Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hidden Depths

Sevenday 31, Day 6

A driana woke sore and groggy. She had slept soundly, but for too few bells. Ever since the samples succumbed to the unknown plague, her slumber had been disturbed. If she managed three bells at a stretch before agitated half-dreams pulled her awake, it was by the grace of the Five Warriors. She was so comfortable she might even sleep some more. Relishing Bran’s masculine scent, she closed her eyes.

Bran? Last night they had lain side by side. Not touching. The wall that had become the floor was wide enough to spread the bedding, but the irregular surface created by the windows was like lying on rocks. Only by keeping the bedding stacked could they sleep.

It was practical. Except, she was half sprawled on the free-trader. Her head and torso rested on his chest, one leg between his thighs and one arm was wrapped around his waist.

Had she slept so comfortably when she was consort to Evander? Do not go there . That was the past. The present was duty and adventure. And the wonderful scent of her free-trader. For a few more moments, while he slept, she would enjoy their proximity.

***

Bran woke, fully alert, when the dawn brightened the windows over his head. It had always been so unless he was injured or ill. Even within the Nightingale’s artificial day, he recognized dawn. He also recognized the scent of the woman cuddled against him. Adriana.

She had fascinated him from their first meeting. The Serengeti dossier held an impressive list of credentials. She had won awards for unearthing an ancients’ technique for genetic filtering that enabled plains-dwelling grazers to thrive in the arid mountains of Socraide Deuce. That breakthrough catapulted her to the top of the Matahorn zoology department. It also introduced her to the lackluster warrior who took Adriana as consort.

The man was everything Bran despised about the warrior class: selfish, pretentious, and entitled. When the man managed to seduce the signet heir of Matahorn’s supplier, he dissolved his contract with Adriana on less than a sevenday’s notice.

Scum-sucking cyclops.

Adriana stirred. Her even breathing hitched . She was awake. Bran held in a sigh, wanting the moment to last. With a contented sound, she curled closer and returned to sleep.

***

Adriana’s father squeezed her shoulder, gave her a gentle shake. Time to rise for school. Not school. Nightingale. Thirteenth System. Bright Star Deuce. Her eyes opened to a broad expanse of uniform gray. Bran’s tunic. Bran’s chest.

The gentle hand on her shoulder squeezed. “Wake. The day advances and I heard a flyer.”

She lifted her eyes to see his gentle smile, his lips close enough to kiss. Five Warriors take it. Adriana rolled off Bran, feeling heat rising in her cheeks. She remembered her brief waking and then curling up close to her free-trader to enjoy more slumber. Her free-trader ? Rising to her knees, she scrubbed her face with her hands.

Bran grinned. “Rise and shine, sleepy one. I think a flyer is inbound.”

***

It was at least a bell past dawn, the sky a bright blue above the open door. Following Bran’s example, Ariana snapped the lightweight blanket flat and attempted to roll it into a tight cylinder. “Why do DOP-C’s have basic camping equipment?”

“Their purpose is to take shipments from stellar craft to planet surface. While most settlements have some form of guesthouse, they can be . . . primitive. Sometimes, camping is better.”

The blanket slid into its case with unexpected ease. “I thought you dropped supplies and returned.”

Bran collapsed the first stacked camp bed. “It depends on the run and if we are collecting cargo.”

Mimicking him, she collapsed the second. “I find it hard to imagine planets with so few stellar launch centers.”

“Critical components could only be imported through the Matahorn supply depots. Only our largest cities had sufficient funds.”

“I concede the supply depot fees were excessive.” There was some justice to his complaint, but he fixated on the ill. “But the DOP-Cs would not exist if stellar launch centers were economical.”

He snorted.

“Scoff all you like.” She pushed the collapsed bedding into the storage compartment. “You and Raleigh are proud of your free-trader societies, and inventions like the DOP-Cs are going to catapult your Phoenix Enterprises to cartel status in a matter of decades.”

Bran hesitated and then sealed the compartment. “Our inventiveness does not mitigate Matahorn greed.”

There was no heat in the mechanical response.

She laughed. “How often have you rehearsed that line?”

He jerked his gaze to hers, surprise and chagrin in his expression. He shook his head. “We should tend to our biological imperatives before the flyer lands.”

“Changing the subject?” She smiled, shaking her head. “I will take that as a concession.”

His lips twitched and then a smile exploded with a deep chuckle. “Woman, you are impossible.”

Failing to contain her own smile, she said, “I am brilliant and tenacious. Impossible is a side effect.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Are you flirting with me?”

Am I? “I believe I am.”

“Good.” He closed the distance between them, his fingers lifting her chin. “Then I am not misreading your interest.”

Anticipation and desire unfurled. “Not in the least.”

His lips were warm, the kiss gentle and all too brief. She opened her eyes to meet his amber gaze, his expression one of promise. Releasing her chin, he traced her jaw. “I would there were more time.”

“That flyer will land any moment.”

Regret flickered across his face as he turned to the storage compartments. Together, they gathered what they needed.

***

The mountain tips glowed in the early light. Adriana tied their freshening supplies to the end of the cargo line and dropped the satchel over the side. A thump behind her announced Bran emerging with the rifle. To their knowledge, the local predators were nocturnal, but Bran was not taking risks.

