Girl Gone Nova (21 page)

Her mind, happy with new input, was less fractious than normal, though that wouldn’t last. This place was too quiet, too bland. Her mind hated a vacuum and upped the input streams—

“What do you think about?” His voice cut into her thoughts, shattering the forming patterns with his frustrated curiosity. “What do you see?”

She blinked away bits of equations and data streams as external awareness returned. Her temples ached, which was not a surprise. It was one of the downsides of being her. She looked at Conan, letting placid settle over her like she was a cow chewing a cud.

“I’m getting a fix on my location.”

She started down, moving from branch to branch until she reached the last one between her and the ground.

“It will make it easier for my people to find me if I can tell them where I am.”

He smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, but he did have good teeth. It was very anti-barbarian and another clue he wasn’t what he seemed to be.

“You have no way to contact anyone.”

She stared at him, so placidly she irritated herself.

It annoyed him, too. “You have no transmission device.”

If he believed that, why did he look so worried? Again, she said nothing as the air achieved sluggish movement. She loosened the top two buttons of her ABU jacket, letting that air slide in around her neck and provide minute relief.

Conan pinged on the small action. He was so anxious to see a little skin she was embarrassed for him. His gaze burned into her, trying to find a way past placid to where her real self lived—a person she wasn’t sure
she
knew, one she hadn’t known existed until she met Hel. Was it all just sex or was there something else in his scrutiny? Did he see her when he looked or just a
woman
to fill his bride quota
?

She had learned all she could watching them watch her. Now she needed them to leave, she needed them to go to their ship so she could figure out how to take it from them. He wouldn’t want her to see it, but she planned to do a lot of things he wouldn’t want her to do until she got away or he killed her.

The two other barbarian boys were watching her now, too. She was pretty sure they just wanted sex. Could she let Conan think she was softening toward him? If the boys thought they weren’t going to get what they wanted from her, would that bring back the bride hunt? Thirteen girls grabbed and it had taken at least nine months, possibly longer. She was gauging results by the two pregnancies, so her data could be flawed. But if she was correct, that was a bit more than a bride a month and she’d been in camp one night—give or take how long she was out and the travel time between where she went down and here. She might not be able to get them to go hunting for some time.

Though Bana had said something about a lack of time when they’d thought Doc was still out. Was there a ticking clock? If there were, it would help her more than it would them.

Her attention shifted to the brides. How much force had been applied to achieve their compliance? They might be content with their lot or suffering from Stockholm syndrome. Doc slid deeper into detachment as her thoughts went further along this path. It was reasonable to assume there would be a tipping point where Conan would force the issue. She knew the mechanics, so didn’t dwell on that. Marriage appeared to be the goal. Naming was important, but what would he do if she refused to give her name? Would it matter? She couldn’t get pregnant—at least not for several months, but there were signs they could be patient, when they had to be.

Of the three men, Conan was the most unpredictable. If she toyed with his libido, she might get more than she could control. His expectations were murky, as well. It was obvious they wanted women, and that sex was part of that want, but their overall purpose was unclear. Why choose
this
course of action? If one were looking for the biddable and downtrodden, they’d come to the right place. But if downtrodden was the goal, then why did it appear part of Bana’s job was to enlighten the men on how to treat the brides?

If one of them got impatient or seemed unkind to his bride, she was on him in a flash. And these big, tough men subsided at a word from her, even the nasty Conan backed down after two or three words from her. All of them were careful of the pregnant women. Doc assumed this meant they needed children, as well as women. But again, why choose this way to deal with it?

Doc sighed silently. The brides were so freaking young. Even a geek didn’t like feeling old and neither did she. What had possessed them to bring her here? Her biological clock wasn’t frantic yet, but it was getting pissy. It hadn’t figured out that she had no intention of having a child.

Don’t let them get you, Del
.

Her parents had wanted a couple of geniuses and that’s what they’d gotten, but they’d also gotten a freak and whack job. No, she would never have a child.

She might suspect they’d targeted her because of her association with the Earth expedition, but they didn’t act like they expected her to know anything except her name. They could be trying to lull her into a false sense of security, but they appeared to have a point-shoot-and-take mentality. They
thought
they were being devious about their ship, but there was a big difference between thinking you were devious and actually being devious.

She needed more information, but the brides were skittish and unhappy despite Bana’s “support.” They had no clue how much power they had over the grooms, because no one had broken down the sexual math for them. A little girl bride rebellion would build the boys’ character faster and better than Bana’s etiquette lessons. Doc smiled to herself. She may not know much about sex, but she was great at math.

“Why do you smile like that?”

His fascination with her colored his voice, while his expression retained its rock-like impassivity. She fell forward, doing a complete flip in mid-air and landing on her feet in front of him.

“If you return me to my people, they might be willing to help you with your problem.”

His eyes narrowed. “We have no problem.”

“You have so many problems, it’s embarrassing.”

His hands fisted at his sides. “You know nothing about us, woman.”

His gaze bored into her but she gave no ground, waited a ten count, then arched her brows. Fire flamed in his eyes. She’d gone too far. He was going to hit her. She shifted body alignment, prepared to take him on. The moment wasn’t optimal, but she could work with what was. She always did.

* * * * *

This was his flagship and everyone on board should be loyal, if not to him, then to the position of Leader. Hel was learning, though, that what should be and what was could be quite different. It would be a relief to disappear for a while. He’d chosen to board his flagship because he was expected to stay out of sight and let the ship’s commander command. He could board his Ojemba ship and, using the phase cloak, leave without being seen. He would remain in constant contact with this ship and his people on the home planet, but it would appear he was secluded in his quarters, as was both proper and expected.

