Born of Fire

  It wouldn't happen again. Not on his shift.

  Entering the port, he quickly assessed the ships around him. Most were small freighters and shuttles. But two were fighter class--just what he needed.

  He ran at them full speed.

  "Hey!" one of the attendants called, rushing toward him. "You can't take that ship."

  Shifting Shahara's weight in his arms, Syn spun on the woman with his blaster raised. "Unless you want to die, I suggest you stand down."

  She put her hands up in the air and moved away from him.

  Syn kept his eyes on her while he continued to move toward the ship, more slowly this time.

  At the base of the fighter, he stared up at the ladder and cursed. Now how the hell was he going to hold on to Shahara while climbing aboard a fighter? True he was nimble, but that defied even his abilities.

  Then he saw his answer. "Move the docking crane over to the fighter."

  "I can't do that."

  He clicked back the release of his blaster. "You have five seconds."

  She ran toward the crane as Vik flew into the cockpit.

  Once she had it in place, Syn warned her away. He climbed the stairs two at a time, all the while watching the worker, half expecting her to gain enough courage to try something. It wasn't until the three of them were aboard and the cockpit solidly latched that he began to calm.

  A little.

  As soon as the cockpit shield had begun its descent, the worker had vanished. Syn was certain she was running for help so he wasted no time firing the engines. A bit of worry swept through him at not running a preliminary check, but he didn't have time.

  He threw the throttle and launched the craft's thrusters straight up. His stomach dipped as the g-forces played havoc with his body.

  Within a few minutes, they achieved escape velocity. He swung the ship out toward space, and in no time they broke through the planet's atmosphere.

  Once they were safely tucked into the bosom of space and he was certain no one was tracking them, Syn turned his attention to the small form draped in his lap. The control lights glinted softly against her pale cheeks and he noted her blood had soaked his pant leg.

  Gingerly, he shifted her head until he could examine the wound. It didn't look quite as bad as he'd first thought. He should have remembered that head wounds bled a lot, even when they were slight.

  But hers was deep and could use a couple of stitches.

  He shrugged his backpack off and pulled out the first-aid kit. In just a few minutes, he had her wound cleaned and wrapped.

  "Will she live?" Vik asked.

  "I think so."

  "Will she be pissed over it?"

  "Probably. I'm sure it's going to hurt when she wakes." He looked over at Vik who was now in his mechabot form, perched on the control panel. "Why didn't you warn me?"

  "She was kicking butt on her own. Thought it was safer you not fight blind. But then you stuck your head up and I had to help you."

  "You still could have warned me."

  "And you could have taken me with you instead of abandoning me all these years."

  Those words made him ache. "I am really sorry, Vik. If I'd known how much it would hurt you, I swear I wouldn't have done it."

  "Okay, I'll drop the subject. But if you ever do that to me again, I'll stab you in the penis, which I'm sure will hurt."

  "Yeah, it would."

  "Good. Now I'm powering down for a bit to conserve my power."

  Shaking his head at his strange invention, Syn shifted Shahara's weight and pulled her up to sit in his lap more comfortably. Leaning her head into his shoulder, he held her like he used to hold Paden when he'd crawl into his lap for a nap. The thought brought tears to his eyes and he quickly pushed his memories away. It didn't do any good to look to the past.

  Paden wanted nothing to do with him outside of maintaining his bank accounts.

  He was Syn again and Syn had never had a son. Syn was a street survivor.

  As he looked into Shahara's peaceful features, a long-forgotten part of him begged for something he knew he couldn't have. Mara had brought that harsh reality home. Decent women didn't want to spend their lives with filth like him.

  They wanted husbands they could be proud of. Not functional alcoholics with a hair trigger on their temper. But at least the alcohol was a step up from the drugs that had once ruled him.

  That was what cut him the deepest. Mara had never seen the darkest side of his past. The animal that had crawled through the streets and sewers looking for his next mission and fix that would get him through one more day. He'd been a pathetic waste of humanity at one time.

