Lorran Page 11

  “I was not briefed on the nature of Ulrik’s research,” Mylomon said, dragging Lorran back to the mission.

  “The warlord called him a friend. Was he also a geneticist?” Before taking control of the clan, Paax had been a scientist. No one believed the mere scientist could best a skilled warrior in combat, but the warlord had threatened Paax’s mate.

  Anyone with sense should not have been surprised.

  “What do you make of this?” Mylomon withdrew the pottery shard from a pouch and held it up for inspection.

  Lorran took the fragment, seeing now that it was far too delicate to be pottery. Off-white, gold pigments speckled the surface, shimmering in the light. He recognized the material, despite never having seen it in person. “Shell? They had Suhlik eggs?”

  “That would explain why the Suhlik were so determined to destroy the lab.” The Suhlik guarded the location of their hatcheries behind layers and layers of protection. One did not stumble upon an active hatchery. The occasional abandoned hatchery would turn up once a decade. No viable eggs had ever been recovered.

  “The incubators.” He had thought them to be tanks for specimens. In a twisted way, they were.

  Did the Council know of Ulrik’s research? Someone gave him the funds for the ship and the equipment. How did he acquire Suhlik eggs? Were they only fragments? No. The incubators suggested whole, fertilized eggs.

  A sense of unease crawled up his spine. This was an ethical issue he would gladly avoid. Experimentation on living subjects—even Suhlik—was forbidden. It was one of the few tenets all the clans agreed upon. The Suhlik had no such scruples and regularly captured Mahdfel children for research. Some survived their ordeals. Most did not.

  Lorran looked to Mylomon, whose expression remained unreadable.

  “There was no…yolk,” Lorran said, unable to find the correct word. “No biological material. The shells were dry.”

  Yet Ulrik had been on the fringes of Sangrin space, almost in hiding, the only crew his mate, child, and a known slippery creature. Records of the ship’s travels and communications had been destroyed. The circumstantial evidence did not favor Ulrik.

  “I do not believe I have sufficient rank to be burdened by the implications of this,” Lorran concluded.

  “The first intelligent thing you have said.” Mylomon’s mouth turned down in a frown. “I will set the destination for this abandoned facility. We will see what there is to be discovered. See to your mate. Take the opportunity for rest.”

  Lorran nodded, proud that his mate found the archaic map and understood its purpose.

  “And warrior, separate bunks. It is a small shuttle,” Mylomon warned.

  “Understood.”

  Lorran pulled the partition open. His mate sat on a bunk, her bare legs dangling over the side. The sight of her wearing his shirt pleased him. He originally left a new shirt pulled from the stock of clothing supplies, but then swapped in his own shirt. Now his scent surrounded her. Other males would know she belonged to him.

  He did not want to think too hard about the fact that the only other male was Mylomon, who was happily mated. It was not logical. Instinct urged him to claim his mate, and since that was not happening with Mylomon listening in, covering her with his scent helped ease his need.

  She looked up, eating utensil in her mouth. A wicked look sparkled in her eyes. Slowly, she withdrew the tool and licked it clean. He had never been jealous of an eating utensil.

  Soon.

  They would have privacy soon. If he had to blind and sedate Mylomon, so be it.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  “Better. Tired. Hungry?” She tossed a ration packet, which he caught with ease.

  Lorran sat on a crate and consumed the ration. The scent of smoke lingered in the shuttle, not quite filtered out, and he wondered if it aggravated his mate’s breathing. His personal hygiene would also benefit from a shower.

  His mate finished her meal, then retrieved grooming products from her luggage. Sitting on the bunk, she worked a white cream in her hair, then dragged a comb through her curls. “Any idea when I can call my mom?”

  “That is inadvisable at this time,” he said. When her shoulders slumped, he immediately wanted to reel the words back. “SRV-P11 was attacked by the Suhlik. Probability is high that they are still in the sector, and this shuttle has only basic defenses.”

