Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Afemale. A small, soft female with the most enticing scent he’d ever encountered. Selik was still reeling as he turned to accompany Corinne down off the ridge.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. The fact that the Vedeckian ship had fired on his ship rather than be inspected had been a good indicator that they were dealing in slaves—a suspicion compounded by the holding cells aboard the vessel once they’d boarded it.
The cells had been empty but Lieutenant Varna had reported an energy trace leaving the ship before the battle commenced, most likely a shuttle.
His lieutenant had volunteered to pursue it, but Selik had taken the assignment himself.
He was… restless, a restlessness had been growing worse lately, an itch beneath his skin that wouldn’t settle.
He’d been commanding a Patrol ship for the better part of the last two decades but lately he’d been feeling the need to do something beyond sitting in the command chair issuing orders.
Except there was nothing else. The Red Death, the plague that had swept through the Confederated Planets devastating so many worlds, had taken not only his family but any hope that the Cire would survive.
None of their females had survived the plague and, despite the best efforts of the Cire Council and their attempts at artificial reproduction, his race was slowly dying out.
He had no family, no future, and no desire to return to a decimated planet. He’d taken the job with the Patrol instead, burying himself in his duties. There had been a degree of satisfaction in his work but that satisfaction had been fading. Until now.
This small female from an unknown species had awoken something deep inside him, a protective urge he’d thought long dead.
When his tail had wrapped around her waist it had felt like…
coming home. She is not my concern, he told himself.
She was a survivor of the Vedeckian’s illegal trafficking, nothing more.
He would render aid as duty required and return her to the nearest Patrol station for processing. The words rang hollow.
The walk down the ridge was slow, her body clearly unaccustomed to such rough terrain. He would have preferred to carry her, but he did not have the right. He forced himself to remain at her side instead, ready to lend a hand if she stumbled, and did his best to keep his tail from reaching for her.
At the bottom, she led him to a small overhang. A young girl who appeared to be of the same species as his female was asleep, her face smudged with dust and dried tears, and one arm curled protectively around…
A Cire infant, his tail wrapped around the girl’s wrist as he slept.
The shock was so great that he staggered, reaching for the rock to steady himself.
A living, breathing Cire child, out here alone in the wilderness, far from the Council and the incubators and their failing attempts at reproduction. A child who shouldn’t exist.
“I do not understand—”
The girl’s eyes snapped open. She saw him and reared back against the rocks, clutching the infant to her chest. “Who is that?”
“It’s okay,” Corinne said soothingly, stepping in front of him. “His name is Selik, and he’s with something called the Patrol. He’s going to help us.”
“What if he’s lying? What if he’s going to—”
“Anya,” she said gently. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But we can’t survive out here alone and he’s offering to help us.”
The girl’s eyes darted warily from Corinne to him and back again, but before she could speak the infant woke, a piteous cry emerging from the tiny lips. He instinctively tried to reach for it but Corinne was already there, gathering the child against her chest.
“Shh, Mikoz. It’s okay. We’re okay.”
The child quieted, blinking trustingly up at her. A male infant, perhaps ten months old, healthy, from what he could see.
“Where did you get him?” The words came out harsher than he’d intended, and she stiffened, her arms tightened around the infant.
“He’s mine.”
“That is not possible.”
“I don’t care what’s possible. He’s mine. I’ve been taking care of him since—” She stopped, her voice breaking. “He’s mine.”
Of course she was lying—the child couldn’t be hers biologically—but the fierce protectiveness in her voice and the way the infant relaxed against her chest, those weren’t lies. She’d bonded with him and would fight to keep him safe. Just as he would have fought for Lira.
The thought of his daughter sent a spasm of old pain through his chest. Lira should have been an adult now.
Instead she was ash scattered across Ciresia’s mourning fields, along with her mother and millions of others.
He forced the grief down with the familiarity of long practice.
The child’s origins didn’t matter right now.
What mattered was getting all three of them to safety before the night temperatures dropped any further.
“I am not going to take him from you,” he said calmly. “I am going to escort all three of you to my shuttle and then the Patrol ship to receive medical attention and proper care.”
She studied his face, searching for lies, but he had nothing to hide. Not about this.
Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
“I don’t trust him.” The girl—Anya—spoke up. “What if he’s working with the people who took us?”
“What the Vedeckians did is illegal,” he assured her. “The Patrol is trying to stop them, not work with them. I give you my word. I will not harm you or allow harm to come to you.”
He could see the desperate longing to believe him in Anya’s eyes, but she shook her head. “Words don’t mean anything.”
“Anya-” Corinne began.
“It’s true. People say things all the time. It doesn’t make them real.”
Smart and cynical, hardened by whatever she’d endured. He recognized the signs. He’d seen them in other survivors—and in the mirror every morning for the past twenty years.
“You are correct,” he said. “Words are insufficient. Judge me by my actions instead.”