  If not for Nykyrian, he'd still be a worthless junkie, wallowing in a hovel.

  Or he'd be dead.

  Would it really matter? Could hell really be worse than the life he currently lived?

  But at least he didn't have to deal with the shakes and cravings.

  Bully for me.

  Yeah, his life basically sucked. And it was so lonely. He'd long grown tired of the comfortless nights. But what could he do?

  He sighed at the thought. What he wouldn't give to hold Shahara like this forever. Only, he knew better than that. People never stayed. It wasn't worth the pain to get to know them because, sooner or later, one way or another, they were gone and he was left alone to pick up the pieces.

  Right now, he didn't have another fresh start in him. He'd used up his lives and his names.

  He had nowhere else to go.

  Shahara heard the faint sound of a heartbeat pounding against her ear. At first, she thought she was a child again and her father was taking her to her room after she'd fallen asleep waiting for him to come home. But her father had never smelled this good. Felt this delightful.

  No, that was Syn. Syn, wicked, warm, and sweet. Beguiling. A champion who held her with gentle arms that never frightened her.

  "Are you awake?" Concern marked his voice.

  "Sort of." As he shifted her, she felt a stabbing pain between her eyes. "Gah, what did you do to me?"

  Then she remembered.

  Straightening up, she bumped her legs into sharp metal as her head exploded with even more agony. "Where are we? What happened?"

  Syn pursed his lips. "Which question would you prefer I answer first?"

  "You pick."

  "Where . . . I commandeered a fighter."

  "You mean you stole it?"

  "Semantics, semantics."

  She glared at him. If she thought it'd do any good, she'd box his ears for the theft. "How did we get here?"

  "You finished off the Rits, passed out from your head trauma, and I carried you on board."

  She ran her hands along the bandage and felt the knot forming where one of her attackers had brought the butt of his blaster down on her head. She hoped he woke up with an equal amount of pain.

  I should have kicked him so hard he'd have had to have had a testicle retrieval.

  But that didn't change the fact that Syn had committed another felony while in her presence. Growling low in her throat, she narrowed her eyes at him. "You know I would never have climbed aboard a stolen ship."

  He smiled, flashing that damnable dimple. "You didn't say that when I stole my own."

  "I was going to until you told me it was yours."

  This time he laughed. "Well then, I guess it's a good thing you were unconscious."

  He was hopeless.

  "Would it make you feel any better to know that it was more than likely stolen by whomever flew it--"

  "No, it wouldn't." She shook her head. "I thought there was honor among thieves."

  "Only in your dreams."

  Or my nightmare. "So where are we headed?"

  He showed her their heading. "I need to get a couple of things. Our first stop is at my office and then I need to go by my apartment."

  "What are you? Insane? Do you know how many trackers will be there watching for you?"

  "Yes, I do. Which is why I told
you to stay with Digger. But ye stubborn curse wouldn't listen so here we are. Me with brain damage and you with a head injury."

  She looked at him skeptically. "What is there that is so important, we have to risk our lives to get it?"

  "The map that tells me where to find the chip."

  Shahara drew her brows together into a deep frown even though it sent even more pain through her head. "If the map is in your flat, why are we going by your office?"

  He sighed as if aggravated with explaining himself. "Before I stick my ass into the fryer, I want to do some hacking and see what the Rits are up to. I'd like to get a few satellite details of where they're located in and around my building. I need to be in my office to do that."

  "Oh." Then another thought struck her. "What if they're at your office?"

  He shook his head. "Not a chance. My office is a space station under heavy security."

  "And registered under someone else's name, no doubt."

  "Exactly. They'd never find it."

  "That's what you said about the catacombs."

  And for a minute they both sat still with dread hammering in their chests.

  CHAPTER 12

  Once they reached his company's headquarters, Shahara was amazed by its size. The space station spun around slowly in the center of the galaxy where the giant intergalactic freighters could access all the major routes.

