Shamara (2 page)

Amazed and heartened, Eirene knew she'd just found her way off Travan. She would stow away on that ship. She didn't care where it took her. She felt inside her robe pocket, her fingers sliding along the hilts of the two jewel-encrusted daggers she'd taken from Vaden's desk. Hopefully, she hadn't inflicted any serious harm when she used her powers on him. After Rayna…

She pushed back the remorse. She was grateful for the daggers. The jewels in them were extremely valuable. Wherever she landed, she had the means to find her way to Elysia and pursue her lifelong dream. But before all else, she planned to ensure her uncle's agreement with the Leors would be irreversibly nullified.

She would lose her virginity at the first possible opportunity.

*  *  * 

Saron

Jarek san Ranul downed the glass of liquor, feeling it burn all the way to his gut, but the fire in his throat didn't come close to the pain in his soul.

"More?" Blake san Damien offered, raising the bottle.

"No." Jarek set the glass on the bar. "No use drinking myself senseless. Won't change anything."

"I guess not." Blake refilled his own glass. "I’m sorry about your father. We've lost a good man, and a great leader."

They'd lost more than a great man and leader, Jarek thought, his heart heavy with grief. They'd lost a way of life, one that had been intentionally and systematically torn away from them.

Anger warred with his grief, anger that had built steadily over the past fourteen seasons, as he had watched his people being decimated. Their only crime, that they were Shielders, genetically resistant to the Controllers' mind domination. The destruction came in many forms: engineered disease, Anteks, shadowers, slavers, and even Shielder traitors.

As a reconnaissance scout for his people's pitifully small militia, Jarek had seen it all: entire colonies reduced to smoldering ruins, disease-ridden bodies, the remains from mass executions. Regardless of who inflicted these atrocities, the Controllers were behind every diabolical act.

"I guess you'll be traveling to Liron to take your father's place as Council head," Blake said, breaking into Jarek's dark thoughts.

"And do what? Tell them they might as well surrender to the Controllers and get it over with?" He hurled his glass against the opposite wall. It shattered into myriad pieces, just like the Shielder race was being splintered.

The bartender scowled and activated the vac. The little machine whirred into action, scanning and suctioning the floor.

"Careful," Blake cautioned, glancing around the nearly empty bar. "We don't need to draw attention to ourselves."

He was right, of course. Ordinarily, Jarek took extreme precautions, but his riotous state of mind was impeding his common sense. He nodded, running his hand through his hair. "How can I go back?" he demanded in a low voice. "How can I be responsible for the safety and welfare of an entire colony of people, when I can't guarantee their existence for a single cycle, much less a season? I can't even guarantee those on Liron enough food to eat, or medicine and supplies to meet their needs."

"No one can," Blake argued. "Blazing hells, man, they're coming at us from all sides. None of us can make any kind of guarantees. But that colony needs your leadership."

Jarek clenched his fists, frustration a bitter bile in his throat. "That's not enough. We're just sitting echobirds. We don't stand a chance if things don't change—and fast."

"And just how do you propose we change things? Go openly against the Controllers in the hopes of defeating them?"

Jarek said nothing to that. They both knew that an open assault would be suicide. He hated his feeling of helplessness. He was used to action, and yet there was very little he or anyone could do against the Controllers.

His thoughts turned to the idea that had been plaguing him for over a season. One that had become a burning obsession, haunting his thoughts, taunting him with its possibilities. If ever there was a time for desperate, foolhardy measures, this was it. "I want to check out the twelfth sector," he told Blake.

"Why? There's nothing there but a black hole."

Jarek drummed his fingers on the bar. "Maybe we'd find some sort of natural hyperspace. A wormhole, inside the black hole."

Blake looked at him as if he were crazy. "What makes you think there would be a wormhole?"

"Stories about the Enhancers, for one thing. Many believe they used a portal in the twelfth sector to travel to other worlds."

"Enhancers haven't existed for over two hundred seasons," Blake scoffed.

