Shielder — A new Science Fiction Romance (Book 1, Shielder Series) (7 page)

She grabbed the mat, trying to anchor her
whirling thoughts. "You brought me to my cabin."

He stepped back, his brows arched
questioningly. "Would you prefer my cabin?"

His question confused her even more. Why
would he suggest his cabin? "The brig," she blurted. "I thought—"
She froze. What was she thinking?

Returning anger flared in his eyes. "Ah yes,
the brig. That is where you belong, after blatantly violating
orders." He leaned over the mat, placing a hand on either side of
her shoulders. "That's where you should be. Rotting in the brig for
disobeying the ship's captain."

Nessa felt crowded, unnerved by his massive
presence. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"I disagree. I told you to stay away from
the computer, and you ignored me. It would simplify my life
considerably to put you in the brig and leave you there. But I've
decided to give you one more chance. I will have your
word—again—that you'll observe the rules of this ship. And you will
not touch the computer without my consent. Understood?"

She nodded slowly, sensing her seizure had
somehow tempered his decision. "Understood, Captain."

"Good." He rose and strode to the panel in
two steps.

"Captain McKnight." She scrambled off the
bunk, spurred by a strange need to express her gratitude. He turned
as she stumbled toward him. His hand shot out, grabbing her elbow
and steadying her. The scowl returned to his face.

"Don't you have the good sense to stay put
until the effects of the seizure and medicine wear off?"

Nessa started to deny any after-effects, but
he cut her off with an angry wave of his hand. "I know, I know.
There's nothing wrong with you. You just like to
rest
in the
middle of the corridor."

His vehemence surprised her. Except for
Jarek, no one had shown any concern for her welfare. Not her own
people, her father, or even the woman who had given birth to her.
But this man had. Hesitantly, she placed her hand on his arm. He
tensed. Her hand looked small against the swell of his forearm. She
raised her gaze to unfathomable gray eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered, her throat
strangely tight. She wasn't sure exactly what she was thanking him
for—rescuing her from a stranded ship, treating her seizures,
sparing Turi, providing food, or not imprisoning her. She only knew
he'd done more for her in one day than family and friends had done
in a lifetime. "Thank you, Captain McKnight."

A myriad of emotions swept through his eyes.
"Chase," he growled after what seemed an interminable silence.

"What?"

"My first name is Chase. I don't expect
formality during off-duty hours. When we're in the cockpit, during
work shifts, I'm Captain McKnight to you. But at meals and off
duty, call me Chase."

His husky voice wrapped around her like a
warm cloak. She took a step closer, inexplicably drawn to him.
"All, right…Chase."

He inhaled sharply, his arm stiffening again
beneath her hand. She felt his tension increasing, although she
couldn't imagine what she'd done to anger him now. But his eyes
weren't cold as he stared down at her. They were molten, like
melted silver.

He released her elbow, his hand sliding up
her arm and over her shoulder. The breath froze in her lungs as he
captured an unruly lock of hair near her chin and rubbed it between
his fingers. Strange sensations skittered through her body.

He stopped abruptly, clenching his hand into
a fist by his side. She stepped back, her heart palpitating an
uncomfortable rhythm. All at once, the small cabin seemed much too
crowded, much too warm.

She backed into the bunk. Her knees
collapsed, and she sank down. Chase spun toward the entry. Her
muddled senses cleared as he opened the panel, jarred to alert
status by the memory of what she'd seen on the computer.

"Captain McKni—Chase, wait."

He pivoted, his expression fierce.
"What?"

She knotted her hands in her lap. "Why did
the computer say we're headed for Saron?"

His eyes glinted coldly. "Because we
are."

The distance between them slammed back into
place. Nothing had been resolved. Just the exchange of more
meaningless words. "But what about Intrepid? You said—"

"I said you would reach Intrepid in due
time," he interrupted. "That means by my time schedule—when I
decide. No one questions my decisions on this ship." His frigid
expression warned her against challenging him.

Nessa heeded the warning. At least for
now.

