Chapter 2 Orion #2
“I didn’t drug your water,” I said, taking a sip myself.
“I already have you tied up. And no offense, lady, but even if you broke out of here, you wouldn’t get very far on foot.
We’re in the thick of the Xylothian rainforest and I’m the only thing that stands between you and a lot of really hungry nocturnal creatures.
And let me tell you, even though we have two suns, nighttime here is long. Can you at least tell me your name?”
She closes her eyes and leans back on the cot, apparently weighing her options.
Finally, she sits back up, snatches the canteen from my outstretched hand and chugs.
I’m briefly transfixed by the dribble of water that escapes and traces a path down her neck and through her breasts, but I quickly turn away.
I ended things with Sylph well over a year ago, but I’m not about to lust after some criminal who sees my entire cultural heritage as ripe for plunder.
The woman is quiet after she finishes drinking, for long enough that I give up expecting answers to any of my hopeful questions. When I lift the tent flap to head back to the campfire outside, she clears her throat.
“Lyra,” she says. “You don’t get my last name. But for the water—and for patching my head—you can call me Lyra.”
I throw a tentative look back over my shoulder.
“Anything else you want to tell me?” I press.
She meets my gaze with challenge in her eyes.
“Yeah, Orion,” she says, my name falling from her lips like a curse. “When I get loose, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Fortunately, I leave fast enough to hide my smile.
Hours later, something pulls me from the fog of sleep.
I gave Lyra my cot hoping that a decent night’s rest would loosen her tongue some more, but my friendly approach is starting to wear on my nerves.
Still, the Solar Mother isn’t just any relic and the fact that she’s clearly here for it alone raises a lot of questions.
I’m almost certain the information she has is as priceless as the statue she tried to steal.
I open my eyes from my makeshift pallet on the ground and scan the tent, trying to find what woke me up.
Lyra is sprawled in my cot, snoring louder than any woman I’ve ever shared a bed with.
One of her wrists is still tied to the bed frame, as is one of her ankles, so I know it isn’t the noise of her making a covert escape.
There it is—soft, shuffling steps and harsh whispers filtering in through my tent’s woven walls.
Four men, it sounds like. They’re speaking in a language I don’t recognize, which means they aren’t from this system.
Not Federation, then. Could Lyra have a crew that came looking for her when she failed to return to her ship?
It seems unlikely. Surely, someone would have gone with her to retrieve the artifact—a lookout, or something.
I consider two equally unpleasant ideas.
It could be other looters heading for the temple, but typically looters would avoid a campsite and favor the well-worn trail that cuts straight through the jungle.
If it is another group of looters, not only will I be outnumbered, but I’ll be put in a position of having to protect the woman I arrested and keep the Solar Mother safe from all of them.
Not ideal for a single ranger miles away from help.
There’s a metallic clatter in the distance. From the sound of it, someone is dismantling my swamp buggy. Keeping one eye on Lyra, I creep to my pack where I keep my plasma rifle. I quietly check the charges and flick the safety off.
The other possibility is that these men somehow tracked Lyra.
Given her profession and the angry tones emanating from the group rifling through my camp outside, that seems the most likely.
I could give her up, of course, but they’ll probably make off with both Lyra and the idol, and there’s no guarantee they won’t kill me, anyway.
Shit.
One I can handle easily—even two. Three would be a challenge.
Four is simply out of the question. I only have a couple charged plasma cartridges, so shooting my way out seems futile.
Suddenly, Lyra’s hand latches onto my wrist and I almost yelp.
She continues to snore, but gestures to her bound hand and ankle, and then at the weapons I confiscated.
I shake my head.
Her grip on my wrist tightens and she points at the tent door. When I refuse to budge, she beckons me closer. In between her exaggerated snoring, she whispers, “Void Stalkers.”
My blood runs cold. Ruthless, bloodthirsty mercenaries. I’ve only encountered them once in my life, and I still have nightmares about it.
“Are they here for you?” I whisper back.
She nods once.
“How far are we from the city?” she asks. Snore.
“Too far,” I reply. “They’d hunt us down and gut us before we ever got out of the jungle.”
She shakes her tied wrist at me once more. Reluctantly, I cut the rope binding her hand and her ankle. Watching her get filleted and eaten is not something I’m prepared to do tonight.
“This doesn’t mean I’m letting you go,” I growl.
She flips me off, and the curiously human gesture makes me smirk against my will.
“My ship is close,” she says, rubbing her wrist where the rope rubbed her skin raw. Damn. Too tight.
“How are we going to get past them?”
For the first time since I caught her, Lyra smiles. Though the expression is ominous with mischief, her entire face lights up like a meteor streaking through the early sky. She’s stunning.
“Leave that to me,” she says. “Give me my helmet. I can get the ship started from here. I’ll create a distraction, head north, and then double back once I lose them. Head straight for my ship. Do you know where it is?”
I nod. “I know where it is but I’m not leaving you to deal with Void Stalkers on your own. They’ll cut you up into little pieces and toss you all over the forest.”
She makes a derisive snort. “And you’d miss the chance to hand me over to the Feds, who’ll surely be more lenient?”
“No,” I huff. “But your chopped up carcass would be bad for the wildlife. And it’d be a lot of paperwork for me.”
“Well, you don’t have much choice. I’m the one they’re after, and you’ll just fuck things up if I get caught with you.”
I watch as she slips her helmet on and slides her knife into her thigh holster, then checks the cartridge on her plasma gun.
Ever so slowly, she unzips the front of the tent.
When her eyes cut to the idol sitting on top of my pack, I can practically see her plotting.
I snatch it and shove it into my pocket.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn.
She lifts a shoulder, throws me a glare, and creeps outside. A shrill screech rents the air, followed by outraged snarls and the wet pop of a plasma blast hitting flesh. I suck in a few tense breaths, unsure of who’s got the upper hand until I hear her angry roar and manic cackle.
“Fuck you, you fucking fucks!” Lyra yells, then crashes off through the jungle, firing shots as she runs.
Grabbing my pack, I shoulder my plasma rifle and poke my head out of the tent.
She hit one of the stalkers in the head—well, it was a head.
His decapitated body twitches on the ground.
Another one lies in the dirt, hissing in pain with Lyra’s massive knife jutting from his abdomen.
Void Stalkers are ugly on a good day—humanoid monsters with sickly gray skin, oversized fangs, and a ridge of bony spines trailing from their foreheads to their backs.
They wear full body armor designed to accentuate their horrible features, making them look like something that crawled out from the depths of the nastiest cave.
The fact that Lyra was able to find the small, vulnerable spot in between the armor plates confirms my suspicion that she’s had violent altercations with these Void Stalkers before.
Has probably killed their kind before, too.
Black blood burbles through his reptilian lips and nausea rolls through me. As soon as he sees me walking over to him, he reaches for a weapon at his side, but I hoist my rifle first. He stills.
“You,” I growl. “You speak Kailorian? What do you want with the woman?”
A rasping laugh issues from his thin, gray lips.
“We might be the only ones in the galaxy that don’t want the woman,” he coughs.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
The cruel smile returns, but it’s clear he isn’t going to give me any more information.
His fingers twitch for his gun, but I squeeze the trigger on my rifle.
The shot takes his head off, and I grimace as I yank Lyra’s knife from his gut, clean it on his pants, and pocket it.
I’ll have to come back to the campsite and burn the bodies as soon as we deal with this mess.
I take off in the direction of Lyra’s ship, praying my ancestors will forgive me for desecrating their sacred ground, and kindling a begrudging hope that Lyra is faring well against the two remaining stalkers.