Part 4 (1/2)

And it wasn't, Califa supposed, to her. And the girl had no idea what it meant to her companion, to be able to do a simple thing like ask a question.

”And... Dax?”

The girl's smile vanished. ”Dax is Dax,” she said simply. ”He needs no other name.”

That was true enough, Califa thought. The man was the most legendary skypirate in the system, with a reputation for daring, fighting skill, and absolute mercilessness when it came to his preferred Coalition targets. It was for this last reason that the Coalition's Triad Commission had raised the reward for his head to an astounding level.

From what she'd heard, no one knew where he came from, but his name alone was enough to strike terror into the most seasoned Coalition pilots, and word of his presence in the vicinity made even the most well-guarded of Coalition colonies nervous.

”He is... notorious,” Califa ventured, choosing her words carefully in view of the girl's obvious devotion to the man.

”Yes,” Rina answered, pride ringing in her voice. ”He is. With reason. But he is more than a skypirate, you know. To some he is a hero. To those who welcome him, those who live under the Coalition's heel.”

Califa winced inwardly at the girl's words. She herself had, literally, felt the pressure of that crus.h.i.+ng heel, and she still bore the marks to prove it. Turning away from a memory that was bitter for more reasons than physical pain, she made herself think of the rest of what Rina had said.

Even before her enslavement, she had heard the murmurs about the larger than life Dax; afterward, when she was among those who had the most reason to hate the Coalition, the murmurs had taken on the aspect of legends. She had heard many reasons for his seeming crusade, from the theory that he was seeking vengeance for some Coalition injustice, to the simple conjecture that since the Coalition had practically all the a.s.sets in the system, it made the most logicaland profitabletarget. It was said that honest people had nothing to fear from him; it was the Coalition and its direct supporters who had best watch all flanksand their backs. She had once dismissed the stories as exaggerationand near treason. Now that she'd met the man himself, she wasn't so sure. Just as she wasn't sure she knew what treason was, anymore.

”And you, Califa? Do you have a surname?”

Too late, she realized she should have expected this. She had no wish to offend the girl, but nor did she wish to take the chance some member of this crew might recognize her name. Their feelings about anyone connected to the Coalition had been more than clear, and she didn't dare take a chance that there would be any quarter given for her circ.u.mstances.

”Slaves have no need of surnames, Rina.”

The girl's forehead creased in puzzlement beneath the thick, blond bangs. ”But you weren't always a slave, were you? And you're no one's slave here.”

No one's slave. The very words made her heart leap. What had Dax said?A power no one has the right to have. Eos, there had been a time when she would have considered that kind of thinking treason as well.

The sudden increase in noise brought her out of her thoughts, and saved her from having to answer Rina's questions. They had come to what obviously served as both galley and gathering place for the crew. There were half a dozen men there, including Roxton and the man she'd seen in the shuttle bay, the man Dax had called Larcos. Tall and lanky, he reminded her of a man she'd once known, in another life. Yet somehow she sensed there was a lively intelligence in this man that had been lacking in the other.

The silence that fell upon the room as she entered gave Califa a powerful feeling of remembrance. This was no strange experience to her; she had often brought silence to a noisy room by her mere presence. In that other life.

Again she fought down the bitterness that thought roused in her. Bitterness was a worthless emotion. Anger was much more productive. It enabled you to stay sane when your mind was on the verge of snapping. It kept you from breaking to another's will. It gave you a reason to live, when all other reasons were gone.

Slowly, talk began again as Rina led her across the room to a table where food was set outsurprisingly good food, Califa thought, recognizing rockfowl, sloeplums, and a decanter of lingberry liquor among the dishes. No prepackaged, zap-heated meals for this crew. The pirates ate well, but then, why not? They raided the best Coalition galleys and pantries with regularity.

She wondered if the cook, who stood to one side of the table, his eyes fastened on her collar, had been purloined along with the food, or if he, too, was a pirate by choice. She wished she'd kept the strip of Dax's cloak wrapped about her throat, hiding the golden band.

She filled a plate, trying not to betray her hunger by tearing into the spicy rockfowl the moment she had it in her grasp. She had some little bit of pride left. She pa.s.sed by the liquor, thinking if there was ever a time when she needed her wits about her, it was now. Water would suffice, or perhaps some of the sloeplum juice.

Rina, fortunately, was hungry as well, and not disposed toward conversation as they took seats near the door. Califa bit into the rockfowl, thinking nothing had ever tasted so good. Her stomach growled loudly; Rina merely grinned at her while chewing industriously.

Califa remembered the story she'd heard about Dax's bold foray into the storehouses on Alpha 2, where he'd snagged a s.h.i.+pment of brollet steaks headed for Legion Command itself. No one in the Coalition had believed the rumors that Dax had distributed the steaks among the labor camps, and they knew there was no way he could have used the entire s.h.i.+pment himself, even had he and his crew eaten the meat three times a day for a week. So the Coalition had seen the raid for what it was: a slap in the face. And the Triad had promptly doubled the price on his head.

Enough to tempt even the most loyal crew member, she thought, gazing around at the gathered group. As if she had conjured him up by her thoughts, Dax strode into the room. He was greeted by a chorus of good-natured jibes about his less than graceful descent down the last few feet of the cliff, a story which had obviously quickly made the rounds. Califa waited for him to explain that what he'd done had quite probably been the only thing that had given them enough time to get safely away, but instead he merely grinned back at them and made an elaborate bow, which was greeted with a raucous round of applause.