  “Right. Run silent, run deep.” She nodded. He did not know her idiomatic phrase, but the meaning was understood. “What’s going to happen to the ship? Will it explode?”

  “The fire will die out when environmental support fails. Or the fire will burn until the hull is damaged, and the atmosphere is vented. It is unlikely the vessel will explode.”

  “But it already did.”

  “A little explosion. Hardly of consequence.”

  She chuffed. For a moment, Lorran worried his mate had difficulty breathing again, but then she rolled her eyes. “Just a little explosion, he says.”

  “Tiny.” He held up his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate the insignificance.

  “And the guy? Um, I forget his name.”

  “Ulrik?”

  “Yes, Ulrik. Did we leave him?”

  Lorran glanced down at the floor beneath his feet. “Mylomon retrieved the fallen one.”

  Wyn paused, the comb not moving through her hair. “That’s where he is?”

  “Stored in a controlled environment.”

  “Morbid, but good to know.” She yawned. “Sorry. I think the day is catching up with me.”

  “You should rest. We are en route to the decommissioned facility you discovered.”

  “I didn’t discover it. I just found a piece of paper,” she protested, but her skin flushed, as if proud.

  “It is the logical destination for the escape pod.” Plus, the base might have the parts necessary to repair the shuttle’s damaged engine. The shuttle was an older model, commonly used when the base had been active.

  “Sleep sounds good.” She cleared off the bunk, then looked around in confusion.

  “Here.” He moved to her side and lifted the mattress, revealing the blanket and pillow stored underneath.

  “Thanks.” She took the items but did not move.

  This close, he felt the heat of her body. A nutty, smokey scent tantalized his senses. He breathed deep. “What is that?”

  She tugged on a curl. “Oh. My leave-in conditioner. It’s nothing special.”

  Lies. Everything about her was special.

  His gaze fell to her lips, full and lush. He wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked. If her skin was as soft as he imagined.

  “You mentioned an Earth tradition,” he said.

  She turned to face him, the collar of his shirt falling open to display her tender throat. Her pulse danced, and her heart thumped loud enough to drown out the ambient noise of the shuttle.

  “We kiss at the end of a date,” she said. Her pink tongue peeked out for an instant, then disappeared.

  Gently, he placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face. Her eyes sparkled, such a warm and deep brown. “We should honor the tradition of your ancestors. It is only right,” he said.

  He lowered his face, their mouths nearly touching and sharing the same breath.

  Wyn surged up, her hands on the back of his neck. The first soft touch warmed him, pleasant and sweet.

  She pulled away slightly, lips brushing his. “Good, but we can do better. Traditional and all.”

  Another touch, soft, and the kiss deepened as she opened to him. Awareness coursed through him, aware of her body pressed to him, of the heat of her tongue and the softness of her lips, and the way she melted in his arms. His fang snagged her bottom lip, and she moaned, the sound going straight to his cock.

  His arms tightened around her waist, lifting her to hold her closer. Wyn squealed in surprise, then laughed and pressed her smiling mouth against his.

  Yes, his mate was sweet, soft, and better than he imagin
ed.

  Reluctantly, he set her back down on her feet but did not pull away. “Sleep. Tomorrow will be a trying day.”

  She licked her lip, eyes sparking with mischief, but she stepped back. “I don’t know how you expect me to sleep after that.”

  “It is a very small shuttle.”

  “Ah, the magic words.” Her mouth quirked up in a sly grin.

  Sarcasm. Terrans excelled at the communication form. He had only ever experienced it when his brother’s mates were distressed. He enjoyed it a great deal.

  “That kiss pulled victory from the jaws of defeat. Thanks for a memorable date. Very memorable. Next time, I get to pick.”

  He detected no sarcasm, and that pleased him immensely.

  Chapter 10

  Lorran

  Lorran positioned the shuttle to hide carefully behind the moon while he and Mylomon gathered information. He did not want to waste time or fuel entering the atmosphere if SRV-P11’s remaining crew did not land there.

