The Commander's Slave Page 6

  She turned to Tangus. “Xenotyping?”

  There’s still time to salvage this situation. Send Zehnda away!

  “I don’t know what species you are,” he began. “I asked Doctor Zehnda here so he can run some tests. Genetic compatibility. Physiological bars to fertility.”

  “What are you saying?” she asked, quelling a small leap in her heart. “You want me to bear your child?”

  It was all a bit sudden and although Asha admitted to herself that the thought itself was attractive, surely he should have discussed it with her first? By the standards of her species had she even reached sexual maturity yet? And what kind of future would a child of hers have, on the run from the Lasc Prein?

  Zehnda laughed. “If my instructions are correct, it’s not just the commander. Isn’t that right sir?”

  Both Tangus and Asha stared at each other in frozen tableau while the doctor, still checking his instruments, continued talking.

  “With just one person there may not be a problem. But with a potential donor pool in the thousands, the cumulative effects of recessive genes across interspecies embryo development cannot be underestimated.”

  “In the thousands?” Asha asked through bloodless lips. Her voice was faint.

  A tic worked in Tangus’ jaw. “I’ll leave you to your work, doctor.” He left, quelling the howl that rose within as the doors to his quarters slid shut behind him.

  * * * *

  Tangus’ quarters on the Strike, like all rooms on the ship, was temperature-controlled, but that didn’t stop Asha’s shivering.

  The doctor had already left, leaving Asha’s body whole but splintering her mind into a million pieces. Not being able to stay in his quarters, to have his scent taunt her, she slipped back to the smooth decadence of the adjoining chamber. She would never have believed for a moment that a room geared to sex would comfort her, but in the entire galaxy, it was now the place where she felt the greatest security. At another time, she would have smiled at the irony.

  But now, all she could do was collapse on the edge of the bed and confront an unpalatable reality.

  Why had she even entertained the fantasy of a life together for her and Tangus? He had made it plain from the beginning that he had purchased her for a reason. At the time, she had thought that meant possession by only one man--him.

  But thousands?

  Doctor Zehnda had been more forthcoming in that one hour than Tangus in the past several days.

  He told her that the Seti remnant was all male, the dregs of a species that would soon die out unless someone came up with a plan. And the commander had. A bold plan of acquiring female stock to interbreed with the Seti so the genetic strain wouldn’t completely die out. Preferably female Fusion stock so they would always serve as a reminder of the Fusion’s perfidy while they allowed the Lasc Prein to massacre them into almost total extinction. She was their first acquisition.

  It made her blood run cold to see how much she had underestimated Tangus’ ruthlessness, reading sensitivity instead of callousness, and torment instead of all-consuming revenge. It had fooled her into thinking he was, beneath all his actions, an honorable man, and she was going to pay for such a misjudgment by living out the rest of her life as a Seti breeding-receptacle.

  But what could she do to escape such a fate?

  Where before she didn’t see her amnesia as a negative, now she confronted dead-ends. Who was she really? Was she someone powerful? Or just a bystander somehow involved in a spaceship crash? Was her species capable of looking for her? Did they even care?

  Asha buried her head in her hands. Only a few hours ago, she was prepared to throw away any thoughts of her species, but now they loomed large in her future. How fickle she had been to think that she could ignore everything that happened in her life up till this point, up to the point when she found herself betrayed by the man she had fallen in love with.

  Desperately, she started thinking. What she needed now were options. Was there anybody on the Strike, for example, who would help her? Doctor Zehnda was totally committed to his commander. But what about Daurent? The young sub-commander had treated her kindly. Would he help? She thought about it. No, even she could see the bond between the two men. Daurent would not betray Tangus.

  What she needed now was a miracle. A ….

  A shuddering jolt whipped through the ship, toppling her from her seat. At the same time, a klaxon sounded, followed by a terse voice she recognized as Tangus’.