He didn't need to defend himself, she realized. Not to these men, who looked at him with a respect and admiration that fell little short of wors.h.i.+p. Perhaps that reward wasn't high enough after all, she thought. Perhaps no reward would be high enough to induce one of this group to betray him.

She knew what it took to inspire that kind of feeling in a crew, especially a motley bunch like this one. She'd never been able to do it, herself. Fear, yes, she'd been able to induce that, and swift obedience, but never this kind of affectionate, almost loving respect. Shaylah had, but She purposely bit down on her lip, hard. She hadn't willingly allowed that name into her mind for nearly a year. But that was when she had had the misery of her existence to distract her; what would be strong enough to take her mind off that old pain now?

Involuntarily her gaze went back to the man who had just entered the room, as if he held the answer. She remembered the odd feeling that had come over her, standing there on the gangway, when he had first come striding toward her. The voluminous cloak and hunched posture he'd a.s.sumed in the prison had been a better disguise than she'd realized. He was tall, straight, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped. Strongly muscled without bulk, he moved with a quick grace that put her in mind of some of the wild creatures she'd seen in cinefilmsmainly the lethal ones. The thick mane of hair, which was nearly as dark as hers but much longer, tumbling past his shoulders, did nothing to allay the feral image. He had been clad then as he was now, in a loose white s.h.i.+rt, laced at the throat, a belt that held both a hand disrupter and a dagger that looked almost too ornate to be of much use; she had wondered whereor from whomhe'd stolen it. Snug dark blue trousers clung to the lean muscles of his thighs before they were tucked into knee-high boots.

Odd boots, she realized now, studying them with interest. From the top of the right one, within easy reach, protruded the handle of what looked like a much more functional knife. That was not so strange. It was the left boot that was different. Around the top were st.i.tched several small pockets, narrow and only a handsbreadth long. Each one held a length of odd-looking material, appearing to be not quite metal, not quite stone, and blunted on the protruding end. Like some kind of huge nail or bolt Bolts. It hit her then. These were the ammunition for that amazing weapon he'd used, the thing Rina had called the flashbow. The weapon that had blasted a hole in a wall she'd have thought would have taken a fusion cannon. The weapon that had glowed at his touch, that had come alive as if with the energy of the man himself.

The weapon that had made him close up against her like a curlbug at her mere mention of it.

He spotted her then. His eyes widened, flicked up and down her slender frame, as if he was as surprised as Rina had been, but in a different way. Then he started toward her. Slowly, unwilling to give the appearance of nervousness, she set down her gla.s.s. As he approached, she held his gaze, feeling his stare was a test of some kind. The vivid green eyes bored into hers, and she felt as much a captive to them as to the collar she wore. This, then, was the legend, the man who struck terror into the hearts of the Coalition's finest, the man who needed but one name.

He came to a halt in front of her. ”You look...”

”Different,” Califa suggested, as Rina had.

”Quite.” His gaze flicked downward, and Califa was suddenly aware of the snugness of the borrowed flight suit over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His dark lashes lifted, and she lowered hers so that he wouldn't see her unexpected response to his perusal. ”Those rags did you no justice.”

”Thank you.” Eos, was she blus.h.i.+ng? She couldn't believe it; she never, ever blushed.

”You've eaten?”

The mundane question relaxed her. ”A little,” she said, discomfited at having to crane her head back to look at him. She was a tall woman, and unused to feeling small beside a man. ”You dine well.”

He grinned, and Califa sucked in a quick breath. Instead of hunting him down, she thought, the Coalition should convince him to join them; he would be a walking, breathing recruitment placard it would be hard to resist. Especially for women, she added with a rueful honesty.

”That we do,” he said. ”But we're hardworking men. And girl,” he added, his grin widening as he glanced at Rina.

”Honestly, Dax,” Rina sputtered. ”You'd think I was still a child, the way you talk.”

Dax looked at the girl, his amus.e.m.e.nt gone, something dark and pained taking its place. ”No. It's been a long time since you were a child, Rina, though you should still be.”

The girl looked distressed, as if she had somehow caused his pain. ”Dax, don't. If you hadn't rescued me”

He raised a hand to quiet her. ”Sorry, little one. It's old ground that should be long forgotten.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile.”This rescue, however, will take some time to forget. At least until the bruises fade.”

Califa looked at him sharply. The green eyes flicked to her face, to her bruised cheek. She knew he had to know by the color of it that it had occurred long before their trip down the cliff. But he said nothing about it, only letting his smile and his tone change to one of pure self-mockery. ”I'll be eating standing up, it seems.”

The crew roared with laughter, then began their teasing anew, and the moment of odd tension abated.

”I've a question for you, sir!”

Dax turned to look at who'd spoken, a man with bushy hair the sandy color of Omegan soil. Califa thought he had the look of an Omegan as well, stocky, with muscles thick enough to cope with the big planet's heavy gravity. When away from their home planet, Omegans possessed strength that was, by comparison, extraordinary. Califa had found that strength had interesting uses, in that other life she'd once led.

Dax grabbed a piece of the savory rockfowl, then sat with one hip gingerly on the edge of the table, facing his questioner. The crew laughed again, saying they now knew exactly where he was bruised, but Dax merely grinned.

”Out with it, Hurcon,” he said with a nod toward the stocky, bristle-faced man who had spoken.

”What do you plan to do with the Arellian?”

Califa stiffened as the others chimed in, echoing the question. After the brief moments of being treated like a normal being, the reversion to slave status, to being talked about as if she weren't there, or was too stupid to understand, stung more than she would have believed possible.