Shielder — A new Science Fiction Romance (Book 1, Shielder Series) (8 page)

As expected, the file was encrypted, but
that didn't deter her. With Jarek's indulgent permission, she'd
spent seasons secretly exploring Liron's computer system and
accessing technical IAR files. Those files had taught her how to
program and more importantly, how to access any information in a
computer data bank.

For another hour, while she listened for the
hatch tone heralding Chase's return, Nessa painstakingly created a
program to decode the file. It might take days to fine-tune a
program that could eventually break the code on the PWL. It would
almost certainly take several trial-and-error adjustments. But she
had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she finally
closed the file, her decryption program hidden and running. Then
she searched the read-only files until she located full ship
schematics. They led her to the location of Chase's general
supplies.

General storage was located near the lab and
fortunately, not secured. Nessa searched through the shelves of
blankets, food particle refills for the replicator, and tools.
Weapons and money were kept under secured, coded locks at other
locations on the ship. She found her bag of supplies, along with
her knife.

She slipped the knife back into her boot and
hid her bag in her cabin. Pleased with her accomplishments, she
returned to the computer in the cockpit to browse IAR files until
Chase returned. He had initially barred her from the cockpit
without specific permission, but he'd rescinded the order when he'd
granted her access to read-only computer information. Nessa settled
in, anticipating an enjoyable interlude in IAR.

Some time later, she heard the hatch tone.
She quickly exited her file on various religious cult beliefs and
celebrations and left the cockpit.

Standing with his back to the hatch, Chase
pulled off his gloves, then his visor, exposing bleeding scrapes on
his face. Nessa was surprised to find him alone. She'd
automatically assumed the trip to Saron had been in pursuit of a
wanted felon. Scowling fiercely at her, Chase turned and headed
down the corridor, yanking off his utility belt.

"Captain," she gasped when she saw the
bleeding wound on his upper back, near his left shoulder blade.
"What happened?"

"My sources were wrong," he growled, not
breaking stride. This trip was a total waste!"

Nessa hurried after him. "What happened to
your shoulder?"

He jerked to a halt and threw the helmet
against the wall. "A damn Jaccian decided he wanted my weapons and
any miterons I might be carrying."

"Too bad he didn't want your head as well,"
Long sneered.

His jaw clenched tightly, Chase opened the
weapon vault and tossed the gun and stunner inside. Appalled at the
blood oozing from his upper back, Nessa stepped closer.

"Captain, your shoulder—"

"I'll tend to it!" he snapped, pounding the
vault pad. "Just leave me alone!"

"Let him bleed to death," Long advised.

Chase leveled a glare hotter than a nuclear
explosion at the prisoner. "Shut up, Long, or I'll put you under
for the remainder of the trip."

He strode to his cabin and opened the
panel.

"Captain!" Nessa protested, alarmed he
wasn't headed to the lab. "Your shoulder is bleeding heavily."

Chase stood ramrod stiff, his entire body
radiating tension. "So?" he ground out, not turning.

"You can't let it go. Surely you have
supplies in your lab for treating wounds?" she persisted, concern
overriding the desire to avoid his anger.

He turned his head and looked at her, his
expression cold. "You let me worry about that."

Not at all squeamish, Nessa had treated
Jarek's injuries more than once. "It will be hard for you to tend
your back. I—I can help you."

Some of the tension eased from his
shoulders. "Can you now?"

"I can try." She hesitated, wondering why in
the universe she was offering to help a shadower.

He sighed, swaying slightly. She realized
the wound must have weakened him more than he would admit. Her
conscience kicked in, reminding her of all he had done for her.

"You've assisted me so much, Captain. Please
let me help in return."

"All right." Reluctantly, he turned toward
the lab. "Let's get this over with."

In the lab, Nessa watched him gather
equipment on a motorized cart, moving efficiently despite his wound
and the loss of blood.

Chase pointed to an inset wall receptacle.
"Place your hands in that. When the beam cuts off, they'll be
sterile."

