Kiri nodded, although somehow it hurt even more to have someone agree with her. But then, what did she expect, that
her brother who had
escaped one of the seven hells, would wave his hand and reassure her
love would win the day?
This
was as likely as believing Logan would wake up one morning and realize he wanted only her, above all other women.
Forcing a smile, she changed the subject.
"So, after we eat," she suggested, "I thought maybe you'd like to go for a walk, see this area of Frontiera City. It's not really a city, of course, with only several thousand beings here, but it's the biggest settlement on Frontiera. Anyway, I have friends, Taara and Daanel,
who have a boutique next to my coffee shop. We could buy you some clothing cooler than that
suit." Which fit him so poorly she guessed that one of Logan’s employees had donated it.
He stared at her. "You want me to go shopping?"
Kiri couldn't help it, she snickered at the poorly disguised horror in his gaze. Her brother was
a typical guy in some ways. "Not shopping, I swear. We'll just get you a few things. Summer won't let up here for weeks, they say. I'm making good money at the shop, and anyway, Daanel will give us a discount."
"I have credit," he said, with the same look of cautious delight as when he’d chewed his first bite of muffin.
"You do?" She
flushed. "Sorry. I
assumed ... Did Logan make you a loan?" It would be just like him to remember
Kai wouldn't have any credit, or anything else of his own.
"No," her brother said. His gaze flicked to meet hers, then away. "I stole it. From the slavers."
She gasped. "You did? Oh, Kai, starry. How did you manage it?”
One corner of his mouth turned up a little. "I used a com that I took from the slaver's mistress after the IBI captured her. But, uh, keep that to yourself. No one is
supposed to know I have the credit. The Alliance claimed it all
as spoils of crime. Joran Stark said they won't notice the amount I took."
"I knew I liked that guy." Kiri grinned. "So, is this enough credit to buy a—a new yellow hovie?” Like the one he’d eyed so hungrily.
"Enough for whatever I want, within reason," he said. "To travel the galaxy in luxury for years. You could come with me."
She shuddered. "Wonderful, but … no thanks. I hate space travel."
When her brother looked surprised, she wrinkled her nose. "Long story. Let's just say my experience traveling the galaxy thus far has been the worst. And I'm not sure I'd want to do it even in luxury."
Such as aboard one of Logan's huge, new space cruise liners. Look at what had nearly happened to his flagship Orion on one of her maiden voyages—sabotaged and cast adrift in one of the deadliest asteroid belts in the galaxy. Only the heightened senses of the Tyger navigator had saved the ship and the hundreds of beings on board.
And her own single space journey on an old freighter had been even worse. No, she was here on Frontiera and she was staying here.
"Anyway," she added, changing the subject again, "tell me more about this theft. It sounds fascinating."
He shrugged. "Pretty boring. Like I said, I
manipulated a com unit."
"Boring," she echoed, staring at him. "I think perhaps you and I have different definitions of the word."
Kai selected another muffin, his thick lashes veiling his gaze. "Probably."
Chapter Two
Something was wrong with him.
Sitting in the back of the sleek, comfortable hovie, Logan Stark barely registered the passing scene as his pilot glided the small craft skillfully along the busy beachfront. At the end of the thoroughfare, they gained enough altitude to skim over the new neighborhoods clustered above the beach, then flew north to an area of light industrial development.
Alone for the first time that day, Stark lifted a hand to rub his temple. It was futile against the dull ache throbbing in his head.
Something was definitely wrong. He never got headaches, and he'd had a steadily worsening one for two days, which even the best gesics only dulled.
He needed to see a medtech, although the thought made his shoulders tighten even more. Still, whatever was wrong, he would face it with the blunt honesty with which he'd confronted all obstacles in his life, and he would get help to deal with it. He hadn't risen from the gutters of New Seattle, Earth II to straddling a galactic empire by hiding from the truth.
It was just that increasingly, the truth seemed to be hiding from him.
Oh, not everything. He knew who he was—Logan Stark, business magnate extraordinaire, with factories, holdings and properties on five planets. He knew where he was—in the small but thriving Frontiera City, on the newly settled planet of Frontiera.
He knew
the elegant building over which the hovie now slowed was the headquarters of his LodeStar Corporation here on planet. Inside was his office with holovid screens monitoring galactic business markets, and accouterments such as the built-in coffee bar, attached conference room, and the apartment next door, all built to his exacting specifications, spacious and elegant.
He knew the tan domed hangars and warehouses nearby were full of materials and goods that one of his many LodeStar businesses had either manufactured or purchased, to be sold to the settlers here. He knew
he'd chosen this planet to expand onto because both of his brothers were here, and so was his woman—even though she refused to admit she was his.
