Shadower (30 page)

Only two types of ships regularly carried prisoners: Controller transport ships, taking felons en masse from regional prisons and star bases to the main prison on Alta, or…a ship belonging to a shadower.

A shadower.
Sabin a shadower? No! Her lungs constricted, and she battled for air. He couldn't be. She sagged against the wall, fighting swiftly rising panic.

Think, Moriah, think.
She forced her mind to calm and sort facts. Sabin had done nothing to indicate he was a shadower. He hadn't transported any prisoners—at least not while she was with him. She hadn't seen any of the familiar offender reports regularly issued from Alta, or a brig on his old ship or— wait…

His third cabin didn't have a panel on it. She had assumed it was just open, but he had tried to put her inside, had touched the pad, and declared it broken. It could be a brig. He'd also downloaded reports on his computer in the cockpit, but she'd been unable to see them. He'd admitted he worked for the Controllers. She thought back to the conversation where she'd asked him what he did for a living.

I deliver…certain goods, and I get paid for those goods…As a matter of fact, the Controllers approve heartily of the merchandise I deliver.

A shadower. The facts pointed horrifically to that conclusion, but she fought it. Surely Sabin meant he delivered standard everyday supplies to bases. That's what she had originally assumed. A shadower…he couldn't be. She needed to be absolutely certain before she reacted. She forced her legs to move, and headed for the cockpit. Just outside, she braced herself and stepped in.

Sabin sat in the captain's seat, checking the various controls. He touched the panels almost reverently, as if each were made of gold. He turned his head when she entered, looking like an excited kid. "Hey. What do you think?"

"Oh…it's very nice," she murmured, edging around him toward the weapons console.

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" Pride reverberated in his voice.

She waited until his attention returned to the navigation and engineering pods, then she pressed the weapons display pad. The console lit up. The display listed available weapons: particle accelerators, lasers, missile launchers, torpedoes— enough firepower to destroy a small planet, or face down virtually any private spacecraft in the quadrant. Weapons a shadower would need for capturing dangerous felons.

Straightening, she stared at Sabin's broad back. "You're a shadower." The words tore out of her, not a question, but an accusation.

He stiffened, slowly turning to look at her. She saw the answer in his eyes before he spoke. "Yes."

Waves of nausea churned in her stomach.
A shadower.
Just like her father…just like Pax. A cold-blooded mercenary who routinely exchanged lives for gold. Spirit help her. She closed her eyes, giving herself time for the panic to subside to a manageable level.

"You said you made deliveries for the Controllers. That's what you told me!" Incredulity made her voice unnaturally high.

He rose. "That's what I do. I deliver criminals."

She grabbed the edge of the weapons console to keep from falling. "That's not how you explained it. You made it sound like you transported goods, not people."

"I never told you that. You assumed it. I didn't lie, Moriah. I just didn't go into detail. It was nothing you needed to know."

Of course he'd lied. He was a shadower. And she was an idiot, for not realizing the truth, which had been right in front of her. Her infatuation with him had blinded her. Never again.  Forcing air into her constricted lungs, she shoved away from the console.

"Moriah—"

She held up a hand, unable to bear the thoughts whirling through her mind. Desperately, she tried to come to grips with the fact that the man she had lain with so intimately was a shadower—a scum, a lowlife no better than the criminals he hunted.

But he was also a Shielder. As far as she knew, the only reason a Shielder became a shadower was to turn in fellow Shielders for the bounty offered on them. Now she knew how he'd been able to afford a custom-built Skymaster cruiser. By befriending others of his race, like Jarek, then betraying them. Had his story of his parents' deaths just been so many lies?

"No need to explain," she gritted out. She had to get away from him. Fast.

He stepped toward her, dark and dangerous. "I want to explain. It's not what you think."

Right. A shadower is a shadower is a shadower
— as her father and Pax and others had so aptly proven. "Oh, I'm sure," she said, stalling for time. "But since I'm still nervous about the healer, could we discuss this later?"

He looked like he wanted to force the issue, but he shrugged and nodded. "All right. Later. But we will discuss this, Moriah. There's a lot you don't understand."

