Shamara (39 page)

She nodded, her body rigid as he eased his hand back over her breast. They both seemed to be holding their breath. She closed her eyes, her hands clenching the edge of the bunk as Rurick cleaned her burns.

Her nakedness aside, there was something intimate and sensual about the simple act of touching her, of tending to her. It was just a necessary procedure, he told himself. Yet he was acutely aware of the heat rising off her flesh, of the rapid beat of her heart beneath his hand. He felt sweat beading on his forehead and wiped it away with his free hand before she noticed.

He was acting like an adolescent lusting after his first crush. It was ridiculous, and not the reaction a grown, sexually experienced male should be having. Forcing himself to relax, he reached for antibiotic salve.

Celie's eyes opened. "Captain, I—"

"Call me Rurick," he urged, smoothing salve as gently as possible over her burns. "I would say the situation warrants a little less formality, wouldn't you?"
Definitely less formality.

"All right then, Rurick. Please allow me to return to my ship. It’s everything to me. It contains all my possessions. Some of them are irreplaceable."

"I can't take you back yet." Wiping the salve off his hands, he met her darkened gaze.

"Why not? Surely those who attacked us will be long gone by now."

"The most obvious reason is that I'm not sure this ship can handle reentry into a planet's atmosphere, not without us completing the necessary repairs."

"I'm very aware that we have to do the repairs first," she said. "But after that you should be able to return us to Joba."

Except he and Max had urgent business on Altair before they could go anywhere else. Rurick knew they'd have to tell Celie and Raven something before they reached Altair, but felt it would be prudent to wait as long as possible. "Repairing the ship could require quite a delay," he hedged, "which is probably for the best, because Joba might not be safe right now. I'm sorry."

Her eyes narrowed. "There's no need to say that. How can an android be sorry, or feel anything for that matter?"

He was going to have to be careful around her. She was far too observant. "Androids are programmed to gauge humanoid emotions, analyze pheromones, and respond appropriately," he explained. "I can tell this situation is upsetting."

"That's an accurate assessment," Celie retorted, then fell silent until he finished bandaging her. "Why isn't it safe to return to Joba'?" she asked. "What's going on there?"

"I need to do your back." He gestured for her to turn around. "And I'm afraid I can't answer those questions."

"Tell me why?" She pivoted away and flipped her hair onto her chest. She had an elegant, long neck and a beautiful, sleek back.

Feeling more relaxed now that she was turned away, he focused on the serious issues raised by her questions. As he considered what to tell her, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Why won't you answer my questions? Because you can't, or you won't?"

Why not indeed? Frustration roared through him at his lack of knowledge or control over any of his recent discoveries. Shocking, universe-shaking knowledge that had rocked the foundation of his beliefs about the Interstellar Council and the life quality codes the Council had sworn to uphold. Yet he and Max had seen for themselves that the ninth sector offered no guaranteed quality of life for any of its citizens. Instead, poverty and disease appeared to be rampant. But there were no immediate explanations as to how this had happened, or why.

"Rurick? Are you going to answer me?"

He concentrated on the burn on her right shoulder. "I don't really know the answers."

"Were those people after Max specifically? Or were they just pirates, after anyone who might have something of value?"

Rurick was almost positive the attackers had been after him, in an attempt to stop him from probing the ninth sector situation more deeply, but he had no idea who had sent them. Unfortunately, traveling in a ship marked with the Riordan royal crest clearly broadcasted his identity. It was also the only way he could move in and out of the ninth sector freely. "I don't know for sure," he stated.

"Well,
what
do you know?" she retorted.

"Not very much, it would seem."

She muttered beneath her breath, something about "poorly programmed androids."

"What was that?"

"Just another question," she said smoothly. "What in Hades is going on in Joba? Why is it so rundown? I saw a pitiful group of people dressed in rags, and they looked like they were starving. I've never seen anything like that, not in this quadrant, anyway. This needs to be reported to the Council."

That addressed one suspicion that had nagged him: whether or not Celie was an active participant in the black market created by such great need. Obviously she wasn't, for which he was grateful. "Yes, it needs to be reported," he agreed.

The problem was, to whom? The horrendous living conditions in the ninth sector were so widespread, and word about those conditions apparently so repressed, that some of the Interstellar Council members had to be behind the cover-up. But which ones? That question was the one reason he hadn't gone to the High Council yet. He didn't know who could be trusted.

