Dakoda's Revenge Read online

  The bullet had unfailingly hit her. Excruciating pain had seared through her, numbing her mind. Dare she lift her shirt to take a peek at where the bullet had gone? Shouldn't she be hurting? Or worse, dead? Or was her soul caught in the station's atmosphere, forced to continue as a ghost? Was her soul committed to wandering the universe's byways until the end of time? Odessa didn't think that was a possibility, but the last twenty-four hours had been the strangest she'd ever experienced. She pinched herself and yelped. She was real enough, given how the skin on her arm flushed red.

  She ordered herself to stop thinking melodramatically. She placed her hand on her stomach and pressed. Her hand touched flesh but didn't pass through the skin. Why had the bullet not killed her? She vowed to find Roland and string him up for leaving her stranded. She paused and wondered who would answer her question about where the Air Controller's office was. Should she ask a human or an alien? She decided she felt more at ease asking a human and scouted for a sociable target.

  Her glance fell on a man who had dirty blonde hair and appeared to be laughing. But he was wearing one of those helmets that had caught her attention earlier. Should she stop him? He was about to pass by, his eyes trained on the floor. Odessa planted herself in front of him, forcing him to come to an abrupt halt. “Can you tell me where the Air Controller's office is?” she yelled, thinking he couldn't hear much inside the helmet's thick padding.

  He lifted his head and gave her a glazed look, gathered his wits momentarily and pointed behind him, making a wavering gesture. Lowering his head, he continued on as if he had never been interrupted.

  "Um, thanks,” Odessa said to his retreating back. She hurried off in the direction the lackluster man had pointed, hoping he hadn't misled her. The effort to haul himself from whatever had been going on in his helmet had appeared gargantuan. The air stank of rotten eggs and dead dog. The station certainly didn't smell like a flower garden.

  Odessa ambled by several aliens grouped together, speaking animatedly with small clicks. She bet she'd really have to hustle to learn their language. Maybe it was like Earth Chinese and next to impossible to learn without investing half a lifetime in the process.

  She read a pointer sign with interest. In at least four alternating languages, the low-key colors pointed her to the Air Controller's offices. It had been the sole signage she had seen on the station. She headed in that direction.

  Four or five minutes passed before a sign with the alternating languages stated that a particular closed door belonged to the Air Controller. Relieved, she pushed the door, as nondescript as the station was, open. A flurry of activity, muddled voices in different languages, and the smell of electronics assailed her.

  "Well, lookee here. What do we have here?” a gruff male voice asked. A being with a wide set of eyes, and ears too large appraised her from head to toe. It was as if an elf had come to life in front of Odessa's eyes.

  "Why don't you keep your eyes in your head where they belong?” Odessa responded, outraged at his avuncular mannerism.

  The being leered. “Come on now, sweetheart. That's no way to talk to a big man like me, is it?"

  Odessa marched up to the waist-high counter and leveled a searing gaze on him. “Cut out the ‘sweetheart’ stuff. I want some information.” Trying to soften the harsh words, she added, “Then I'll get out of your hair."

  Other beings—all male—looked up from their work and examined her with more than passing interest. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose. Could Violette have been right when she said this office was no place for a woman? Throughout the vast room, countless screens had yellow, blue, red, and white paths that looked like those on an electronic circuit board. Were they interlinked parts of the station?

  "Is that right? Hey, boys. The lady is going to get out of our hair. Whatcha think of that?"

  "I don't need any of your attitude. Just give me the information I need and I'm outta here.” Her skin prickled with goosebumps. Bad odors lingered in the room. Every pair of eyes seemed to be undressing her, and each mouth was set in a hungry snarl.

  "Now I got attitude,” Wide Eyes jeered. He leaned closer. She smelled his breath. The stuff he had been drinking was likely more potent than earth moonshine. No wonder he was behaving as if few of his brain cells worked. “Look, little lady. Why don't you get that pretty body of yours back to your owner and flaunt it for him? Or you can do that for us. We won't mind."