But first he needed to do something about Carig. He couldn’t be allowed to run around making problems for Hel while Hel cruised the galaxy making problems for the General. One thing he’d perfected during his time leading the Ojemba was how to make people disappear.

He also had the issue of the two rebellious ships’ commanders to deal with. He wasn’t ready for an open confrontation with them, and he suspected they weren’t ready for that either. He was supposed to contact them and ask why they hadn’t moved. Then they would explain they had information of a threat on the Leader’s life and had stayed to act as escort to the Kikk outpost. It was so predictable, it was boring. While he was glad the Dusan had been defeated, he missed the mental cut and thrust of those times.

He looked at his timepiece. His men should be securing Carig for an unscheduled rest about now…

The signal came. Carig had been neutralized. This would force whoever was playing Carig to act or go to ground. Hel was almost certain it was Glarmere. Either choice had good points and bad. Now he needed to speak with his commanders. He opened a channel to the two ships, saw both commanders appear on his view screen.

“Leader.” Their voices were neutral. Both men were new to commanding ships, had been recruited after the war.

“I am pleased you were both delayed from making the ordered deployment, gentlemen.” Hel smiled blandly. “Minister Carig has disappeared. I wish you to return to our home world and oversee an investigation. It is possible it is connected to the other two attacks.”

Many worries were clouding their thinking right now. With Carig out of the picture, moving on the elected Leader or the outpost was pointless. How much did the Leader know about them and their relationship with Carig? To plot against the Leader was treason, punishable by death. And what was the Leader going to do about it?

In the end, they both acquiesced. They had no choice with the ground cut from beneath their feet.

It would have been more enjoyable had they been more interesting.

* * * * *

Vidor stared at the woman, rage licking through him like a fire burning out of control.

He wanted to shake her.

He wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to shake her. That made him angry, too.

She was dangerous in a way he couldn’t explain or understand. She shifted from one way of being to another—he groped the right word to describe what he saw and failed to find one—as she reacted to only she knew what. She changed as he stared at her and then changed again, as if this were a waking dream. He sensed her need to elude him. He feared to blink and find her gone, wanted to grab her and hold on.

Could she contact her people like she implied? Bana thought she did these things to annoy him. If so, she had succeeded.

He was annoyed.

Now that she was out of that tree, he could see the pale skin exposed by her loosened clothing. Was it as soft as it looked? Would she taste as enticing as she smelled? His hands relaxed as his annoyance faded, replaced by something else. A pulse beat against that skin just below her stubborn chin. He reached out to touch the spot, but she blocked him, her hand a blur of controlled movement. Wrist against wrist, she stared at him. He stared back. Her other hand was raised in defense, both hands curled into serviceable fists.

He made as if to pull back, but instead twisted his hand around and grabbed her wrist, holding it just hard enough to let her know he was stronger than she was. He wanted her to feel
his
control. He wanted her to know he was in charge.

She didn’t tug against his hold, but he felt her resistance in her utter stillness and saw it in the way she shifted yet again into someone new. He tugged her closer, hooking his free arm around her waist. She didn’t fight him, but she didn’t relax.

He wanted to push his hands beneath her enveloping clothing and discover her shape, but she was tense, like a weapon ready to fire. If he pushed too hard and she pushed back, he might have to kill her. He wanted many things—but not her death. There was still time to bring her to heel, not much but some.

He withdrew his arm from around her waist, but placed his fingertips on the pulse point she’d tried to deny him. Her skin was soft and warm, her scent a unique enticement that threatened his control. Her pulse beat an urgent, primitive tempo beneath her skin. It was an interesting contrast to the complete detachment of her gaze.

“Tell me your name,” he ordered, his voice husky.

The sides of her mouth edged up, though he wouldn’t call it a smile.

“You can call me Morticia, if you want.”

He fought the urge to crush her against him. “That is your name?”

“No.”

He bit back an oath. “Why should I call you something that is not your name?”

She shrugged. “You don’t seem to have a problem calling me
woman
. At least Morticia is
a
name.”

Vidor almost laughed and he didn’t remember the last time he’d done that. He also wanted to pull on his hair.

“Can I go now? I need to pee.”

He didn’t know what this pee was, but he would get one concession from her. “Call me by
my
name and I’ll let you go.”

The narrowing of her eyes was slight. If he hadn’t been staring at her he’d have missed it.

“I’ll wet my pants before I say your name, Conan.”

He realized what she meant and felt heat flush his face. He stepped awkwardly back. “That is not my name.”

“I know.” She spun and stalked toward the sanitation quarters, shifting from casual to lethal as she passed both Cadir and Eamon and then back to casual. They both turned to watch her. Vidor wondered if he looked as girl sick as those two.

“One of you needs to take the girl and put us all out of our misery,” Bana said.

Vidor looked down at her. “I thought you were against forcing marriage on the women.”

“Then kill her.”

He was against that, too, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t need to. She had known him a very long time.

Bana sighed. “
Think
, Vidor. She is learning you, learning about us. Learn about
her
. Find her weaknesses. Find out who she is.”

Vidor wasn’t so sure she had a weakness. It had taken ten of them to subdue her during her capture—if one could call her subdued. Still, Bana had a point. If the woman were a military objective, he would use different tactics. A frontal assault didn’t work against a heavily defended front. If he shifted tactics, would he find a way past her defenses? It was worth considering.

Bana huffed out another sigh. “If she doesn’t start eating, you won’t have to kill her.”

She almost sounded like this was the option she preferred. It was a change that should have surprised him. She’d been very adamant about how the wives would be treated if she participated in the collection. It was their lack of care of the women that had precipitated the crisis. While the collection wasn’t the main thrust of their mission, it was an important side goal.