Wanderlust (Sirantha Jax 2)

Moreover, we can’t trust everyone we have on board, so if we leave the cockpit, there’s a chance that Koratati and Surge will hijack us and deliver us someplace we don’t want to be. I can’t imagine who else might be gunning for me—or maybe it’s March they want this time—his past is far from an open book at this point. Regardless, it seems better to be safe, which means keeping our asses in these seats.

Dina and Velith will keep an eye on Surge, Jael, and Koratati for us. And if they start something, my money’s on Vel. See, I watched him take on a clutch of Morgut and walk—okay, limp—off to tell the tale.

My fingers go to my newest scar, a slash across my right wrist. Though it’s healing well enough, it still itches a little.

March slants me a smile. “So . . . you wanna play Pick Five?”

I roll my eyes. “Not really. You’d just read my cards and know what you needed to discard.”

He lays a hand over his heart. “I’m cut, seriously. You’re implying I’d cheat?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

His expression becomes wolfish. “Absolutely. I always get what I want.”

“Should that worry me?”

“Everything worries you.”

I can’t argue that. He must find me the most ridiculous bundle of contradictions. I suspect everyone of perfidious motives yet I long to hurl myself into dangerous situations to forget my fears. Forget aversion therapy, that’s the way I live.

Apart from the noises of the ship, it’s so quiet up here. This is what freedom feels like. In some ways that’s an oxymoron—I’m only free when I’m confined to a ship as opposed to having a whole planet to move around on. But there you have it; it’s how I’ve felt since the first time I went up. My parents took me on a pleasure cruise when I was thirteen, and I was never the same thereafter.

That line of thought leads me directly back to my mother. I can’t believe she expects me to save her ass, after they disowned me. They probably celebrated when they heard Farwan “brought me to justice.”

“That’s not true,” March says, unaccountably gentle. “She was happy to see you. More worried about herself, but genuinely glad you’re all right.”

I sigh. “Ugh. Don’t we have enough to worry about without you analyzing my feelings about my mother?”

“We have time to kill before we make the jump.” He grins.

“I’d rather play Charm, New Venice rules.”

“I expect you would. But think how shocked people would be to find us sexing each other up in the cockpit, just like the porn cliché.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. “You saying you can’t see me naked without being overcome with lust?”

“Try me.”

I suspect he’s full of shit, but damned if he’s not good for my ego, which has taken a beating lately. Most days I don’t even feel womanly, let alone sexy.

“I think we better not,” I answer finally. “I don’t want to scare anybody.”

Mainly I’m glad he’s not bugging me about my mother anymore. That’s where it’s a little unequal. He knows exactly what he can say without tearing open old wounds. I don’t have any such clarity where he’s concerned.

Of course I’m curious about the shit he’s done, the battles he’s fought, and the hell he went through before he wound up on Lachion with Mair, Keri’s grandmother. But I don’t want to hurt him—I don’t want to ask about stuff he’s trying to forget. The old Jax would’ve ranked her curiosity above any possible harm and called it candor. I’ve since learned there’s a balance between candor and cruelty.

“You can ask me anything you want to know,” he says without looking up from the instruments. His playful mood has faded, though, as if in anticipation of what I may say.

Okay, then. This is an olive branch, so I take it. Maybe he wants to open up, but he doesn’t know where to start. “How many, March?”

He answers without looking at me. “Body count, you mean?”

I nod, knowing he’ll catch the movement in his peripheral vision.

“Thousands,” he says, after a long pause. “On Nicu Tertius alone. I did the job they hired me for, no matter how bad it got.”

“That was war. That’s . . . different. And it’s not what I wanted to know.”

“You want to know how many men I’ve personally ended?” he asks then.

Do I?

“Yeah.”

“Between ten and fifteen.” He sounds dispassionate. “Depends on whether the ones whose minds I broke are still lingering.”

“But you had good reason, right?”

Before he can reply, Dina’s voice comes over the comm. “I think we have trouble.”

“When don’t we?” March mutters. “What’s wrong now?”

“Their jumper seems to be having a fit, and we don’t have a doc on board.”

* * *

CHAPTER 11

l put aside my misgivings about the man March used to be. People can change; I’m living proof of that. “You want me to take a look?”

March manages a smile. “Unless you want to drive.”

I’m just never going to hear the end of that. When we made our escape from Hon-Durren’s Kingdom, I banged the hell out of the Folly. Shaking my head, I push out of the nav chair and make my way back to the hub. Koratati flails uncontrollably, but she’s still wrapped up in that heavy cloak, so I can’t tell what’s going on.