  “Battle stations. This is not a drill. Enemy sighted and engaged. I repeat, battle stations.”

  Another rippling concussion struck the ship, sending it into a deep angled swerve. The moment the floor steadied, Asha made a rush for the door in Tangus’ quarters, hitting the access panel.

  As the doors slid open, acrid smoke filled her nostrils, and she recognized the smell of an electrical fire. Men rushed around her, yelling to each other to make themselves heard above the tortured whine of the engines. The Strike was still listing, and Asha was, for once, glad of her bare feet which gave a better hold on the tilted vessel’s floor.

  She turned the corner and confronted a scene of destruction. One wall panel had blown out, taking a young soldier with it. Asha could see the flames lick at the wiring, melting the insulation and flicking upwards inside the bulkhead.

  She grabbed the sleeve of someone else rushing past.

  “Where’s the fire extinguisher?” she yelled.

  “What?” his eyes were wild and she tried to get away but her grip was stronger.

  “Fire extinguisher,” she repeated.

  He pointed to an opposite panel then tore away from her hand and kept running.

  Asha hesitated. This was an excellent opportunity for escape. If only she could find the emergency pods .... Then she looked down at the young man unconscious by the panel. What if she had a brother and he was in a similar situation? Would she forgive or condemn the prisoner who had a chance to save him, but didn’t?

  With an oath, she turned to the opposite panel, grappling with her fingers at the catch. It stuck, then released. Asha flung it to one side and reached in for the extinguisher. If she knew anything about electrical fires in enclosed spaces, the immediate vicinity would be super-heated. Deftly, she released the safety and aimed it at the fire, pulsing the shots. When it was doused, she moved closer, angling the nozzle into the bulkhead and spraying all around, making sure all traces of the blaze were extinguished, careful not to touch the still-hot jagged metal.

  With the immediate danger out of the way, she knelt and examined the young man. Part of his face was burnt red and raw. She felt for a pulse and was relieved to find one.

  Although she hadn’t entered it, she roughly knew from the tour where sickbay was situated. Placing her hands under his arms, she hoisted the man up and began dragging him towards the back of the ship. Thankfully, sickbay was down one level, but she was still panting and sweating when she entered with her rescued soldier.

  Zehnda was all-professional now, giving her one quick glance before directing her to a nearby bunk. But Asha wasn’t strong enough to lift the unconscious man onto the bunk, so she left him on the floor next to it. Zehnda rushed around, examining four others who had gotten there before she did.

  Finally, the doctor had time to give her patient a quick scan.

  “Well done,” he said. “You caught him just as he was entering shock. I’ll give him something that should settle his system.”

  “Where are the other doctors?” she asked.

  He grabbed a second to give her a quick grin. “What other doctors?”

  “Assistants?”

  “Not many medical personnel survived the attack on our home world,” he explained.

  Asha made a quick decision. “Then give me a medical kit. I’ll see who else is injured and bring them back here.”

  Zehnda didn’t demur. He returned with a compact case. “Do you know how to use the equipment.”

  “I ... think so.”
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  “Then I’m not going to turn down an offer of help. Get going.”

  She hesitated. “Ah, doctor?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have a spare pair of shoes anywhere?”

  * * * *

  The attack on the Strike stopped Asha from thinking. Caught in extreme circumstances beyond her control, all she could was react. And, she found, the less she thought, the more her hands knew what to do.

  Almost as though she was standing outside herself, she watched as she reset a dislocated shoulder, bandaged wounds and emergency-bound broken limbs. Around her, the battle continued to rage, but she found a center of quiet and used it, calmly extinguishing fires and estimating doses of painkillers. Thankfully, the kit she had been supplied with had been designed with non-medical personnel in mind: tranquilizers and medication were already divided into individual treatments and all she had to do was load and shoot the hypo-spray.

  Right at the end, when she could tell that the pace was less frantic--the fact that the Strike was still in one piece augured well--she came across Tomben.