He settled with his back to her and the rope. “Talk to me while you are about your business. If you go silent, I will assume the worst.”

It was a reasonable precaution, if awkward. Reaching the ground, she picked up the case and small spade. Two steps from the DOP-C, she noticed the purple plants moving against the breeze. She stepped backward toward the rope, raising the spade. “Bran?”

His boots thumped against the DOP-C. “Adriana?”

A bright patch of white appeared in the purple. “Blue Eyes?”

Bran’s voice came from overhead, “What say you?”

“It is Blue Eyes.” Dropping the spade, she crouched down for the terrier, unaccountably thrilled at the little creature’s arrival. “What are you doing here?”

Tail wagging, the terrier looked up at her with a doggy grin. Unable to resist, she rubbed its ears, eliciting a happy moan. “Were you here all night? You must be thirsty.”

Pulling a vial from a pocket, she poured water into a cupped hand. After a tentative sniff, a pink tongue emerged to slurp the offering.

Bran’s voice was sharp. “What are you doing? You cannot feed that thing.”

“Of course not. I could accidentally poison her. But, so far, all the mammals drink water, and what comes out of the Nightingale distilleries is microbe and toxin free.”

“That is not my point.”

Ignoring Bran, she poured the rest of the vial into her hand. “Blue seems determined to stay close.”

“And when we leave?”

“She will have no reason to remain.”

***

Bran used the distance-viewer to track the flyer’s progress as it descended over the mountains. The graceful craft was half the size of the DOP-C, and most of that was propulsion. Fast and maneuverable, they had been invaluable in the battle for the Thirteenth System and were essential to the surveying and mapping of both habitable planets. Within breaths, the black fleck became a deep-scarlet flyer.

The color came from the special alloy used in the Nightingale ’s hull and that of its flyers. Lightweight, it was more resistant to damage than standard hull alloys, deflecting not only stellar debris, but as it turned out, fireburst from attacking cannons.

Adriana said, “I thought the captain would send one of the Serengeti flyers.”

Of the twelve Nightingale flyers that reached the Thirteenth System, only half survived the battle. Of the five Serengeti flyers that survived the destruction of the flagship, two had remained in the Thirteenth System. Almost as fast and maneuverable as Nightingale flyers, they were the standard blade-metal gray. Without the extensive survey training provided to the Nightingale pilots, they were the first deployed for search and rescue.

Bran lowered the viewer. “I expect that it is Nickolas. He was due to survey this grid within the sevenday. This way, he can collect preliminary data. He does not voice it, but feels he failed Serengeti by not discovering vistrite on Bright Star Prime.”

Discovering vistrite would earn the entire crew magnificent bonuses as well as recognition. “None of the last six systems discovered held vistrite. Why would Nickolas feel he had a special obligation to discover it in the Thirteenth?”

Bran slanted her a glance. “Have you an understanding of geology?”

“It is limited. Why?”

“Metricelli Prime’s planetary crust ranges in depth from five to forty-seven miles. The Great Crevasse is located where the crust is densest.”

“It is thirty miles in depth now. How much deeper can it go?”

“I am not within crevasse security-privilege, but I cannot imagine more than another ten miles, assuming the vistrite goes that deep.”

Adriana frowned. “It has been in use for well over a millennium. At that rate, we have at least a few centuries to discover a replacement.”

“Vistrite demand is ten times what it was when the Sixth System and its vistrite deposit was discovered. It has doubled in the past two decades. Mercium is not only a cheap alternative in simple technology—it is essential to extending the vistrite horizon.”

Her expression turned skeptical. “Every schoolchild knows that the vistrite supply will last at least another millennium.”

“Forecasts beyond a decade or two are subject to wide variations. And a millennium is a nice round number. One that is far enough in the future to be meaningless.”

Her eyes narrowed with a sharp inhale. “A fifty percent variation would not be impossible. The supply that might last only five hundred years and the last vistrite discovery eight centuries gone.” She lifted her gaze. “Five Warriors protect us.”

Bran gestured to the flyer preparing to land. “That warrior is a true follower of the Five Warriors. He believes he is honor bound to protect the Thirteen Systems from the forces of anarchy, and there is naught that would cause more anarchy than a vistrite shortage.”

The brilliant scarlet flyer descended in a graceful glide six or seven paces west.

“He picked a good landing site.” Adriana nodded. “Adjacent to our crash damage, it will limit disruption to the local ecological systems.”

“That was not the purpose.” Bran passed her the rifle and grabbed the line to descend. “The flyer needs to be on that side to pull the DOP-C back into position.”

When Bran reached the flyer, the younger man had emerged. In his early thirties, Lieutenant Nickolas Cyncad was intelligent, well-trained and embodied everything a warrior was supposed to be and so few were: honorable, courageous, and dedicated to his duty. An inch or so taller than Bran, the flyer pilot was well-muscled and fit.

Nickolas reached out to grab Bran’s forearm. “Well met.”

Bran returned the clasp. “Well met indeed.”

Nickolas’ assessing gaze went to the woman standing guard on the DOP-C. “Was this another bout of fabricated ill luck?”

