Chapter Four
“Captain!” Miranda did a double take.
The last person she expected to see outside her quarters was Dante Stone. She’d gotten the impression he’d regretted offering to help her with Sparky and figured he’d send someone else to let her know what happened to the missing passengers. But here he was, the narrowness of the corridor making him appear even larger than she remembered. He stood straight as a soldier at attention, the seriousness of his expression adding to the hardness of his chiseled features. Her heart fluttered for reasons that went beyond what he might tell her. She had yet to see a real smile from him, and no one would describe him as approachable, but something about him stirred her interest.
“I have an update,” he said.
“W-would you like to come in?” She stepped aside.
Dante hesitated for a moment, then entered her cabin. His gaze went right to Sparky, frozen on the charging dock. She hadn’t powered him up since he’d attacked Althea, but she had removed him from the locker. Even if she couldn’t interact with him, his visible presence made her feel a little less lonely.
Miranda rubbed her hands together. “What did you find out?”
“All two hundred twelve New Utopians have been accounted for and are in the unit.”
“Are you sure?” She could almost swear more colonists had disappeared.
“Lieutenant Commander Brack conducted a complete roll call.”
Roll call, yes. Complete, she wasn’t so sure.
That morning the colonists had lined up outside their quarters while the commander marched through their wing with a personnel recorder. Her gaze had been hard when it landed on Miranda, leaving no doubt the officer considered the task a nuisance. There were several rows within the east bay of the ship. Just because she had been counted, didn’t mean everyone had been standing outside his or her quarters.
Dante’s closed expression indicated he considered the matter settled. How could he not? His first officer had conducted an official audit. That the results contradicted her count and the growing unease in her stomach didn’t matter. She didn’t dare ask him to investigate again.
“All right. Thank you for checking.” Though she wasn’t satisfied with the result, she was grateful he had done what he had.
Sometime last night, perhaps when they’d talked on the observation deck, she’d begun thinking of him as Dante and not “the captain.” She’d gotten the sense he also felt the energy buzzing between them, but was certain he wouldn’t act on it. In a mere two weeks, the Crimson Hawk would dock at the space station, she’d disembark, and they’d never see each other again.
“I have some free time,” he said. “Why don’t we bring Sparky to the robotics lab? I’ll hook him up to the computer, and we’ll review his programming.”
She grinned. Whether he realized it or not, he’d referred to Sparky by name rather than the unit or the K9-500. “Sounds good.”
Her stomach fluttered at the prospect of spending more time with Dante. He cut an imposing figure, to be sure. At least six and a half feet tall with massive shoulders that scarcely cleared the doorway. Dark eyes, sometimes cold and flinty, but enigmatic too. What danger had this man seen? What danger had he overcome? He commanded a warship now, but she didn’t doubt he’d fought in a more personal way—hand-to-hand combat. Everything about him shouted warrior.
She’d been a lifelong pacifist until the Tyranian encounter had adjusted her attitude. With pleasure, she would see every last alien blasted into oblivion. Even though the ship provided a safe haven, she was jumpy during the day and restless at night. Nightmares haunted her—when she did manage to fall asleep.
It made sense a cyborg warrior captain would make her feel safe. But what drew her was the caring, softer side she sensed. He’d counted the New Utopians to reassure her when he could have told her no. He’d let her keep Sparky after being bitten. Now he offered to examine him and try to repair his malfunction.
He wasn’t a man who said sweet things; he was a man who did sweet things.
She picked up the dog, and whispered in his ear, “We’re going to figure out what’s wrong and fix you.” She looked up to find a bemused Dante watching her. “You think I’m crazy for treating him like a real dog, don’t you?”
“Not anymore,” he said.
Meaning, once he had. Anyone else would have fibbed and said no. “Are you always so honest?”
“I’m a cyborg. I see black and white. Facts and lies. Right and wrong. Good and bad. I command a warship that frequently goes into battle. Life-and-death decisions have to be made in a split second. There is no time to equivocate, to philosophize or moralize. I do what needs to be done, and I don’t look back.” A muscle twitched in his jaw.
