Faring Soul - Science Fiction Romance Read online

  Copyright © Tracy Cooper-Posey

  About Faring Soul

  Rumors emerge that Catherine Shahrazad, possibly the oldest person in the galaxy, has returned from the fringes and has been seen in Federation space. Wherever she goes, her name and her history cause civil unrest, riots and worse. The Federation Board doesn’t want her there. Neither do the leaders of Cadfael College, the educators and moralists of the galaxy. No one pays any attention to the reticent navigator called Bedivere X, who pilots her ship better than she does.

  The truth about Bedivere threatens the entire Federation.

  His feelings for Cat might just save everyone.

  This book is part of the Interspace Origins space opera romance series:

  Book 1: Faring Soul

  Book 2: Varkan Rise

  Book 3: Cat and Company

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  Chapter One

  Shanterry, Shanta II. Fringe Territories. Federation Year 10.066

  The cavernous hall held about five hundred men with skin the color of a really good rose wine and not a single one of them so much as noticed her. Loud chatter filled the air. The local language was a throat-ripper, but the laughter and smiles that punctuated it said they were having a great time. They might not be looking at her but Catherine knew that every man at this end of the hall was watching her, just the same.

  “Bedivere?” she said softly, barely letting her lips form the word.

  “I’m right here, Cat,” he said in her ear, the slight burr in his voice more distinct across the link.

  “I’m the only woman here.”

  He chuckled. “You should feel right at home then.”

  “I’m serious. I’m the only woman, the only red-head, the only one with white skin. I’m the only stranger. I’m standing out like a black hole in a star field.”

  “Then you won’t have to announce you’re there.”

  Despite her being so obviously out of place, she couldn’t catch anyone’s eye to ask where to find Neweds Friday. “Easy for you to say,” she shot back, not trying to hide her speech anymore. If they were going to pretend she was invisible, she’d pretend they weren’t there, too. “You’re sitting on a cruiser, parked on a deserted tidal plain ten klicks away from this.”

  “Tap someone on the shoulder, ask for Friday and go from there.” She could almost hear his shrug. “He wouldn’t have set up the meeting here if he thought you would be in any sort of danger. They want their money.”

  His nonchalance steadied her and she was annoyed at her momentary doubt. Focus, she reminded herself. She had been in far worse situations.

  Most of the people in the room were talking among themselves, many of them moving from group to group. She couldn’t see to the far end of the cavernous room, because there were too many men.

  So she stepped over to the nearest man and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me.” She used Standard, for the local dialect took vocal inflexions she couldn’t manage and to get them wrong was considered insulting.

  The man took his time turning. He was as tall as most of the fully mature men in the room seemed to be, which meant he was taller than Catherine and close to Bedivere’s height. She looked at the man. His eyes, like most Shantans’, were a reddish brown. Shanta was a closed-off little fringe world, although Friday was trying to change that by any means necessary. Their gene pool had thrown up some interesting mutations that in-breeding had stabilized. Which was a pity, Catherine thought, because unlike the vast majority of the settled galaxy that displayed only mild variations after millennia of racial cross-breeding, Shantans would stand out anywhere else, just like she was conspicuous here in this room.

  If Neweds Friday achieved his ambition of a Shantan seat on the Federation Board, the interstellar traffic to and from Shanta would change that and much more.

  “I’m looking for Neweds Friday,” Catherine said. “I have an appointment with him. He said to meet him here. Do you know where I can find him?”

  The man turned and pointed toward the other end of the room.

  Catherine smiled at him. “Thanks.” She hitched the bag over her shoulder to a more comfortable position and moved around him, for he continued to stare at her with an expressionless face, apparently happy to stand unmoving in front of her forever. She sidled around the knots of men, heading in the general direction the first one had indicated. As she passed each group, they fell silent and turned to watch her move forward, their soft flowing robes settling back around their knees as they all grew still.

  Her heart picked up speed.

  “You’ve gone quiet,” Bedivere said. “Still good?”

  She tapped out “yes” against her ear. In a room that was heading for silence, she wasn’t willing to speak aloud and let them know she had backup parked on the outskirts of the city.

  No one got out of her way so Catherine twisted and turned and moved sideways until she reached the other side of the room. There, she spotted the man who had to be Neweds Friday. Because Shanta was a fringe world, they weren’t plugged into the fedcore. Digging up images of Friday had been impossible, even with Bedivere’s advanced hunting skills. But Catherine knew it was him. Neweds Friday was the leader of this world and there was a single man sitting in a big chair surrounded by six or seven attentive men, looking more like a king than any leader had a right to. This had to be Friday.

  Unlike everyone else, Friday looked at her directly as soon as she spotted him. His face was unreadable, but there was intelligence in his eyes.

  Catherine approached him and everyone turned to follow her progress. Now the room was completely and utterly silent.

  “Neweds Friday,” she acknowledged when she reached him.

  “Caitlyn Azad,” Friday returned.