Raleigh had ordered Bran to keep quiet about his suspicions, but Nickolas was one of the few crew members they trusted implicitly. When they had unmasked the original Nightingale captain as the pirate Sadico, Nickolas had fought at their side. “What are you asking?”

Nickolas’ eyes did not leave Adriana. “I do not need to be an expert in complexity theory to recognize when too much coincidence means a pattern. When I approached the captain, he admitted you both share my suspicions. So, is this part of the pattern?”

It was a relief to have Nickolas included. “Whoever it is, their success has made them arrogant. I helped design the DOP-C. Tampering would not escape my notice.”

Nickolas’ mouth hardened to a grim line. “The Serengeti replacement pilot originally scheduled for the flight does not have your skill.”

Cyclops piss . If the DOP-C had fallen at the first propulsion failure, passengers and craft would have been obliterated.

Adriana was watching them. Nickolas reached into the flyer. “Any idea why someone wants Lt. Commander Adriana dead?”

“The loss of a pilot and zoology lead would further slow progress.”

Nickolas pulled out a coil of alloy line. “Could be another Matahorn intrigue. If we fall far enough off schedule, Monsignor Horatio might convince Leonardo to switch its allegiance from Serengeti.”

Bran’s blood chilled. The wily Matahorn preeminence led the first among cartels and controlled a significant voting bloc in the governing council. He had not gained and held power for three decades without being ruthless. “Taking out the Matahorn lead scientist does divert suspicion.”

Nickolas handed Bran the fasteners. “In one sense, the captain is pleased. At least we can strike her from the list of possible saboteurs.”

***

Adriana sat behind Nickolas as he started the flyer, the whine of the propulsion system muted by the cabin. Fifteen paces beyond, Bran stood waiting. Nickolas taped the console. The flyer did not move. Another tap. It lurched and then began to roll.

The craft was designed for flight, not the plains’ uneven surface. Nickolas’ fingers moved in an erratic pattern, keeping the craft in motion but on the ground. They drew closer to Bran. The flyer shuddered. Glancing at a display panel, she could see the DOP-C rock.

Nickolas stroked the console. “Come on darling. You can do it.”

Apparently, it was not only freighter pilots who seduced their craft. The flyer lurched forward, and the DOP-C tumbled. Both Bran’s hands came up at the same moment Nickolas cut the power.

Nickolas turned with a grin. “That should do it. Let us go inspect the damage.”

The drop from the flyer to the ground was not far, but with his typical courtesy, Nickolas reached up to assist her. She rather liked him, but then most people did. He was particularly popular with the female crew both for this pleasant manner and handsome face. With green eyes, auburn hair, and chiseled features, he could have starred in holographic entertainments instead of hazarding his life in an uncharted section of the galaxy.

He was also modest, never mentioning his close ties with Monsignor Lucius and the monsignor’s legendary consort, Lilian Thornraven. After the Serengeti flagship was destroyed in battle, the couple took up residence on the Nightingale . It did not require a scientist’s skills in observation to notice the respect and affection between them and Nickolas. And yet, like Bran who was also on familiar terms with the duo, the lieutenant never referenced his powerful connections.

If Clarence were the same caliber as Nickolas, Adriana’s life would be far more pleasant. Unlike Nickolas, her Serengeti assistant never lost an opportunity to remind her that he was a warrior of Serengeti while she was a commoner of Matahorn. Nor did Nickolas appear to resent taking orders from Bran, a commoner and free-trader. Had Clarence’s constant harassment prejudiced Adriana against the Serengeti?

Bran’s frown jolted her from her thoughts. “Bran, what is amiss?”

He blinked, his expression clearing. “With luck, nothing.” He clapped Nickolas’ shoulder. “I have an inventory of what is needed to repair the internal workings. Let us see if there is any external damage on the side that hit the ground.”

Nickolas nodded, his gaze drifting toward the mountains. “It is odd, but there is something familiar about that range.”

Bran shrugged. “You surveyed two on Prime and one other here on Deuce.”

“But there is something. Mayhap, I should swing south and trace more of that range.”

Bran shook his head. “Better to keep to the designated grid order. It is too easy to miss a few important miles by veering off. Your schedule brings you back within the sevenday. Those mountains are not going anywhere.”

With one last look at the mountains, Nickolas followed Bran. Slowing her pace, Adriana took a moment to enjoy the sight of Bran walking away. He moved with a more concentrated energy than Nickolas, and while there was no denying the younger man’s appeal, he did not stir warmth in her the way Bran did. There was a solidity to Bran. The certitude that came from forging his own destiny.

Lost in her musings, she was three paces back. Hastening her pace, she caught the last of Nickolas’ comment.

“. . . Raleigh or me. It is unlikely the saboteur is in the command crew, but—” Nickolas broke off as she reached them.

Saboteur. She had wondered, but it seemed so unlikely. “You think sabotage? But all the crew and replacements were double-checked for despoiler affiliations after the battle.”

Nickolas exchanged a glance with Bran that seemed to be an entire conversation. At Bran’s nod, he said, “The despoilers were not the only source of intrigue in the Thirteen Systems. You know as well as we that every position on the Nightingale was negotiated among the three partners. The alliance is fragile at best.”

