Starlaw (15 page)

She glared back at the commander with all the enraged feeling she'd stuffed deep down. Their gazes met and she saw his eyes narrow, even from the distance across the galley. Due in no small part to her open, blatant glower and deliberate accusatory stare, he threw his napkin onto the table, put his wine glass down, and stood. He turned to his companions, apparently to dismiss himself, and stalked across the room, straight toward
her
. She was aware of others watching his stormy progress. Even Gemma and Barst turned when the look on her face went dark and she put her full attention on the approaching giant. They knew something was up, but were clueless as to the silent, less-than-cordial exchange she'd just had with their superior.

Never in her life had she wanted to irk someone as much as she wanted to pester, provoke, and mentally duel with Commander Darius Starlaw. They had about as much in common as whale shit has with moon dust, and he had it in his power to bring her real grief. But rather than stay out of his way as she'd originally intended, his uncalled for hostility in staring so ungraciously brought out the very worst in her. He wasn't even pretending to be gracious now.

And as he approached—his hostile gaze still riveted with hers—she pasted on her most assertive, kiss-my-ass sarcastic smile. Some part of her, albeit a very sick and dangerous side, wanted to finally have it out with this guy and in no uncertain terms. If she could get under his skin, there was nothing that would make her feel better. This was something she could control when everything else was overwhelming.

Bring it on, big man. I've finally had a gutful of you.

Gemma and Barst simultaneously stood as their commander moved closer to their table.

Laurel did so as well, but only because it would have appeared rather churlish not to. If he wanted to start an argument—and the look all over his face indicated as much—it wasn't going to be over her lack of manners. There were much more serious matters between them.

She didn't like him. He didn't like her. It was that simple. There was no reason to drag anyone else into what was an obvious lack of respect on both sides.

Darius nodded at his crewmen and exchanged a few pleasantries with them before turning to her. She stepped back only so she wouldn't have to tilt her head at such a ridiculous angle just to look him in the face.

“Are you enjoying the ship's fare?” he asked as he glared down at her.

“Everything's fine,” she abruptly replied, resisting the urge to remark that it wouldn't matter if she liked the food or not. She had to eat and he knew it.

“I take it your quarters are satisfactory?”

Of course he'd know she'd been issued a space of her own. He'd probably approved its assignment. She simply nodded, but gave nothing else away.

“Since Gemma and Barst are due back at their stations in short order, I suggest you head back to your area of the ship. If you'd like me to escort—”

“No thank you! I can find my way back,” Laurel curtly muttered then turned to Gemma and Barst. “Thanks for the invitation to join you. It's clear I'm done here.” She tossed down the napkin still in her left hand and summarily marched away. He didn't call her back. She didn't know what she'd have said or done if he had.

If anything was said by the commander's subordinates, on her behalf, she never heard it.

Controlling her temper was no longer an option. She just couldn't do it, no matter how hard she tried. Every bit of common sense regarding the matter floated away in the face of her very real fury.

The man wasn't going to let her even eat in peace. This cemented her resolve to take her meals in private. That was clearly what he wanted. Rather than be embarrassed again, being dismissed from the galley in front of everyone and much the way a small child would be sent to bed, wasn't going to happen a second time.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” she angrily muttered as she entered the passcode into her quarters, strode through the opening, then locked it behind her.

For a long time, she paced. Part of her—the more balanced and fair side of her better nature—kept insisting that she'd started the issue with her very curt and angry confrontation after that tavern incident. But another part, which was the side that hated his control over every aspect of her life, just couldn't get over his disproportionate anger where she was concerned. Why the hell confront her in the galley? What the fuck was that all about if not to make sure she understood her
place
and in such a way that anyone within four tables heard it?

Finally, she plopped down in front of her computer workstation, and opened files she'd recently learned to save on equipment that was so far superior to anything she'd ever seen that she congratulated herself on even being able to turn the damned thing on.

That dangerous idea concerning Goll's demise by her own hands was insane. If anything could have cemented her resolve about that ongoing plan his actions in the galley just had.

“If he thinks he can order me to stay put like a
good little girl
… he can kiss my Earth butt! Let's see how big, burly, and bombastic likes this!”

• • •

Hours later, when the entire ship seemed at rest, Laurel carefully left her quarters and made her way to the aft section. It was no short trip, and took the better part of what she guessed was half an hour. Once committed, she had no intention of turning back. Goll was meeting whatever maker he believed in tonight. Whatever happened, it'd be worth seeing the commander's face when she was done. And she
did
mean to succeed.

If there were security devices in the gangway, nothing on the schematics said so, but then there were likely a lot of such devices no one would put on a blueprint. She took her chances anyhow. And the farther she got, the more it looked like no one was watching her. Then again, she'd been deemed very ignorant by all those she'd met so far. That underestimation of her abilities and sheer, unmitigated gall, might be working to her advantage.

Her destination was the armory. She had no idea what she'd have to do to get her hands on one of the laser weapons or how she'd even use one. Parameters for their operation weren't in any schematics and she decided not to search too hard in case her computerized informational requests set off some kind of internal alarm.

Still, if someone had been silently alerted to her searches, they hadn't made an appearance yet. And as long as she wasn't stopped, nothing was dissuading her. Where there was a will, there was a way. And
Commander
Bastard
had given her all the motivation she'd needed.

Anger gave her courage.

She simply didn't care what happened any longer. By all reasonable standards, she should have been dead along with Cory and her other friends. Instead, she was here. Pride made her act even where prior common sense made her hesitate.

