StarSet (The Warrior Prince's Claim - BBW Science Fiction Romance) (2 page)

Sighing, the Teleran settled back in his chair, looking her square in the eye when the door burst open behind her.

“Please accept our
humblest
apologies, Prince Tarik. Officer Kane wasn't made aware of your identity.”

Mena.

Captain Von's boot-licking assistant.

Great.

Prince Tarik looked from Mena to Shala and rose, clearing his throat before turning his eyes to Shala again.

“To answer your last question, yes.”

Shala flushed despite herself. Gracious of him, considering his standing. She'd no idea he was the son of the Warrior King Therin. His father was a frigging idol
of legend
. Even Shala had read about him in the galactic news. She wasn't the type to get starstruck, but shit. She'd not expected to get this close to Teleran royalty. They had their own level on the ship, and it was heavily guarded.

The only time they were typically seen was in worst case war-scenarios.

“Timini.”

It meant thank you. Using his tongue to convey her gratitude was Shala's way of letting him know she'd meant no disrespect, that she actually hadn't known who he was. Maybe that was in itself a careless thing. But his own name hadn't risen to the heights of his father's just yet.

Even still he would be King one day.

“Amsem,” he replied, sweeping past her then without a look back.

It was probably the last time she'd lay eyes to him before the ship landed planetside on the newish orb they'd soon call their home while their planet healed from the ginormous flood that had made it completely uninhabitable for any but the fish.

Mena gave her the
look
before she turned to go, following behind the prince with the flurried air of damage control she was charged to oversee. Shala was sure she'd be hearing from the Captain soon, even though she'd had no true idea who Tarik Kraeg was before the twit blew into the debriefing unit.

Eh, par for the course.

Rather than think too hard on it, she'd prefer to go get that drink now.

4

Shala's eyes swept down the dipping, teal-carpeted ramps of the promenade. It was filled with the usual characters, half-Kalion's like herself, Norens, one-eyed Fegs, and the occasional Teleran. It had been awhile since she'd come there, but its giant screens offering a view into the depths of the Holo sea were certainly a comfort when she did.

Jake had already sent an alert that he wouldn't be coming; truthfully she'd kind of expected it. She needed the break herself, and he probably had his own way of defragging from horrific experiences. This way was hers, in cases like tonight.

Shala Kane made every drop of sweat she offered Telera one worth the effort, so when she came here, she did it without guilt. Promenade visits came along when she needed desperately to relax. It was practically a ritual for her now whenever there was an attack, termination, or death to be wrangled with.

When the latter involved a staffer, or an innocent, she'd typically spend a number of days there. Not so much for the drinks, though the bubbling, yellow Keska was unparalleled in flavor and effect, but more for the sense of inclusion into the common experience it afforded her.

Truth was, Shala was distanced from the people she crossed paths with more than she liked. Coming up, she'd been very active in the community, but the volunteer positions she'd taken were the sort that didn't require commoners to draw up a measure of fear for her.

As an officer, there was a certain respect she was charged to instill, and that meant sometimes disrupting small, harmless gatherings that went against the rules of any given ship, so the people never strayed too far from the lines that were drawn for them.

In the case of Telera one, she wasn't only an officer, she was an outsider.

There was a part of her that wanted to remedy that in some small way if that was possible. Teleran culture wasn't her favorite culture, not that she'd been immersed in it to know every one of its nuances, but people were people. It would be nice to get to know some of the people on a person-to-person level. The promenade, it seemed, was the only place on board for that sort of thing.
When Telerans wandered in there, their minds were on drink, and the problems or celebrations that drove them there. A little harmless chit-chat, even with an officer, didn't seem so bad two or three drinks in.

Shala didn't do it to gather information as some officers did; she was more sincere than that. And today, she wouldn't have wanted to even discuss the AI... or whatever it was that was felled on the 8th Level with anyone. She wanted the whole matter out of her mind until everything was verified, and it was time to get back to work on her reporting of the incident.

Thinking on it would only dredge up the wrong sorts of feelings and put her on a possibly risky, preemptive guard against what
could
be more attacks. It seemed inevitable that the acquisitioners had sent their... agent aboard. Unless... Unless, the target was the prince all along.

It certainly made sense.

Stop it, Shala.

Right.

She was here to drink and be merry. She intended to do just that.