"But there are numerous stories about them traveling to other worlds through a vortex. We might be passing up a major opportunity if we don't check this out."

Practical as always, Blake shook his head, doubt etched on his face. "So, maybe there is a wormhole inside the black hole. But how could a ship enter it without being crushed to debris?"

It was a good question. "I have some ideas about dealing with that particular problem."

"Okay," Blake said, "for the sake of the argument, let's say you locate this wormhole and travel through it in one piece. Exactly what do you expect to find at the other end?"

"Shamara,"
Jarek said softly, the word reverberating through his very soul.

Confusion replaced disbelief in Blake's eyes. "Shamara? What in the Fires is that?"

"Sanctuary. Shamara is the Shen word for sanctuary." Jarek stared at his friend, tension humming through him. "I want to find sanctuary for our people. I have to believe there's a way."

He hated to place all hopes for Shielder survival on one questionable theory. But he didn't see any other options, so he was going to do just that. And pray to Spirit that he was right.

If he was wrong, the Shielders would soon be extinct.

*  *  * 

Massive, overwhelming culture shock. Her wildest imaginings couldn’t prepare Eirene for Saron. She leaned against the rough stone wall of a mercantile, staring all around her. Men and women mingled freely, like equals. Amazing.

There was the cacophony of bustling activity: masses of people, the babble of voices in a dozen different languages, the roaring of skimmers and incoming ships. Trying to tune out the noise, Eirene started toward the center of the base.

The activity was also a visual assault on her senses. It was fascinating: The brightly colored clothing; women in flightsuits and leggings instead of robes; the shops selling all kinds of products, wondrous things from all over the quadrant.

The sensory overload was the worst. The emotional bombardment from the crush of beings swamped her: excitement, greed, lust, anger, fear, violence. She struggled to block them out, succeeding somewhat, but was left incredibly drained.

And this was just Saron, a stopover planet. She couldn't begin to imagine what Elysia, the trade center of the quadrant, might be like. But she was determined to make her way there, after seeing to the crucial disposition of her virginity. The odds of her uncle or the Leors coming after her were too great to put that off.

First order of business was getting currency and making a few purchases. She needed to find a jeweler and sell a stone from one of her daggers, then buy new clothing and rent a room where she could rest and clean up.

Then on to the Pleasure Dome, to seek temporary employment as a courtesan. She should be safe from harm there, as she assumed that they screened their clientele. Yes, that was the best place to take care of her most pressing problem. Steeling herself, Eirene put her plan into action.

*  *  *

"The equipment you're seeking is very rare. So far, I haven't been able to find any." Celie Cameron sipped her drink, regret in her dark brown eyes. "I suspect if we do locate such items, they will be very expensive. I'm sorry."

"I don't understand why you can't find equipment that analyzes electromagnetic distortions," Jarek said. "Surely it's necessary to map out undeveloped sectors of the quadrant. And what about superconductors? Don't we use them in our intraquadrant hyperspace routes?"

"I don't understand, either. I thought the same thing you did." Celie leaned forward, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Unfortunately, the Controllers place more emphasis on dominating the quadrant and sucking it dry than exploring and mapping new regions."

"The greedy bastards aren't exactly visionaries, are they?" Blake commented.

"No, they're not," Celie agreed. "Very little exploratory equipment is manufactured. As for our internal hyperspace, it's all artificial, and the equipment to maintain the tunnels is manufactured on an as-needed basis. All of that is done under strict surveillance."

"What about the worn-out equipment that's replaced?" Jarek asked. "Could it be overhauled and rebuilt?"

Celie shook her head. "I checked on that. The equipment is immediately melted down and recycled. Waste not, want not."

"Yeah, right," Jarek muttered. He suspected the recycled materials went into weapons. Murdering Shielders and any dissenters was high on the Controller priority list.

"I wish I had better news. I'll keep looking and contact you if I find anything." Celie placed her hand on his arm. "What will you do now?"

