IceFlight Page 3

Darsey floated down a tunnel in the heart of the strange ship and wondered whether she was dreaming. As nightmares went it was frighteningly good. It might have been helpful to pinch herself, but gripping skin through her space suit was impossible. Great, she’d found a design flaw. A strange giggle started to rise in her gut, but a voice from behind her strangled it.

  “Are you well?” Nightwing asked and Darsey twisted to face him with a yelp. He was floating just behind her and looked disturbingly solid. “Do you require calming?”

  Was this guy for real? “Do you always start your dates with that one?”

  They eyeballed each other again and for a moment Darsey thought they were going to slip back into a staring competition, but Nightwing’s cold, gold eyes narrowed before he looked away.

  “Our dates usually begin with the day of the week. Day one, 273, or ten, 54. The year depends whose territory you’re in.”

  Darsey felt her face crumple and made an effort to smooth it. “What… what’s the date? Here. Today.”

  For the fist time she saw what might have been sympathy in the alien’s eyes. “It’s day 201, 2340 Rim and the time is 4:78.”

  Oh, God. None of that made sense. But then nothing had made any sense since she saw that damned anomaly in space. “Sh-should have ignored it,” Darsey whispered. “Looked the other way.” She was shaking, but it seemed impossible to stop. Dammit. She had to get if under control. Looking vulnerable, especially in front of aliens, wasn’t her style. She looked back down the tunnel and found inspiration in the small, shimmering door behind them.

  “Must be fun to work for,” Darsey ventured, with a nod toward Greon’s quarters, and her companion laughed, naturally and without restraint.

  The unexpected response shocked her after his previous dourness and she regarded him uncertainly. His expression eased to a reassuring smile, which Darsey managed to return.

  “Greon? He’s sweet once you know him.”

  “Really?”

  “Sadly not. He’s as sharp as a cut from a friend, but don’t fear. I know how to best Greon.”

  Darsey inwardly rolled her eyes, but assumed an outward expression of awed admiration. “Wow, really? You must be the real leader-”

  “Quiet,” the alien interrupted, and Darsey’s mouth snapped shut as she looked at him in bewilderment.

  His tawny eyes regarded her coldly, until he suddenly smiled again. However, that friendly grin was not for Darsey. His gaze moved past her to someone approaching along the tunnel. There was a whisper of air and a female figure glided to a halt between Darsey and Nightwing. The newcomer pretended to ignore the human, but Darsey glimpsed curiosity in her gray eyes before she turned away with a shake of long, silver hair.

  “Hey, Senior.”

  “Hey, Jileea.”

  “New?”

  “Single species that seems base grade primitive. I’m keeping it for service, but I’ll be lucky if it’s fit for such.”

  “It’s female,” the stranger commented. Her remark was a statement, not a question, and Darsey was grateful to meet someone who could actually recognize that.

  “Ye,” the male agreed guardedly. “So?”

  “Soooo,” the other drawled in response, “will she bring any profit? Can we take her to auction, or to a brothel? Was this detour worth it?” She looked over her shoulder at Darsey again and her mouth frowned, creasing her pale upper lip. Her expression was unimpressed and she made no effort to hide her doubts about their new acquisition’s worth.

  “Yes,” Nightwing answered loudly enough to make Darsey jump, “there will be profit. I bought her as my slave and Greon pushes hard bargaining. You know he doesn’t seal until satisfied. You’ll share a good ship’s due.”

  The female’s head snapped round to face him and her voice rose too. “You bought her? She’s not to go to auction? There’s no outer credit? No cash in?”

  “That’s right, Data Senior, but there’s no loss-”

  “How can you know that?” the other interrupted fiercely, making Darsey jump and float gently away from the arguing pair. Her owner’s eyes remained fixed on his subordinate, but one of the feathery strands that framed his throat rose higher when Darsey moved away. It tracked her path and then settled, pointing straight at her, until she drifted to a halt. She scrunched her hands into fists and drifted without moving, even when the female crewmember’s voice rang down the tunnel.

