The Captive (13 page)

She undressed quickly and stepped into the tub, a sigh of pleasure
escaping her lips as the hot water closed over her.

She let the water run until the tub was filled almost to the
brim, then she lay back, her eyes closed, at ease for the first time since the
attack.

The cooling water woke her. She washed with a bar of scented
soap, washed and rinsed her hair, then stepped out of the tub. She wrapped up
in a large fluffy green towel, then dried her hair.

Ah, it felt wonderful to be clean again! She looked down at
her dress, reluctant to put it on again. It was dirty and torn.

“Lady Ashlynne?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve brought you something to wear. When you’re dressed,
perhaps you’d like to go get something to eat. We have a rather nice dining
room.”

“Yes, thank you, Commander.”

“I’ll wait for you outside.”

“I won’t be long.”

She heard muffled voices, the meaty sound of a fist striking
flesh, the opening and closing of a door. Frowning, she opened the bathroom
door a crack and peered out. Casman was gone, and so was Falkon.

Gone where? She dressed quickly, anxious to find out what
had happened.

The gown Casman had chosen for her was blue, with a high
waist and a long flowing skirt with two deep pockets. There was a pair of
matching sandals. She wondered idly how Casman had known her size. He had
thoughtfully provided a brush and she ran it through her hair, wondering where
the two men had gone.

She was about to leave the room when she noticed the
controller wasn’t where she had left it. She glanced around the room, but it
was nowhere in sight. Remembering the sound of a struggle, she wondered if
Falkon had over-powered the Commander and escaped.

She felt a sharp twinge of regret at the thought of never
seeing Falkon again. And hard on the heels of regret came a surge of anger.
After all they had been through, how could he just leave her without so much as
a goodbye? And even as the thought crossed her mind, she wondered if it wasn’t
for the best.

Lyle Casman was waiting outside the door. He looked quite
handsome in his dress uniform. There was a dark bruise on his left cheek. He offered
her his hand, and she noticed a cut across his knuckles.

He smiled at her, his gaze warm with approval. “Ready?”

“Yes. Have you seen Number Four?”

“He’s fine.”

“He’s here?”

“Of course. Where else would he be?”

“I don’t know. I thought…where is he?”

Casman laughed indulgently. “He’s in the brig, being bathed
and fed.”

“I seem to have misplaced the controller.”

“I took it,” Casman said easily. He smiled at her. “I hope
you don’t mind, but it was necessary. You understand.”

“Of course.” She bit back the angry words that rose to her
lips. It wouldn’t do to make too big a fuss over a man who was a slave. But,
one way or another, she would get Falkon out of the brig. She owed him that. A
life for a life, she thought.

Casman offered her his arm. “Shall we go?”

Ashlynne smiled as she placed her hand on his arm. “Yes, I’m
starved.”

* * * * *

Falkon prowled the confines of the cage that imprisoned him.
He had been stripped of his breeches, hosed off, given a pair of ill-fitting
black trousers and a coarse cotton shirt, allowed to shave, and thrown into a
cell that was only a little larger than the one he had occupied at the mine. A
guard the size of a small mountain had brought him a bowl of soup and a hunk of
brown bread.

Now, clean and reasonably full for the first time in days,
he paced the floor. Damn her! He clenched his hands into tight fists, wishing
they were around her pretty little neck.

He came to a halt at the sound of footsteps, stepped back
into the shadows as Casman came into view. Damn.

Casman moved close to the bars and peered inside. “Come here
where I can see you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m telling you to.”

There was no point in refusing. Taking a deep breath,
forcing himself to at least appear relaxed, he stepped into the light.

“Falkon. I thought it was you.”

He shrugged.

“I’ll get a promotion for this.”

“Where is Lady Ashlynne?”

“In her room. I’ve arranged transport to Trellis. She leaves
tomorrow. I’d give a month’s pay to see Drade’s face when I tell him you’re
here.” Chuckling softly, Casman headed for the door.

Hands clenched, Falkon stared after Casman. Once Drade
arrived, Ashlynne would be rid of him. Permanently.

