Dakoda's Revenge Read online

Violette observed the Ashtarian, a race known for the careful upbringing of their offspring, speak to Odessa as if she was part of his own race. A rare occurrence, but he must have found her mannerism amusing, or he considered her to be a affable woman to deal with. Violette sighed. Wait for a couple of years, my Ashtarian friend, and when you return, you won't recognize this vivacious extrovert. Like all the prisoners of the station, she would decline to speak to anyone unless she wanted to procure a man who would pay her well for a few minutes of lying on her back.

  Many women on Romaydia didn't even live two years. With the transient population made wholly of males from diverse cultures, the chances she would be spirited away or killed were over seventy percent, too high a percentage to buck the odds. Violette had seen too many women murdered or vanish into the stinking air. Odessa seemed no different from the other women. If that was true, why had Dakoda Harley taken her under his wing?

  Chapter 8

  Odessa wanted to flee again. Was there no place on Romaydia away from Harley's gaze? Why was he following her? Hadn't she told him she didn't need his protection, that she needed nothing from him? But was he aware of her presence?

  He weaved in and out of the crowd, as if he was doing nothing more than sightseeing among his fellow travelers. Was he on the prowl, searching for her so he could turn her over to the Murrach?

  The little Ashtarian's warning made her uneasy. “Why are you telling me?"

  "I do not read his mind. He is Murrach Pardua's first lieutenant. It is foolishness to delve into his thoughts. I am for certain he is a good man, but he is on wrong side."

  "Wrong side of what?"

  "The law, so you speak."

  With her eyes, she trailed after Harley. He didn't appear to be like Roland. Where her former fiancé had a weak chin and a furtive look to his eyes, Harley didn't flinch when he looked straight at her. He was taller and leaner—and physically fit, judging from his fine physique. Why did she have such rotten luck with men? She'd fallen in love with Roland, who had mistreated her, and now she could so easily have at least made love to Dakoda Harley.

  Harley hadn't seen her yet. “Who is he looking for?"

  "Are you in trouble?"

  "He might be looking for me. To turn me in to the Murrach. Whoever he is."

  "What foolish act do you commit for him to notice you?"

  Odessa debated. Should she lie to the Ashtarian or should she tell him the truth? She opted for the truth as she knew it. “Nothing. I didn't do a thing.” Except agree to come here to marry a man she knew was wrong for her.

  "He is man with much revenge in his heart. That is two reasons to stay far from him."

  Lightheaded from worry and lack of food made her reel against the wall.

  "You are ill,” the Ashtari said. “I take you to my chambers to rest. I do not know of medic here."

  "They probably let sick people die here.” She clamped a palm to her clammy forehead, afraid she would lose consciousness. The station spun for a few seconds before the world seemed to right itself. Odessa took a deep breath and exhaled.

  "I not certain that is not true, but please to come with me. That man is danger to you, to me, to all of us if he works for Pardua."

  He placed a comforting hand to her elbow to steady her. At least he seemed to have no interest in taking her clothes off. Should she take the chance he meant her no harm, or was this a ruse to get her into his private area and then he would hurt her?

  "Is for certain. I have no interest in naked body you can offer this Ashtari.” He let out a small laugh. He steered her in the opposite direction Harley circled in.

  She'd forgotten he could read her mind as easily as she could read a shopping list. “Are you able to shield my thoughts from others?"

  His face saddened. “If I was able to hide your thoughts, so you would be able to hide them yourself. But for human, it is not possible."

  "Without turning around, do you know if that man is following us?"

  The Ashtari laughed. “Yes, I can do that. He is not following. Yet."

  Odessa halted in mid-step. “What do you mean ‘yet'?"

  "He looking with his eyes, but his heart is too angry to see."

  "That sounds like a riddle. I don't understand. Is he angry with himself or with the world?"

  "Any man who foolish enough to work for Pardua can only be angry with himself. He has no other option. Something must drive him to do what he does."

  "Have you met Harley before?"

