Rystani Warrior 04 - The Quest Read Free

discern—like right now—she’d learned to be extra careful. Angel had even read up on the phenomena. Supposedly, her subconscious picked up signals her brain couldn’t interpret—tiny signals that her conscious mind didn’t see or hear or notice, but ones that could still broadcast loud and clear to her subconscious.
    “Talk to me.” Petroy’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.
    “I’m taking the flitter through a blast hole in the fuselage.” She came through the damaged hull in a cloud of dust. Her exterior landing lights revealed an empty dock, and she set down with no problems.
    “I’ve landed, and the shuttle bay is full of wreckage.”
    She’d expected no less. Still, she couldn’t keep the disappointment from her tone. It would have been wonderful to find a stash of cargo, starfire gemstones from Kenderon IV or ice crystals from Ellas Prime or even a case of Zenonite brandy. But the bay had either been picked clean a long time ago, or the Vogan ship had flown empty.
    Angel kept her blaster handy and popped her hatch. “I’m going for a look,” she said. “Engaging vidcamera.”
    Now Petroy could see what she saw, which wasn’t much. Lots of twisted gray bendar, a metal manufactured to protect starships against hyperdrive forces. She placed a portable light on her head, another on her wrist.
    As well as clothing her, her suit allowed her to breathe in space, kept her boots on the deck with artificial gravity, and encased her body in normal pressure. She didn’t have to worry about solar radiation, but the possibility of her competitors returning was always a concern. While Petroy would notify her if they reappeared and she should have plenty of time to fly back to the Raven, she sensed the danger was coming from within, not outside.
    Straining to listen for any strange noises, she forced air into her lungs. Absolute silence closed around her like a tomb. She couldn’t open her suit to sniff the air, but from the charred hull, she imagined the odor of old dust and the lingering scent of burnt metal.
    Reaching an interior hatch, she popped the handle. The massive door creaked open. She shined her light into a corridor, expecting more wreckage. But it was empty, the only sign of problems a buckled floor.
    Advancing with care, she passed by the empty galley and crew quarters and, in search of electronics, turned toward where she estimated the bridge to be. Along the way she admired the heavy metal plating of the interior walls, which would bring a tidy profit on Dakmar. The cargo ship had been built like a fortress, and she suspected only a total systems failure could have left her so vulnerable to disaster.
    A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye, a shade or shape that didn’t belong, caught her attention. Instantly, she shined her light, raised her blaster, and peered into the gloom but saw nothing, not even a shadow.
    Her mouth went dry as moon dust. “Who’s there?”
    Petroy’s tone lowered in concern. “No one’s on the vidscreen. Sensors aren’t picking up any sign of life, but be careful.”
    She appreciated that he didn’t think she’d lost her mind and that he’d fed her data that should be useful. Although Angel had boarded dozens of ships, never before had she felt as though she was being watched and judged.
    Angel squinted past the reach of her lights and saw a dark gray shadow move in the blackness beyond. A very large, very humanoid shadow.
    “Come out. Now. Or I’ll shoot.” She assumed the intruder’s suit would translate her words.
    The shadow moved and advanced into her light.
    “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
    He was tall, very tall, broad-shouldered and bronze-skinned with bright blue eyes and dark hair. But it was his carved cheekbones and full lips that curved into a confident and easy smile that made her think of a Viking warrior, one of Earth’s ancient races. No, not Viking—a Rystani. She hadn’t ever met any Rystani, the infamous