The docking station loomed in the distance. The heat was stifling and sweat beaded on his face, his shirt sticking to his body. The corners of his mouth turned up. A sense of well-being, of place filled him.
The cool interior of the station was a shock to the system. He shivered and hastened his step. His ship was the best Alliance vessel money could buy. Gravasian tech was better, but they wouldn’t risk it falling into the hands of other cultures. And they’d never trust a non-Gravasian with any.
His lip curled slightly as he pressed his hand against the security panel located on the hull by the loading bay. It scanned his palm and fingers. The light turned green and a section slid away, displaying a keyboard. He punched in the twelve-digit code and the door silently opened.
“Computer, full security on,” he ordered as soon as he stepped on board.
“Security on,” the mechanical voice confirmed.
Zaxe leaned against the wall and rubbed his hand over his face. He needed a shower and food. His stomach growled in agreement, reminding him he hadn’t finished the harira he’d purchased in the market.
Did Delphi remember their past? Or like him, had she shoved it aside, forgotten it because it was too painful?
Pushing away from the wall, he strode to his cabin, stripped off his clothes, and padded into the bathing chamber. He ignored the gel cleansing unit in favor of the mirror over the small sink. Positioning himself so his back was visible in the glass, he looked over his shoulder. The birthmark covered his left shoulder. It was lighter than the rest of his skin so it stood out prominently. It was actually a series of small circles that formed a spiral.
Do you wear the mark of the Zaxurus family? The vendor’s question echoed in his ears. When he hadn’t replied, the old man had continued, “The light spiral is the sign of the males in your family.”
He reached over his shoulder and stroked his fingers over the mark. “My father was Dagmar Zaxurus.” Saying it aloud made it real. His throat tightened. He dropped his hand, stepped into the gel cleansing unit, and shut the door. The unit came on automatically.
He leaned his hands against the slick wall of the unit and bowed his head as it sprayed a cleansing mist on him, followed by a blast of heat. The cycle was short and efficient. The drying light came on, changing from red to green when it was done.
“Be careful, son of Dagmar. There are those who would not be happy to see you have survived.” The warning had been given as he’d left, and it was a wise one.
After pulling on clothes, which included a battlesuit—a lightweight suit of protective body armor—he headed to the control room to do his daily check-in. “Computer, pull up all communications.” He slid into the captain’s chair, rested his elbows on the arms, and steepled his fingers together.
“No communications.”
“Contact King Agman of Gravas.” Not many people had a direct line to the king of the most powerful planet in the known galaxies.
An image appeared on the screen before him. The man was in his sixties, his hair and beard laced with gray, but he was an imposing figure, a warrior to his core. “Report.”
The brisk tone was expected. This was not a man to waste time with niceties. “Made my first foray into the market. I’ve lined up a guide.”
The king’s eyebrows rose. “A guide?”
“There was an incident with some locals. A woman intervened.”
King Agman frowned but said nothing. Like any warrior, he knew the value of silence.
“Her skin is paler than most Zaxians.”
Again, the king waited.
“Yet she is a native, born and raised. Her hair is unusual too, a mixture of black and red. Her eyes are green.”
“Helldrick’s daughter? The man has another family there. Makes sense why he’d run to Zaxus now that his home on Mortis is no longer safe.” He sat forward in his chair and shook his head. “You’re either blessed by the gods or this is a setup.”
“Not sure how or why it would be a setup, but I’m being careful. I told her who I was searching for.”
“Is that wise?”
He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But if he treated her like he did his daughters on Mortis, it might make her more inclined to help. Either way, I’ll find him.”
“If she warns him, he may flee.”
“Doesn’t matter where he goes, I’ll find him. In the meantime, I’ll be digging into the daughter’s past. I’m scheduled to meet her this evening.”
“Keep me informed.” The screen went blank.
“I’ll do that,” he muttered. “Computer search for all information on Jamaeh, native of the city of Badwa on the planet Zaxus. Last name unknown.” He uploaded the image he’d captured of her earlier.
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, exhaustion weighing on him. He’d been chasing Helldrick for weeks, tracking down all leads. He was so close.
And then what?
What happened when his job was done? He’d have his freedom for the first time in his life and all the money he needed. The plan had always been for him and his sisters to find a planet to settle on and live a simpler life. They’d talked about having their own business, maybe a bar.
But Delphi was married to a prince of Gravas. And in an odd stroke of fate, his adopted sister, Sass, had also married one of the king’s sons. Both his sisters were now royalty. One corner of his mouth twitched. Delphi and Sass were trained assassins, not pampered aristocrats. Though in all honesty, neither were the king’s sons. Sass’s husband was an elite assassin. Delphi’s man wasn’t quite as skilled as his brother but he was a formidable warrior.
Life sometimes took strange twists and turns. Like his had today. His father was Dagmar Zaxurus, ruler of the Northern Territory of Zaxus. Or he had been before he’d been assassinated while visiting another planet on a trip that had been both a diplomatic mission and a family holiday.
The computer beeped. Zaxe’s eyes shot open. Information began to fill the screen.
“Jamaeh, age twenty-four. Last name Jerman for her mother Zahra Jerman, deceased six years ago. Brother Esau Jerman, age eighteen, raised by his sister after their mother’s passing. Father unlisted.”
“Of course, he is.” Helldrick wasn’t exactly father-of-the-year material. So Jamaeh had been responsible for her brother since she was eighteen and he was twelve. Quite a responsibility.
“Occupation listed as trader—on-planet operation.”
“Save report.” He’d read the rest later before he met with her again. And if she decided not to show, he had an address where he could find her. “Begin new search on Zaxus for information on Helldrick.” He might have a business here. Not likely, but Zaxe was always thorough.
A comfortable bed waited not far away, but he closed his eyes. An image of Jamaeh immediately filled his mind. She truly was beautiful. Her height and unusual coloring made her stand out among the local women. Her cheekbones were high, her chin slightly pointed, and the corners of her eyes tilted up slightly, giving her an exotic appearance. But it was her willingness to step up and take on the care of a younger brother when the need arose, carving a career in a city where she’d be treated as second-class due to her mixed heritage and lack of family ties that impressed him even more. Like many cultures, Zaxians were not always so accepting of those outside their own race. Life could not have been easy for her, yet she’d stepped in to help him today.