  Odessa was so outraged, she didn't know what to think or say. Was he propositioning her? Violette's words rang in her ears again. Was the woman right that men only wanted one thing on Romaydia?

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Harley amble in behind her, lean against the wall, and fold his arms across his massive chest. The rat had obviously followed her. He certainly had the nerve. Hadn't he gotten the message she didn't want anything to do with him?

  "Lookee here, but the Bagdareen cat cut out her tongue, boys,” Wide Eyes taunted.

  Odessa ignored Harley. She didn't know how she'd deal with him, but she would. “I need to know where a ship called The Drifter went and what means I can use to talk to the bastard."

  Another being with a long, flat face peered at her. “We all know how you can talk to him.” He fixed his eyes on her chest and licked his lips as if anticipating an expensive meal.

  Odessa glared back at him. “Keep your eyes to yourself. Tell me!"

  Wide Eyes asked, “Describe the ship."

  "Now, why would I need to do that?” Were they mocking her? She had never felt so helpless before. Harley hadn't moved since he entered. Neither did he offer assistance, but then why would he when he had only one thing on his mind? More than likely, he was awaiting the outcome of her single-handed battle with these jerks.

  "It's procedure. That's all."

  Now she knew they were making fun of her. “Shove your procedure up your ass.” Was there no one else who could tell her where The Drifter had gone?

  "What identification number does it have?” Wide Eyes crossed his arms on the counter and ogled her.

  "What is it with you men?” Odessa seethed. “Why can't you just give the information, and then I'll be on my way?"

  "Did this The Drifter have permission to take off?” came from Wide Eyes.

  "How would I know?” She glowered at him. She sensed he wouldn't tell her if he knew where Roland had headed.

  "You know, if he didn't have permission to leave, he could be in a whole lot of trouble,” Wide Eyes carried on.

  "He's already in enough trouble once I catch up with him.” Even if the bastard offered her a million dollars, she would never go near him again.

  With the exception of Harley, the guys burst into laughter. Wide Eyes guffawed and slapped the counter repeatedly. “Little lady, but you couldn't whip a man if you tried. You don't have the strength."

  Beaten hardly before she'd begun, Odessa could easily have used her clenched fists as punching bags on his head. The laughter quieted, replaced by rampant hostility. What had made her think the authorities of Romaydia would help her? The rules were different here. Perhaps Violette was right. There were few ways off, and she would just have to give in to inevitable surrender.

  Harley pushed away from the wall and sauntered up to her. “Why don't you let these gentlemen get back to their work?” He placed a heavy emphasis on the word gentlemen, giving Odessa the impression he was giving them back some of their own medicine without being obvious.

  "I want to know where Roland went.” She turned to meet his frank gaze. “He owes me a trip home. And I owe him a rope around his neck.” She was so close to tears. Her throat burned holding them back.

  Wide Eyes butted in. “That's rich. Your boyfriend must have lured you here with promises he had no intention of keeping while he used that pretty body of yours for his gratification."

  Odessa had never used the word before, but she muttered, “Asshole,” including both Wide Eyes and Roland in the remark.

  Once again, raucous
laughter encompassed the room.

  Harley took her arm. “Let's go, Odessa. There's no one of interest here.” This time he spoke in a low voice, and, once again, Odessa sensed he spoke about the occupants in unflattering terms.

  The pity in his eyes made her feel all the more fragile. He reached out and touched her. “Leave me alone,” she said in a tortured voice. She slapped at Harley's hand, still resting on her arm, before she raced out of the office. She would find Roland, and she would make him pay for what he had done to her. She wouldn't let the hope that she would get off Romaydia die.

  The foul atmosphere in the corridor was more welcome after the simmering hostility in the Air Controller's offices. The information about Roland no longer seemed so important. All Odessa wanted was a safe haven, away from Harley, away from the lingering jeers of those dirty rats.

