Too Close to the Sun (The Sun 1) (5 page)

Boy? Even the computer thought she was a boy! Surely Yanur would have mentioned she was a woman if he had finally noticed. She'd lost her hat at the airfield, but could imagine how her short hair might be plastered to her head and with her hoarse voice, she supposed she did look and sound like a boy. Well, maybe that wasn’t so bad.

“Computer, how long do you intend to hold me hostage?”

“Until I complete my mission.”

“What mission?” When her question met with silence, Angel narrowed her eyes to glare at the old man, who, in turn, watched her closely, his expression unreadable. “Exactly where are we going?”

“Harvesters’ home planet.” The words were spoken so matter-of-factly.

“That’s impossible. No one knows where it is. Myths and legends, but nothing factual.”

“That’s not entirely true,” the computer pointed out.

“Well yeah, but even if you could find a Deep Space Trader, you’d never get one to tell you that particular location.”

“True. But we don’t need them to tell us.”

“Why?” Angel couldn't believe she was arguing with a computer.

“Because the Harvesters will take us there themselves.”

It took Angel only a moment to make the connection. “That signal we’ve been following? That’s a Harvesters’ ship?” She rubbed her forehead, hoping to ease the pressure building behind her temples. “Just how did you manage to get close enough to tracer-tag one of their ships?”

“Actually, the tag is implanted in one of the victim’s bodies.”

“Come again?”

“We had a volunteer implant a tracer-tag into his body and then let himself be taken during the Harvesters’ last raid.”

It was suicide, pure and simple. “Who in God’s name was crazy enough to do that?”

“I was.” The computer responded.

“What do you mean, you were. You’re a computer.”

“No. I assure you, I am quite human.”

“Impossible.”

“On the contrary. My name is Nicoli Alexandres Romanof. I’m a colonel with the United System of Planets’ Security Forces.”

“I’ve never heard of you.” She had no idea who might and might not work for the S.F., but that wasn't the point.

“You wouldn’t have. I specialize in covert assignments.”

“And you're currently undercover? As a computer? Give me a little credit, please,” she snorted, thoroughly disgusted.

"It's not important that you understand how it's possible that I'm able to interface with the ship's computer," the voice said. "The only thing you need to understand is that I'm on a mission and I won't tolerate any interference from a common thief. So if you can't cooperate, I'll find a way to get rid of you."

Chapter 3

“You can kiss my ass.” Unlatching her safety harness, Angel stood up. “You,” she stabbed the air in front of the old man, “and your computer-friend are certifiably crazy. Whacko. Do you hear me?”

Ignoring his bemused expression, she stormed off the bridge, past the hatch and down the short hallway until she found the sleeping quarters. Since she didn't have control of the ship - and couldn’t leave it - she might as well have a look around.

The first door she came to was unlocked, so she went in. While the cabin definitely was
not
on par with a Vista 250 luxury suite, it wasn’t bad. Soft beige, tan and coral tones gave the room a calm, spacious feel. Immediately to the right of the doorway was a small table with two chairs. Above these, set into the wall, were the intercom and recycler. A small bed stood against the right wall and opposite that was the door to the decontamination unit, or the D-U as it was better known.

Curious as to what amenities she might find inside, she palmed open the door. The D-U was a small room with a bio-waste unit and lavatory on one side and the shower stall on the other. It used the standard lightweight cleaning solution known as
Supercleanze
to deliver a fine, cleansing mist that dried quickly.

Angel stepped out of the D-U to check out the room's only closet. She rummaged through the hanging shirts and pants, catching the faint musky odor of their owner still clinging to them. It was a distinctively masculine scent that sent her imagination down interesting and not often traveled paths. Unable to resist, she took another deep breath and sighed before reluctantly shutting the door.

She would take this room. At least until they reached a space station or someplace where she could disembark. Having made the decision, she left the room to explore the rest of the ship, making sure to check out every nook and cranny as she went. When her stomach growled, she remembered that she hadn’t eaten and went to find the galley.

It was as small as the rest of the rooms, but definitely state-of-the-art with its Cosmos Food Genie and pre-set menu selection pad. She entered her selection of a
Holwraith
meat and
Zantl
cheese sandwich on whole grain bread, and a glass of
Aldenberry
juice. Less than two minutes later, she was back in her new quarters, eating her food and letting her thoughts wander.

So much had happened – the encounter with Tony, the terrorist attack, losing her ship, stealing this one. And then, the coup-de-grâce – held prisoner by a computer that claimed to be human? It was enough to make her wish she'd learned how to hack into computer programs.

But she hadn’t, so now what? How did one out-think a computer?

Maybe she didn't have to. That voice coming from the ship had claimed to be a man. A colonel with the S.F. What had it – or
he
– said his name was? Romanof? She’d seen a lot of weird stuff in her life, was this really so hard to believe? The computer certainly didn’t sound like any computer she’d worked with, not with that velvet-edged, sexy voice.

“Michels, report to the bridge.”

She forgot to include overbearing and authoritative in her description.

“I’m busy.” Irritated at the intrusion, she finished her sandwich and swallowed the last of her drink. She didn’t take orders well and the sooner the computer – or Romanof - understood that, the better.

“Michels, an uncooperative pilot is as useful to me as a dead pilot. Report to the bridge.”

