Chapter 8

Wyn:

A date?

“I can’t believe you’re trying to pass off a haunted ghost ship as a date.” There was a body, and everything was pitch black. Whatever attacked the ship and killed that man could still be on board. She’d stick as close to Lorran as possible because the best Wyn could do would be to throw a flashlight at the attacker and scream.

“It is not ideal, but I do not want you to be alone.” The curve of the faceplate distorted his expression, but his voice came in loud and clear in her ear.

“Yeah. Big agree from me.”

The door to the shuttle opened and Lorran steered her onto the connecting bridge. The door sealed shut behind them, and then she was standing on the thinnest of material, almost as transparent as the high-tech glass on her helmet. Her boots adhered to the bridge. Stepping forward was not as simple as lifting her foot. Rolling forward on to the balls of her feet broke her free from the magnetic grip, but each step still took twice as much effort as normal.

The bridge itself was a web of silver threads that stretched from the shuttle to the ghost ship. Starlight filtered in through the gaps in the webbing.

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 underneath 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 raid. 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.

He was surprised at the primitive method of information storage. From what remained of the lab, it had advanced equipment. Why record everything digitally and then transfer it to paper and put it in a binder? That made no sense.

Nothing about this ship made sense.

Navigational records and communications had been destroyed or removed, which was not standard procedure before evacuating a vessel. The lab had been demolished, yet papers had been left behind. Standard procedure was to destroy research to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands, which usually meant initiating a program to wipe drives.

Or take a hammer to equipment.

He saw no computers, tablets, or other devices—smashed or whipped—in the debris. The lab seemed almost destroyed as an act of rage, not just to protect research.

“What were they researching?” Lorran asked.

“I do not know.” Mylomon picked up another pottery shard. This one looked malformed with ripples across the surface. “Use the average range of an escape pod to establish a search area.”

Pods could travel for some distance, but three people on board would tax the environmental support, decreasing the range. Even with that limitation, the search area would be massive.

“One shuttle for such a large area…I believe you wanted to return to your mate as soon as possible,” Lorran said. He very much wanted to finish this mission, return his mate safely back to the Judgment, to his quarters and to his bed.

Wyn sorted through the papers, making tidy piles. The suit hid her curling hair and expressive face but hugged every curve. No skin showed, yet everything was displayed.

He felt his member strain against the front of his armor.

Yes. In my bed as soon as possible.

Lorran stepped in front of her, blocking her from Mylomon’s view. The male tilted his head but made no comment.

“What about this?” His mate held out a tattered piece of plastic-coated paper, the edge curled with age.

“Such material has not been used in a century,” he said. He did not see how this would help him recover the missing data or locate the escape pods.

“Not the material. What’s printed on it.”

“Ah. Trifling,” he said, because while she did not call him a trifling alien, he heard it in her tone. “I am pleased that you have a name of endearment for me already.”

“Not a term of endearment, but sure. Looks like a map to me, but this is my second day in space. I bow to your experience.”

She fibbed. Fondness radiated from her being.

Against her better judgment, he suspected. He would not squander this opportunity.

“Yes, it is a star chart. An incredibly old one.” He took the map from her, careful not to damage the edges. The plasticine film grew brittle with age, which was the major factor for its falling out of favor. Digital information transferred easily—and was lost just as easily—but analog had a way of crumbling under your fingertips if you were careless.

The chart displayed Sangrin-Mahdfel territory. He recognized the planets, the gate to the system, and the commonly used routes. Space was vast and empty. All too easily, even the most advanced navigational system could lose its way without guideposts. Transports often kept to the same routes, using the same way markers to stay on course.

What was different were the settlements, stations, and bases. Some names he recognized. Some he knew were not on the map, having not yet been constructed. A few names were unknown to him.

“Is it useful?”

“Yes. If we factor in the drift from where the distress signal was sent to where we found the ship, and the average range of an escape pod, we can narrow down the search.” He pointed to a base on a nearby planet. “I believe this is a decommissioned Mahdfel base. It is a good place to begin our search.”

The planet would have a tolerable environment, shelter, and possibly supplies, depending on the age of the base and how long it sat empty. The decommissioned base is where he would head in such a situation.

A red haze flashed over his helmet. The suit’s computer detected a deterioration in the ship’s atmosphere.

Smoke.

Wyn:

“What’s happening?” She tapped the edges of the helmet, trying to turn off the red light and the suit’s computer warning about hazardous environmental conditions. “I get it. Alarm. Turn off.”

“Do not panic,” Lorran said. He tapped the helmet, and the alarm fell silent. “There is a fire. The vessel’s fire suppression system will contain it.”

Only there was smoke rolling down the corridor.

“I don’t think it’s working,” she said, pointing to the smoke.

“Mylomon, can you activate the fire suppression system?”

The larger man shrugged.

Shrugged.

“I am not an engineer,” he said. His nonchalant response wasn’t winning her over. “One of the damaged systems must have sparked and combusted.”

Wyn thought of all the stray sparks they passed in the corridor. All those exposed wires and electricity were a disaster waiting to happen. Fire on a spaceship was never a good thing.

She shivered.