"Of course," she agreed, plotting her escape.
There sure is a lot I don't understand. Like why you don't want me to know the location of a Shielder colony you're going to turn in one day—if you haven’t already.

This new ship was very much to her benefit, she realized, because now she'd be able to take Sabin's old one without guilt. She'd disable the homing device and ditch the ship at the first opportunity. Then he'd never be able to find her. She just had to put him out of commission long enough to get away.

Sabin glanced around the cockpit again. "Everything appears to be in order. Let me settle with Nealon, and then we'll go to Darya."

Moriah walked down the corridor, her skin crawling at the thought of him so close behind her. As they passed the first brig, she had an idea. She slowed at the second hold, thinking it over. It might work. Halting at the third chamber, she turned to him.

"You need to tell Nealon there's a big gap in the molding in this compartment." She pointed to the opposite corner in the brig. "I noticed it earlier."

His brows rose. "I didn't see that." As she had hoped, he strode into the brig to investigate. She activated the force field and ran, ignoring his roar of outrage.

He sounded just like the monster he was.

*  *  *  *

He was alone—again. Hell, who was he kidding? He'd been alone since he was six seasons old. Nothing had changed. Moriah—the sweet, treacherous liar—had just been a diversion. A very costly one at that. Disdaining the use of a glass, Sabin raised the bottle of liquor and drank. It was much faster. But not fast enough to dull the pain.

He should have known she wouldn't honor her word, shouldn't have allowed himself to be taken in by her seeming vulnerability and lush body. She was just a master con artist, biding her time until she could give him the slip and steal his old ship. She'd never intended to go to Darya. Thank Spirit Nealon had come looking for him when he didn't show at the office. Otherwise, he might still be in that cursed brig.

Why in the blazing hells had he been so concerned for Moriah's welfare, so worried about her dealing with the Leors? She was about as defenseless as a Zarian army and more obstinate than an indoctrinated Antek. He felt sorry for anyone who got entangled with her. She and the Leors deserved each other.

He was lucky she was out of his hair. Now he wouldn't have to put up with her treachery. He could get back to tracking Galen. Now he could be…alone.

Sabin drained the bottle. Nothing had changed, he told himself again. His life was simply righting itself   after
she
had capsized it. He'd lived a solitary life for twenty-four seasons, and he liked it that way. Safer, simpler. He would forget about Moriah.

Actually, he couldn't. Starting to feel a faint buzz, he got another bottle from the console. He never drank like this, but figured numbness was better than the pain, or facing the truth. The truth… What was he going to do about Moriah's knowledge of the Shielder base? She'd clearly demonstrated she couldn't be trusted. What if she sold that information? Besides, she had possession of his old ship. It might be a junk heap, but it had some scrap value, or could be used by fellow Shielders.

He groaned, cursing the liquor's delay in providing oblivion. He had to go after her. Track her like a criminal, which she was. Yeah, she deserved whatever she got. He'd find her, too. She would have disabled the homing beacon by now—she was too smart to overlook that. But she didn't know about the hidden signal Radd had installed. His vision blurring slightly, Sabin entered a command on his new, state-of-the-art keyboard. Moriah had only been gone half a cycle, so he routed his search through the closest satellite base. And he found her, by Spirit!

He'd located her on the first attempt; she didn't stand a chance. He locked in on the signal and linked it to the navigation pod. Despite his fingers getting tangled more than once, he managed to program the navigator to track her signal and constantly update for directional coordinates to follow it. Damn, this new ship was responsive. Cooperative and trustworthy, unlike the deceitful, bronze-haired woman he wished he'd never met.

He tried to pat the console in approval, but his hand slipped off the edge and he lurched forward. A welcome numbness was setting in. Just to be sure, he picked up the bottle. He managed to down another generous portion, right before he collapsed over the console and passed out.

"Eark informed me the iridon shipment was almost confiscated by Controller agents," Moriah told Lionia. "The delivery has been delayed for several cycles."

"What do you plan to do?"

