Shadower (6 page)

She was quite skilled at breaking into security systems, thanks to her father—another line of thought she didn't care to follow. She stretched her cramped muscles and waited. Sudden voices came from nearby. She froze by the lav panel, listening intently.

"All these crates in here go, too," Travers said, just on the other side of the panel.

She heard shuffling noises, and assumed the crates were being lifted. She waited, while the voices and footsteps returned several times. Finally, silence prevailed. Moriah waited a while longer and then emerged cautiously. The cabin was empty, but she didn't know if Travers had left the ship. Surely he would take advantage of being on a major star base to restock supplies and avail himself of the entertainments offered there.

She opened the cabin panel enough to peer down the corridor. Seeing no one, she slipped to the airlock, then cracked the portal cover and looked out. Sabin stood a few meters away, talking to a group of people. He faced away from her, but she knew it could only be him.

The arrogant way he braced his legs apart, his weapon-laden belt riding low on his lean hips, the broad expanse of back, his midnight hair tied with a leather thong—he stood out like a towering Yarton tree on a desolate plain. The people around him looked out of place for being on a sophisticated star base. Moriah's inner alarm went on alert.

She studied the ragtag group, noticing the leather bracelets worn by several of them. Where had she seen bracelets like that before? Recognition nagged the edges of her memory, until the answer came to her in a startling jolt.
Shielders!

The persecuted race was known to wear custom-tooled leather bracelets, tracing their ancestry. Moriah had seen such bracelets on Shielder children being sold as slaves. But they didn't usually wear items so blatantly declaring their race outside the safety of their settlements. They'd never wear the bracelets on a star base, where they would be identified and arrested. Then this group of people couldn't possibly be Shielders, unless…

She shifted her attention to the outside terrain. Instead of being inside one of the well-engineered landing bays found on Star Base Intrepid, the ship sat on a dirt pad, obviously outdoors. Bare mountains rose in the distance, no trees or greenery to soften their starkness. Star Base Intrepid boasted no such mountains.

Where were they? She strode to the cockpit to learn their coordinates. Travers' computer system was as archaic as the rest of the ship, and she readily accessed his navigational pod. But the displayed coordinates, placing their location in a little traveled sector of the quadrant, were unfamiliar to her. The screen didn't even list a name for the planet they were on.

This must be a Shielder settlement. Apprehension clawed at her. Damn Sabin Travers to the Fires. Not only was she not on a star base, but she was in the hostile territory of a race known for their barbaric lifestyle and warlike fierceness. Not that she blamed them.

The Controllers had been trying to wipe out the Shielders for decades, and had managed to drive them to the far reaches of the quadrant. But the Shielders persisted in surviving, living on barren moons and planets no one else would inhabit. They even fought back with surprising tenacity—attacking Controller ships and bases and then escaping into the vast expanses of the quadrant.

Moriah had no quarrel with Shielders, but she certainly didn't want to be at their mercy. The Controllers paid very well for information leading them to Shielder bases, and many beings were only too glad to provide such information for gold. Her knowledge of this Shielder colony's existence could well mean her death.

She had to hide in the lav again and hope that Travers took them out of there soon. Quickly, she made her way back to the cabin. Just as she reached the panel, two strong hands grabbed her and spun her around. Heart pounding, she looked up at Sabin.

He stared back in disbelief. "What in the Abyss are
you
doing here?"

"I—I—" she stammered, willing her muddled thoughts to clear.

His eyes narrowed, fury replacing disbelief. He took a step closer, crowding her against the panel, intimidating her with his sheer presence. "Answer me!"

She could feel the heat from his body, feel the waves of anger radiating from him. Panicked memories sent her thoughts swirling like dust devils.
Think, Moriah!

"I never got off your ship before you left. I must have wandered into this cabin, delirious from the Jaccian poison."

He pressed his hands against the panel, on each side of her head. "Cut the lies, Moriah, or is that Mara? I know you went back to Giza's after I treated your wound."