  Not paying attention to where she was walking, she collided with a fascinating character and came to an abrupt halt. The creature—for surely he wasn't human—had obsidian eyes, but surprisingly he didn't appear unfriendly. A one-inch circle of gold, which was shaped in a rough cloverleaf design, swirled about on his high forehead, reminding her of a cricket exploring the environment with its antennae. The gold provided a distracting and intense contrast to his eyes, which were far smaller than the moving design of gold. Was the gold design a third eye? Odessa shuddered at the thought of having more than two eyes.

  "You wish speak to me?” he asked in a booming, heavily accented voice.

  Odessa gulped, deciding the less she said to Goldy, the better. She shook her head. Three months earlier, she would never have dreamed such diversity existed away from the planet Earth.

  He nodded as if he understood her unwillingness to speak. “Ashtari know everything. You need help."

  "Everything?"

  His cheeks were flushed bright red, and he had no eyebrows. His pudgy, short form was clothed in a teal-colored flowing robe, much like a Roman toga. “Yes, the same way I know you find my appearance—ah, what is word?—fascinating."

  "Not to say the least.” Was he a mind reader? The Ashtari was certainly getting about one hundred and ten percent of her thoughts accurate.

  "I understand, let me see, the gist of what you are thinking, but language difference make difficult to fully understand."

  She suddenly wondered if she had to follow some sort of etiquette to speak to this alien. She studied the peoples in the public area and noticed several unfamiliar beings speaking to humans. No one was doing anything she wouldn't be doing.

  "This is your first time off your home planet. It is, let us say, unnerving.” He smiled. His forehead circle came to a rest, gently pulsing, staring directly at her.

  "That's true,” she reluctantly opened up to him. “Before I left Earth, I had never been more than fifty miles from home."

  She allowed him closer and forced herself to look down on him since he was at least six inches shorter. He was unmistakably an alien with a friendly nature, even though his head looked a bit too small for his body.

  "That is how Ashtari are born. Nothing Ashtari can do to change this."

  "There you go again. I think, then you immediately respond. Are you reading my mind?"

  "Yes,” he replied simply.

  Odessa lifted her hand, and very gently touched the circle, which beat insistently beneath her palm. “Is it alive?"

  "Not as human understand ‘live'. Meshkia is not sentient."

  "Meshkia?"

  "Ashtari language for English equivalent of ‘translator'."

  Odessa found herself giggling. “And all this time I thought it was your third eye."

  "In manner of speaking, yes, third eye. Meshkia see words like eyes see objects.” The Ashtari's forehead wrinkled with age lines as he frowned. Then he gave her a warm, encouraging smile.

  She nodded. “Do you know how I can contact my home planet?” She watched the gold circle shift with dizzying speed. He crooked his elbow and slapped the inside with the palm of his other hand. Afraid she had inadvertently offended him, she stepped back.

  "Is all right,” he boomed. “You young here, do not understand the Ashtari."

  His hoarse laughter told her she hadn't stepped on his toes. “What do you mean?"

  "It is refreshing to meet female who does not have only one thing on her mind. Very refreshing."

  Odessa could hazard a guess to what the alien meant. Quite possibly the same thing Violette had mentioned. Women sought out men for sex in order to feed themselves. “On Earth, women belong where men belong, whether they are flying a Winger or plowing a field to sow seeds."

  The Ashtari's eyes widened. “I not understand Winger."

  "A flying vehicle to get you from one place to another."

  "Ah yes. Now I comprehend."

  Despite his heavy accent and his labored speech, Odessa found herself liking the Ashtarian.

  "I see where you come from. Beautiful land filled with gentle, rolling hills, with cascading waterfalls and emerald green fields from six choka to six choka."

  Odessa frowned at what she assumed was his unit of measurement. “Six choka to six choka?"

  The circle raced around his forehead. “Yes. It is equivalent of one of your miles, give or take a foot or two."

  "What an inaccurate measurement."

