Shielder — A new Science Fiction Romance (Book 1, Shielder Series) (3 page)

"I don't have time to play rescuer. A ship
will be here in a week. If you're low on supplies, I can give you
some. What do you need? Be quick about it."

A week! Full-blown panic surged. Nessa
searched for words to convince this insolent, cold person to help
her without revealing her true identity. "I can't wait a week. I
need to get to the shrine of Shara. I must be there for the
eclipse. Please, you have to help me."

"I don't have to help anyone. If you don't
need supplies, I'm on my way."

"No, wait!" Nessa felt beginning tremors and
feared she'd have a seizure then and there. Taking a deep breath,
she willed herself to calm. "The eclipse coinciding with the
festival of Shara occurs only once every fifty seasons. I'll never
again have this opportunity to receive the full blessing of the
goddess."

She paused, mentally sorting arguments.
"Take me with you. You can leave me at the star base. I'll catch a
transport from there. Please. This is very important."

A long, tortuous interval of silence ensued.
"How many are aboard your ship?" he finally demanded.

Nessa hesitated, surprised. His advanced
scanners should have provided him that information.

"Answer me. How many?"

"Just one."

"That's odd. I'm picking up two life forms.
I don't give passage to people I can't trust. No deal."

Her thoughts whirled. His readings made no
sense, unless—Turi. "I also have a pet on board. But he's the only
other living creature on the ship. I swear on the goddess."

"I don't give a flying meteorite about your
goddess." An irritated sigh rumbled over the com. "But since you
foolishly carry no viable armament, you probably won't last the
week against pirates if I leave you here. Prepare for
boarding."

Relieved, she sagged against the console,
easing the weight off her throbbing leg. The arrogant voice
thundered through the com again. "You may bring only what you can
carry. I'm not a freighter service. And be fast about it. We leave
in five minutes."

Seeing no need for further discussion, she
nodded and cut the visual. She rushed to gather her few belongings.
The pouch with the coins went into the inside pocket of her tunic.
She slipped her magnasteel dagger, the only weapon she'd managed to
keep in her possession since her injury, into her boot.

She filled a large knapsack with her meager
food supply. Turi went, chattering in protest, into a smaller pack.
"Hush," she told him. "Not a peep out of you."

Her last act was to erase all records from
the computer. No information that might lead to Liron could be left
behind. The Controllers offered persuasive rewards to those who
found Shielder colonies. Their determination to wipe out the only
race capable of resisting their mind domination was fanatical.

As she finished activating the delete
program, she felt the thud of a ship docking with hers. Her
rescuer, whoever—or whatever he was—had arrived.

Nessa slipped the small pack with Turi over
one shoulder and picked up her supplies. She walked to the airlock
as the panel slid open. The man stepping through the panel towered
over her, but he wasn't an Antek. The apelike Anteks were stupid
brutes. She sighed in relief, realizing her rescuer's obvious
intelligence should have negated that possibility. The innate
ability to sense her own kind—which all Shielders possessed—told
her he wasn't a Shielder either.

He was large, with broad shoulders and an
impressive chest. The black flightsuit stretched taut across his
muscled frame emphasized his size. Cold gray eyes pinned her to the
spot, glaring at her from a harsh, chiseled face. Dark blond hair
brushed against the top of his shoulders. Distracted by his
appearance, she realized belatedly he had an activated stunner
trained on her.

He moved quickly for his size, striding to
her and skimming her with a hand scanner. His sudden loud sneeze
sent her heart pounding even faster. "Blazing hells, the dust in
here! Your air filtration system must not be working properly."
Scowling fiercely at her as if that were her fault, he resumed
scanning. "Remove your weapon."

Defiance was risky, but Nessa hesitated
giving up her only protection. "What weapon?"

His eyes narrowed to silver slits. "The
weapon in your boot. Don't play games with me. One more challenge
from you, and I'll leave you here to rot. Is that clear?"

She nodded, slipping the dagger out and
offering it to him. He slid the scanner into his flightsuit and
took it, his large hand engulfing hers. He sneezed again.