He was too close, too threatening. Moriah battled feelings of being trapped and smothered. If she showed any weakness, she would be powerless. She forced herself to concentrate on what Sabin had just said. Since he knew her name, he must have her identification disc. He also knew she'd gone back to Giza's. Damn.

"I must have gotten lost in the dark on Calt and boarded your ship by accident."

"Yeah, right. And you've been inside this cabin the entire trip?"

"Sleeping off the effects of the poison," she offered lamely.

He snorted, obviously not falling for that. "Where have you been while I was planetside?"

"I had just come out of the cabin when I saw you and tried to duck back in."

"Likely story." He grabbed her arm and dragged her back down the corridor, stopping to look out the hatch. Scowling, he dragged her into the cockpit. His eagle gaze settled on the navigational screen. Moriah realized that she'd stupidly neglected to clear it. There, the incriminating evidence of their coordinates glared back at them. He raised narrowed eyes to her. "You're a liar. I'm tempted to dump you out and leave you here."

"You can't do that! They'll kill—" She froze, realizing she was only incriminating herself further. What was wrong with her? Normally, she was quick on her feet. Lack of food must be dulling her wits.

The murderous expression on Sabin’s' face sent another realization careening through her. One she should have fathomed earlier.
He was a Shielder.
That was the only way he could possibly know about this colony, the only way the inhabitants would have welcomed him.

The Controllers had declared every Shielder a criminal, an enemy of the government. It was every citizen's duty to turn in any member of the race, a duty bearing a financial reward. Shadowers made the majority of their bounties hunting down Shielders. If Sabin was a Shielder, every time he ventured out into the quadrant, he risked discovery and certain death. There was no way he could allow her to live, given what she had learned.

"So you know, then," he said softly, the quiet surety in his voice just as terrifying as if he had shouted. "You know exactly what type of colony this is, and you also know the coordinates."

He would kill her now. Adrenaline surged. Moriah looked around the cockpit, hoping to find something—anything—she could use for a weapon. She spotted the gun hooked to his utility belt. Desperation spurring her to attack, she lunged toward him.

She intended to hit him in the gut with her shoulder and then confiscate his gun. But he sidestepped with surprising agility, forcing her to swerve around the console. Before she could regain her balance, he spun her toward him. Grabbing her shoulders, he jerked her forward. She hooked a leg behind his, shoving against his chest as she forced his legs toward her.

Caught off balance, his own momentum working against him, he toppled down. But he kept a tight grip on her, taking her with him. Her plan to knee him in the groin as she went down was thwarted as he rolled when they hit, pinning her beneath him. Pain shot through her shoulder, reminding her it had not yet healed.

"Get off me!" She demanded, slugged him with her good fist.

He grabbed her arm and pressed it to the floor. "I don't think you're in any position to bargain, lady."

He might be right, but Moriah had long ago learned not to show any vulnerability. "I can help you more than you might think," she replied, trying to come up with something—anything.

"Oh, yeah?" His gaze raked contemptuously over her breasts. "Seems to me I can find that lots of places."

His fury was still evident, as was the blatant reminder he was just like any other man. His weight pressing on her made it hard to breathe, much less think clearly. Desperate, she made an offer she wouldn't make under normal circumstances—at least not before payment.

"You can't find supplies being delivered to a place like this with no questions asked. I'd be willing to do that."

"And just what type of place is this?"

She hedged her answer. "Apparently a someplace no one else knows about."

He grunted, bringing her arms to rest on the floor above her head. Shifting both her wrists to one hand, he reached down and unsnapped a pair of electronic shackles from his belt. Panic resurged. She heaved against him, trying to throw him off.

"Be still!" he ordered, straddling her with his legs. This brought him fully pressed against her, and she felt suffocated by his weight and heat. She battled his attempts to get the shackles on her wrists, without success. He didn't hurt her, but his sheer strength dominated her resistance. He snapped the shackles on her. Then he grabbed her arms and rose, lifting her with him.

Spinning her around, he tore away her cloak and pushed her against the console. "Spread them," he ordered.

