Pet Trade Page 9

  She gave up fighting the tears and let them fall. “I love you, too, but I’m a mess. Could we maybe talk about this in my geothermal pool?”

  He gave her a lascivious grin. “Naked in your geothermal pool?”

  She chuckled. “Yeah, naked.” She boldly slid a hand around to cup his muscular ass. “I’m worried about your cold dangly bits.”

  15

  * GDAT 3241.266 *

  They didn’t make it to the pool as fast as Axur had hoped.

  Security systems needed arming after he’d moved his runabout down to her landing pad and brought all his gear into her marvelous cave. Animals variously needed calling in, drying off, reassuring, feeding and watering, and cleaning up after. He and Bethnee needed food, too. Using his enhanced speed and strength burned through calories like dry kindling, and he didn’t have Jumper nutrient rebalancer concentrates to compensate. Bethnee had pushed her talent limit to the edge, too.

  Finally, she led him to the geothermal pool. She turned and kissed him. “Hello, new homesteader.”

  “Hey, yourself.” He could drown in the depths of her eyes. “Can we get naked now?”

  She laughed. “Yes.” She started to pull her tunic up with trembling hands, but he stopped her. “I want to make love with you more than my next breath, but I don’t want to scare you. We don’t have to do this now.” He slid a hand up to her shoulder. “I’m not a telepath or an empath, I’m just a flux-to-the-max Jumper. You have to tell me what’s too much, or too fast, or too close.”

  “I’ll try. Sometimes, it takes me by surprise, and I just have to ride it out.” She held up shaking fingers. “This isn’t from fear, it’s from wanting you.” She flattened her palm on his chest. “I haven’t had a lover since I was seventeen, and that was sex in the back of prepaid autocabs. You’ll have to tell me what’s going on with you, too. I love your strength, but I can’t read you. I tank at communicating with humans.”

  “As it happens, I have built-in capacity for comms.” She snorted in amusement. He captured her fingers and kissed them. “We’ll figure it out together.”

  They explored each other in the warm pool. He loved finding the places where he could make her gasp and moan, and helping her find the spots on him that sent fire through his every synapse. He carried her naked to her bed, and only had to evict four furry occupants before joining with her to give them both the pleasure they’d been seeking. Their bodies seemed to fit together, like they’d been made for each other.

  When he awoke and turned the lights up a bit, he discovered the bed had been invaded by three cats, a ferwinkle, a foo dog, and a six-legged chimera. He had a feeling their bed would never be cold or empty.

  Bethnee stirred and rolled to the side, eliciting a muffled meow of protest from Delta the cat. Bethnee sighed and rolled back to drape herself on Axur. He loved the feel of her skin on his, the scent of her, the weight of her on him.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  He checked his chrono implant. “A little after zero one hundred.”

  She slid her hand up to caress his jaw with her thumb. “Can’t sleep in a strange bed?” She tweaked his earlobe. “Or with a strange woman?”

  “You’re not strange, you’re unconventional.” She made a rude sound, and he laughed. “Cyborgs love unconventional women who live in caves.” He wrapped his arm around her waist.

  “Good,” she said. “I love cyborgs who have their own freighters. And printers. And autodocs. And runabouts.” She kissed him between each item she listed.

  He laughed. “It’s too far for my potential patients and customers, though. I like your idea of looking at the abandoned house next to Nuñez’s to see if we can make it into a medical clinic.” He kissed her hairline. “According to a forecaster friend of Cherkogin’s, trouble is brewing in the Concordance, and frontier planets should expect an influx of refugees. Something to do with Ayorinn’s Legacy. You know, those nonsensical poems that predict a radical vector change for civilization.” He shook his head. “The CPS dismisses them as a hoax, but I don’t trust the CPS much anymore.”

  She sat up slowly and stretched. “I’m going to the fresher and check on Trouble. Want some water?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He watched her because he could, enjoying the sleek curve and sway of her slender hips as she walked. She hardly limped at all. As soon as he could afford it, he planned to take her on a trip south for full repairs and healing. He sat up and rearranged pillows, blankets, and animals so she’d have a place to sit when she came back.