Muttering under his breath, he whirled and
strode to the engineering bay. She followed and watched as he
squatted beside the open stardrive. He studied it a moment, then
released a low whistle. "The primary driver coil is cracked right
down the middle. The whole unit will have to be overhauled. This
ship isn't going anywhere."

He rose and sneezed again. "By the fires of
the Abyss, your polluted air is going to suffocate me. We'll finish
this on my ship. Come on, get moving." Picking up Nessa's bag of
supplies, he swung behind her, prodding her toward the airlock.
Well aware of the weapon still trained on her, she tried to move as
fast as she could.

But her leg, stiff from her first crouching
in front of the stardrive, then standing too long, refused to
cooperate. It gave out, and she pitched forward. The man snaked an
arm around her and yanked her up before she hit the floor.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

His arm pressed upward against her breasts
like a steel band. Nessa balanced on her good leg and tried to pry
his arm away. He didn't budge.

"Nothing's wrong," she gasped, still
tugging. "I tripped."

He released her and she almost stumbled
again. "Try to be less clumsy. Let's go."

Her leg held the weight this time, although
she couldn't control her limp. He didn't comment, but then, he was
too busy sneezing—three times—before they got through the airlock
into his ship.

He closed the hatch and lowered her supplies
to the floor. His relentless gaze settled on her again. "What's
wrong with your leg?"

Nessa didn't discuss her injury with anyone,
not even Jarek. "Nothing. I'm just stiff from standing so
long."

He sneezed and shook his head angrily.
"That's what I get for stopping," he muttered, taking her arm.
"Over here. No one enters my ship without going through
decontamination first."

"What's that?" she asked warily, digging in
her heels.

He gave an impatient jerk, pulling her
toward a panel. "Just some sterilizing rays that remove germs and
dirt." He stopped in front of the panel, pointing to her tunic.
"Take that filthy rag off. I'll clean it in the conclave. If that
doesn't do the job, it's refuse."

She clutched her tunic. She had never bared
her body to anyone. "I will not. You can't destroy this. I have
nothing else to wear."

He started to speak, then sneezed again
twice. She noticed his eyes beginning to water. "By the gods!" he
snarled. "You try my patience, lady. And you brought that polluted
air in here with you. Either that, or something on you is
irritating my allergies." He jerked up her bag of supplies and
began rifling through it.

Allergies? This incredible specimen of a
warrior had allergies? Nessa found his behavior bewildering. And
her people thought
she
was crazy. Tossing the supplies down,
he spun her toward him. "Let me see the other bag."

Turi was in that bag. "No." She fought to
hang on to the knapsack, but he wrested it from her grasp. He
raised the flap and Turi popped out, hissing angrily.

"A lanrax! You brought a frigging lanrax on
my ship. I knew you were trouble the minute I saw your wretched
excuse of a space vehicle." He hauled Turi from the sack by the
scruff of his neck.

"That's the last time I stop to help
anyone!" he roared. "By the gods, a pilgrim with a lanrax. It's not
staying here." He strode down the corridor, sneezing repeatedly.
Turi writhed and snarled, to no avail.

"What are you doing?" Alarmed, Nessa limped
behind him, cursing her leg for slowing her down.

Halting, he opened a window airlock and
stuffed Turi in. "I'm allergic to lanraxes—
very
allergic.
Any lanrax crossing my path regrets it. I'm jettisoning this
creature out of here."

"No!" Frantic, she lunged forward and
grabbed his arm before he could push the eject pad. "You can't
jettison him into space. He'll die!"

A diabolical grin spread across the man's
face. "Exactly."

Hysteria flooded her. Losing all restraint,
she threw herself against him, screaming. "No! You can't do this.
You don't understand…he's all I have. Please don't do this.
Please…don't….
He's all I have
!"

Sudden streaks of light flashed behind her
eyes and she felt the beginning spasms rock her body. No! Not
now…

It was her last conscious thought.

* * * *

"It's about time you came around." The gruff
voice penetrated the edge of Nessa's consciousness, but she didn't
respond. Although necessity had trained her to sleep lightly and
awaken instantly, the seizures left her sluggish and disoriented.
And for some reason she couldn't quite grasp, she didn't want to
wake up.

