Rhea 41070

Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter 1 - Job

Chapter 2 - Rawlstone

Chapter 3 - Demand

Chapter 4 - Kauser

Chapter 5 - Package

Chapter 6 - Discovery

Chapter 7 - Rhea

Chapter 8 - Belief

Chapter 9 - Fallback

Chapter 10 - Temptation

Chapter 11 - Warning

Chapter 12 - Curiosity

Chapter 13 - Plea

Chapter 14 - Gold

Chapter 15 - Promise

Chapter 16 - Passion

Chapter 17 - Confession

Chapter 18 - Communiqué

Chapter 19 - Wishes

Chapter 20 - Plans

Chapter 21 - Return

Chapter 22 - Hostage

Chapter 23 - Rebellion

Chapter 24 - Deduction

Chapter 25 - Surrender

Chapter 26 - Idol

Chapter 27 - Deal

Chapter 28 - Diversion

Chapter 29 - Rescue

Chapter 30 - Surgery

Chapter 31 - Heart

Chapter 32 - 70

Epilogue

About the Author

RHEA 41070

by

Linda Mooney

RHEA 41070

Copyright © 2010 by Linda Mooney

ISBN 978-1-941321-26-3

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

Cover Art: Ash Arceneaux

Chapter 1

Job

Dust and debris still littered the area of space where the battle had taken place. The war between the Mil Gateans and the Phadrites had occurred over sixty years ago, but signs of the aftermath remained, and would remain for all eternity.

A piece of something vaguely resembling an engine part bounced off the outer hull of the Bleak Tempest. On the other side of the porthole where he was watching, the contact barely made a sound.

They were cruising at sub-drive speed—slow, low, and hopefully undetectable from most ship scanners. They were running without their shields, since warships would be able to lock onto them if they were. Bock noticed how the piece of metal casually floated off in a different direction. Without a care in the world. Lucky bastard.

Three feet away, the light came on next to the bulkhead intercom. At the same time, Patt’s voice called out, Where are you, Bock?

Giving a soft grunt, Bock stepped over and hit the button with a fist. Just heading your way. Anything yet?

No, no sign of anyone’s unwelcome mat. But we just got a message I think you need to take.

Got it. On my way.

He pushed himself away from the porthole and half-strode, half-floated to the bridge. The maneuver was tricky, but he was accustomed to it. By the time he arrived, Patt had moved over to the navigation console, leaving him to man the main panel. Via was at her station and didn’t look up when he entered.

Bock fastened the drive collar around his neck as the seat harnessed itself around him. Patt handed him the communications earpiece with a look Bock was very familiar with.

Please tell me it’s good news.

Depends on what you consider to be good, the Timian replied and turned back to the front viewscreen.

Frowning, Bock placed the piece into his ear and flipped the call switch. Immediately the pulsing swish of space rushed into the device. Every time he heard it, Bock imagined it to be the heartbeat of the universe. Or the muted sound from within the womb.

"This is Commander Bock Gammon of the Bleak Tempest. Go ahead." He had to wait a few precious seconds for the transmission to travel through deep space. The voice that responded was thin and tinny, but understandable.

Commander Gammon? This is Talmon Do Lorit. I’m the undersecretary on Chatta Dul II. You are familiar with our rawlstone, Emon Ga Veerim, are you not?

Bock shot his co-pilot a look of disbelief, and was rewarded with a smirk. Yes, Undersecretary Lorit. I am honored with this call . How can I help you?

We have need of your services. Would you be interested?

We have need of your services. Lorit had to be aware of what Bock was—a freedom runner. A man who shipped illicit or dubious cargo from one galaxy to another. Yes, there were times when Bock carried a load of something that wouldn’t get him in too much trouble if he was caught. But the real money was in the transporting of material that was either outlawed or banned on most planets.

Would you be interested? That question alone told him many things. One of which was that what they were going to propose would be worth a lot of money to a man of Veerim’s stature.

Emon Ga Veerim was a rawlstone, more powerful than a king and wealthier than an emperor. The man was Chatta Dul II. In that case, the payoff could be worth…

Again, Bock glanced over at the Timian nonchalantly rechecking their coordinates. He caught Via’s sly glance just before the engineer turned her back on him. I read you, Undersecretary. But I’ll need to discuss the details with the rawlstone before I can accept or reject the proposal.

We understand, the man answered. How soon can you arrive?

Bock frowned further. Is there a time issue? Maybe the cargo was perishable.

Our rawlstone is extremely ill. Time has become our enemy. We were fortunate to discover you were delivering a package to the Mallonions this week.

We’ve delivered the package and were about to clear the Phadra system. With luck we could reach the Chatta Dul system in…

Point six centa bars, Patt relayed, already plotting their new course from the looks of it.

Point seven centa bars.

Excellent! Thank you, Commander. We will open a beacon to guide your ship to the main concourse once you enter our upper atmosphere. I will personally be on the landing strip to greet you. I look forward to meeting you. Undersecretary Lorit out. The voice disappeared to be replaced by the subtle swoosh.

