Page 171 of Pets in Space 10
Expression thoughtful, Raleigh eyed the two refugees. “Your stories are consistent with Commander Lochan’s report, but there are a few matters I would like clarified.”
Leaning back in his chair, Raleigh asked, “How did you manage to hide fifty evacuation modules before we landed the containers?”
Samson’s jaw hardened. “The commander feared we might’ve been tracked. Had the colonists working without sleep until all the modules were dragged into the cover of the forest. That’s when we lost the first colonist to one of those tigers.”
Lace took his hand. Between them, they relayed that when no one from the armada came seeking them, the commander sent the lieutenant to scout a location for the encampment.
He was convinced that more despoilers would come.
He was livid when the armada flyers showed up, and feared discovery.
He ordered the colonists bound and under guard for a sevenday after the last flyer left.
That was when they began to ransack the containers. They could not break the seal on the Zero-Grav containers but, at the time of Samson’s and Lace’s escape, had not cared. Three months ago, they were still finding plenty to use in the containers they could open.
At Raleigh’s nod, Bran tapped the table, and visuals of four men and a woman in tattered militia garb appeared.
“These are the five surviving despoilers. According to your tale, there were twenty-three when you landed on prime. One died before you escaped. You aided Commander Lochan in slaying seven. The Nightingale destroyed two by our downed flyer, and four more taking the encampment.”
Bran glanced at the console. “We found the remnants of two bodies on the funeral pyre, suggesting the Serengeti militia killed two during the attack on our camp.”
Samson’s eyes narrowed. “You’re missing two of them despoilers.”
“That we are,” Bran nodded at the viewer. “They claimed the two died from misadventure, but since the despoilers burn the dead, we have no evidence.”
Lace grimaced. “Those five will lie. Don’t believe a word they say. Do you have visuals of the surviving captives?”
Bran stroked the console and a dozen figures appeared.
The night gone, caught up in securing the encampment, Lochan had not paid much attention to the captives. Now, he whistled in his shock at the emaciated figures. “If we had not arrived, they would not have survived much longer.”
Samson frowned. “Only twelve. Two more lost.”
Lace clasped his hand. “You were the hunter. They had trouble catching food when you escaped.”
“Maybe. Could have been sacrificed. The commander was getting desperate.” He turned to Bran. “That man third in and the woman second from the end. Talk to them. The rest will be too scared.”
Satisfied with the accounting, Raleigh made an additional request. “I need you to tell the militia captain everything you know about the surviving despoilers.”
Realizing they were truly safe and not facing incarceration, Lace and Samson eagerly followed the captain.
As soon as the door closed, Adele asked, “What will happen to them? Samson and Lace? And the other survivors?”
Bran and Raleigh exchanged a glance indicating that they had already discussed the matter. Before answering Adele, Raleigh turned to Imogen. “How is their condition?”
“Of the fourteen rescued captives, Lace and Samson are in the best condition. Although a bit underweight, they have not suffered the same abuse and deprivations of the twelve survivors found in the camp.” She shook her head with a grim frown.
“The despoilers had no means to replace their workers but treated them as expendable.”
“With proper food and medical treatment, how long before they could perform as colonists?”
Lochan pressed his lips together to hide his surprise. He had expected to debate whether to send the colonists to Fortuna as refugees or prisoners. What had he missed in the past ten periods?
“Samson and Lace will be sufficiently recovered in two sevendays.” Imogen examined her slate.
“Another six within a month. Three others will need at least six sevendays. Two have significant psychic as well as physical issues and would be better served by a Fourth System healer’s enclave.
The last”—she raised her eyes—“is in a Nightingale medic’s chamber, but I am not certain we were in time.
If she survives the next two days, she will live, but in addition to a healer’s enclave, she should receive shrine care. ”
The Thirteen Systems healers’ enclaves could repair most physical damage and some psychic damage, but for severe wounds of the mind and spirit, shrine healers were called. Lochan did not want to imagine what the poor woman had endured to sustain such damage.
Raleigh made some notes in the console and turned to Nickolas. “What is your assessment of the encampment?”
When Lochan left Prime, Nickolas was organizing control of the encampment.
From the tightness around his eyes, he had not yet found his bed.
“It is serviceable. Able to provide adequate shelter for the captives and up to four militia. But their supplies are in a sorry state. They have no food but what they catch and no way to store any excess. They have used almost all the medical supplies from the escape module survival kits. They also need clothes, decent beds, and bedding.”
“What of the location, itself?”
Nickolas rubbed his jaw. “It is secure enough and safe from flooding. The forest is problematic, both due to the dangers of transiting through it and the difficulty in landing a flyer or DOP-C. We would need to clear another hundred paces for ease of access.”
Raleigh’s expression turned speculative. “Lochan, have you determined the location for your primary settlement?”
Lochan chuckled. “I wondered where you were leading us. The most probable location is across the river from the planned stellar transit center. Until we have a bridge in place, there is no reasonable means to relocate the refugees’ camp.”
“There have been developments with our bid,” Imogen said.
The chief medic was his partner in Blade-Bright, their land development enterprise.
“While you were running from despoilers, Bright Star approved the bridge we proposed. With the provision that Bright Star retains controlling interest in that specific bridge while guaranteeing our controlling interest in any others along our tract.”
Lochan’s chuckle turned into delighted laughter. “Of course, they stipulated it so. Can our colonists survive through the new year in their forest encampment?”
Raleigh leaned back. “Then you accept charge of our refugees?”
Before Lochan could answer, Adele leaned in, speaking softly into his ear. “Any physically and psychically sound refugee, and only those Bright Star has found free of despoiler affiliations.”
Grateful for her entrepreneurial guidance, Lochan repeated her caveats and added, “with Imogen’s concurrence.”
