Sacred Planet: Book One of the Dominion Series (2 page)

“Damn!” Jabron exclaimed. “Famous girl on the
Fossa
?”

Davin let go and drifted toward her—thinking, pondering, connecting dots. Besides being in Carina’s most powerful family, this young lass must have also been an object of contention. Somebody wanted her dead, enough to destroy her ship. That increased her value, especially being alive. Right now, Davin had a monopoly on a product in brutally high demand. He kept connecting dots until the picture in his head formed a gigantic sharebuck sign.

He pointed at his newfound treasure. “This girl could make us rich,” he murmured.

Strange’s nexband vibrated and beeped. She raised her wrist to see the small screen on the underside of the band. Davin knew what she would say before she said it.

“Moving targets inbound.”

Not surprising there. Lots of scavengers in the area, everybody waiting and hoping for the war to start. War meant battles. Battles meant debris. Debris, to a scavenger, meant riches.

Davin pointed at their resident bio-med expert. “Jai, get the princess to the med bay.” He slapped a button on the wall, and the the inner airlock door slid open. “Bron, you and me are going back out. Jai missed some gems. I can feel it. Strange, how much time we got?”

“Uh . . .” She looked at her wristband again. “They’re about twelve thousand klicks out, so you might have fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“Be ready to hightail it as soon as we get back!”

“Aye, Cap.”

Sierra’s eyes fluttered open in a dark tube. For a few minutes, she let herself float, too lethargic to move or assess her situation. Then a green light flashed, and a thick ring around the cylinder let out a mechanical moan. She realized she was breathing easily and freely, nothing over her face.

She extended her hand and was met by hard plastic, not tarp material. She wasn’t in the preserve bag. She was somewhere else. A ship, not her own. And she was being scanned.

Who did this? Who were these people? Sagittarians? No, couldn’t be. They wouldn’t assault her private yacht unprovoked. They were more strategic than that. Only one candidate fit the bill for this kind of attack. She hoped it was somebody else, even tried to rationalize it in her head, but no—couldn’t be.

The Abramists. It had to have been them. They must’ve followed her through the spacebend gate and fired from a distance. Probably with a solid tungsten projectile, the untraceable sort.

It amused her, in a wry sort of way, how the military courses her father had made her take popped into head at a time like this. She wouldn’t have known the word “tungsten” otherwise. Not much use now. Not much use ever. She knew from the beginning she’d never use them. Even if all the power of the Carinian armada was placed in her hands, military knowledge was wasted on her.

Barely visible in the faint light, the ring crept from her head to her feet. Sierra shivered in fear. She remembered little from the attack. In the silence of her sleeping hours, something had hit the ship, made a horrible, explosive, deafening crash, knocked her out of bed. She remembered smacking the far wall of her bedroom, then two prima guards rushing in, inflating the preserve bag, and stuffing her inside before she could ask questions. Her blood had been rushing, her mind slurred, half asleep and distracted by a pounding ache. Something in the preserve’s air mixture must’ve put her back to sleep. The entire episode seemed like a few hazy, fleeting moments now, maybe even a bad dream.

But this scanner tube was no dream.

How long had she been out? A few hours? A few days? She had been captured. That much was clear, but by whom? The Abramists? The equipment, even dimly lit, felt foreign—not a Carinian design.

The ring stopped a few feet below her exposed toes and went silent. She curled up in a ball and held herself, an intuitive and lifelong habit. Ever since she was a little girl, when her parents were too busy or formal to hug her, it had been her instinct, a small symbol of emotional independence.

The round, heavy door below her feet wheezed and swung open. Light poured in, making her squint. A scrawny Asian face poked into the opening, upside down from her angle. He made an “okay” sign with one hand and stretched a cheery smile over his gaunt cheeks.

“Scan say you okay.”

Sierra remained at the far end of the tube, staring at him and holding onto skepticism. She felt like a cornered animal, vulnerable and about to be consumed. But the young Asian staring at her seemed harmless as a dove.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Shu Jai Lin,” he said with a renewed smile. “Welcome. You can come.” He motioned for her to come out.

“Why did you attack my ship?” she demanded, holding herself in place against the far side of the tube.

Jai Lin shook his head. “Not attack your ship. No, we
find
you. Rescue you.”