She'd tried. God knew she had. But she was done walking on eggshells. If the man in charge, the same one deemed almost godlike by the rest of the crew, wanted to kill her for what she was doing, then that was acceptable. Better to die acting out of courage than live, cowering in fear. She couldn't exist with every tiny aspect of her daily life governed in such fine detail. That wasn't living. It was an eternal, hellish prison, one she meant to escape as soon as possible. And if the rest of Earth was to be judged by her actions, let the fellow citizens of her planet be thought brave if nothing else.

Coded symbols on passageway signs led her in the right direction even though she'd memorized every turn and curve. Luckily, she hadn't had to enter any of the elevator-like lifts, and punch in access codes, as she'd seen other crewmembers do while on her way to the galley. The armory was conveniently on the same level of the ship as her quarters. That was one of the design aspects of the ship that'd given her this crazy idea to begin with.

When she got to the entrance to the armory, she ducked behind a support beam in the passageway. For what seemed like an interminable length of time, she simply stood quite still. No alarms sounded.

Eventually, several uniformed crewmembers looking more fishlike than humanoid exited the armory. They laughed and joked with each other, headed in the opposite direction and down another passageway. Before the double hatches closed behind them, she ran from her secreted position, and prayed no one in the armory itself would see her entrance.

From the schematics, the room was quite large. If luck was with her, anyone within the space would only glance her way. Her clothing was enough like the other uniforms that, without closer inspection, she might pass for a crewmember.

Once inside the space, with the hatches closing behind her, she relaxed and acted as if she utterly belonged. There were a few crewmen milling about. Some had green faces that looked trollish. Others were tall and angular, reminding her of pencils. But no one seemed to notice her slow, ambling walk around the space. Everyone had jobs to do. They seemed inordinately interested in paying attention to consoles whose lights and beeping function indicators took precedence. With so many crewmembers, it was clear they hadn't all met one another. In darker portions of the massive space, where cavernous cabinets likely contained all kinds of weaponry, she was just one more person appearing to do her duty. How long her game lasted depended on how well she could act.

She simply kept to the edges of the space and wandered until a weapon storage cabinet came into view. The schematic that got her this far was all very general. Likely, it was the same in all such vessels. What got more specific was what
kind
of weapons the ship held and where, in the large recesses of the space, they were located.

A computerized clipboard of sorts lay on a nearby console. She picked it up and pretended to check it randomly. What seemed like many minutes were probably only a few. She didn't count herself so lucky as to have been there long without notice. Sooner or later, someone would say something and the scheme would be undone. She had to pick up the pace.

Finally, her slow sojourn around the area was rewarded. An entire bulkhead display unit bore all kinds of nasty-looking side arms. Only one was all she'd need.

She carefully put her clipboard down and moved to the display. One wrong move would surely set off an alarm, but nothing happened as she reached out and actually grasped the handle of something that looked very like a nine millimeter. It was a bit bigger and had a larger barrel but she recognized what might be a safety catch on the side.

Surely it was charged? If it wasn't ready to fire, she'd soon find out.

After having the weapon firmly in her right palm, she slipped it beneath her tunic and into the waistband of her pants.

It can't be this fucking easy. What's wrong with these people?

Almost angry that she'd made it so far without being questioned, she simply shook her head in disgust, even as she slowly walked toward the hatches. When they opened and she was in an empty passageway once more, she blinked and gazed up. Someone upstairs was with her. That was the only explanation for having gotten so far.

She shrugged, turned to her left, and continued.

The next part of her journey would take even longer. She had to move faster. Crew would scramble when a weapon was discovered missing. That could be at any moment.

She recalled every turn again. Every passageway and symbol leading to the other side of the ship and the prisoner section was memorized, down to the exact distances. Still no alarm sounded.

That made her more nervous than the silence. Something had to be wrong, but she'd committed to this act. There was no turning back now.

A symbol on a large hatch indicated her destination. The hatch opened without any problem and she found herself alone in a very large space containing square, black boxes that looked like refrigerated units. These were what the commander had referred to as stasis cells. A brief study of the ship's glossary left her in no doubt about what stood before her.

All the units were darkened but one. It was very near the hatches, situated on a bulkhead or wall. Inside the lighted cell, along with a lot of mist and fog, was the very same creature that'd attacked and killed her friends. Goll stood there, frozen in time. His eyes were closed but his gaunt, emaciated body was being kept alive. It was a sort of cryogenic freezing technique that kept him going while preventing him from making any escape attempts.

For a long moment, she simply stared. Anger, loathing, and rage filtered up from deep inside her gut.

In front of her stood the reason she was there. The officers who'd locked Goll up hadn't even bothered to offer him a change of clothing. He still wore the bloody garments that, even in the dim light of Balboa Park, couldn't be disguised. The gore from her friends' murders was right in front of her, a few inches away.

An alarm sounded. She glanced backward and knew there was no time left.

She raised the weapon and aimed it. Her thumb came up to turn off what she assumed was the safety mechanism.

Fire! Do it!

She fixated on the gruesome image in front of her, but her hand began to shake.

He deserves it. And I'll be done. What happens afterward won't matter. Just fire. You can't miss from here.

As it had on other occasions when considering the matter, she entertained the idea that his ilk might have visited Earth before. Hence the similarities between the name these aliens used and the terms Earthlings would employ to describe him. If she didn't fire now and make an example of him—to show what Earthlings would do to his kind if they decided to visit her world again—then history could repeat itself. More cops or those even less able to defend themselves could be slaughtered.

The alarm got louder. There were voices in the passageway outside the stasis cell area. It was now or never.

Her hand shook worse. Tears filled her eyes.