He'd tried to bring up the situation to his father, but Domek had become distraught and insisted that such a thing couldn't possibly exist. Then the king had become extremely ill, and Rurick hadn't said anything further. He'd wondered if the members of the High Council would have the same reaction as his father.

Or worse, if those who were behind the situation might try to block him from giving assistance in the sector. So he hadn't yet approached the Council or gone public with his discovery. He felt it imperative that he uncover the perpetrators first. For that reason, he had opted to have the supplies delivered to him in an obscure location, and had Max commission Celie to make the delivery to Joba. For the same reason, he didn't dare tell her more.

He finished bandaging the burn. "All done."

She rose from the bunk and turned, giving him another tantalizing view of her breasts as she slipped on her flightsuit top, not bothering with the undershirt. He felt a great sense of relief when she sealed the seam.

"It's not any of my business what you were doing in Joba," she said, "or what you plan to do with the supplies I delivered. I just want my ship back."

Surprised, he realized she thought
he
was planning to sell the food and medicine he'd purchased, black-marketeering and taking advantage of the needy. Of course, what else would she think, based on so little information? He'd wondered the same about her, so it seemed a fair turnaround.

"It's not what you think," he said. "I wish I could tell you more, but I don't have the answers myself."

"You've told me nothing," she pointed out. "I don't need to know your agenda. I only need my ship. Surely there must be some recourse. I can't just leave it at Joba."

None of this was her fault. Her only crime was doing business with him, and in being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Yet it was crucial they head directly to Altair. Already, Rurick feared how many might die of starvation or disease before he could get the precious supplies there. Afterward, he could return Celie to her ship. For now, he'd have to dodge her questions.

"I've already explained there's no other recourse. We will get you to your ship," he told her, "after we repair our craft."
And after they went to Altair
. He only hoped her ship was still at Joba and intact when they could finally return. If not, he would buy her a new one.

"Why can't you take us to a checkpoint station? There are quite a few throughout the ninth sector, and you wouldn't have to worry about your ship attempting atmosphere re-entry."

He strongly suspected those stations were part of the problem, or at least part of the system repressing word of the sector conditions. He wouldn't leave Celie and Raven at one.

"That's not a good option," he said. "They don't have many transports going in and out. We'll get you back to Joba. Right now, we have to concentrate on the repairs to this ship so we can resume business as quickly as possible."

She frowned. "How long do you think those will take?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Son of an Antek," she muttered.

"More colorful language."

"Oh, that's mild compared to some of my vocabulary."

He couldn't help laughing. His ship was badly damaged, Max was incapacitated, and the ninth sector was in dire straits; yet Captain Celie Cameron was lightening his mood. She was as entertaining as any royal performer.

"I didn't know androids had a sense of humor."

Rurick thought of the quirky humor that had been programmed into Max. "Some do."

"So you really have no idea how long the repairs will take?"

"The external repairs will be the most time consuming. We’ll have to weld the holes in the hull and fix the damaged sensors. That’ will take two or three cycles. Then we’ll have to replace circuit panels and pipes in the damaged bays, and get the main fuel tank functional. Since Max will probably be incapacitated for a few cycles, we won't be able to count on his help."

"I've had quite a bit of mechanical training, and I do my own repairs," she said. "I'll help you. I assume you have been programmed for ship mechanics."

Max had extensive software for mechanical repairs, but Rurick had always shown strong mechanical inclinations. He enjoyed working on spacecraft, even if his family thought it was beneath him. He was quite sufficient in that area. He nodded. "I have."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, finally, a straight answer." She cocked her head and studied him. "It will be interesting seeing what an android can do."

If she only knew,
Rurick thought.
If she only knew.

*  *  *  *

Catherine Spangler is a bestselling and award winning author of the Sentinel series (urban fantasy romance) and the Shielder series (science fiction romance). She is a two-time Golden Heart finalist and a RITA finalist and has received numerous other awards and honorable mentions.

She is an active member of Romance Writers of America and her local chapter, Dallas Area Romance Authors. A frequent speaker at writers’ groups and conferences, she has taught workshops on the creative process, writing techniques, writing paranormal romance, and goal setting.

Catherine lives in north Texas with her husband and a menagerie of critters. She loves reading, taking naps on the sofa with a good football game for background noise, eating chocolate, and playing poker.

Her fun fact: I celebrated the sale of my first book by drinking champagne from a plastic cowboy boot mug. My critique partners brought four of them to my house, along with the champagne. Drinking champagne from those cowboy boot mugs every time one of us sold a book became a tradition, which we still honor.