Kobrah stalked to the bridge in a foul mood. So utterly foul.

Not even an hour in her presence and already embroiled in her shit.

In his defense, he’d been prepared to let her walk away. Her and that kid—not mine. She can’t be mine.

But he’d not turned away fast enough. The lens implant in his left eye saw past the shadows to the lurking menace. Dara didn’t know she walked right into an enemy. Raised a gentleman, he couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

He provided light to Dara and Karolyne, despite it putting his own lens at a disadvantage. Then dangled himself as a tempting target for them to get away.

Except…Dara didn’t escape. Didn’t have to because she bloody well knew how to fight. With knives and using her body in ways he would have sworn she didn’t know.

Remember that time in the training deck. He’d brought her there after he’d asked her if she knew how to fight. She’d giggled and said a little. He’d shown her some basic moves that day. Simple blocks and jabs. She’d followed his instruction, smiling. At the time, he’d thought her happy to spend time with him. He sure as hell felt like smiling around her. But all the time she’d played him for a fool. And when she’d supposedly accidentally performed a flip on him, landing on top, laughing, lips so close, he’d kissed her.

I kissed a lie.

No more. He’d put her where she belonged.

Dr. Karson kept pace with him as he made his way to the bridge. “How long you going to keep her locked up?” he asked.

“Long as it takes.” Long enough that maybe when he closed his eyes he wouldn’t see her body undulating under his.

Maybe get rid of his horrible impotence when it came to other women.

“What of the child?”

“What of her? I’m sure Craig stashed her somewhere safe.”

“You sent her off with Crank?” Karson exclaimed.

“He was available at the time.” Possibly not the best choice given Craig’s grumpy attitude.

“You gave a cyborg with murderous tendencies the child of the woman who killed his wife.”

“Erm. I’m sure he won’t harm the child.” Would he? Craig didn’t seem as ornery since he’d married the stowaway.

“I’ll go make sure the girl is all right.” Karson headed off into the bowels of the ship, whereas Kobrah jumped into the nearest transport tube. The fast-moving units dotted the ship and made travel on the massive vessel quicker. It deposited Kobrah on the bridge. His crew knew better than to halt their jobs and salute. Only the rigid military did stupid things like that. Explained why they had a higher ratio of lost ships than the private sector.

As soon as his ass hit his chair, he barked questions. “Are all the crew aboard?” Jameson’s current mission was simply a refuel and cargo pickup.

“Yes, sir. We’re lucky they’d already turned in. The early departure time and the city’s curfew helped.”

“Tell me we’ve got permission to depart so we don’t have to piss off the port leaving hot.” He didn’t need to add to his already tarnished reputation.

How Jameson managed to clear his name after Dara’s perfidy remained a mystery. When word had emerged that his wife was the one to divulge the coordinates to peace talks that ended in an ambush and many dead, he’d thought he’d end up skewered by an assassin.

However, instead, he got credit for keeping his client alive, at the cost of some of his crew. And later on, brokering those peace talks—at gunpoint on the Gypsy Moth—while threatening to space both parties if they didn’t cooperate.

He’d earned his reputation back the hard way. That deserved some kind of compensation. Good thing there was a big reward for the woman sitting in his brig. What he found odd was none of the wanted sheets mentioned a kid—yet he wasn’t blind. Those drones were after the child, not Dara.

The crew worked efficiently. Sometimes calling out random status updates.

“The citadel has cleared the mountain and is moving in our direction.”

“Sir, would you like me to hail them?” Natalya, his communications officer, asked.

“Why not?” It couldn’t hurt. Kobrah tapped his fingers restlessly as he watched the screen in front of them. Made to appear as a window for the moment, it was actually a camera that managed to filter out the lack of light and show him in glaring gray tones the sky, landscape, and approaching menace.

“Lazarine, inform the cargo crew to clear the bay.”

His second mate relayed the command before replying, “Captain, cargo is secure.

“Major, what says the port authority?”

Natalya didn’t turn as she replied. “We are cleared for departure, sir.”

“Engineering states the Moth is prepped for takeoff,” Damon announced.

Indeed, there was a fine vibration running through his seat as the engines of his ship woke. He could even imagine their growling hum. Many levels below, Craig, his chief of engineering, would be overseeing his staff. The man was a veritable wizard when it came to machines, his cyborg side having a natural affinity.

“Sir, the citadel is responding to your hail.”

“On screen, Major.”

The view changed from the landscape to the inside of a ship. A figure took up the majority of the screen, clad in white, from the mask on their face to the robes concealing their shape. A Rhomanii priest. Unusual. Where was the commander? Usually a duke commanded those ships.

