Starlaw (23 page)

“I'm flattered.
Really
!” Darius responded sarcastically. “All I did was get myself captured and tortured while you used semantics to pull off a victory by the seat of your pants. And, might I add, with an Earther who's barely able to open a hatch on this ship without help!”

Laurel gasped and would have walked away except for Barst's gentle grip on her upper left arm. The gentle shake of his big head told her not to take Darius's comments to heart.

“That's hardly fair,” Barst defended. “She saved your life and provided a distraction that protected innocent people. One might say we pulled it off more with luck than skill. But it turned out all right. The best part is that another of Goll's kin is dead, and we'll have a new ally in the League. You'll get the credit, Darius.”

Laurel simply glared at the man in charge. She would never be anything to him other than a primitive Earther. She thought she could be something more than that. A friend, at least. Perhaps a lover one day, when she could get over her own, numerous insecurities about people from other worlds. But she'd misread the signals or maybe she'd inferred things a man from another planet wouldn't want her thinking.

Hurt and unable to respond because of what he said, she simply remained silent. At least Barst afforded her the opportunity to do something besides sit in her quarters and vegetate. Bear man trusted her. Even Gemma was more inclined to respect her lately. Their confidence in letting her go to their beloved supervisor's aid spoke for itself. But what must she do to get Darius's simple thanks? What did she have to do to be an equal? Why, in his view, was an individual's intelligence always linked to their world's technology? And finally, where was the gentle man who'd kissed her so tenderly?

Darius blinked several times, shook his head, and put one hand to his temple.

“We'd better get him into an incubation unit. The drillers may be gone, but those whip marks aren't,” Barst suggested. “I think I can manage getting him up if you can get one of the unit sides down so he can lie in it.”

She would have refused the request and told Barst to leave the ungrateful bastard where he was, but the more genial of the two didn't deserve her tantrums. Barst knew what she'd done in Char's residence. She wouldn't ever have to prove herself again, at least not to
one
member of the crew. But the pain of rejection threatened to make her act ill-bred.

Without any further comment, Barst helped Darius up. They moved slowly but finally crept across the length of the med bay.

When they approached the largest of the incubation units, the second-in-command helped his superior lie down, after Laurel lowered one side of the coffin-looking, silver box.

Just looking at the device made her shiver. But if it healed without surgery in most cases then it was worth its weight in gold. More to the point, if the incubation unit kept Darius asleep and out of her hair for a while, so much the better. More than ever now, she needed to think and analyze her feelings. This would be better accomplished with her current, biggest obstacle out of the way.

As the bigger of the two men lay backward into the box, and Barst turned the unit on, Laurel took a brief moment to gaze into Darius's eyes. He was still angry. Had his stare been a bullet, she'd have been well and truly punctured. She didn't understand him and likely never would.

The entire incident on Arjus might be over—and a grand success to everyone on the ship—but he'd have words with her later. She was sure of it. Somehow, he saw her as an incendiary element that was inappropriately influencing his crew. To him, she was a floating ember that needed to be stomped out. She'd seen that very same look on other supervisors' faces. In this instance, however, she wasn't a subordinate. Like Barst said, she had every right to leave the ship when and as she pleased.

Thankfully, Gemma walked back into the space. The med-tech smiled happily in recognition of a successful operation. “Great! You've got him in an incu-unit. The good news is … I got all of those foul things out of him. Every piece. The better news is … it'll be a short trip home!”

“What will you do with them … the drillers, I mean?” Laurel asked.

“Put them in an air lock and space 'em!” Gemma replied. “That's standard operating procedure when we come in contact with particularly tenacious parasites. Drillers are so bad that not even our decontamination unit can deal with them.”

“As far as spacing nasty little creatures goes, it'll be my pleasure,” Barst added as he smilingly left to find the jar in which the creatures had been placed.

For a moment longer, Laurel stayed to watch Gemma push buttons on the incubation unit. As the med-tech worked, the pain-filled look on Darius's face diminished. But he wasn't healing so fast that he'd relent. His probing stare in
her
direction was still very effective.

Laurel shook her head in frustration. “If I'm not needed here I'll go back to my quarters and plant my primitive butt in front of a computer,” she muttered as she stared back at Darius. “God forbid I find a way to be useful!”

With that, she strode out of the med bay vowing to apologize to Gemma for the less-than-cordial exit.

With minimal time, the healing properties of the unit did their job. The pain suffered was only a memory but Darius knew how close he'd been to death. Unsure exactly when he'd become so careless of his own life, he evaluated the future and what he wanted from it.

After being released from the med bay, he'd taken up duties again with many congratulatory comments being offered. The daring and spontaneous nature of the mission wasn't lost on his crew. Down to the last man and women, each was in awe of Laurel Blake and how an untrained, backward Earther so easily managed to thwart the threat to their superior's life. Darius, too, was heaped with accolades for his having endured such atrocious behavior. With every tribute, he was quick to remind his crew that no one achieved anything without the help of all.

Secretly, he burned at the thought of having been rescued by a woman who—even as he watched her join newly-made friends among the crew at meal times, and in the recreation area of the ship—was still unable to open intricate hatches, operate certain food dispensary machines, or figure out what to do with her day without help. He'd watched her accept aid from others, help she'd never request of
him
. But then she'd pointedly kept out of his way. The woman even went so far as to get up and leave the galley when he approached her table. Even common cordiality was lost between them. There were certainly no more questioning, warm stares sent his way.

