Maverick Page 11

  He smiled. “You always were the creative one. None of us could draw as well as you. I still have that picture you drew of Mom.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? I did that portrait ages ago.”

  “Check out my quarters if you don’t believe me,” he said with a shrug. “It’s hanging on the wall by the viewport.”

  She didn’t know if that was a testament to her artistic ability or his love for his mother. Perhaps it was best not to ask, nor would she ever enter his room to see the drawing firsthand. Coming anywhere near Larry’s bed was begging for trouble.

  Or maybe it wasn’t. If she and Larry were meant to be, Celeste would just have to get over it. She was beautiful, and Brak’s opinion of her personality was somewhat biased. She could find someone else. Probably not a Zetithian, but all was fair in love and war, wasn’t it?

  “I’ll take your word for it,” she said.

  “Wouldn’t mind having a portrait of Celeste at some point, if you’re willing. I’d pay you, of course.”

  One more crack like that and she’d punch him in the gut hard enough to make him lose his breakfast, although she hated to waste a perfectly good omelet. She bit back a snarl. “We’ll see.”

  “No rush, but if you feel the urge to do some drawing, Friday can pull up a hologram for you to work from.” With a shrug, he scooped up another portion of the eggs and ate it before continuing. “Not quite the same as working from a live model, but I can’t see Celeste sitting still for a portrait. She’d probably drive you nuts.”

  Yeah, right. Like she really wanted to stare at that blasted hologram, much less the real McCoy, for hours on end. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A moment passed before she realized she should be delving deeper—there was that D word again!—into his assessment of his girlfriend’s less attractive traits. Although she doubted he would be as forthcoming as Brak had been.

  He held another forkful poised at his lips. “That might actually be a good way for you two to get to know one another. And for you to get a read on her emotions. Guess you’d better wait until we get to Rhylos.”

  Larry had always appeared to assume everyone was as inherently honest as he was. Althea knew better. She could just as easily lie about his darling Celeste’s intentions toward him if she chose. And if she was careful, he would never realize she wasn’t telling the truth.

  So what would the deal-breaking fault be? Would he even acknowledge it? There was a song about how men behaved when they fell in love, and those sentiments still held true more than a thousand years after those lyrics were written. If he honestly loved her, he would gloss over her flaws with a wave of his hand. Or he might believe that his love could reform her. Althea doubted he’d fallen for a felonious femme fatale, but stranger things had happened. Case in point, her own reactions to seeing Larry again.

  “You might be right,” she finally said, hoping her tone of voice didn’t betray her.

  “That is, if we ever get back there. This trip is already starting to seem like a wild-goose chase.” He shook his head, frowning. “Almost feels like the gods are trying to tell me something. One more distress call and I might as well succumb to fate and tell her we’re through.”

  If he really believed that, she might actually stand a chance. “Speaking of which, have you heard anything from the Statzeelians?”

  “Not since I told them we were on our way.” With another frown, he vacated the pilot’s seat and slid behind the communications console. “Might be a good idea to send out an update. That is, if they haven’t shut down their comsystem to save power.”

  “Will you still be able to find them if they’ve done that?”

  “Yeah. But it’ll take longer. I have the ID number for their system, so I can ping it for the source if it’s up and running.” He hesitated. “Well, I can still ping it and triangulate even if it’s turned off, but you get the idea.”

  She nodded. “We’ll be there in another day and a half. Maybe you should wait until we’re closer.”

  He appeared to consider this, then shook his head. “Might make them feel better to know we’re still on the way. Being stranded really sucks.”

  Althea had never been stranded, although there were those who would consider her situation on Barada akin to being marooned on a deserted island. At the moment, however, she wasn’t thinking about that. She was thinking about Larry’s concern for their half siblings, and her own bruised feelings healed instantly. He was such a sweetheart. No wonder Brak thought he was so dreamy.

  “Wow, that was fast,” he muttered a few minutes later. “They’re okay for now. Still have auxiliary power, and the hull is intact.” He swiveled his chair around and looked up at her with a wide grin. “Should be no problem finding them and picking them up. After that, it’s Palorka, here we come.”

  “Great.” Althea began backing toward the doorway. “Gotta go now. Got movies to watch and TV shows to catch up on.” She waved a hand as she reached the threshold. “I’ll be in my quarters if you need me.”

  Ooh, wrong thing to say.

  “Need anything, I mean,” she amended, although that sounded almost as bad.

  “Sounds good,” he said, seemingly oblivious to her inferred invitation. “See you later.”

  She turned and stumbled down the corridor for several steps before stopping to lean against the wall. Breathing deeply, she squeezed her eyes shut and fisted her hands in an attempt to suppress her raging desire. His devastating smile nearly sent her over the edge, but if he’d said come or suck one more time, she would’ve lost any semblance of control.

  All I have to do is hold out for another thirty-six hours.

  Surely she could do that. Once the Statzeelians were aboard, she would have something to focus on other than the luscious nature of Larry’s trapezius muscle. In the meantime, if there weren’t enough Edraitian Brothers episodes to keep her away from the bridge, she would find something else to keep her occupied.