  “Don’t act the ignorant kres, Wing. You know it’s important. A profit-light tour can draw bad Luck. We may be pirates, but most of us are mermaridian and we won’t let anything curse our Luck. If the mutt think something has, there’ll be disaster. Most of the crew will mutiny.”

  “Led by you, maytell?” Nightwing asked softly.

  The female’s silver hair bristled, while her lips creased even further. “Don’t cast shade on my loyalty. I’ve been Data Senior for three years past, with no sign of revolt. I’m warning you with good intent, because this unsold slave could be death to morale. The ship’s Luck should be purged. Now.”

  She spun to face Darsey before Nightwing could protest. Jileea’s lips twisted and her right arm rose, hand held flat in a fist, so the silver bracelet around her wrist was revealed in unmistakable threat. Darsey flinched and drifted backwards. Far too slowly. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but how? The alien’s arm moved to track Darsey, who kicked out hard in response aiming for the sloping tunnel wall.

  Her foot connected with enough force to throw her across the passage. She rebounded from the curve of its far side, but Jileea’s hand followed the movement and then steadied as Darsey stopped just short of the exit she had hoped to reach. She groped desperately for that oval opening, but the spacesuit’s bulk slowed her again. Jileea’s eyes narrowed in concentration as she aimed down the corridor.

  “Enough.” Nightwing’s order was quiet and deceptively casual, but his fist came to rest against the back of his subordinate’s head. His golden wrist band was humming so loudly that even Darsey could hear it and Jileea’s hair rippled with that vibration, like a silver curtain in a breeze.

  She quickly raised her arm to aim at the ceiling instead of Darsey and much more slowly turned her head. She studied her crewmate grimly, but her tone was apologetic. “No need to blow holes in the ship. Greon wouldn't thank us for such.”

  Darsey hardly heard her. The sudden, inexplicable threat to her life had finally released the horror building since her capture. She started to tremble and took a deep breath as adrenaline shook her. The two aliens were oblivious. They confronted each other and Nightwing’s grim words echoed in Darsey’s head.

  “Don’t ever raise an arm to my property, DS, or you’ll lose it, I swear.”

  “Swear on your honor?” the other challenged and Nightwing’s face grew taut.

  His amber complexion paled and two faint scars, one along each cheekbone, glittered gold against it. “Do you taunt me, Jileea?”

  Darsey took another shuddering breath and managed to bring the tense couple back into focus. She could see that the woman was tempted to say yes. The two measured each other for a charged moment and then Jileea relaxed with a wary smile.

  “Not so, Wing. You’re my friend and I’ve no thought to argue, even less to fight. I regret acting so fast. I more-so regret what I just said. I was simply curious…” Her voice trailed off with a questioning lilt, but Nightwing stared at her until she nodded in submission, without asking again about his honor.

  “I’ll have no more talk of cursed luck,” he ordered softly, “from you or any other. The ship made a profit, which all will share, and the slave’s not to be touched. There’ll be no more words on this. Agreed?”

  “As you say.” Jileea pouted, but then seemed to relent and smiled more warmly at her superior before raising her wrist.

  Darsey tensed, but the silver bracelet moved past her to fire a pulse that sent its owner flying along the corridor. Jileea shrank in seconds to a receding streak of silver. Darsey sagged deeper in
her suit in relief, but Nightwing ignored her to stare after his subordinate. He watched Jileea until she vanished in the darkness, and his expression was brooding. He started when Darsey finally touched his arm and when she drifted into him, he looked down at her with a rueful grimace.

  “She would have killed me,” Darsey stated as flatly as she could, but her voice still shook. “Why?”

  Nightwing’s features hardened again as he considered the question. “She certainly would. She’s mermaridian, as-with Greon and the mutt who escorted you aboard, and they’re a species that has some extreme superstitions.”

  “About good luck?”

  He raised a finger and then his arm, to grip Darsey’s wrist. His gold bracelet pulsed and they started to move. The passage flowed past them in a seemingly random stream of well-lit openings.