Settling back in the sliding chair siding the visi-panels, she stared into the inky space of the holographic sea, starting a little when her thoughts turned to the prince, the intensity of his eyes, and the strong cut of his musculature.

They were inappropriate thoughts to be sure, but gods he was marvelous, wasn't he? And not nearly as rude as one might assume he would be for a Teleran. Even given the green light to

leave her interview, he'd offered her what she'd wanted. It wasn't enough for a robust report, but she'd be able to enter each section of the data into the main drive, now.

Drawing a sip of her bubbling Keska, she smiled to herself. It was silly to be daydreaming about how hot an alien prince was when he probably saw her as little more than a nuisance. It wouldn't ever work with a Teleran, anyways. Too many rules and customs for Shala's taste.

She'd never been a strict traditionalist. Never wanted to be.

Eyes roaming the promenade for a distraction from the wrong sorts of thoughts, Shala inhaled the remaining slosh of her drink. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten good and drunk, lost control, and awoke with a roaring hangover fitting an allied officer.

She deserved that, didn't she?

Even needed it, maybe.

Sighing, Shala soon tired of the usuals on the promenade. None of the liver characters were here tonight. Maybe news of the attack had reached them, and they'd decided to duck their heads in case there was trouble. One acquisitioner attack typically always signaled more. As adaptive as they were, some of their... traits remained predictable.

The only reason Shala wasn't obsessing over the potential dangers to come was because she knew better. Recoiling in fear or becoming hyper-defensive would throw off her advantage when the red-eyed bastards did actually return. It wouldn't pay to attempt a prediction as to what they had in mind.

They were scavengers. Anything on the ship could be the target of their aims. As far as she was concerned, they'd find out when they found out.

What
did
concern her was the dead thing that might possibly be a remade-woman. That she'd keep beats on. It would sting a little too close to home if Tana came back with an affirmative report. Shala had a cousin out there that most of the family had written off as kidnapped and done for. But Shala hadn't written her off at all. She still held tight to the sliver of hope that she'd find her roaming the various sectors, and if the acquisitioners had her, free her. No matter the amount of corrupted blood she might have to spill in the process.

Her jaw clenched, but she bat the thoughts away as soon as they came.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Blinking up, Shala beamed when her eyes set on Heren, and she perked up instantly.

Her old partner in crime. Of a sort. In university, he and the other members of their guerrilla activism group had done their fair share setting the lab animals free, in the most assholish ways possible.

Stars, she missed that.

Heren was a deck guard now, usually assigned to the more common portions of the various allied, city ships. She hadn't noticed him on Telera one's roster, though. Stars, how long had it been? What, a year or two after university the last time they saw one another?

“Heren, buddy! Flippin' good to see you. How've you been?”

His dusty, violet brows rising with a resigned sense of defeat, Heren shrugged, familiar, neon-green eyes setting on her.

“The common areas of this ship aren't anything to brag about, but it's work.”
Offering him an understanding nod, Shala tried to keep sympathy from rising to her face. Zerens were a prideful bunch, if nothing else, and she had no desire to ruin his night. It was bad enough he got the shit jobs because of his luminous eyes and coiling horns. He might have a professor-grade mind, but the allied forces were still a little antiquated where ship placement was concerned. If you looked scary enough to keep an alien race that needed coaxing in line, you'd be assigned to that job, and that job alone.

“I'll be glad when we're planetside, myself. Then, I'm going on vacation.”

Heren nodded and grinned, his attention flickering to the bar menu where he pressed the blinking, red "specials" light.

“Good choice.”

Shala wriggled a brow.

She might order that hersel-

“Zietz!” The lounge Blip announced with a high-pitched shriek, slamming Heren's drink down in front of him.

Shala jumped despite herself, forgetting how loud Blips tended to be. Exchanging a glance with Heren, she stifled a laugh with him. The beaming, pink eyes of the Blip darted between the pair, and tittering, it headed off with its turquoise, shell tray lifted high, its jagged, shards of greenish hair bouncing with each step.

“Raucous, little fur balls.”

“That they are.”

Shala glanced down at the promenade menu, ignoring the better mind in her that told her to forgo another drink and head off to bed. She'd need her mind tomorrow, but her spirit needed a serious defrag. Though it was unlikely the acquisitioners would strike again within the next day or two, it just never paid to be unprepared when another strike was sure. Especially without knowing what they were after and how they planned to acquire it next.