  On that thought, she pushed herself away from the wall and headed for her quarters with a determined stride.

  Chapter 11

  One of the things Larry liked least about living in space was the weather—or more specifically, the lack thereof. Nothing on the ship ever changed. There were no rain showers, no thunderstorms, no snow, or even sunshine. He never got too hot or too cold. The temperature and humidity were set midway between his preferences and Brak’s, and even that range was relatively narrow.

  But something about Althea made him think of thunder and lightning, high winds, and dark, tempestuous skies. Perhaps it was the way her eyes flashed when she was annoyed or sparkled when she was amused. Or it could have been the Mordrial magic that emanated from her like a scent.

  The prevailing theory behind Mordrial magic was that on a world where nature often raged out of control, the only reason the people had survived was because they’d evolved with the psychic means to tame their unruly environment. He’d been to the Mordrial homeworld a few times, and even landing on the same site didn’t guarantee similar conditions with respect to the land or the atmosphere, both of which were in a constant state of flux.

  Their mental telepathy was more difficult to explain, although it might simply have been an offshoot of their ability to control the elements. Larry couldn’t imagine anything more bizarre than living among people who were always reading each other’s minds and emotions, and it was no wonder Althea hadn’t chosen to retreat to that world. She might’ve gained some insights into how to cope with her powers, although the mental noise would’ve been enough to drive anyone insane.

  To the best of his knowledge, the only person Althea had known who possessed similar powers was her mother, and even they weren’t exactly alike. The talents among Althea’s brothers had been spotty. For example, her littermates, Aidan and Aldrik, didn’t appear to have any powers whatsoever, which was odd given that even Zetithians were known to
have the occasional prescient vision. He’d sometimes wondered if they resented Althea for hogging all the magic in their litter, although most Mordrial witches only had one daughter and never gave birth to any sons whatsoever. Perhaps her brothers were simply thankful to have been born at all.

  Still, as he sat down to finish his omelet, one taste was enough to convince him Althea was able to read him on some basic level. Even being a good cook couldn’t explain how she’d managed to whip up precisely what he’d been craving. As far as he knew, her abilities didn’t include knowing what he wanted for breakfast, yet she had provided him with the perfect meal. How had she done it if she couldn’t read him? Had she simply remembered his likes and dislikes?

  He certainly hadn’t forgotten her preferences, particularly since they frequently ran counter to his own. His mother used to say the two of them were like oil and vinegar; they might not always mix very well, but shake them up a bit, and they made one hell of a salad dressing.

  He got the not mixing part. Even as children, he and Al had been known to disagree—several of their arguments were the stuff of Jolly Roger legends. It was the salad dressing reference that he’d never fully understood. Did that mean she thought they would make a good pair? If so, she was dead wrong, because Al didn’t seem to want to stay in the same room with him any longer than she absolutely had to. She’d tried to get rid of him last night, and she was still avoiding him this morning. Even his apology for the purring episode hadn’t cleared the air the way he’d hoped it would.

  They’d always been good friends. What was so different now?

  “I give up,” he muttered. He’d never understood women anyway, which might’ve been the problem. Althea wasn’t a kid anymore. She was a grown woman, and with three different species in her ancestry, it was a wonder they could communicate at all.

  Sighing, he pulled up the schematics for the M-Class Star Hawk Cruiser their half siblings had regrettably chosen for their clandestine adventure and began searching for possible causes for engine failure. Even though Larry was a decent astro-mechanic, repairs would probably take more time than they could afford to spend on a disputed world. Salvaging any useable components might be their best option. One thing for sure—he wasn’t leaving that comsystem behind.

  “Gotta get paid somehow.”

  “What’s that?” Brak asked, poking his triangular head through the doorway. The remainder of his long, slender body followed eventually. He could move pretty fast if he wanted to, but most of the time, he took longer to enter a room than many automatic doors allowed. They’d had to reset the sensors on the Stooge’s doors to keep him from constantly clipping his wingtips.

  “Not much,” Larry replied. “Just trying to figure out how to make a profit on this rescue mission.”

  “You’re starting to sound like your mother,” Brak chided as he stepped delicately into the navigator’s “sling.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Larry retorted. “Mom’s a damn fine businesswoman.” Granted, she went off on the occasional tangent, but her knack for knowing what would sell on any given planet had enabled her to amass a considerable fortune.

  “I’m sure she is. I just didn’t realize you were such a money-grubbing mercenary.”

  “Mercenary? I’m not—” Larry stopped as he recalled what Althea had told him about the cheeseburgers. “Never mind. I know better than to argue with you when you’ve been on a White Castle bender.”

  Brak waved a pincer without bothering to turn his head—or an eye—in Larry’s direction. “I am perfectly well, thank you.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure you are. Your neck is stiff as a board, and you’re moving even more slowly than usual.”

  One eye rotated ever so slightly. “Your solicitude is quite touching.”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm,” Larry said. “And why are you up so early?”

