The Star King (11 page)

"Just bumped it." She gasped, sitting up, still startled by their sudden fall. He tugged her sleeve almost to her shoulder and examined her arm, gently probing the bruise.

"ALERT, ALERT. SMOKE DETECTED IN SECTION SIX B."

He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. "There are cold packs stored in the medical kit on the bridge. Ask Gann. I have to go below, or I'd tend to you myself." They floated off the floor again. "Bucket of bolts," he muttered, and guided her to a row of metal rings on the wall. "Handgrips. Do you think you can pull yourself to the bridge?"

Jas flexed her arm. The twinge of pain faded as she flexed her elbow. "I think everything is in working order." To prove her point she grabbed two handgrips. The motion caused her lower body to arc upward. She gave quick, surprised laugh, stopping just short of a giggle. "Hey, this is fun."

Rom pointed toward the bridge. "Go. And no acrobatics along the way."

"Not even one ... ?" She didn't know the word for
somersault so
she rolled her hands one over the other.

"Absolutely not." Planting his boot heels on the wall, Rom pushed away with the agility of an Olympic high diver. "You never know when the gravity will come—" He plunged to the floor and landed with a resounding thump.

"Back?" she supplied.

Rom propped himself on his arms. "Precisely." Even sprawled on the floor, he managed to maintain his noble demeanor, as if it were bred into his bones.

"ALERT, ALERT. SMOKE DETECTED IN SECTIONS SIX A AND SIX B."

"Two sections now." A trickle of unease ran down her spine. "It's spreading."

Rom's tone turned serious. "Go to the bridge." The change in his mood told her all she needed to know. She nodded, her heartbeat accelerating. Rom climbed to his feet and limped into a jog. Gravity fled and he'd lifted off the floor even before rounding the comer.

Favoring her sore elbow, Jas drifted one-handed, peering down the darkened corridor. It was a long way to the bridge, particularly if she had to use the handgrips. The generator room was closer. She'd lived through more than her share of aviation mishaps. Surely she'd be able to offer some help to Rom and the others down

below.

"WARNING, WARNING. FIRE DETECTED IN SECTIONS SIX A AND SIX B." This time an earsplit-

ting klaxon followed the honeyed computer-generated voice. Curiosity paled with the thought that the men were in danger. And Rom ...

Adrenaline surged through her, accompanied by the need to protect him, a force as elemental and instinctive as ensuring her children's safety. She decided not to analyze it, but to act. Hand over hand she made her way to a ladder that descended into the cold, echoing bowels of the ship. Though the air recyclers hummed loudly, an acrid stench of burning wires stung her nose and throat, and a white haze billowed near the ceiling. Gravity returned. She dropped to the floor, landing on the thick soles of her boots, and sprinted toward the bright lights at end of the corridor. The dancing reflection of flames and what she figured was an extinguishing agent flickered over the metallic flooring. The ship gave a long, controlled shudder. She stumbled. Righting herself, she kept going. Rom must have given the order to come out of light speed. Not a good sign. Finishing the voyage in zero-g was one thing, but what if the fire damaged the ship? Would they limp along until supplies ran out? Or worse, be marooned in space?

Whatever experience Rom had at squeezing out of tight situations, she hoped he would use it to get them out of this one.

To her right were two widely spaced doorways leading into the smoky generator room. Shielding her nose and mouth with her sleeve, she glimpsed Rom, Muffin, and Terz about thirty feet farther down the hall, across from the first hatchway. Animatedly engaged in a discussion, they were gathered around a panel with blinking green and red lights mounted on the wall, a larger version of the door control panel in her room. Relief washed through her at the sight of Rom's muscled, athletic frame and confident stance; yet her nauseating dread lingered. She'd best distract herself, or risk going crazy.

"PURGE SEQUENCE ACTIVATED. TWO MINUTES UNTIL DEPRESSURIZATION," the computer intoned.

It sounded as though Rom was going to open the outer hatch doors to space. The resulting vacuum would suffocate the fire in an instant. But wouldn't he have to close the inner corridor hatches first? If not, everyone and everything not bolted down would be ejected into space. The handgrips looked more enticing than ever. But as she opened and closed her hands, fighting the impulse to grab on for all she was worth, the urge to reach Rom was stronger. Awash with an unsettling vulnerability, she scrutinized the two closest doors, praying they'd hold tight during the imminent depressurization.

Zarra skipped backward out of the hatchway closest to her, blocking her path. His exposed skin gleamed with perspiration despite the chilly temperature, but his hands were steady as he gripped a bulky fire extinguisher. Squinting, he aimed it into the generator room, shooting a powerful stream at a tall metal cabinet. Smoke poured out of the charred housing, hissing as it made contact with the spray. Though the enormous overhead vents quickly sucked it away, the residual odor reminded her of burning plastic.

"Zarra, how can I help?" She shouted to be heard above the intermittent fire alarm and the sound of men's voices boomeranging off the metal walls. He looked startled to see her. His face was flushed, his pale, whiskey-colored eyes bright. It hit her then how young he was, and what a grown-up situation he'd been placed in. The spray dissipated and he lowered the extinguisher.