That eased her mind a little. This mild fellow wasn’t the Abramist type anyway.

Still, Sierra didn’t move. “Whose ship is this?”

Jai Lin glanced over his shoulder, then motioned her to come out again. “I show you. Come on, I show you.”

She moved to the opening and peeked out. It looked like a typical, small, zero-gee-equipped med bay, but not Carinian. The style resembled Orionite craftsmanship, all pastel colors and rounded corners. The amenities seemed less than top of the line: stains on the walls, half the tool slots empty, rust on the metal lining of the sink—the kind of thing she’d expect to find in a decommissioned shuttle bound for the scrap field. Probably a small, sporty clipper. But belonging to whom?

Sierra pushed herself out and to a porthole, where Jai Lin hovered. He pointed out into space, and she gasped at the colossal wreckage of her ship. The once beautiful, majestic vessel had been splayed into a million shreds of polymeth and chrome. Amidst the fray, the bodies of her crew rolled slowly through the nothingness. Her attendants, her staff, the ship’s captain and technicians. Russell and Michaela, the chefs, held each other in frozen unity as they twisted in the darkness. Sierra blinked away warm, bitter tears as she pressed her fist over her battered heart.

Her ship had been sliced straight through the main body, reminiscent of a piece of layered cake cut by a shaky hand. On the bottom level, she spotted two moving lights beaming from the heads of figures in spacesuits—one in the kitchen, the other in the dining room on the opposite side of the wall. The one in the kitchen threw open a cabinet door, and hundreds of metal utensils flew out. The one in the dining room had his feet planted on the wall, trying to pull something out of a cubbyhole. With one final tug, a metal safe—
her
safe, holding
her
belongings—burst out of the cubbyhole and sent him flipping out of the dining room and into open space. The figure could’ve easily stopped himself with suit thrusters if he let go of the safe, but instead he clung to it like a baby koala bear to its mother.

Jai Lin pointed at the spinning figure. “Him. Is his ship.”

Sierra narrowed her eyes as she watched him tumble along, spewing compressed air in all directions, trying to stop somersaulting. She gave Jai Lin an incredulous glance.

“
That’s
the captain?”

Jai Lin gave his jolly smile again and nodded. Sierra’s eyes fluttered as she let out the breath she’d been holding. These were no Abramists; they were bumbling pirates.

“I’d like to talk to him as soon as he comes inside.” Sierra glanced down at her scant garments. “And . . . do you have anything I can put on over this?”

Davin hoped he remembered to turn off his comm, because he laughed all the way back to the airlock. The safe was a thick sumbagun. And it was a last minute find, too. A sweep of the whole glitz-boat revealed no obvious gems, but the portrait of Old Man Falco in his crisp, lordly uniform looked just a little too perfect. Or maybe it was the diamond-studded chandelier, which he made sure Jabron bagged, that gave it away. Something about the room felt too rich to lack secrets. In any case, he found the safe. And already he felt like a million sharebucks.

“You done, Cap?” Strange’s voice buzzed in his ear.

Damn
. He hadn’t turned off his comm.

“You see what I found?” Davin asked.

“I’ve got your helmet cam on the dash,” she said. “Listen, I’ve got an incoming message from one of the ships inbound, tagged for captain’s eyes only. You want me to save it or relay it?”

“Huh.” Davin delved into serious thought. “Weird. Have we ever gotten a message from other scavengers?”

“Not like this,” Strange replied. “Want me to relay it? I’m gonna relay it.”

A small, square screen appeared in Davin’s visor. A seated bald guy with a salt-and-pepper mustache-soulpatch combo stared straight into the camera. A stiff, black, upraised collar circled his neck. Silver buttons formed a line down the center of his chest. No patches or pins or insignias, but the fellow still looked military.

“This is a message to the captain of the
HCC
Fossa
. You have encroached upon property belonging to the Republic of Carina. This is a violation of law in our star-space. Leave now, without taking
any
scavenged goods or we will be forced to fire upon you. We await your compliance.” The video blinked out.

Davin looked down at the big safe in his arms. No way in hell was he tossing this thing back.

“Uh, boss,” Jabron said, opening the outer airlock door ahead. “He didn’t sound like no scavenger.”

“No, he did not,” Davin said. “Strange, how many moving targets inbound?”

“Three, Cap. What do you want me to do?”