  He didn’t get to his feet. But Catherine didn’t bow, either, so she figured they were even. “We have business to transact,” she told him. “Perhaps you would like to step away from all the attention and conclude our business in private?”

  “I trust these men completely,” Friday said. He had a strong accent that made it difficult to understand his Standard. “They are my right arm and they are the reason this great world will win its place at the Federation table. You may speak freely in front of them.”

  “He’s campaigning,” Bedivere said, sounding disgusted.

  “Mmm,” Catherine replied. If Friday found it necessary to promote himself within the confines of a private business deal, then his position as the leader of Shanta wasn’t secure. There had to be challengers. Were those challengers opposed to this deal?

  The back of her neck prickled hard and Catherine suddenly wished she had a pair of eyes in the back of her head. She forced herself to smile brightly at Friday. “Very well. Let’s finish the deal.”

  The men shifted around her and she realized with growing unease that they were standing very close to her back and all around her. She was effectively surrounded. There was space behind Friday’s chair. Everyone wanted to be in front of the chair where the king could see them. But the chair itself was blocking her and any move she made toward the chair would alarm everyone around her and bring an instant reaction.

  She kept her feet still even though she really wanted to edge her way out of the enclosure. Instead, she gripped the straps of the bag on her shoulder, turning her hand inward so no one would spot how white her knuckles were.

  The shifting of the men morphed into a parting, so that a narrow corridor was formed. Through the corridor, two men wal
ked carrying a table between them. It looked like real wood and glowed with polish and care. It was placed reverently down in front of the chair, between Catherine and Friday.

  The crowd moved back in around them.

  Catherine frowned. To her mind, this was a simple exchange of goods for money, a transaction she had conducted thousands of times. But the assembly, the chair, the grand table…it had the trappings of ceremony. Friday was trying to impress his people. It was important that they see a successful deal take place. Which meant there was far more riding on this deal than she had properly understood.

  She and Bedivere had deconstructed the deal down to the cellular level. What had they missed?

  Her heartbeat lifted and she swallowed.

  The corridor formed once more and through the newly formed space came three men. The one in front was carrying a rattler—an older model, but still far more powerful than any non-Federation weapon ever built. He wore full body armor so that even his face was covered.

  A guard, Catherine realized.

  There was a second guard at the end of the short train. The man in the middle was carrying a hard-shell case, about twenty centimeters across and fifteen deep. He carried it on both hands, as though it was fragile or valuable or both. He laid the case down carefully in the middle of the gleaming surface of the table. The workmanlike hard sides of the case looked prosaic against the wood.

  Friday waved toward the case. “You may inspect the goods,” he said, as the two guards took up stances, one on each end of the table, and both turned to watch her.

  Catherine swung the bag so it was resting against her back and leaned over the table. She carefully lifted the case over to her side of the table, as if it was just as treasured by her. In a way, it was. This deal would bring her one step closer to a long-held ambition, one of the most ambitious achievements she had ever reached for.

  She rested her hand on the top of the case. “The environment inside is sterile?”

  “There is an independent sterility bubble. You can open the case without harm to the device.”

  Catherine believed him. Despite being a fringe world, the Shantans were techno-freaks. They had a knack for developing unexpected combinations of old and new, obscure and obvious. The resulting tech often provided solutions to problems people weren’t even aware needed addressing. The Shantans were also amenable to one-off tailored orders…for a price.

  Technology development was their forte and the backbone of their economy. It had put Shanta within reach of qualifying for Federation membership. Friday was pushing to close the gap.

  If they said the inside of the case was sterile and protected, she had no reason to doubt them. She opened the case.

  The device was nestled in a cradle of protective fibers. A slight sheen in the air over the top of the device proved the sterile bubble was in place. Catherine studied the device. It was about five centimeters square, with odd projections and bumps, enclosed in a silky smooth hard white shell, except for four protruding wires that had been wound up into neat bundles.

  Catherine closed the lid.

  “You are satisfied?” Friday asked.

  “I have no idea what I’m looking at,” Catherine said frankly and truthfully. “But if it doesn’t do what we asked for it to do, it will be a black mark on Shanta’s reputation. I’ll be very happy to tell everyone I know how Shanta let me down.” She smiled. “I know a lot of people.”

  Friday smiled just as widely. “We would not gamble with our reputation so close to our world’s finest hour.”

  “Unless he can get away with it in private,” Bedivere murmured in her ear and Catherine fought not to laugh.

  She hitched the heavy bag off her shoulder and placed it on the table. “Federation yen, at the price we agreed upon.” She rested her hand on the bag briefly. There was a lot of money in it. She and Bedivere could have lived on it for a few years. Friday, with his ostentatious ways, would burn through it in a year. But it was none of her business how he chose to spend it.

  She reached for the handle of the hard case and Friday held up his hand. “There is just one additional matter before we can conclude our business,” he said.

