Shielder — A new Science Fiction Romance (Book 1, Shielder Series) (4 page)

Nessa refused to listen, refused to accept.
She had survived too long by convincing herself she was okay, or at
least functional. She didn't dare dwell on far-fetched hopes beyond
her reach. She shook her head. "I can get by. Just take me to the
nearest star base. Then you'll be rid of me."

He exhaled angrily and released her. "Fine.
Believe what you want."

He took her tunic from a nearby cabinet and
tossed it to her. "I sterilized this while you were
resting
,
as you choose to call it. Get dressed. Join me in the cockpit when
you're done. It's at the end of the corridor. We'll discuss the
rules of this ship. And believe me, there are plenty."

The panel whirred shut behind him. Nessa
slid from the table, avoiding the sight of her scarred leg. Still
trembling, she fumbled into her tunic, her cold hands clumsy. One
thought dominated her mind—her rescuer knew about her intolerable
flaws. He hadn't seemed particularly upset, but he might react
later when he had time to reconsider the facts.

Perhaps his mocking suggestion of a cure for
her seizures was his way of reacting, a cruel response to another's
unfortunate circumstances. He hadn't displayed any inclination to
help thus far; her plight appeared but an irritating inconvenience
to him.

He might decide not to help at all. He might
just turn her in at the nearest Controller prison. Fear churned in
Nessa's chest. She had to find a way to check his navigational
system and ensure he was really headed to the closest star base.
But there was no time now. He was waiting for her in the
cockpit.

Her attention turned to Turi, still
protesting in his container. She placed her palm against the cool
plexishield, noting the filtered air vents on the sides. Turi
flattened even more, trying to reach her through the barrier. She
hesitated to release him. It was probably safer for him to remain
in the case, especially if his containment averted further sneezing
episodes from their host.

"Sorry, Turi. I have to leave you here for
now. But I'll be back." Nessa glanced around the room. Gleaming,
antiseptic-white walls of cabinets filled two sides. The table
she'd vacated ran half the length of the third wall. Only it looked
more like a bed than a table, with one end slightly elevated. A
computer screen headed that end.

A counter skirted part of the fourth wall,
where Turi's case rested. An array of equipment lined the counter
and the inset in the backdrop. A huge instrument took up the rest
of the floor space beside the counter. The broad base angled upward
into a metal column almost as tall as Nessa, with a double eyepiece
centered in it. Upon closer inspection, she identified it as a
scanning electron microscope. She'd seen a picture of one while
browsing Liron's computer data files. They were used mainly in
medical research. This room must be a laboratory or sick bay.

"I don't remember giving you permission to
snoop. I'm waiting for you. Now." The arrogant voice booming over
the com jolted Nessa from her speculation. There was probably a
holoviewer as well as the intercom in the room. She hastily located
her boots.

When she tried to put on the first one, she
found her pouch of coins stuffed inside. She'd forgotten all about
the money. Relief rushed through her. At least her rescuer wasn't a
thief, whatever else he might be. She stuffed the pouch back into
her tunic pocket and pulled on her boots.

The panel opened automatically at her
approach. She stepped into a corridor illuminated by glowing light
strips running along both the top and bottom of the walls. Fresh,
temperate air issued from overhead vents.

She walked slowly along, craning her neck to
see every detail. An electronic hum alerted her to an alcove ahead
on her left. As she approached, she realized the alcove was
actually a recessed chamber. A man stood just inside, watching her.
Of medium height, with short blond hair and intense green eyes, he
wore an expensive-looking tunic over leggings.

"Well, what have we here?" he drawled,
looking her over. "You don't look like a wanted person to me."

Nessa gaped at him. She had assumed her
rescuer was traveling alone. "Who are you?"

"Nathan Long, at your service," he answered
with a graceful sweep of his hand and a small bow. He straightened,
his eyes calculating as they again swept her from head to toe. "I'd
be delighted to foster an acquaintance with such a lovely lady. If
you'd be so kind as to deactivate this force field, we could get to
know each other better. The deact pad is to your right."

