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  Copyright ©2007 by WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

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  DAKODA'S REVENGE

  by

  Suzi Goode

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Published by

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  Whiskey Creek Press

  PO Box 51052

  Casper, WY 82605-1052

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright © 2007 by Suzi Goode

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-59374-889-0

  Credits

  Cover Artist:

  Editor: Jeremy Seffens

  Printed in the United States of America

  Other Books by Author Available at Whiskey Creek Press:

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  The Lost Wizard: Book I

  Dedication

  ~~To my wonderful husband, Michael, who always believes in my writing and supports me through the process.~~

  Chapter 1

  2090 C.E.

  Odessa was anxious to escape the crowded and unfamiliar public area of the space station and get back on The Drifter. The thrill of adventure had dissipated. Romaydia wasn't a place intended for a woman walking alone with its ill lit corridors and unappealing strangers roaming everywhere in their search for novelty, perhaps forbidden, pleasures. Voices—some high-pitched, some husky and low—mingled with one another, creating a wall of noise that grated on her nerves. The smell—that of rotten eggs, unwashed bodies, overpowering flowery perfumes and musky colognes—did nothing to settle her queasy stomach. And today was her wedding day.

  For the first time since she had left Earth six months earlier, Odessa felt panicky fear settle in the pit of her stomach. Adventure wasn't all it was cut out to be. She clutched a small brown package protectively to her chest as she tried desperately to avoid brushing against any particular individual in the milling crowd. Roland had given her strict instructions about delivering the package.

  Inadvertently, her upper arm touched the chest of a hairy alien who squinted at her with one misshapen eye. “Sorry.” She hoped he understood Earth English. He blinked and his lips moved wordlessly before he stalked off, leaving a stiff breeze in his wake.

  To her relief, she found concourse fourteen behind which The Drifter was docked. Oddly enough, the door should have been open, but was closed. Uneasiness burgeoned within Odessa. Hoping there was some error with the operating system, she pressed her palm against the recognition panel next to the door, which should have opened at her contact.

  Immediately an unsympathetic male voice intoned, “Concourse fourteen sealed. No admittance. Repeat. No admittance."

  The dread that had been growing for the last hopeless hour bloomed to life.

  "What is going on?” Odessa questioned. How was she supposed to get back on the ship if the concourse was closed? Maybe Roland Baylon, her fiancé who was aboard The Drifter, would know, but how was she supposed to contact him? How had she become so helpless, so totally out of her mind because she had fallen in love? She lowered her right eye to the round hole of the viewing circle, expecting to see the ship—which looked like a flat quarter—docked in the perpetual darkness.

  Her heart began to race. Sweat beaded on her forehead, as if her fear had taken physical form. Outside, there was nothing to see but twinkling stars.

  Alarm bells pounded in her head. The warning signs about Roland had been there all along, hadn't they? How his jokes had become painfully thin. She was almost on the verge of tears. She had never before felt so alone and abandoned. “He's playing another of his gags. I can take care of myself. I can take care of myself,” she repeated over and over like a mantra.

  She drew herself to her full height, a smidgeon over five feet, three inches. Was Roland playing one of his silly and droll jokes again, those jokes that had become irritating and not-at-all funny because they were at her expense? This time, he had pushed the boundaries. “Where are you, Roland?” She spun slowly around, dragging on her heels, searching for him, suspecting the effort was wasted. When he didn't want to be found, he became as good as invisible.

  She shouted into the crowded station in a high voice, “Roland! Come out right now! Don't play around on our wedding day!"

  Amidst the already ear-splitting noise, her shout of frustration hardly made a dent. No one turned to look at or question her. She was truly, and miserably, alone.

  Her carefree uncle's prediction came rushing back. “He'll love you and leave ya. He's nothing more than the devil in disguise and won't ever commit to you."

  Odessa found a smidgeon of comfort in the memory. After her uncle's sage pronouncement, he had slid his favorite smoking pipe between his weathered lips and continued to rock in the chair, from which the varnish had long ago peeled away. When she had offered to refinish the aged maple, he replied, “I like it the way it is. It's old. Like me. If you repaint it, that's about the same as giving me those new-fangled teeth. Why bother when I've almost done my time on this earth?"

  Homesickness overwhelmed her as it had almost from the time The Drifter had left Earth. She missed her older twin brothers, Brody and Jason, and Uncle Peter who always smoked his pipe in the old rocking chair out on the porch no matter how hot or cold the weather turned. She missed the aromatic scent of stately pine trees, the wide open fields, the puffy, white clouds floating by on a robins’ egg blue sky, and the orchards of blossoming apple trees so much like a gaily wrapped Christmas package filled with bon-bons.