  The Ashtari shook his head in the negative. “I not know him. I only hear of him. He is not man to deal with lightly. In fact, you are best to stay well clear of him. If he is searching for you, it is best you leave Romaydia. No good can come of getting his attention, especially, as you say, you did nothing to him."

  Would he find some way to harm her in his quarters on this hostile station?

  "Will you like me to answer that question?"

  "I'm sorry. It takes some getting used to knowing that someone is listening in on my thoughts."

  "My apologies.” The Astari gave a gallant bow. “I am not well versed in ways of keeping my mind from reading that of others."

  "Is Dakoda following us now?” Odessa trailed beside the little fellow.

  "He is not, but he stopped and is looking down this corridor. If you stay to the left of me, one eighth of a choka distance, he will not see you."

  "Why not?” Odessa wondered exactly how much one eighth of a choka was. Was it six feet? Or three? She couldn't be certain.

  "I do quick calculation. It is nearly two of your feet. My apologies again."

  "Where is he now?"

  "His position has not altered relative to yours."

  They kept walking, but Odessa's vision blurred. She wondered if the Ashtari's quarters were a long distance away. Not having breakfast couldn't possibly have affected her so. She felt so exhausted, as if she had been hit by a Winger.

  "It is only one half a choka away,” he said. “My apologies if I intrude into your mind, but you are exhausted. There is something in your body that is beginning to hinder my reading you."

  "I am only tired,” she quipped. “Being dumped by a man I was about to marry, being shot at, and almost losing my life in a concourse, would definitely do that."

  "Assuredly.” He stopped at a doorway and slid his hand across the scanner to allow them entrance. She barely made it to the plush couch before she collapsed.

  "Be safe now, little one. I have shielded my quarters so none may find you, even the great Lord Pardua himself,” were the last words she heard before she fell unconscious.

  * * * *

  Odessa dreamed of wearing a tight-fitting helmet. It was as black as the Ashtari's eyes and fit over her head to leave no space around her ears or the back of her head. A thin plastic shield that rippled with each shake of her head partially obscured her vision. The helmet began to vibrate with the sound of rocks rolling down a mountain. The noise engulfed her among the rocks and the leaves and the total devastation of her wandering soul which was lost but everywhere.

  The pounding roared through her body, causing her to stop in her tracks. As if she had ever had feet to propel herself with. Or a mind to think with. Her mind and her soul were overtaken by the sounds of thundering and crashing and whispering.

  Visions of loveliness alternated with visions of such devastation she trembled in reluctant anticipation of each view. The waterfalls in Washington State and the grand pines of the Wenatchee forest alternated with scenes of horror from wars gone by and perhaps wars to come.

  The war scenes, gruesome with their dead and dying on battlefields flowing with blood, were replaced by scenes of the seashore with palm trees weaving in a slight breeze. The breeze cooled her burning flesh. Odessa found herself in the water up to her neck wearing nothing. Normally, her nudity would have bothered her, but not now. The sensation of having the water lap at her neck and the breeze riffle through her hair made her think of everything pleasant in her lif
e: her uncle smoking his pipe, her hands as she picked ripe apples, the toasty warmth of an open fire on a cold winter's morning.

  Someone's voice shattered the recollections. “Odessa?"

  "Go away,” she muttered, trying to regain the soothing peace she hadn't experienced since before her mother died when she was nine.

  "Odessa?” the voice called out again, louder this time. She didn't want to hear the voice shattering the blissful peace.

  "Odessa! You must come away right now,” the voice insisted. “You must come away or you will be lost forever."

  "No,” she moaned, unwilling to end her idyllic stay at the beach. It must be her mother calling her, attempting to beckon to her so she could bring her in for supper. Odessa resented having to get out of the warm sea-green water. A wave dashed up and she slapped at the foamy water, delighted and laughing with an enthusiasm she hadn't felt in many years. The joys and comforts of childhood beckoned to her.

  The episode at the beach ended, the same way a rockslide toppled over a mountain climber on his rugged journey. Odessa stood in a vast grayness with no color, no sound, no taste, no sense of touch.