She didn't think he could "see" her, but gave him the one-fingered salute as she crossed the room to dispose of her plate and cup in the recycler. Then, in an admittedly childish act of defiance, she turned off the intercom so he couldn’t bother her again and crossed over to the closet.

She rummaged on the floor until she found an old boot. Wishing the Felineans had upgraded to a wireless form of currency, she took the wad of cash Dugan had given her from her jacket pocket and stuffed it inside. There was no point in carrying it around with her. To be safe, though, she hid the boot in the very back of the closet before closing the door.

Then the events of the last forty-eight hours caught up with her, along with the lack of sleep, and she yawned. The bed beckoned and she had no will to resist. Laying down on it, only to rest a bit, she fell fast asleep.

* * * * *

Nicoli considered his current situation. His plan was little more than a calculated gamble. He’d had no doubts the Harvesters would take his body from the beach. Tall, well-muscled from years of rigorous training and, if what others said was true, attractive. Nicoli fit the physical profile for desired sex slaves. It wasn’t vanity; it was fact. A fact that made the chances of recovering his body at one of the Harvesters’ nefarious black market auctions better than good. That was the crux of his plan.

Losing Richardson had been a blow. Nicoli had personally selected Richardson for his piloting skills and vast field experience. He needed someone seasoned in battle by his side as he infiltrated and destroyed the Harvesters. While Yanur would do anything for him, Nicoli refused to let the older man endanger himself. Now, instead of a warrior, Nicoli was stuck with a boy. Not an ordinary boy, that was apparent. This young upstart had kept his head during a terrorist attack, shown resourcefulness in stealing Nicoli’s own ship, demonstrated charity by taking Yanur aboard rather than leaving him behind, and then piloted an unfamiliar ship through a nearly impossible course into open space with skills Yanur claimed were exemplary.

All the guts and raw talent in the universe were useless, though, if the boy couldn’t accept and follow orders. Whether Nicoli could change that or not remained to be seen.

He checked the ship’s progress. They had entered The Forty-Five, a wormhole discovered decades ago. Wormholes provided shortcuts across the fabric of space and this one led to a lesser-known quadrant.

From inside the wormhole, there was no way to judge their proximity to the target. They were gaining on it, but not fast enough to suit Nicoli. He hadn’t lied to Yanur when he’d said he didn’t fear death. The thought of living forever inside a computer, however, scared him considerably.
No thank you.

He increased the ship’s speed.

* * * * *

It was her fifteenth birthday and life had never been so good. She and her parents gathered around a picnic and while they ate, her father told more of the wonderful stories that made her laugh, and made him smile.

Suddenly, his body jerked and the smile turned into a grimace as a red stain spread across his chest. He began to fall away from her. Reaching for him, Angel managed to grab a handful of his shirt, but she wasn't strong enough to hold onto him. Before she could do anything more, he'd slipped away from her into the dark.

A shadow appeared then, looming over her, and she looked up to see her grandfather standing there, scowling down at her. Beside him was Angel's mother, wearing a black mourning robe. She offered Angel her hand and Angel stood to take it. The picnic and yard where they stood blurred and faded. When her surroundings came back into focus, Angel was standing beside her mother and grandfather in the family cemetery, before a freshly covered grave with a headstone bearing her father’s name.

Sorrow as she'd never known it before overwhelmed her so she could barely breathe past the pain in her chest. She turned to her mother, hoping for comfort but at the very least, needing answers. She got neither as her mother turned and walked away.

Left alone, Angel tried to follow, but her leaden feet refused to move. The sound of her grandfather's dark laughter caught her attention and she turned to see his claw-like hands reaching for her, an evil smile upon his face.

Terror banished her paralysis and she ran for her life, not daring to look over her shoulder. Before her, a house materialized from nowhere.

Seeking refuge within, she fled down the main hall, the sound of heavy footsteps following her. Her grandfather had killed her father and now he wanted her.

The doors along the hallway stood closed. Trying one at random, she found it locked. She ran to the next. Locked also. Again and again she tried, until finally one opened.

Sanctuary?

Inside, she ran to the window, but found it barred. The footsteps from the hallway grew louder. Sweat dripped down her face and into her eyes. It was so hot. Wildly, she looked around. There! The closet.

She rushed forward and tried the knob. It opened.

She ducked inside, pulling the door shut. There was no lock, so she gripped the knob with her hands. Trying to quiet her breathing, she listened for the sound of her grandfather’s approach. His footsteps sounded louder. Now they were just outside the closet door.

He'd found her!

Beneath her clinched hands, the doorknob moved, but she held on tightly. He pounded on the door and her body shook with each strike. The inside of the closest grew hotter and she felt smothered. She dragged air into her lungs, unable to get enough. The banging on the door grew violent. How much longer could she hold it shut?

Angel came awake with a start. Covered in sweat and shaken from the dream, she sat up in bed and tried to regain some semblance of calm. The nightmares were coming more frequently and getting worse each time. And more realistic. Even now, wide awake, she found it hard to breathe.

No, it wasn't her imagination. The room really was hot.

Something was wrong.

The ship lurched, nearly knocking her from the bed. It was accompanied by the muted sound of an explosion coming from outside the ship.

Jumping to her feet, Angel tore, barefoot, out of the room and headed for the bridge. It was empty.