Anya’s mouth tightened. She didn’t trust him, but he suspected she was also smart enough to know they had no alternatives.
“Fine.” She pushed to her feet, swaying slightly, and Corinne reached out to steady her. “But if you try anything, I’ll fight you.”
“Of course,” he said solemnly. “My shuttle is a short walk from here. Can you manage?”
“We’ve been managing.” Corinne’s voice shook with exhaustion, but she settled the infant into a makeshift sling across her chest. “Lead the way.”
The walk back took twice as long as it had taken him to find them. He matched his pace to theirs, uncomfortably aware of every stumble, every labored breath. Anya leaned heavily on Corinne’s free arm, her eyes fever bright and her cheeks flushed. How long had she been ill?
Corinne kept her head up and her spine straight, but he could see the tremors in her legs.
She was exhausted, running on nothing but determination and fear, even though she was doing her best to support the girl.
He closed the distance between them and scooped the girl into his arms. She immediately began to struggle.
“Put me down!”
“You are ill and exhausted,” he said calmly, keeping his grip gentle. She weighed almost nothing in his arms. “Save your strength.”
“I can walk,” she said defiantly.
“You can. But you do not need to.”
Anya glared at him, furious and helpless, but she stopped struggling. She was smart enough to conserve her energy even while hating him for the assistance. When she relaxed a tiny fraction, he resumed walking. Corinne looked up at him and mouthed a silent thank you.
Anya’s head drooped against his shoulder, and within moments her breathing had evened into the rhythm of sleep. Her trust humbled him more than her suspicion had.
The shuttle sat where he’d left it, small and dark against the dusty ground.
Not a Patrol vessel but his personal craft—one of the privileges of command.
He’d taken it on impulse when Varna had reported the escaped shuttle, but now he was glad for the choice.
It was more comfortable and better-equipped for his delicate passengers.
He activated the hatch and the ramp descended, interior lights casting a warm glow across the barren landscape. Corinne took a step towards it, then halted, her arms tightening around the infant.
“I promise you,” he said quietly. “No harm will come to any of you while you are under my protection.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I suspect you have no reason to trust anyone. But you are out of options and I am offering help. Sometimes that is all we have.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she looked down at the infant in her arms, at the girl sleeping against his chest, and back up at him.
“If you betray us, I will find a way to make you regret it.”
The threat should have been laughable. She was barely half his size, unarmed, and on the verge of collapse. But he believed this small, soft female would find a way to hurt him if he broke his word. The thought shouldn’t have pleased him as much as it did.
“I understand.”
She climbed the ramp, moving slowly but steadily, and he followed, the girl’s weight nothing in his arms. The hatch sealed behind them with a soft hiss.
He settled Anya on one of the padded benches, arranging her carefully.
She didn’t wake, and he gave her a worried frown.
Fever sleep, deep and unhealthy. She needed medical attention soon.
Corinne still stood in the middle of the cabin, the child clutched in her arms.
“There is a sanitary unit through there.” He pointed to the small door on the left. “And there is a food synthesizer in the galley compartment.”
“Thank you.” She hadn’t moved, and he realized she was waiting for him to leave. To give her space and privacy and the illusion of control.
“I will be in the cockpit preparing for departure. Call me if you need anything.” He moved toward the front of the shuttle, then paused. “What is the child’s name?”
Her arms tightened fractionally. “Mikoz.”
A traditional Cire name. Someone had known what they were doing when they’d named him. But that was a question for later.
“Rest, Corinne,” he said gently. “We will reach the Patrol ship within the hour.”
He left her there, still standing, still clutching the impossible child to her chest.
He settled into the pilot’s seat in the small cockpit and began the preflight sequence, checking to make sure each system was functioning normally. He adjusted the climate control to provide additional heat for his passengers. But despite the familiar motions, his mind raced.
How had a Cire infant ended up on a Vedeckian slave ship?
This child was less than a year old which meant somewhere, somehow, a Cire female had not only survived, but conceived and given birth.
And then what had happened to her? Had she been sold into slavery as well?
The possibility sent anger surging through his system.
Behind him, he heard water running, and then Corinne speaking softly to the child.
Mikoz. Mikoz was a miracle and a mystery, and he had no idea what to do with the fierce protective surge that wouldn’t let go.
The child was not his—would never be his.
Lira had been his daughter, and losing her had nearly destroyed him.
He would not—could not—allow himself to care like that again.
The engines hummed to life. The shuttle lifted smoothly into the air, leaving the barren planet behind.
Through the viewscreen, he could see the stars emerging as they climbed through the atmosphere.
Beautiful and cold and infinitely distant, like everything else in his life for the past twenty years.
The journey to the patrol ship would take fifty-three minutes.
He would spend them checking systems that didn’t need checking, running diagnostics that didn’t need to be run.
Anything to avoid going back to the cabin.
To avoid seeing Corinne with the impossible child in her arms. To avoid feeling things he’d buried with his family.