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Brak replied. “I am…troubled. However, I have no wish to discuss it.”

  Larry didn’t have to ask what the problem was. “Yeah. I know. Althea told me all about it.”

  “I said I have no wish to discuss it.”

  “Nobody seems to want to talk about anything around here,” Larry grumbled. “Althea doesn’t even want to be in the same room with me, and when I tried to clear the air, she acted even worse. Any idea why?”

  “No.”

  “That’s all you have to say?” This particular cheeseburger hangover had to be the worst ever.

  “It is.”

  “Okay then. Don’t talk. Don’t say another freakin’ word.” Maybe if he annoyed Brak enough, he’d fall for someone who would be a more appropriate partner for an insect—which would probably mean losing his navigator.

  Can’t have that.

  “Sorry, Brak. I’m feeling a little testy myself.”

  One waving antenna signaled a truce. “What’s that I smell? Chili burgers?”

  “Nope. It’s the chili and cheese omelet Althea made for me. Enchilada style. Guess I should’ve saved some for you, huh?”

  “No need for that, thank you. I am fully sated. Although it does smell quite delicious. I shall have to ask her for the recipe.”

  “Play your cards right, and she might make one for you.”

  “That would only be a temporary solution. After all, she won’t be with us forever. Will she?”

  Larry’s heart took an odd twist, delaying his reply. “No. I don’t suppose she will.”

  If all went well, Celeste would one day be the lady of the ship, and Althea would return to Barada Seven—or wherever she decided to go. He frowned. That idea should’ve cheered him—it was, after all, the reason he’d come on this trip.

  So why did it have the opposite effect?

  * * *

  Althea made it through five episodes of the Edraitian Brothers mysteries before switching to something lighter. Deep in the peaceful jungles of Barada Seven where there weren’t even any dangerous animals, she’d almost forgotten how violent the rest of the galaxy could be.

  Why did the mystery always have to be a murder? Why couldn’t it be something less…fatal? Like…

  Okay. So solving a murder made for a pretty good mystery. Her chief objection was that multiple people had to die before the culprit was apprehended. Why did such hotshot detectives wait for the bodies to start piling up before figuring out whodunit? The real trick would be preventing the murder before it ever took place.

  Preventing…

  A frisson of disquiet ran through her as the pieces of a lifelong family puzzle finally settled into place.

  That’s it.

  Her brother Aidan had never admitted to having any Mordrial powers, but once in a while, she would sense that he was disturbed for no apparent reason. Then before long, something bad would happen to one of their family or someone they knew. Those events had never been life-threatening. More often than not, they were merely annoyances or disappointments of some kind. She’d always assumed it was coincidence or merely her own hindsight. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Especially since the same could be said for happier occurrences.

  I really need to talk to him.

  Aidan had left the fold even before Althea did. Last she’d heard, he was living on Rhylos. She’d never understood why anyone would choose to live on that particular world. She hated Rhylos. Perhaps that’s why he went there. Knowing she would never follow.

  He was avoiding her too? Why would he do that? Because he didn’t want her reading his emotions? Perhaps it was because he had a secret he knew he couldn’t keep from her forever.

  And perhaps he knew that one day, she would discover the truth.

  Like today.

  Although many Zetithians had the occasional prescient vision, if her suspicions were correct, Aidan’s talent went far beyond that. Being able to predict an outcome with reasonable accuracy was one thi
ng. Anyone who studied patterns and tendencies could do that. Actually knowing the details of future events was an ability that could be exploited or abused, especially if he could do it on demand.

  Clearly, Aidan was trying to avoid those possibilities.

  Or was he? On a world like Rhylos, a knack for predicting the future could come in very handy, particularly in the casino district. That is, if it didn’t get him killed.

  No. That wasn’t fair. Rhylos was a peaceful world with predominantly law-abiding citizens. While any sales technique ever devised was allowed there, from high-pressure sales to subliminal advertising, criminal activity simply wasn’t tolerated. Even the brothel district had regulations, which were tougher than ever following a scandal involving kidnapped street kids.

  Oh, yeah… I remember now.

  That was why Aidan had gone to Rhylos in the first place, to work with Onca and his wife, Kim, in their haven for homeless orphans. Granted, providing orphans with food, shelter, and educational opportunities was a worthy cause, yet even then she’d sensed that he had a different motivation—like he’d gone there to escape from something. Or perhaps he believed his ability to see into the future might be useful when counseling orphans, telling them what could—and probably would—happen to them if they didn’t stay off the street and study hard in school.

  And I thought my powers were hard to live with.

  Prescience was a very scary talent to possess. Much worse than being able to tell whether someone was ecstatic or depressed. The possibility that Aidan could look at someone and know whether they were going to live happily ever after or come to an abrupt, violent end was unnerving to say the least.

  But of course, this was all conjecture.

  No. It was more than that. She could feel the truth of her suppositions in the lurch of her heart and the pulse pounding inside her skull. She of all people should’ve been able to read him well enough to know the truth. But she’d never been able to figure him out. Until now.