Lorran Page 9

  She stood on a spiderweb bridge.

  In space.

  The deep dark of space surrounded her, pierced with a scattering of cold light from distant stars. The webbing of the bridge emitted a soft light, but the immense blackness of the void swallowed it. Impossibly thin threads and a transparent barrier were the only thing between her and the darkness.

  Wyn felt tiny. The universe was so big, and she was one person, and somehow, she was here, in exactly the right spot for this view.

  “This is the best, most terrifying day of my life,” she muttered.

  Lorran touched her shoulder. “I am opening SRV-P11’s hatch. Be alert. Gravity is nonoperational, but your boots will keep you grounded.”

  He punched in a code to the black box. The hatch gave a heart-lurching clank, and he pulled it open. Lorran stepped through easily, but the threshold was just a bit too tall for Wyn to step over.

  Lorran reached over, plucked her up like she weighed nothing, and set her down on the other side. She felt the moment the boots connected with the floor, like a cat sinking its claws in.

  The ship didn’t look as if gravity functions were offline. She expected furniture and various odds and ends floating by when they entered. Wyn opened her palm, and the flashlight drifted up.

  “Cool,” she whispered. Lorran patted her head, which made her flush with embarrassment. So what if she acted like a tourist? She was a tourist.

  “I’m not a child,” she sniffed.

  “Indeed. Your delight is infectious, and you have tiny little Terran legs.” He glanced down at a handheld device. “Atmosphere is present, but oxygen is below the recommended level. Keep your helmet on and let us assume environmental functions are nonoperational. This way.”

  Lorran led her through the corridors with confidence, as if he made the journey every day. She followed, struggling with each step, the beam from the flashlight bouncing as she tried to keep up.

  Tiny little Terran legs. Hmph.

  “How do you know where you’re going?” she asked.

  “Because I know where I am going. The ship is a basic design with no modifications.”

  “You have all the floor plans for every ship memorized?”

  “Every standard Mahdfel ship, yes.”

  “Isn’t that boring?” She thought of the monotonous corridors from the previous ship.

  “Creativity is sacrificed for efficiency. Mass produced parts are readily available. Repairs are done more quickly. I am sure an engineer could provide all the vital reasons they reuse the same schematics again and again.” He paused. “Engineers love to brag about how they manage to keep the ship from exploding.”

  “Okay, I don’t think that’s something you’d want to brag about, but it’s useful knowing the way.” She could see the benefit in sameness, even if it sounded profoundly dull.

  “The Judgment is an older ship and has been refurbished several times. It is unique.”

  “The Judgment was the big ship we left?”

  “Yes. It is the largest battlecruiser and clan in the Sangrin fleet. It is very prestigious to serve aboard the Judgment.”

  “Maybe I didn’t see the unique parts. It was very…gray.”

  Lorran glanced behind, as if trying to catch her eye. The light from the flashlight reflected across his faceplate, obscuring him in a smudge of light. “I will show you the unique aspects on a date night.”

  Wyn added his words to the tally in her mind.

  Day two in space: stood on a spiderweb bridge, explored a ghost ship, and scored a date with an alien hottie.

  “Sounds good. For the record, a haunted spaceship isn’t quality date material,” she said. Her alien had a head full of nebula gas if he thought this counted as a date.

  “So you admit this is a date.”

  “Oh no, you’re not tricking me. This is not a date.”

  “We are alone, doing an activity together. Therefore, a date.” He sounded so damn pleased with himself.

  “This is your job. Dragging me along while you work is not a date. Also, a haunted spaceship still isn’t romantic.”

  “Noted. No more haunted ghost ships,” he said.

  As they moved further into the depths of the ship, damage from the attack increased. Scorch marks were more frequent. Electric sparks flared and died in the dark, internal systems trying to restart. Floating debris, bits of metal and broken fixtures, cluttered the corridor.

  Lorran pushed the largest obstacles to one side. “Be mindful of the shrapnel when gravity is restored. The armor is puncture resistant, but it does not absorb impact from a blow.”

