Chapter 6
“We have to get out. Now.”A short brown-skinned curvy female threw open the door to Dez’s cell. She wore a white suit that bagged on her short frame. A helmet under her arm.
He stood, but didn’t move so as not to frighten her, although she was already agitated—wide-eyed gaze darting around his cell and back over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“The spiders—they’re deadly. One bite—” A large black blob scurried across the ceiling not three meters away from the panicked female. She tossed a bag at him. “Put this suit on. We have to get out of here.”
Dez tugged the top open, and the contents expanded. The material was unlike any he’d encountered before, light, but thick. He slipped a leg into one hole, forcing his boot into the foot space. The fabric stretched, but it was still a tight squeeze.
“Hurry.” The female put the helmet over her head.
Once he had the coverall over his lower half, he had to tug the suit over his shoulders. The female reached for the closure. He stepped out of her reach and sealed himself in. She pointed at the helmet and he fitted it over his head, grateful that it, at least, was roomy.
“Follow me.” The voice came through a speaker in the helmet.
Dez nodded.
She scouted their exit and darted forward. A black blob dropped behind her. Dez booted it out of the path, wrapped one suited-arm around the female’s middle and ran for the deck where he’d first entered the ship.
She squeaked. The noise came through some audio device in the helmet. “Put me down.”
But Dez had no intention of waiting for her short legs to cover the distance they had to travel. He’d deal with the consequences after they were safe. With the suit on, the customs of his world were respected, at least in principle. They reached the loading bay in moments and the ramp was already down. He set his cargo at the edge. “Call the station security for help.”
She started down the gangplank, comms already in her hands.
He called out to her. “Which way to the galley?”
She turned, her brow wrinkled. “It’s back at that Y. Take the leg that doesn’t lead to the cargo area. But you need to?—”
Her feet cleared the ramp. He pressed the button to his left, and the ramp lifted to close. The female squacked again. He spun and ran, praying he’d find what he required. The galley tuned out to be spacious, with a single large table bolted to the floor. He grabbed a chair back for leverage as he raced toward the cupboards and nearly landed on his ass when the seat spun. Fancy, but not helpful.
He ripped open doors, not bothering to close them. On the lower left side, tucked in a corner, he hit pure gold. Concentrated capsaicin oil. He tugged the container free from where it had adhered itself to the shelf. Apparently this crew wasn’t much for spicy food. That explained the crap he’d been eating since he’d come aboard. Edible but bland.
In another cabinet, he found a cleanser in a spray bottle. He poured out half the contents, added the oil, and tested the mist. Too direct. He adjusted the nozzle so a wide fine spray burst out with every squeeze. Perfect. Time to hunt some creepy crawlies.
In the corridor he scanned the ceiling, nothing. Yet. He turned right, toward the cargo bay. His gut warred with his feet, arguing that he should be running away, not toward the threat. But if the deadly spiders escaped onto Cassan, who knows how many people could be hurt. Better to contain the threat, only risking himself.
Cyra raced through the aisles between the berths. The docking area of Cassan had never been so impossibly big. Air heaved in her lungs, her gills flapping so fast they vibrated. She’d lost Doc somewhere in the central commerce area and he’d told her to leave him. She’d hated to do it, but he was a grown man and not facing killer critters like her best friend. Hell, her only friend.
Finally she got to The Treasure’s berth. The docking crew was absent. Veda must have notified them about the breach. She cleared the isolation entrance and finally made it into her bay. Her eyes watered, burning from the air. She sneezed.
A small being in a hazmat suit approached her. Veda’s face peered at her through the clear visor. Cyra took the respirator mask in Veda’s hand and placed it over her face. The audio connection synced and Veda’s voice came through. “They’re venting the room, it should only be a few minutes before we can take this off. You’re lucky you didn’t get her sooner. You wouldn’t have made it three steps into this room.”
“What happened?”
“The guy in cargo?”
The large muscular man appeared as if he’d heard them talking about him. His maskless face was blank of emotion and the air didn’t seem to be affecting him. Cyra couldn’t take her eyes off him as he came down The Treasure’s ramp, squeezed into a hazmat suit that fit him like a second skin. His muscles rippled with each movement—confident conquerer returning from battle.
“He was amazing,” Veda continued.
Cyra couldn’t argue.
“I freed him from his cargo cell. And then he got me off the ship and went back in. He made chili oil spray to corral the spiders back to the safety of their container. But it was so strong on the ship, the support crew couldn’t breathe. They vented it out here.”