She wasn’t fooled. Beneath his hard surface, a man existed. A man with the same needs and longings as any other, maybe more. In his eyes, across the table of the observation deck, she’d seen flashes of naked wanting, of the emotion he kept locked inside.
And he was here with her. What was that if not a sign of caring and concern? A start of something?
“Let’s go,” he said in a slightly hoarse voice.
He ushered her down the corridor. The colonists who roamed the halls glanced her way and shot her sympathetic glances. Word of Dante’s edict to keep the dog deactivated had spread—and after hearing Sparky bark afterwards, they probably assumed she was delivering the K9-500 to his doom.
The colonists had been placed in the wing nearest the observation deck and mess hall so they would have some freedom to move about, but the robotics lab was located in another part of the ship. Dante marched her by guards stationed to ensure the colonists didn’t venture beyond their area. Of course the guards didn’t question the captain. She looked around as they strode down unfamiliar corridors. A lot of dull, gray, imposing metal. Function superseded comfort or aesthetics on a warship.
He led her into a vacant robotics station. “The lab isn’t used much,” he explained.
“You don’t have androids on the Crimson Hawk?”
“Some—in case we encounter biological weapons or need a bomb diffused. Haz mat bots undergo regular, routine servicing so we’ve never had one malfunction.”
Guilt skittered through her. She hadn’t considered a K9-500 might need servicing. No wonder he’d gone haywire. “Sparky has never been in for maintenance,” she said in a small voice.
“How long have you had him?”
“Ten years.”
“A K9-500 is much less complex than a military haz mat android. The simpler the robot, the less likely it will malfunction. He should have been okay.”
The K9-500’s programming differed from a haz mat bot’s, but she wouldn’t call him simple. She tamped down a flash of irritation. Dante hadn’t meant to insult Sparky, and he was trying to help.
“Here let me have him.” He took him from her arms. “His fur is quite soft. Very realistic,” he said, and placed him on work bench. “His bark sounded lifelike, too.”
Because he wasn’t simple! Let it go.
Dante switched on an overhead screen, wheeled over a cart of equipment, and withdrew a cord from a drawer. “First, I’ll run a scan while he’s inactive,” he said.
“His access panel is on his left side.” She felt around his fur for the release button and depressed it. A panel popped open to reveal his computer innards.
He flipped a switch. A machine hummed, and the screen flickered with lines. When it glowed an even green, he plugged one end of the cord into the diagnostic scanner and the other into the dog’s port. “Let’s see what we have.” He adjusted a couple of dials.
Numbers and symbols streamed across the screen. Dante folded his arms and squinted at the readout. “Hmm…”
Was that a good hmm or a bad hmm? “What do you see?” Coding meant nothing to her. Computer programming was not her forte.
“Nothing.” He lifted a shoulder. “He appears to be fine. No broken code. No malware. He is more complex than I thought, though.”
She could have told him that without a scan.
He punched a button on the machine, and the scrolling numbers froze. He reversed it, then halted the stream. “See this coding here—” he pointed to a line of characters. “That’s his voice recognition app. He’s programmed to respond to your vocal frequency and obey your commands.” He fast forwarded and stopped it at another group of numbers. “This is the protection application. Rather sophisticated. If something triggers it, and if his microprocessor analyzes the incoming data—visuals, sounds, words—as a threat against you, he’s programmed to override your voice commands.” He glanced at her. “Basically, he can’t be ordered to not protect you.”
“Althea wasn’t a threat, though.” Her roommate hadn’t done anything. Sparky couldn’t go around randomly attacking innocent people. “Can you do anything? Alter his programming?”
“I can if I have the right equipment. What I need isn’t on the cart. It might be in the lockers, though. Let’s get him running first and see how he reacts to me this time. I’d like to know what program gets executed. Hang onto his leash, okay? If he tries to bite, switch him off.”
“Okay.” Amanda wrapped the leash around her hand.
“Boot him up.”
She pressed the activation button.
Sparky’s eyes popped open. Woof. Woof. He gave a quiet, friendly little bark.
“Nice doggie,” Dante said, then glanced at Amanda. “Hang onto him.”
She tightened her grip on the leash.
He reached out a hand and stroked him from head to rump. Sparky’s tail thumped the table.