  Wyn shivered at the word shrapnel. “Got it. Don’t get hit.”

  “I would be distressed,” he replied in a tone as light as if stating a preference for mushrooms over olives on a pizza, which made her giggle. He turned, and again the glare from the flashlight obscured his face. “Are you receiving enough oxygen? My distress at your potential injury is not amusing.”

  Which made her laugh harder because he sounded so damn earnest. Maybe there was something wrong with her oxygen supply.

  “I know. Sorry. Nerves. Ignore me.”

  “Impossible.”

  He stopped at a closed door. “Well, this is a problem. Stay here.”

  “I’m literally magnetized to the floor. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Lorran braced his back to one side of the door and worked his fingers into the door’s seam. “Go here. Do this. No one ever mentions how blasted difficult it is to open locked doors with no power,” he muttered.

  Slowly the door opened with a groan of protesting metal. Once the door opened barely wide enough to squeeze through, Lorran ordered her to stay.

  He slipped inside and left her alone in the dark.

  Lorran

  He assessed the helm. The room had been damaged. Judging by the discarded hammer that floated freely, deliberately damaged. Someone took the hammer to the ship’s computer.

  “It was definitely the Suhlik,” he said, opening the channel to Mylomon.

  “You have recorded footage?”

  “Negative. The computer system in the helm has been destroyed, either by the crew or the Suhlik. No smuggler would damage a captured ship.” Not when there was profit to be made in salvage and scrap.

  “Determine if anything escaped destruction, then search crew quarters for possible survivors. I will transport Ulrik to the shuttle.”

  “Any clue what research Ulrik conducted?”

  “No. The crew may not have had time to take the research with them before evacuating. Be mindful of that in your search.”

  “Understood.” Look for hiding survivors and research.

  Lorran cleared the room of the most hazardous debris and opened the door wider for his mate. “Come in. Step carefully.”

  Wyn squeezed through the door, her portable light sweeping over the room. Various screens reflected the light, reminding him of predators lurking in the dark. “It’s like the ship is dead,” she said.

  “Hold the light here, please,” he said, indicating a panel. He removed it and climbed underneath.

  Dead was a good way to describe the ship. Wires and blown circuits floated, barely tethered in place. Other areas were void, as if components had been hastily torn away. Interesting. This suggested the crew caused the damage. What information did they not want to fall into Suhlik’s clutches?

  The lights flickered on. He felt the pull of gravity, pushing his back uncomfortably against the floor. Debris clattered to the floor.

  His mate squeaked, falling to her knees, and dropping the flashlight. It rolled across the floor. “A little warning,” she said.

  “Yes, Mylomon, a little warning,” Lorran said.

  “I can easily turn the power off again,” Mylomon said.

  “What about environmentals?”

  “I remind you that I am not an engineer. You have power, and you have your orders.”

  “Understood.” Lorran climbed out from undernea
th the console.

  “Is that a problem? Not having air to breathe?” Wyn asked.

  “Your suit has environmental support for several hours. It is not an issue but—”

  “Keep my helmet on. Sure. Got it.” She stuck the flashlight to the suit’s belt. “This place is a wreck. What are you looking for?”

  “Data as to the ship’s travels and communications sent and received, but those have been destroyed or removed.”

  “Huh.” Her foot nudged a few shards of a fractured circuit board, then she bent to retrieve the hammer. “I mean, if you’re under attack, you just grab your shit and go, right? I remember that. When the sirens went off, you stopped what you were doing and headed to the shelter. You didn’t take a hammer and smash all the computers. And they got all of them. Every single screen.” She pointed the hammer to the destroyed terminals and tablets snapped in half.

  “Yes. This happened after the initial attack but before evacuation,” he said, impressed with her deductive reasoning. “Let us continue our search.”

  They found the crew quarters easily. The first cabin was standard design with one bunk affixed to the wall, a built-in cabinet along the other wall, and a small basin for washing. Brightly colored toys, clothing, and furnishings littered the floor.

