By Jane Carver

Voices below deck greeted Vangee with reserved respect. Gambrel would dust anyone who didn’t show her deference. A few like Jacon greeted welcomed her, warm friendship evident in words and actions. While Jacon, his wife and daughter spoke to her like an old acquaintance, none laid a hospitable hand on her arm or patted her shoulder. How must she feel, he wondered, to be surrounded by those who know you but never be touched? How lonely she must be.

He refused to see himself in her circumstance. No one laid a hand him except in a fight, and he never missed any of the warmth associated with such contacts. In a lifetime long ago, someone loved and cherished him. All that disappeared in the flash of a blaster. He gained nothing by letting anyone come close again.

While Vangee talked to fellow passengers, he looked around the large room. Individual cabins lined the hull from stern to bow. Families lived in smaller ones. Unmated men shared larger ones. The same for unmated women. Portholes along the hull allowed for a clear view of space. Despite the crowded room, the high ceiling alleviated a sense of being cramped. Quite pleasant for a man his size.

Jacon moved to his side while Vangee stood on the other. Her hood hid most of her face. Gambrel remembered her saying how much she disliked meeting strangers.

“Vangee Windrum and Gambrel Sarjean, meet some of our fellow passengers.” Jacon introduced a small barrel-chested man who stood shorter than Vangee. “This is Wangon, master grower. Chiffro, his mate and his son, Aldin.” Vangee nodded, but Gambrel was forced to accept the man’s clasp in welcome. The young one, Aldin, impressed him when he stepped forward, bowed slightly to Vangee then clasped his arm like the father.

Jacon nodded to the family, and they moved aside. A young man came forward. His dark skin and lizard-like features proclaimed him a member of the Lazzard race. “Pessios, sire. Lady.” He also clasped Gambrel’s arm in greeting and gave Vangee a bow of respect.

While Gambrel debated whether he smiled or not, Pessios lifted the sides of his large mouth. A narrow red tongue came out and flicked the air between them. Gambrel stood his ground but wondered if the man tested him somehow.

“I offend you, sire. Not my intention. I merely tasted your scent so I can find you if necessary. Our people protect those who are important or beloved in this way.” With another bow, he passed on out of sight.

For the next sixty-brace, Gambrel met men and woman who seemed no different from him in their desire to seek a better life. Yet he knew himself unlike them. His existence revolved around killing, hunting those who killed. Once he had worked as an enforcer. Then he became a being bent on revenge. Fifteen years he had looked for Handid and the criminals that followed him. Now only one man remained alive. No one here could imagine the way Gambrel lived.

Pessios and a fellow Lizzardian named Canfanto talked to Jacon and Gambrel while Vangee visited with Effie, Dara’s mother, the girl he met earlier. Vangee caught his eye and nodded toward Dara. Did he notice the child trying to escape her mother’s arms, intent on reaching him?

The little girl frowned at her mother and squirmed in her arms. She implored him with her gaze, but he ignored her. Finally, she gave up trying to get to him and put her head on her mother’s shoulder where she promptly fell asleep.

Most of the women left to put their children to bed. Gambrel stood beside Vangee, her shoulders slumped. Weariness rode her hard. Having no way to tell time on the ship, he assumed it must be late. About to take leave of her and Jacon, he paused when the other man put out a hand to stop him. Jacon raised one eyebrow and nodded toward a small group of men approaching.

“You are the one called Sarjean?” The man speaking wore leathers like Gambrel but stood far shorter than he. He looked to be a man of mature years, in the prime of life. He would probably also fall short of Gambrel’s extended years. Flat black eyes, wide and large, stared at the taller man. While his face appeared human, certain aspects of his physiology showed him to be otherwise. The man shed no light on his origins. He left no doubt what he thought of Gambrel joining the voyage so late and in the manner he did.