“Well, you cannot suspect Matahorn. After the command crew, I am the highest-ranking member of the group.”

Bran’s soft tone belied his frown. “Do you really believe that Monsignor Horatio is above sacrificing one of his retainers to achieve his ambitions? One who is not even a warrior?”

The warrior who had taken Adriana consort had no such qualms. No. She would not be deflected. “And, of course, you assume it could not be Serengeti. Monsignor Lucius is in no way ruthless.”

Instead of being offended, Nickolas laughed. “Monsignor is beyond ruthless.” He sobered. “But Monsignor is in no manner callous. He would not instigate actions that could cause your death or any of the crew for some marginal advantage in Bright Star. And that is all it would be.”

Bran added, “Do not underestimate Captain Raleigh’s shrewdness. Other than Nickolas, he is no more certain of Serengeti than any others. Jarrod was a Serengeti selection.”

“Captain Jarrod? He was hero.”

“He was despoiler and almost hijacked the Nightingale before she launched.”

What says he? Blood thundered in her ears. It could not be true. “The media. Monsignor Horatio.”

Bran’s hand rested on her shoulder. “The truth about Jarrod was hidden because neither Serengeti nor Matahorn wanted to reveal they knew the despoilers were rising. Now that they have been defeated, it is no longer a secret.”

As if sensing Adriana’s legs had turned liquid, Bran’s arm went to her waist. “Let us continue this inside.”

Seated in the DOP-C, Adriana looked from one man to the other. “You truly believe someone is sabotaging our mission and it is a routine commerce intrigue?”

They both nodded.

She sat back. “I am no longer a suspect because I could have died in the crash?”

More nods. As much as she would like to deny it, the pieces fit. “What do we do?”

Nickolas flashed a grin. “You are taking this very well.”

“I am a scientist. Disliking an answer does not change it. Altering the constraints or variables might.” She turned to Bran. “What do we do?”

Approval glowed in his eyes as he leaned forward. “Continue the pretense we believe it ill luck, or hasty repairs on Fortuna after the battle when all was in disarray, or any reasonable explanation that does not include sabotage.”

“Captain Raleigh does not wish to alert the saboteur.”

“Exactly,” Nickolas replied. “They might cease, and we need to identify them, and more importantly, who is behind all this.”

“There is more to it,” Bran said. “Since the battle, tension has remained high. Any suggestion of sabotage could have the crew turning on each other and that could do far more damage.”

***

Bran watched the flyer disappear into the clouds. Nickolas had raised an eyebrow when informed Adriana would remain with Bran but said nothing, merely relaying Bran’s requirements to the Nightingale . Another flyer would arrive within two bells with the needed parts. Fortunately, the side of the DOP-C that had hit the ground was scraped and dented but sound.

Next to him, Adriana sighed.

He glanced at her. “Regretting your decision to remain?”

It would be at least the following day before he had the damaged systems repaired and the DOP-C flight worthy.

“No, regretting we did not think to ask for additional food supplies along with the replacement parts. And I would love a cup of tea, or even the bitter Fortuna kaffee.”

He glanced at the endless plains of inedible plants. “Are there ground squirrels in this area?”

Twice the size of squirrels, the local animals were burrowers, but had a distinctive fluffy tail that gave them their name. They were among the few local fauna that had been cleared for consumption.

“I have not seen any, but the conditions are right.” Adriana shot him a quizzical look. “Have you means and skill to cook it?”

“Of course; I can dress it, too.”

“Good. My food preparation skills are limited to a proper cooker.” She turned for the DOP-C. “Not that I can promise ground squirrel, but I will know to harvest it if one enters a lure.”

He could not hide his surprise. “You can cook?”

“Why are you surprised?”

“Few of your status bother to learn.”

She reached into the compartment for her equipment. “I am not quite the pampered First System dweller you believe.”

Is my opinion so obvious?

She glanced up at him and laughed. “I am well aware of how free-traders view First System dwellers. It is even justified to an extent.” She pulled out a case. “I am not a fan of the processed meals that are standard fare in field expeditions. It was either learn to cook what I liked or live on raw vegetables.”

She was proving more intriguing with each bell. Reaching down, he grabbed a case and carried it to the entrance. “You are astonishing.”

She threw him a surprised look. “Are you flirting?”

Is he? “Mayhap. It is not an area where I have much practice.”

Her lips curved. A teasing sparkle entered her eyes. “It is difficult to flirt with three-word sentences. Although you did well with that last.”

“Am I so taciturn?”

She shook her head, setting a case by the door. “At first. Not so much anymore. Stellar exploration seems to have mellowed you.”

“That is not it.” He closed the distance. “I filter less when I am with someone I know and like.”

Her eyes widened, and color deepened on her cheeks. “Oh. I like you. Too.”

Her confusion was adorable and gratifying. “Now who is using three-word sentences?”

She shook her head. “What is it about you that returns me to my awkward twenties?”

He cupped her cheek, relishing the velvety softness. “You are a compelling woman.” He yielded to temptation and feathered a kiss across her lips. “I wish our circumstances were better.”

Her smile turned wry. “They are better than yesterday. At least we have a working freshener.”

