Fools Rush In (The Interstellar Rescue Series Book 3) Page 3

  “Cap.” The chorus of voices greeted him in unison.

  “Crew.” He sat at his station in the center of the open semi-circle of consoles that constituted the heart of the bridge. “Give me a report, Mo.”

  From a station a step down and to starboard, the big Pataran turned and spoke. “All hostiles are secured in the hold of the Fleeflek, a total of 41, including the captain. Eight hundred LO’s are stowed aboard their ship and ours. We’ve doubled up in the crew cabins, got some in the cargo bay and the rec lounge. Morale is plummeting.”

  “How is the grog supply?”

  Mo exhaled slowly. “Newly replenished on Taxos.”

  “Break it out when things settle down, say two, three days. Mash time.”

  Barely suppressed cheers and a few whoops greeted this announcement.

  Mo was not among the celebrants. “And where would you suggest this drunken slog take place, Captain?”

  “PT deck. Put Marinda in charge. She always does the best drunken slogs. Right, crew?”

  “Aye, Cap!” Enthusiastic grins all around.

  His second-in-command was not amused. His second-in-command was never amused. It was a wonder Mo had stayed with him all these years.

  “Using the Physical Training deck will require reconfiguring the exercise modules.”

  Sam simply looked at him.

  With a sigh, the Pataran acknowledged the inevitability of things. “Aye, Cap.”

  “Navigation, we’ll need a course for Madras III. I believe that takes us through the C4 jump node?”

  His navigator turned to raise an eyebrow at him. At least, that’s how Sam had come to interpret the expression. Sipritz was Mper and as wrinkled as a prune, though she assured everyone she was considered young and beautiful on her home planet.

  “We’ll have to make two jumps, Cap.” The whispery voice was disapproving. “To summarize: the first at C4 comes up in seven ship-days. The second is at C5 in nine. Then we have another day to Madras. All very approximate. I’ll have exact times and distances in a few minutes, sir.”

  “Efficient as always, Sipritz. Thank you.”

  “I live to serve, sir.”

  The Mper had served aboard the ’hawk for two years now and Sam still didn’t know whether sarcasm was completely unknown or a sport of nu-Olympic caliber on her planet.

  Sam rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. Jump Node C4 was within a ship-day of LinHo, but it was an interstellar transfer station, nothing more. Linzer-Holmatuziskru 1423, named for the Tularian who had first mapped the jump nodes and the human who had translated, wasn’t even a planet, with a decent solar system to call its own. It was just the largest of the broken fragments of rock slowly circling the disturbance in the fabric of space caused by the portal into hyperspace. Like many other enterprising business owners, the founders of the Kinz works had taken advantage of its location to build a quiet little operation away from the prying eyes of any sort of authority. And they guarded their privacy with cannons blazing.

  Getting into LinHo spacedock would be a bitch. No, forget it, it’s crazy. We have absolutely no reason for being there. He rubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. What the hell is she thinking?

  Sam deliberately put the beautiful Ms. Carver and her insane schemes out of his mind and called up the energy conversion data from Engineering on his compscreen. He wasn’t surprised to see the strain put on his engines by stabilizing the slaver in tow.

  He hit a connection on his console. “Engineering. Kwan, you there?”

  “Aye, Cap. I figured you’d be calling me.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough. The ’hawk wasn’t built as a tug, you know. Do you have any idea how many adjustments per hour have to be made just to keep that damn thing from drifting up our asses? My comps are overloaded, the thrusters are in constant play, I’ve had to assign extra crew and my conversion ratios are fucked!”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re doing a great job. We’re planning a mash to take the edge off.”

  “Yeah? All right, then! When?”

  “Couple days. When we get squared away.”

  “Ah, incentive. That’ll get the boys and girls fired up!”

  Sam grinned. “Carry on. I’m out.”

  He glanced around, saw his crew was doing what it was trained to do, then, restless, he got up and climbed the step to what everyone else referred to as the “Cap walk” above the control cockpit. He paced until Mo came up to see what was wrong.

  “What did the woman have to say?” The Pataran was ever economical with words.