* * * *

Morning shift came and went, and still Nessa
didn't emerge from her cabin. He preferred it that way, Chase told
himself. The troublesome waif would only be underfoot. After the
way his unruly body had responded to her mere touch last night, the
best solution would be for her to stay in her cabin the remainder
of the trip.

His physical reaction to Nessa bothered him.
He could probably attribute it to the fact he'd been a long time
without a woman. But he shouldn't be reacting to an obvious
innocent like Nessa, especially since she was vulnerable right now.
He needed to distance himself from her and her problems.

Yet he kept remembering how pale she'd been
after that blasted seizure, how shaky and fragile. Guilt assailed
him. He possessed a fair amount of knowledge about her particular
seizure disorder; enough to know he shouldn't have shaken her and
yelled at her when he caught her using the computer. He knew enough
to formulate a compound that would reduce the frequency of
occurrences.

He shook that thought away before it reached
completion. By the Spirit, he would never do research in a medical
laboratory again.

But Nessa couldn't afford to suffer many
more episodes. She was already wound tighter than a black hole, and
much too thin. She needed to eat more. He hadn't returned her
supplies. He had more than enough food to share, and she would need
her own on the trip from Intrepid to Zirak. The bread and cheese
she'd sneaked from her plate when she thought he wasn't looking
wouldn't last long, especially if she shared it with that worthless
lanrax.

Chase clicked on Nessa's cabin monitor,
shunning the visual screen. Everyone deserved privacy in their own
quarters, with the exception of criminals. He heard her moving
around the room and talking to the creature, so he knew she was all
right. He should leave her alone, but concern for her welfare
gnawed at him.

He punched the com pad. "Nessa. Can you hear
me?"

First a muffled sound, then, "Yes."

He waited for her to speak further, but got
only silence. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." More silence.

He'd never have to worry about her talking
too much, Chase thought wryly. She was the quietest female he'd
ever encountered. "Good. Then you can join me for the mid meal in
five minutes."

"I'd prefer to stay in my cabin. If you’ll
give me my supplies, I'll eat from them."

Chase slapped his hand on the console and
spun his seat around. He'd fought this battle once. He didn't
intend to fight it the entire trip. Striding to her cabin panel, he
sounded the tone once, then twice. No answer. He pounded on the
panel. "Nessa, I'm coming in."

He opened the panel and entered. She stood
in the center of the room. Her eyes widened with surprise, but she
said nothing as he halted inside. "Why didn't you answer the
tone?"

Confusion replaced surprise in her eyes. "I
didn't know what that sound was. What's the tone for?" she asked,
taking a step back.

"You ring the tone when you want to enter
someone's cabin. Then you wait until they tell you to come in."

"Oh." She stared past him at the panel, as
if she could see how the mechanism worked. He looked her over,
noting her paleness. "What have you been doing in here all
morning?"

"Not much." Her gaze slid to the plexishield
case, where the creature held a piece of bread in a hind paw. It
stopped eating long enough to hiss at Chase then took another bite,
glaring at him malevolently.

Chase looked around the cabin, realizing for
the first time how bare the room was. The shelves were empty—no
holographic games or puzzles. By design, the room did not have a
computer monitor, so there were no reading disks. Nessa had been in
here for hours, with nothing to do, and without a single complaint.
But then, she was not one to complain. He glanced back at her,
noticing the wariness in her eyes.

She was afraid of him. After last night, who
could blame her? But he preferred it that way, he reminded himself.
He didn't know anything about his unwelcome guest. He couldn't
afford to let his guard down, even for a minute. Still, he couldn't
expect her to stay in this stark atmosphere for five more days.

Sighing in resignation, he gestured toward
the panel. "Come on. Let's get you something to eat."

"But my supplies—"

"Either you eat with me, or you don't eat at
all," he interrupted firmly. "And if you'll cooperate, I'll do
something for you." He stepped behind her, urging her toward the
panel.

"What?" She stumbled slightly, then regained
her balance. He noticed her limp appeared more pronounced
today.