He introduced himself as Gastrojan. His companions were Pharlie and Lycol. “Who brought you aboard? We signed up when the contract opened. Who are you to rate this kind of treatment? Better for all of us if you leave at the first port.” The man hooked his thumbs deep in his belt and took a wider stance. A fighter’s stance.

Never hook your thumbs. If you need to throw a punch, you’d be out of luck. Trapped. Gambrel smiled at the thought of hitting the cocky bastard. No matter what side of the universe he traveled to, men like him always made their presence known. His attitude would make the trip harder to bear.

Gambrel’s smiles usually scared men, but Gastrojan didn’t change his stance or glare. Faster thinkers than their leader, his friends stepped back. Gambrel let the smile slip from his face, and he shook his head, sorry for the shorter man.

Before anything inappropriate happened, a hush fell over the group. The aura of the room shifted. He no longer wanted to pound the sanctimonious sneer off Gastrojan. The other man looked confused.

A soft hand touched Gambrel’s tense arm muscles. Immediately he relaxed. He didn’t want to, but he did.

Vangee stepped to his side. “Good night, Gastrojan. Our introduction can wait for another day.” She turned to Jacon, but still touched Gambrel’s arm. “Friend Jacon, I will join you at morning rise.” She climbed the stairs, leaving two of the three men bemused by their sudden disinterest in fighting.

The staring contest between the two men would have continued, but the younger man turned away. The trio left.

Jacon shook his head, glanced at Gambrel, and smiled. “She did it again.” With no further explanation, he too quit the room.

She used her power as a Radiant to empathically influence the men’s behaviors. Gambrel wondered—could she avert a war if necessary?

Deck lights glowed in small patches. Otherwise, the only light came from the sun behind the fleet. Seven morning rises would pass before they left the dying planet behind. He caught up with Vangee by virtue of his longer stride, not because he hurried.

Neither spoke until they reached the door leading to the cabins below. Vangee stopped on the first step leading to the upper deck. “I must speak to the captain about those men.”

* * * *

Gambrel entered the cabin to find a larger bed attached to the wall where a smaller one once stood. Someone had removed the plate and cup Vangee brought earlier. He tested the mental control over the lights and smiled like a little boy when they brightened then faded and went out at his command. He lit one so it glowed softly against the bank of windows.

A gusty sigh escaped his lips. The bed’s firmness beneath his rear felt good, soft but not mushy. The black coat lay across the chair. His shirt buttons slipped apart slowly. The day was catching up to him. He scratched the hairs on his belly then tossed the shirt over his coat.

He’d lived in the thing for days. When did he last put on clean clothes? He couldn’t remember. Moving fast and looking for a killer who didn’t want to be found meant sleeping in the same clothes quite often. A self-sufficient man, he would take care of cleaning his things tomorrow.

He pulled a knife from inside his boot as the door opened. A small body slipped through. Instincts told him to throw the blade, but recognition held his hand.

“What the fick are you doing here?” Gambrel reached for his shirt but couldn’t get a grip on it, mainly because his gaze was locked on Vangee.

When he caught her eyeing the knife, the blade longer than his hand, he closed it and slipped it beneath his pillow. A weapon would not change the subject as far as he was concerned. Vangee Windrum had no business in this cabin.

“A fighter never gives up all his arsenal, huh?” She didn’t sound disappointed, scared, or defiant, merely amused. “If you promise no one but me will see that, I won’t say a word to Merlo.” Further into the cabin she moved, took off her cape, and hung it on a peg.

Decorations on the wall turned out to be drawers filled with feminine things like the lavender gown and robe she pulled out. She shook out the wrinkles then crossed the cabin, the garments thrown over her arm.

“What the fick are you doing in here?” Gambrel’s bellow would have awoken the dead if any were around. He harbored a sudden fear her father might rise from his watery grave and chase him off the ship into the breathlessness of space. The mere thought made Gambrel gasp for air.

“’Brel, are you all right?” Vangee came closer, her hand out to touch him, but he waved her away.

