Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series) Page 2

  “In case you’re curious, this is my brother Creed. Creed Forth.”

  Taara didn’t answer. For the second time in their conversation, she was speechless.

  Creed. The name filled her mind, whispered over her skin and sank deep inside her. Strangely, quelling her shivers and loosening the knot in her stomach.

  Lean, muscular, his skin bronzed by the sun over his head, blond hair ruffling in the wind, he gazed back at her over one broad, bare shoulder, as if the link had interrupted his examination of the valley beyond. He looked young, about her age, but the smooth, angular planes of his face were set with an uncompromising purpose that echoed the mountains behind him. His mouth was beautiful, his bottom lip full, but it was pressed in a firm line, with no hint of a smile.

  But his eyes … a blue as deep and mysterious as the clean, clear skies over Frontiera, they held the promise of a passion so deep Taara felt herself teetering, as if balanced on the highest peak of those mountains.

  A passion that was her birthright as a Serpentian, famed for their sexual prowess, but that she’d thus far been denied. Oh, she’d had liaisons, but they’d been brief encounters in sex-cubbies in the back of dance clubs, fueled with loneliness and blue stars, not true passion. With this man, somehow she knew on an elemental level that there could be much, much more.

  “I’ll leave you the link,” Stark said smoothly. “You have until tomorrow at this time to give me your answer. Oh, and Ms. Ravel? Not a word to Kiri or anyone else, or the deal is off.”

  He disappeared, leaving Taara alone with the silent image of the man who was as far from a repulsive being as she’d ever seen. Creed Forth was magnificent. He was sex on a hot reactor core.

  And he could be the answer to her and Daanel’s problem, their salvation.

  The threats had begun with Daanel, but after the incident in the alley, the threats had also appeared on her own comlink. And this last week she’d been followed as she traveled to and from work at Maitresse, the most exclusive women’s boutique and spa in New Seattle.

  One of her stalkers was small and skinny, but with a cruel smirk, the other a Mauritanian, huge and purple skinned, who smiled when Taara looked directly at him. It was not an attractive sight. His huge mouth full of jagged, yellowed teeth was guaranteed to give her nightmares. Just looking at the two made her shake with rage and fear. The alley had been dark, but she’d know these two anywhere.

  Their message was clear. They could reach her at all times.

  Terrible things would happen, unless Daanel paid the extortion, an amount that would break him, destroy the business he’d worked so hard to build.

  And even when Taara reported her stalkers to the police, no one seemed to know who they were. Part of Tal Darkrunner’s gang? The ganger lord had kidnapped Kiri months ago, allegedly to protect her from a worse fate. Or were the extortionists part of that shadowy gang of whom even Darkrunner seemed afraid?

  Just weeks before, Kiri had disappeared from a night of clubbing with Taara, only to reappear on Frontiera. Darkrunner claimed he’d done it to save her from a rival gang that was now into slaving—kidnapping innocent beings to sell them into the remote reaches of the galaxy.

  Kiri was safely on Frontiera now, with Stark. And Taara wanted desperately to follow her friend there.

  In a tearful reunion via holovid, just before the trouble started for Taara and Daanel, Kiri had told Taara how beautiful and clean the newly settled planet was and how much she liked Frontiera City, or F City as the settlers called it. Although she’d complained that there were few places to shop, which made it even more perfect for Taara and Daanel, since both were in the fashion industry.

  Taara had wanted to follow Kiri then. Now she was frightened enough to beg Kiri’s wealthy lover for help to get her and Daanel there. But she would never use her body as payment.

  Except that once before the same price had been demanded of her and instead of agreeing, she’d run away. And ended up paying the ultimate price—the loss of people she loved.

  But this was different. Surely if she just reasoned with Kiri’s patron he would understand that helping her and Daanel would please Kiri, whom he cared about. Because, of course her answer to Stark’s degrading scheme was still an emphatic, unequivocal ‘No’.

  Wasn’t it?

  The wilds of Frontiera, that same day ...