Ashlynne stood at the window, watching the activity in the
distance. Enjine Base Nine was a busy station, with transports and cruisers
coming and going at all hours of the day and night.

Commander Casman had told her that several cities in the
area had been destroyed, but Partha, which was the capital of Tierde, had been
spared. The Romarian army had driven the Hodorians away and taken up residence
at the mine, which was still operational. All the slaves had been killed in the
attack, so the army was working the mine until a new shipment of slaves
arrived. She wondered why the Hodorians hadn’t destroyed the space station as
well.

With a sigh, she turned away from the window. Casman had
arranged for transportation to Trellis. She should be relieved, she mused. In a
few days, she would be safe again. No more trekking through the wilds,
wondering where her next meal was coming from. Niklaus’ family would look after
her until the wedding.

Niklaus was a wealthy man. His family owned a large house in
Arkata, which was the capital city. She would want for nothing…except love. And
independence. She would be nothing more than a decoration in Niklaus’ house, of
no real importance, of no value other than to provide her husband with an heir.

Her thoughts turned to Falkon, and she shied away, not
wanting to think of him. Commander Casman had told her that Falkon would most
likely be executed. She tried to tell herself she didn’t care, that she was
well rid of him, that it was no more than he deserved. He was a traitor, a
mercenary who had been tried and sentenced for his crimes. But she couldn’t
forget that he had saved her life, couldn’t forget the way he had held her when
she cried, made her feel safe when she was frightened. She didn’t want to see
him killed, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he had broad shoulders
and tawny skin, that he was by far the most handsome man she had ever seen,
that he made her feel vibrant and alive. Nothing to do with the shivery
feelings that he aroused in her. Nothing at all.

Muttering an oath she had heard on Falkon’s lips, she left
Casman’s quarters and stepped into the hall. A small sign indicated that the
Detention Level was on D1.

Head high, shoulders back, she walked briskly toward her
destination, hoping she looked like she had every right to be there.

A uniformed guard was posted at the door. “Your business?”
he asked curtly.

“I’m here to see my slave.”

“Do you have clearance to be here?”

“Of course,” she replied in her haughtiest tone.

“May I see it?”

“Are you doubting my word? I am Lady Ashlynne of the House
of Myrafloures. My father is Lord Marcus. I have Commander Casman’s personal
authorization to see my slave. Now, stand aside. The commander is expecting me
in his quarters in ten minutes. I have no time to waste arguing with you.”

Indecision showed in the guard’s eyes.

Drawing herself up to her full height, Ashlynne looked the
guard in the eye. “I am not accustomed to being questioned. I shall speak to
Commander Casman about this.”

She started to turn away, her heart pounding, wondering if
he would call her bluff.

“Lady Ashlynne, wait.”

She turned slowly. “Yes?”

“My apologies, my lady.” The guard unlocked the door and
stood aside.

She didn’t bother to say thank you, merely inclined her head
and swept past him.

A second guard sat at a large desk. Engrossed in something
on the tele-screen, he spared her hardly a glance as she passed by.

She moved into the long corridor that led to the cells, her
nose wrinkling with distaste. The place smelled worse than the slime pits. Her
heart pounded in her breast as her gaze darted from side to side. All the cells
were empty, save the last one.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps. She had expected
him to be pleased to see her. He wasn’t.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked. “Come to
gloat?”

“I came to get you out of here,” she retorted.

He snorted. “How do you plan to do that?”

“With this.” She slipped her hand into her pocket and
withdrew a small weapon. It was a stun gun, stolen from Casman’s quarters.

“Do you know how to use that thing?”

“No. Don’t you?”

“It’s not much different than the controller,” Falkon said.
“Squeeze the front trigger, and it will paralyze. The second trigger will
kill.”

The weapon fit neatly into her palm. She curled her finger
around the front trigger, then looked at Falkon. “Now what?”

He grinned at her. “Call the guard.”

She did as he asked, her whole being quivering with nervous
tension.

Moments later, the guard who had been sitting at the desk
appeared. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” Ashlynne said, smiling sweetly. “This door appears to
be locked.”

