open and a robot rolled in. It was waist high and designed for function rather than form. A variety of appendages could be extended from the barrel-shaped body. It held a rimmed tray on which rested two small cylinders. It picked up one of the cylinders and held it out toward Nazerel as it spoke several words in Rodyte.

“What is that?” She was too curious to pretend indifference.

“Standard inoculation. It will protect you against alien microbes and suppress any you carry that might infect the crew.”

He motioned her toward him, but she hesitated. “Is it safe for humans?”

“This formula is specifically engineered for humans.” When she still hesitated, he went on, “You can’t interact with any of the crew until you’ve been vaccinated. Do you really want to stay locked in this room indefinitely?”

Indefinitely? How long did he intend to keep her? There had to be a reason he brought her along. Beyond the fact that she was female. He’d only said that to rattle her cage. At least she prayed that had been his reason for being so hateful. “Is the other one for you?”

“I was vaccinated as a child.” He picked up the other injector and dismissed the robot. “This one contains translator nanites. I thought you might want to understand what’s being said around you.”

He was going to inject her with alien technology? Dread washed over her in icy waves, but the alternative was worse. She could trust that he wouldn’t harm her or she could remain locked away and be unable to understand anyone but him. Not a pleasant choice.

“I don’t like this.” Still, she crossed to him.

“I know.” He pulled up the sleeve of her T-shirt and injected her with the vaccine. Then he turned her around and injected the translator nanites near the base of her skull. She’d barely felt the first injection, but the second stung like fire. She rubbed the area, hoping to disperse the pain. He walked across the room and tossed the injectors into a compartment near a different door than the one through which they’d entered. After waiting until she recovered, he asked, “Can you understand me?”

Her ears registered the alien words, yet her mind provided their meaning. “That’s really weird. Will it allow me to speak Rodyte as well?”

“No. You’ll need a language infusion at some point. This is a temporary workaround.”

“Then no one on board will understand what I say?”

“Translator nanites are mandatory for members of the Rodyte military. You speak your language and they speak theirs. The nanites provide translations for both of you. But you can’t issue voice commands or read Rodyte, which means you won’t be able to operate most of the equipment.”

“It’s still pretty amazing.”

The buzzer sounded again and when Nazerel called out, Morgan understood that the word meant “enter”.

The door slid open and their visitor bounded into the room.

“Nazerel!” With unmistakable familiarity, the man surrounded Nazerel with a back-pounding bear hug. “Garin told me you were coming, but I didn’t believe him. How in the five hells are you?”

They spoke in rapid Rodyte, yet Morgan easily followed along.

“Honestly, I’ve been better. But it’s always great to see you.” He returned the newcomer’s hug then stepped back so he could more easily meet his gaze. Nazerel toped six feet by several inches and he still had to tilt his head back to look at his visitor. “Zilor, this is Morgan. Morgan, meet Zilor Nox, my cousin.”

Zilor was a handsome devil with wavy dark hair that flowed past his shoulders and a beaming smile. Unlike the other Rodytes she’d seen, the rings in his dark eyes were a glittery shade of silver. He wore black pants and a formfitting shirt, primarily black with wide blue stripes down each side.

“It’s nice to meet you, Morgan.” Then without missing a beat, he asked, “Why are you in restraints?”

“Escape is no longer an issue.” Nazerel decided with an unapologetic shrug. “I suppose I can release her.”

“I’m glad, but why was escape an issue before.”

Never one to ignore a possible opportunity, she moved closer to Zilor. “I’m his hostage. If you return me to Earth, I can see that you’re well compensated by the US government.”

Zilor chuckled, clearly unimpressed by her plea. “Sorry, doll. You’ll have to take that up with Garin and I seriously doubt he’ll intervene.”

“Who is Garin?”

“
Pferitor
Garin Nox, commander of this ship and Zilor’s oldest brother,” Nazerel explained. “The closest human parallel would be a four star general. Garin’s the reason I’m here.”

Morgan sighed. If Garin and Zilor were brothers, then Nazerel was the commander’s cousin. Zilor’s friendliness had given her false hope. No one on board a Rodyte ship would give a damn about the plight of a human female. Rodytes might be technologically superior to humans, but their attitudes about females were primitive.

As if to prove her point, Zilor turned back to Nazerel and continued conversing as if she hadn’t just told him she was here against her will. “Garin has been in negotiations for the past three days. He hates dealing with temperamental diplomats, but he’s good at it. Which is why Stirate Quinten trusts him with these situations.”

“Any idea when he’ll have time for me?”

“He’ll
make
time for you, but it will probably be later tonight.” He motioned to the room and shook his head. “Who put you in this closet? You need to be up on the officers’ deck.”