A laugh escaped him. “And a great deal of work to do.”

Grabbing the distance-viewer, she turned for the doorway. Reaching it, she glanced back. “We can practice your flirting when the sun goes down.”

***

Sitting in the doorway, Adriana used the distance-viewer to examine the mountain range. Bringing the mountains 10,000 feet closer did not add much detail but did give a hint of the beige grasslands that took over from the plains in another ten miles or so. Whatever had caught Nickolas’ attention would remain a mystery for a few more days.

Behind her, Bran made occasional grunts as he worked to remove the damaged system parts.

Turning her attention to the forest, she found the viewer far more useful. The nearest edge was not more than two hundred paces. Close enough that Bran’s caution was warranted. There were feline-type predators that were remarkable sprinters and could reach the DOP-C in a matter of breaths. With the sun nearing its peak, the area at the edge was shady but not dark. She could make out individual trunks and pale-pink fernlike plants that clustered near the red deciduous trees.

Bran snorted. “Scum-sucking cyclops.”

She turned into the vehicle. “What is a cyclops?”

Bran made an interrogative sound, his head emerging from the open hatch in the floor. “What say you?”

“I asked, what is a cyclops? You have referenced its turd, piss, and scum-sucking since the crash.”

He blinked. Color warmed his cheeks and a rueful smile formed. “I was unaware. A cyclops is a rodent that inhabits the caverns in the eastern part of Redemption. They are almost the size of that terrier you found, only not as charming. The color of pus, they have one eye, two sets of sharp teeth, and reek of the carrion that makes up their diet.”

“Lovely. In the First System there are harpies. Nasty winged things that like to nest on the city spires and eat garbage.”

His smile turned into a chuckle. “I thought you were going to set more lures.”

“I am.” Standing, she let the viewer drop to hang by its strap and grabbed her cases. “I am going to the west. I do not think we are close enough to the mountains to see any variations in fauna, but it is worth checking. I will need to go past where the flyer landed, so it will be a while.”

It was a beautiful day; bright, temperate and with a light breeze. She hoped Blue was all right. She was not sure when, but somewhere along the way, the description “little blue eyes” had become the name Blue. The little creature had disappeared sometime during Nickolas’ landing, and she had not seen it since. She had half hoped Blue would return while she was scanning the area. Poor thing. All these strange metal birds dropping from the sky must be traumatic.

Three paces past the landing area, Adriana began casting the lures in a wide arc. Despite the challenging circumstances, she was in a bright mood. She knew it was that brief kiss. That was more than flirting. As much as she wanted to believe the attraction she felt was mutual, it had seemed unlikely. The visual of his deceased wife showed a tall, willowy woman with pale patrician features and elegant waves of dark honey hair. Physically, she could not be more different from Adriana. An artist of some renown in the free-trader systems, her temperament would have been nothing like Adriana’s analytical responses. And yet, Bran had kissed her. Twice. However briefly.

She dropped the final lure within six paces of the tree line and the promising pink ferns. Pulling the viewer, she confirmed her hope: slender yellow stalks of peach-berries nestled among the fronds. Named for their color and fuzzed skin, the egg-sized berries tasted more like plum and had become a crew favorite.

Standing there, the lure case empty, Adriana was torn. She promised Bran she would not take foolish chances. With the sun high up, was it foolish to take those last few steps? She unholstered the fireburst pistol. She was armed. Not that it helped with the snake.

A yip from the right snapped her attention away from the trees. Blue stood a pace away, her head cocked to one side and tail in a slow wag.

“Did you come to help? What do you think? Will Bran agree that between you and the pistol I am sufficiently cautious?”

She looked over at the tempting fruit.

The tip of Blue’s muzzle lifted, and delicate muscles fluttered as she took in the scents of the area. Her lips curled and, with a sharp bark, she leapt away from the trees. Adjusting the cases on her shoulder, Adriana followed. If there was something in those trees Blue wished to avoid, Adriana wanted no part of it.

The terrier glanced back and, seeing Adriana follow, gave a happy prance. Checking the wind, Adriana veered east, away from the latest set of lures, taking an oblique angle back to the DOP-C. Blue yipped and moved in the other direction.

Odd. If Blue wanted to raid the lures, she should instinctively stay downwind. “Sorry Blue, I need to go this way.”

With a disgruntled sound, Blue abandoned her course to accompany Adriana. Did the dog understand Adriana’s words or simply accept that Adriana had a different agenda? Growing up, her parents had dogs. Bred for hunting, they enjoyed her father’s hikes when he went on his insect-hunting expeditions. He always claimed that the dogs understood more than he imagined and less than he would wish.

By the time they reached the DOP-C, Adriana’s bracelet had pinged two alerts.

***

After double-checking the connections, Bran pushed off his knees, arching his back to stretch out the kinks. Leaving the floor panel open, he reached for a water vial. He was glad of the temperate day. The environmental controls were undamaged, but he had powered off all the systems while he worked to remove the damaged parts.

Outside, the clouds had cleared, leaving a cobalt-blue sky. The color reminded him of Adriana’s stray. That was not a natural color for a dog’s eyes. If it was a dog. Until they returned to the Nightingale , and Adriana evaluated her samples, they would not know.