"I've decided to return to Risa for a few cycles. I had planned to dump this junk heap and ride with Roanne, but I'll fly it home instead. We can either sell the ship for scrap or use the parts from it."

Lionia considered a moment. "That could be dangerous. The ship might be tracked or reported."

"I don't think there's any great risk. I've disconnected the homing beacon, so I can't be tracked. Risa's in a pretty deserted sector of the quadrant. There's little chance of anyone sighting the ship or recognizing it as stolen. It should be safe enough."

Lionia nodded. "It will be good to have you back."

"I'll see you in a few cycles." Moriah turned off the viewscreen. Risa. Home. She was going home, to the only stable place she'd ever known—one she'd built herself. Celie and the others would be waiting for her. Everything she needed was there.
Everything.

Even as she told herself that, Sabin's image flashed in her mind. Ebony hair, midnight eyes …black heart.
Shadower.
She gripped the console, battling waves of despair and self-derision.
Fool! Fool, fool, fool!
Her father and Pax should have been a sufficient lesson in the cruel ways of men, especially men of the bounty-hunting kind.

No one who willingly hunted people for a living could be a decent person. And a Shielder who betrayed others of his kind to the Controllers was the lowest of life forms. Sabin Travers fit that mold. His apparent despair over the destruction on Nissar had probably just been an act.

She'd made the stupendous mistake of being lured by his seeming honor and compassion, by his seductive kisses and erotic touches. He'd taken full advantage of her stupidity. She had mated with a
shadower,
letting him touch her in shockingly intimate ways, allowing his invasion of her body. At the thought of their heated encounters, her face burned and her stomach threatened to rebel.

Sabin's physical possession of her wasn't the worst thing, though. She'd long ago learned to mentally distance herself from her body. While her father had beaten her, or Pax violated her, she'd retreated to a place in her mind, a mental haven where no one could touch her. That place she'd envisioned was a paradise, green and lush, with deep pools of clear water—a vision she hoped Risa would one day reflect.

She had learned that domination of a body didn't necessarily mean domination of the mind or spirit. Yet Sabin had done just that, not only invading her body, but her soul as well. She'd held nothing back from him, had never really retreated emotionally. She had begun to trust him, to believe he could be different. She had allowed him to creep into her heart.

Shadower.

Apparently, it was her destiny to attract the most despicable males in the quadrant, she thought bitterly. But fate could be changed, and she intended to do just that, by holding on to this hard-won lesson with a vengeance. She would never again trust any male.

If Sabin Travers ever re-crossed her path, he'd be very, very sorry.

*  *  *  *

Sabin punched the transceiver pad. "Travers here."

"Jarek here. How's the new ship?"

Sitting up straighter, Sabin shook his hair back. He turned on the viewscreen. "Hey, san Ranul. The ship's great." He glanced around the sleek cockpit, with its gleaming equipment panels and computer screens. It seemed sterile…empty. Shrugging away the thought, he added, "Running smooth as Saija silk."

"Man, I'd love to fly that baby." A touch of envy echoed in Jarek's voice. As a reconnaissance scout for the Shielders, he flew the fastest ships they had, but their fleets were old and rundown.

"The next time I make a run to Liron, you can give her a spin," Sabin offered.

"Thanks. I'll take you up on that. So, what did you do with your old ship? Any possibility of donating it to the fleet?"

Sabin felt a surge of anger. Damn Moriah's worthless hide. She had no business stealing a ship for her own selfish gain, when Shielders were being outmanned and massacred at a horrendous rate. But he didn’t allow his anger to show. "The ship is on temporary loan to someone right now. But I plan to have it back
very
soon. I'll be glad to contribute it, although it may not be too dependable."

"We'll take what we can get, and we'd be mighty grateful. But that's not the main reason I contacted you."

Thinking of Nissar, Sabin tensed. "What's up?"

"I've got some information on Galen. I understand you were looking for him."

The mention of Galen shot adrenaline through Sabin. He knew Jarek didn't know why he was hunting the felon. He had only requested information on Galen's whereabouts; he hadn't specified a reason. He'd been too distraught and disoriented on Nissar that day to share his suspicions.