The guard frowned at her.

“Unlock it, please.”

“I can’t do that without written authorization, my lady. I’m
sorry.”

Ashlynne lifted her hand until the weapon was pointed at the
guard’s chest. “I think you can.”

He grunted, clearly amused. He took a step forward, his hand
reaching for the weapon.

“What are you waiting for? Shoot!”

Ashlynne took a quick step backward, her gaze darting toward
Falkon. “Shoot?”

“Shoot, dammit! Pretend it’s me.”

With Falkon’s voice ringing in her ears, she squeezed the
trigger. A burst of brilliant white exploded from the muzzle of the weapon,
wrapping around the guard like strands of light. He dropped to the floor and
lay still.

“Is he dead?”

“No. Get the key. Hurry! The effect will fade in a few
minutes.”

“Where is it?”

“Look in his pockets.”

She didn’t want to touch him. Hesitantly, she went through
the guard’s pockets. Unable to move or speak, he stared up at her, his gaze
malevolent.

“It’s not here,” she said.

“Try the desk.”

Dropping the stun gun into her skirt pocket, she ran down
the corridor. In the light of the tele-screen, she saw a ring of keys on the
desk top. And the controller beside it. She grabbed the keys, thrust the
controller into her pocket, then hurried back to the cell. She tried to fit one
of the keys into the lock, but her hands were shaking so badly, she couldn’t
manage it.

Muttering an oath, Falkon grabbed the key ring from her
hand. The third key unlocked the cell door. Stepping out of the cell, Falkon
grabbed the guard under the arms, dragged him inside the cell and locked the
door.

“Have you got the controller with you?”

“Of course.”

He crossed his wrists. “Okay, activate the damn thing.”

“What?” She stared at him a moment, then nodded. Pulling the
controller from her pocket, she activated the manacles on his wrists, then
opened the door that led out of the cellblock.

The guard frowned when he saw Falkon. “I’m afraid I can’t
let you take the prisoner.”

“And why not? This man is my personal slave. He was detained
at my request, and now I’m taking him with me.”

“I’ll have to get clearance from my superior.”

Ashlynne glanced at Falkon, who nodded.

“Of course,” she said. “We’ll wait.”

With a nod, the guard turned to pick up his communicator.

As soon as he turned his back, Ashlynne pulled the stun gun
from her pocket and squeezed the trigger.

The guard hit the floor with a dull thud.

“Release me,” Falkon said.

For once, she didn’t argue.

When his hands were free, Falkon removed the gun from the
guard’s holster. He handed it to Ashlynne, then dragged the guard into the
cellblock. Striping the guard of his coat, Falkon put it on, as well as the
man’s helmet and boots. Leaving the cellblock, he closed the door.

Ashlynne gasped as a man emerged from the cellblock a few
minutes later, blew out a breath of relief when she recognized Falkon beneath
the black helmet.

“All right,” he said, taking the guard’s weapon from her
hand, “let’s get the hell out of here.”

She had expected him to try to be inconspicuous, to keep his
head down, but Falkon walked arrogantly down the center of the corridor, head
high, eyes looking up and out, as if he had nothing to hide. She followed close
behind him, trying to look as if she belonged there. Surprisingly, no paid them
any attention.

He paused at an intersection where four corridors came
together, then turned right.

They walked down a long narrow passageway. Ahead, Ashlynne
saw a dozen or so spacecraft. Several men clad in dark gray overalls milled
about, talking and laughing as they worked on a sleek-looking fighter.

“Stay close,” Falkon whispered. He nodded to one of the men
they passed, moving down the line until he came to a two-man cruiser. It was a
small ship, used mainly for short hops between space stations. He would have
preferred a fighter, but the cruiser offered living quarters, which might come
in handy. If they were lucky, it would be stocked with food and water.

He glanced around, then climbed aboard. Turning, he shoved
the gun into his pocket, then reached down to help Ashlynne up the ladder.

When she was inside, he secured the hatch and moved into the
cockpit. Removing his helmet, he tossed it on the floor, then slid into the
seat. “Hope this baby’s fueled and ready to go,” he muttered. “Or this is gonna
be a mighty short flight.”