Old fears pressed in on her, sharp and jagged. Staggering pain, a paralyzing reminder of the strength men could wield over women. Blindly, Moriah shook her head. "No."

His grip tightened. Pain speared through her left shoulder, and she winced. He must have noticed, because his hold loosened. "I said spread 'em."

"Why? I have no weapons. You have my belt and gun."

"Afraid I can't take your word on that. I didn't search you when I brought you on board my ship. But then, I didn't know what kind of woman you were."

His insulting tone sent heat rushing to her cheeks. "What kind of woman is that?"

"One who lies about her identity, for starters. Put your hands on the console and spread your legs.

Now
."

She had no choice but to go along until she had an opening to catch him off guard. Trying to stop her shaking, Moriah placed her palms on the console, the shackle links clinking. She noticed Sabin hadn't activated the shock mechanism, which surprised her. She had no idea why he didn't just kill her. Was he planning to torture her—or worse—before he did?

"What are you going to do with me?"

"I'll have to think about it—after I check you for weapons." He fumbled around behind her for a moment, and she heard several clicks. "Damn piece of junk," he muttered, and there was a clatter as he apparently threw something down. He paused another moment, then his hands slid slowly over her arms, causing her to start.

He meant to search her
by hand.
"There are scanners for detecting weapons," she bit out.

"Yeah, well, mine seems to have malfunctioned, like everything else on this piece-of-shit freighter."

He continued the downward slide of his hands. The warmth of his touch penetrated the fabric of her suit, only intensifying the chill Moriah felt inside. Her arms trembled, much to her chagrin. He paused a moment, his fingers circling her wrists, brushing over the magnasteel bracelet she wore. She tensed, praying he wouldn't examine it too closely.

When he moved back up her arms, she almost sagged with relief. But then his hands slipped beneath her arms, and his fingers flattened over her chest. They came in contact with bare skin on the left side, where her torn flightsuit sagged alarmingly low. Images of a leering face, of hands groping against her, tearing her clothing, hammered at her. Tension ricocheted through her body. She struggled to shake away the memories.

"Your heart is pounding," he said. "It's good to know I haven't lost my touch."

Anger at being in this man's power flared, overriding her apprehension. What she wouldn't give to have a fully charged stunner in her hand right now. "Arrogant bastard," she hissed. "Just finish this."

"We still need to work on those manners." He slid his hands over her ribs, brushing the side of her breasts, then across the front of her midriff and abdomen. He seemed nonchalant about the excruciating intimacy.

She forced herself to stand completely still, as he moved from there to run his hands slowly down the outside of her legs. He stopped long enough to raise each leg and remove her boots and then he continued slowly up the inside of her legs. He took his time, applying firm pressure, forcing her to tense her muscles to keep her balance. By the time he stopped within a millimeter of the juncture of her legs, it took all her self-control to remain still. She gritted her teeth, refusing to give him any further pleasure from her humiliation.

He was just as thorough on her backside. If she had a stunner, she'd set the charge on low and raise it gradually, she decided. She'd kill him very slowly.

A sense of victory raced through her when he stepped back, seemingly satisfied. Her bracelet had not caught his attention, so he hadn't realized she actually did have a weapon—lethean patches. The tiny patches, which contained a powerful sedative, were affixed on her bracelet. They looked like tiny decorative medallions, rather than four highly effective ways to incapacitate an opponent long enough to get away. All she needed was an opportunity to use them.

She shook the hair from her face. "I told you I didn't have any weapons."

"And I'm supposed to believe everything you tell me." Taking her arm, Sabin maneuvered her to a chair. "Sit." He pushed her down. Then he leaned against the console, crossing his feet at the ankles. "What am I going to do with you?"

Killing her would be the logical choice, she knew. Then Celie would have no one. Panic edging her desperation, she quickly suggested, "Take me to the nearest star base. I've already forgotten this place."

He shook his head. "No can do. I can't trust you as far as Astra's orbit around Vilana."