Shadower (5 page)

She wouldn't have allowed it if she hadn't been weakened by that damn Jaccian wound, she told herself. Absolutely not allowed it. Curse Sabin Travers anyway. If he hadn't dragged her out of Giza's, she might have found Fletch before she'd passed out.

Shaking away the memory, Moriah headed toward the landing strip. Her progress was slow, for by now, she was physically depleted. She again stayed in the shadows to avoid running into trouble. Relief pumped through her as she neared the landing pad. She couldn't get off this planet fast enough. When she did, she would—she stopped dead in her tracks.

Fletch's ship was gone.

She stared at the empty pad, hoping against hope she'd taken a wrong turn in the shadows, that it was the wrong landing pad. But she knew it wasn't. The odd cryptic figures someone had scratched in the sand were still there, and Fletch's pad number was etched into her memory.

She sank to the sand, the last dregs of hope and energy gone. She had no ship, no weapons, and no identification. And no way off Calt, thanks to Sabin Travers. She could approach one of the miscreants passing through and ask for a ride. But she couldn't trust any of them—not like Fletch, at least. Although no prize, Fletch was an androgynous being already mated to another androgyne, and had posed no masculine threat to her.

Moriah battled back rising hysteria. She had to find a way to the iridon auction and then back to Risa. And she had to talk to Celie, who would be worried that something terrible had happened to her. She dug her fingers into her palms, forcing herself to think clearly. She needed to get a communiqué to the group, so one of them could pick her up. Only it would be far too dangerous for her to stay on Calt, especially after the fiasco at Giza's. She had to stick with her original plan to travel to a star base.

An elusive thought nagged at the back of her mind. Star base…where had she just heard that? Moriah pushed to her feet as the answer came to her. Intrepid. She'd heard Sabin tell the other man he was headed to Star Base Intrepid.

She spun around and started walking. Her luck had just turned. Sabin Travers didn't know it, but he was about to provide her transportation to Star Base Intrepid. She certainly had no desire to see him again. He was arrogant, obnoxious, and dangerous. But if she had any luck remaining at all, they wouldn't cross paths.

Because he'd never know he had an extra passenger.

Wedged inside the stardrive casing, Sabin made adjustments as Radd provided specs and monitored the readouts. Sabin couldn't hear the hatch tones from there, but he figured he had at least half an hour   before Moriah was strong enough to attempt to slip out.

He fully expected her to try. Having spent his life adapting to every possible existence imaginable, he'd learned to land on his feet by whatever means necessary. He was a survivor, first and foremost. He recognized that same trait in Moriah. It would be very difficult to bend her to any will except her own. The beep of the subspace transceiver interrupted his musings.

"Hey, Sabin, communicator's beeping."

"I hear it, Radd." He squirmed from the tight confines of the casing. "It's probably McKnight. Answer and tell him to hold on."

He wasn't at all concerned about Radd answering the transceiver or knowing the identity of the caller. The mechanic was known for his discretion, as well as being a person of very few words.

Sabin squeezed out in time to hear Radd saying, "Naw, he's fine, Chase. He just didn't call ya back because he was taking care of a woman he brought on board. Here he comes now."

Great. So much for discretion. Sabin glared at the young man who, outside discussions of propulsion systems and fuel replenishment, had never uttered more than three words at a time. He'd sure turned into a talking echobird all of a sudden.

"Gee thanks, Radd," Sabin snapped, coming around the console.

"No prob." Radd stepped back with his usual guileless expression, although his eyes held a mischievous glint.

"Travers here," Sabin barked at the intercom. He didn't bother with the viewscreen. Chase never used them.

"Where are you? Did you catch Galen?"

"Not that lucky, old man. He got away, and my stardrive went out. I'm on Calt. Radd's working on the drive right now."

"So who is this woman you brought on board?" McKnight questioned. "A felon?"

"Not exactly."

"She's not a prisoner, then?"

Sabin hesitated. "No."

“I've never known you to be desperate enough to approach a Calt female. Have the Pleasure Domes begun making ship calls?"

"Very funny. For your information, the lady had a Jaccian tentacle wound. I was just helping out."

"Is she all right?" McKnight asked.