A faint hum vibrated over her forehead.
"Come now, pilgrim, I know you can hear me. Open your eyes."

She knew the commanding, arrogant voice from
somewhere… No, she didn't want to remember that voice. She shook
her head.

"Still trying my patience. How about this:
Either open your eyes or get a stimulant injection."

Her eyes flew open. Steel-gray eyes, set in
a cold face etched with disapproval, stared back.
Him
. His
black-clad bulk filled her field of vision, making avoidance
impossible. Memory returned, every excruciating detail of the
moments before the darkness.

Turi! Grief slashed like a sharp blade
through her body. She arched from the agony. He had jettisoned
Turi. She clenched her eyes shut against the pain. Tension curled
through her and light sparked behind her lids.

"Oh, no, you don't." A sharp twinge pierced
her neck and the tightness flowed out of her muscles immediately.
Limp, she sagged to the surface beneath her. But although her body
was relaxed, her thoughts flowed clearly. The seizure. He must have
stopped it.

Amazed, she opened her eyes again. He
watched her, a frown on his face. His attention shifted to the
medical monitor he was scanning over her chest—over the metallic
blanket covering her bare chest. Her tunic was gone. As she
struggled to absorb this information, he set the monitor aside.

"What just upset you so badly you almost
sent yourself into another episode? I assume it's not my face,
since you didn't react this way when you first saw me."

The painful memory rushed back, forming a
burning knot in her chest. Grasping the blanket in her fists, she
glared at the man responsible for Turi's demise. She had ceased
hurling words long ago, instead internalizing her hurt and pain, so
she held her silence.

His golden brows shot up as he looked at the
knotted cover. "There you go again." His warm hand slid over her
cold fist. "Don't tell me all this stress is over a worthless
lanrax."

Her stricken expression must have been
answer enough. He shook his head in disgust. Moving back, he
motioned toward the opposite wall. "That particular lanrax?"

Her head whirled to the side. There in a
plexishield case, Turi stared back at her. Alive. He was plastered
against the side, his mouth opening and closing in indignant
protest. The case must be soundproof, since she couldn't hear his
chattering.

She nodded, overwhelmed by relief, her
attention fixed on the case. As the immediate joy of discovering
Turi unharmed faded, worry about her predicament resumed. She
shifted her attention to the man. He wasn't sneezing and his eyes
were no longer red. What was he planning now?

He seemed to read her thoughts. "Don't
worry. That worthless creature is safe." He shot a damning glare at
Turi. "As long as he's in the case, the dander is contained. I
figure it's easier to let him live than to revive you from a
seizure every five minutes." A determined expression crossed his
face. "Now, about these seizures. How long have you been having
them?"

Shame and humiliation engulfed her. She
couldn't bear to go through this again, to go though the
degradation and disgrace. If he thought she was possessed, he might
jettison
her
. Jarek wasn't around to protect her this time.
Scrambling upright, she grabbed the blanket, barely preventing it
from slipping off her chest.

"There's nothing wrong with me."

She started to get off the table, but he
moved like light speed, grabbing her waist and pinning her there.
His gaze bored into hers. "My examination and medical monitor say
differently. Not just these episodes, but your leg—"

"My leg is fine," Nessa insisted, struggling
in earnest now. He restrained her easily, but she continued
thrashing, mindless from rushing adrenaline. "There's nothing wrong
with my leg! It's fine, it's fine, it's—"

"Stop it! I saw your injury. And I want to
know why it wasn't medically tended."

She slumped back, trembling uncontrollably.
"There's nothing wrong with me," she whispered.

He stared at her, his expression
incredulous, but he eased his grasp. "Your leg could have been
repaired. And you should receive treatment for your seizures."

She looked away. "I'm fine now, I tell
you."

"There's no dishonor because you have
seizures. You have a condition—a medical condition that has a
name—and a treatment. You don't have to suffer these episodes. And
there are surgical procedures that could help your leg."