Shielder — A new Science Fiction Romance (Book 1, Shielder Series) (15 page)

"What do you want?"

Clutching at the fabric of her tattered
robe, she drew a deep breath and asked Spirit for a mighty dose of
bravery.

"I want you to honor your word to take me to
Star Base Intrepid. I want to go there immediately."

* * * *

Nessa stood stiffly before him, glimpses of
pale flesh peeking through her torn tunic. She wanted to get to
Intrepid as quickly as possible, and probably not just for that
damned eclipse, either. She'd made it quite clear she wanted
nothing further to do with him. Not that he blamed her. Yet even as
he stared at her, his focus shifting to her sensuous mouth, his
body stirred.

He should be concentrating on guessing
Dansan's next move, but he couldn't stop thinking about the velvety
smoothness of Nessa's skin. Of her cries of passion, her incredible
tightness around him as he'd taken her innocence.

Knowing he'd been the first man to touch her
so intimately affected him profoundly. The urge to possess her
pulsed through him like a primitive litany, accompanied by an
equally strong urge to protect her. He must put an end to these
dangerous feelings—and quickly.

At the next possible opportunity, he'd get
Nessa to a star base and out of his life. He'd been foolish to give
in to temptation and head for Elysia. Marak had been among those
who murdered his people, true, but he was merely one of Dansan's
lieutenants, acting on her orders.

Besides, Marak was an idiot, leaving trails
as clear as a nebula. Chase would easily get him sooner or later.
But since he'd come this far toward Elysia, he'd go on and capture
Marak.

Then he'd take Nessa to Intrepid. The sooner
the better. She created a definite distraction from his goal.

Revenge. It was all Chase had left, his
entire purpose for existing.

"Captain, did you hear me?"

He met her gaze. "I don't like ultimatums. I
make the decisions on this ship and I give the orders. I have some
business to take care of on Elysia."

Her hands clenched into fists at her side.
"Keeping your word should also be your business, Captain."

He checked his rising temper. Nessa could
rouse his emotions with alarming swiftness. "You seem to forget
that I'm a shadower. It's not my word that's important; it's my
ability to track and capture criminals. The survival of the fittest
is all that counts. Not some misplaced code of honor. But my word
is good. You'll get to Intrepid—when I decide to go there. Argue
with me again, and you'll finish the journey inside the brig."

He didn't like threatening her, but fear
helped foster distance between them. He needed some way to keep her
in line, for she exhibited a surprising determination and
tenacity.

She paled, as she always did when he
mentioned shadowers or talked about the brig. Her slight body
trembled, and he wondered again at her fear of shadowers and being
locked up. Silently she retreated to the relative safety of her
cabin.

Chase turned back to the computer, feeling
strangely alone.

* * * *

Nessa released her safety harness and slowly
left the cockpit. Already beside the hatch, Chase checked his
weapons. She watched the now-familiar routine, noted the remote
expression blanketing his face as he mentally readied himself for
the challenge ahead.

Why?
she wanted to ask.
Why do you
do this? How could you hunt living beings and turn them in for
money?
Suddenly it mattered very much that Chase was a
shadower, and not just because of the threat he posed. Shadowers
were the scourge of the universe, the lowest of the low. She knew
Chase to be more worthy than that. But Controller indoctrination
destroyed free will—and the choice between right and wrong.

Chase strapped on weapons and slipped on a
backpack containing a portable body wheeler. The enormity of his
chosen occupation swept through Nessa. She had lain with him,
allowed him to touch her with shocking intimacy. She had yielded
her body to a
shadower
. An odd trembling seized her and she
steadied herself against the wall. She had to elude him and find a
way to Santerra.

"Captain McKnight, about my earlier
suggestion—I could catch a transport here on Elysia."

He looked at her, his eyes impassive. "I've
already given my answer. The transports leaving Elysia are not safe
for a lone woman. We'll only be here a day. After that, we'll head
for Intrepid."

Day fifteen—time rapidly diminishing—and she
couldn't trust him. "But I read in IAR that Elysia is a big trading
center. Large numbers of people come here to buy and sell all kinds
of goods. Surely commercial transports are available."