"I've decided to let you use the computer.
But—" Chase held up his hand as she gasped and whirled around,
pleased amazement shining on her face. "But only for reading and
games, to keep you occupied for the rest of the trip. Nothing
else."

"Oh," she breathed, her eyes glowing with
excitement. "Will I be able to link to Information Access Retrieval
files?"

Her childlike joy cemented his decision. "I
don't mind if you want to delve into IAR. Maybe you could do
research for me."

"I would! Oh, I would. Can I use the
computer right now?"

"Meal first." He grasped her shoulders,
turning her and moving them through the panel.

A few minutes later, watching her eager
expression as she nibbled at her meal, more guilt nagged him. He
had the knowledge to make her life easier. She didn't need to
suffer seizures. Within a very short time, he could research her
disorder and compound the appropriate preventive.

Panic raced through him. Spirit, anything
but the lab. Until now, he'd successfully avoided it, and for the
most part, the memories it dredged up. Until Nessa had boarded his
ship. Until her seizures had forced him into the lab, once again
facing his failures.

Stop it!
he told himself sharply.
Drawing a deep breath, he reeled in his emotions. Three seasons
stretched between him and the demons, three empty seasons…he should
be able to control his reactions by now.

Formulating a medication didn't require any
great skill. He could do it easily. Besides, if he halted Nessa's
seizures, then he wouldn't have to enter the lab again.

He would do it, immediately after the meal.
Decided, he sat back in his chair. Oblivious to his inner turmoil
or his covert observation, Nessa slipped the rest of her bread into
her pocket.

Shaking his head, Chase repressed a smile.
Odd, but he suddenly felt more lighthearted than he had in three
seasons.

Chase strapped a stunner and a gun onto his
utility belt. He appeared oblivious to Nessa's presence as he
reached into the weapon vault for a pair of gloves and a visored
helmet. Pulling those on, he closed the vault and strode toward the
hatch. His actions confirmed her suspicion that he'd traveled to
Saron to pursue a criminal.

Fingering the vial of capsules in her
pocket, she followed him to the hatch. He'd offered them one ship
cycle ago, claiming they would help prevent her seizures. While she
knew better than to cling to false hopes, she had accepted the
vial. She didn't truly believe anything could eradicate her
affliction, yet she hadn't been able to resist taking a capsule
this morning.

Right now, however, her attention focused on
the fact they'd just landed on Saron, with Chase preparing to leave
the ship. Panic edged her thoughts, raising her apprehension at
this delay in reaching Santerra.

She halted beside Chase as he snapped open
the portal cover. "Captain McKnight."

"Yes?" His voice was flat and he appeared
distant, withdrawn.

Nessa recognized that withdrawal. She had
seen it many times before, in Shielders preparing to go into battle
against the Controllers or the Anteks. A shadower stalking a wanted
criminal would need the same emotional distance. This was no game
McKnight engaged in. The hunt could readily become a matter of
life—or death.

"How long will you be gone?"

He looked at her then, his eyes cold and
expressionless. "As long as it takes."

Her breath froze in her chest. How could she
possibly have allowed her perception of this man to soften?
Shadower
! He was a shadower. She must remember that, in
spite of his surprising compassion and assistance. The Controller
mind indoctrination he had undergone would dictate her swift demise
if he ever discovered her true birthright.

Slipping the helmet over his head, he
punched the hatch control and turned to her one final time. "I've
programmed the brig force fields so you can't deactivate them. Stay
away from Long. We'll take off as soon as I return."

He still didn't trust her and probably never
would. She didn't trust him either, which made it imperative she
gain full access to his computer system. Realizing he waited for
acknowledgment of his orders, Nessa nodded, and he strode out, the
hatch whirring shut behind him.

"Nessa! Nessa, come here," Long wheedled
from his cubicle.

Ignoring him, she went to the cockpit. She
needed to find her supplies and her weapon, needed to exert control
of all computer functions —just in case.

At the computer, she began searching for the
hidden files every system contained. It took some time, but she
finally found what she was looking for: the PWL file, the heart and
core of the computer. It contained the security codes and passwords
necessary for accessing all operational ship functions.