“I guess he doesn’t perceive you as a threat,” Miranda said.
“Not so far.” He stroked his fur and watched the screen.
A long, pink silicone tongue slurped out to lick his hand. It was such a contrast from the way the little robot had been functioning. He was acting normal again. “Maybe the problem fixed itself?” she asked hopefully. “Maybe being powered off did something.”
“Often it does fix the problem. It returns an operating system to a previous time when everything worked correctly. But without an idea of what caused the malfunction, we can’t risk him going berserk. SSO15 can do a more comprehensive diagnostic to find the corrupted code—if there is some—but for now you have two options. We can keep him off until you get him looked at—or I can try to remove the override so he’ll respond to your voice command no matter what.”
“So if he lunged at somebody, and I said, ‘stop,’ he’d stop?”
“Correct.”
“It won’t change his personality, will it?” People said robots didn’t have personalities – or they were programmed to mimic a temperament, but Sparky was different. No matter what science said, he had a personality.
“He’ll still be the same. We’ll test him afterward. If he’s different, I’ll restore the deleted code, he’ll revert to the way he is now, and you keep him inactive until you get to the space station.”
“All right. Let’s do it.” She missed Sparky tagging along beside her. She peered up at Dante, her heart fluttering. What a different man he’d turned out to be. He hadn’t made a good first impression, but he’d redeemed himself. He didn’t need to do this. It was practically unheard of for a captain to adopt this much interest in a passenger’s problem. A man in his position had more important duties than reprogramming a canine bot. “Thank you,” she said huskily.
His eyes seemed to smolder with some suppressed emotion. “Don’t mention it.” His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. “Why don’t you switch him off, and we’ll proceed. The equipment has to be here.” He did an abrupt pivot toward the lockers.
Provided the crew and passengers were safe, Dante probably didn’t care how a K9-500 unit functioned. He was doing this for her—because she cared about Sparky.
Surely that meant he felt something for her? But even if the chemistry was mutual, he probably wouldn’t abuse his position as captain and make the first move. If anything was going to grow from this spark of attraction, she would have to take the lead.
But, did she want to start something with this man? What if they had a fling and when they docked she never saw him again? What if her heart got broken?
Better than never trying. She was lucky to be alive—she could risk heartache for a chance at love. Life gave you no guarantees, only opportunities. Shouldn’t she grab happiness when she could?
He might reject her advance. Maybe she misread his emotions, and the attraction wasn’t mutual. She’d be humiliated if she put herself out there, and he rejected her.
Same answer as before. She’d survived a Tyranian attack when most others had died. A little embarrassment hardly mattered by comparison.
Now or never. Her mouth dried as she rounded the table. “Dante—” She touched his sleeve. He turned, and the fire flashing in his eyes caused her heart to jitter with hope. “Dante?”
He shifted his gaze from her face to his sleeve where her hand rested. Butterflies tumbled in her stomach, but she tightened her grip on his muscled forearm. His corded strength imprinted on her brain. Her knees shook. If you don’t do something, you’ll never know.
“Miranda…” Her name was both a growl and a sigh.
“Thank you for taking care of Sparky.” Before she lost her nerve, she rose up on tiptoes and brushed a kiss on his mouth. He went rigid—well, more rigid. He was already constructed of hard-packed muscle without give or concession. His heady masculine scent infused her senses. Even if he pushed her way, she would have this moment to remember.
His hands cupped her shoulders, and she braced for the gentle shove.
Instead, his arms came around her, and he crushed her against his chest as he plundered her mouth, kissing her with a need seeming to equal her own. The way his heart slammed against his ribs sent hers to pounding.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, then squealed as her feet left the ground. His growl could have been a laugh. Their tongues explored. Teeth gnashed, but it didn’t matter, it was still perfect. Wild, crazy, perfection.
When her feet touched the floor, he leaned his forehead against hers, and kept his eyes closed. His chest moved, his breath mingling with hers before he stepped back. He picked up her wrist and kissed her palm, but still said nothing. Then he sighed.
She recognized regret when she heard it. “Don’t say anything…bad,” she begged.
“What would you consider bad?”