  In contrast, Romaydia was as colorless as the sky on a flat, leaden gray day. The whole place, three months traveling distance from earth, built five years ago according to Roland, appeared utilitarian and uncomfortable, like metal riveted to cold metal. Odessa felt as if she was walking through the middle of a huge pipe flanked by smaller pipes. The floor was nothing more than grating, through which she could see pieces of garbage and other items she didn't wish to name. Sometimes, if she looked hard enough, she could see the electrical conduits through the metal grid. Why had she thought she wanted to escape the beautiful rural Washington area she had grown up in and experiment with the wider world? Why had she allowed Roland to convince her Romaydia was the perfect place for a wedding? The perfect place would have been a flower garden near the Columbia River or the middle of a blossoming apple orchard, surrounded by her friends and family. Romaydia couldn't put the proverbial candle to her dream of the perfect wedding scene. In fact, the whole station was drab. Why had she listened to him?

  "Stupid fool.�
�� She had listened because she thought she had really fallen in love, unlike those unsophisticated high school buddies she had dated. Roland had been different.

  Her smile was melancholy as she reminisced. Her brothers, husky men who used their bulk to get their way, usually won out—with everyone else but her. Odessa had learned that if she wheedled enough, they would give in to all but one of her demands. It hadn't made her wiser. All her petty demands and cajoling had done was give her a false sense of self-confidence. On Earth, she knew if she got into trouble her brothers would come charging to the rescue. And here she was, coming up on twenty-four. Six months ago, she would have thought she was smart and savvy enough to make her decisions. Now Odessa found herself lacking. How would she manage alone if Roland really had vanished into outer space?

  Careful not to brush against any of the beings crowding near her, she whirled around and once more, searched for Roland. He was nowhere to be seen.

  She caught sight of a woman in a long, gray-blue silk skirt pressing the front of her thin body up against a man and shamelessly giving him a lingering, slow kiss. Further along, a peddler hawked his wares in a voice that carried over the buzz of the myriad of conversations floating through the stuffy air. Her eyes fixed on the woman kissing the tall man. How could she be so brazenly open in a public place? Odessa shrugged and finished scanning the area, which was so crowded she could barely breathe, and so unlike her peaceful small town of Wenatchee where she had grown up.

  She bent over and set her package on the ground. What was tucked inside? Should she rip apart the heavy string wrapped around it? She had trusted Roland enough not to ask questions about his business, but now she wasn't so sure. She shouldn't have acted like a lovestruck fool. She searched through the pockets of her black, woolen slacks for her identity papers and, perhaps, some money. Her pockets were empty of everything except a stick of glossy plum rose lipstick—the most useless article at this moment.

  She wanted to cast the tube on the floor and jump up and down on it. What use was a tube of lipstick except as an extension of her vanity? Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it had been hours since she had eaten a light breakfast. “Roland, you son of a bitch, you better show up in a hurry, or I'll rip you apart."

  As if that would really happen.

  "Are you lost?” a woman wearing a faded violet gown who stood only an inch higher than Odessa, asked. Some sixth sense told Odessa the woman had probably stood taller at one time, but life had taken its toll.

  "That's kind of you to ask.” Odessa was thankful for the woman's presence. Her hour-long walk, hunting for the room she was to deliver the package to, had shown her that most people, a half and half mix of aliens and humans, walked with their eyes cast down, as if to avoid even momentary contact with others.

  The woman's eyes were lined heavily with black eyeliner, and her mascara made her lashes seem ultra long. The firmness of youth had begun to slip away, but it was her lips that drew attention to her otherwise pale and haggard face with its still flawless complexion—heart-shaped and painted in a garish crimson red, as if to attract immediate attention. Her black hair hung heavy and long, uncombed to what must have once been a wonderful shine. She appeared as if she had arisen from a restless night moments earlier.

  "I'm not exactly lost. I'm wondering where my boyfriend went off to.” Odessa tried to keep her voice level, to keep the panic from showing through. She smoothed her black pantsuit down the thigh over and over again with short fingers, reminding herself she was not a full-time occupant of the station. Certainly she would go mad if she were.

  "Did he love you and leave you?” The woman spoke softly, almost as if she was afraid to give voice to her thoughts. Her eyes acted as sentries to the station around her, darting every which way in a quest for only she knew what.

  "Um, no—” Odessa instantly noticed the hint of compassion in the woman's eyes—and pity.

  Odessa worried her lower lip. This was supposed to be the adventure of her life, a chance to show her brothers she could manage on her own—with a little help from her new husband. Except the groom had run off. There would be no happily ever after.

  "Men are fickle creatures. They take what you give and then they dump you,” the woman said gently.

  "Roland didn't dump me,” Odessa protested, although she now knew what the woman said was too close to the truth. Would Roland truly abandon her in the middle of a space station, unable to find the way home due to the lack of money? Raging anger began to replace the panic.