The woman had accepted the revelations of sabotage and Jarrod’s perfidy with remarkable aplomb. Her wariness of Serengeti was no worse than most of the Serengeti crew’s wariness of Matahorn. Unfortunately, those attitudes colored not only opinions, but perceptions of events. It made the investigation far more difficult. In Adriana’s favor, she was not blindly loyal to her cartel. She could and would entertain information that was not flattering to Matahorn or Horatio Margovian. That made her far less biased than most, and her observations more valuable.

The thought pleased him. As did her flirting and admission of attraction. He also wanted her to trust him fully. From her reactions this morning, she was close. Most of her initial wariness had faded over the months as her analytical mind weighed her observations against First System anti-Serengeti and anti-free-trader bias. He suspected that what little remained was the wariness they all felt after the battle with the despoilers.

The object of his musing spoke from the doorway. “Bran? Is all well?”

“I have pulled most of the damaged parts. What of your samples?”

“Two of the lures are active. It would be better to wait until more respond before collection. I was going to grab a nutrition bar while I waited.”

Bran’s stomach approved with a loud rumble. “If you grab the bars and water, I will lower a couple of passenger seats.”

She climbed inside, setting her cases by the door. “Ah, I am not alone.”

Two fluffy white paws were planted on the bottom of the doorframe. Two unnaturally blue eyes stared at him with expectation.

“She is back?”

Sidling past the opening in the floor, Adriana reached into storage for the bars and water. “She met me as I finished setting the lures.”

Reaching across the hole, she handed him two bars and a water vial. “I need to give Blue some water.”

Squatting by the door, she repeated the morning’s water sharing.

“You know that is ill-advised.”

She sighed. “I know. But she has helped me twice.”

“Twice?”

With a sheepish smile, Adriana fondled the dog’s ears. “There were peach-berries.”

As she continued, he was torn between laughter and fear. “Would you really have broken your word for some fruit?”

“Until Blue came along, I had decided that even with a pistol, it was too much risk. There are good reasons foraging groups have armed militia standing guard.”

“You would have considered Blue equivalent to a militia guard?” Cyclops piss. When had he started calling the dog by name?

“It was more—did she think it safe? She lives here and can handle a massive snake.” Ariana gave the creature one last pat before rising. “When she turned tail, that was the answer. Not safe.”

She took the seat next to his and tore open a bar. “I doubt she understands what a fireburst pistol can do. But it was no help last night, so I would be foolish to rely on it.”

Relieved the woman was both sensible and honorable, Bran tore into his bar. It was too bad about the peach-berries. Adriana was right, the nutrition bars were getting old.

Adriana’s lips twitched. “Regretting the peach-berries?”

Had she read his mind? Probably his expression. “Emergency rations are life sustaining, but that is all that can be said for them.”

Leaning back, she took a sip of water. “As a child, I found them exotic.”

That made no sense. Adriana came from a wealthy family. “When did you have recourse to nutrition bars?”

“My father is an entymologist. He would take me on day trips to study insects. The nutrition bars were lunch.” She broke off a small piece. “I was thinking about him earlier. He was no end of amused when I chose zoology. ‘The perfect compromise between medic and bug collector.’ He used to talk to our dogs, too. Said it was only a problem if he started hearing answers.”

Enchanted at the image of a small Adriana chasing butterflies, he almost missed her last comment. “Talked to dogs, too? As you talk to the terrier?”

“You talk to the DOP-C, and it cannot actually hear you.” She shrugged. “Blue responds to the sound of my voice. And probably my body language.”

Common enough in domesticated animals, but less so in wild ones. He glanced out the door where Blue had flopped down in a patch of sun. It had not yet been a full day and Adriana was bonding with the thing. The longer they stayed, the worse it would get. A glance at the time showed it was later than he realized. “The flyer should be here with the parts. I wonder if—”

The distinct hum of a flyer broke in as if summoned.

Ariana stood, tossing her wrappers and vial in the recycler. “This is ill-timed. Only half the lures are filled, and the sound will chase everything out of the area for several bells.”

“You will have time tomorrow. It will take half a day to install the new components.”

“You will not work at night?”

“Cannot, rather. We will need environmental systems and I cannot make repairs with the power active.”

***

“Almost . . . almost.” Bran twisted his torso, straining for leverage on the resistant connection. The DOP-C was designed for ease of repair, the system components modular and readily exchanged. Whoever had sabotaged the DOP-C had managed to sever the connector to a vistrite controller, leaving a small section of the coupling connected to the DOP-C. Until Bran worked it free, he could not snap in the replacement part. Squeezing his hands into the tight space only increased the difficulty. “Almost.”

The tool slipped, clanging against the bottom, the sudden loss in tension sending his knuckles barking against the unit. “Demon piss!”

Shaking his wounded hand, he fished around in the hole for the dropped tool.

Ariana’s cool voice came from the doorway. “An escalation in expletives. That does not sound promising.”

His fingers closed over the tool, and he rolled toward the door.

Adriana was a dark silhouette framed in light. The sun was still above the peaks, but they did not have much more than another period of daylight. “Were you successful?”