"Yeah. She came around pretty quickly."

"You need to sterilize the wound, and if it's deep, apply sutures—"

"Whoa! Hold it right there, partner," Sabin interrupted. "I don't happen to have a fancy ship like you do, with that high-tech lab you're always so secretive about. I don't have a whole lot of medical aids, either. So I did the best I could with what I have."

He could almost hear the disapproval in McKnight's long silence. His partner could be such an old man at times. "And what was that?" McKnight finally asked.

"Sulfomagtrite."

"Blazing hells! Remind me to stock your ship with some medical supplies."

"Hey, it woke her up! And it should take care of any risk of infection."

McKnight released a frustrated sigh. "Assuming the patient survived the treatment."

"She did just fine. She appears to be of sturdy stock." Sabin decided to move the discussion away from Moriah. "How did it go on your end?"

"Another false alarm. But I did hear some interesting rumors about an illegal shipment of iridon up for grabs. Seems it was hijacked while leaving a mine in the Verante constellation."

Sabin gave a low whistle. "Do you think Dansan's behind it?"

"Wouldn't surprise me. But I also heard Galen might be after the shipment. Could be a way to track him down."

"Thanks for the lead," Sabin said, already mentally sorting through his list of informants. Someone should be able to secure information on where the shipment was last seen and where it was headed. He glanced at his chronometer and tensed, realizing almost three-quarters of an hour had elapsed since he'd left Moriah alone. "Look, I've got to go take care of some business."

"You might give the lady a chance to recuperate first."

Even his partner had to insert sexual innuendos into the situation. "I'm real amused, old man. I'll contact you in two ship cycles, usual time." He disconnected and headed for the corridor. "Be right back, Radd. I've got to check on the lady."

"Uh, Sabin, she's gone."

He whirled to face Radd, whose round, innocent-looking eyes stared back. "What?"

"I heard the hatch tone about half an hour ago, while you were inside the casing."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

”I didn't know she was a prisoner. Ya didn't lock her in the brig, like ya usually do with criminals."

"This whole day has been wonderful," Sabin muttered, heading toward the corridor. "I'll be back."

He should just let Moriah go. As far as he knew, she wasn't wanted anywhere, and it wasn't illegal for a lone female to traipse around Calt, so he couldn't detain her. But as he thought about her resilient spirit and laser-sharp intelligence, he knew he couldn't allow her to be devoured by Calt's degenerates.

He'd put her gun in his vault, so she had no defense. She might know how to fight, but without a weapon, she didn't stand a chance on a planet where no shred of decency existed. He couldn't let such beauty and vitality be destroyed. After checking his cabin and the rest of the ship and verifying she had indeed slipped away, he strapped on extra weapons and headed back to Giza's. Maybe she'd returned there.

He came up empty-handed. He didn't see her anywhere between his ship and the bar, and Thorne informed him she'd only returned long enough to learn the person she'd been waiting for had come and gone. Sabin checked the rest of the settlement without success. He searched though the landing pads, but knew he had little chance of finding her without knowing what pad her ship was on.

Concern and regret accompanied him as he headed back to his ship. He hoped Moriah had escaped the planet safely, although he would have enjoyed more mental sparring with her. He wouldn't have minded exploring the sensual side of her nature, either, a thought he quickly pushed aside. It was time to get back to business, and to catching Galen.

Radd was outside adjusting the ship thrusters when Sabin returned. "Did ya find her?"

"No. She must have left the planet."

"Sorry about that." Radd lifted a thruster flap and scowled. "Awful lot of rust under here."

"The whole damn ship's nothing but rust. At least I'll have my new one inside of a lunar cycle." Sabin thought about the ship he'd finally been able to commission, after seasons of hunting down wanted felons, transporting them to Alta, and collecting the rewards. It would be the closest thing he'd ever have to a home.

"Yeah," Radd said reverently. "A Skymaster SC-8400 long-range cruiser, fully loaded. The same thing McKnight has. Boy, I can't wait to work on that baby."

"I hope you won't have to for a long time. And I can't say I'll be sorry to see this heap of junk go to scrap."

