CHAPTER SEVEN
Hours later, she settled against him, drowsy and thoroughly satiated, using his shoulder as her pillow. Worrying over how many, if any, sounds of lovemaking the com sensors had picked up was fruitless. She’d made her decision to enjoy every moment with Conor and knew Opherra expected them to have sex, so Miriell was at peace with her choice. And perhaps no one was monitoring the data. She was drifting off to sleep when he whispered, “I’ve been thinking. Opherra’s acting as if she knows something none of the rest of us do, something giving her new power.”
“That can’t be good.” Then she swatted his shoulder. “And what are you doing thinking about her right after we made love for hours?”
“I’m sorry, and she certainly wasn’t on my mind while I was busy making you climax three times in a row.” He nipped her shoulder in return.
“I forgive you.”
“It’s just, you cleared my mind earlier, pulled me out of the complete funk I was in from the attack on the Framter branch. Now I’m back to thinking clearly, the way I need to be—”
As a cop. For a moment, she was afraid she’d said the words out loud, but apparently not since Conor didn’t react.
He kept talking, lips close to her ear, voice barely audible. “Especially at this late stage of the game, a change in how Opherra acts and thinks isn’t a good sign. We’re leaving in the morning on her private ship, by the way, going to the overlords’ management retreat.”
Swallowing hard, Miriell fought to control her nausea. “Do I have to travel in the cryo-sleep pod?”
“No, she agreed to let you share my cabin since it’s a short trip. We’ll be crowded—”
“As if I care about that.”
“Yeah, but the concession from her was too easy. I didn’t get a chance to explain why I was asking. She waved her hand and said whatever I wanted was fine.”
“Tamlu thinks she’s jealous we’re sleeping together.”
He was silent for a moment while he considered the idea. “Could be. Opherra doesn’t like to share, nor does she appreciate any suggestion of divided loyalties. We’ll have to be even more on guard than usual.”
Early in the morning they were driven to the spaceport in the groundcar with Opherra and Tamlu, as well as a new Combine soldier up front next to the driver, where Saviano used to sit. Miriell wasn’t sorry to be leaving this planet, which she assumed she’d never see again, but the speed at which her life had changed here was terrifying. Equally daunting were the unknowns about where she was going. Closing her eyes, she breathed a quick prayer to Thuun. The presence of Conor, sitting so close and warm next to her, made Miriell think perhaps her deity was listening to his lost priestess. Maybe even granting prayers.
Conor was acting cool and distant, not giving her any special treatment after the long and involved kiss they shared in the hotel room before emerging into the hall and stepping into their expected roles. In a way, it was easier for her to slip into the passive-aggressive prisoner mind-set when he firmly stuck to his Combine identity. Her feelings weren’t hurt. She knew they were each putting up their shields for the next battle to come.
Opherra was in an excellent mood, humming a tune and reading something on her AI that obviously pleased her immensely. She left them without a word at the landing pad, Tamlu scurrying in her wake. Conor stared after her for a moment before turning to Miriell. “Follow me,” was all he said.
Opherra’s private ship was good-sized, but of course all Miriell had to compare it to was the Shemdylann slave ship she’d been transported on. Every other time she’d traveled, she’d been unconscious in a hidden cryo-sleep container. The corridors were a bit narrow, and when Conor opened the portal to the cabin she’d be sharing with him, she had to choke back a laugh. Close quarters indeed. She raised one eyebrow at him, afraid to speak until she knew whether they could be overheard, or even worse, observed.
“I’m told we’ll be in hyperspace for three days. You’ll be staying in the cabin except for meals. Don’t think of trying anything stupid, because Opherra’s ship has AI ganglions everywhere, including this cabin. You’ll be under constant watch, even when I’m in meetings with the boss.” His voice was stern, belied by the rapid wink, so fast she almost missed it, he gave her. But he’d told her what she wanted to know.
The trip seemed to take forever. It was bittersweet to spend so much time with Conor, yet be unable to talk about anything important. He was gone much of each day, at Opherra’s beck and call, but Tamlu came to keep her company on the second day of travel. The assistant taught her to play an intricate card game.
“I don’t have anything to do on the ship either,” Tamlu said. “Boss lady’s wardrobe is all ready for the big meetings, and I’m not involved in any of the planning. Conor said you and I might as well spend time together.”
“He did, did he?” Miriell opened up to talk to Tamlu a bit more than she would have ordinarily but still kept her responses short and barely polite.