  “Oh, not much. Just that she needs to be dropped off on LinHo so she can infiltrate the Kinz facility.”

  To the casual observer, Mo’s expression would not have appeared to change. But Sam saw his pale eyes flare with shock.

  “That’s insane.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” He smiled. “She’s a determined little thing, though.”

  Mo turned toward him and crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture that Sam knew well. “No.”

  Sam held his hands out in surrender. “Don’t worry! Even I’m not that crazy!” He started pacing again. “There are all those mulaak permissions to go through to get to the ’docks. And I can’t think of a single reason for us to be there, can you?”

  Mo placed himself in Sam’s path, forcing his captain to look up at him. “Stop thinking with your dick. Drop her on Madras with the others and be done with it. Unless you’re trying to get her killed? You could do that yourself without putting the rest of us at risk.”

  Perai! Was he seriously thinking of doing this? No. Hell, no!

  “You’re right. Of course, you’re right, Mo. She . . . I . . . has it been that long since I’ve had a woman?”

  “Too long to be healthy, if you ask me.” The Pataran grunted. “The last two shore leaves you were too drunk to follow through. I know because I had to rescue you from some very torqued-off women.”

  The last two shore leaves he’d been trying to forget his last two voyages, which had been near-disasters before they barely broke even. The pressure was beginning to wear on him. He needed this deal with Drew Vort. Why else get in bed with a fang-eel?

  He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it in dark, unruly spikes. “Do not let me get drunk on Madras.”

  “Don’t suppose the lady would be willing . . .”

  Sam exhaled. “Not a freaking chance in Portal’s Hell.” Though gods, he wished he could make it happen. Her skin was just the color of coffee with cream, her eyes like dark chocolate. He was suddenly starving.

  Mo leaned in close. “We can’t go to LinHo, Cap. We have to make that rendezvous.”

  Sam saw the warning in his friend’s gaze before he turned to stare out at the starry field of the viewscreen. His course was set for Madras. He had no intention of changing it. But Rayna Carver had that lightning spark of destiny about her. The captain of the Shadowhawk was well aware one ignored fate at one’s peril.

  Rayna had given up trying to rest in the cramped crew quarters, now stacked to the overhead with her talkative cabinmates. The conversation with Captain Murphy had circled her brain in an endless, maddening loop until it forced her out into the corridor, anger and frustration propelling her on an agitated prowl in search of distraction.

  Two hours into second watch, the ship’s corridors were still lively, members of the crew going about their business with an equal sense of purpose whether they were on-duty or off. Rayna could see that they were well-fed, healthy and disciplined; that the ship was trim and locked-down, if a bit Spartan in the furnishings. By reputation, the Shadowhawk’s captain spared no expense in the outfitting of her engines or weapons, but Rayna’d had no chance to confirm that.

  Lainie was fiercely loyal to her captain, and Rayna’s walkaround was only adding to the impression that this was a happy ship. But, my God, her captain was a stubborn, arrogant, self-serving bastard! It was no wonder her colleagues in Rescue wanted to tear
their hair out every time his name came up. He practically defined the term “loose cannon.”

  What kind of pirate was he, anyway? If the Fleeflek was typical of his “conquests,” profit could hardly be his motive. He planned to turn the slaves over to Rescue to be repatriated. Sure, he could sell the ship and claim the bounty on her captain, but his own crew knew that wouldn’t pay enough to make up for the jobs they’d miss going out of their way to Madras. Lainie and the others in her cabin had defended their captain on that point with a shrug and “Cap has the conn.”

  Rayna’s mouth twisted in disgust. It was like a freaking mantra around here.

  “Does that frown mean you’re lost, Agent Carver?” Captain Murphy had somehow materialized in the corridor beside her. “Or don’t tell me we’ve got veers again.”

  Oh, God, she hated a veer worse than any rat. Maybe it was the lack of fur. Or the twin tails. The snaky twin tails.

  “Don’t call me agent. Someone might hear.” But her voice shook despite her effort to control it.