Radd closed the flap. "Okay, then, she's ready to go." He took the credit disc Sabin offered him, slid it into his portable collection unit, and entered the charges. Moments later, Radd was gone, fading into the shadows, either off to his own ship or to another lucrative repair job.

Nothing more to do here. Besides, Sabin had an important delivery to make. But as he took off a short while later, it wasn't the upcoming mission he was thinking about. Instead, visions of remarkable golden eyes and a wealth of burnished hair haunted him.

Forget her,
he told himself. He had no place in his life for a woman. The Pleasure Domes could provide the physical release he needed, without the danger of involvement. He would never have a real home, or the commitment of a mate and a family. If nothing else, his wretched past had shown him that. Yet, even over his brutal self-reminders, thoughts of Moriah, the image of her hair fanning over her skin, persisted.

"Get a grip, Travers," he muttered to himself. The chance he would ever cross paths with her again were about as good as the sun going nova.

On impulse, he pulled her ID disc from his pocket and inserted it into the computer, pulling up access to IAR's Universal Citizen Registry. The Registry scanned the code on the disc, and Moriah's picture flashed onto the screen, along with her stats. "Mara Carlen" the name read, with the information that she was licensed to deliver medical supplies, replicator food suspensions, and clothing, to star and Controller bases.

No way. No legitimate supplier would give a different name from the one on their identification. And no legitimate supplier would be caught dead on Calt. It was far too dangerous. Only the lowest riffraff of the quadrant came to this planet. The exchange of goods here was usually illegal, with exorbitant prices paid without argument.

Mara/Moriah wasn't who she claimed to be. She wasn't a Controller agent or a shadower either, as he had first suspected, or her identification would have indicated that fact. No, without a doubt, she had to be involved in illegal activities. If that was the case, sooner or later she would be caught. If she was on the Controllers' long list of wanted deviants and criminals, then it was only a matter of time before a shadower tracked her down and turned her in for the bounty.

A shadower such as himself.

*  *  *  *

Moriah awoke with a start. She noticed immediately that the rhythm of the ship had changed. They must be going into orbit. Again she wished, as she had numerous times since she'd stowed away on Sabin Travers' ship, that her chronometer hadn't been broken by the Jaccians. She had no idea how long she'd been holed up in the lav of this extra cabin, but it seemed she'd been there longer than the three cycles it should have taken to get to Star Base Intrepid. She couldn't afford any more delays.

Luck had been with her the last hour on Calt. From the shadows of the rocks, she'd seen Sabin head for the settlement. The young man working on the thrusters of Sabin's ship had appeared oblivious to everything around him, and she'd slipped aboard undetected.

Behind the first panel she checked, she discovered a cabin apparently being used for storage, as it was filled with stacked-up crates. Reluctant to take the time to explore the ship further, she'd hidden in the tiny lav, hoping Sabin wouldn't venture there. She had remained there through takeoff and the long ensuing hours.

She was stiff and sore from being in such restricted quarters, although she'd tried to stretch as much as possible. Starving, too. She'd gone longer than this without food, she reminded herself. A lot longer. A worthless father's drinking addiction didn't leave much money for necessities.

She pushed the nightmarish memories away. Instead, she focused her thoughts on Risa, and on Celie, resorting to the mental diversion she'd used since childhood. When her father had been on one of his drunken rampages, Moriah would hide with Celie, and try to recall their mother's loving face, a memory fast fading with each passing season. "Don't think about what's happening now," she would tell Celie. "Think about good things, and nothing can hurt you." How wrong she had been. Yet the silly habit had remained with her all these seasons.

The increasing vibration and sudden sharp angling of the ship jolted Moriah back to the present. They were descending to land—finally! She grabbed the handle of the shower stall and wedged her feet against the opposite wall to keep from sliding around. Once she was on Star Base Intrepid, she'd be able to contact someone from the group. She steeled herself to remain patient as the ship connected to the pad with only a small jolt. Not a bad landing for such a decrepit craft.

At least Travers had a ship. The loss of her own spacecraft would have serious repercussions on the group operations. Moriah heaved herself to her feet, determination filling her. Nothing she could do about it now. She'd find another ship, even if she had to confiscate one.