“I’ve never been to the top bosses’ meeting before,” Tamlu confided, laying her winning hand of cards down on the small table bolted to the deck in Conor’s room. With a whoop of joy, she swept the table and began shuffling the deck for the next round. “Too bad we aren’t playing for actual stakes. You’re such an easy mark that I could retire. I don’t even have to cheat. Much. Opherra hasn’t been to this meeting either, of course. All the big guys in the Combine will be there. The overlords fly in for the occasion. Probably a lot of speeches and boring talk.”
“Probably.” Miriell enjoyed the childish glee with which Tamlu reacted to winning, even though the stakes were imaginary. She wondered how the woman would feel if she knew Miriell could force her to lose every hand. She’d been required to use her power for such things on occasion. Actually, a happy Tamlu gossiping endlessly worked out nicely, and a few nuggets of useful information came Miriell’s way in the flow of inconsequential chatter.
“One of the crew told me we’re actually outside the Sectors now.” Tamlu shivered, glancing at the vidscreen on the bulkhead, which displayed a static star field. “I’ve never been beyond civilization. Kinda scary, like anything could happen.”
Miriell wondered if the remote location would affect the SCIA’s ability to crash the criminals’ management retreat. Conor had indicated the takedown would happen sometime on the first day of the summit, so the two of them only had to navigate the dangerous gathering for a short time before rescue would be at hand. While Tamlu chattered on, Miriell focused inward, testing her power. As she’d told Conor, the level remained high, thanks to the gift from the tree. She wasn’t sure what she’d be called to use the power for, but she knew Conor was afraid the takedown would be violent, a battle between law enforcement and the Combine soldiers, while the lords and masters of the Amarotu fled like so many insects. Perhaps she’d be in a position to prevent their escape.
“It’s your turn.” Tamlu’s voice held impatience, so Miriell guessed she’d been too inattentive.
As she went to play her cards, the door slid open, and Conor came in. “Who’s winning?”
“I am. Of course. You know I’m lucky at cards,” Tamlu said. “I used to clean Saviano out of half his paycheck when we played.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I miss him.”
“He knew the risks when he took the blood oath.” Conor’s voice was cold. “The cook is serving dinner in the galley now. You’d better go if you don’t want to be eating the leftovers.”
“What about the two of you?”
“I prefer to take the prisoner to eat after the first rush dies down, when there are fewer people to gawk at her. Last night was a circus and put me off my food. See you later, Tamlu.”
The assistant added up the game tally, gathered her cards and left with a casual wave. “We can have a rematch tomorrow, Miriell.”
Conor moved to the bed. “Come here.”
“Yes, sir.” She left the chair, stretching her arms above her head and bending side to side a bit, deliberately teasing him with a good view of her breasts filling out the tunic.
He grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her to him, rolling her onto the mattress and placing himself on top of her. It would look rough to any observers if their actions were being monitored, but he was careful not to hurt her, and Miriell was fully engaged and happy to have a few moments to whisper.
“Something is definitely up,” he said in her ear, voice barely above a whisper. “Opherra isn’t focused on reports of activities in her organization at all. I caught a glimpse of what’s on her AI. She’s studying stuff straight from the overlords. Information way above anything she should be involved with. The Combine is hierarchical, and her overboss would never share his power, even if she is sleeping with him. I don’t like it.”
“We’re committed to a course of action,” Miriell reminded him. “We have to stay alert.”
He moved aside and left the bed, heading toward the tiny bathroom. “Be ready to go to dinner in a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I wasn’t kidding when I told Tamlu I want to avoid all the onlookers this time. You’d think this crew hadn’t ever seen a beautiful woman with green hair before.” He gave her a grin.
They’ve never seen you defy Opherra over a woman before, not even a little bit.
Sometime during the night, the ship dropped out of hyperspace and landed on a planet. Conor sleepily urged her to catch a few more winks while she could, but Miriell couldn’t go back to sleep. She was full of forebodings and anxiety.
Early the next morning, there was a knock on the portal. Eyebrows raised, Conor went to open it, revealing Tamlu waiting in the corridor, her arms full of shimmering aqua fabric.
“I need to come in,” she said.
Conor stepped aside, and Tamlu entered the cabin, stopping beside the table. Her face was set in unhappy lines. “Boss lady’s orders. Miriell’s to wear this today, not her uniform.”
“Oh? She give a reason? We’re background here, audience fillers for the bigwigs’ egos,” Conor said. “Why does it matter what the prisoner wears?”
“It was specially made for Miriell.” Tamlu bit her lip as if she wanted to say something else but shook her head and refused to meet his eyes. “I’m to get her dressed now.”
He stepped aside. “Go ahead, then.”