Pulling the device from his ear, Bock turned to his partners. They’re offering us a job.

I figured, Patt grinned. What was that about a time issue?

Apparently the rawlstone is ill.

Rawlstone? If the Timian had eyebrows, they would have crawled up his bald scalp.

Emon Ga Veerim.

Hot shit! No wonder the guy knew we were in the vicinity. What do you think he’s wanting us for? Via finally chimed in.

I have no idea. The undersecretary wanted to know if we were interested. I told him I couldn’t make a decision until I talked directly to Veerim.

Well , if the man is that ill to need our services, maybe it has something to do with some medicines. Maybe some experimental prototypes he can’t get through regular means, Via pondered.

Bock shrugged. Who knows? Maybe the guy wants to get final revenge on some people before he becomes space jetsam. If that’s the case, he can go smoke himself.

That was the problem with a lot of his job offers. Bock’s reputation was widespread, but many people misunderstood exactly what he was willing and able to do if the pay was enough. Illegal merchandise was one thing. Mercenary work was another.

But contract killings were out of the question. He would never jeopardize his neck to take someone’s life, and face the wrath of the victim’s family or business associates. Nope. Smuggling was risky enough as it was. And then there are the Adrolls.

Still, it never hurt to check out what the rawlstone had on his mind. With any luck, it would be something Bock could accept and still be able to live with afterwards. Not to mention adding a few decimal places to his credits voucher.

He opened his mouth to comment on that fact when the ship suddenly lurched, followed by a loud boom echoing through the hull. The Bleak Tempest shuddered as a bright flash erupted on their left. Bock sent the skimmer into an immediate nosedive as Patt tried to decipher what had occurred.

We’re being fired at!

No fooling! By whom? Bock called out as he tried to concentrate on getting the craft away. They were still inside the debris field, where random bits and pieces were ricocheting off the outer skin and flying away like blasted pellets as they searched for cover. Bock lifted the shields. Now that they had been outed, there was no sense in trying to keep undercover. At the same time, he searched for the point of impact through the mental connection he had with the skimmer through his collar.

We’re losing fuel in the number two engine! Via called out.

It might have been caught in the explosion. Her collar glowed a bright orange as she tried to handle the mechanical aspects of the ship.

How are the others holding out?

Steady!

In the back of his mind, he vaguely remembered an asteroid field not too many light years away that they might be able to hyper jump into. All of that depended, however, on who was firing on them, and why. And how badly they’d been damaged.

They look like Adrolls. The Timian lowered the semitransparent weapons screens around him, and his seat rotated into position. Damn, no look like about it. Two Adroll ships are right on our tail. I’d recognize those ugly ass flits in the dark. Keep her steady.

I’m trying! I’m trying! We’ve been hit in the flanks, but I’ve sealed off that part of the hold. Shit. No telling how much it was going to cost to repair the old rust bucket. That area had been his main cargo bay.

His eyes caught the rapid blinking of the communications light letting him know of an incoming call. There was no need to answer it. It would be whoever was in those ships gunning for him, demanding his surrender. Or his head. Or both. And considering he was still in hock up to his ass to the priumverate over on Greater Adroll, having them sneak up on him like they had wasn’t surprising. These people weren’t out to kill him. Permanently disable his ship, definitely. Capture him, yes. Then they would kill him if he wasn’t able to cough up the money they believed he owed them. Stupid furry felines.

Another blast shoved the lightweight skimmer. This time the residue reflected varying shades of blue. A plasma blast. These people weren’t fooling around.

Fuck ’em! They got part of the rudder! Via let out a little growl of frustration.

Patt? Where’s the solar cannon? Bock yelled as he struggled to keep the ship stable.

I’m having problems with the hydraulic doors! Hold on!

Seconds later, Bock heard the soft pew-pew-pew spouting from their tail section. So intent on following them down through the fog of debris, the Adroll had made the same mistake so many unsatisfied customers did when they tried to disable him. They believed Bleak Tempest was armed through her nose, her underbelly, or her wings, as ninety-nine point nine percent of skimmers were. Such was not the case here, since Via had used her expert knowledge to reroute the guns into both sides of their exhaust. The nearest Adroll ship exploded from the inside out.

The Timian let out a yell of victory. Got him! Via also cheered. Bock, however, wasn’t ready to celebrate.

Thought you said there were two.

Picky, picky. Keep her steady, will you?

"Hey, you wanna drive?" Bock growled as his fingers gripped the arms of his seat. He was having a hell of a time as it was trying to keep the ship stable with a damaged rudder.

Patt stared at the display dancing across the weapons screen where one white dot pinged almost dead center. A pair of smaller blasts struck them on their starboard side, and the ship started to tilt at a steep angle.

Patt!

Come on…come on, you flying piece of screw worm dung…

The white dot floated into the crosshairs. Patt tapped the screen at that exact moment, and their tail guns spat out another dozen rounds. When the second ship split apart in a spray of lights, the sight of it reflected into their cockpit. Patt whooped for joy, to be joined by Via.

