Page 15 of Star-Crossed Captive
Crash.Something smashed inside his quarters, the sound reverberating off the bulkheads. Dull thumps followed. Was she kicking the door? Mace cringed.
An off-duty subordinate passed him by with raised eyebrows. He gave the young man a nod, then ran a hand through his hair. This was utter madness. A raging captive was locked in his quarters, and he was going to leave her there. On her own.
And he’d spent a large chunk of his saved creds to keep her safe—enough for the processor to never want for anything in his life ever again if he kept her lineage buried.
Mace closed his eyes. Out of anyone he could have taken onElara Five, he had to steal away a member of the CORE’s ruling class. He might have been able to convince himself he’d kept her because she would have died, but now he’d put her in more danger. The processor wouldn’t speak for fear of his personal wellbeing, but the only way to keep her safe, to keep her away from everyone else, had been to invoke the old laws. Everyone would think…stars above, what had he done?
He rubbed a hand over his face. She had to be scared shitless.I should have left her to die.It would have been the merciful thing to do.
He’d seen the dread in Nia’s eyes when they’d taken her blood. Mace didn’t need to worry she’d betray herself. She understood what could happen if her identity were revealed.
Nia.The name suited her, short and feisty.
When silence reigned on the other side of his door, he headed toward the lift. Once on, he hit the control to take him to the fifth level of the atrium and training, his favorite place onOrion. When not on missions for Cache or taking shifts in the command center, it was where he spent most of his time. The door slid open, and he walked close to the railing, eyes alighting on the birds Nia had seemed so enthralled with, the same birds he hadn’t paid much attention to until now.
The entrance to training opened into a wide corridor, doors on either side leading to lockers, showers, and barracks. Beyond was the matted sparring arena, rivaling the atrium in size. Mace stopped for a quick steam shower. It almost made him feel normal.
Alone in the change room, he ran his fingers over his ribs. She had done a good job healing him. The scar was minimal, his ink missing in one large section, faded in others. He would need to get it reworked someday.
With a towel slung low on his hips, he crossed to the lockers and found a new uniform in his assigned cabinet. The familiar weight of the material settled on his shoulders. Boots tied and fresh gun strapped to his leg, Mace left training, nodding to the warriors and tyros milling around in the common area. He headed to the command center in Section A and didn’t dread his upcoming confrontation with Cache as much as his next one with Nia when he returned to his quarters.
Stepping off the lift on deck one, he went through the security checkpoint, a tunnel-scanner recording his biometrics, then strode into the brain stem ofOrion. Three stories tall, the spherical space buzzed with activity. Each level held science stations, tech posts, and warriors on security duty.
Commodore Cache was at the center of it all, her black hair bound tight in a tail. Her posture tense, she stood next to the main holotable, a frown wrinkling her brow. The uniform style she’d chosen covered her like a second skin, one gun strapped to her thigh like his. The techie in front of her spoke quickly, his gaze averted. Whatever he said wasn’t pleasing her. Grey stood nearby, his eyebrows raised at the exchange.
When the techie noticed Mace walking over to them, he let out a long breath, probably assuming Cache would direct her attention elsewhere.
And that she did. Her eyes flicked to Mace, narrowing, before returning to the techie. “See it never happens again.” She jerked her chin to the tech terminals. “Report to Mouse for your new assignment. Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir,” the techie muttered, then scurried away.
She turned away from the holotable. “Commander.” Her emerald eyes might be hard, but there was relief there too.
“Commodore.” Hands clasped behind his back, he faced the woman he’d known since they were tyros. Grey stepped to the side, the third point of the triangle.
“Report.”
His chest squeezed. This was one report he didn’t want to give. “Your plan to attack the weapons armada was solid, but I believe the CORE obtained inside information.”
She twitched. “Explain.”
“We boarded the disabled ship, one venting air. Instead of freighter crew, we were met with two squads of defenders. Our CORE uniforms provided some confusion, but not enough.”
Those last moments played through his head. It hadn’t been his regular team. Cache had wanted the younger warriors to gain experience on what was supposed to be an easy mission. Instead, they all died.
“They fought bravely,” Mace said, his throat tight. “To the bitter end.” And he would tell each of their families the same thing as soon as this meeting was over.
If he hadn’t known her so well, he would have missed the regret shuttering her features. “I’d thought you were dead until the signal flare.”
Mace blinked. A signal flare. Those moments after the ambush were disjointed in his mind. He must have sent in out of self-preservation instinct on the way toElara Five.
“How did you survive?” she murmured.
“Honestly, sir. I’m not really sure.”
“Elaborate.”
He shook his head. “The defenders must have thought me dead with the others, but when clean up personnel dealt with bodies and my heart was still beating, they sent me to medical instead of reclamation because of the CORE uniform.”