  The bastard laughed. “Finally something that strikes fear in that tritantium heart. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t use the term in public. And, no, we don’t have veers. I let a few of the crew keep pets. The cats and the Jack Russells cleaned out the ship within a twentydays. Now they’re working on each other.”

  Rayna couldn’t help a smile of relief. “Where are all the pets? I haven’t seen them. In fact”—God, she hated herself for saying this—” you keep a very trim ship, Captain.”

  “For a pirate, you mean?” His lips barely curved, but his green eyes were bright with mischief. “Everyone is under orders to crate the animals while we’ve got so much other chaos going on. The dogs submitted to orders. The cats, well, they’re better pirates than we are and refused to be taken. They’re in hiding.”

  This glimpse of life onboard his ship was starting to make her feel just a little too warm in the chest. Rayna moved on. Murphy trailed along beside her.

  “So you have a pretty big crew to worry about, I guess, Captain. What’s she carry—about sixty?”

  “Seventy-five.”

  She stopped mid-stride to stare at him. “That’s as big as a ConSys frigate.”

  “And armed like one, too. In my line of work it pays to carry a big stick.”

  Her heart stuttered, and the warmth she’d been feeling went cold.

  “You’re thinking it would take a lot of firepower to bring me down.” His eyes glittered now with something hard and unyielding. “You’d be right about that. Mostly the ConSys patrols leave me alone. Not just because I’d be a lot of trouble to get rid of—because I do their job for them. Like today.”

  Rayna snorted. “We weren’t in a ConSys patrol area today.” She and her Rescue cohort had made certain of it when they chose the ship she’d be on. “This was Minertsan space all the way.”

  Murphy rounded on her. “All the more reason to do what I did. No one else was going to save those people. Do you think I give a fuck that it’s the shalssiti Grays’ space?”

  “You should. The Grays would be happy to blow your ass through the nearest jump node.”

  The Captain’s mouth lifted into a grim smile. “Might be fun to see them try.”

  Rayna cocked her head at him. “This is personal for you.”

  “Oh, and it’s all business for you, I suppose. Just another day at the office.” He moved, slow and smooth as a stalking targa, and suddenly she found herself backed up against the plasteel wall of the companionway, her pulse pounding. “Tell me, Agent Carver, just how does a little bit like you end up in the hold of a slave ship bound for hell? Why would you volunteer for this job—the one most likely to get you tortured or raped or just worked to death?”

  His face had hardened into sharp, grim lines; his eyes showed no more warmth than bits of cold, green glass. Where his anger came from Rayna had no idea, but it had turned him into a mountain of ice. The wrong word from her could bring that avalanche crashing down in the next moment.

  But all that cold created only heat in her. Who was he to question her motivation? She stood her ground.

  “I never said it wasn’t personal for me. I’ve got a debt to pay.” She tugged at the zipper on her jumpsuit and bared the upper part of her chest. There on the left was the small tattooed heart with the initials T and S that she’d worn since the day her mother died, fifty-four days after her father. “My parents were slaves—taken from Earth when they were just teenagers. Rescue saved them, but they couldn’t return them. Too much time was lost; too much was lost to the mindwipe. Still, if it hadn’t been for Rescue, I wouldn’t be here. So I owe Rescue my life and my parents’ lives. But I also owe the Grays some payback.”

  At last Murphy stepped back, the anger gone from his expression. “Revenge is a lonely game, Little Bit. And it rarely works out like you think it will. Trust me on that one.” His gaze met hers for half a second. Then he spun on his heel and strode off down the corridor.

  What the hell did he call me? She took a few steps after him, but he was gone, not even glancing back. Damn, arrogant son of a ptark!

  But she didn’t waste any more time thinking about Captain Snark’s lack of manners. She wanted to know why he had appointed himself the single-handed savior of shipboard slaves throughout the galaxy. It was definitely personal, this slaver-hunt of his. The profit just wasn’t big enough to justify the risks he was taking with a ship and a crew he so obviously cared about. What she wouldn’t give right now for access to—well, no one had said she couldn’t use the library computers; they must have Z-net access. She moved off with new purpose, determined to learn as much as she could about this man who was well on his way to driving her crazy.