  She had not forgotten about him from the time she was sold to the Seti and shivered as she remembered the familiar way he had run his hand down her naked body. But right now, he was in pain just outside one of the engine rooms, cradling an arm that was clearly broken in two places, and suffering third-degree burns.

  He tried to summon a leer as he saw her approach, but Asha could see his face twist as he adjusted his position.

  “Stay still,” she commanded, kneeling down next to him.

  “Just get me some painkillers,” he rasped, “then I can get back to killing more of those Lasc Prein scum.”

  Asha’s fingers faltered at the clasp of the medical kit. So they had been attacked by the Lasc Prein again? Still, whatever else she thought of Tomben, she couldn’t fault his loyalty. Her fingers stilled as she thought of something.

  “Listen Tomben,” she said in an urgent tone, “you don’t like me, and to be honest, I’m not too keen about you. But you know your commander likes me ... very much.”

  Tomben turned away in disgust, but Asha stopped him and forced him to look at her.

  “For all you know, the Lasc Prein were able to sneak up on you because the commander was distracted by me. Have you thought of that? Maybe you wouldn’t be here in pain if he had been thinking clearly.”

  Tomben’s eyes narrowed. “So what?”

  “So you don’t need that kind of distraction, do you? One woman with all those enemies out there waiting to vaporize you into your component atoms.” Tomben’s face twisted in pain again so Asha hurried. “I have a deal for you. You tell me where the emergency escape pods are located, and I’ll give you a painkiller.”

  “How do I know you won’t overdose me instead?” he demanded.

  Asha hesitated. There was food for thought. After all, would the galaxy really miss someone like Tomben?

  “I give you my word,” she said.

  He looked at her for a few seconds, then jerked his head. “It’s in the engine room behind me. Go to the end and turn left. There are three pods.”

  “Thanks.” She added a powerful sedative to the painkiller and gave Tomben a double dose before he could say anything else. Then, with a quick look around, she slipped through the open door of the engine room.

  Chapter Six

  Later, even though he knew it was nothing he could have foreseen, Tangus would blame his distracted mood for the way the scout ship had sneaked up on them.

  The first strike sent him half out of the command chair as the blow reverberated through the Strike’s hull.

  Ven, his young helmsman/navigator, frantically checked his instruments before turning to his commander in alarm.

  “Sir, the ship. It’s Lasc Prein!”

  Tangus swore a short sharp epithet. After all the careful planning they had done--

  “Daurent, jam that ship’s transmissions. I don’t want any ‘friends’ dropping by.”

  “Yes, commander.”

  Another blast shook the ship as Tangus opened ship wide communications.

  “Battlestations,” he barked. “This is not a drill. Enemy sighted and engaged. I repeat, battle stations.”

  A third hit.

  “And, Daurent, when you have time, lock on that ship. What can you tell me about it?”

  Second after second ticked away, and Tangus continued swearing. In his old battleship, there was enough room on the bridge for one person per function--one for communications, one for weapons, one to handle helm, the other navigation. He even had the luxury of Security and Sensors officers. But in the renamed Strike, the bridge was cramped, and his officers had to carry out multiple roles. With predictable results.

  “Scout ship, commander,” Daurent reported after an eternity. “Just the one. Standard armaments.”

  “Target the shields around the propulsion systems. Ven, get us into an evasive maneuver.”

  “Which one, commander?” The helmsman/navigator’s fingers flew over the boards in preparation for a defensive move.

  “There’s only us, Ven. Find one.”

  “Ah--”

  “Commander, one of the engineering ports has taken damage. Artificial gravity’s at eighty percent.”

  “Get us out of here, Ven.” Tangus kept his voice calm, and his young officer responded, sending the Strike into a deep dive. “Daurent, ready the rear cannons and fire.”

  More seconds. “Direct hit on their bridge shields, commander. They’re still holding.”