  “Mermaridian believe that luck flows in currents. They think once they’re in a stream of such they can’t lose. They take crazy risks when they’re winning. Unfortunately, they’re also total obsessives about bad luck and what might draw it. If they see you as a curse magnet, they’ll kill you in a purge ritual.”

  “Great,” she groaned. “This day just keeps getting better. At the moment, I do feel cursed.”

  Nightwing swung to face Darsey as they floated down the passage and shook her by the wrist. She tensed at the sudden movement and they glared at each other.

  “Don’t ever repeat that,” he said fiercely. “Don’t even think it. Especially near a console. Such will get both of us killed.”

  His grip on Darsey tightened and he extended his wrist again. The resulting surge was so strong it forced the breath back into her lungs. They hurtled down the tunnel, and entrances passed as a golden blur. She tried to find enough air to protest, but, before she could, the trip was over. They braked hard and Darsey was swung into a corridor where her weight returned. She stumbled again, although her companion made the transition to gravity smoothly. Great. Her body had clearly embraced its role as the bulky, clumsy alien. She sighed and made an effort to look around, despite the padding holding her head.

  The passage in front of Darsey was claustrophobically cramped. It was lucky she was used to living in a tin can. Doors were crowded along the corridor, recessed ovals of faded orange set in dirty lavender walls. The surfaces appeared smooth, yet the floor beneath her shuffling feet offered plenty of grip. Light glowed uniformly from the ceiling and walls, but, as they passed the junction with another passage, the section around them flickered and faded. Only the dim light from the corridor ahead remained.

  “What a dump,” Darsey blurted in disbelief, and Nightwing looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’m sorry your first alien ship disappoints. We’ve little here to rival inner system technology.”

  “Not unless you steal it,” she snapped, but he ignored her.

  “Here,” he said abruptly and grabbed her wrist to halt her before a faded orange door. “My quarters.”

  Darsey drew a sharp breath and if felt as if her spacesuit was pinching her in the middle. Which was ridiculous since there was plenty of room, enough for her to pull her arms into its hard shell if she wanted, but some sort of vice was definitely tightening in her gut. She jerked her hand angrily and Nightwing released her straight away. They glared at each other yet again, while she awkwardly crossed her suited arms and braced her feet. She had no intention of being dragged anywhere else.

  However, Nightwing paced away from Darsey, then turned back and threw his arms out wide. “Do I have to carry you from the corridor before more of my crew try to claim your eyes? Do you lack all but the most basic protective instincts?”

  “My instincts are just fine and they’re screaming at me to stay out of your parlour.” Darsey pushed her spacesuit into a slight crouch, ready to resist if the alien tried anything, but instead he paused before walking slowly back to join her.

  “My name is Nightwing. I’m a kres. I claimed you as my share of the plunder to protect you. I’ve no intent to harm you and I’ve no habit of keeping slaves. I’m not like Greon. I repeat, it should be obvious I won’t hurt you.”

  Darsey tried to place her hands on her hips, but they slid off the hard curves of her suit, so she frowned at the alien instead. “There’s hurt and then there’s hurt. How do I know you don’t have other designs on me?”

  One of Nightwing’s brows shot up, his eyes flicked briefly down, then up as he checked out Darsey and then he started to laugh. He managed another glance in her direction before he threw back his head and roared. Tears started to flow down his checks and he stamped his feet, while she felt fire spread under her helmet padding and across her face. She stamped her foot too, but it seemed he couldn’t stop and she had to speak over his guffaws.

  “You! You are not a gentleman.”

  Nightwing wiped a hand across his cheeks, still chuckling. “I don’t understand what that is, but I am amused. You’re the most entertaining primitive I’ve met.”

  “And you’re the rudest, most arrogant prick I’ve ever met. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

  A hand closed tight around the back of Darsey’s neck, making her yelp. Nightwing pulled her close and thrust his face into hers, until all she could see were amber eyes above angled scars. Impossible to read, but she was guessing he was pissed. Perhaps aliens didn’t have mothers. He jerked her closer still and ignored her small cry of protest to lean lower until his breath was hot against her cheek.

