Enemy Games

Table of Contents

 

Alarms wailed.

Jayleia made it to the cockpit as another jolt rocked the little vessel.

Damen sat strapped in at piloting in the U-shaped cockpit. V’kyrri, at navigation, sat beside him. Weapons panel on V’kyrri’s right, what looked like a communications panel on Damen’s left.

“Are you all right?” Damen asked, tossing a glance at her.

“I won’t know that until you return me to the
Sen Ekir
,” she said, “which you have no intention of doing, have you?”

The muscles in Damen’s jaw bunched.

V’kyrri leaned across the cockpit, reached under the communications panel next to her, pulled out a seat and unfolded it.

“Strap in!” Damen ordered.

Jayleia gaped at him. “You’re kidnapping me?”

ENEMY WITHIN
ENEMY GAMES

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2011 by Marcella Burnard.

 

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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

BERKLEY
^®
SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / May 2011

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

Burnard, Marcella.

Enemy games / Marcella Burnard.—Berkley Sensation trade paperback ed.

p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-51441-2

I. Title.

PS3602.U759E6 2011

813'.6—dc22

2010053559

 

 

Special thanks:

To my beloved husband, Keith, whose patience, faith, and support know no bounds.

To the FF&P members who hang out at the watercooler offering sage advice, strange and wonderful ideas, and good company.

To Jeffe Kennedy for stepping in on an emergency basis to critique what was broken.

To my family for rooting for me, for talking up my book at every turn, and for not disowning me over that faraway look I’d get in my eye whenever a story started playing in my head.

To my longtime friend and cohort, Dr. Kurt “Spuds” Vogel, Lt Col, USAF (ret.) for keeping me rooted if not in the probable then at least in the outer reaches of the vaguely possible.

To Dawn Calvert, Darcy Carson, Carol Dunford, DeeAnna Galbraith, Melinda Rucker Haynes, and Lisa Wanttaja—a great group of writers, mentors and, best of all, friends.

To my editor, Leis Pederson, and to my agent, Emmanuelle Alspaugh, for helping me tell a better story.

To the members of Feline-L whose wide-ranging backgrounds and interests allowed me to ask the most obscure questions and receive cogent answers.

Last but certainly not least, my sincere thanks to Eratosthenes, Autolycus, Cuillean, and Hatshepsut, my feline snoopervisors, lap warmers, keyboard walkers, and reminders that no matter how large looms the deadline, there’s always time to play.

T
HE communications panel trilled, echoing the call in the confines of the tiny cockpit. Damen entered the unlock code.

“
Kawl Fergus
,” he said, answering with the name of his fast, little reconnaissance ship.

“Change in plans, Major,” his commander’s voice rumbled over the com, rolling around and around the cockpit. “Your mission’s been shot to the lowest level of Hell.”

Damen’s chest tightened. “Situation, Admiral?”

“Tagreth Federated accused the director of Intelligence Command of collaborating with the Chekydran,” the man said. “He’s vanished.”

“Spawn of a Myallki bitch,” Damen gritted. “Zain Durante isn’t a colluder. His cover must have been blown. If there’s an extraction plan for him, sir, I’d like to be a part of it.”

“He is a colluder, Major. With us. He wasn’t providing tactical information to Her Majesty’s government with the approval of the Tagreth Federated Council. As for an extraction plan? That presumes we know where he is,” his commander replied. “We found out he’d gone underground when the TFC media outlets ran the news bulletin posting the reward for information leading to his arrest.”

“We’ve lost our chance to take down the network of traitors inside TFC, then. Every mercenary in the lanes will be looking for . . .”

“Him, his wife, and his daughter,” his commander finished.

Alarm singed the breath in Damen’s lungs.

Durante’s daughter. Jayleia. Delicate features. Shining black hair. A shy smile and serious brown eyes.

They’d met. He’d helped hijack her science ship. Then the Chekydran had forced them into alliance. She’d barely said two words to him, but he couldn’t shake the memory of her gaze on him when she’d believed he wouldn’t notice. He could swear he’d seen admiration in the charmed twist of her faint smile.

He’d sensed a wall around the beautiful, dark-eyed xenobiologist, as if she feared what he’d see in her if she dropped her guard. He hoped she still had her defenses online.

The accusation against her father made Jayleia a target for every single one of her father’s enemies.

His heart thudded into uneasy rhythm.

“Your orders, sir?” he asked, his tone dead.

“Divert to TFC space. Your objective is Jayleia Durante. She either has the information we need or she is the fulcrum we’ll require to pry her father out of hiding,” the admiral said.

“Jayleia is still aboard the
Sen Ekir
?”

“Yes.”

“Location of the
Sen Ekir
?” Damen asked.

“The ship is on Chemmoxin, where they are responding to an outbreak,” the admiral replied. “Captain Idylle tells me the disease isn’t airborne, but I expect you to take all reasonable precaution against infection.”

“This will end her career as far as TFC is concerned, sir,” Damen noted.

“Captain Ari Idylle here, Major,” a feminine voice interjected. “I suspect your concern for Jay’s loyalties comes a day too late. You’re closest, in the ship best equipped to get Jay out of what could turn into a bloodbath. The traitors have put a price on her capture. Four known mercenaries have mobilized. You and I want Jayleia alive more than we want her to like us. Get there first, Sindrivik.”

Breath hissed in between his clenched teeth. “Diverting. Top speed.”

J
AYLEIA checked her sensor boosters, her holo-image generators, and her live traps.

“Temperature forty-point-three degrees and falling at your location,” Pietre, several kilometers away on board their space science ship
Sen Ekir
, said.

“It isn’t falling fast enough,” she replied, panting in the oppressive, dank heat of Chemmoxin’s infamous swamps. She’d given up trying to keep sweat out of her stinging, watering eyes about the same time she’d stopped trying to pluck every last hungry bloodworm from her skin.