"Empty. Here, hold this." He handed her the dripping hose and heavy tank. "There's one more inside, I think."

"PURGE SEQUENCE ACTIVATED. ONE MINUTE, THIRTY SECONDS UNTIL DEPRESSURIZATION," Jas heard the computer warn.

"In
there?"
Jas shot a wild glance into me room. An antifire mist rained onto glowing flames and coated the floor. On the far side, half-hidden by smoke, loomed a pair of outer doors ready to open to endless, deadly space. "They're going to seal the room," she warned him.

"Some of the most expensive equipment we have is in that housing."

"Zarra, in less than two minutes they will depressurize."

"A lot of damage can happen between now and then."

Jas resisted the motherly urge to snag him by the collar. Masking his face with his sleeve, Zarra assured her, "Two seconds, that's all I'll be," and darted inside.

A commotion dragged her attention down the hall. Muffin was waving at her, while Rom cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "Jasmine, back away! We're sealing off the room!"

Her anxiety skyrocketed. "Zarra is inside!"

Rom looked stricken. "Terz," he said brusquely. "Cancel the sequence."

"Sir, it'll take time—"

"I
know.
Do it anyway or we'll lose him." Rom sprinted her way. "Stay where you are, Jas! Do
not
go in after him!"

"PURGE SEQUENCE ACTIVATED. ONE MINUTE UNTIL DEPRESSURIZATION. CLOSING INNER HATCHES."

Terz wheeled around and ran to the control panel, his hands a blur as they moved over the touch screen. Extinguisher in hand, Zarra reappeared as a vague outline in the mist on the far side of the room. Jas cried out in relief. "Hurry!" His eyes widened at her urgency, and he tried to comply, but his feet flew out from under him. Spinning over the slippery floor, he slammed hard into a post and collapsed onto his side.

There was a deafening boom and a prolonged hiss as the inner hatchway farther down the corridor slammed shut. Then the thick double doors in front of Jas vibrated and began to glide closed.

She rammed the empty fire extinguisher lengthwise into their path, keeping them apart. Muffin wedged his enormous bulk between them, and Rom drove through the narrow opening, after Zarra.

"DEPRESSURIZATION INITIATED. SECURE HATCHES. SECURE HATCHES."

Jas had never felt such terror and emotional agony in all her life—because she could do nothing to help. "Rom!" She crushed her hands into fists and pressed them to her mouth. Her stomach muscles cramped in a painful spasm.
She was going to lose him.
Seconds extended into eternity. Then she saw Rom again, and her knees almost buckled.

Skidding over the wet floor, struggling to keep upright, Rom had one arm wrapped around an unconscious Zarra. Muffin seized Rom's shirt, yanking him into the corridor so violently that Rom lost his grip on Zarra. Tumbling, Rom managed to recapture Zarra's hand. Then all hell broke loose.

An explosive roar obliterated all other sounds. Fog formed. Jas's eardrums wrenched painfully. The outer

doors had opened, and with the inside hatch still partially open, it had created a ravenous, tornadolike vacuum. Jas dove for a handgrip as Rom, on his stomach, his fingers wrapped around the boy's hand, hurtled headfirst toward oblivion. A scream of horror lodged in her throat.

From her spot, all Jas could do was watch as, flailing one-handed for a grip on the smooth surfaces of the wall and floor, Rom tried in vain to stop his slide.

Nearby, Muffin braced his muscular legs against the wall, grabbing on to his captain's shirt. It tore. He clawed for Rom's arms and missed, hampered by the frigid white mist Jas knew from her old training accompanied all rapid depressurizations. Battered by the loose tools and bits of paper that sailed past, Rom blindly reached for Muffin, still maintaining his hold on Zarra, but at last the strain proved too much. Zarra's fingers slipped from Rom's hand.

The boy disappeared behind the closing doors, and Rom gave a cry of anguish that Jas felt resound through her heart.

Chapter Eight

"Rom
..." He heard his name being called as if from a long distance away. "Can you hear me? Wiggle a finger, blink your eyes, something. Anything.

"Please."

This time the plaintive voice fully penetrated the blackness. A woman's voice. Husky, familiar. Accented. He fathomed that she'd been talking to him for some time, but only now could he focus on the words. Warm hands smoothed his hair off his forehead over and over, tender yet insistent stroking.

"Heads don't do well against doors, you know," the voice continued. "You are lucky you didn't crack your skull wide open. Though I think this will be one ugly bruise." There was silence for several moments. Then the voice's owner patted him on the cheek, beseeching him once more. "Rom, do you feel me? Hear me? Come on, I know you're a fighter."

His stomach twisted ominously, but an onslaught of pain centered in his head and neck shattered his quea-siness. His hands clenched involuntarily, and he felt the fingers wrenched from his grasp all over again.
You shouldn't have left him in the wreckage; you should have freed him while you had the chance.
A groan slipped from his throat before he could stop it.

The comforting hands stilled. "Muffin! He's awake! Rom! Do you hear me?"