The man stalked her, his yellow gaze heating her. Cyra’s fluttery anticipation returned. What was it about this male that made her insides giddy? It was a ridiculous reaction. She was captain, she couldn’t be acting like a pubescent girl.
“The security crew is closing the container.” His low voice vibrated Cyra’s insides in a completely different way—lower, deeper. “They’re asking for a manifest to verify the count. Make sure none are still loose.” He spoke to Veda, but his gaze never left Cyra.
“How?” The word escaped with her breath.
“I have the documentation for the shipment,” Veda replied. “Is it safe for me to go to the lab?”
The man’s head pivoted between them. “I see your lips moving behind the shield, but I can’t hear you.”
Cyra removed her respirator. The air was much less caustic. “She said she can get the paperwork if it’s safe to go back on board.”
His powerful shoulders lifted and dropped. “Assuming we have them all back in the box, yes.”
Cyra nodded at Veda who shuffled off in the voluminous folds of her hazmat suit.
Alone. Cyra was alone with the big gray male and the intimacy weighed on her chest, as if he was pressed against her instead of standing half a meter away. She shivered and steeled her spine. She was captain. Not a silly school girl with a crush. “Thank you for saving Veda—Doctor Artz. And for your help with containing the cargo.”
He shifted slightly closer. “It is my honor to help. Where is your captain? Thenal? He should be here to oversee this.” His brow wrinkled. “Or the maintenance crew? I found no one else on the ship.”
“Captain Auvi died.” Tears pricked at Cyra’s eyes. “I’m the captain of The Treasure now.”
Her comm pinged with a group text sound. Varik sent the entire crew a message. Had he heard about the spiders? How could he? Cyra tapped her screen to read the shared memo. The screen slipped from her hands. The gray man caught it before it shattered on the dock floor.
The absolute gall of that bastard to lie to the entire crew. Cyra shook and the image of Varik’s taunting face grinning over his win filled her vision, blocking out the reality of the cavernous dock and hero of a male in front of her. She balled her hands and forced the threat of angry tears back down. How much more was she expected to take?
“I assume you received bad news?” The male’s voice petted her.
Cyra took a deep steadying breath. “You could say that. The first engineer just sent a message to the entire crew that I’m the new captain and that I have no money to pay them and they should contact him because he has a line on new jobs for all of them. I can’t fly—” She flung her arm in the direction of the huge transport ship. “Without a crew.”
Cyra swiped at the tear that had escaped. The temptation to lean into him, a stranger—cargo—was difficult to resist. She would give anything to have someone take the burden from her. But just because her dream of being a captain wasn’t emerging from a ray of sparkly sunshine, didn’t mean she was ready to give up. She didn’t need some random male with his arms crossed, muscles bulging, and forehead wrinkled in a scowl to provide comfort. Besides, he didn’t appear interested in providing any.
“All clear,” Veda called from the top of the loading ramp. The helmet of her hazmat suit under one arm. “Your chile spray idea saved us a huge fine, Dezmuhnd.”
Dezmuhnd? She glanced at the strong male by her side.
“Dezmuhnd Cuocua. But please, call me Dez.”
“Thank you Dez.” What was she supposed to do with him? Put him back in cargo? Did it matter since she had no crew?
“You are Captain—” The lift in his voice requested she supply her name.
But what name should she give him? “I’m Captain Maejzur.” The words were like a mouth full of seashells. “Cyra.”
Dez tilted his head in shallow nod. “Captain Cyra.”
Doc’s cry from the far side of the dock freed Cyra from her awkward introduction. Doc was breathless and half-shuffling, half-running toward her.
She held up her hand to slow the older man down, worried for his safety. “We’re alright. The spiders are back in the cage. All of them.”
Veda rushed to her mentor and took his elbow. “The Cassan docking crew says it appears someone tampered with the container. They’re making a safety fix to it now.”
Cyra groaned. The charge for the fix would be added to her docking fees. “I have to go to the bank. Varik says the accounts are empty.” No way Captain Auvi was broke. He’d been so frugal. Maybe because he didn’t have enough credits? “Veda, Doc, can you handle things here?”
“Veda will see to the ship. I’ll go with you.” Doc’s tone allowed for no dissent. “I have the proof of death you’ll need to transfer the accounts.”
What she needed to do was get a new crew, but fixing the credits and accounts first, made sense. “Let’s go.”