Surge looks frantic, Jael appears unconcerned, and Vel . . . he’s observing the scene, putting the pieces together before he makes a judgment. Dina has made herself scarce. I guess she figured she discharged her duty when she notified March.

“Has she been sick? You idiots, we don’t have facilities on this ship. She’d have been better off dirtside, new immigration laws or not.” I bend toward her, and Koratati lashes out.

“Don’t touch me!”

Her fist feels like a hammer as it connects with my cheek. I reel back, steady myself on the wall. That’s gonna leave a mark.

Under her voluminous robe, something . . . moves. Okay, this really isn’t right. I wish Doc was here.

“She’s not ill,” Velith says while I rub my cheek. “She’s in labor.”

“I had to get her off world.” Surge paces around the hub, watching Koratati with a worry that tells me she’s not just his jumper. “She’s not due for days yet, though—”

“Imbecile.” Even I know that stress can jump-start this breeding business, and I’m not exactly an expert. “You know we can’t jump, right? Did you even consider what the pressure and/or environmental shifts could do to an unborn child?”

“I . . . no.” Surge shakes his head. “I just didn’t want my kid to suffer or be treated like a second-class citizen because of those new immigration laws. At least if he’s born up here, they don’t apply.”

“She!” Koratati pushes her way out of the cloak. She has a jutting jaw, a fine dusting of gold fur, and powerful haunches. Mary help us, she’s Rodeisian. Wait, his kid? I didn’t even know they could crossbreed with humans. They’re a large, humanoid race from a small planet in the Outskirts.

“You knew you needed to get off the planet in a hurry, and you gambled away your ship?” That makes no sense.

The woman’s scream of pain derails my train of thought. We need medicine, a doctor, somewhere she can lie down—

Shit, why am I in charge?

“When they broke the news about the reforms, I didn’t have the credits to provision the ship,” Surge explains. “Or even refuel it. Then I ran across you and March. Did some digging to see how it could help me, and when we saw your mechanic drinking in the Den . . .”

“You saw your chance and took it. Then you pushed your way on board, talked March into taking you up, and the rest is history.”

Koratati screams again, and March’s voice comes over the comm. “What the hell is going on back there?”

“It appears we’re having a baby.”

“We’re what?”

I realize how that sounds, but unfortunately, I don’t have time to tease him with it. “Surge brought his wife on board, and she’s about to deliver any minute.”

“I’m not his wife,” Koratati grits out.

I don’t know enough about Rodeisian customs to understand why she’s so adamant on this point. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. More to the point, what the hell am I supposed to do?

“Let’s get you to one of the bunks where you can lie down.” I try to help her up, but she shoves me away.

I stagger back, and Mary, either her adrenaline is running amok or she’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met. Dina isn’t going to like that. I’ve never sparred with a Rodeisian partner, but then again, most of my combat experience comes from being liquored up and starting something in a station bar.

“That will only make it harder,” she grunts. “I need to stay upright so gravity will help me.”

Great, we need one of those old-fashioned birthing chairs. I glance around the hub and don’t see anything better suited than the seat she’s already sitting in. She can’t have a baby here; this ship is old, filthy, and—

“Vel, help me out here!”

The bounty hunter turned cultural liaison lifts a brow at me, appearing completely at ease. “What do you expect me to do?”

“I . . .” Have no idea.

Thankfully March appears in the corridor leading from the cockpit. He’ll take over, right? The man takes in my frantic expression and scrubs a palm across his face. “You were serious.” Turning to Surge, he adds, “You smuggled a pregnant woman on board my ship? We’re tied to hauling straight space now, and I don’t know what kind of provisions Dina laid in. We expected a clean jump to Lachion!”

As if responding to a summons, she appears with an armful of odds and ends. “We have enough organic to run the kitchen-mate for a week, if we eat light, enough paste to keep us going for another two weeks.”

March mutters, “Fuck. All right, let me check the charts to see what our options are, given fuel and supply levels.” He narrows his eyes on me. “You. That wasn’t funny, not even a little bit.”

“Do I look pregnant?”

“You look like a refugee,” Dina says while laying out the things she’s collected.

To my vast relief, she handles the situation, spreading a blanket that I hope she’s sterilized somehow beneath Koratati’s feet. I don’t even mind the slam, which stings more because it’s true.

“Give her your hand,” Dina instructs.

After all the abuse I’ve taken, I’m not precisely eager, but I don’t want to wind up orchestrating this comedy of errors. So Koratati squeezes down, and I’m pretty sure I hear my bones popping. That can’t be a good sign.