  The shuttle’s scanners were not ideal, but they identified the abandoned Mahdfel base on a narrow island off the eastern coast of the planet’s second largest landmass. Why that location when a sprawling continent was literally a stone’s throw away, Lorran could not say. Perhaps the location offered a protected harbor or some other unique advantage to defense. Or the warriors who built the base planned for civilians to colonize the landmass.

  The planet, designated at Etes 3, boasted a wide habitable zone suitable for settlement. Temperatures did not tend to extremes, excluding the polar regions. The oxygen-rich atmosphere required no sort of filtration or modification. Scans indicated the flora to be nontoxic. Water would be potable once microbes were filtered. Even gravity was similar to Sangrin.

  Etes 3 was ideal for colonization, yet it had been abandoned. Lorran could not determine why.

  “I have identified energy signatures,” Mylomon said.

  “Multiple? Who knew this planet on the edge of nowhere got so much traffic? Let’s hope our escape pod is one of those signatures.”

  “Your ability to state the obvious is astounding.”

  “Thank you,” Lorran said.

  “That is not a compliment.”

  Lorran grinned, amused at the seriousness in the male’s tone.

  “I have located a landing strip in serviceable condition,” he said, steering the conversation back to the mission. He did not require a landing strip to set the shuttle down. The vessel was fully capable of landing safely in a variety of environments and terrains. However, he had only received the minimum training required to pilot the shuttle and had never landed on an uneven surface. He did not wish for his mate to experience his first attempt if the landing proved more bounce than advisable. “The proximity of the nearby structures suggest they are hangars and a supply depot, which is advantageous to repairing the shuttle,” he concluded.

  “Yes, and it has nothing to do with impressing your mate with a perfect landing,” Mylomon replied dryly.

  “Well, I’d appreciate not bouncing all over the place. A smooth landing sounds good to me,” Wyn said from her seat. Lorran had fastened her safety harness himself, so he knew she would be secure no matter the landing.

  “No communications on secure channels,” Lorran said. “Should we say hello or land without invitation?”

  “I would not trust the base’s comm equipment to be secure. At best, it is outdated. At worst, nonexistent. Land,” Mylomon ordered.

  Lorran eased the shuttle into the planet’s atmosphere with only the slightest bump of turbulence.

  Huge swaths of greenery rotated underneath the shuttle. The occasional complex of gray structures and road networks of abandoned settlements punctuated the landscape.

  So there had been settlements. Lorran wondered what made the planet nonviable for colonization.

  The shuttle moved up a coast. Midday sunlight reflected off the water, giving it a glassy appearance.

  The abandoned base came into view. Built into a hillside, the front was a gray slab of concrete with a rounded glass front protruding out, like half a glass bowl stuck to the hill. Near the shore, sand and beach grass stretched down to the water. Taller grass and shrubbery covered the hill.

  The base itself appeared to be crescent-shaped. Whether that was the natural shape of the hill or if the architects had changed the landscape to suit their purposes, he did not know. Lorran directed the shuttle over the crescent of the hill to the back, where earth had been cleared for freestanding buildings.

  The shuttle touched down with minimal impact.

  “An adequate landing,” Mylomon said.

  “Such lavish praise makes me blush,” Lorran teased, despite being secretly pleased.

  “Again, not a compliment.”

  Lorran initiated a scan to secure the area. “The escape pod is half a day’s journey on foot. Energy fluctuations are detected inside the base.”

  The proximity detector alerted them to multiple incoming life forms. Without visuals, the scans could give no specific detail. Lorran and Mylomon secured their armor and weapons, expecting hostile targets.

  Wyn watched, wearing her own armor. Her eyes lingered on the blaster strapped to Lorran’s hip, the dagger on his thigh, and the rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “Remain inside,” he said, before lowering the ramp.

  Cool air flowed in, scented with salt from the ocean.

  He gave his mate a wink before securing his helmet.

  Gray buildings lined the landing strip in a neat row. Grass grew thick on top. Shadowy arch doorways provided enough cover for a person to hide, despite the midday sun directly overhead.