  “A child’s room,” he said. Kneeling at the bed, he felt around the base for a latch. The mattress swung up to reveal an empty compartment.

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Storage?”

  “A safe room, small but enough to supply enough air for one person. It is a standard feature in all Mahdfel designs.”

  “Huh, that makes sense. Does every room have a secret safe room?”

  “Every cabin. It is impractical for a small vessel such as the SRV-P11 to have more.”

  “Well, don’t think I’m callous when I say I really hope we don’t find anyone in a safe room. Being stuck inside that for hours would be terrible, let alone days.”

  “Agreed.” With the ship’s systems failing, the safe room could offer life support for a few more hours but not days. “I believe the crew evacuated.”

  “Except for Ulrik, poor guy.”

  Lorran tried to remember if Ulrik had a mate and child but could not recall. “I did not know him well, but he was an honorable male.”

  He moved to the next cabin. It was larger, with a double bed, more built-in storage, an entertainment console, and a small area for drink and food preparation. Furnishings littered the floor, along with every pillow and piece of bed linen that drifted while gravity was out. Clothing in various sizes created an untidy mess.

  “A cabin for a mated couple,” he said, before verifying that the safe room was empty.

  The next room was another single cabin. Other than the bed linen and a pair of boots tossed on the floor, there was little to indicate that the cabin had been in use.

  “Seems small for an adult.”

  “Our apartment will be larger. Do not distress yourself.” His own cabin was similar in size, but designed for one person. When they returned to the Judgment, he would be assigned new living quarters since he now had a mate.

  “I’m not distressed, and I wasn’t saying that. This is…cozy, that’s all.”

  The rest of the cabins were empty, and the beds stripped of all linens. Only three cabins in use and four people total on board. He shared his findings with Mylomon before continuing the search.

  “What research are we looking for exactly?” Wyn asked. “I mean, are we looking for a laptop or a lab?”

  Excellent question. The warlord said Ulrik had been a friend. Paax was a geneticist before he was warlord, so it was not a stretch to assume Ulrik had the same skill set.

  “A lab,” Lorran decided.

  They uncovered the mess hall, a rec room, and a storage room. All were disorganized messes from the lack of gravity and suffered damage from the attack, but none had the same willful destruction as the helm.

  As they moved to the lower levels, Lorran could not help but wonder if he should be on Sangrin, drinking ice wine with his family. Instead, he crept through a derelict ship, desperate to prove himself capable of the mission and even more desperate to keep his mate safe. If the warlord had not been forced to select Lorran due to lack of alternatives, Wyn would have been delivered to his shuttle as it departed for Sangrin. He would have brought Wyn home to his parents.

  Lorran loved his family, but they were overwhelming, especially his mother. Oran tended to ignore the world and follow his own interests. The youngest son, Lorran struggled for his father’s attention. It was little consolation that Oran had the disappointing habit of ignoring all his children. Not that Lorran believed his father did not care for his sons, but there was always some crisis with the Council that took precedence.

  His mother, however, was the opposite. Tani smothered. Love, exuberance, unasked-for advice, food, multiple layers of clothing—she piled these on generously. Seeran and Mene would have teased, much as Lorran did when they brought home their mates for the first time.

  He and Wyn would have been strangers, awkwardly bound together and suffering the well-meaning good intentions of his family.

  The situation was not ideal, but he decided that he preferred to make his own bumbling missteps with his new mate away from the prying eyes of his family.

  “I am glad we are here, and you are with me,” he said, stopping so suddenly that she bumped into him. He grabbed her elbow to steady her.

  “Thanks? I mean, thank you.” A flush spread over her face and Lorran decided he liked her face very much.

  “One day, you will meet my family, but I am glad we have a chance to know each other first.” Without his mother making unsubtle inquiries about children and his brothers’ teasing. “My family can be intense.”