Chase shook his head as he slid a gun into a
shoulder holster. "There's a lot you don't understand. Yes, many
wares are sold on Elysia. Whatever can be desired can be purchased
here. That’s why I can't allow you off the ship."

Nessa mulled over his odd words. "I don't
know what you're talking about. I don't plan to buy anything,
except transport to Zirak."

Opening the portal cover, Chase scanned the
outside landscape, like he always did. "Not just material goods
exchange hands here. Bodies, souls, human dignity. They all go to
the highest bidders. Greed and lust drive this marketplace."

He snapped the cover closed and turned back.
"Some claim Elysia is the most beautiful planet in the quadrant,"
he said, his voice edged with steel, "but its essence—its soul, if
you will—is blacker than that of Calt, or Alta, or any of the penal
colonies."

She shivered, although not from cold. He
must be referring to the slave trade openly practiced on Elysia.
Yet how could that, or anything, be starker than Calt, or offer
darker memories? Especially after losing Turi there. "I don't care
what kind of transport Elysia offers. I must get to Zirak, and
quickly."

His eyes narrowed. "Forget it, Nessa. I
won't allow you to board an Elysian transport. I don't even want
you walking around out there. And to make sure you don't leave the
ship while I'm gone, I've reprogrammed the hatch. Only my code will
activate it."

He swung open the hatch. "It's 1200 hours
now. I'll be back here by 1600 hours. We'll take off immediately."
With those final, terse words, he left, the hatch slamming behind
him.

Nessa waited several minutes. Then she tried
to open the hatch. Nothing. Anger swept through her and she kicked
the hatch, then winced and shook her throbbing foot. Damning Chase
McKnight to the fires of the Abyss, she limped back to the
cockpit.

In pure defiance, she sat in
his
seat
and used
his
keypad. Accessing the PWL file, she pulled up
her program…and froze.

She stared at the screen, her heart rate
accelerating. Her knowledge of encryption technology had paid off.
The password file had been decoded, obviously by this third
program, which she had started yesterday while Chase was
exercising. With the push of a key, all of his security codes
transmuted into legible alpha/numeric sequences, right before her
eyes.

Excitement raced through her. Nessa
considered all the possibilities these codes offered. She could
unlock Chase's vault and help herself to his miterons. Or open his
armory and take his weapons, even hijack his ship.

His ship…. The prospect whirled through her
mind.

With this ship, she could travel so swiftly
to Santerra, she'd be there within seven days. She fingered the
controls, imagining how it would feel to be in command of such an
incredible space vehicle. Then her conscience stepped in. She
couldn't do that to Chase, not after all he'd done for her. He had
no family that she knew of. He had nothing except, perhaps, this
ship. She couldn't steal it. Not when a public transport to
Santerra was all she needed.

She sighed. Well, she could at least open
the hatch now. She'd take one or two of Chase's weapons for
protection. No one would bother her if she pointed a wave-based
weapon at them. And Chase would never expect her to leave the ship,
so he wouldn't be looking for her.

She printed off the codes and began
accessing and scanning secured files. Now able to open Chase's
armory, she took a charged stunner and a pistol. She also found a
knife, similar to the knife she'd lost on Calt, which she slipped
into her boot. She left the vault containing his miterons alone,
not wanting to take more from him than she absolutely needed.
Retrieving her bag of food from her cabin, she decoded and opened
the hatch. With one last glance down the ship's corridor, she
stepped out… into a virtual paradise.

She stared in awe at the scene before her.
Green and lush, Elysia sprawled as far as she could see, an oasis
of the senses. Massive palm trees jutted up from the rolling
landscape, waving gently in the balmy breezes. The scents of exotic
flowers growing everywhere in profusion intermingled with the
delicious aromas of cooking food.

About four hundred meters away, the
marketplace began, neat rows of brightly colored tents. Teeming
masses of people packed the wide thoroughfares winding through the
tent rows. Nessa heard the babble of voices, although she couldn't
distinguish any words from this distance.

She moved toward the tents, attracted like
debris to a black hole. No one seemed to notice her. Her tattered
pilgrim's tunic wasn't out of place here, she realized, not in this
melting pot of beings and costumes. Looking for signs to the
transport base, she stepped into the melee.