  “Out here,” Nightwing growled, “polite will see you dead.” His fingers tightened in the padding round Darsey’s neck and he half-lifted her to propel her straight into the door. She cried out as she was slammed at a dirty orange oval and closed her eyes, but there was no contact. No bones breaking, no blood. No pain at all.

  Perhaps she was unconscious. Darsey tried slowly opening one eye. Darkness. Well, that didn’t help at all… until she felt the alien move behind her.

  “Lights on. Full,” Nightwing snapped, and a faint glow grew rapidly to reveal a tiny, windowless rectangle.

  She glanced at the kres, who looked back without expression, before brushing past her. “The lights should come up automatically,” he explained.

  “Where… where are we? I mean, what happened to the door?”

  “It was open. The lock wasn’t lit, so there was no energy field. That door’s just a projection, an optical illusion. You can walk straight through without stopping.”

  Darsey leaned closer to the dull orange surface, but it still looked convincingly solid. “After you next time,” she said firmly, and Nightwing laughed. He seemed to swap emotions as rapidly as a diva dealing with her stylist. Or as randomly as a psychopath. Darsey pushed that thought aside at once and left it cowering with all the other horrors she was ignoring.

  “Welcome to my quarters,” Nightwing announced and spread his arms wide until his fingertips touched either entrance wall.

  “Palatial,” Darsey murmured, ducking under one of his arms to shuffle into the room and look around curiously.

  The chamber was dominated by a bed in an alcove at the far end. There was a curved console of featureless gray that ran the length of the wall to her left. The wall on the right had the only other door in Nightwing’s quarters, which was flanked by a translucent panel of dirty pink. Darsey wrinkled her nose and ignored the console as she studied the room. Access to the ship’s computer was her only hope of escape, so it seemed a good idea to look disinterested.

  The alien joined Darsey in the main room and tapped her on the shoulder, drawing a hollow thud from her suit. “Listen well,” he ordered. “The Bandit’s a pirate ship and no place for a stroll. If you want to stay safe until we reach port, you’d best play the working slave. I’ve just spent a drak of a lot and I don’t want it wasted. It cost thousands to save you and I’d appreciate some gratitude.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Nightwing gave a tight smile. “I hope I’ll not regret this deal.”

 
“You might. I’m not making any promises.”

  He managed another slight smile and gestured at the door behind them. “Believe me, the safest place for you is in my cabin.”

  Darsey remained unconvinced, but she had a depressing lack of options. She sighed and looked around the chamber instead, shaking her head at the lack of space. “Where am I going to sleep?”

  “In my bed.You’ll go to bed early-on to warm my side. You can roll across when I arrive.”

  Darsey stiffened and Nightwing frowned when she glowered at him. “Don’t you have electric blankets? Powered heating for your blessed bed,” she explained at his obvious surprise.

  He flicked his fingers dismissively. “If I used power for such pampering, Greon would gut me.”

  “So you’ll use me instead?”

  “It’s needed.” Nightwing wandered further into the room and settled against the curved edge of the console, apparently untouched by Darsey’s anger. His expression was cold, but his gaze was all fire and made her feel as if she was about to be pinned by talons. She had to lock her knees to stop from backing up. This guy was better than Greon, but not by much. She gave him a look that was meant to be withering, but he yawned in response, then sagged against his perch and hung his head, so he could ignore her while he spoke.

  “In truth I’ve little time and less energy for your concerns. You’re my property and if I treat you well the crew might notice. That could lead to challenges, duels, assassination... I’ve been through such already, just to hold my rank, and I’ve no wish to be tested again. So keep this place tidy and supplied and search the menus to see if the kitchen console can find any decent food. Deal?”

  Darsey was fuming and she made no effort to hide it. “All that and I get to warm your bed too. I must be the luckiest girl on this side of space.”

  “Many females would kill to warm my bed,” he agreed.