  Creed Forth swiped an arm over his brow. His sleeve came away wet, no surprise. He was sweating hard in the heat of a Frontiera summer day, even the moisture-wicking fabric of his long-sleeved shirt and pants unable to keep him cool. Late summer, which meant the vegetation here on the eastern slope of the mountains had cured to shades of gold and beige, and the ground was dry.

  In an hour or so, the clouds building over the eastern horizon would blow this way and cool the atmosphere with a rain shower. But that was then. Now, he was stuck out here, alone in the baking heat, repairing a coupling on a big, multi-unit hover transport. He was far enough down the mountain that the shrubbery and grasses were only knee high. Further up the slopes, tall trees shaded the meadows and ravines. He wished to the seven hells he was up there now. Wouldn’t be that much cooler in the shade, but at least he’d have the illusion.

  He was also sweating his stupidity. Should have brought a set of droids with him, not only for tech assistance but as lookouts. After a night of broken sleep, not his first lately, he’d been tired and edgy all day. Even when he was jolted awake by the strong Pangaean dark coffee he had flown in regularly with his supplies, he was still exhausted.

  Dragged down by the grind of running the irridium mine he owned with his older brothers, Logan and Joran. Tired of keeping one eye open for those who wanted to swoop in and take by force what he and his crew worked to wrest from the mountain. The pirates been more active lately and Joran had sent word that there were rumors of some big coup planned.

  Frontiera might have a state of the art sat-com system blanketing the planet, but there were still pirates out here in the wilds, bold enough to chance being caught on holovid. And frustratingly, there were just enough wanderers and settlers in the wild lands for pirates to blend in, until they were ready to take action.

  The InterGalactic Space Forces kept a station here, staffed with pilots and the fastest cruisers available as well as long range weapons, but the pirates weren’t stupid—well, not all of them. The careless were soon caught and either went down in a firefight or were sent to Deep Six, the frozen prison planet. The smart ones hid out, blended with the wild tribes and then struck outlying farms and industry, such as the LodeStone mine.

  Creed wished they’d attack and get it over with. He was ready for action, sick and tired of doing the same things day after day, and doing them with the same people. Even tired of the beautiful, wild place in which he lived. And although he knew this said more about his own mental state than his surroundings, he still felt it. A good fight would laser the ennui dragging him down.

  He was the boss, major owner and manager of the mine, ruler of all he surveyed. This breakdown had been only the latest of many chunks of responsibility to land squarely on his shoulders.

  His second in command, Nels, was deep in the mine, along with most of the LodeStone employees. Normally, Creed would have been with them at this time of day. But Barty, his newest and youngest tech, had been injured when he made a foolish mistake and caused a chunk of tunnel to collapse on him. He’d been so shaken and then ashamed of himself, Creed brought him to the surface himself, so the kid wouldn’t break down and weep in front of his co-workers.

  Agos, the half-Indigon specialist who took care of the droids, was also the LodeStone med-tech. She’d taken over, giving the injured man a thorough medscan and a gesic for the pain. Turned out he had a concussion, which meant he’d be on bed rest for a few days in the big bunkhouse on the mountainside near the mine. Since the complex included all the latest entertainment equipment for holovids and gaming, as well as a kitchen, the kid wouldn’t be bored, but he’d be misse
d.

  With the threat of pirate attacks looming, Creed had moved all the techs with families but one to Frontiera City on full pay, with the promise that they’d return as soon as the IGSF rooted out the pirates hiding along the frontier. Thus, the mine staff had been running lean, with no more than six techs on site to run the droids and machinery that did the actual mining.

  After taking care of the injured man, Creed had stopped by the big bank of holovid monitors that kept track of the entire mine operation, just in time to see and hear the alarm on the automated transport.

  The big hovercars ran up and down the mountain in a constant loop, carrying ore down from the mine to the storage silos. When the silos were full, the ore was then shipped to a refinery run by an Indigon cartel, PsyMetals.