Miriell left the bed and started removing her uniform.
“You can keep the underwear,” Tamlu said.
Miriell undressed and redressed as fast as she could, not liking this change in procedure. Why would Opherra want her to display herself in this eye-catching outfit? The fabric was lovely, and the long overdress was complemented by matching tights. Tamlu offered gold-colored sandals. “I tried to match the finish of your hideous necklace as best I could.”
Miriell caught her wrist. “What’s going on? You know something, don’t you?”
The assistant broke her grip and backed away. “I can’t talk. Gotta run. Just…be prepared for anything. Good luck.” Practically running in her haste to leave, Tamlu exited before the portal was fully open.
“I don’t much like the sound of that,” Conor said, checking the charge levels on his blaster.
“Yes, it was like she was saying goodbye.” Miriell wished she’d tried reading Tamlu’s emotions but realized she probably wouldn’t have found anything useful. The woman’s actions had shown as much as any internal feelings would have. The assistant wasn’t good at hiding her emotions behind a mask.
“We have to go. There’s a protocol, or so I’ve been told, in the preparation meetings we had.” Conor replaced the weapon in the shoulder holster. “Low-ranking people like us are supposed to be in our seats before the overlords arrive, so we can applaud and puff up their egos even further. Today will be mostly introductions and speeches, from what I can gather. Tomorrow, the real discussions and negotiations over territory, rackets and profits commence in more private sessions. Not sure what I expected, but so far it’s like being at a convention, unless you have a high enough rank to sit in on the meetings. Which I don’t, and neither does Opherra, except to a certain degree.”
Miriell took a deep breath, examining her odd finery. She had a feeling this day was going to go badly, and she hoped the SCIA wouldn’t delay too long in attacking the gathering. Then her focus would be protecting Conor and herself and trying to delay the Amarotu overlords in their escape attempts.
Conor took her by the elbow, exerting only gentle pressure, and steered her out the door into the corridor. He walked closer to her than required, his warmth reassuring. They exited the spaceship onto a landing pad where the early morning sun was already raising the temperature drastically. Other ships of varying sizes were scattered around on the spaceport’s surface, but there wasn’t much activity other than a few groundcars heading to the east. One of these waited for them, sleek and black, with two Combine soldiers Miriell had never seen before. Dressed in military-style fatigues, both men carried blasters. The Amarotu symbol of three snakes entwined was on a patch on their uniform sleeves. One checked an AI and crooked his finger at them. “Conor Stewart? This car’s for you and your prisoner.”
“Yes.” Conor stared at the ship and the empty ramp. “Shouldn’t we wait for the boss?”
“She’s already gone to the amphitheater.” The man opened the car door and gestured. “You don’t want to be late.”
Feeling more trapped than she had in a while, Miriell climbed into the car, Conor right behind her. One soldier sat beside the driver in front, and the other kept them company in the roomy passenger compartment.
The planet felt old and dead to her senses, certainly not populated by any sentient beings other than the visiting humans, although she caught odd flickers that puzzled her. There was sparse vegetation here and there in the vast open space they were driven through, probably clustered around deep water sources. A group of buildings was visible in the distance, and the car accelerated drastically, covering the road at a blinding speed.
“What is this place?” Conor asked.
The soldier stared at him for a moment, as if deciding whether to answer. “Your first time here, huh? This is a neutral planet, pretty dead, actually. Some unknown race used to live here thousands of years ago. No idea what happened to them, but they left behind sturdy buildings, all set for us to move into. The Combine uses this place for a lotta high-level stuff, way off the spacelanes and off the grid. Some of the overlords who travel the farthest bitch and moan about the inconvenience, but—”
“Enough with the tour-guide crap,” said the soldier in the front passenger seat. “He needs to know something, he’ll be told.”
Rolling his eyes, the more garrulous man shut up.
A few moments later, the groundcar pulled up in front of the oddly shaped building complex, joining a queue of vehicles inching forward as each disgorged its passengers and sped away. Miriell realized she had nervous tremors in her belly, like small birds. She squeezed Conor’s fingers for reassurance when he handed her out of the car after it stopped.
“Follow the crowd,” said their escort. “See you later. Or not. These meetings can get violent. Strange things happen. Better you than me going in there.” He chuckled and ducked back into the car, which sped away.
Conor set off into the building, Miriell following a few steps behind. They entered a wide space open to the sky far above. The floor underfoot was a marvel of colorful inlaid mosaics, but she had no time to admire, caught in the flow of people and rushing to avoid separation from Conor. The hall emptied into a huge amphitheater, with seats all around the wide expanse of floor. Two impressive conference tables had been set up equidistant from each other on the slightly raised center stage. At the moment, the chairs at the tables were empty.
