Paradise 21 (9 page)

By appointing Smith, Barliss succeeded in removing him from his own operation, so the subordinate would have a harder time finding a way to pay him back once he realized Barliss had profited from the findings. On the other hand, the new position might be enough to pacify Smith’s desire for recognition and keep the man’s mouth shut. Either way, it was brilliant politics.

The commander flicked a finger and a screen beside him came alive with new information. “Smith is appointed. Now the search and rescue progress: is there anything more to report?”

Barliss’ neck tensed, but he kept his voice even. “Nothing since my last report, Commander.”

The commander nodded, wires moving. “I reviewed your report.”

Barliss was surprised and pleased he’d gone through the entire three-page document so soon. “Thank you, sir.”

“You believe there’s still hope for finding Miss Ryder?”

Barliss stifled an undercurrent of doubt. “I do, sir.”

“Good. Our people cannot suffer another blow to their morale. You are always diligent, and your resolve is unwavering.”

Barliss bowed his head. “I try.”

“Continue with the search crews after the appropriate rest period.”

“Affirmative, Commander.”

“Thank you for your efforts, Lieutenant. You are a blessing to this crew.”

The screen went blank. Barliss let out a breath of relief, but it was short-lived. He bent down and retrieved his wheat beer, tilting the bottle up for the last sip. He’d expected the treat would improve his desolate mood, but it was only a drop in an ocean of aggravation. The conversation with the commander had been going well until his failure with Aries had been addressed.

If he didn’t find Aries now, he’d look like a fool.

…

Aries stared at the eggs. They were literally the manifestation of all her dreams come true. She’d wanted to be a biologist for as long as she could remember, but the
New Dawn
’s computers had charted her engineering destiny.

“You’re planning on bringing them out and hatching them?”

“Is it so hard to believe a space pirate isn’t in it for his own good?”

She could feel her face burning. “You’re going to have to give me more than ten minutes to undo a lifetime of the prejudices I was taught.”

Striker laughed lightly and put his hand on her shoulder. His voice was calmer. “Let’s get back upstairs and I’ll make you dinner, okay?”

Aries took in a deep breath but couldn’t respond. Everything was happening so fast. First, she’d been on the
New Dawn
, eating breakfast with Barliss, then she’d crash-landed an escape pod, and now she stood on an abandoned alien ship underneath the desert. What next? A dinner date with a pirate?

She’d wanted freedom. She’d gotten a bizarre taste of the surreal.

Striker placed his hand gently under her arm. “Aries, you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just a lot to take in.”

“I’m sure.” He gave her a sympathetic smile, and she found herself entranced by him. She admired his desire to help another civilization. His optimism was contagious. In a world where everything was preplanned, Striker broke the mold, and she was drawn to him for it.

Striker’s hand traveled down her arm to her hand. He squeezed it, sending a blush of warmth through her body. “You’ll feel better if you eat something. It’ll be delicious. Let’s go.”

Aries followed him, her emotions running on high. Was he flirting? She squashed the thought. How could she possibly be attracted to a space pirate? An exiled, unsuccessful one at that.

“You see,” Striker began, as they climbed the steps to the next floor, “I’ve been down here for five long, lonely years. I’ve had a lot of time to watch their home videos. When it’s the only channel on and you’re all by yourself, your face sticks to the screen like you’re hooked on a daytime soap opera. You find yourself wanting to learn more.”

“A soap opera?”

Striker grinned. “They didn’t let you see those on the
New Dawn
, huh?”

“They censored any videos from old Earth that weren’t pertinent to the Guide.”

“Of course.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are. It makes perfect sense. Why would they show you a world where you got to choose a mate? That’d provoke mutiny right then and there.”

Aries knew what Striker alluded to. She’d heard rumors about the history of old Earth and how people used to be able to choose whom they married. Necessity dictated their lives now. She wasn’t about to go off the subject, though. “So what did you learn?” Aries panted to keep up. Striker was in better shape than she was. She’d worked out on the
New Dawn
every day, but it hadn’t prepared her for the change in gravity, the extreme heat, or such a gorgeous man.

“That they’re a lot like us. Except no war, no violence, no hatred. Only peace.”

Tria’s cynicism toward mankind came back to her. “I find that hard to believe. How can a species be so perfect?”

“Maybe you should ask how our species can be so flawed.”

“This, coming from a pirate?”

Striker laughed. “Under the circumstances, you can consider me to be reformed.”

Aries wasn’t sure how to answer that, so she brought the subject back to her beloved biology. “These eggs came from a planet that must have had humidity. That means there are water droplets in the air itself.”

“I know what humidity is. What’s your point?”

“Even if you brought the eggs out, they’d never hatch in the desert. The conditions wouldn’t be right for them.”

Striker stopped in mid-stride and turned toward her with a glint in his eyes. “Who said anything about a desert?”

Aries gestured vaguely toward the roof of the craft and the desert sands above them. “What else is there?”

“I plan to get off this barren rock. I’ve been fixing up this ship from scattered pieces in the desert and all I need are a few more parts. I’m going to fly back to Outpost Omega, the spaceport you talked of, twenty-one parsecs away. Before my fickle crew ditched me on this pitiful excuse for a planet, I’d found a wormhole to another galaxy, one with a sun much like the one Earth had. Are you following me?”

Aries found herself leaning in, listening to each word with interest. She nodded. “Go on.”

“There’s a moon that has oceans, forests, anything you need to sustain a decent population. I named it Refuge. I hid the coordinates aboard my ship. I plan to reclaim my map, relay the coordinates to everyone suffering at Outpost Omega, and travel there. When I land, I’ll bring out the eggs. If they hatch, I’ll be continuing a long-lost species. If they don’t, at least I tried. I figure it’ll be payment for taking their ship.”

