The Skypirate Read online

  Califa laughed, a short, harsh sound. “I know.”

  His gaze went back to her face. “Which means?”

  “It’s activated when I reach my limit.”

  “The light?”

  “The yellow system.” She gave him a twisted, sour smile. “The pain system.”

  Dax blinked. “You were right. I don’t understand.”

  The smile, for the briefest instant, became a real one. In the moment before it faded, Dax caught himself starting to smile back instinctively.

  “The collar isn’t just worn . . . Captain.” She sounded as if she wasn’t sure what to call him, but he waved her to continue. “It’s implanted. With probes directly into the brain.”

  Dax winced at the thought. “Probes to cause pain?”

  “For control.”

  He stared at her for a moment, nausea churning in his stomach at the evil simplicity of it. Her desperation, her fear made sense now, as did the sweat of pain on her face.

  “The controller,” he said softly. She nodded. “That’s what you meant by your limit? Your distance from it?”

  She nodded again. “It has a range. It was set for the length of the prison wing.”

  “That’s why you had to take it with you.”

  “Yes.”

  “And why you can’t go any farther now. Because it’s on the bridge, in my cloak.”

  She nodded.

  “Can’t you change the range?”

  “No. It takes a special seal to activate that system. Only Coalition officials have them.”

  “What are the other two systems? The red and the blue?”

  “You don’t know?” Her eyes widened in apprehension, as if she were afraid the question would anger him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to question you, I—”

  Her fear irritated him. “Stop looking like you think I’m going to beat you or something.”

  “It is the usual punishment for a slave who questions the master.”

  His stomach knotted at her words. “I’m no one’s master,” he ground out. “I merely asked about the other crystals.”

  “You truly do not know,” she said, and he wondered if that, too, would have been a question instead of an observation had she not been afraid—or too well trained?—to make it one.

  “Forgive me for not being familiar with the details of Coalition enslavement,” he said, his repulsion at what had been done to her making his voice sharp. “I’ve been gone a long time. Please explain.”

  At his tone, the wariness, the fear reappeared in her eyes. She hesitated, studying him. Suddenly, he understood. And his irritation faded away.

  “Never mind. If I don’t already know, you’d be a fool to tell me.”

  She gaped at him, clearly startled once more. “But if you order me to tell you, I must—”

  “It would give me a power no one has the right to have.” He tried to shrug off his distaste for what she had told him, and said lightly, “I’m just sorry you didn’t explain this before. You’re lucky Rina didn’t try to knock you out and drag you the rest of the way. You are a little . . . pungent.”

  “If she had,” Califa said, her tone grim, “it wouldn’t have mattered. We’d all be dead.”

  Dax stared at her. “What?”

  “I told you there’s a set limit. When you reach it, the pain system activates. If you go past it . . . it blows up.”

  Dax’s gaze shot down to the collar. “It’s explosive?”

  “Very. The core is nitron propellant igniter.” Dax whistled, long and low. Califa’s mouth twisted into that acid smile again. “Yes. They call it permanent discipline.”

  “Permanent is right,” Dax muttered. “It would take your head off, along with the top of this ship.” His gaze lifted to her face. “How long have you been . . . ?”

  “A slave?” She laughed, that harsh, humorless sound again. “Over a year.”

  He sucked in his breath. For her to have withstood this for a year and still have any spirit left at all, amazed him. She must have been a most amazing woman, before they began to try to break her. His gaze flicked to the collar once more.

  “How do you get it off?”

  “You don’t. Unless you happen to have a good laser surgeon handy.”

  Dax shook his head. “Nelcar’s good at what he does, but he’s no surgeon.” He might have become one, once. But the Coalition had put an end to that dream.

  “Captain,” she began hesitantly.

  “Dax,” he corrected. “Only Roxton calls me Captain, and only to irritate me.”

  “Does it?”

  He drew back a little, surprised by the question. She looked equally surprised that she’d asked it. “Yes,” he said after a moment.

  “I wonder why,” she said.

  It was a rhetorical enough question—or another question safely phrased as an observation—that he didn’t try to answer. That he didn’t deserve that or any other title was not something he wanted to discuss with this woman, a stranger. When he didn’t speak after a long moment, she did.

  “Dax . . . would you . . .”

  She stopped, biting her lip, her eyes lowered. He wanted to snap at her, to tell her to show some of the spirit he’d seen before. But he restrained himself, and kept his voice even.

  “Am I so frightening that you can’t ask a simple question?”

  As if unconsciously, her hand crept to her throat, to finger the gold band. Her eyes met his. “It is . . . the first thing they train us in. A slave never questions, never looks, never thinks . . .”

  Train. Not teach, but train, Dax thought. Like an animal. “I am no one’s master,” he repeated. “Ask what you will.”

  “I . . . would you . . . give me the controller?”

  His first instinct was to say yes, to show her he meant what he’d said, that no one should have that kind of power over another being. But he had more than just himself to think of. He had a ship, and a crew. He might not deserve the title, but he knew that crew looked to him as they would a captain. And trusted him.