  Odessa observed a human walk by with an odd helmet on his head that looked like an upturned bucket. He seemed to be lost to his surroundings, his eyes glazed over and his cheeks glistened with a sheen of perspiration. On further scrutiny, there were others wearing the unusual helmets, others strolling about aimlessly.

  Odessa turned back to her companion who had followed her gaze. The woman shrugged bare shoulders elegantly. “They do it all the time on this station, so don't be surprised if your loverboy did the same to you."

  Odessa took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting to ten. At first, she thought the woman was talking about those wearing helmets before she realized the other woman spoke about men. “Why don't you understand—Roland wouldn't do such a thing? We experienced something very few people ever have—love on first sight.” She sighed. Her voice wasn't very convincing, even to herself.

  Once again, the woman raised her shoulders in an eloquent shrug, giving Odessa the impression she had, at one point, led an affluent life. “You are the type who gets hit the hardest since you don't know each other for a long period of time before committing to each other. And let me guess, he asked you to marry him in a romantic fashion, on bended knee?"

  How did this woman know Roland had done just that? He had lavished her with gifts, from sparkling diamonds to crystal figurines to evening gowns she would never wear more than once. She loved him for the gifts, but she loved him more for being laid back and for being a fun, loving man. Until today, she reminded herself ruefully. Today had been a turning point, when he had urged her to deliver the package herself. And she had fallen for his disappearing trick.

  "Do you want me to continue?” The woman tossed a stray lock of hair over her shoulder. “He said he wanted to marry you, but he didn't have time before you left Earth. He promised to marry you here on the station when all his business was concluded—right?"

  Was the woman a mind reader? Odessa caught sight of a loathsome octopus-like being floating by, its tentacles wreathed in a rainbow-colored light. She would have fled from the dangerous energy it radiated, if she could.

  "He's a Seikalis. You'll have to watch them when it comes to scouting them out. They pay the best, but their legs can burn into a human's tender skin. If you know what I mean."

  Odessa had no idea what the woman referred to and tried not to let her ignorance show on her face. “I have no reason to scout them out. I have no interest in other men.” Not at all and perhaps never again. She would find her way home, with her tail between her legs, so to speak. All she had to do was find a spaceship to carry her home, like a prince on a white horse.

  "Ah. You're thinking just like Poppy did. That's not her real name, but she thought her Freddie was going to come back for her one day soon. She's still waiting for him. After five years. She refuses to give up but I hate to tell her, she's stuck here because she's female. If she does get a chance to leave, a rich Seikalis will come along, woo her, and take her off the station. She'll never be heard from again. That's how it is. For a woman, there is no way off the station. No one wants useless females."

  Odessa couldn't believe what she had heard. Every word this woman had said had been softly spoken but without inflection. It was as if she no longer possessed a soul. A hardness began to gnaw at her insides. “We aren't useless females,” Odessa objected. Obviously, the rules on Romaydia were different than they were on Earth, where women could do what they wanted and how they pleased without a man's help.


  "Maybe where you come from, dear, but here, it's different. It's a man's world. Women are ruled by men. If you don't like that idea, you can struggle, but inevitably, you'll give in. Why not save yourself the heartache?"

  "Women fly starships where I come from.” Though, Odessa had only heard about women who piloted starships and other types of aircraft.

  "Women don't fly anything here. They serve only two purposes—catering to a man's stomach or his sexual needs. How old are you?"

  "Twenty-four."

  "Ah, to be young and innocent again,” the woman mused. A twinkle of regret lit the depths of her eyes, the exact shade of her dress.

  Odessa didn't respond. She guessed the woman must be in her in mid-fifties, but she could have been younger. Life hadn't treated her kindly.

  "You're new here. You have a lot to learn. When you find out your man ditched you, you'll have to find work to survive. On this station, you'll find there's only a couple of ways to make a dollar and one makes much more than the other. That is the best way to feed yourself and maybe, if you're lucky, you'll find a man who'll take you for the night and pay you well so you can live through the next day."

  "Roland didn't dump me. He's just playing one of his interminable jokes,” Odessa stated too forcefully, from between clenched teeth. Briefly, she wondered if she was trying desperately to persuade herself of this truth. The woman only confirmed her gut instinct—that the station was unsafe, perhaps a den of iniquity, as the minister used to call sinners in his small congregation.

  The woman shook her head, once again throwing her raven-black hair over a creamy shoulder. “Believe what you want, but don't you be surprised if the truth hits hard. When it does, know that you're not alone. My name's Violette and I'm easy to find if you ask around for me.” She leaned forward. Odessa smelled apples and cinnamon and stale cigarette smoke in the woman's hair. “You probably don't want the advice, but don't talk to men here. They'll think you're propositioning them, and since you're not in the market, yet, you don't want to do that. When you're ready though, most of the girls know where to find me."