  She returned carrying a glass of water and the wrapped Solstice Day present he’d given her. Trouble the dog walked in behind her, less energetic than usual, but looking alert. She handed him the water, then helped Trouble up onto the bed next to Kivo.

  She kneeled on the bed and stroked Trouble’s head. “I’m not sorry Kanaway died.”

  “Me, either.” Axur took a deep, steadying breath to keep the anger at bay. He wanted to resurrect the sick twist, just so he could kill him himself, more slowly.

  She crawled toward him to sit next to him against the pillows, holding the present. “Can I open this now?”

  “Sure.” He watched her face as she unwrapped and opened the box.

  After a moment, recognition dawned. She stroked the heart-shaped piece of fur and looked up at him with a smile. “You printed this?”

  “Yes.” He loved her quick mind. “I’ve been working on a formula for synthskin patches for me, so I thought I’d experiment with synthfur for Jynx’s leg. She deserves to be free to go outside whenever she wants.”

  She put the fur back in the box and put it on the nearby ledge, then kissed his shoulder. “It’s a perfect gift.” She slid herself under his arm. “I’ve been thinking. Even if nothing comes of the forecaster’s prediction, it wouldn’t hurt to plan for an influx of new people, anyway. Once word gets around you’re a trained medic with an autodoc and willing to take trade, more people will visit Tanimai, and some will stay.”

  “I guess I’m the first of the influx, then.” He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers. “Lucky for me, I fell madly in love with a woman with a homestead and built-in pet family.”

  “We’re the lucky ones.” She kissed his chest. “I think you should talk to Cherkogin again. Offer to be on reserve, train with them monthly. You’d learn things you can’t find out from just listening to their comms. Then we could prepare better, if we do get more refugees.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?” His two potentially serious relationships while in the military had foundered when their assignments had taken one or both of them away for ten-days at a time. “I have to admit I was tempted, but you’re more important to me.”

  “I appreciate that, but you’ve got skills you should be using.” With a somewhat awkward move, she straddled his thighs and faced him. “Strength. Comms. Languages. Making friends. Blowing things up.” She rested her hands on his shoulders and gave him a crafty smile. “Make them pay you in hard credit.”

  He laughed. “Now the truth comes out.”

  “Yep,” she said. “We have to finish more of the cave so your animals can be comfortable when we’re here.” They’d decided to spend time at both her place and his, to maintain his homestead claim. “That takes renting the rock laser, and that takes hard credit.”

  He glided his hands up to her waist and leaned forward to give her a long, sensual kiss, with a promise of more. “I love a nova-hot woman who knows how to make a good trade.”

  Thanks for reading Pet Trade. I wrote this story for the USA TODAY bestselling Embrace the Romance: Pets in Space 2 anthology. Part of the inspiration for writing it came from the charity the anthology supports. Hero-Dogs.org provides trained support dogs to disabled U.S. veterans to improve their quality of life. I figured that if one pet was good, a dozen or more would be even better.

  If you liked the story, please post a quick review at your favorite retailer. Sign up for my monthly author newsletter so
you won’t miss a new release or a good sale.

  If you like space opera, adventure, romance, and the whole Central Galactic Concordance universe, I have a whole series and a big damn story arc underway — see the next page, and the free excerpt of Overload Flux at the end of this book.

  A heartfelt thank you to my brave, honest, and clever beta readers, T3, Jill, Melisse, Merry, and especially Heather, my veterinarian friend. Thanks also to my fabulous professional editor, Shelley Holloway at Holloway House, and to the talented Nyssa Juneau for bringing my fanciful creatures to life with her illustrations.