He didn’t let it show in his expression. “Hello, I am Captain Jameson—”

“I care not for your name. Hand them over.” The voice emerged almost machine-like and flat.

Ignoring the rude interruption, Jameson leaned back in his seat and played dumb. “Excuse me? Hand who over?”

“The woman known as Dara Abandonee and the child she brought with her.”

Chilling words, especially spoken without inflection or facial expression.

“Dara is under arrest and being transported to a location where she will be tried for her crimes. As for a child… I don’t recall seeing a child with her.”

Despite the face mask, he could tell the features twisted. The words certainly emerged with a bit more bite. “You will hand them both over.”

In that instant, Jameson made a stand. “I don’t have to do shit.” What he didn’t add but certainly implied was, you can’t make me.

“You are meddling in Rhomanii affairs.”

“I have done no such thing. Merely apprehended a wanted criminal.”

“You disabled our drones.”

“Because they were chasing me. Perhaps you should keep them on a tighter leash.”

“They were after the woman and child. You got in the way.”

“All this talk about a child. What child? I didn’t see a child.” He looked around at his crew doing his best to look innocent. “Anyone see me with a child?”

His crew always had his back. One after another he heard them replying, “Nope,” “Not here,” “No kid.”

The fabric over the priest’s mouth moved in agitation. “We know you took her and the mother aboard. Keep the mother if you want her, but we will have that child.”

The thing about threats was the more someone tried to strong-arm, the more Kobrah had a tendency of pushing back.

“I ain’t giving you shit, but I will bust a hole in your hull if you don’t get your freaking ship out of my way.”

Because the citadel now loomed close by, crowding his airspace as the Moth lifted and prepared to punch through the atmosphere.

“Is that your final answer?”

“Captain,” an ensign interrupted, “the citadel is arming its weapons.”

“Battle stations,” he yelled. “Major Blake, ensure the weapons are armed. Raise the shields.” Then he glared at the screen. “You want to fight, then bring it, but I am warning you. You’re making a big mistake.”

“No. You did.”

The communication ended, and the screen turned blank. Only for a moment before returning to its video view of the outside. Open air and clear skies except for the giant citadel.

Despite having seen them before, they never failed to strike him anew, their shape like a giant marble. Black. The surface almost glossy and yet it reflected nothing.

He’d seen a few since he took to the galactic skies. They were impressive vessels, capable of taking incredible blows—a fact learned by more than one decimated pirate. Most of the time, the citadels ignored other travelers in space, so why the interest in Dara and the child? What made them so important?

The very question always brought a realization. If Dara and the kid were so damned important, then want to wager they wouldn’t actually fire?

“Major Blake, hold off on firing. First Mate, keep us on a steady course for space.”

“But, sir, what of the citadel?”

“Ignore it. Are our shields raised?”

“Shields are at eighty-five percent, sir.”

Damn that energy core for not being completely replenished yet.

“We could try firing some EMP missiles.” Major Blake turned from her station to address him.

Kobrah shook his head. “We don’t want to get in a firefight with a citadel.” They’d been known to take down ships much larger than his. “I don’t suppose we’ve got some of that plasma magnetic pulse juice left?”

“Negative, sir.”

A shame because they were still lifting from the planet’s surface, which meant no streaking yet—a form of travel faster than light and sound. Back in the day, when Earth first began to roam space, they measured everything in terms of speed of light. That seemed so sluggish now.

Amazing what a few hundred years of space flight, alien contact, and innovation could do to travel.

Now, they could traverse an entire galaxy in the space of a few days if it was small. Something that used to take lifetimes.

But for as quick as they could sometimes travel, the universe remained too vast to fully explore. In some places even the streak technology faltered, as the laws of science and technology warped and worked differently, if at all.

Some called galaxies with the reversed laws of physics a place of magic.

He called them stay-away-from zones.

It was theorized the Rhomanii citadels, with all their strange innovations and their drones, came from one of those strange areas.

What use did they have for Dara and the child? With her blonde hair and fair skin, Dara didn’t resemble the space gypsies at all. Despite their time off planet, the Rhomanii retained a tanned appearance, the majority sporting dark eyes and hair. Attractive people who kept to themselves.

Centuries ago, it was said they used to live in every corner of the universe, inserting themselves into society, carving out a niche, stealing what they needed to survive.

Then, they found their original planet. They went home. But something happened. According to rumor, war broke out. There was a splintering of clans. Fighting. Fleeing. Then nothing. Nothing for almost two centuries.

That changed about twenty years ago. The citadels started making an appearance. At first, just looming presences, docking at way stations, trading for goods on colonies. Asking no questions but obviously looking for something.

Or someone.

Surely not the woman in his hold. Dara had never once mentioned the Rhomanii in all their time together. Then again, she’d not told him she was a double-crossing spy either.