“Get out, lady. You don’t belong here.” He stood and grabbed his shirt, swinging it on while moving as far across the cabin as possible. His back hit the door when she approached.

“I don’t understand.”

He caught and held her gaze, willed several lights to glow brighter. He searched her eyes, looking for her soul and found instead the one thing he hoped he wouldn’t—innocence. Curse words from three planets burned the air.

She must leave.

His heart hammered against the wall of his chest. Each breath came more rapidly, became less filling. Sweat sopped his brow in the cool room. Thunder filled his ears, and his vision narrowed to the woman standing before him, confusion and concern creasing her forehead. His large hands opened and closed, wanting to feel the skin where her neck met her shoulder, wanting to hear her breathe next to his ear. Wanting to absorb the smells of her womanly essence. His shaft filled with blood and demanded relief. Thank the gods, his shirt hung loose and covered the mammoth bulge between his legs.

Maybe she should see his condition. Then she would leave. Take his hope. A hope that sprang alive when she slipped into the room like a lover coming to her mate. No, he couldn’t do it. She would not understand, a woman without a man. Untested in the ways of sexual intimacy.

His emotions held tight, he stepped closer and took hold of her shoulders. “You shouldn’t be here, lady. It’s not proper. I’m not some fresh-faced boy with harmless innocent desires. I might hurt you and not mean to.” Honesty worked best now.

His explanation cleared her confusion. The frown of worry left her face, and she smiled at him. She backed up a step. Gambrel let her go rather than bruise her.

“’Brel, this is the cabin my father and I were to share. This is where you are to stay. Don’t worry. The others know we are friends. You will not hurt me.” She held up her hand when he protested. “That man, Gastrojan, will not hurt you, and I will not allow you to harm him.”

Gambrel frowned in confusion.

  “Did you not sense me blocking your urge to hit the man?” She pouted. “Gastrojan wanted to fight. You would have stopped him, but someone else might have gotten hurt.” A small stool stood near. She sat and draped the clothes over her knees. “I am safe, and this is your home until we reach the new planet.”

“I can’t stay here. With you. It’s not right. We are not mated.” Others would not favor him for being here.

“That counts for nothing when we speak of me.” She flounced a bit, something he didn’t think her capable of. A totally feminine gesture. “I’m a Radiant, ‘Brel. My life differs from others. No one will say or do anything.”

“Speak it, no. Think it, they will. I can not ruin your reputation, lady.”

“Lady! Lady! Why do you insist on calling me such? We are friends, are we not? My name is Vangee. Call me so!” Her ire grew as her voice rose.

Surely Radiants were not subject to fits of temper. Yet her pale complexion wore a rosy hue of anger.

“My friends call me that though most never see my face clearly.” In a true huff, she left the stool and neared the opposite wall next to the built-in bed. Her bed, he realized. His was attached and much larger. Truly she did not expect him to lie with her.

A panel against the wall came away on a swinging hinge. Vangee lifted a metal bar at the side, and a shaft dropped into a shallow hole in the floor thus anchoring the wide panel at an angle. She stepped behind the board to change her clothes, leaving him to fight his imagination.

The tunic of her gray suit came to rest over the panel’s edge. Gambrel uncrossed his arms and rubbed his erection. The swelling filled his leather pants to the point of pain. If she were any other woman closed here with him, he’d undo the lacings and let himself fall into her waiting hands. His engorged shaft sought a hot, wet, and willing hole.

But this was Vangee, and he wasn’t about to subject her to his lust. He swept up his coat and stuffed the knife back down his boot. “I’m going to find somewhere else to sleep. Good night.” His traveling bag over his shoulder, a blanket tucked under his arm, he stomped to the door.

Before he opened it, her voice sighed across the room and captured his heart. “’Brel? Captain Merlo assigned each soul to a cabin so he would know where they were in case of an emergency. He will not abide someone stowing away in a corner on deck.” She glided out from behind the panel. The glows faded, leaving the room in darkness.