  Also by Carol Van Natta

  Central Galactic Concordance Space Opera Series

  Last Ship Off Polaris-G (Novella)

  Overload Flux (Book 1)

  Minder Rising (Book 2)

  Zero Flux (Novella)

  Pico’s Crush (Book 3)

  Pet Trade (Novella)

  Jumper’s Hope (Book 4)

  Spark Transform (Book 5)

  Central Galactic Concordance Collection Books 1-3

  Paranormal Romance

  In Graves Below (Magic, NM)

  Retro Science Fiction Comedy

  Hooray for Holopticon

  Free Excerpt from Overload Flux, Central Galactic Concordance Book 1

  * Planet: Rekoria * GDAT 3237.026 *

  Their footsteps echoed in an empty corridor of Rekoria’s planetary spaceport. Mairwen Morganthur caught herself touching the outside of her coat pocket that held the wirekey, and ruthlessly controlled herself to keep her uneasiness at bay. Though neither man she accompanied down the tall, wide corridor had said so, she had the feeling they didn’t want to be discovered doing whatever it was they were about to do.

  Motion-sensor lighting triggered as they approached each segment. At ninety-four minutes before midnight, the noisy passenger area of the spaceport had been as busy as ever, but the commercial shipping section where they now walked was deserted. Trending galactic headlines and bright vids flashed silently on the continuous overhead displays along the corridors, creating constantly changing lights and shadows. It could have been worse; in the passenger section, the animated displays took up entire walls.

  She walked two paces behind the two men, like any average, incurious security guard, and kept her expression blank. Her company uniform and long topcoat passed as conservative corporate wear at a casual glance. As long as no one noticed her heavy boots, she wasn’t likely to draw unwanted attention to their group.

  Personal security detail wasn’t her usual assignment. While she did usually work nights, it was mostly as a solo guard or security systems monitor at large industrial complexes in marginal sections of town. This was supposed to be her night off.

  She hoped the only reason she’d been chosen for tonight’s activities was because she was a name on a La Plata Security Division “night-shift available” list of dozens, and not because she’d stood out in some way. She’d been careful to stay unremarkable. This was the first time in months she’d allowed herself to open her extraordinary senses even a little, noting and cataloging the distant sounds of automation and the stale scents of people. She shouldn’t be doing it now, but the increasing tension of the two men she was accompanying was contagious.

  The older man, Velasco, about her height, was entertained by the flashy wall displays in a variety of languages, and softly repeated the words that caught his attention. He again switched the padded strap of the large forensic kit he was carrying to his other shoulder. Lukasz Foxe, taller than Velasco by a dozen centimeters, stood straighter and carried two bags slung over his right shoulder, a smaller hardcase and a larger curved bag, and had a winter greatcoat over his left arm. He was leaner and clearly in better shape than Velasco. So far, Foxe hadn’t said much.

  When she’d received her orders from dispatch to check out a company vehicle, pick up the wirekey and a forensic kit for Foxe from the office, then pick up Velasco from a restaurant and take him to the spaceport, she had assumed she would then remain with the company vehicle while Velasco did… whatever it was he was here to do. Instead, for reasons unknown to her, Velasco had told her to come with him to collect Foxe from the gate of an incoming interstellar ship. The need for her presence certainly wasn’t for her company or conversation, because once they’d entered the brightly lit spaceport, Velasco had all but ignored her. She was relieved. From what she remembered from meeting him once at a company event, he had nothing worth saying.

  She’d never met Foxe before tonight. Dispatch’s orders had included his company photo, which didn’t do him justice. Even though he was obviously tired, he was handsome, with light brown skin and wide, angular cheekbones, and wore his casual business clothes with more style than Velasco’s ultra-trendy but unflattering suit.

  She was already familiar with Lukasz Foxe’s name. She’d memorized most of the Investigation Division’s investigator names and titles so she’d know whom to avoid. She didn’t want the possible attention that came from being in the orbit of a blue-hot company star. She didn’t know what a High Court-certified forensic reconstruction specialist did, but she had the feeling she was about to find out.

  She hadn’t quite figured out what Velasco’s role was. From something he’d said in the first burst of jabbering he’d subjected her to as she drove him to the spaceport, he was with the Security Division of La Plata, but assigned to Investigation. She’d mostly tuned him out for the rest of the trip, choosing instead to focus on traffic, which wasn’t well automated, day or night. Etonver city drivers were allowed to disable vehicle autopilots, and mostly did, making for bad ground traffic, twenty-five hours a day.