“For the overlords,” Conor said. “I wonder where we’ll find Opherra.”
“Excuse me, are you Mr. Stewart?” An officious woman with an AI approached him. “And the, uh, alien known as the performer?”
“Who wants to know?”
“We’ve been waiting for you,” she said without explanation, making a tick mark on her AI screen. “Lady Opherra wanted to be sure you reached your seats without incident. Please allow me to escort you.”
She led them into a small side hall, and as they emerged from the dimly lit passageway a moment later, Miriell realized they’d be sitting in a front row, right next to the stage area. Two chairs in the row were conspicuously empty, and the other occupants of the area stared as she and Conor sat.
“Not sure I like this,” he said in a low voice. “Being highly visible at any time around the Combine overlords makes me uneasy.”
“I’m dressed for the wrong time and place,” she said, equally quietly. “But since Opherra herself selected my clothing—” The audience members around her were either in military-style garb with the Amarotu patch prominently displayed, or in severe business attire, like Conor’s dark suit. Miriell’s colorful dress stood out like a flower in a pile of carbonized fossil fuel.
There was a blare of ceremonial music, and an announcer’s voice said, “All rise for the overlords.”
The lords and masters of so much crime and misery strolled casually onto the stage from the left in small groups, taking chairs at the big table. The crowd applauded, cheering and whooping. Thinking this had aspects of a religion or a cult, Miriell did a double take as the final small group emerged from backstage. She clamped her hand on Conor’s arm. “Why is Opherra with them?”
Eyes narrowed, he stared at his boss. “She couldn’t possibly have jumped enough levels to be on the ruling council. The rank would put her in charge of an entire Sector, and she hasn’t earned the right or the respect.”
“Well, she’s the only woman there.”
The white-haired man at the center of the table remained standing, making hand gestures for the crowd to quiet down. “Please, sit and we’ll begin the day’s events by welcoming our partners.”
Barely settled in her chair, Miriell went rigid, sucking in air and fighting vertigo and panic as four hulking Shemdylann came onstage from the right. She didn’t even realize she’d grabbed Conor’s arm until he patted her hand and whispered, “Try to hang on. Remember they’re not here for you. We knew the Shemdylann were in league with the Combine to some degree. This confirms it.”
The four aliens stood at attention as if waiting for someone or something, and a moment later, the crowd gasped as another of their race moved into view. This newcomer was three times the size of the others, towering over the human guards. Its carapace was a glossy black with hints of emerald green and scarlet accents. Elaborate filigreed gold chains and brooches dotted the edges, like pierced earrings on a human, rough-cut gems glinting in the lights.
“What the seven hells? Must be one of their females,” Conor said.
At a gesture from the elderly man, Opherra moved out from behind the table, advancing to stand in the middle of the stage, facing the Shemdylann. Hands together, she bowed her head and spoke in Basic. “We of the Amarotu Combine greet our trading partners and most especially Lady Gyxxtahm, admiral of the Dwaveerh Fleet.”
Opherra did a good job with the difficult syllables, her voice melodic.
Gyxxtahm inclined her massive head slightly. “We are pleased to see the Combine has answered our request to have a female of equal rank to mine join us, to spare me from addressing an inferior male.”
Several extremely slender, gray-skinned aliens had quietly come onto the stage and were hovering at the end of the Shemdylann table.
“Bad to worse,” Conor whispered. “See them? Chimmer. One of the few so-called client races to work directly with the Mawreg.”
“Conor Stewart, please bring me the prisoner,” Opherra said.
He rose to his feet slowly, radiating tension. Miriell forced herself from the chair and followed him to the center of the stage. She had a terrible feeling about what Opherra might have in mind, and she directed her power at Conor, trying to calm his anger and remind him what was at stake here.
The Shemdylann female’s head swiveled, and she assessed Miriell. “Ah, I see you have a Tulavarran slave. Interesting. I had thought the natives were all dead. I’ve heard they can be amusing playthings.”
“We have this one female remaining, and on behalf of the Combine, I present her to you as a humble welcoming gift.” Opherra took Miriell by the wrist and pulled her forward, toward the Shemdylann.
“The hell you do,” Conor said in a low, hard voice, moving with them, hand going toward his blaster.
“I told you we weren’t keeping her.” Opherra’s voice was amused as she leaned close to him so only the three of them could hear her. “I hope you had your fun, because she belongs to them now. Give me the control for the necklace and stand down, Conor, I mean it. There are about twenty blasters aimed at you right now.”