Lorran placed a hand under her chin and forced her to look up at him. She hadn’t realized that she had been staring at her feet. “All is well. Your suit will protect you from extreme temperatures and supply all the oxygen you need. Smoke will not harm you.”

“But falling debris?” She remembered his words about the suits not redirecting the force of a blow. If she got hit, it would hurt.

“Return to the shuttle,” Mylomon ordered.

“Finally, an alien talking sense,” Wyn said.

“Follow me,” Lorran said. Wyn grabbed her hammer and followed.

Smoke had grown thicker, but something in the suit kicked on and she had x-ray vision. Well, night vision. The corridor had a green cast, and Lorran was a figure in front of her. Smoke still clouded the screen, but it was much improved.

She could feel the smoke stinging her eyes, even though she knew the suit was airtight and nothing could get in. Her throat tickled, wanting to cough. Every part of her screamed this was wrong, that she needed to run out of the smoke, but Lorran kept a steady pace. As long as her alien wasn’t panicking, she was fine.

Then the power went off.

Her feet clamped down on the floor as the suit’s magnetic grip activated. Moving became ten times harder. In her panic, she forgot the trick of rolling onto her toes and tried to lift her foot straight off the floor.

No joy.

Her tiny little Terran legs couldn’t keep up. She watched helplessly as Lorran disappeared into the darkness.

She was stuck in a cloud of smoke, positive she could feel it choking her, smothering the life out of her, burning her lungs, and there was nothing she could do. She lasted two days in space. Two fucking days. The injustice of that slight seemed the greatest insult of all, because Wyn knew she would be awesome in space if the haunted ghost ship hadn’t been hungry for more victims.

She fumbled for the flashlight with her free hand. The beam illuminated the smoke, further blinding her.

Alone and lost.

“Wyn,” Lorran’s voice called over the comm link. He only said her name, but it brought her back from the edge of panic. She was not alone. She was not lost.

“Your heart rate is elevated, and shallow breathing indicates distress,” he said, even though he couldn’t possibly hear all that.

“The suit’s AI sent an alert to the team,” he said, as if he knew her thoughts. “Are you injured?” Lorran trotted up to her, his figure emerging from the smoke.

“I’m sorry. I can’t—” Her chest tightened.

“Do you require a medic?”

“No. My boots—” Speaking felt impossible. If she had her inhaler, she’d take a dose, even though this wasn’t an asthma attack.

A ceiling panel crashed behind her. She jumped at the noise, turning around and expecting to find a wall of flames.

Nothing but smoke. Her eyes watered.

She had enough air. I’m not choking, she told herself. There was nothing but her own anxiety making her chest tighten.

“All is well,” he said. A hand on her shoulder snagged her attention away from the ship’s imminent destruction. “I need you to breathe, Wyn.”

His chest heaved with an exaggerated breath, and Wyn mimicked his movement. In. Out. Repeat. The pressure in her chest eased.

“Good. I have you. I will not leave you,” he said.

“I believe you.” She didn’t know why. Lorran had made all sorts of jokes and humble brags, and she wasn’t certain he took anything seriously, but this rang true. He would not leave her.

“Forgive me for what I am about to do. I respect your autonomy and consent, but we have no time. The ship is unstable.” Before she could reply, he scooped her up in his arms and took off at a run.

Wyn yelped in surprise and bounced with each step. She wasn’t a small woman. Made for the homestead, her grandmother always said. The women in her family had a sturdy, broad build meant for hard work, for farming. She would never be described as delicate, even if she lost the love handles. Yet Lorran lifted her up like she weighed nothing. She knew the Mahdfel were strong, but all those muscles hadn’t seemed real until she felt Lorran’s arms flex around her.

She turned her face toward his chest and closed her eyes. She’d enjoy this more if the ship didn’t creak and groan so ominously. Hopefully, the bouncing would end soon. Impossibly, she still clutched the flashlight and the map.

A booming sound rolled through the ship and Lorran stumbled as the floor shook. His arms tightened around her, but he did not drop her.

“That did not sound good,” she squeaked.

“An oxygen conversion tank blew. Do not be alarmed. They functioned as intended.”

“Exploding and operating as intended, sure.” She didn’t believe it.

At the ladder, he lifted her halfway up, and she climbed the rest of the way. The other man, Mylomon, reached down and pulled her up the rest of the way.

The smoke was not as dense on the upper level. The flashlight’s beam faltered, fading before blinking out entirely. In the darkness, she had no idea which way to go.

“I must carry you again,” Lorran warned before picking her back up.

“Thank you for the warning,” she said, tucking her head down. If it wasn’t for the terror and her heart pounding in her chest, this could be nice.

In the span of heartbeats, they dashed through the hatch and across the bridge. She counted the steps until they were back on the shuttle.

Tension in her chest eased, having escaped the haunted ghost ship.

Lorran set her on her feet and tugged off the helmet. Air, sound, and the stench of burnt plastic hit her all at once.

“Bronwyn, you may open your eyes.”

Vivid blue eyes beamed down at her with a huge grin on his face. Warm. Real. She couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Best date ever,” he proclaimed.