She was as angry with him as he was with her. But where her ire was directed at his tactless comments—made out of fear for her life—his outrage originated from the terror of losing someone he now cared for deeply, just as he'd lost Astral. And even as he recognized the foolhardiness of her actions, that part of him where fairness dwelled felt shame. He shouldn't have been so harsh. What was it about her that made him want to either strangle or embrace her depending on the moment or the situation? And why had he so willingly walked into what he'd innately known was a trap? There'd been other ways to handle the situation. And though Char might not have agreed, those alternates would have been vastly safer for all concerned.

The more he thought on the subject during the long hours alone in his quarters, the more he realized the answer. Guilt still ate every waking moment of his life.

Astral and Kyrie were dead. He was alive and nothing was ever going to bring his family back. There were nights in the past when he believed death was the only solution to the pain. But then everything changed once Goll had been captured, and that Earther torpedoed into his life.

Now, every waking moment was consumed with thoughts of where she was, what she was doing, who she was with, and how was she getting along. Sadly, his poor behavior put her in no mood to seek his company. No, she'd found the
rest
of the crew, down to the lads who kept the passageways clean, much more suitable. He'd seen her speaking to them, and had caught the end of conversations having to do with their duties. On seeing his approach, she'd quickly left and strode the other way. A solid look of resolve, the likes of which he'd never seen, was constantly pasted on her lovely face when cast in his direction.

She made friends easily but he was not among them. He knew she missed her planet and her friends, just as he missed his family. He should have been more understanding. More sympathetic. But the constant worry over something happening to her and losing her made him say and do things he'd not otherwise engage. Honesty made him recognize the foul emotions and their cause: he didn't want to see her die.

If he let himself, she could so easily worm her way into his life. All he'd have to do was approach her, apologize, ask to start anew, and see her cast one hint of a smile in his direction. And if she did, he'd be lost. But amending what he'd said wouldn't be that easy. Not with her. She had a will of iron and was out to do anything she had to, to prove it. That very same ornery characteristic would likely get her destroyed.

Still, Laurel Blake was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman. He was far past those days when just a pretty face and toned body turned his head. She was fearless and intuitive. She was an enforcer and would understand the life of a mate in such an occupation. But she took things too far, especially for one so primitive.

Astral had at least known the dangers in traveling through a section of space deemed unsafe during tourist season, when attacks of travel vessels were at their peak. His dead beloved had made a choice based on knowledge.

Laurel, on the other hand, knew absolutely nothing. Sadly, the Earther's steely tenacity when it came to involving herself in dangerous situations was every bit as powerful as Astral's had ever been, even stronger. That was the only similarity the women shared.

It was Laurel's persistence to be included in all the crew's duties, no matter how hazardous, that he most dreaded. He dared not let anyone so determined and reckless come close to his heart. Not ever.

But what did he want from here on? Was his love life now relegated to passionate moments within some Lusterian brothel? At least there, he need not fear any emotional ties.

But nothing could convince him that was living. It was slaking lust. Nothing more.

All his life he'd wanted a large family. How much longer was the past going to own him? Alone in his quarters, he stared out his view port and considered options—just as he had almost every night since that insane Earther arrived.

His family pitied him, along with his crew and the commanders and crews of other enforcer ships. He was nothing if not the personification of tragedy. Bits of gossip about “poor Commander Starlaw” floated back to him. The pity got on his nerves, and it wore thin.

He could end that well-meaning but demeaning empathy, open his heart, approach Laurel, and offer to be her tutor on a new world where every small thing would be so difficult for her to understand. He could make himself so necessary in her life that she'd need him as she seemed to need all the rest of the crew. But then what?

She was not the kind of woman to constantly lean on others. She was not some vine to cling to him for every decision. Poor Astral had been like that when they'd first been married. The young man he'd been was flattered. That neediness had bolstered his protectiveness and masculinity. But that kind of relationship was one-sided. It was cloying and claustrophobic. It was also in the past.

What he craved now was a woman who wouldn't leave. One who'd stand her ground and fight to the nth degree, especially if it meant keeping a family together and safe. The Earther was such a woman. But how did he get past the fear of losing her when she'd accept nothing less than the kind of life she'd had back on her home world? One filled with excitement and intrigue.

He ran one weary hand over his face and walked toward his bathing area. At least he could do what he'd been doing almost every night since Laurel had come aboard. He'd slake his body's needs while fantasizing about her beneath a long, warm shower.

• • •

“How close are we to Luster?” Laurel asked as she stood on the bridge beside Gemma and gazed out the main view port.

“Less than half a shift and we'll be home again. Finally!” Gemma smiled. “The crew needs shore leave badly. We'd been chasing Goll for such a long time before his ship's tekion engine left a trace leading us to Earth. He'll be turned over to League investigators in short order. His case and all the horrors associated with him will be put to rest. And I, for one, couldn't be happier.”

“What will happen when he
is
turned over?”

“Superiors will question him. He'll be given a fair hearing and the right to representation though I don't think he's going to deny his crimes. He'll know that, since you survived, your testimony will be utterly devastating. At this point, he'll want to look like a martyr for his kind.”

“And will all this take very long?” Laurel asked.

“Some weeks. But that's short compared to how long he's been out there murdering people.”

Laurel simply nodded and took a better position to see out the bridge view port. She was only allowed into that secured area due to Barst's and Gemma's vouching. But she'd wanted to join them, eager to use the better vantage point to see what would likely be her new home. Luster was supposed to be many times larger than Earth but populated with much less density. Wild animals, plants, and cultures she could never have imagined were waiting to be explored. Putting the computer in her quarters to use paid off as she'd researched whatever she could get her hands on. Knowing everything she could was vitally important now.