He smiled. “But I hope they hatch. Such a peaceful race doesn’t deserve to go extinct. Maybe they could teach us something.”

“You’ve been here for five years. What if your crew found the map? What if they’re already there?”

Striker leaned on the wall and crossed one boot over another. “Impossible.” He looked so self-satisfied, Aries almost laughed. “The coordinates are hidden in the darkest, farthest recesses of the ship, encoded in three different languages with mathematical enigmas to solve to break the seal. My crew is probably still docked at the port as we speak, scanning the ship in vain for that map.”

“You’re going to take this ship to go find that ship. Wow, that’s quite a plan.”

Striker leaned toward her. “The question is: do you want in? You’re an Outlander now. No one can make the decision for you. Do you want to stay here, or do you want to find Refuge with me?”

Her first instinct was alarmingly clear: go with Striker, wherever that may be. The engineer training died hard, however. She couldn’t factor a man she’d just met into the equation. Her logic wouldn’t let her.

Aries considered her options while chewing her lower lip. She had nowhere else to go, but the pirate-run spaceport sounded more dangerous than the lizards and worms of this desert planet. On the other hand, the ethereal images of pale angels and their eggs haunted her, pulling on her heartstrings. A part of her believed her own redemption lay in saving the dying race. Maybe then she’d feel as though her life had purpose, although she’d harmed the
New Dawn
’s genetic mission by leaving. Plus, she could finally live out her dreams of being a biologist, studying the greatest find in all mankind: an alien civilization more advanced than their own. All combined, Striker’s plan made for quite a journey, with a paradise moon at the end.

Really, the option of staying with the most interesting and attractive man she’d ever met
wasn’t
clouding her judgment.

“All right.” Aries looked him in the eye. “Count me in.”

Aries stared at a scorpion as large as her forearm. It rested on a gigantic porcelain plate shaped like a clam. The legs sprawled out in a strange garnishing around a cracked shell. Its antennae drooped, dark eyes staring blankly at her fork.

“This is dinner?”

“Think of it as lobster.” Striker smiled and dusted his own with a granular substance. “You’re going to love it.”

“The marine tank cracked the generation before mine.” Aries stabbed the carapace with a knife and it crunched. “I’ve never tasted anything from the sea.”

“Well this isn’t from the sea.” He raised his eyebrow and his eyes teased. “It’s from the desert. Our favorite place.”

“Hmm.” Aries plucked out the antennae. “Did you have lobster on the space station?”

Striker split the shell of his meal into two pieces. “Far from it. Just stacks of old videos of life back on Earth. We watched them like prisoners dreaming of a promised land.”

“The people of the
New Dawn
didn’t want us watching too much of Earth’s memories.” Aries pulled off a small leg and dangled it above her plate before setting it aside. “The Guide says dwelling on the past only brings more sadness.”

“I always thought it would keep us from making the same mistakes.”

Aries nodded. “The fact that they were regulated drew me in. I stayed up late many nights, watching videos from the ship’s memory bank.”

She pulled a piece of white meat from underneath the carapace. Holding it up, she examined it and wrinkled her nose.

“Go on.” He stopped, crossed his arms, and watched.

Striker had probably prepared this meal a thousand times in his five-year exile with no one to share it. The thought nudged her heart, and she found herself wanting to try it for his sake. She popped it in her mouth. “Hey, this isn’t bad.”

“Better than the gruel served at Outpost Omega.”

Aries worked out another piece of meat, stabbing it with the pointy utensil. “They don’t have gardens there?”

“Most of the fresh plants died long ago. Now the pirates survive on recycled matter produced by the food generators.”

“That’s awful.” Aries sickened at the thought of eating old food. “Those poor people.”

“I’m not sure poor is the right word.” Striker narrowed his eyes. “They’re more desperate than anything else.”

Aries could understand desperation. She nodded, chewing another piece. “What are your former crewmates like?”

Striker paused before digging into the scorpion’s claw with a little too much force. “Hopefully you won’t ever meet them to find out.”

“Why?”

His eyes darkened, and Aries glimpsed deeper emotions beneath his nonchalant façade. “Like you said, they’re in it for their own good. Even if that means abandoning their captain.”

Although he hadn’t told her anything she wanted to know, Aries decided not to press the subject. “I’m sorry. No one should have to go through—”

“I’m over it.” Striker stabbed another piece of meat. “Now, let’s go over our situation and see if we can get out of here.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out an unusual-looking palm screen. “To restart the ship, I need a part of the exterior processor. It must have broken off on impact and skidded across the desert. It could be anywhere, covered by hundreds of years of sandstorms. This map shows all of the places I’ve searched for it.”

Aries studied the map of dunes and valleys around the ship. Xs marked Striker’s excavation sites. He’d scoured every area within miles of the crash. “Wow, you’ve been busy.”

“Let me put it this way: I don’t want to stay any longer than necessary.”

Aries ran her finger over the map, thinking. “Do you know what the processor is made of?”

Striker shrugged. “Probably the same material as the rest of this ship.”

Aries brought out her life-form locator. “I have an idea.” She held it up to the wall, waiting for the substance to register. The device beeped, and the screen glowed with a string of numbers.

“What’s it saying?” Striker rose and stood beside her, his body heat warming her shoulder.

“It’s just what I thought. This ship is made of a mutated form of calcium carbonate: living matter. The mitochondrial genetic analysis likens it to a seashell from the Earth’s oceans. It registers on my life-form locator as an uncategorized form of coral.”