  What followed was an interstellar game of cat and mouse, the roles alternating with each tactical move, but Tangus wasn’t satisfied. For every minute they engaged with the Lasc Prein scout, the risk of their discovery by another unfriendly increased.

  “Ven, I need some piloting magic. We need an edge on that ship, fast. What can you give me?”

  The helmsman conferred quickly with his star charts. “We’re close to a solar system ringed by an asteroid field. I can make an initial run in that direction ….”

  A smaller explosion rocked the ship.

  “Trouble in Engine Room Two,” Daurent said. “Systems offline. We’re down to seventy-five percent propulsion.”

  “Whatever you’re thinking of, do it now.”

  “Yes, commander.”

  “Daurent, get our weapons ready.”

  “Yes, commander.”

  And Ven rose to the challenge with, even Tangus had to admit, a skilful exercise in piloting. The young pilot led the Strike into the asteroid field, at the same time starting a shallow curving trajectory, finally exploiting a larger body--and a tractor beam--to execute one of the tightest turns he had ever experienced. They came up under the unsuspecting scout ship, and Daurent needed no prompting to empty all batteries into the forward cannons.

  On the forward view screens, the first strikes hit the scout’s shields and scattered into sparks, but Daurent kept up the barrage. A noiseless explosion of white light blinded the bridge crew temporarily, and when they regained their sight, the scout ship was gone.

  “Destroyed,” Daurent reported with a grin.

  Tangus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and relaxed in his chair.

  “Good work, helm. Damage report?”

  “We’ve lost shields on the left-side and sustained damage in two propulsion units. One escape pod prematurely ejected. Minor hull breach on Level Two. Some internal fires, all under control. Repair crews have been dispatched. Doctor Zehnda reports twelve injured, none critical. ”

  Good. Nobody had died. The Creator knew he had already lost enough people to the Lasc Prein.

  “How far to the next jump?”

  “Three hours at our current speed.”

  “Probability of tracking us ... home?”

  “Slim,” Daurent concluded after some thinking. “There are two jumps near this system. If we shut down our damaged engine, we can make it to one without leaving a trail.”


  “How much will that add to our travel time?”

  “No more than forty minutes.”

  “And once we’re past the first jump?”

  “It’s a complicated route that takes us close to popular space lanes, then back out again. I think we’ll be okay, commander.”

  “Do a quick scan for salvage, then get us out of here.”

  With the current danger over, Tangus wondered how Asha was. If she had any sense, she would have taken refuge in her chamber and stayed there.

  “I’m going to see Dr. Zehnda and check in with the wounded,” he told his second-in-command. “Let me know if we meet any more surprises.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tangus left the cramped bridge and headed for sickbay, his lips tightening as he took stock of the internal damage his flagship had sustained.

  Still, it could have been worse. Six months ago, the Strike would have broken apart under the stresses it had just been subjected to. But thanks to hard work from his crew, and several judicious purchases at various trading posts, they had fashioned a serviceable, if small, military vessel.

  In sickbay, chaos had settled into calm purposefulness. Tangus entered and saw five soldiers sitting on the floor against the wall. All three bunk beds were occupied. Zehnda was looking at some information on one of his monitors.

  “How’s my crew, doctor?”

  “No fatalities, commander, I’m happy to report, although,” he took a look around, “I could have hoped for more expansive medical quarters.”

  “So could I. How serious are the injuries?”

  “Some second- and third-degree burns. A few broken limbs. I sent the concussion and superficial injury patients back to their quarters, but ....” He hesitated.

  “Something bothering you, Doctor?”

  “Well, Asha was helping me ….”

  “Asha?” Tangus’ voice was sharp. “What the hell was she doing out of her quarters?”

  “That’s something you’re going to have to ask her,” Zehnda replied evenly. “She came to sickbay with a patient and exhibited some competence in medical care. Upon her request, I supplied her with an emergency medical kit, and she began treating and bringing back more patients. Except for Tomben.”