  He let out a long, weary breath. “I can’t, Califa. I don’t know you, or what you were in there for—”

  “The usual Coalition assumption of guilt by association,” she said bitterly.

  “I’m sorry. But I can’t. I can’t risk the safety of my crew.”

  For a long moment she just looked at him, and he had the oddest feeling that he had somehow hit upon the one argument that would work with her. Why it did, he didn’t know, but she only said stiffly, “Then you’d better stay upwind.”

  “I didn’t say we couldn’t compromise. This is the range? From the bridge to here?” When she nodded, he did some quick figuring. “I’ll move it to my quarters.”

  She inhaled quickly, her eyes widening.

  “Something wrong with that? It’s just forward of amidships. You’ll have to share quarters with Rina, but you’ll be able to go anywhere forward of the weapons stations, and aft of the bridge. You get half the ship, and I get to sleep at night.”

  She relaxed, as if she’d misunderstood what he’d meant at first, although he didn’t see how. But then, he was still trying to figure out why his reference to the safety of his crew had quieted her arguments.

  “All right. I . . . thank you.”

  He had the feeling that hadn’t been easy for her to say. “Wait here. I’ll send Rina back when I’ve moved the controller.” He gave her a sideways look. “You will take a soak, won’t you?”

  “With pleasure,” she said, giving him a real smile that echoed the glimpse he’d seen earlier. She could, he thought in surprise, be passable-looking under all that grime.

  He turned to call for Roxton, who was, if he knew him, waiting just out of sight beyond the next bulkhead
. Before he could, Califa spoke again softly.

  “Dax?”

  It sounded quite different from the first time she’d said his name, besides just the volume, but he wasn’t sure exactly why. He looked back over his shoulder at her.

  “I . . . thank you for taking me with you.”

  His mouth quirked. “Did I have a choice?”

  “No, I suppose not. But neither did I.”

  “So you said.”

  “They were going to ship me to Ossuary. Because I wasn’t . . . cooperating.” He saw the shudder again, and her instant effort to control it. “I know what happens there.”

  “So do I,” Dax said softly.

  He had seen the place, when he’d taken Nelcar out of the labor camp next to the infamous prison. Huge, hulking, dark, and ugly, the screams echoed from its walls day in and day out. It was where those worn-out or useless to the Coalition were sold, where the stubborn were broken, the proud crushed. He’d never been so glad to leave a place in his ion trail.

  “I had to do it,” she said.

  “I suppose you did.”

  “I knew if you were half the man the girl said you were, you would pull it off.”

  He lifted a brow at her. “Was that a compliment?”

  “If you wish.” She raised a brow at him in turn. “I’ve never seen a weapon like that crossbow you used.”

  His face lost all expression. “And you probably never will again.” He turned his back on her then, and shouted for Roxton. As he’d expected, the man popped out from behind the next bulkhead, grinning.

  “Stay with her until Rina gets here,” he ordered, and walked away without looking back.

  Chapter 3

  CALIFA STUDIED herself as best she could in the small mirror—Rina apparently didn’t worry much about appearance—and decided that while the red flight suit was far from the luxurious gowns she’d once worn, it was decidedly better than the baggy, filthy clothes she’d been trapped in for weeks.

  Red. Despite the way it accented her dramatic coloring she’d never worn red, preferring the black that made up most of her wardrobe. Or had, she thought bitterly, in another life.

  Stop it, she ordered. Self-pity accomplishes nothing. Hang on to the anger, if you must waste your time in emotion.

  She fingered the sleeve of the flight suit. At one time it would have been tight on her, the girl being so much smaller than she, but she’d lost considerable weight in the last year, so although a bit short, and snug across her breasts, the garment fit well enough.

  Looking at her reflection, she almost wished she’d left the dirt untouched, except that she didn’t think she could bear it another moment. So she’d washed her face as well as the rest of her—thankfully including her hair—only to now face the reminder of one of the Coalition’s less subtle methods. The bruise that marred her cheek was now turning an ugly shade of yellow, and stood out starkly against her naturally pale Arellian skin. And no amount of washing would make the collar that banded her neck disappear.

  “Eos, you look different.”

  Califa turned to Rina. The pixielike blonde seemed to have gotten over her disgruntlement with the quickness of the young, and had apparently decided that if they were going to have to share quarters, they might as well coexist peacefully. She’d even let Califa be first to use the soaking spray, and had gingerly disposed of her filthy clothing in the ship’s trash atomizer. More important, Rina apparently hadn’t the slightest notion of how one was supposed to treat a slave; she spoke to her as an equal, if not a friend.

  Califa looked at the girl for a moment, waiting for some comment on the bruise. None came.

  “Are you hungry? I’m starved. Let’s go raid the galley.”

  Califa blinked. It had been a long time since she’d been asked what she wanted. Imperious commands had been the pattern of her life for what seemed like forever. At the thought, the dark, consuming cloud that hovered over her heart and soul threatened to descend; she fought it back, knowing she could not face it, could not confront the ugly self-knowledge it held.