And since the three most important beings in the galaxy chose not to stay on Earth II where his empire had been centered, he'd opened a new center of operations here, and begun to plan the move of LodeStar HQ to Frontiera.
The raw planet had been a pirate outpost for years. Recently, the temperate climate had begun to attract settlers despite Frontiera’ lawless reputation. The IGSF had raised a satellite communications grid to blanket the planet, and established law and order.
He knew these things.
But the details, such as what he was meant to be doing when he landed ... this was hidden from him as if it were secreted in the darkest, wettest, foggiest alley in the slums of New Seattle, possibly even guarded by a laser-wielding Gorglon or two.
These strange blanks in what he knew was his ordinarily magnificent command of several threads of consciousness, allowing him to mull over business deals while he studied the markets or conversed with one of his employees, had begun a few days ago.
He'd witnessed his younger brother Joran's epic confrontation with the IGSF and a group of foul slavers at Bone Arch, an ex-pirate outpost on a rugged pass high in the northern Frontieran Mountains. Stark’s trouble had begun to manifest on the flight home. He'd found himself drifting off in mid-sentence as he spoke with his brother Joran and ... who the hells was the other man who'd ridden with them? Bronx, no ... Bronc. That was it. He worked for LodeStar, doing something with weapons.
Logan had thought at first his inability to concentrate was caused by the depression that had come over him following the confrontation with the slavers. Logan had played his own part, bringing with him the parents of one of the captured slaves, Lady Ellianne Braveling.
Once there, Logan had looked into the face of another of the slaves, and received one of the biggest shocks of his life. The young man was nearly a twin to Kiri te Nawa. Thus, Logan had come away bearing a splendid gift for the woman he wanted. Her brother Kai, for whom she'd been searching half her life.
Flying back aboard the Arcturus, Logan’s sleek cruiser, Joran had frowned, worry in his gray eyes so like Stark's own, and advised Stark to get a med exam, as he looked tired and ill. When Stark had brushed this off, Joran and Bronc had exchanged a look.
Kai had watched them all. The wary suspicion in his golden brown eyes was so like Kiri's the first time he met her, Logan had chuckled inwardly despite his malaise. His laughter had a bitter edge, however. Because he was giving Kiri her heart’s desire … but it wasn’t himself. Her future would be brighter for his gift, but it wouldn’t include him, because she didn’t want him back. Thus, his depression.
Even so, when he stood on her doorstep, he'd been filled with fierce satisfaction as her lovely eyes widened with incredulous joy, and she reached out to claim the man who looked so much like her, they could be twins.
Except that Kiri was entirely feminine, her short, dark hair feathering across her forehead, leaving bare her small ears and slender neck, and framing her oval face with winged ebony brows and thick lashes around her amber eyes. And her soft, peach-tinted lips, pouting when she rebelled in bed, pursed when she was angry at him, or curving up to reveal white teeth when she let loose her husky, surprisingly ribald laugh.
Her lithe body, with high, small breasts and surprisingly lush ass, her slender but strong limbs … all of her captivated him. When she'd been with him, he'd enjoyed polishing her like the gem she was, dressing her in the finest clothing and jewelry.
But, returning to her a long lost family member? Surely the best gift ever.
One he’d been delighted to give her … and one he’d also hoped would inspire her to return to him.
He'd had to force himself to walk away this afternoon, to give her time alone with her brother—perhaps for good. Because unlike the slaves at Bone Arch, Kiri had always been free. She made her own choices. One of those had been to leave him and all he had to offer her.
And the bitter truth was, maybe she was right to stay away from him. Because while he might not keep others in actual bondage, hadn’t he reached his pinnacle of wealth and achievement by using beings, playing them like the dice on a giant, complex holodice set?
Great God beyond, listen to him, detailing his sins like a penitent. He was not a man accustomed to self-examination. He knew what he wanted, had worked hard and smart to get it, and used his power and wealth to beget more. He paid his people well, treated them well, and expected their complete loyalty in return.
But along with the pain in his head seemed to have come this awful new self-awareness. If he was not very, very careful, he could become as bad as the slavers … a monster who used beings ruthlessly, without any care for their feelings, their hopes, and their dreams.
He shivered, chilled despite the heat of the day.
"Mr. Stark?" the pilot asked from the front seat of the hovie. "Uh, was there somewhere else you wanted me to take you?"
Stark blinked, and looked out of the hovie. It was stationary. Right, they'd arrived on the rooftop landing pad of his office building. A warm afternoon breeze wafted in through the open passenger hatch.
"No, thank you," he said automatically. "I'll get out here."
"Yes, sir. I'll take your luggage down to your apartment."
"Thank you." Stark stepped out of the hovie and strode across the roof to the waiting elevator.
Three floors below, it opened into a spacious foyer with a bank of green plants and a reception desk.