  The Frontieran mountains were built of rock, like those on most of the other settled planets. These mountains were, in Creed’s opinion, the most beautiful. Crags soared high, of local granite that shone in the sun like polished bone. There was even a settlement further north called Bone Arch, for the arch carved in the ridge top by wind, snow and rain.

  They were also seamed with precious metals—like irridium. And unlike Earth I and II, the planet’s core had not swallowed most of this rare metal. It was near the surface, available to miners.

  But just because the mountains were beautiful and rich, this didn’t mean life here was easy. Extracting their treasures took hard work and constant repair and recalibration of tools of all kinds.

  One of the big ore cars was broken down, sitting crookedly on the rocky slope instead of floating along a few feet above the surface. If he didn’t get it out of the way fast, the next set of cars would run right into it and he’d have a pileup the likes of which he did not want to contemplate. Either that or shut down the whole mining and transport operation for the time it took to repair the car. If he had more techs he’d have them change the route to maneuver around the downed car until it was repaired.

  Instead of considering his options with the Zhen calm for which he was known, this time Creed lost it. With every one of his techs busy elsewhere, Creed had stomped out to do the repairs himself, without waiting even for the droids to load on the back of his slider.

  Now he walked back to open the storage unit on the side of his slider and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler. Ice cold, just the way he liked it. Tipping his head back, he bit the top of the bottle off, spit it out and chugged down the water. He crumpled the empty bottle in his fist and tossed it to one side. Crafted of organic wax and plant fibers, it would decompose rapidly now that the protective membrane had been broken open.

  Hearing the scuttle of tiny feet, he cocked his head to glance under the bush where the bottle had landed. Two bright eyes peered out at him. The bush trembled and the bottle disappeared into the foliage. Okay, that bottle would not be decomposing. Rock rats would eat anything, and this one would lick up the few remaining drops of water before devouring what it could of the container.

  The little creatures were some kind of rodent. He and his men had christened them rock rats for burrowing under rocks and darting out to make a mess of any organic supplies. At least, unlike the wharf rats he remembered from Earth II, these were dangerous only to unguarded meal pacs. They were also near the bottom of the food chain. Catamounts, snakes and gyre hawks were a few of the local predators that went for a tasty rodent.

  Reaching into the storage bin for another bottle of water, Creed found it empty. He gritted his teeth at his own short-sightedness. No droids, not enough water. He was behaving like an immi fresh off a spaceship, not a man who’d lived and worked these wild lands for over four years. Carelessness was the fastest way to death on this planet.

  Frontiera shared her bounty with those who worked for it, but she exacted a swift and brutal price on the unwary. There were no corner shops to re-supply food and necessities. No brother monks on whom to rely, and his adopted brothers were a day’s flight away in either direction.

  His own employees were close, and all he had to do was link to have someone here in moments with anything he wanted. But it was his own fault he was high and dry, so he’d deal. He was the boss, the one who set the standard of behavior. The one they all looked to for reassurance and leadership. If he lost it in a fit of temper, his LodeStone people would be shaken, worried.

  And he knew all too well he could not afford to loose his anger. Even after years of training, there was still too much rage. The last time he’d lost it, he’d killed a man.

  Taking a breath, he focused inward. He reached deep into his center, into the well of calm that exists in every soul, which he’d learned to tap through meditation and training. He pulled out serenity and swirled it over his head and shoulders in an impenetrable cloak.

  When he blew the breath out, he imagined the silvery cloak settling around him, muting his anger and impatience, and sealing away the heat and thirst to be dealt with later.

  He could finish this repair inside half an hour. Then he’d sync the transport controls to continue on course, delivering this load, and he’d head back up to the mine.

  He sank onto his haunches, moving under the curve of the belly of the middle cars, holding the coupling steady while he shook his long tube of liquid metal to trigger the heat mechanism, and then squirted it carefully over the broken coupling. The first batch he’d poured had already solidified. In a short time, the coupling would be stronger than before and the load of irridium ore on its way to the refinery.