He steered the cart to the exam table, then
opened the seam of his flight suit. "Have you ever used an infrared
sterilizer?" He peeled his top off, detaching it from his pants and
tossing it into the corner.

She stared at his bare chest, at the swells
of muscle tapering down to a firm waist. "N-no."

He turned around and reached up, activating
the switch on a metal box about the size of a holoviewer. In spite
of the nasty wound, the sight of his broad shoulders and the
powerful rippling across his back when he moved sent a funny
sensation churning through her.

A metal arm lowered the unit above the exam
table. Chase levered himself onto the table and lay face down. "Put
on the medical gloves—they're on the cart. Then get one of the
sterile cloths and the silver container off it," he instructed.
"Pour some of the compound on the cloth and clean the blood away
from the wound."

Nessa approached him. Even prone, his large
body dominated the table. She marveled at how golden his skin was,
how smooth, stretching over the solid wall of his back. Taut
buttocks curved down to powerful thighs. The sudden temptation to
touch his rear, to see if it was as firm as it looked, shocked her.
Spirit, what was wrong with her?

Swallowing hard, she forced her attention
back to the gaping wound. She followed Chase's instructions,
carefully loosening the dried blood and blotting it away, along
with the fresh blood oozing from the laceration. It looked like a
laser wound to her, although she'd only seen a few. It must have
hurt, but Chase never flinched.

Calmly, he guided her through the procedure.
She lowered the infrared sterilizer just above the wound and
adjusted the settings. When the sterilizer beeped off, she deadened
the skin with a spray from the cart. Then she placed a suture unit
over the injury, listening to its odd hum as it sealed the edges of
the wound together. All this advanced technology amazed and
fascinated her.

Finally, she bandaged the wound, placing a
self-adhesive fabric over it. Chase's skin felt incredibly warm and
smooth, even through the gloves. She'd never touched anyone like
this before. The fluttery feeling in her abdomen returned, and of
their own accord, her fingers lingered over the swell of his
shoulder. His scent wafted up to her sensitive nose, musk and male
and blood, oddly stimulating. She inhaled deeply.

Was this what the desire to mate felt like?
The inexplicable rush of emotions; this sensitivity to another
person—how they looked, how they felt, their scent? She'd read
about mating, of course, had seen Shielders embracing and kissing,
up among the rocks near her primitive hut on Liron.

Nessa had often longed for a normal life
like the other colonists enjoyed. She knew her yearnings were
foolish and futile, but still, she'd wondered what it would be like
to have a lifemate, to enter into the mating act, to bear
children.…Pain slashed through her, and she unintentionally dug her
fingers into Chase's shoulder.

"Damn!" Flinching for the first time, he
turned his head and squinted up at her. "What are you doing? Is
that bandage on yet?"

She stepped back, her heart skittering into
an irregular beat. "Yes. I think it's done."

He swung himself up and shifted his legs
over the edge. "Are you all right? You're flushed."

Her hand flew to her heated face. "I—I'm
fine. But we need to tend to those scratches on your face."

"I can do that."

She suddenly, desperately, wanted to touch
him again. "No, let me. Do I use the compound in the silver
flask?"

Grudgingly, he nodded, and she took another
cloth and the flask from the cart. She found his face as
fascinating as his body. The high, pronounced cheekbones, the two
furrowed lines between his brows, the gold specks in his eyes, the
full curve of his lips. She committed every detail to memory.

He jerked slightly as she cleaned the cuts,
and she drew back, concerned. "Does it hurt?"

"Only when I fly too low."

"What?"

He grinned and her heart danced again.
"That's an old joke, Nessa. Haven't you ever heard it?"

She shook her head and returned her
attention to the cuts. The heat Chase generated wrapped around her,
along with his scent. He remained as silent as she, and by the time
she finished, every nerve in her body stood on edge, and her skin
tingled with odd sensations. She stepped back, at a loss for
words.

He slid off the table and took the cloth
from her hands. As always, his massive presence dwarfed her. "Thank
you. I'll clean up. Throw your gloves in the incinerator over
there. You might want to sterilize your hands again."