  "Do you think she realizes what is happening?” the voice asked as if speaking to someone else.

  Another voice, darker and deeper, replied, “I imagine so. The nanos do a wonderful job of entertaining her while we do what we must."

  Odessa didn't recognize the two speakers, but fear welled up from some deep recess. Was her body and her mind separated, or were they two halves of a whole beyond repair?

  She tried to scream, but no noise came. This could be a nightmare, or premonition of her death. She tried to call out. Her heart beat frantically. Oh God, but how she wanted to be back in the warm ocean reliving her happy memories.

  Then there was nothing. No sound, nothing to see, no sense of touch or smell—absolutely nothing. Had the terror ended? She spoke out, but her voice was lost in the eerie vacuum. Odessa drummed her fingers against a cold metal surface. Relief flooded her at the faint vibration tingling through her fingers. She tried to blink her eyes open, but something pressed against her eyelids keeping them shut and something gripping her forehead burned with fire.

  She existed, yet she did not. All she heard was her frantic breathing and the sound of her lips whispering her name, trying to hang on to what little was left of who she thought she might be.

  Chapter 9

  Three months earlier

  "I can't imagine where she could have gone,” Brody Grante told his brother as they dragged themselves from the orchards into the house. Twilight bathed the apple trees in the nearby orchard. “In the last few days, I'm sure we've searched every nook and cranny of the state of Washington. But no little sister. It's like she simply vanished off the face of the earth."

  "Yep."

  Brody knew exactly what Jason was going to say before he said it, and silently mouthed the words along with his twin brother. “When I find that gal, I'm gonna tan her hide so she can't sit for a whole week.” Brody paused. Most folks would have thought Jason was done with his little speech. Nope. Not yet. “Naw. A whole month is better."

  "Now are you finished?” Brody asked, scratching his head and yawning. One look at the kitchen told him their supper would have to be a simple affair since soiled dishes were stacked at least a foot high wherever he cared to look. Good thing he didn't need to make a phone call. The phone book was under a stack of soup dishes leaning at a crazy angle toward the wall. Spilled milk pooled at one end of the counter near the dish tray.

  "Finished what?"

  "Yabbering."

  "There is no such word like yabbering."

  "There is now.” Brody punched his brother playfully in the shoulder.

  "Ow! Will you cut that out?” Jason palmed his shoulder, although Brody hadn't hit him that hard.

  "Come off it, Jas. We're built like Sumo wrestlers."

  Jason seemed to brighten at the thought. “Yeah, and you make up words like one. But you're right, there isn't much that will get the Three Musketeers down.” His deep brown eyes immediately saddened. “Make it two until we find the third."

  "I don't understand how Odessa could go AWOL."

  That bothered Brody more than he let on. “I don't understand how we could let the kitchen go like this. It needs to be bulldozed and rebuilt."

  "I'm bettin’ it's that red-haired guy she waltzed off with."

  "Maybe bulldozing is too good for it. Maybe burned. How long is it going to take to clean this place up?"

  "More'n five minutes, for sure."

  "That's how long your attention span is, huh?” Brody ribbed.

  "It must have been that guy who was built like a russet potato. You know the one I mean?"

  "Are you going to pitch in?"

  "Nope. Couldn't have been him. He looked more like a Gala apple, all shiny and red."

  Brody sighed and wiped a hand across his face. In this mess, he'd have to settle for a beer. He opened the fridge, and a greenish-blue liquid oozed out onto the black and white floor tiles. “Maybe bulldozing and burning the place wouldn't be a bad idea."

  "That guy was all talk, but no substance. That was him.” Jason lifted his shirt and scratched his flat abs. “Are you going to clean that up or what? What smells like it died in there? Whew! Bad stuff."

  "I can't decide whether to bulldoze or burn. Got any suggestions?"

  "Clean the damned thing out. It stinks.” The matter already dismissed, Jason turned away and settled his bulk at the dining table, which didn't fare much better than the counters. “He kept telling me some far-fetched story he was a starship pilot, but he didn't look like one to me. You know?"