  Catherine let go of the case reluctantly. Her heart hammered. “There is nothing else,” she said. “You have your money. I take the tech and we’re done.” They were empty words, but the protest was necessary. She had to look like this was an undesirable surprise, even though they had been half-expecting something like this.

  “Damn, he’s going to up the ante,” Bedivere said.

  “Mmm,” she said.

  Friday’s smile increased. “Meeting your technical specifications provided challenges we had not anticipated. We are out of pocket on these expenses.”

  Catherine shook her head. “That’s not my problem.”

  “Your price was to include the development of the device. These are development costs.” His smile faded and the men around Catherine shifted. The guards, though, were perfectly still.

  “You’re reneging on the deal we made,” she pointed out.

  “I’m renegotiating.”

  “We had reached mutually acceptable terms already.”

  “Then consider the increase inflation. You have no choice, Caitlyn Azad. No one else could build this for you.”

  “True,” Bedivere added. “Or we wouldn’t be here talking to him. I’m ready. Just give the word.”

  Catherine nodded. “How much?” she asked Friday.

  He quoted the price and she sighed. “That’s nearly double.”

  “String him along,” Bedivere said. “Let him think you’re figuring out how to pay that much.”

  Catherine studied Friday. What had changed? Why all the ceremony? The public deal? The reach for even more money didn’t fit with the pomp and circumstance.

  Unless…

  “What’s the date?” she asked aloud. “The Federation date?” she qualified.

  Friday frowned. “What?”

  “It’s the second month of sixty-six,” Bedivere answered swiftly. “The new Board criteria are published at the start of each Federation year.” He had understood why she was asking about the date.

  “And he can’t meet the new criteria,” Catherine said, watching Friday watch her with his muddy orange-brown eyes. “He’s screwing us to get his cash.”

  There were enough men standing around her fluent in Standard that their combined reactions and movement raised the tension in the room immediately. Catherine moved her feet, getting ready for action.

  “I’m looking at the new criteria now,” Bedivere said. “The cash contribution alone would bankrupt most fringe planets. This isn’t personal. Friday is probably squeezing every single deal for extra cash. But now he’s named the new price, he can’t afford to back down even with a fair negotiation. He’ll lose face.”

  Catherine nodded. “So, whenever you’re ready,” she told Bedivere.

  “Who are you speaking to?” Friday demanded.

  “My navigator,” Catherine said and pointed toward the ceiling, letting him confirm in his own mind that her ship was in orbit, just as a normal ship would be. It wouldn’t occur to anyone in this room that a ship that was jump-capable would also be able to navigate atmosphere and land. That would play to their advantage.

  “Now,” Bedivere said and Catherine braced herself.

  The explosion rocked the room. The sound was overwhelming. Catherine clapped her hands to her ears even though she had been expecting it. Lights flickered and the ground shook.

  Panic immediately gripped the room but before the floor stopped rolling, Catherine pole-vaulted the table and took out one of the armed guards with a kick under the chin, one of the weak points in that type of armor. She completed the vault, grabbed the hard case and pointed her hand at the second guard, aiming for the underarm area. He’d raised his gun, a Wiebe knock-off that had a tendency to stick at the wrong moment. The movement lifted his arm and gave her a large target.

  The sl
eepy dart gave a soft hissing sound as it left the dart gun tucked into her sleeve, but she didn’t hear it beneath the roaring panic gripping the room. The dart buried itself in the guard’s armpit and he immediately crumpled. The anesthetic was powerful.

  “And now,” Bedivere said.

  The second explosion locked in the confusion and hysteria, which was exactly what the percussion bombs had been intended to do. They were harmless artificial thunder, set off right up against the side of the building, but when they were not expected, on a world that had never experienced storms, they generated just the sort of panic Catherine needed to escape.

  Friday was just starting to lift himself out of his chair, his eyes wide. Catherine landed on her feet on the other side of the table, right in front of his chair. She let momentum carry her forward and grabbed Friday’s shoulder, shoving him back into the chair. Then she pushed down, using his shoulder for leverage and vaulted again, this time right over the arm of the chair. She slotted her feet through the opening between the chair and the official standing next to it, his hand to his ears. This time, when her boots contacted the floor she let herself roll forward, the case tucked up against her chest to protect it.

  The roll brought her to a sprawling halt, five meters beyond the milling, robed men. She picked up the case, got to her feet, spotted the back door Bedivere had found on the radar scan of the building an hour before landing the ship and ran like hell.

  * * * * *

  The streets of Shanterry were nice and straight, but they were narrow. Bedivere couldn’t land here without destroying buildings. Destruction of property would build resentment against them, when all they wanted to do was take their fair share of the deal. Catherine had left the bag with the agreed-upon payment in it sitting on the table.

  So she gripped the handle of the case and kept running. “Bedivere!”

  “I’ve got your location. There’s a park, three kilometers ahead of you and two blocks over. It’s big enough to take the ship.”