Knowing full well no man would ever find her
attractive, Nessa ignored his charming smile. "You're a prisoner?"
She eyed his cubbyhole curiously. She'd never seen a ship's brig
before. A narrow bunk and wall-recessed hygiene facilities were all
it contained.

Nathan sighed dramatically. "I'd prefer to
think of it as temporary custody. What's your name? You look like
you might need some assistance yourself. If you'd release me, I
could—"

"You could rot in the Abyss," a deep voice
rang out.

Nessa whirled. Her rescuer strode toward
them, scowling. He halted mere millimeters away, forcing her to
tilt her head to look up at him. He glared at the prisoner. "As a
matter of fact, you will burn in agony, Long. I'll make certain of
it."

The prisoner shrugged indifferently. "I
doubt that, McKnight. You don't have anything on me. No proof. Just
your deranged hallucinations."

So her rescuer had a name. McKnight. Nessa
rolled it around in her mind. McKnight bared his teeth in a feral
grin. "Oh, yeah? Then why do you suppose the Controllers have a
galaxy-wide sanction out for your capture? One with a reward of
five thousand miterons attached?"

At the mention of the Controllers, a shiver
racked Nessa's body. Nathan wasn't unaffected either; apprehension
flitted across his face, but rapidly changed to arrogance. "Just a
little misunderstanding, McKnight. I'll be free very quickly.
You'll regret the day you crossed my path."

"I'll have no regrets when you suffer a
slow, painful death," McKnight growled. Grabbing Nessa's arm, he
pivoted and marched toward the end of the corridor, dragging her
with him, heedless of her stumbling gait.

"Getting pretty desperate, aren't you?"
Nathan sneered after them. "I didn't think females were your type.
She's pretty scrawny, but she doesn't look like a boy to me."

McKnight stiffened. He held his silence, but
sped their pace. Breathless, Nessa noted two more brig cubicles as
she bumped along behind him. A prison ship! This must be a
Controller prison ship. Which confirmed McKnight was one of their
designated agents.

He halted before the panel next to the
airlock, the same one he had demanded she enter when they boarded
the ship. "You still need to go through decontamination, along with
your possessions. All of them. Wait here." Whirling, he strode back
down the corridor, entering the area Nessa had just vacated.

Having never experienced decontamination,
she stared at the panel warily. A flashing light a few feet to the
right of the panel drew her attention to a computer screen inset in
the wall. The screen displayed a spacescape. Curious, she touched
the screen. Instantly the image rippled, replaced by a gallery of
holograms. Faces—rows of faces. Beneath each hologram were listed
physical characteristics of each person, their last-known location,
and the reward offered for their capture and delivery to the
Controller prison base on Alta. At the bottom of the screen, a map
depicted the entire quadrant, with flashing cursors on the
last-known locations.

The full implication of the data hit Nessa
just as the panel down the corridor slid open. Frozen with horror,
she stared at McKnight coming toward her, the heavy plexishield
case containing Turi resting easily on one arm.

The prisoner in the brig, the computer
information, McKnight's sense of urgency, all pointed to one thing.
He wasn't just a designated Controller agent. No, he was something
far worse.

This man was a shadower. A bounty
hunter.

And in this quadrant so cruelly ruled by the
Controllers, Shielders were those most frequently hunted.

Holding the lanrax against her chest, Nessa
rocked back and forth on the bench. She buried her face against the
creature's midnight blue fur as it chattered softly. Observing the
decontamination chamber from the cockpit viewer, Chase was oddly
reminded of a mother and child. Preposterous. The lanrax was an
animal, not an infant.

Yet as he watched the seemingly mutual
exchange of comfort, Nessa's frantic plea echoed in his mind.
You don't understand…he's all I have!
A vision of her eyes,
huge and dark in her pale face, flashed before him; eyes that had
briefly opened a doorway into a well of loneliness and pain.

He knew pain when he saw it. Knew it
intimately.

How it felt, more shattering than a laser
blast to the gut. How it tasted, the bitterness of despair and
impotence. How it smelled—most especially how it smelled; rancid
fear, charred and decaying flesh. How it looked, contorting
once-beautiful faces as death's merciless claws ripped the soul
from the body.