Rom opened one eye, then the other, squinting through a haze of pain at a blur of dark hair framing a pale face and glittering intelligent eyes that saw and understood every nuance of his soul.
The Balkanor angel.
His heart swelled with joy and wonder.

But hadn't she abandoned him? Hadn't
he
left there, too? Bewildered, he searched the sky above. It was dull, metallic... no stars.

Ten firm fingertips pressed lightly into his jaw. «Try not to move your neck." She resumed her soothing caresses, her face closer now.

He heard a male voice then, and it bewildered him. "Momentum threw you into the hatch. We're getting a stretcher to bring you to sick bay."

"You will be fine," the woman whispered in her accented voice. Rom raised leaden, shaking hands to cradle her face. Entranced by her sweetly curving lips—tempting, full, made for kisses,
his
kisses, and a hundred other erotic activities he envisioned all too easily—he pulled her down to him. She locked her arms to keep him away, her hands splayed atop his chest. "Oh, now look who is feeling better."

"But this is where we kiss." He wrinkled his brow, concentrating hard. "Yes, I'm certain it's what conies next."

"No, my sweet, confused man. Wrong script." Then she smiled through her tears.
Tears?
He dabbed at the moisture with his thumbs. Shame wrapped around his scattered wits. Of course. He'd disappointed her, failed her, as he had his family. How could he expect her—or anyone—to abide by his impulsive abdication of responsibility? "I shouldn't have let my brother come. He should have stayed home—safe—not here."

She stared at him blankly for a moment, then made a soft cry. She grabbed his hands and crushed them to her lips. "No, Rom; it was Zarra.
Zarra.
Not your brother. Do you understand? He's fine—banged up like you, but you saved him."

The male voice said, "The gravity generator's on backup power, and Terz's crew is working on repairs to the hull. Gann called from the bridge—the structural integrity's intact."

Rom knew that what he'd just been told was significant, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. The woman laid her angel's hands on his stomach. She spoke slowly, her speech somewhat halting. "You're on the
Quillie.
A spaceship. You're her captain... a very heroic captain."

A hero? How could this be? Her statement so diverged from his view of himself that he let his eyes drift closed to hide the burning hope he feared lurked there. Agony thundered in his skull with each beat of his heart, but he floated, buoyed by an odd giddiness of spirit, something he was certain he'd never felt before.

There was a clattering, the urgent murmur of deep voices. Supporting his neck and shoulders, several men

lifted him. Pain rocketed from one side of his head to the other, ending in a strange, icy tingling in his neck, fading when a medicine patch was pressed under his chin. The woman's magical, healing hands skimmed over his face and hair once more, then withdrew. Bereft, he tried to call to her, but the drug was too powerful, and all that emerged was a hoarse mumble.
This is where she abandons you without so much as a backward glance.
He clamped his mouth shut before he displayed anything else that might be construed as neediness.

"I'll see you when you wake up, Rom."

He stiffened upon feeling her breath moist and hot against his ear, laden with promises he knew she wouldn't keep.

"Yes, I'll stay with you. ..."

The inevitability of her betrayal kept him company as he began the long slide back into darkness.

* * *

He woke to an ethereal world where pain and time did not exist. A soft mattress had replaced the cold, hard floor beneath his back. Someone sponged his face and neck with a damp cloth, scented with a fragrance he recognized—one used for healing the body and the spirit, reminding him of the cloudless melon-colored skies and cool sands of a Sienna dawn. He drifted for a while amid a thousand memories, saw himself as a teenager playing Bajha with his father, then, much younger, sitting nestled with his beloved sister in his mother's lap while she read to them. He would have laughed, had he been able, as he recalled scampering over the sands with his younger brother Lijhan, eager to catch one of the planet's elusive green-banded turquoise quillies. The images left him with a longing so great it that look his breath away. He missed his family.

In a jolt of self-awareness, he faced the emptiness inside him. For all his success as a smuggler, and his solid, if somewhat disreputable, standing in the frontier, he was no different from the shiftless space drifters he despised—lonely, resentful, and suffering from an inherent lack of purpose.

Perhaps his father had been right about him.

A sound distracted him from his dismal epiphany. The woman ministering to him began half singing, half humming a song in a hushed voice as she pressed a cool, damp cloth to his brow.
The Balkanor angel!
Drugged lethargy held his eyes shut, so he listened to the soft song. It sounded maternal, yet at the same time deeply sensual, and was in a foreign language that sounded familiar. Earth words.

The images of the angel and Jas Hamilton coalesced. She said she'd stay ... and she had. She hadn't turned her back on him, as his father and his family had. Astonishment and piercing relief plowed through him, as if he were a man who'd just plunged to his doom only to be unexpectedly caught.

What if she had been equally helpless within the framework of the vision? He had never considered the possibility that her departure might not have been of her own choosing, that, perhaps, she'd been allowed to stay only to give him the will to finish his task that day. Instead he'd blamed her for what might have been beyond her control.

As he succumbed to drugged slumber, he released a long-held-in mental sigh. For the first time in countless years, his dreams held hope.