  The station had probably a dozen spikes that reached out into space to allow the freighters to dock and hook into air locks where passengers and supplies could be loaded and unloaded.

  Smaller landing bays were built further in so that smaller ships could be set down on thruster pads and not interfere with their larger counterparts. It was truly top of the line and cutting edge.

  "Precision Shipping." Shahara read the logo off the side of the station. "Nice name."

  "Thanks. Our motto is 'Be happy with our service or we'll kill you.' "

  She smirked at him and his sarcasm as Vik powered up and yawned.

  As they neared one of the smaller bays, she admired the clean lines of the bay and the size of the crew in this one terminal alone. "This location must cost a pretty sola."

  "And worth every penny."

  She gave a low whistle. "How in the universe did you ever afford something like this?"

  Syn brought the fighter in for a smooth landing. "After my ex-bitch took everything I had, I borrowed money from Nykyrian to buy a used freighter. I started small, watched my bottom line and, after years of extremely hard work and sound investments, I've accumulated what you see."

  She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "And how much of it did you get from accessing the secured data of your competitors?"

  He met her gaze evenly. "I only hit them when they come at me first."

  She looked at him doubtfully.

  "Honest," he said, holding up his hand in a Ritadarion symbol of honor. "I'll gladly admit every crime of which I'm guilty. But I'm not about to admit to something I didn't do." His gaze burned into hers. "I've lost a lot of business to their filches. Every time I think I have a system hack proof, up comes some little snot with my codes. When I find them, I make them pay for it."

  He set the fighter's locks and pulled the gear for the cockpit to open. "And I usually send a little bonus bug their way just for shits and giggles while I repair the damage they did to me."

  She couldn't help but smile. He just looked too adorable. "If you say so, then I'll believe you."

  Syn climbed out of the fighter while Vik transformed back into a bird. He paused to look back up at her. "You coming or am I too corrupt for you?"

  Instead of following his lead, she jumped over the side.

  Syn grimaced. "You'll ruin your joints doing that."

  "Don't be an old man." But her head did not appreciate it in the least. In fact, it was all she could do not to whimper from the new pain splitting her skull.

  I should have killed them . . .

  You shouldn't have jumped down like that, you idiot.

  He gave her a knowing grin. "Bet that head of yours hates your guts right about now."

  "Shut up." Then she added testily. "Asshole."

  He grinned as he led the way out of the bay and into the station's corridors. "I live for your endearments."

  Rolling her eyes, she followed him through the hallway, touching the bandage he'd wrapped around her head. He'd done a great job with her injury considering what little he'd had to work with. He must have been impressive as a surgeon.

  Shahara looked around at their surroundings. The entire station was clean and white with an antiseptic odor that stung her nose. Twelve freighters of varying sizes and styles were docked along with two small fighters.

  Loaders and several mechbots were stowing cargo on one of the ships while fuelers drove a tank over to the freighter.

  Everything ran so smoothly that it amazed her. Every time Caillen or Kasen flew, they ran around in circles trying to scrounge up papers, fuel distributors, and cargo. Syn had been gone over a week and still everyone went about their job without hesitation.

  "I'm impressed," she said, catching up to him. "A filch, a doctor, a Sentella member, and a shipper. You're a man of many talents."

  "Yeah, well, it's easy to get a lot accomplished when you don't have any distractions."

  "Such as?"

  "Nosy tracers who ask way too many questions."

  As they headed out of the bay, a uniformed worker came forward. "Frion Syn," she said, opening up a computer ledger. "What do you want me to do to your fighter?"

  Syn looked at it over his shoulder. "Have someone refuel her and set her down in the main port of Rook."

  "Yes, sir." She left them alone.

  Shahara was aghast at his orders. "You're returning it?"

  Syn tensed at the doubt in her voice.