  The spaceport corridor split, and they turned toward the section with commercial interior warehouses. When they rounded a corner to the left, Velasco pointed halfway down the hall to a large cargo bay door of opaque flexglass. The logo said “Centaurus Transport” in huge letters. A smaller, human-sized door farther down to the left had the same logo. The two men stopped in front of the bay entryway, and Foxe looked to Velasco.

  “Anything from the Port Police?”

  One of the benefits of working for a security company was official access codes for police bands. Foxe’s first order after arriving had been to tell Velasco to monitor the frequency from his percomp. It had been Mairwen’s first clue they were expecting trouble.

  Velasco activated the company-issued percomp he wore strapped to his wrist. It was a more recent model than hers; night shift tended to get refurbished leftovers. Tech Division had been nagging her to surrender her clunky hardware for an update.

  “Nothing,” Velasco said after a moment. Mairwen got the impression he hadn’t been paying attention to it until asked. Fortunately, his assessment was accurate. Even though she hadn’t been ordered to do so, she’d been monitoring the same frequency via live audio sent to the earwire adhered to her jawline, and had heard only two routine communications in the last eleven minutes.

  Mairwen was becoming increasingly resentful at being kept off the net as far as what she was being dragged into. She had no idea why investigators from her company were going to the warehouse office or what they expected to find, other than something that would need a forensic kit. Meaning it was more than a simple slice by interstellar jackers or some ground-based theft crew. But she couldn’t ask without drawing unwanted attention to herself, so she stayed quiet. It was one of the few times she’d ever wished she was a telepath. Most telepaths she’d ever met were under the thumb of the Citizen Protection Service, and she knew the steep price of that all too well.

  The door frames of the transport company entryways had visible security monitoring devices in the form of flat camera eyes that looked glossy and new. She angled herself away from them, not knowing their peripheral range. If they were like the industrial versions she was familiar with, they’d only be triggered when the doors opened, but better safe than sorry. She considered whether or not a simple security guard would notice the cameras or think to point them
out. Probably not, she decided.

  Foxe checked the elegant, transparent percomp he wore on the back of his hand. “Still no pings.”

  He sighed and ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair, making it look even more unruly than it already did.

  “Let’s go in.” He didn’t look happy to be there. Mairwen sympathized.

  Velasco held out his hand toward her expectantly, and Mairwen slipped the wirekey from her pocket and gave it to him. As he fumbled with the lock on the smaller door, she took a couple of steps back from both men and the camera eyes, toward the center of the corridor. She opened her senses wider to check that they were still alone.

  Sounds came from the electric hum of lights, the pulse of the air circulators, and the whine of automated grav sleds. Somewhere inside the warehouse, a loose vent rattled intermittently. There were scents of lubricant, petroplastic, paper dust, and humans, mostly hours and days old except for the strong new scents of Velasco and Foxe. Velasco smelled of too many cosmetics, synthetic fabric, fruity alcohol, and meat, probably steak.

  Foxe smelled of wool from his coat and a natural buttery, subtle exotic wood scent that was incongruous in a spaceport. Velasco’s scent was boring, but Foxe’s was… interesting, almost intense. She caught herself just in time from stepping closer to breathe in more of it. Very bad idea, her cautious brain told her.

  Velasco couldn’t get the wirekey to work on the small door, so he tried the cargo bay door. It lifted swiftly and quietly.

  She was immediately assaulted with the unexpected stench of blood, bile, bowels, and recent death as colder air billowed out from the warehouse. She slammed closed her suddenly overloaded senses, blinked away involuntary eye moisture, and smoothed her face to hide her reaction. She was glad neither man had been watching her. They didn’t appear to notice anything amiss, but she couldn’t tell what normal people could smell. She focused on Foxe to see if he expected this magnitude of trouble, and thought he didn’t. It wasn’t likely to make him any happier to be there.