  Darsey’s eyes narrowed, but Nightwing seemed oblivious. He stretched and yawned before pushing himself to his feet. He ran a finger down the diagonal fastening of his vest and it swung open at his touch. Darsey’s disgust shrivelled to a sliver of ice that sat cold and sharp in her stomach. She stood quite still, trying to be inconspicuous, while her owner stripped. He pulled off his top and shook himself like a dog leaving water, then turned to toss his discarded clothing at a dark strip on the wall. The vest hit its target and disappeared.

  Darsey gaped. “How?” she wondered aloud, intrigued despite herself. She was still staring at that dark vanishing point when a pair of boots was thrown and swallowed in turn.

  “Compression storage,” Nightwing answered heavily. His voice was now thick with fatigue and he spared only a hooded glance for his curious guest. “It compresses molecules, pressurises them, if you like. Removes all that empty space within and between, so they take up little-as room. Don’t try such with living tissue, though. It destroys the energy-matter matrix and decompression gets messy.”

  Nightwing yawned again, before taking a single stride to fall face-first onto the bed. He collapsed on top of the main cover and kicked a spare blanket aside, before rousing himself enough to turn his head and look at her, but then yawned again before he could speak. “Gods, it was full hard breaking through to your system. That’s my job, you know... to break and enter. New passages are always most difficult and I truly need to sleep.” He looked at her and his drooping eyelids flicked open with belated realisation. “You must have had an awful day too.”

  Darsey simply shook her head at the ridiculous understatement. Nightwing actually looked ashamed and pushed himself onto an elbow to access the band on his wrist. His fingers danced over its surface and a piece of shimmering cloth fluttered from compression storage in response. It drifted to land on Darsey’s boots and draped her feet in soft gold billows.

  “Nightwear,” he explained. He looked at her spacesuit appraisingly. “Don’t worry. It stretches.”

  He waved vaguely at the internal door. On one side of the truncated oval door, the wall was solid, while on the other there was a dirty, frosted panel. Nightwing gestured to the opaque side. “Blutions,” he mumbled indistinctly, “for bodily wastes.” He pointed at the translucent wall and made an effort to speak clearly. “Cleansing bay. You can wash if you wish. Just tell the cleanser what field setting you want. Don’t worry ‘bout bed-warm tonight.”

  “Thank you so much,” Darsey answered with withering sarcasm, but the alien turned away and collapsed to sprawl across the bed again. Her jaw clenched at such an abrupt dismissal and she made no effort to claim the clothing pooled around her feet.

  “I’m Darsey,” she said loudly. “By the way and just in case you’re interested.” She stamped awkwardly to the bed, but Nightwing’s breathing had deepened already and he was clearly oblivious to her clumsy approach. He gave a single, deep sigh and then settled as sleep claimed him.

  “Darsey Ice,” she announced over him, but there was no response. She raised her eyebrows indignantly and opened her mouth again, but then let it snap shut. Despite her need for information and for the simple comfort of conversation, she had no desire to waken this arrogant and selfish alien. It was a sudden, overwhelming relief to be alone. She stopped holding memories in check and let them come unhindered. There was a rush of familiar faces and actions, swept aside by violence, and Darsey had to suppress a sob as pain bent her double. The grief was overwhelming and she stuffed a fist into her mouth in an effort to stay quiet.

  She had no intention of letting Nightwing see her weakness, but a moan escaped before she could regain control. She drew two deep breaths, calming herself and managed to stand straight again. There was no response from the alien, but she glared at his still form with growing suspicion. The sudden thought that he might be spying on her, that he might be secretly amused by her pain, was horrifying. He seemed deeply asleep, but she felt an imperative urge to be sure. She stepped forward slowly, making an effort not to creak in her suit, and bent over to touch him.

  Before her hand could reach the curve of Nightwing’s shoulder, a shock surged through her arm. It came from nowhere, a burst of physical pain that flashed from fingers to shoulder. Darsey fell back with a cry and a curse, clutching her throbbing hand. She felt the crisping of her flesh and had to force herself to look down, expecting to see a melted suit and blackened skin. Amazingly, her gloved hand looked normal and her arm seemed equally unharmed. She took a single shaking breath and her mind regrouped enough to think, what? Her unspoken question received an unexpected response.