The girl-thing had been a scout, Shala was convinced, but if she'd had an opportunity to recover something, it was sure her directive was to do just that. Feeling Heren's eyes on her, she decided to have just one more drink - for old times. She hadn't seen him in a good stretch, and it would probably be awhile before she did again. Nipping her lip, her finger hovered over the menu.

“Next one's on me,” Heren insisted, and brushing her finger aside, the Zeren pressed the neon, yellow button with a wink. “You'll thank me in the morning.”

Shala crooked a brow.

“Will I now?”

“It's smoother," he said with a helpful shrug. "And you've got your hands full.”

Slow swallowing, Shala looked away. Please, not this conversation. Not now. She'd come here to clear her head. Had finally gotten herself to stop running over the details of the attack.

“Sorry. You probably came her to wind down.

Shala shrugged, looking to him from the corner of her eye.

“Is there much talk about it?”

He grinned. It was a dastardly grin that stretched his plush lips and called a gleam to his neon eyes. He was handsome in that rugged, devilish way that errantly filled so many childhood nightmares. Before the Zerens became allied, they were feared with a fiery passion, nearly facing war for little more than the false tales told by random ship men.

Shala was glad those sorts of tall tales didn't influence the official reports of the day's records anymore. Zerens were a gentle people unless riled. They were fierce warriors, yes, but only when the matter called for it. In their downtime, and they had much of that as jobless as much of them were on allied ships, they displayed a keen flair for the arts that could fetch them a bevy of credits if they had even one iota of business sense about them.

“You know what? Let's take your mind off of it. This here will do the trick.”

His finger tapped a flashing green light on the bar menu.

Shala grinned.

“I'll take your word for it.”

“You
must
. It's an old favorite from the home planet. Said to bring one in alignment with their true destiny. I wouldn't steer you wrong.”

~

Shala held tight to the rails of the smarn-wood, paneled deck. Her head was swimming, and she wasn't entirely sure she'd taken the right corridor. The ship was confusing when you had enough liquor in you. She smiled to herself drunkenly. Her little trip to the promenade had been worth it. She was as blissfully far away from all thoughts of the case as she could be, and that suited her just fine right now.

Squinting her eyes, she took another turn into what she guessed was the ramp to the officer bunks, but the scent of Soll smoke instantly alerted her to her folly. Wrinkling her nose, she bristled, reactively sobering enough to realize her error.

Shit.

“Can I help you, Officer?”

A lovely, moon-skinned girl with gleaming violet eyes stepped in front of her, blocking her path into the dim room. She cocked her head at Shala with a question in her measuring gaze.

“Oh, I... seem to have taken a wrong turn. Pardon me. Ishma.”

Offering a smile of consolation, Shala turned to her left.

“The door's back that way. The way you came in.”

“Ah. Right.”

Humiliation heating her cheeks, Shala turned again immediately, bumping her head into the very broad chest of another Teleran with a start. Lifting her eyes with mortified curiosity, she stifled a gasp. Oh, shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. She would definitely be hearing about this in the morning.

Fuck.

“We meet again.”
Voice thrumming through her, Prince Tarik eyed her with a curious, almost fascinated glint in his eye, not making to move an inch. Shala breathed in his woody, ocean scent in waves, willing her legs to step around him but finding them entirely uncooperative.

Stars, he was impressive. More than she might have otherwise imagined. Tucking her head, she made herself look away.

“My sincerest pardon-”

“Have you been drinking?”

The prince grinned, amused.

“I-”

Recognition dawning on him, he nodded to himself.

“You certainly have. Well good for you, Officer Kane. Glad to see some personality in the ship's staff.”

Shala blustered, finding her usually witty comebacks missing from the storehouse in her head. Maybe she shouldn't have had that last drink, after all.

“I'm terribly sorry. I'll... just be going now.”

“So soon?”

The prince cricked a brow.

“Tarik.”

“It's fine, Jana. This one's investigating the attack on the lower decks. A hero of sorts. We owe her some hospitality.”

Shala stole a glance from the side of her eye, and found the pink-haired woman folding her arms over her chest, obviously displeased with the prince's decision but decidedly averse to challenging him openly about it.