He saw only her silhouette. She stepped to the side of her bunk, sighed—a sound filled with a faint tremble of pain.

“I’m sorry you want to leave. I promise not to bother you. But there simply is no choice.”

The whisper of silk sliding to the floor caught his attention and tightened his throat as well as his shaft. In his imagination, she wore a whisper-thin gown. She pulled down the cover and slid under. Perhaps she left it over her hips or maybe at her feet. Perhaps she lay on her back, those large breasts peaked and hard. A trickle of sweat rolled down the side of his face.

“The cabin is warm. I will cool it. Works like the lights. Think cooler, and it will be so.” Her drowsy voice created visions of lusty hot pounding sex.

Hot? Fick! His blood boiled.

“Go to sleep,” she whispered.

“Only for tonight. I will speak to Captain Merlo at morning rise.”

“As you wish.” One last sigh and he knew she slept. This day burdened her with a killer, deprived her of a father and her home. She earned her rest.

His teeth clamped together so hard his jaw ached. Would she turn and speak again? When she didn’t, he slowly removed his clothes. Normally he slept with nothing on but a cover. Not this night or any other while aboard the Fenix. He feared his dreams and any possible results might get him in trouble. Best to leave on his leathers.

When he lay down, Gambrel discovered the pillow held her smell. He propped his arms beneath his head and wished he still sucked Lubian smoke sticks. They always calmed his nerves.

If her life changed that day, so did his. Trapped on a ship with those who abided the rules and shunned any who took justice into their own hands. Trapped in a cabin with a woman he desired more than anyone. Even his departed wife.

Long ago, he wanted different things. Now he desired something he had never dreamed of. Unconditional love. He and Xantis never shared that kind of connection. They loved the idea of being in love. But they weren’t. Not really.

His tense jaw popped. Sleep seemed far away, tension too close.

“’Brel?”

Fick. Wasn’t she asleep?

“Yes…Vangee?” He used her name reluctantly.

“Don’t be mad.”

Ah, she tore out his heart. Her concern sounded real. “I’m not. I put you in a bad situation, and I’m not happy about it.”

“Everything will work out.” A pause then she settled. “G’night.” Her words slurred.

“Night.” His hesitation this time. Something had nagged at him almost from the start. Minor but bothering. “Vangee?” He whispered in case she slept again. Did she want to hear his silly question? Maybe she was asleep.

“Umm?”

Fick! No such luck.

“Why do you call me ‘Brel?”

She took forever to answer, and he hoped she drifted off finally. But no, she answered.

“Because.”

“What kind of answer is that?” For the first time, he forgot who and what she was and talked to her like an ordinary woman. One who gave him a nonsensical female answer. “No one else calls me that.”

“I’m glad I’m the only one. I like ‘Brel. It’s a strong name…like you.” She waited a moment longer before adding, “It makes me feel safe.”

This? From a woman who controlled the emotions of crowds? His name made her feel safe? Would he ever understand women? Especially this one?

No use beating his brain about things he could not comprehend nor change. For a while he lay with his eyes open, his mind drifting over the last years, weeks, and the past few days. What chance of fate left him sailing astral tides?

* * * *

He laid in bed in a sweat the next morning rise for a different reason. His bladder sloshed, and he needed to relieve himself. But where were the personal facilities? Finally, he could stand the fullness no longer.

“Vangee!” His hiss sounded like a snake’s. When she didn’t stir, he tried again. “Vangee!” The bed sheets rustled.

“Umm?” From the sounds, she woke slowly.

“Where’s the personal facility? I’m about to bust.” No sense in wasting words.

“What?” Her drowsy reply said she wasn’t fully awake yet.

“Personal facilities. Where?”