  “Refrain from physical contact,” a disembodied female voice ordered, and Darsey snapped upright again, her hand still cradled against her chest. She swivelled awkwardly to survey the room. “Your present distance is acceptable,” the voice murmured smugly, apparently whispering in Darsey’s ear, but Nightwing’s small quarters seemed as empty as before.

  Darsey took a deep breath before looking around slowly, careful not to move more than her head, but Nightwing’s protector remained hidden. She shook her hand experimentally and let it fall when the gesture proved painless. She knew that she was angry, furiously angry, but was too tired to connect with the emotion. Her body and its feelings seemed suddenly very distant. “Damn,” she muttered, in a listless echo of annoyance. “You could have warned me.”

  “That was a warning,” the voice responded calmly.

  “Great.” Darsey’s assailant was still unseen and she had no energy left to be subtle. “Who or what are you anyway?”

  “I am Pertwing and I am Nightwing’s… friend. Sleep now, alien slave. I will watch.”

  “Charming.” Darsey sighed and blinked back tears again. She swivelled slowly, although, as she expected, the room was still empty. However, a tiny golden globe now floated above the console, reflected from its dull gray curve. It was the only change since the strange conversation began and she abruptly realized what it meant. “You’re the computer.”

  “I am Nightwing’s personal program,” the voice admitted curt
ly. “This conversation is terminated. I do not wish to disturb Nightwing’s rest.”

  “He doesn’t look too disturbed to me. I’d say he’s out for the count. Hello? Pertwing? You could at least say goodnight. Pertwing?” Darsey bit her lip, but a ragged laugh escaped anyway. “You’re his program, all right. I didn’t think it was possible for a computer to be so offensive.”

  Darsey turned back to the bed, but there was no response from its occupant. She made a rude gesture at his unconscious form, finally satisfied that he was really asleep. Although he had sprawled across the mattress, there was still plenty of room for her.

  However, Darsey was never going to sleep beside one of the creatures that had murdered her friends. She staggered back in disgust and moved to the far wall, a journey of two paces. She took a deep breath and her eyes burned again. She forced away thoughts of her crew... of Will… of her ship and of her lost home. Then she started to strip, concentrating instead on forcing her weary fingers to free her from her spacesuit.

  It was half-an-hour later when Darsey finally kicked off the last piece. Her boot skidded across the floor and hit the base of the bed with a satisfying thump, but there was no response from Nightwing. She sighed, but then her hands flew to cover her mouth, when she realized the kres had something she needed. She tip-toed to the bed, suddenly anxious not to wake him and get caught stealing his spare blanket. Too bad if the alien got cold, her need was greater.

  Darsey clutched the thick, gray cover and retreated all the way to the tiny cleansing cubicle. She stood there until her pulse slowed. The only sound was Nightwing’s soft snore and she realized she was holding her breath, but there was no point delaying any longer. It was time to get naked. She gulped for air and courage, before pulling off the last of her suit padding with rough jerks. She grabbed the nightgown off the floor and yanked its silky folds over her head. It rippled down her body to settle smoothly into place. At any other time she would have paused to enjoy its clinging softness, but not tonight.

  Darsey quickly threw the cover she’d stolen around herself, making as many layers as she possibly could. She stopped, breathing hard and almost relaxed. She was finally free of the cumbersome suit and ready to fight if she had to. She wouldn’t panic or hesitate next time. Well, she wouldn’t hesitate at least.

  Darsey had to push herself to leave the tiny cubicle. She finally sidled back into the main room, and edged further from the bed. She dropped to the floor with a shiver and wedged herself in the farthest corner from Nightwing. She wrapped her arms around her legs, fixed her gaze on the alien and prepared to stay awake. She’d sleep later, when she could finally face the nightmares.

  4

  Loyalty