  Lorran and Mylomon proceeded with caution. The suit filtered out the odors of the atmosphere, but not the sounds. Animals rustled through the grass. A small mammal trilled in song, most likely a bird.

  “We are from the Judgment,” Mylomon said. “We answered a distress signal and followed you here.”

  No response.

  Lorran relaxed. If the unknown persons had been Suhlik, they would already be in a firefight. This must be the surviving crew of SRV-P11.

  “I don’t care where the pair of you fools are from. Blundering through the atmosphere, dragging all sorts of attention with you, no doubt!” an angry voice shouted from a distance.

  Mylomon turned to follow the sound. “I am looking for the one called Caldar,” he said.

  The male stepped from the shadow, blaster at the ready. He had a plum-colored complexion and horns, so Sangrin-Mahdfel. Gray salted his hair and threaded through his horns.

  “You can tell Paax that I am insulted by his idea of a rescue,” he said.

  Lorran tensed. Mylomon growled. Tension rolled through the air.

  A small face peeked out from behind the man’s legs.

  Wyn

  Wyn wasn’t sure what was happening as she watched via the shuttle’s camera. The guys went outside to meet another Mahdfel. At least she assumed he was another Mahdfel. On camera, he looked like a rather average older man. Mahdfel had a certain presence. They were bigger, more dangerous, more predatory…just more.

  This guy appeared to be an old man, but he had to be something more. Lorran and Mylomon were growling, snarling, and posturing. Then they relaxed, like once they established who had dominance and gave the secret Mahdfel handshake, it was all cool.

  Aliens made no sense.

  Oh, and there was a kid. Well, she expected that. The ghost ship had a kid on board, ergo the kid was on the escape pod.

  After a few minutes of conversation, Lorran returned to the shuttle. “We are going to the base,” he said, and grabbed her bag.

  “We’re staying? I thought we’d be leaving immediately?” Not that she was going to complain, because hello? Alien planet. Day three in space and she was on another world.

  “The shuttle requires repairs, among other things,” Lorran said.

  “That sounds bad.”

  “The damage is less than optimal, but t
he shuttle will function, regardless.”

  “Not bad?”

  “I am capturing the opportunity. It is not bad. The atmosphere is breathable. You may go without the helmet.”

  Wyn tossed her satchel over her shoulder and followed Lorran and Mylomon down the ramp. She didn’t question why they still wore the armor. Shit happens. Be prepared.

  Salt hung in the air. They must be close to the beach. Wyn spun around. Gray buildings—classic Mahdfel design—formed a straight line and seemed to be dug into the ground, like a ditch. Tall grass covered the rooftops. If the ocean were nearby, the sound would be blocked by the subterranean buildings.

  Wyn had a bounce to her step that had nothing to do with gravity. So far, her experience hadn’t been the luxurious cruise she’d envisioned. It was better.

  She glanced at Lorran, helmet off and the breeze fluttering his hair.

  Definitely better.

  An older Mahdfel male and the child waited for them. With his slower gait, Wyn questioned again if the man was Mahdfel. He was Sangrin with a plum complexion, horns gone gray with short salt and pepper hair. The child, though, was definitely Mahdfel, and Wyn wasn’t sure how she could tell the difference. He seemed to vibrate with energy, head swiveling between the adults as he asked questions.

  They followed a wide paved lane, broken into disjointed pieces by vegetation, that sloped down toward the main body of the base. The child kept glancing behind at Wyn.

  She waved.

  “What happened to your horns? Were you in an accident?” he asked.

  “I don’t have horns. I’m human,” she answered.

  He narrowed his eyes, like he didn’t believe her. “I think you were in an accident.”

  “I’m Wyn. What’s your name?”

  “Mikah.”

  “Is your accident why you’re brown?”

  The older man placed his hand on the back of Mikah’s neck and steered him forward. “Enough of that now. The female is Terran, from Earth.”

  Wyn didn’t mind the impertinent questions. “No, sweetie. Melanin is why I’m this color. Lots of humans look like me.”