“Oh.” She turned to face him. He looked over his pillow and caught her early morning sleepy-eyed expression. “See those panels in the corner beyond the door? Pull the first one out then hook the slide in the hole in the floor.” The contraption worked like her dressing panel. “Pull the other one all the way out like a door. They fit together and form a room complete with everything you need.” Her jaw popped when she yawned.

“Thank you.” She remained on her side facing him. He gave her a glare and raised one eyebrow. No way would he get up while she watched. The huge bulge between his legs was too obvious. If he were after sex, the bulge would mean something else entirely. But just to piss. No way.

She finally caught on, giggled and turned over with an exaggerated flounce. He had known this woman less than two days. Had no one but her father ever seen her do that, heard her giggle? A Radiant she might be, but she was delicious female too.

Faster than grace permitted, he opened the panels and relieved his bladder.

I accidently added a pay subscription to my last post–this one Chapter 10. NO! This is free for all.

By Jane Carver

For a while, Gambrel observed the fleet then strolled down the deck. Those who greeted him got a curt nod in return. He scanned each group and picked out those he thought might rebel against authority, those who might submit without a fight. Among the men were some like Jacon, men who preferred peace but would fight if necessary and not quibble. Such men he wanted by his side even if he didn’t understand their noble logic.

A few on deck appeared ill, as if the motion of the ship disagreed with them. Better get used to it. The solid feel of a planet beneath one’s feet would not come again for months.

When he first saw the Fenix, he didn’t think it this large. But what did he know about sailing ships? Not much, but he’d learn before he left. His thoughts refused to dwell on leaving Vangee, so he wandered the lower deck.

At the far end of the deck, he found a corner, quiet, and dim. He propped his shoulder against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared into space. Like any fighting man, he took his rest where he could. Soon his chin fell, and a small thundering snore rattled his body.

Some extra sense woke him. His eyes opened to slits, he scanned the deck. No one paid attention to him. Someone watched him. A chill ran up his back. He took a slow deep breath in an attempt to smell anything unusual. He detected nothing different. The sensation niggled at him, but with no evidence of a watcher, he pushed the idea to the back of his mind. His eyelids slid closed again, and he settled his shoulder more comfortably against the hard wall.

Some sound, a motion, something brought him awake though he never moved. Never let your enemy know you are aware of him. Again, he scanned the area around him. Turning his head slightly so he could see the deck above, he still found no one’s attention focused on him.

Seldom did his sense of warning betray him. A watcher stood close by. Just then, a sound near his boots alerted him. Without being obvious, his gaze swept the floor. With a small chuckle and the beginning of a smile, Gambrel relaxed.

A tiny one stood close to his leg. Her head rested back on her shoulders, the better to look up his length. One digit lay secure deep in her mouth. Large dark eyes in a face of pale peach-colored skin studied him with an intensity he saw only in adults. A mass of wavy brilliant orange locks fell to her knees. Hide britches encased her chubby legs, and a long faded brown shirt covered her from shoulder to thigh.

Her gaze amused him. So serious yet unafraid she appeared. Rather than engage the child in conversation, he decided to ignore her. He closed his eyes again and took a deep cleansing breath.

It didn’t work.

He sensed her presence though she said nothing. Her gaze seemed to penetrate his closed eyelids. With a sigh, he knew he would have to send the girl on her way.

“Go to your mother, little one.” His voice, one used to scare the intestinal masses out of many an evil one, elicited no response from her. When she didn’t move, he tried again.

“Go away.” A wave of his hand gestured her back to the women standing not far away. The child refused to leave his side.

A fissure of concern arose in him. What was he to do? His sleep vanished the minute he saw her so close. If he left, would she follow him? Some mother might get upset thinking he might hurt her. Nothing could be further from the truth, but he didn’t want a fight to prove it.

Ignore her. She’d go away, grow tired of waiting for a response he didn’t plan to give. With exaggerated motions, he snapped his eyes closed, firmly tucked each hand under his armpits, and let his head fall with a thunk on to his chest. He even crossed his legs at the ankles though he was careful not to hit the little one.