  “Just wait until I get my mom on the phone. Alana Davies is a force of nature.”

  “I look forward to speaking with her. Let us use the ladder. I do not trust the elevator to work properly,” he said.

  Down the ladder, which was precariously bolted to the wall, they found themselves in a severely damaged corridor. Scorch marks from plasma fire weapons covered the walls. Each step had to be negotiated through jagged metal and shattered glass.

  He did not see the body until they were nearly upon it. Soot and what looked like grease covered the distinctive gold complexion.

  Wyn gasped.

  A Suhlik slumped against the wall, blaster still in his hand. Debris partially covered him. Either the male took cover there or the ceiling collapsed on him.

  “Oh my God, is that a Suhlik? I’ve never seen one up close,” his mate said.

  “Yes. We know now the ship was not attacked by smugglers.” Lorran answered. He crouched down to verify that the male was deceased. Suhlik had lower body temperatures, a slower pulse, and fell into a deep sleep when injured.

  The scanner confirmed the body was deceased, but Lorran still pried open the male’s eyelids. “Shine a light on the face, please.”

  “Why? He’s dead.” Despite her protest, she moved the light to the Suhlik’s face. The visible scales gleamed with a dull sheen, like tarnished gold.

  “And it will only take a moment to confirm that. A complacent warrior deserves the knife in his back.”

  “Oh my God, that happens, doesn’t it? They play dead and then leap at you when you’re not expecting it, like in a horror movie.”

  “As I said.” Lorran stood, brushing his hands on his thighs, ready to move on. “This one is truly dead, not playacting. Come. Let us continue our search.”

  His mate remained in place. “You’re just going to leave him here?”

  “Yes.” He would not waste energy carting around a body.

  “Doesn’t that seem disrespectful to you?”

  Disrespectful?

  Lorran rocked on his heels, stunned.

  His soft-hearted human. How old had she been during the Suhlik’s invasion of Earth? She mentioned being injured in a rai
d. He wondered how much she remembered clearly of those events and if time had softened the edges of those memories. Still, even with her knowledge and experience, she worried for the welfare of the enemy.

  “You have compassion for this soldier who boarded this ship intending to slaughter the crew, females, and children,” he said.

  “Well, I know he’s the bad guy, but he was still a person. It’s wrong to just leave his body to rot on the floor.”

  “Debatable, but yes, it is unhygienic to leave the body.” He scanned down the hall and then assessed the body again. “Once the ship is secure, I will see that the body is handled correctly.”

  “Is that code for venting him out the airlock? Because treating this guy like a piece of garbage is just as bad as leaving him.”

  “It is code for cremation.” He’d have to explain to Mylomon why he used the shuttle’s limited storage space to haul a Suhlik body to the nearest hospital, but it was worth it when his mate nodded.

  “Okay,” she said, sounding relieved.

  The corridor opened into a large space. Frosted glass had created a partition, but the glass had been shattered. The lab stood exposed and ransacked. Shelving and tables were overturned. Delicate equipment smashed. Anything breakable had been broken.

  Mylomon already sifted through the wreckage, crouched down by an overturned table and destroyed tanks. He looked thoughtfully up at a row of suspended heat lamps that threatened to collapse. In his hand, he held a piece of what looked like broken pottery with a golden iridescent sheen.

  “Did you find anyone in the cabins?” He stowed the pottery shard into a pouch.

  “No one, but I believe the crew held no more than four. Ulrik and his mate, a son, and another adult warrior who I must assume is this Caldar the warlord informed me of,” Lorran answered. “Have you discovered anything useful?”

  “Useful. Unknown.” Mylomon stood and toed the broken equipment.

  “The helm was also damaged. Computer components, specifically.”

  “Anything retrievable?”

  “What was not destroyed was removed,” Lorran said.

  Near a desk, Wyn set a chair upright. On the floor were various binders, notebooks, books, and loose paper scattered across the floor. She cleared a spot and sat with her legs folded, then sifted through the papers.