Chase leaped from his seat and pivoted away
from the images on the view screen—and in his mind. This ragtag
pilgrim was of no concern to him. The whole universe was filled
with unfortunates. He had no time for any of them.

Yet Nessa's mutilated leg, her seizures, her
obvious poverty, continued to haunt him. He'd been tempted to
jettison her tunic, a pitiful excuse for even a rag, along with her
boots, which were riddled with holes and too large for her feet.
She hadn't been filthy, but she hadn't been clean either. The
decontamination chamber would take care of that problem.

But it wouldn't eliminate the disruption to
his plans. Chase balled his hands into fists, nagged by misgivings
he had harbored when he first intercepted her distress signal.
Nessa hadn't given him any real cause for concern, but he made it a
point to be suspicious of everyone. Her ship had been stranded
right in his flight path. Coincidence? Or one of Dansan's attempts
to decoy him?

Not that he'd allow anything—or anyone—to
deter him. Nessa had no weapons, nor could she access his ship
operations. Instinct told him she posed no real threat. Even so,
he'd find out everything he could about her. He'd watch her every
move until he left her at Star Base Intrepid, four days away.

The beep of the subspace transceiver drew
his attention. He punched the com pad. "State your message."

"You were supposed to contact me at 1500
hours, McKnight. Sudden memory lapse, old man?"

Blazing hells. Taking care of Nessa, he'd
forgotten about Sabin, the one person who'd never let him slide. "A
small delay, Travers. I've got Nathan Long. Caught him stowed away
on a freighter headed for the Verante constellation."

"Well, son of an Antek. Long's been evading
capture for as long as I can remember. How'd you get a fix on
him?"

"Let's just say he double-crossed one of his
closest associates, who was only too willing to disclose Long's
location."

"I've got a lead on a max-level offender in
Alta's sector. A lot of reward miterons riding on this one. Since
I'll be traveling near the prison base, I can take Long and turn
him in," Sabin offered. "Where do you want to hook up?"

"I heard Dansan's been spotted on Saron. I'm
headed there now, but I'm two days out." Good thing Nessa was in
decon, Chase thought. She wouldn't appreciate the delay in their
flight schedule.

"You've had more false leads on Dansan than
Alta has moons. You never give up, do you?"

The ever-present pain and hatred spilled
from Chase's soul. No, he'd never give up. Although well aware of
his obsession with Dansan, Sabin had no inkling of Chase's real
reason for pursuit. Chase intended to keep it that way. His partner
might not buy the explanations, but he knew when to mind his own
business. "You know how it is, Travers. I could use the
miterons."

"Okay, where are you headed after
Saron?"

"Star Base Intrepid. I have to deliver
something."

"Intrepid. That would work. I can pick up
more supplies while I'm there,” Sabin said. “But it will have to be
fast, so I can get to Alta. Can't let some other shadower get my
quarry and collect all those miterons."

"Intrepid it is, then. I'll need a day on
Saron, so give me five days. Contact me before you enter the star
base orbit and I'll transmit my coordinates. Signing off." Chase
disconnected the signal, then returned to the decon viewer.

He studied Nessa critically. She'd told him
she was twenty-two seasons of age. She was little for an adult
female, and way too thin. With her narrow hips and small breasts,
she could even be mistaken for a boy, dressed in the right
clothing. How long since she'd had enough to eat? he wondered. The
scanty supply of food she'd brought with her wouldn't feed a child
for a week.

The strong pull to come to her aid irritated
him. He didn't have time to be concerned over the fate of one
bedraggled waif and her mangy lanrax. Not when the annihilation of
an entire clan cried out for revenge. With a disgusted grunt, Chase
turned off the viewer. The sooner he got rid of his passenger, the
better.

Just one quick stop first.

* * * *

"You are not permitted access to any part of
this ship, other than your quarters and the galley. You may enter
the cockpit only with my permission. You're forbidden to talk to
any prisoners I'm transporting."

Nessa nodded, unable to look away from
McKnight's eyes. They glinted like magnasteel, taking on the hue of
snowstorm clouds. No one except Jarek had made such direct eye
contact in ten seasons, and she found it unnerving.