He drummed his fingers on the armrest, watching the screen and how the citadel kept pace with their flight. Their weapons remained armed. Their presence menacing.

The thought of hailing them and asking more questions crossed his mind. He could even save himself some grief and hand Dara over. Perhaps that would be enough of a compromise.

He rubbed his chin. Giving her away would solve one problem.

But that left the child…

Not my daughter.

Dara had all but confirmed it when she claimed Karolyne had been born during their marriage.

What a load of crap. He’d have noticed if she carried a child. Wouldn’t he?

Didn’t matter either way. He wasn’t handing them over. He’d not spent the last four years dreaming of his revenge to hand Dara off to the Rhomanii.

“Start the count.”

Damon projected a ship-wide message. “Penetration of planetary atmosphere eminent. Streak in two minutes after expulsion.”

Which meant cease what you were doing, secure shit, and then secure yourself.

While not a rough ride, streaking nonetheless screwed with balance and other things. Sometimes stuff moved. Without anyone ever seeing it happen. People could get tossed. And sometimes the ride could get bumpy.

While his staff sat at consoles and stations, fingers flying and eyes watching, Kobrah orchestrated his desires verbally.

Most ship functions were hands-on. Humans had long ago learned automated controls should only be used sparingly. The Android Revolution of 2192 showed them not to place all their trust in machines because machines didn’t care if humans lived or died.

“Prepare to engage evasive maneuvers.”

“Yes, sir.” Lazarine bent down, fingers flashing.

“Abrams,” Kobrah barked, knowing the ship’s computer would open a channel between them. “What’s your status?”

“We can streak the moment we’re clear of the planet’s atomosphere.”

“Not a second later. I want six jumps at least. Let’s muddy our trail.”

“Six is pushing it, and you know that,” Craig snapped.

Yes, he damned well knew; however, the citadels were a force to be reckoned with. “Just do it.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” The sarcasm was thick, but Kobrah had no fear the cyborg running his engines would obey.

Craig might hate Jameson for saving his life, but he would never betray.

I don’t think he’s hating life as much these days, though. Ever since Craig had met Ghwenn the stowaway, he sang a different tune. He sometimes even smiled, which sent many a person running to inform their captain. They worried the chief had finally snapped and was going to rampage, killing them all.

Craig had snapped, all right. The man had fallen in love.

Idiot.

The tug of the planet as they emerged from the atmosphere left only the faintest of sensation. The ring of debris around the planet—some of it intentional, some not—pinged off the shields. Lidruk kept the ring thick to filter the intense sunlight from the two stars it orbited around.

It took less than a minute to clear it. They emerged into space itself, that never-ending open road of possibility. The Gypsy Moth immediately accelerated away from the planet.

“The citadel has emerged from the ring,” his second mate announced.

The cameras switched to show it on screen, an ominous shadow behind them.

“Prepare for streak.”

The command repeated itself vessel-wide as Kobrah watched the citadel pursue them. A lit square appeared within its dark surface. He didn’t need to issue an order for the screen to zoom.

Figures in robes appeared on the edges of the opening, protected behind force fields that did nothing to stop the emerging drones.

“Incoming wasps,” announced Major Blake. “Weapons are ready to lay down fire.”

Waste energy on a futile task? “How long until we reach the streak point?” he asked.

“Twenty-four, twenty-three…” Lazarus counted aloud, and the clock appeared on screen, overlaid atop the citadel.

“And the drones?” Kobrah asked.

“They will make contact in eleven seconds.” A second counter appeared on screen below the first.

A challenge. How to make it to streak before the drones swarmed? Firing might cause a slight disruption, but it would also draw energy from the shields. He needed something to slow the drones. Something like—

“Let’s make the Moth fart.”

A snicker met his words, but his crew understood what he meant. Since their energy weapons would simply be absorbed by the drones, and they needed incredible aim to detonate anything near the fast-moving targets, he had to do something else to stall.

Like push those following to give himself a few extra seconds.

What better way than to expel noxious built-up gases—which they stored because some planets actually bought it. But he sacrificed the possible revenue and watched as the release of air—a smelly fart, so to speak—blasted from the vee of his ship into the approaching drones. It acted like a hurricane on Earth. The force of it enough to push the free-floating machines back.

It bought seconds.

Enough seconds. The two clocks ran within a half-second of each other.

He braced himself and held on as the clock approached zero. Everyone on the bridge not already harnessed held on.

They counted…

Four. The first of the drones reached the very tail of the Moth.

Three. He imagined rather than heard the noise of tentacles suctioning onto the ship.

Two. A warning light illuminated, indicating a hull breach.

One. He closed his eyes.