Davin soared into the airlock and shoved the safe into a compartment behind a cargo net, staring at it as he thought. Jabron propelled himself to the locker beside him.

“I say we ditch the girl, keep the loot,” Jabron said. “They after her. They won’t see this loot missin’ till we’re long gone.”

Davin slapped the button to close the outer airlock. The ramp door slid up and clicked into place. Then came the slow-building hiss from the vents. A red light spun around on the ceiling until the hissing reached a climax. When it stopped, a green light flashed three times, and Davin popped his helmet. So did Jabron. Davin felt hot and moist and revved up.

“Alright, everybody,” he said into his nexband. “Let’s make a show of dumping some junk, then hightail it. If they ask for the princess, we’ll dump her, too. If not, we keep her.”

“Yeah, and let’s make it fast, boys,” Strange said. “Those incoming ships are Carinian frigates—fully loaded gunships.”

Davin wiped his forehead with his dermasuit sleeve as Jabron opened the inner airlock door. Why did all the best loot have to be the hardest to get away with?

When the inner airlock door opened, Sierra tightened the drawstrings of the baggy sweatpants she’d borrowed and propelled herself forward. Two scavengers floated around, peeling off sections of their suits. She grabbed onto a handlebar at the edge of the airlock, feeling timid as they apparently didn’t notice her.

“Do you know who I am?”

The smaller of the two was an impish type with short, damp, disheveled hair. He reached into his locker, withdrew a rubbery water bottle, flipped it around in his hand, and squirted some into his mouth. “Sure do, Princess.”

“Wha—” She didn’t expect such a flippant reply but resolved to respond graciously. “First of all, I’m not a princess. I’m the Carinian prima filia. We aren’t a royal family. Second, my ship has an automatic transponder that’s
already
alerted my government.”

The scavenger opened his mouth to reply, but Sierra wasn’t finished.

“
Third
, you’re pirates, meaning the Carinian government won’t hesitate to execute you if you don’t return me safe and sound.” Spoken out of fear rather than strength; she felt her voice wavering. No matter how much she wanted to sound authoritative like her father, she couldn’t.

The scavenger’s boyish face sported a lopsided grin as he loosened the cinchers around his suit. “Three points, eh? I’m sure your rhetoric teacher would be proud. But I’ll do you one better.” He yanked his skintight suit pants to his ankles and kicked them off, wearing only tight boxer briefs underneath. He held up one finger as Sierra averted her eyes. “First, your dad’s the prime minister. Your dad’s dad was the prime minister. And
his
dad was the prime minister, too. Sounds like a royal family to me, which makes you a princess.”

Sierra felt her face flush and started to protest, but the scavenger cut her off, holding up two fingers.

“
Second
, my boy Jabron found the transponder. Turns out it has an on-off switch.”

“Yep,” said the swarthy, deep-voiced man across the airlock, now wearing sweat shorts and a T-shirt bearing an image of a rabbit in a bow tie.

“Third,” the scavenger went on. “We’re not pirates, we’re scavengers.”

Once again, Sierra tried to protest, and again he cut her off.

“
Fourth
—” He peeled off his suit top and tossed it in his locker, leaving him naked except for his underwear. Rugged, brawny, and utterly obscene. Sierra kept her eyes far away. “You can call me Davin.”

“Okay,
Davin
, how did you happen upon my ship so fast?” Sierra asked, focusing on the lockers.

Davin shrugged. “Right place at the right time, I guess.” He glanced at Jabron. “Put some junk in the airlock. I’ll get the safe.” He turned and grabbed a vacuum-packed bag floating behind him. “Oh, and we found your wardrobe.” He tossed the bag at her, hitting her square in the stomach and sending her flying backward into the cargo hold. She clasped a worn cargo net with one hand and her clothing with the other. Some of the finest clothing in the galaxy—stuffed into a scavenger’s grubby loot bag. Still, they had salvaged something for her. She didn’t expect such thoughtfulness from scavengers, Orionites no less.

She watched as Davin turned over in the air while sliding on pants and a shirt. His return to decency brought relief and afforded her a few seconds to examine him. He moved through these minimal spaces with practiced ease, as if it was his home. Perhaps it was. Nothing seemed to break his lax demeanor, something she hadn’t experienced from strangers since she was a girl.