A slim female rose as he walked in. An Aquarian, she had the alabaster hair and porcelain skin of her race, and wore a neat business suit.
"Mr. Stark. Welcome back."
"Thank you." What the hells was her name? Vler...? No, Vera.
Pulling her name from the shadows gathering in the back of his mind took an effort that left his head throbbing with even worse pain. He rubbed his right temple with forefinger and thumb as he walked on into the open office door behind her.
Once inside, he looked around at the large, gleaming desk, the waiting leather chair and grimaced. No, he couldn't stay here, not now.
Vera followed him, a hovertray at her side. "Coffee, sir? And perhaps something to eat?"
His stomach churned at the sight of the sandwiches on the tray. "No. I'm ... going out again."
She blinked, then nodded serenely. "Yes, sir. Shall I link Tel to pick you up again?"
He shook his head, then had to close his eyes as the pain in his skull overtook him. "No. On second thought, I'll ... be in my apartment."
He strode across the expanse of plush carpet to the door into his apartment. A gesic was all he needed. A strong one from a sealed pac, so he could be certain it hadn't been tampered with.
And then
a
drink—or drinks. Which would hopefully bring him escape from what he’d glimpsed in the depths of his own psyche.
* * *
The next morning, back in his office, Logan Stark stared at the four holovid displays open before him. Intergalactic news, Frontieran news, and two galactic market financial reports. All of which he'd been watching for the last hour in his large, elegant office. Even longer, he saw with a glance at the clock scrolling at the bottom of the holovid viewing area.
He'd been here all morning, making his way through the various reports awaiting him. None of which made any quarking sense.
He hadn't slept well, but even so, this inability to focus was bizarre. Had he ingested some sort of sleep gesic last evening which
now refused to let go of him? Yes, that must be it, even though he didn't recall taking anything.
It would explain why he'd awakened that morning from a nightmare, sweating hard as if he'd been working out, and staggered into his showerdry in a daze which still clung to him, its remnants swirling in the back of his mind like black tentacles.
His Pangaean houseman had startled him by appearing silently at his elbow the moment he left his bedroom, concern clear in his pale green features and the weave of his cornsilk hair about his skinny throat. Stark had followed the man to an elegant dining table where he'd breakfasted in solitary state. He'd eaten with a lack of interest or connection which extended to the view outside the floor to ceiling windows of the house.
A pristine countryside, rolling away from green lawns toward a blue sea, and a town on the plain below. Darkness coiled in the back of his mind, and the little he'd eaten twisted in a knot in his stomach.
Where the hells was he?
As soon as the houseman had left the dining room, Logan had keyed into his comlink and scrolled thru the newsfeed on the holovid he brought up. 'Frontiera City, Frontiera' read the signature in one corner.
Relief had nearly swamped him. Of course, he was on the new planet. That's why the view was not the wet, foggy, soaring cityscape he'd somehow expected to see. He was fine, simply in unfamiliar territory. Couple his lack of sleep with the constant travel he'd been doing lately, and no wonder he couldn't remember where he was.
But when he examined his holofiles, they showed he'd been here for lunar months. And the large structures under construction which
he could see from his window were his, as was this building. And all the beings in them worked for him. Which meant the place should be familiar.
Now, sitting in his quiet office, he rubbed his temple irritably, pushing at the headache which seemed to grow worse with each hour. Perhaps he needed more coffee? But when he picked up the carafe waiting on the cerametal tray hovering nearby, it was nearly empty, and the small beaker of creamer was half gone. On a small plate beside this sat two plump whole grain scones. He glanced at them without interest.
Could a fugue state this strong stem from a sleep gesic, or was there something more going on? His com records also showed he arrived back here in town last evening and delivered a passenger to an address near the seashore. He couldn’t recall who that had been.
He was fairly certain he'd had several drinks in some bar along the beach, and
later at his house, as well. But he hadn't ingested enough alcohol to be still under the influence, surely. Unless he'd then combined the alcohol with some other drug and set off a reaction in his system which still lingered.
Did he indulge in substances stronger than drink? Why couldn't he even remember such a basic fact about himself? His hands shook, and sweat dampened his upper lip as panic roiled harder in his chest, seeking to overpower him. He held it back only with sheer force of will. He was Logan Stark, and he was in control of his world, not the reverse.
"Mr. Stark?" The pale, blonde woman in the doorway was eyeing him with concern. She was as polished as the office, from her pale gray business suit to her subtle cosmetics.
He’d forgotten her name again.
Blinking back the darkness as the slithering tentacles in his mind crept further, greedy to devour more of his consciousness, Stark rolled his neck, grasping at normality with sheer strength of will. Sweat broke out over his body. He wanted to rip open the high throat of his tailored jacket and tear it off. The suit was as suddenly as constricting as shackles, binding him in a role he no longer understood, or wanted.