This time he felt no discomfort. The child must have moved away. A second’s worth of regret touched him then vanished. Years ago, so many that time misted the memory, a child had tugged at his boots.

Bury the thought! Forget it.

As he settled, a small body wrap around his boot. One thin arm clung as she rested against the smooth hide. Peering over his arms, he smiled this time as the girl propped her body next to his, using his leg for a resting post. One digit still hid in her wet mouth. She even crossed her ankles like him.

The child must go, return to shelter. To be near him wasn’t always the safest place, and he knew it. Slowly he straightened. She clung tenaciously to his leg.

Only when he took one step away did she let him go. Again, she tilted her head far back. Whatever she thought, she finally released her soaked digit and put both hands on her hips. Furrows appeared in her forehead above brows dipped in frustration. Her mouth pursed into a thin line.

No grown woman could look so put out. Gambrel actually chuckled at the indignant stance of this woman-child. To see what she would do, he put his own hands on his hips, imitating her. The next moment stretched long and silent as the staring contest continued.

The child relented first with a delighted crow of laughter and a squeal. With one word, Dara, she stretched up her arms, a clear sign she wanted him to pick her up.

What the fick? He took another step back and frowned. What did she mean? Did she want to be held? By him?

He wasn’t holding anyone—man, woman or child!

The child giggled again and repeated her invitation, reaching for him, even standing on her toes. Dara, she said though he wasn’t sure what the word meant. When he came no closer, she dropped her arms, but did not leave. Using those feminine wiles that would win her a mate one day, she pouted and ducked her head. But she cut those dark sparking eyes up and caught his gaze. Like some spirit being, she held his glance until he knew he would give in.

His instincts rebelling all the way, Gambrel dropped to one knee. She was tinier than he first thought. However, her chunky body shaped the promise of delicate fingers, slim arms, and long legs some day.

For a minute, they stared at each other. Her fiery locks tossed over one shoulder, she tilted her head to one side as if questioning his motives for ignoring her. With a coquettish lift of one eyebrow, she grinned at him. When he smiled back, she threw herself into his arms.

Only quick reflexes let him catch the miniature body. His arms wrapped up her tiny frame, and he inhaled a deep breath of baby smell. While memories washed over him, she buried her face in the curve of his shoulder, locked her arms around his thick neck, and snuggled as if she found a long-lost home. With a sigh of contentment, she repeated, Dara.

Now what to do? She clung like an Amburian cankle. When he stood, she swung her short legs as far around him as possible but her hold lacked security. He tucked his arm under her rear and patted her back in assurance. One thump and he remembered to touch cautiously. Small bones broke easily.

As he left the corner where he had sheltered for most of the afternoon, the wind caught his black hair and tangled his tresses with her orange ones. For a moment, they stood in a virtual whirlwind. She lifted her head from his shoulder and laughed. One pudgy hand patted his cheek. She invited him to enjoy her fun. When he didn’t smile, hers disappeared, replaced by a childish expression of concern. Again, she patted his cheek, but this time sympathy flared between them. Her own soft skin against his weather roughened cheek, she cuddled for a second then kissed him.

“Sire?” A woman stood to one side of Gambrel. She resembled the girl enough to be her mother. “I see my daughter has captured another heart. She’s very good at that.”

“Dara? What are you doing, my sweet?” The woman brushed the orange hair to one side to reveal a brilliant but impish smile. Dara seemed perfectly content to stay in Gambrel’s arms. “I am Effie, Dara’s mother. This little one faded away from me. She’s good at that too, I’m afraid. Watching her aboard ship will be a challenge.”

The woman held out her arms. Dara didn’t fight her mother’s invitation, but she gave Gambrel an inquiring glance first. He sensed she asked a question. Not knowing what else to do, he slid the child into Effie’s embrace. He suffered an unexpected emptiness when she left.