“Six new samples.” She set her cases inside the door. “No luck on the ground squirrel.”

Disappointment worsened his mood. “Our saboteur has a surprising knowledge of systems. They severed the coupling to the vistrite controller about two-thirds through. The strain of entry did the rest. It also left a jagged piece jammed into the housing. Until I remove it, I cannot replace the controller.”

Her brow furrowed. “Controller couplings usually twist free.”

“This one will, too. When I get a good grip on it.”

Her eyes ran to his hands and then the opening in the floor. “Let me try.”

“What say you?”

“I have assembled analytics equipment. I know how to lock in a controller. Or unlock it.” She waved her hands in front of his face. “Mine are half the size of yours. A better fit.”

He had the sudden desire to capture one of those hands and nip her fingers . Now is not the time. Throttling his libido, he moved away from the opening. Using the same gesture as if it were a blade, he offered the tool handle first, resting on his wrist.

“Ever the gallant officer.” Her lips curved, and she accepted his offering. “And you managed to flirt without saying a word.”

She was a delight. Smiling, he sat against the wall to watch her peer into the hole.

“I see it.” She leaned in, bracing with her free hand. She made a series of questioning sounds, her luscious derriere wriggling in an appealing manner. A tsking sound followed. A bit more wriggling that sent his mind down a salacious path.

She stiffened. “Yes!”

Adriana pulled back, the tool raised in triumph, controller shard trapped in the clamp.

Unable to resist, he reached forward and pulled her into a hug. It was all too easy in their kneeling position for his hands to find her buttocks and caress their firm weight. With a sweet moan, her head tilted back, her lips grazing his.

Desire roared from his depths. He pressed her closer, deepening the kiss. Her lips parted, inviting him into the warm seductive cavern of her mouth. She was sweet and savory, his shaft hardening at the aphrodisiac.

Metal clanged on metal. He jerked away, seeking the threat. He took a shuddering breath when he realized she had dropped the mechanic’s tool. He turned back to her, but she was already moving away.

Her eyes were huge, her cheeks flushed deep bronze, her lips dark and swollen. Running a hand through her curls, she shook her head. “Bran. I . . . Maybe. When we are back on the Nightingale .”

“You are right. This is not the time or the place. But I will hold you to revisiting this once we are back on the Nightingale .”

The confusion cleared, replaced by a shy smile. “I would like that.”

***

The freshening packet was not a shower, but it did rid Adriana of two days’ grime. She wished there was something similar for her uniform, or at least her socks and underthings. Donning soiled clothes against her freshly cleansed skin was not appealing. After a brief mental debate, she left off socks, trousers, and bra. A tunic and briefs were enough for sleep, and her legs were one of her better features.

There was more than enough mouth cleansing fluid to last through the next day. Mentally blessing the free-trader protocol that kept the DOP-Cs stocked with essentials, she washed away the nutrition bar residue.

With the new and damaged components filling a portion of the cargo area, there was only sufficient floor space for one set of bedding. The notion of sleeping curled against Bran was beyond appealing. And while the floor of a DOP-C was not ideal for shared pleasure, she would not object to more kissing. Combing her hair with her fingers, she accepted she was as presentable as she could be under the circumstances.

Bran’s eyes widened and his appreciative gaze lingered on her legs. “Good notion. We will be more comfortable, and warm enough since we can use the blankets as intended and not as extra padding.”

The camping bed was not as comfortable as the one in her Nightingale cabin, but it was a great deal more pleasant than the prior night’s improvised version. Curled on her side, she could look out the window and up at the stars. Sinead’s seer had marked out some of the constellations and she could make out the raven. Whether inspired by the Five Warriors or simply the seer’s fancy, Adriana found it comforting to be able to find a familiar shape in the alien sky.

Below the single moon, two bright stars glittered, the blue-white color making her think of Blue’s eyes. She hoped the little terrier had found a safe bed for the night. She had followed Adriana back to the DOP-C but disappeared while Adriana wrestled with the broken coupling.

The freshener opened. Bran was even more imposing from her position the floor, the strong columns of his legs setting off little twinges of desire.

His voice held a hint of amusement. “Stargazing?”

Heat suffused her face, and she turned it back toward the raven. “We can see the raven. There are two stars close together that remind me of Blue’s eyes. I was trying pick other stars to form a dog.”

The bed shifted with his weight, and his warmth enveloped her with the arm he draped over her waist. “Show me.”

***

The woman was a delight. He would never have suspected the driven scientist had such a fanciful side. The physical pull he had felt from the first was rapidly developing into something deeper and more profound.

“ . . . the tips of her ears.” Adriana finished her star-drawing of Blue. “I think one of the geologists has some artistic talent. Maybe he will draw the constellation, if asked. I have several visuals of Blue.”

“I am sure he will.” Bran would make certain of it. Rolling to his back, he gave a gentle tug to pull her with him. “My other arm is falling asleep.”

She settled against him with an embarrassed laugh. “I beg pardon. I do tend to get obsessed when I am working on a project.”

“I noticed.” It almost got her killed the evening gone. “Hazard of your career choice?”

“Or perhaps it is my nature and led to the choice. It comes at a cost.”