  Face it, rat. You were born a thief and you will die a thief. No one will ever see you as anything more. He should have come to terms with that years ago. Still, it didn't stop the ache he felt over her incredulous question. For some unknown reason, he expected better from her. "I have no reason to keep it. It doesn't belong to me."

  Shahara wondered at the hurt on his voice.

  "C'mon, my office is down here."

  Wondering if she'd actually hurt him, she walked down the carpeted hallway. Along her right side were windows that looked out into space. It was a breathtaking view even with the bright fluorescent lights that dimmed it.

  As they walked, they passed several workers, but none of them spoke a word to Syn. They merely nodded their heads in acknowledgment while going about their business.

  At last Syn stopped and pressed the controls to open a door. Pulsing open, it displayed an office about four times the size of her condo.

  Shahara held her breath as the lights came on and she stared at paradise. "Whoa," she breathed.

  Syn led the way inside. "C'mon, it won't hurt you."

  Shahara moved into the room, her jaw agape as she scanned the contents and fought an urge to take off her boots before she desecrated the perfect white carpet.

  To her direct right was a small kitchen unit with a black marble table and one black, stuffed dining chair. To her left were three large, glass desks with several different types of terminals and other electronics she couldn't even begin to identify. A huge electronic star chart hung on the wall behind the largest desk. And, of course, expensive art pieces were littered about.

  Along with another expensive piano.

  In front of her was a huge stuffed chair that faced a solid steel-glass wall. Stars and gases twinkled and swirled in the depths of space with varying colors that looked like a living garden. She felt as though she were out in space and not in a station at all.

  Syn took the backpack from her shoulder. "Are you hungry?"

  Her stomach rumbled an answer.

  "I guess you are." He dropped their packs by his desk before heading toward the kitchen.

  "This place is enormous."
She walked over to the kitchen counter.

  "It beats what I grew up in, that's for sure." He paused in front of a food processor, then pulled her around to see what he was doing. "Here's a list of the various menus. Choose what you want by simply pushing it." He touched the screen and the item he'd chosen immediately flashed, then changed screens. "When you pull up a dish, it displays the ingredients and you can add or delete whatever you want."

  She was awed by the device. "Wow, this is high-tech."

  "Yeah, well, I can't cook any better than you can and this was a lot cheaper than hiring a cook to hang around."

  Shahara gave him a wicked grin. "I've never had synthetic food before, how is it?"

  He gave her a droll stare. "Given what you fed me this morning, why are you even questioning it?"

  He did have a point.

  Then he continued, "Most of the time you can't tell a difference, but stay away from the fish. It comes out rubbery."

  "Gotcha."

  Syn showed her where he kept the silver and linen, then left her to play.

  "You want anything?" she asked as he walked to his desk.

  "No thanks, I'm not hungry."

  Nodding, she returned to playing with the menu. This was the coolest thing she'd ever seen. It had food from all kinds of planets and cultures.

  What I wouldn't give to have this in my house. Of course it probably cost more than her entire building, but still . . .

  Syn began filtering through his voicemail.

  Shahara listened to them and was instantly bored. They were all from clients wanting to hire him or discuss shipments with him, sales people trying to schedule appointments, pilots wanting jobs, or his employees with various problems.

  Taking her food out of the small countertop cubicle where it appeared, she moved to the table. As she pulled back the solitary chair, she made a startlingly realization.

  Everything in this office was designed for only one person.

  Everything.

  She glanced around to make sure she wasn't jumping to conclusions, and sure enough, there was only one arm chair, one dining chair and the one desk chair he was currently sitting in.

  He was utterly alone.

  Her heart wrenched for him. It wasn't that she'd never made that connection before, but it was only now that the full implication of it hit her that she really understood what that meant.

  And it was a brutal realization.

  No one in any message ever asked him how he was doing or bothered with friendly chitchat. No more so than any of the people they had passed in the hallway. He'd been gone for over a week, tortured, beaten, and almost killed, and there was no one asking him where he'd been. No one worried that something might have happened to him.