“Like we shouldn’t have done that.” Leave me with an untainted memory of one perfect kiss.
“We shouldn’t have.”
She winced. Well, she’d guessed what his reaction might be.
“But I don’t regret it.” Dante pulled her into his arms and kissed her again, pulling her tight against his hard body, letting her feel his erection. Doubts receded. He did want her. Physically, at least. Her stomach fluttered with awareness and her need, and she clutched his uniform shirt, kissing him back with everything she had.
This type of intimacy was crazy, and he was probably right—they shouldn’t be doing this. He was the captain, she was just a passenger, and when she left, their paths would never cross again. But if there was even a slim chance that something meaningful or lasting could flower, wasn’t it worth taking a chance? She knew better than anyone the precariousness of life.
Something about this man touched her. His stoicism perhaps. He’d earned the moniker of “Cold Stone,” yet that seemed to make him more vulnerable somehow. To everyone else, he might be an emotionless cyborg military officer, but she sensed he was more than that.
She shivered when he shifted to her ear, her throat, her shoulder. His lips were soft, his jaw slightly raspy, and he ignited tingles with every graze, every stroke, every kiss. Her head fell back, and he took immediate advantage, burying his face against the crook of her neck. Tongue and teeth grazed her skin.
She ran her fingers through his hair, then spread her palms over his muscled chest. Dante growled, a low, hungry sound that seemed to echo her coursing need. Beneath her palms, through his uniform shirt, his skin burned with fever.
His hands did not remain still. He caressed her, touching with a reverent urgency, as if he had to know her. Shoulders, arms, spine, the curve of her waist, her derriere, and back up again. He hesitated only a fraction before slipping a hand around to her front and covering a breast. She arched into his palm as he thrummed the hardening nipple. She gasped. “I guess you don’t regret it.”
He stared into her eyes, his breath warming her cheek. “Why would I regret it when you’re all I’ve been thinking about?”
Her breath caught in her throat. He’d thought about her? A surge of joy skipped along nerves.
“I’m older than you,” he said.
“So?”
“I’m a cyborg.”
“So?”
“Some people consider cyborgs more machine than human.”
“I don’t.” She shook her head. How could he think that?
“You make me feel…alive in a way I haven’t felt in a long time,” Dante said, and her heart soared.
A flush darkened his cheekbones, and his eyes blazed. He lowered his head and claimed another plundering kiss that rendered her breathless. Her stomach fluttered at her boldness, but she slipped a hand between their bodies to cup him, relishing the thick length. He let her stroke him for a moment, then, with a groan, stilled her hand.
He pressed a quick, hard kiss to her mouth and he set her away from him.
The laboratory tilted as if the ship rocked from side to side, but the Crimson Hawk glided through space perfectly level. She was off-kilter.
This man with the brooding eyes and stony features smiled so gently, she about melted into a puddle at his feet. He stroked a finger down her cheek. “You tempt me, which is why we need to stop before matters get out of hand.” His mouth quirked with a rueful twist. “You deserve better than a quick fu—tryst in an artificial intelligence lab. Let’s finish up with Sparky, and we’ll go someplace and talk, okay?”
Sparky! She’d forgotten all about him.
“Okay. I’d like that.” Her lips throbbed. She hoped “talk” was a euphemism. While she straightened her clothing, Dante did the same, and with his fingers, combed a semblance of smoothness into his hair.
Then he strode to the lockers and pulled open the nearest one. It made a rude sucking noise as it popped open. “Airtight seal,” he explained with an amused grin, but then frowned. Crammed to capacity with equipment and supplies with no apparent organization, it appeared as if someone had shoved as much stuff inside as he or she could.
“This is unacceptable,” he growled, and she agreed. Military vessels and installations were supposed to neat and tidy; everything had a place, and everything was in its place. The second cabinet, equally packed and in disarray, also failed to produce the needed equipment. The door of the third stuck—not surprisingly, considering the state of the lockers.
He scowled.
Somebody’s going to find himself or herself on KP duty. She covered a grin.
“Something is caught inside.” He grimaced and yanked on the handle.
The locker sprang open, and Althea’s body tumbled out.