  Perai, but she was a nosy, pushy, irritating little thing! Shit, yes, it was personal. It didn’t get any more personal than his history with the Grays, but Sam wasn’t about to spill it all out for this woman he’d known for a matter of hours. Only one other person on the Shadowhawk knew that history. His crew depended on him. They needed him to be strong—hell, infallible, when you came down to it. He couldn’t afford to have the kind of past he had. A past he’d escaped at the age of 17 in a stasis crate full of vegetables fresh-picked off the plantation where he’d worked since his family had been Taken.

  Sam paced the corridors of his ship, watching for trouble. It was crowded in the crew cabins, in the mess and on the PT deck. No surprise. But everyone gave him a smile and a nod. No scowls, no averted faces. The lucky ones looked dazed and blank as always. They would until Rescue got hold of them and reversed the Grays’ mind programming. Until then, his people would look out for them.

  He took the lift down and stood on the catwalk looking over the vast, open cargo deck. Cots had been arranged into rows in one section of the deck, with smaller portable latrine and shower sections marked off with partitions. Tables at the other end of the rows of beds gave the LO’s a place to eat. Everything was neat and clean and organized. A warm pride in his people tugged at his chest.

  His cargo chief, Ramirez, hustled up the ladder from below. “Hey, Cap. Need something?”

  “No, Chief. Looks like you have everything under control.”

  The chief beamed. “Yes, sir. We’ve got about a hundred down there, but everyone’s behaving.”

  “A hundred, huh? You make it look easy.” He slapped a hand on Ramirez’s shoulder. “Need anything from me?”

  “Well, uh, even with the mindwipe, folks get kinda bored with nothing to do. Think maybe we could get some media units down here or something?”

  That great aching emptiness. Something lost in the darkness. Despite all efforts to control it, the memories made his heartbeat accelerate. He’d been just a child when he’d been Taken, but he remembered. The mindwipe had had little effect on him.

  Ramirez had asked him a question. “I’ll put Truong on it.”

  “Oh, yeah, great. She’ll know what to do.”

  Sam took another look around the transformed cargo bay
and forced himself to see, not a vision of a much blacker hold thirty years earlier, but what was actually there. He was in control now, and things would be as they should be.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “So you’re not goin’?” Lainie gaped at her in obvious disbelief. “A mash is almost as good as shore leave. Something we get maybe twice a year—well, okay, maybe it’s more often than that, but it’s not nearly often enough in my opinion. And you’re gonna sit it out like some old lady.”

  Rayna shook her head. “If everybody’s going to this shindig, I might just be able to get some decent sleep.”

  “There’s grog.”

  “Not thirsty.” Though that bordered on a lie. A little grog would go down very nicely right now. “And besides, alcohol and the mindwipe don’t mix. I don’t think it’s a great idea to let a bunch of drunken lucky ones loose on the ship with nothing but basic emotions and no memory of what counts for polite behavior.”

  “They’re not invited. Cap made that very clear. LO’s still suffering from programming are to stay in quarters.”

  Rayna thrust her arms from her sides in exasperation. “Then why are you trying to drag me to a crew function in direct contradiction of his orders?”

  Lainie snorted. “You’re obviously not wiped. Grog would do you good.”

  Amen to that, but it wasn’t the point.

  “There’s music, too.”

  “Hurts my ears.” Really? Music? Why am I being so stubborn?

  “Oh, for maak’s sake.” The girl heaved a huge sigh. “Do not make me say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Cap will be there.” She practically sang it.

  Heat flared in Rayna’s belly. “And what makes you think that’s of any interest to me?”

  Lainie laughed, a rough bark of sound. It occurred to Rayna that it was the first time she’d even seen the kid smile.

  “Are you kidding me? The way you look at him? Not that I blame you. Not that anyone of the female persuasion blames you.”

  “Bullshit.” If there had been anywhere in the tight cabin to go, Rayna would have jumped up to pace. “The man might have a nice-looking wrapper, but as for what’s inside, I’m not so impressed.”