Rows and rows of goods, a thousand times
more than she'd seen in Moriah's mercantile, lined the tents.
Merchants hawked their wares. Silks, weapons, food, clothing,
computers—yes, computers! Animals, sound makers, and musical
instruments, furniture, numerous items she couldn't even identify.
Wondrous things!

Even in her hurry, Nessa slowed to look at
the different merchandise. She'd never seen anything like this
marketplace and probably never would again. When she spotted
lanraxes for sale, she almost stumbled. These were babies, their
fur not yet long, but, oh, how they reminded her of Turi, with
their chattering and hissing. They scrabbled about in a case, and
the woman selling them wore gloves so they wouldn't smell her scent
and bond with her.

A lump rose in Nessa's throat and hot tears
stung her eyes. Stars! She'd cried more the past four days than she
had in ten seasons. Resolute, she shoved past the lanraxes, blindly
shaking her head at the vendor's urging to buy one.

Her spirits dampened, she hurried by the
rest of the vendors. Beyond the stall area were two gracefully
curved white domes, painted with colorful, exotic symbols. Nessa
realized they must be the Pleasure Domes. She had read about them
in the IAR, but she was just beginning to understand what they
offered.

Stunning men and women, dressed in sheer
layers of silk, gyrated in sensual dances along the walkways
leading to the domes. They beckoned to those passing by, trying to
lure them inside to enjoy every type of erotic, physical
pleasure—for a price, of course.

Unbidden images of Chase's body over hers
flashed through Nessa's mind. Pushing away the unwelcome thoughts,
she skirted the domes. Relieved, she finally cleared the main
market area, intending to stop someone and ask directions to the
nearest transport station. Then she saw the slave section of the
marketplace. She halted, riveted by the scene before her.

She had read about Slaver's Square in the
IAR, but she'd refused to dwell too long on the issue of slavery.
So many people in the quadrant suffered under the cruel and abusive
rule of the Controllers that the plight of slaves didn't seem any
harsher than most. But the actual sight of the slaves, naked and
bound by electronic shackles, brought home the horrifying reality
in a way the computer couldn't convey.

Age, nationality, and sex seemed to have no
bearing on who would be enslaved. Small children, elders bent with
age, white, black, orange, fur-covered beings, hairless beings; a
variety of hapless slaves lined up in their shackles. They could
only shuffle slowly; if they moved too far or too fast, the
shackles issued a severe shock.

The slave masters, dressed in glittering
gold robes and jewel-encrusted sandals, ringed the slaves,
threatening them with electrolyzer rods. An obese man with a neatly
trimmed beard stood on the dais, calling out to potential
buyers.

"Hear, hear, citizens! Come buy a slave! Buy
as many as you wish—we have plenty to choose from. No reasonable
offer will be refused. Why do your own fighting? Or harvesting? Or
upkeep of your dwelling or ship? Slaves are an economical way to do
all that tiresome labor for you. They don't need much food or much
space; they can sleep standing up. Our slaves are trained to see to
your needs—and I do mean your
every
need."

People milled around the square, physically
inspecting slaves like they were animals. Nauseated, Nessa forced
herself to look away from the morbid scenario. She tried to scurry
by with her head averted, but the sudden sensation of another
Shielder jerked her upright. Oh, no! Not Sabin. He couldn't be
here. He just couldn't be.

She didn't see Sabin behind her. Yet the
presence of another Shielder persisted, and she rotated full
circle, lowering her eyes against the appalling rows of naked
slaves, then scanning the moving crowds. Nothing, no one.
Reluctantly, she turned back toward the slaves, finding the energy
the strongest in that direction. But she found the sight of
squalid, broken-spirited humanity unbearable and quickly looked
away again.

Even if a Shielder stood among those slaves,
what could she do? She started the opposite direction. Still the
pull beckoned. Gritting her teeth, Nessa spun around and moved back
toward the square. Edging the crowd of potential buyers, she walked
parallel to the line of slaves, not looking directly at them, but
concentrating instead on the Shielder energy.