He blew out his breath, frustration a raw ache in his chest. "I don't know. I'm not giving up, that's for sure. But I'll probably head for Liron and get everything settled there. Where are you going next?"

"I’m leaving for Risa, first thing tomorrow. As a matter of fact, I need to get some supplies loaded on my ship. I'd better call it a night." Celie pushed away from the table and stood. Both men rose with her.

She hugged Jarek, and he kissed her on the cheek. He'd known her since she was a young girl of sixteen seasons, had watched her grow into a fine young woman. He thought of her as a sister. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said. "Tell Moriah and that no-good mate of hers that I said hello."

Celie grinned, the expression making her look hardly old enough to be piloting her own supply ship. "I will. And I won't tell you what Sabin says about you." She turned to Blake and offered her hand. "Commander. It was nice meeting you."

"My friends call me Blake," he replied, taking her hand in both of his. He gave her his most engaging grin, the one that ensnared most females.

"I'm sure they do." Celie gently disengaged her hand and flashed Jarek another smile. "See you around. Have a good trip to Liron." She strode from the bar, seemingly oblivious to the multiple male stares fixed on her stunning figure.

Blake let out a low whistle. "Damn, she's a looker."

"She's also very intelligent—too smart to get entangled with the likes of you. She's too young for you, anyway."

"I'm not
that
old," Blake muttered. "So, do we have the evening free before we get started?"

"Yeah, you're free until 0800 hours standard time tomorrow."

"Great." Blake turned, slung his arm across Jarek's shoulders. "Since you won't let me flirt with the lady smuggler, I have another idea. We've been working pretty hard these past cycles. What do you say we go to the Dome for some R&R?"

Jarek was taken aback by the suggestion. He had never availed himself of the services of the Pleasure Domes. He didn't have the time or the precious miterons required for such decadent pleasures. Nor did he have any desire to purchase an act that should be given freely between a man and a woman.

He shook his head. "No thanks. I need to send some communications and plot our return course to Liron. You go on."

"Hey, you need some down time, too, Captain. It will do you good."

Good?
Jarek no longer believed there was much that was good in this Spiritforsaken quadrant.

He started to refuse again, but Blake headed him off. "Come on. Don't be such an old Shen." He jingled the coins in his flightsuit pocket. "I won a big pot playing Fool's Quest here at Solaris yesterday. I have more than enough for the two of us to enjoy an evening at the Dome, and still give some to the cause. Those communications and navigation duties can only take so long. What will you do for the rest of the time?"

What, indeed?
Jarek thought. Endure another lonely night shift, filled with grief over his father and dark fears about Shielder survival?

Because of his obligations and the continual dangers he faced, he never allowed himself to become involved in a relationship, much less consider taking a mate. He had nothing to offer except the strong possibility he wouldn't return from any given mission. He'd had only a few sexual relationships, and those occurred before responsibility had become such a heavy cloak.

He was sick to death of being alone, of battling memories of destruction and despair. What would it be like, for once, to lose himself in mindless physical release? To find warmth and comfort in the arms of a woman without duty or commitment? Just once.

Weary and emotionally battered, he felt his resolve wavering.
Just once.
For tonight—no burdens, no accountability, no nightmares. He nodded. "All right, let's go."

Blake whooped loudly and strode toward the bar's exit.

Jarek followed more slowly, already doubting the wisdom of his capitulation. It couldn't hurt anything, he told himself.

It was just one night.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Lani asked, her high-pitched voice grating on Eirene's tautly-strung nerves. "You seem jittery."

The courtesan who had been chosen to introduce Eirene to her new surroundings was nice enough, but she seemed to be somewhat scatterbrained. Eirene took a deep breath. It didn't help much; her pulse continued racing. She wished her beloved mentor was still alive and here to guide her.

Rayna had recognized Eirene's rare powers when she was very young, had taught her the necessity of keeping them secret and using them only when imperative. She'd been like a mother to Eirene, guiding her into adulthood and teaching her ancient healing techniques. But Rayna was gone, and Eirene had no one to advise her now.