He grabbed his boss by the elbow, forcing her to face him, although she kept her hold on Miriell. “We are not giving this woman back to the slavers who kidnapped her.”
“You’re willing to give up your life for her?” Opherra sounded coolly amused. “After which I’ll give her to them over your dead body. Decide right now, before my fellow overlords get suspicious or the guards get trigger-happy.”
Terrified for herself but even more for him, Miriell sent such a wave of power at Conor that he was literally frozen in place for a moment, and then she created an impossible-to-resist urge to hand over the AI controlling the necklace. To Opherra and the crowd, she hoped his stance conveyed obedience, as if he was standing at attention before complying with his superior’s order. We only have to survive these next few hours, until the SCIA arrives. Please let him calm down, let him realize the time factor. I can endure until we’re rescued.
Opherra gave him an indulgent smile as she accepted the small controller. “I knew you’d see reason. No woman is worth dying for.” She pulled Miriell forward, closer to the Shemdylann.
“We are pleased to accept this offering, and we appreciate your attention to detail by clothing it in the sacred color of gifting among our people. Well done. An auspicious start to the day. I congratulate our allies on choosing you to represent them, Lady Opherra.” The Shemdylann clacked one of her claws, and an underling hastily came forward with a pair of manacles on a long chain. Opherra locked the cuffs around Miriell’s wrists, and the alien female hooked the chain onto her carapace. Handing the AI controller to another servant, Opherra briefly explained the purpose. Deliberately yanking at the chain to force Miriell to stumble, the alien leader moved to take her place behind the table set aside for the Shemdylann. As the Chimmer eyed her, Miriell sank onto a hastily provided hassock a few feet behind her new owner. She sent Conor a look trying to convey all her love for him and released her psychic hold on his body.
He staggered a step but then straightened and deliberately switched his gaze from Miriell to focus on Opherra, who was at his side again, hand on his arm. “I’m glad you see it my way and came back to your senses. I’m sure she was fun in bed, but now the serious work begins. Come, sit behind me, where my second-in-command belongs.”
Without another glance at Miriell, he pivoted and followed Opherra to the head table, taking the chair she indicated in the first row behind the Combine overlords.
Although her heart beat fast with fear and sorrow, Miriell was proud of her warrior, for his immediate acceptance and understanding of the roles they both must play for now. Miriell stayed on edge, wanting to be prepared to take action when the SCIA attacked. She was sure Conor would immediately move to save her from the Shemdylann, and she had to be ready to do her part.
But the day went on uneventfully.
There were speeches from both sides after which the most senior member of the Amarotu overlords gave a recap of the year’s significant events and challenges.
So businesslike, except their profits and losses are counted in actual lives ruined or lost. Miriell couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the translucent ceiling dome far above. She hoped to see incoming ships or some other sign of law enforcement coming to break up this travesty of a meeting, to destroy the Amarotu. The bronze-colored skies remained empty, only a few wispy tan clouds scudding by.
Aware she was an object of curiosity for the assembled Combine personnel, as well as the Chimmer, Miriell held her air of sullen, disinterested captive and refused to allow herself the comfort of glancing even briefly at Conor.
There was a working lunch, and since no humans sat on her side of the amphitheater, none of the servers approached her. The Shemdylann juveniles acting as servants brought rations for their mistress and her staff but seemed puzzled about what to do about Miriell, with one eventually placing a tray on the floor next to her hassock. Hastily, she grabbed the container of water and several oddly shaped pieces of fruit, stowing several in the pockets of the dress, creating ungainly bulges. She knew from her past experiences that she wouldn’t be able to stomach anything else the aliens themselves ate.
In the late afternoon, the meeting broke for the day, and Miriell’s last glimpse of Conor was as the humans left the amphitheater. He hesitated at the door, searching for her among the small gathering of aliens, and his gaze was like a physical touch, concerned and loving in equal parts. She didn’t have to extend any of her power to read the frustration in him and a deep anger over her drastic measures forcing him to yield her to the enemy. Opherra put her hand on his arm flirtatiously, laughing, and the two strolled out of sight.
Jerked by her chain as the Shemdylann leader moved, Miriell obediently walked behind the female, surrounded by her enemies as she exited the building on the other side from the portals used by the humans. Shemdylann soldiers fell into formation around Gyxxtahm, escorting her and the others to the waiting, oversized ground transport vehicles. Miriell had to fight down panic as she was tugged into the vehicle, casting a desperate final glance at the sky.
What if the SCIA arrives while I’m trapped on the Shemdylann ship?