Mother and daughter strolled away, neither apparently concerned he might hurt them. Effie turned and gave him a smile. A giggle of delight and Dara waved from her mother’s arms.

Once again, he remembered he would not let anyone get close to him. He returned to his corner. Something dear had been torn from his arms though. Such feelings of loss ruffled his ire. He grumbled under his breath, impatient with himself and the world.

* * * *

The light in space would fade soon. The dying sun the Ancadians sought to escape lit what should be a night sky. Gambrel stood at ease in front of the large windows of his cabin. The hour was late, but sleep would come only when he blocked the light.

Even as he thought of welcoming darkness, the window tint changed, filling in until the light faded, and the cabin grew dark. He wished for a small light to aid in finding his way to bed. Conjured by his wishes, a small glow appeared across the room. His weary sigh filled the silence. How did these things work? He needed to learn more about this ship as soon as possible.

A light tap on the door almost escaped his notice, but being a fighting man, he heard what others normally missed. His life often depended on such. A curt word Come brought in…Vangee.

She startled him, coming in silently, carrying a plate and a cup. She placed the meal on the table.

“You did not eat. Food waited below decks for all. I suppose no one told you. That is my fault. It is my duty to make you aware of everything.” Her words, coming from the depths of her hood, sounded apologetic and a bit tired.

“No need to express regret, lady. I’ll survive.” He turned away from her to gaze at the darkened windows. He clasped his hands behind his back and took a broad stance in deference to the slight sway of the ship as it sailed through the night.

“Yes, ‘Brel, you will survive, but you might do so better if you eat while this is hot.”

Reluctant to do so, he turned toward the voice he craved. She must not be here alone with him. Others would get the wrong impression. The lady’s reputation must be safeguarded.

Vangee stood by the table, her cloak over a high-backed chair. Her gray outfit hugged every lovely curve of her woman’s lush body. His mouth lost its water, dried up to dust. Unable to help himself, he swallowed nosily.

“Come. Sit and eat. You must have questions. After you finish, we shall go below deck, and I will introduce you to some of our fellow passengers. The ship’s carpenters will have an opportunity to construct a larger bed for you.” She glanced toward the built-in bed then to the smaller one against the wall. No way would his bulk fit either.

“No need. I can sleep on the floor.” He stood beyond the table, hoping his body would not break into a sweat of longing, being so near her.

She laughed, a delicate sound.

His body tightened, and his eyes dimmed, his desire so great. His heart thudded heavily, and his thick fingers dug into the chair’s back. He needed air but refused to show himself so weak. He longed to suck in great draughts of her perfume. He tried to meet her gaze but failed.

“Gambrel Sarjean, we will be aboard ship for many moon-times. No one sleeps on the floor when a bit of carpentry will fix the problem. Sit.” With a wave of her hand, she indicated the chair he held on to for security. She pulled out hers and sat.

No choice left, he took the seat opposite her. When he did not reach for the food, she pushed it toward him. “Eat” her only instruction. His eyes on his plate, he ate enough to satisfy then pushed the remains away. He drained the cup of what tasted like fine ale.

“You have questions?” Vangee sat with folded hands.

For one second, Gambrel stared at her boldly. His gaze traveled from the tip of her wildly curled purple hair down to her face with its lustrous glow. A sliver of feral yellow in her dark eyes reminded him of the great felines on Kandirous. Broad shoulders and impressive lush breasts begged for the caress of his hands, hardened his lower body, sent it raging. Glad he was to be sitting.

Like a wind that blows in courage then sucks it out, he dropped his eyes and played with the crumb at the table’s edge. “I have questions.” Then he wondered what he would ask. His mind emptied like a broken wine cask, holding no thoughts but of the woman across the table from him.

“Yes?” A soft prompt.

“Why do the windows turn dark by themselves?” By the gods of the universe! Was there nothing better to ask? He almost groaned over his own stupidity.