  “Yes,” she said quickly, more to divert her mind than from the undeniable hunger that made her stomach cramp at the thought of food. “I am hungry.”

  Rina flashed a smile at her, a smile that reminded her of that moment when she and Dax had been alone, when he had very nearly smiled at her. Were they related, the skypirate and this pixie-child? she wondered as she followed the girl down the companionway. He was too young to be her father, but there was a resemblance noticeable despite the disparity of the girl’s golden blondness and the skypirate’s long mane of dark hair, despite her deep brown tan and his golden skin. It was in the vivid green eyes, mirror images except for the girl’s pale lashes, and the pirate’s thick, dark ones.

  They were obviously close, but Califa sensed no sexual overtones in their relationship; besides, the girl was very young. If she’d seen her fifteenth year, Califa would be surprised, and rogue though the skypirate might be, she doubted his taste ran to children, despite his performance in the prison. No, it was more what Califa imagined a brother-to-sister relationship might be. She couldn’t be sure; she’d never had either.

  Was that their connection? she mused. Then a shocking idea occurred to her: why not ask?

  The realization that she could simply ask a question nearly took her breath away. Even Dax had allowed her that. The girl had not treated her like a slave, either, not even in the cell they had shared. She had talked freely to her cellmate. Too freely, judging by Dax’s lecture, although, as stern as the words had been, they had lacked the heat of true anger. She had talked as if she were just another unfortunate prisoner, not a gold collar doomed to a life utterly and completely controlled by others.

  For nearly a year she had lived with no right to speak or even move unless ordered to, and then only to follow those orders, knowing if she did not—and sometimes even if she did—pain unto agony would follow. But now . . . did she dare? She swallowed heavily, the motion of her throat making her all the more conscious of the golden band.

  “Have you a surname, Rina?”

  The girl looked back at her. “Carbray,” she said, smiling as if the question was of no consequence. And it wasn’t, Califa supposed, to her. And the girl had no idea what it meant to her companion, to be able to do a simple thing like ask a question.

  “And . . . Dax?”

  The girl’s smile vanished. “Dax is Dax,” she said simply. “He needs no other name.”

  That was true enough, Califa thought. The man was the most legendary skypirate in the system, with a reputation for daring, fighting skill, and absolute mercilessness when it came to his preferred Coalition targets. It was for this last reason that the Coalition’s Triad Commission had raised the reward for his head to an astounding level.

  From what she’d heard, no one knew where he came from, but his name alone was enough to strike terror into the most seasoned Coalition pilots, and word of his presence in the vicinity made even the most well-guarded of Coalition colonies nervous.

  “He is . . . notorious,” Califa ventured, choosing her words carefully in view of the girl’s obvious devotion to the man.

  “Yes,” Rina answered, pride ringing in her voice. “He is. With reason. But he is more than a skypirate, you know. To some he is a hero. To those who welcome him, those who live under the Coalition’s heel.”

  Califa winced inwardly at the girl’s words. She herself had, literally, felt the pressure of that crushing heel, and she still bore the marks to prove it. Turning away from a memory that was bitter for more reasons than physical pain, she made herself think of the rest of what Rina had said.

  Even before her enslavement, she had heard the murmurs about the larger than life Dax; afterward, when she was among those who had the most reason to hate the Coalition, the murmurs had tak
en on the aspect of legends. She had heard many reasons for his seeming crusade, from the theory that he was seeking vengeance for some Coalition injustice, to the simple conjecture that since the Coalition had practically all the assets in the system, it made the most logical—and profitable—target.

  It was said that honest people had nothing to fear from him; it was the Coalition and its direct supporters who had best watch all flanks—and their backs. She had once dismissed the stories as exaggeration—and near treason. Now that she’d met the man himself, she wasn’t so sure. Just as she wasn’t sure she knew what treason was, anymore.

  “And you, Califa? Do you have a surname?”

  Too late, she realized she should have expected this. She had no wish to offend the girl, but nor did she wish to take the chance some member of this crew might recognize her name. Their feelings about anyone connected to the Coalition had been more than clear, and she didn’t dare take a chance that there would be any quarter given for her circumstances.

  “Slaves have no need of surnames, Rina.”

  The girl’s forehead creased in puzzlement beneath the thick, blond bangs. “But you weren’t always a slave, were you? And you’re no one’s slave here.”

  No one’s slave. The very words made her heart leap. What had Dax said? A power no one has the right to have. Eos, there had been a time when she would have considered that kind of thinking treason as well.

  The sudden increase in noise brought her out of her thoughts, and saved her from having to answer Rina’s questions. They had come to what obviously served as both galley and gathering place for the crew. There were half a dozen men there, including Roxton and the man she’d seen in the shuttle bay, the man Dax had called Larcos. Tall and lanky, he reminded her of a man she’d once known, in another life. Yet somehow she sensed there was a lively intelligence in this man that had been lacking in the other.

  The silence that fell upon the room as she entered gave Califa a powerful feeling of remembrance. This was no strange experience to her; she had often brought silence to a noisy room by her mere presence. In that other life.