He ran an instrument check, muttering under his breath as he
familiarized himself with the controls.

“Are you sure you know how to fly this thing?” Ashlynne
asked as she slid into the co-pilot’s seat.

Falkon shrugged. “It’s a little different from what I’m used
to, but I think I can manage.”

“You think?”

“Here we go,” he said, and opened the throttle.

As soon as the cruiser lifted off, the com deck crackled to
life. “Cruiser twenty-two. You have not been cleared for takeoff. Please report
your identity and destination.”

Falkon looked over at Ashlynne and grinned. “Hang on,” he
said, and goosed the throttle to full ahead.

Ashlynne shrieked as the cruiser shot forward, skimming over
the ground. Everything passed by in a blur, and then they were rising, soaring
skyward like a bird of prey in flight. The thrill was unlike anything she had
ever known—exhilarating and frightening, like the man sitting alongside her.

His face was set in determined lines as he piloted the sleek
craft.

The radio crackled to life again. “Cruiser twenty two, you
are not authorized for flight. Return to base immediately. I repeat, return to
base immediately.”

Falkon looked at the instrument panel, and she heard him
swear softly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“We might be in trouble?”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

“There are two fighters on our tail.”

“What?” She leaned forward. At first, all she saw was a
jumble of multi-colored blinking lights, and then she saw what looked like two
green arrows moving side by side across the view screen.

She jumped when the radio crackled to life yet again.
“Cruiser twenty-two, return to base immediately or we will fire.”

Ashlynne grabbed his arm. “Turn around! They’re going to
shoot us.”

“No way, sweetheart. I’m not going back.”

“Are you crazy? Didn’t you hear what they said? They’re
going to start shooting at us.”

“Sit back and hang on.”

“Turn back!”

“Not a chance.”

Delving into her pocket, she withdrew the controller. “Turn
back,” she warned.

He looked over at her and grinned a roguish, devil-may-care
grin. “You gonna use that now?”

“If I have to. Turn this ship around before it’s too late.”

“It was too late the minute we climbed aboard, princess. Now
put that damn thing away.”

“I’m not bluffing.”

Falkon sat back, his arms folded across his chest. “Go
ahead. But who’s gonna man the controls when I’m writhing on the floor like a
snake on a hot rock? You?”

Ashlynne stared at him, fear and anger and helpless rage
smoldering within her. She slammed her hand on the arm rest, wishing she dared
slap that insufferable grin off his face.

“Sit back, princess, and enjoy the ride.”

With a wordless cry, she shoved the controller back in her
pocket, locked herself into the seat, screamed as the cruiser rolled over and
then shot straight up.

“Damn!” Falkon muttered. “That was a close one.”

Looking out the window, she saw a brilliant flash of blue
light. “What was that?”

“They fired on us.”

She was going to die. She knew it. Closing her eyes, she
tried to pray, but she was too afraid. It wasn’t fair. Her life was going to be
over before it had even began. She would never get married, never have
children, never see the triple waterfall of Demurre, or the dragons of Riv.

She shrieked as the cruiser rolled left, then right, then
plummeted downward. They were going to crash. She squeezed her eyes tight shut.
Please
, she thought,
please let it quick.

* * * * *

The cruiser shuddered and bounced before it skidded to a
bone-jarring stop. Ashlynne opened her eyes slowly, amazed to discover the ship
was still in one piece. That she was still in one piece.

She looked over at Falkon to find him grinning at her.

“Hell of a ride,” he said.

She scowled at him. “Where are we?”

“Darned if I know. I checked the charts, but there’s nothing
listed at these coordinates.”

“So we’re on a planet that doesn’t even exist?”

He grinned. “Something like that.”

Ashlynne looked out the window at what appeared to be a
swamp. Tall trees trailing fingers of silver moss rose up all around them.
Spiny brush with blood red blossoms sprang up here and there, along with spiky
clumps of blue-green grass. She saw a pool a short distance away, shrouded in a
hazy blue-gray mist.