  "Not at all. It is accurate, but your mile cannot translate to anything in the translator. Too long a measurement for an Ashtari."

  She could see why. The man's height was not only short, but so were his arms and legs. Her attention was drawn to his head where his toupee, if aliens called it that, had started to slide to one side like a pet seeking an opportunity to free itself. She repressed a giggle. She couldn't be rude to the one being who had shown some interest in her and was being kind. However, male vanity was vanity no matter where in the galaxy one traveled. Baldness apparently wasn't appreciated in the Ashtarian culture either.

  Sobering, she said, “I really need to find some way to make contact with Earth. Can you help me?"

  "I am for sure someone in this crowd will know.” He surveyed the public area, looking from person to person before he shook his head. “I come up with nothing. No one thinking along those lines now. Maybe in minute."

  Odessa gasped in shock. “You mean you can get into all these people's minds at once?"

  Baffled by her astonishment, he nodded. The toupee slid even farther over his ear. “Almost everyone except for the Delorican. I cannot read his mind. He has, let me think, a shield for blocking."

  "A shield for blocking?” Odessa had watched plenty of videographs where those who were telepathic wished their thoughts to remain private.

  "Yes. It is mechanism for sealing thinking, like taking piece of oszma and wrapping it in plastic to seal in flavors."

  "Oszma? Is that some kind of food?"

  "It is equivalent of your, gobble, gobble."

  She smiled at the Ashtari's language. “Gobble, gobble is a sound a turkey makes. Turkey is a fowl, the right word you're looking for."

  "My humble apologies. I am still fine-tuning my translator. It need help sometimes."

  She touched his wrist. “You are doing fine. Are there many Ashtari on Romaydia?"

  His eyes turned from black to dirty brown before they became obsidian again. “I am sorry. I hear in my head talk about drug trading. Only a poppet, but it was enough to know it is fearsome."

  A poppet and drug dealing? “You must mean a ‘snippet', a fragment of a conversation,” Odessa guessed.

  "Yes, I am sorry once again. I overhear man over there. He is man not to come in contact with."

  Odessa glanced in the direction he indicated. A chill passed down her spine. If she wasn't mistaken, the Ashtarian had just referred to Harley.

  Chapter 7

  Violette watched the exchange between the Ashtarian and the woman who had found herself stranded on Romaydia. What could she do to save the woman from the same fate that had befallen her? Apparently, her warning hadn
't been strong enough. She sniffed at the cloyingly humid air and brushed away the tears straggling down her cheeks.

  The woman was beautiful and would be a hot commodity if she didn't get away. Violette had no idea what Pardua's right-hand man was up to, but she was willing to bet it wasn't what the woman would want. If Dakoda Harley was the Murrach's right-hand man and yielded an iron fist, the woman was certainly in a great deal of danger. If the last fifteen years had taught Violette how to instantly judge a man, she figured Harley was not the insensitive, uncaring man he portrayed himself to be. No, he was shrewd. She could tell that even from this distance. Watching him was her sole pleasure on this devil-taken flotsam. He had power, and she enjoyed seeing him wield it with that unaffected mannerism he assumed.

  She pressed her spine against the firm bulwark. A cold shiver forced her to leave an inch of space between the metal and her warm spine. What she wouldn't give to leave Romaydia. Violette patted her flat stomach, knowing there was no spare flesh on her voluptuous body. She chuckled. Once, in a better time and place, she had believed dieting was the key to a model-thin body. The tiny smile flickered and died. Lack of food was the alternative method to losing weight. That and worry that she wouldn't survive another day.

  To take her mind off her unending problems, she watched the public area for women who were in need of her services. No female should be left without a semblance of protection when they arrived. Over the years, she had seen many women left to fend for themselves after their men had deserted them. Some, even after ten years, persisted that their special man would return for them, but they never did. After ten months, perhaps, but not after years. Life was worth nothing on Romaydia, which, oddly enough, meant Faceless Light in Delorican.