  A quiet whoosh of the hot air and the angry chirr of a disturbed rock rat was the only warning that someone was approaching. That rush of air happened when a flyer of some kind passed through it. Too large to be a hawk and far as he knew there were no larger birds of prey on planet. No dragons, like Serpentia.

  Creed stilled, the hair on the back of his neck standing up, every sense alert. Instantly he considered the possibilities. He couldn’t let go of the coupling yet, or his repair job would be compromised. This could be a LodeStone employee, but it could also be someone else.

  If so, this was not good. A legitimate visitor would go first to the mine offices, and he’d know they wanted to see him. That they had not, said they were hoping to sneak up on whoever was working here. Pirates. They’d attempt to take him out and get the transport cars moving on their own trajectory, into cover where they could plunder the contents.

  There. The soft hiss as a hatch opened, and footsteps whispering in the grass. That settled it—one of his people would have called out by now.

  A small object whirred over the edge of the car—a spy bot, an ugly little bulb with tiny wings whirring so fast they could not be seen, and a holocam eye just revolving his direction. Laser already in hand, Creed zapped it just below the top edge of the car. It fell in a tiny shower of sparks. Hopefully he’d gotten it before it could transmit back any intel.

  Seemed he had, as a wiry being with bluish skin and dark hair in greasy braids followed it unwarily around the edge of the huge ore car, laser in one clawed hand. A Mauritian.

  Staring down the barrel of Creed’s laser weapon, the Mau froze, yellow eyes flaring over his own weapon. They fired almost simultaneously, but Creed was a fraction of a sec faster, so the Mau’s aim was off. Pain slashed the top of Creed’s shoulder. He gritted his teeth and ignored it, still firing until the Mau fell backward, landing with a thud against the transport, and then slithering down to fall in the grass.

  That’s when Creed heard movement behind him. A low, guttural laugh sent a chill down his spine, and ice spread in his gut. Quark. Was he about to pay the ultimate price for his carelessness?

  “Still me here, human,” said another Mau in Galactic, the universal language. Using a translator, no doubt. Mau had shit for brains, and barely learned their own dialect. Still, this one had the drop on him, so that made Creed the stupid one. “And when you’re dead, only me to take this fine ore and your slider.”

  “Guess so,” Creed agreed. Icy sweat prickled under his arms,
and across his upper lip, but he ignored it, every sense tuned to this new threat and the best response.

  He moved stealthily. Then he pressed the trigger on the tube of liquid metal he held, now aimed backward between his arm and ribs. The Mau let out a ululating howl of pain as white-hot metal shot from the tube, slicing through his pants and into his lower legs.

  The Mau fired his laser, but Creed was already gone, somersaulting with lightning swiftness, back through the clawing bushes and hot clumps of rock and soil. He came up in a crouch, firing in one concentrated blast of red, straight into the chest of the Mau who lay against the transport, clutching his legs and moaning in agony. As the laser charge struck, the alien gave a choked gasp and fell back, limbs flopping in the dust. His breath rattled in his throat.

  Creed ducked low in another practiced and graceful move, peering under the belly of the transport for more movement. He stilled his harsh breathing and listened, laser cocked. Checked the sky for any incoming craft. Nothing.

  He rose to stand over the second Mau, who stared up at him, consciousness fading from his yellow eyes.

  “Should’ve shot first, then stopped to gloat,” Creed advised. Then he watched as the alien gave one last twitch.

  He flexed his jaw to activate the com-link attached to his right ear. “Nels.”

  His right-hand man, a beefy human with a bald, deeply tanned head and black eyes, answered at once, appearing before Creed in a small holovid display, his heavy dark brows furrowed in a scowl. “What’s happening out there, boss? Already got Loi and Paulo headed out to you. Saw a strange craft moving in on your location, didn’t have time to let you know before we saw laser fire.”

  “Maus. Pirates. Both dead.”

  The other man nodded, accepting Creed’s terse answer as a matter of course. But then he stabbed one thick finger toward Creed’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

  Creed peered at the ball of his shoulder. Blood oozed through a rent in his shirt. “Just a graze. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good. Any sign of what gang they belong to?”