Chapter Two
Rhazek
We board the enemy ship to retrieve a stolen intelligence core and determine whether Lord Sarkan Veyl has been buying forbidden biological research.
A scent moves through the smoke.
Faint, buried under chemical sterilizers and the copper bite of enemy blood.
Human.
I know human scent. The outer colonies trade near our dead zones. Soft-skinned, short-lived, loud-hearted little creatures who build fragile stations out of hope and bad metal. I have passed them in markets. Negotiated with their captains. Ignored their diplomats.
This is different.
This scent enters me. It goes under the armor. Under command. Straight to the second heart and lower, a brutal, unwelcome thickening against the inside of my plate. I have not been hard in a fight in years. I am hard now, for a human in a cage I have not even seen.
My second heart strikes once, hard enough to hurt.
Jorren’s eyes narrow, pale against the black markings at his temples. “Warlord?”
I force my body still.
I follow the scent.
I lock my hand around the hilt of my blade until the pressure hurts. Control.
The corridor bends left toward the data vault. My strike team moves that way.
I turn right.
Jorren makes a sharp sound. “The core is the other direction.”
“I am aware.”
“That path leads to containment.”
I do not answer.
The scent grows stronger. Human blood. Human fear. Human rage.
The last one drags a growl out of me.
“Take the core,” I tell him. “Leave me containment.”
At her pod, I understand enough human Standard to hear the bargain she makes through the glass. Freedom, not another cage. She should not have to ask for that.
By the time we reach the docking bridge, Seryn has wrapped her in my boarding cloak. A creature under a warlord’s cloak is publicly under his care. Jorren has the stolen core. Seryn has readings she will not explain until we are clear of the wreck.
But I need no scanner to tell me something is wrong. Her blood smells known. Contact burns through every marking under my armor.
Humans do not bond with Dravari. Dead myths do not wake because a wounded survivor glares at me.
The Black Star is older than three empires, living metal grown around a war-core taken from a dead star. She answers to my blood and no council’s command. Yet the bridge warmed beneath the human’s bare feet. In seventeen cycles of command, I have never felt my ship welcome a stranger.
Once we are aboard, The Black Star seals the hangar hatch.
Then The Black Star scans her.
A ring of gold light rises from the deck beneath her feet.
My warriors step back as one.
The human freezes.
“What is that?” she snaps.
Seryn’s scanner begins chiming faster.
Jorren reaches for his blade. “Warlord.”
The gold light climbs over the human’s legs, over my cloak, over her injured wrists and bruised throat. It pauses at the center of her chest.
Then the ship’s voice speaks through every wall.
“Unregistered lifeform. Human origin. Biological status: unstable. Threat status: contested.”
The human looks up at the ceiling. “Your ship talks?”
“To me,” I say.
The Black Star continues.
“Foreign chemical contamination detected. Tissue trauma detected. Reproductive markers—”
“Stop scan,” I command.
The ship does not stop.
The Black Star has overridden me in battle, when her war-core sensed danger first. Never during a medical scan.
“Reproductive markers classified.”
The ship’s gold light brightens.
“Command classification required,” The Black Star says. “Lifeform designation?”
Jorren steps closer. “Mark her witness. Temporary civilian. Transferable.”
The air leaves my lungs in a growl.
Jorren goes still.
The human looks at me. She understands enough of the tone, the posture. Transferable.
Witness would let me release her once she was debriefed and medically cleared. A temporary classification, without political obligation.
The gold light around the human pulses once.
Her blood runs down her wrist and drips onto the living deck.
The Black Star absorbs the drop.
The entire ship shudders.
My markings flare so violently that several warriors step back.
“What?” the human demands. “What just happened?”
The Black Star answers before anyone else can.
“Blood resonance detected.”
Seryn lifts her scanner with careful hands. “Blood resonance should not be possible.”
The human takes one step backward. The cloak slips from one shoulder. My gaze catches on the bruises there, finger-shaped and ugly.
“Lifeform threatened,” The Black Star says.
I step toward the human. She retreats, and the gold ring follows her.
“Do not come closer,” she says.
I stop and force my hands open at my sides.
“Seryn will treat your injuries,” I say through the translator.
Her eyes narrow. “And after that?”
After that, I determine what the traffickers knew and why my blood recognizes hers. Then I send her somewhere Sarkan cannot reach.
“After that,” I say, “you answer questions.”
Seryn steps toward the human. “Elara Quinn.”
The human stiffens. “How do you know my name?”
Seryn glances at her scanner. “Your colony identification chip survived. Damaged, but readable.”
She lifts her chin. “Do not say my name like we know each other.”
“Noted, Elara Quinn.”
“Jorren.”
My commander comes to my side, voice low. “You cannot keep her aboard.”
“I know.”
“You put her under your protection before the crew.”
“I put a cloak on her.”
The Black Star’s voice returns.
“Lifeform designation pending.”
Elara Quinn stands barefoot on my warship, bloodied and shaking so hard she must lock her knees.
She stares at me like I am a door she intends to kick open.
“Protected,” I say.
The deck light flashes.
“Designation accepted,” The Black Star says. “Elara Quinn. Protected lifeform. Access restrictions altered. Harm response enabled.”
Elara folds her arms inside the cloak. “I’m sorry. Did your haunted murder ship just adopt me?”
No one speaks.
Seryn gestures toward the medical corridor. “Come, Elara Quinn. Before you bleed on more sentient architecture.”
Elara looks at me.
I step aside. The path to medical opens before her.
“Try anything,” she says, “and I’ll make you regret saving me.”
Elara Quinn limps past me with my cloak around her shoulders and her blood still drying on my deck.
As she passes, her scent touches me again.
Mine, whispers the old violence. I watch her leave.