  Brody had heard the same set of stories. He hardly believed Odessa would fall for such a lowlife as Roland Baylon. She had more sense than that. A shiny paper stuffed into the cutlery drawer caught his attention. Whoa, what was this out in the open? Grinning, Brody pulled out a magazine. “This belong to you, bro?"

  Jason shuffled his feet under the table and tried not to look at the glossy cover of the nudie magazine. “It isn't mine, but yeah, I peeked at the centerfold. Nothing criminal about that."

  Brody sighed. His brother didn't even have the grace to look guilty. “You know Odessa would have a fit if she saw this, right?"

  "She isn't here. It isn't mine. I swear,” Jason added at Brody's quizzical prompting. He lifted a toothpick and closed his lips around the wooden stick. “That russet potato took Odessa. He didn't look like a starship captain. At least, not my picture of one. Frankly, he appeared oily, like he had something to hide."

  Brody couldn't help but leaf through the magazine, thinking he'd spirit the pages away and take a gander when no one was looking. He set it down at the edge of the table. If the slick magazine wasn't his, or his brother's, who did it belong to? He drew back from the table, puzzled.

  "You ain't listening. What's happening, Brod?” he heard his twin ask.

  "If said magazine isn't yours, or mine, then it can only belong to one other person."

  "Uncle Pete,” they said in unison. Then, still with one voice, they agreed, “Naw."

  Brody knew his uncle inside out. He wasn't the type to snoop in a girlie magazine. Wasn't he far too old and wise for a magazine intended for men to ogle and wish they could actually get their hands onto the female displaying herself?

  Jason got up and looked around the corner into the living room, where the TV blared away, before heading for the fridge. The elderly man rested on the old leather chair with his eyes closed. Brody knew he worried about Odessa, but Uncle Peter maintained she would come home on her own one day. “When is he going to invest in a hearing aid so I don't have to put up with that racket?"

  "Never.” Brody stuffed the magazine back into the drawer.

  "I wouldn't open that if I were you,” Brody warned about the fridge.

  His twin flung the door wide open. Greenish-blue slime oozed out onto the floor again. As if the mess didn't exist, Jason r
eached in, grabbed a beer, popped the tab, and drank. The fridge door closed with a thump.

  Brody ran the back of his hand across his mouth. His brother was becoming a whiz at ignoring tasks that needed to be done. “Didn't you see that stuff?"

  Jason ignored him. “He could be our man. But how do we track him down? In a nut house? Maybe he really is a starship pilot, but I just don't believe it."

  Brody guessed a head of lettuce had rotted away in its plastic bag. He shrugged. Eventually, he would have to ship-shape this kitchen into order. Apparently, no one would, except maybe Odessa, but she wasn't here. If they didn't find out what had happened to her, they'd probably have to burn and bulldoze the place for sure.

  "She might be dead, you know.” The speculation, voiced out loud, terrified Brody. Odessa was just a kid. He chided himself. She was old enough to take care of herself, but what if they hadn't been able to find her anywhere because she was buried somewhere? He didn't want to think about that. Odessa had always sought adventure, always wanted to do what the twins didn't dare. They were comfortable seeking out a living on their apple orchard. Besides, someone had to take care of Uncle Peter.

  Jason went on. “We got to find the sucker."

  Brody sighed. It was useless to ignore his twin's ravings about the redheaded fellow being a starship pilot who had kidnapped Odessa. “You mean after three months? Where do we go looking for him?"

  "Where would you look for a con artist?"

  "Some nitwit who'd broker our apples in outer space at a space station. Imagine that."

  "And we gave him the best of last year's harvest."

  "We should have tied Odessa down when she started getting all glassy-eyed over that crook."

  "Too bad we didn't think of it sooner."

  "Think of what sooner?” a voice came from the doorway.

  Both men turned and observed their uncle Peter. He stood as straight as a telephone pole, but his shoulders sagged a little. A cloud of small white spears dotted his chin like an apple beginning to grow porcupine quills. He had either forgotten to shave again, or had simply omitted the act for the day.