“Sensors pick up thoughts. Your mind controls the glow and glaston. Did you not notice the smaller glow brighten when the room grew dark? When you wished for light?”

He nodded. That’s exactly what happened.

“What about food, drink? Do you know all the souls aboard? How long before we make landfall?” He rattled off those questions and realized he had more.

“Replicators create any food you want. Most will be Ancadian. Other beings on board are not of our world. The same machines can produce what they desire. No, I am not acquainted with all aboard so we will meet them together.” She dropped her gaze for a minute and nervously laid her hands on the table. “I do not enjoy meeting strangers. They tend to…” She faltered. “They tend to grow nervous around me. All acknowledge my presence. Few speak voluntarily. None approach willingly.”

She described his normal life. No one interacted with him unless a matter of life or death. But all accepted his presence whether wanted or not.

Vangee answered his other questions. “How long before we stop at a port? I don’t know. Several moon-times, I suspect. We will consult Captain Merlo. We must make the best of our situation while ship-bound.”

“Lady?” His next question stuck in a suddenly dry throat. He wanted an answer but feared the knowledge at the same time. Again, he swallowed, but the words remained locked in his mind. To alleviate the tightness in his chest, he stood and wandered across to the darkened windows.

“Yes, ‘Brel?”

“Lady? What is my position among these people?” He kept his back turned. Refused to admit how much her answer meant.

“Sire?” She sounded confused.

“Who am I aboard the Fenix?”

“You are my friend and fellow passenger. You are entitled to the spot my father left vacant. Whatever we get or give passes the same for you.” She explained carefully as if to a child.

“I am not Ancadian. I only met you and your father the night before this fleet sailed. How does that entitle me to anything?” His growl sounded loud in the small cabin.

Vangee tried to alleviate his concern. She moved closer but did not touch him. “I invited you to sail with us. That is as it should be. Make no matter of it. If you are unhappy, you may depart the ship when next we dock.” Forlorn-sounding words.

“You misunderstand. I am not dissatisfied, only wondering at my luck. No one does favors for me without expecting something in return. That is the way of my life.” He glanced over his shoulder.

Vangee sat wringing her hands as if upset.

Heaving a windy sigh, he yearned to still her nervous hands, but refused to touch her. “Forgive me for causing you concern. I am but a rough wanderer earning a living by his strength and wits, not used to gentle company.” He bowed slightly to show he was aware of her distress and sorry to be the cause.

She caught his gaze and held it. Whatever she read on his face eased her worries.

His confidence as an intimidating enforcer, however, dissolved into the awkwardness of a large man in a small room with a desirable woman. He cleared his throat and nodded toward the door. Meeting others did not appeal to him, but an overwhelming urge to leave this enclosed place where Vangee tempted him forced him to invite her out. “Lady, you said men must work here before I can rest. Perhaps we should go and let them at it.” With controlled movements, he pulled on the worn black coat. He adjusted it for the empty holsters at his side, thinking he would pack them away until needed again.

Both acted like strangers when his instincts said they could be more.

At the top of the narrow stairs, Vangee pulled her hood over her head. Two men carrying tool boxes headed toward the cabin they left. She moved to Gambrel’s side and heaved a sigh.

“They respect you. Have no fear of that.” He sought to ease her discomfort at meeting so many. For himself, he had no wish to meet his fellow passengers but had no choice. They strolled side-by-side, a tall square man with broad shoulders and long legs and a child-like woman.

“’Brel?”

“Yes, lady?”

“Where do you come from?” Her question startled him.

“Everywhere and nowhere in particular.” His huge shoulders shrugged in a gesture as old as time, meaning he wasn’t going to say more.

“Were you happy as you traveled to your nowhere?” She teased him.

“Happiness. Sadness. Neither have a place in my life.” He held the hatch open. In the light from below, he acknowledged the sadness in her eyes.