She complied, watching him covertly while he
put everything away. Was this breathless sensation she experienced
at the sight of his bare skin and beautifully delineated muscles
another aspect of the mating fever? Not that it made any
difference, she told herself.

She had accepted long ago that she would
never have a lifemate. Who would want a cripple who suffered from
unexplainable and frightening seizures? Even without her defects,
she'd still be undesirable. Too thin, too plain.

Best to keep her focus on her mission, to
remember time was running out. Nessa shuddered, assailed by
thoughts of what would happen if she failed. No, she refused to
think about that now.

Instead, she headed toward the cockpit where
she could lose herself in IAR and the knowledge it offered; could
read about far-off places, exotic animals, and myths of hidden
treasures.

Where she could pretend—if only for a little
while—that she was normal. And maybe just a little bit pretty…and
desirable.

Nessa's fingers flew over the keyboard. She
paused to study the screen, her expression rapt as she scanned the
data presented there. Distracted from plotting position coordinates
to transmit to Sabin, Chase leaned back to watch her. Oblivious to
his scrutiny, she soaked up the knowledge on the screen like a
wilted corona plant absorbing water, her dark eyes shining with the
wonder of discovery.

Without her usual mask of distrust, she
looked almost pretty. Her face still held the gauntness of
hardship, but her skin glowed with golden tones, and her tousled
mahogany hair had some body and sheen to it. Obviously, she made
use of the cleansing stall in her cabin's lav.

She leaned forward eagerly as the image on
the screen changed. Regret swept through Chase. Once he'd been just
as hungry for knowledge, eager to learn anything and everything.
He'd been innocent and trusting and zealous in his desire to help
others.

Once.

Now he knew better. Bitter hatred and self
accusation disintegrated the regret. He had learned the hard
way—trust no one. And he'd been a fool to think he could ever be
competent in his chosen profession. How many lives had been lost
because of that self-centered delusion?

He gripped the console, a flood of memories
churning through him. Anger and disgust burned in his gut. Dragging
in a deep breath, he forced the memories away, for now. He could
never banish them entirely. He turned his concentration back to the
orbit coordinates and relayed them to Sabin.

Fortunately, his partner had been willing to
change the meeting location. When Chase had received word that
Dansan had been seen on Calt, he'd immediately contacted Sabin,
asking that they rendezvous near Calt instead of Intrepid.

The coordinates sent, Chase tried to focus
on other matters, but his attention kept returning to Nessa. Her
fixation on the screen hadn't wavered. Giving up all pretenses, he
leaned back in his seat. "What has you so fascinated?"

She started, glancing at him guiltily. He
knew she wasn't in any unauthorized section of the computer; she
couldn't gain access to anything but general information without a
security code. Only a person with considerable expertise would be
able to locate the PWL file in this system, much less decode it.
Her guilty reactions must be the result of a lifetime of
conditioning.

She glanced back at the screen, her face
lighting up. "The planet Vilana. Is it true it rotates so fast that
it has three sunrises and three moonrises every standard ship
cycle?"

She presented an odd blend of suspicious
distrust and childlike simplicity. Chase felt certain her life up
to now had been harsh, yet she radiated innocence. He'd bet a
thousand miterons she'd had minimal experience with men.

She acted skittish around him, yet at the
same time, he sensed her growing awareness of him as a man. He
recognized the subtle reactions; the way her eyes flared when he
got close, the delicate flush of her skin, the tautening of her
breasts beneath her tunic.

Her budding sensuality had a startling
effect on him. Even now, as she looked back at him, he hardened.
Blazing hells. There was nothing overtly sexual about her; she
certainly wasn't one of the sophisticated, experienced women he
preferred. He willed back the ironclad control he normally
exercised over his body. It had just been too long since he'd been
with a woman.

Still, he couldn't resist moving to Nessa's
side, squatting down to eye level. Her eyes widened at this
invasion into her personal space. "It's true. Vilana has three
sunrises and moonrises every single ship cycle. Too bad the weather
is so foul and changeable. The heat scorches the land by day, while
the nights are bitter cold. Three times a day. Hot, cold, hot,
cold, hot…."