All right, all right. Good shot, Bock acknowledged. I’m needing some help here. Plot me the straightest route to Chatta Dul. I think we’re missing part of our wing, too. Via! How’s our fuel?

Still calculating, but I’m guessing we have enough to get us to Dul II.

Let’s hope those two Adrolls were the only ones looking for us, Patt commented as he laid in the course. As soon as the ship’s computer locked on, Bock could release some of his mental hold on piloting the craft.

Maybe that’s all that were in this sector, he told his friend.

But you know they’re not going to give up looking as long as Ki Al believes I rooked him out of all that money.

Patt scratched the horn protruding from the right side of his head. Which we both know you didn’t, but the man isn’t about to believe you. Not unless you can come up with enough creds to make up for his loss.

Bock snorted. I seriously think not even then. I believe Ki Al will keep a bounty on my head simply for the thrill of the hunt. His eyes swept over the console. What’s our time?

Seven centa bars. Lucky for you, you ran in the direction we needed to take. Want me to see if there’s any way we can cut that down a bit?

Not with a vaporized rudder and most of one wing gone, Bock said. Let’s just hope we don’t run across any other Adrolls between here and there.

Or that others didn’t catch that transmission from the undersecretary, Via added.

Bock swore. She was right. Although the call had been made on a scrambled channel, a halfway decent navigator could trace the relay back to its planet of origin.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and tried to relax. Not an easy thing to do with a damaged ship, a race of blood-hungry felines searching the galaxies for him, and another stress headache coming on.

Chapter 2

Rawlstone

The Chatta Dul star system was a small one, but its impact on intergalactic politics was astronomical. Five planets orbited around an average-sized yellow sun. Chatta Dul II was, oddly enough, the second planet from the outer edge, rather than being counted from the center of the system and moving outward, as was the norm.

How or why it was labeled that way was something Bock refused to ponder about. As he brought the ship into the upper stratosphere, Via located the promised homing beacon. It guided them past vast canyons of gold-colored rock, down to a wide, irregularly shaped landing pad just on the other side of a tall mountain range. At first glance, it was easy to see that Chatta Dul II bordered on being a desert world.

The Bleak Tempest was difficult, if not impossible to handle. The damage to three crucial areas of the ship made maneuvering a major pain in the ass. By the time they reached the landing pad, Bock was soaked in sweat and his head was pounding. Fortunately, the skimmer’s landing gear appeared unaffected by the attack. The ship glided to a stop not far from the gate.

Bock disengaged himself from the seat and undid the collar, laying it on the console. His knuckles brushed against a couple of pieces of miniaturized equipment that had been jolted from the compartment in the wall next to the console. They were laying next to the main relay switches where they could play havoc if they came in contact with an open transmitter. It was second nature for him to grab them and slip them into his belt without thinking. He would put them back where they belonged later.

He felt drained. The pounding in his skull persisted as he stumbled through the narrow corridor. The other two crew members were waiting for him at the main hatchway leading to the airlock. Air’s breathable. Watch the gravity, though. One point eight percent of normal, Via said.

Bock nodded. That would explain why he felt like he was dragging, and his muscles were quivering like water. The stronger gravitational field pulled harder on his body mass.

A thin little man in white robes was waiting for them when they exited the ship. He visibly started when he caught sight of them, but he quickly pasted a diplomatic smile back on his face as they approached. Not knowing how Chatta Dulians greeted each other, Bock played it safe by folding his hands in front of him. It was a universal gesture of friendship to show one’s hands were not holding a weapon. The undersecretary didn’t need to know all three of them carried concealed protection.

Commander Gammon? the little man asked, trying not to make it obvious that he was unable to keep his eyes off of Patt.

Having allowed the undersecretary to speak first, Bock nodded. Undersecretary Lorit. He gestured toward Patt. My co-pilot and navigator, Ool Patt Fi .

Lorit’s lower lip quivered, but he remained steadfast as he faced the other man. Forgive me. I’m not familiar with your species.

I’m a Timian, from the Golorizza system.

Bock hid his amusement as Lorit took in Patt’s seven-foot, seven-inch frame. The undersecretary barely topped Patt’s massive thigh. But Bock had to give the little guy kudos for not backing down like most people did when they first sighted the enormous jet-black man sporting huge horns from both sides of his head.

And my engineer, Via Porth.

Although Via was from an Earth colony like Bock, she preferred a more extreme taste in appearance and dress. In some ways, she even rivaled Patt. Today, though, she was a bit more subdued, with half of her face painted a solid green, and the other painted with green horizontal stripes. Her scalp was shaved bald except for the single brunette braid left growing in the center of the back of her skull. Small arrows pierced both ears and her nose. Plus she’d capped her teeth with silver spikes, giving her an almost demonic appearance when she smiled. Which she did now as she nodded when Bock introduced her. It was all for show, but she enjoyed the way the undersecretary blanched when she moved closer to him.

And you are… Lorit hesitated.

From the Earth colony on Vista Chlora Prime. Happy to meet you!

Lorit was quick to return his attention to Bock. The rawlstone is anxious to meet with you. If you'll please follow me.

The trio trailed behind the little