The sorrow in her voice caught at his heart. “How so?”

The silence stretched and he thought she would not answer when she finally sighed. “If I had not been so obsessed with commerce advancement, I would have seen the dissolution of my consort alliance coming.”

Is she deranged? “You cannot truly blame yourself. He was a fool to let you go.”

She lifted her head, her dark eyes holding more resignation than pain. “I do not blame myself for the dissolution, only that I did not see it coming.” She dropped her head back to his shoulder. “And for being lackwit enough to believe he loved me.”

Bran had the overwhelming desire to rip the man’s head from his shoulders. “You are a brilliant, intriguing, lovely woman. Why would you doubt a man’s professed affection? One who was supposed to be an honorable warrior.”

She shifted against him, one hand resting on his hip. “I was thirty-two and wooed by a Margovian Warrior. I was so dazzled that I abandoned my training. I did not observe, analyze, and then conclude. I wished him to be honorable and discarded any evidence that challenged my conclusion.”

“Your family favored the match?”

“Of course they did. A warrior alliance? If I had borne a child, it would have been a warrior.”

He felt her breath catch, more than heard it. “Did you wish a child?”

“Not immediately. My commerce career was taking off and the consort alliance pushed it even higher. It was five years before I seriously thought of conception. Evander would not agree. There was always a reason to wait another season.”

Cyclops scat. “He was seeking another alliance.”

“Our alliance had given him entrée into the serious commerce circles of Matahorn and the First System. He was, is , handsome, charming, of a good bloodline, and, due to my income, could afford to woo a signet heir.”

“Your income?”

“Master research zoologists are compensated almost as well as junior seigneurs. His family stipend was less than mine, his artist income decent by commoner standards but paltry by warrior standards. But that was not my only value. As an artist he was not considered a warrior of substance. Having consort who was both a scientist and successful in commerce gave him weight.”

“Why did you tolerate it?”

Her head lifted, shame marring her features. “I was a lackwit. I saw none of this until I was given notice of the alliance dissolution. But I spent as many bells at research as I do now. When I was at liberty, Evander kept us busy with social events and entertainments. And, on the few occasions when I felt something was off, he had a way of making me feel that I erred.”

Cupping her face, he shook his head. “Evander is the lackwit. He had you and did not value you.”

For a moment she appeared dubious, and then a tremulous smile emerged. “Other than the lack of a child, I am grateful he was a lackwit. Otherwise, I would not be on the Nightingale .”

“Then I will be grateful as well.” He wanted to claim a kiss, but not while her thoughts were on another man. “Have you always enjoyed stargazing? Is that what motivated you to join the Nightingale ?”

Her nose crinkled. “I wish I could voice yes, but my interest in astronomy is incidental to my love of the sagas and entertainments about the discovery and founding of the Twelve Systems.”

She is truly adorable . “Did you imagine yourself the intrepid captain guiding the stellar exploration vehicle through the beaconless expanse?”

“Sometimes.” She settled against him. “Sometimes I was the sassy subordinate who kept them on their toes.”

He swallowed his laughter lest it wound her. She could not be further from the often-shallow characters who were foils to the lead in those entertainments.

She raised her head, lips twisted in a wry smile. “It was a child’s fantasy.” Her expression turned curious. “What of you? Did being raised on freighters make planet life seem dull?”

“Quite the contrary. I loved the comfort of planet dwelling. I remember having my first bath at ten. It was beyond luxury to submerge in warm water.”

“But you’re a freighter pilot and navigator.”

“My parents ran freight. Yours are scientists.” He gazed at the sparkling sky, thinking about the past, at the decisions that brought him to this moment. “I do enjoy plotting a course between systems and visiting new places. But if I had not met Raleigh, I might have taken a different path.”

She stroked his waist and made an encouraging sound.

“There were no funds for my advanced studies. What I learned about engineering came from the public archives and hands-on experimentation. Until I met Raleigh, no one with ownership in a freight enterprise would even look at my designs.”

“I thought the free-trader systems were more open-minded.”

“We are not as concerned about hereditary genetics as the other systems. Academic credentials are another matter. But Raleigh was ambitious and—with only three freighters—struggling to expand.” He could still recall the excitement of joining Raleigh’s Phoenix Enterprises. “He gave me a contract in return for access to my design for improved fuel efficiency. It was enough to give him the edge he needed.”

“And then what?”

“His fleet expanded to twenty vessels and came up against the biggest competitors. The ones who had long-term contracts for most of the launch-pad pavilions. Unless the Eleventh and Twelfth Systems built more launch pads, we could expand no further.”

Adriana rose on her elbow, eyes bright. “So, you invented the DOP-Cs?”

He could not suppress his grin. “Our first DOP-C was not much more than an automated glider with limited capacity and range, but it took us into untapped markets. It also gave Raleigh access to the planetary and system councils.”

“And now he’s a deacon, and this”—she gestured at the four-passenger transport—“is the third generation?”

At his nod, her smile warmed, and that teasing sparkle entered her eyes. “It seems my girlish fantasies were not so far off, except it is the brilliant and intrepid navigator who stirs my interest.”

It was not the time or the place to indulge in passion, but he could not resist claiming a kiss.