***
For the first time, Adele wished the Nightingale was a bit less impressive.
The return trip to Lochan’s quarters seemed to take forever and she could feel a headache forming behind her eyes.
A morning spent dissecting the past few days and then arranging the fate of a dozen lives had left her wrung out.
As had the realization that the land Lochan had casually mentioned consisted of more than thirty square miles in the basin, located at what would become a central hub on this new planet.
And it was not his only holding. In partnership with the medic, he had another fifty miles in the tropics near what would be a secondary center, and more than forty in the southern hemisphere. Signet wealth.
It was one matter to risk her heart on an attractive man of warrior descent but modest wealth.
It was the height of folly to expect more than pleasant regard from a signet warrior.
He would want his offspring to have the genetic markers required for warrior status.
And when had she begun to think of children with Lochan?
She pressed her fingertips to her temples, attempting to rub away the headache that was gaining force.
Lochan released the door to his quarters and a bright white ball flew out.
Catching up with Rogue, she buried her face in his soft fur hoping her small whimper was lost in his delighted whines. Settling on the sofa, cuddling Rogue, she wondered if it was too late to accept Imogen’s offer of a bed in the medic’s section.
Lochan crouched before her, holding a water vial. “What is amiss?”
Accepting the water vial, she forced out a denial. “Naught. It is naught.”
With an impatient sound, he settled next to her. “Woman, I am a skilled interrogator. Do not attempt to deceive me.”
Leaning back, she closed her eyes, seeking a response that would not make her seem a lackwit. “When you mentioned farms on the far side of the river, I imagined acres of land, not miles. I cannot seem to adjust my mind to the scope of this system.”
A strong arm slid around her shoulders. “So much land in the First System would be a monsignor’s ransom.
Here, it is worth a fraction of that wealth.
It must be developed, and that will require colonists, supplies, and equipment.
Imogen and I sold thirty percent interest in Blade-Bright to family investors for the funds needed. ”
His free hand captured her chin, tilting her face to his. “And we need their entrepreneurial advice. Neither of us has more than a basic understanding of commerce ventures. Your aid with the colonists was beyond timely.”
Perhaps she had not been a lackwit. “You do not aspire to a signet?”
His lips twisted into a self-deprecating smile. “Oh, I aspire to it. If all proceeds as designed, within a decade I will have the wealth for it, and I am confident Monsignor Horatio will accept my petition.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? Do you find the notion of signet undesirable?”
What says he? “It is not mine to desire.”
His eyes narrowed and his smile faded. “We have not known each other very long, but my interest in you is not casual.” His eyes deepened with admiration and his hand dropped to trace the line where her throat met her shoulder.
“You are talented, lovely, courageous, and resilient. All I could ever desire.”
Involuntarily, her hand rose to cover his. “You are the most remarkable man I have ever known. I expected a fierce and skilled warrior, but it is your compassion that leaves me breathless.”
Fire flickered in the depths of his eyes. Pulling her close, he dislodged Rogue who leapt from the sofa in resignation. His lips teased hers. His breath was as warm as his whisper. “I like breathless.”
***
Astride Lochan, Adele floated on a sensual cloud, her head resting on her shoulder as he softened within her.
From a tender kiss, their passion built into a frenzy that had her mounting him on the sofa, their garments cast off in random directions.
With his eyes closed, head reclined over the sofa back, and his blissed-out expression, Lochan was the picture of abandon.
It was immensely satisfying to be able to shatter his warrior control.
A soft thud, and the press of fur against her leg indicated Rogue had decided the sofa was once again safe. Opening her eyes, she tilted her head to meet his blue doe eyes. “Not what you signed on for?”
Lochan hummed softly, his fingers trailing along her spine. “All I expected and more.”
Giggling, she pressed her lips to his shoulder. “I was speaking to Rogue.”
She felt him straighten. The fingers stroking her back dropped to squeeze her hip. His voice was laced with humor. “You mock me?”
She met his eyes, unable to match his teasing. For all their attraction, naught changed who they were. “Never.”
“There it is again.” His expression sobered. “What troubles you?”
She was tempted to prevaricate, but after all they shared it seemed dishonorable. “I am developing powerful feelings for you. I fear they will lead to heartbreak.”
“What say you? Did I not voice less than a bell ago you are all I desire?”
“I do not doubt you, but I am not na?ve. Warriors do not form lasting attachments with commoners. Even if you wished it, your family would be horrified.”
For a moment, he stared at her blankly and then his shoulders shook.
Deep, rumbling laughter broke free. “Woman, you are a lackwit. My family signet is held by a distant cousin who is relieved that I am making my fortune on the Nightingale and need naught of his patronage. My parents have lamented the lack of grandchildren for half a decade. They would be beyond delighted if I formed an alliance with a beautiful entrepreneur who holds commerce contracts in the Thirteenth System.”
Eager to believe him, but fearing to do so, she latched on to what seemed the most improbable of his words. “Grandchildren?”
His laughter abated. His expression became rueful. “Forgive me. That was precipitous. We have not known each other long enough to be considering a formal alliance.”
“It is too soon”—she watched his face fall at her words—“but, if come the new year, you retain such an interest . . .”
His expression brightened with each word. “We can discuss this again at the year-turn celebrations.”
Hope bubbling up through doubt, she had to be certain. “But children? They could not be warriors. Not with my genetics. I have but nineteen percent of the required markers.”
“I have ninety percent, enough to provide sufficient markers for any wedlock or consort alliances they might one day desire.” His hands slid up her ribs.
“More importantly, as a signet warrior, I may designate any I choose as heir. Our son or daughter would be signet warrior, and that is more than sufficient.”