The Commander's Slave Read Online Free

fainted. He knew
the conditions well enough on Helson V, since Hell’s Market was an
occasional--although not favored--stop. The planet was renowned for
its lack of manners and its trade in the living. Until now, he had
stayed away from the flesh-auctions and kept a low profile because
he knew that in Hell’s Market he could find rare objects that his
fleet desperately needed: contraband weaponry, sensitive tracking
systems, all for sale with no questions asked. He had moved through
the metaphorical trade-swamp of the desert planet like a puff of
sand, staying just long enough to complete needed purchases, then
drifting silently away.
    Until today, when the commander of the
much-vaunted Second Fleet, the last vestige of a destroyed planet,
turned up and openly bid on a golden-skinned virgin for an
outrageous sum. Which meant, of course, that neither he nor his men
could ever go back to Helson V again. The informers trawled the
Market like marine harvesters, and he was sure that, even now, word
was flashing to the Lasc Prein about their whereabouts.
    That alone should have been enough to
send him pounding for the bridge. But it wasn’t.
    It must be my libido ,
he thought. By the Creator, she didn’t even need to look at him. All it took was the musky scent of her body rising
to his nostrils as he unbound her and his mind was filled was
lascivious fantasies.
    As a commander of the Second Fleet, as
fractured as it was, he should have acted with honor. Should have
set her down, perhaps in his quarters, and ordered food. Should
have waited till she regained her strength. Instead, he had
configured one of the many platforms in the chamber to contours
matching her body--it took a few attempts, he was still learning
the software of his acquired flagship-- and hating himself while he
did it, restrained her again while he sat across the room.
Watching. Brooding. Unwilling to leave the room in case she woke
up. And hating himself for such weakness.
    With an oath, he pushed himself from
the wall and punched the intercom button. “Daurent.”
    The answer was swift, as he knew it
would be. Daurent would be a worthy successor to his admittedly
reduced legacy.
    “ Yes, sir.”
    “ How’s
progress?”
    “ We’ve unloaded the supply
pod, sir, and are underway.”
    “ It occurs to me that one
of our, ah, acquisitions could bring unwanted attention
….”
    Tangus heard the grin in his
subordinate’s voice as he interrupted. “Already there, commander. I
double-timed the offloading and initiated a delta-evasion pattern.
We should be clear of any Lasc Prein tracers within two
hours.”
    Handsome and smart. It hurt Tangus
that he could offer his ablest lieutenant only a life of retreat
and stealth, instead of the glory such an officer
deserved.
    “ Good work,” he commended
gruffly. “How long before we’re home?”
    “ A week, by current
reckoning. We’ll take some of the more obscure hyper-jumps. It’ll
take longer, but I think a less direct route will be safer in the
end.”
    Tangus nodded at the words. “Fine.
Stand down after we’ve cleared the first jump. Standard detection
protocols. And, Daurent, send some food to my quarters. Enough for
two. Tangus out.”
    Now that he had time to think about
it, he was famished. And so must be his ... guest?
Purchase?
    Slave?
    Something kicked in his groin. So
soon? Maybe the woman had some kind of overpowered pheromone
system. That would explain a lot. He would get that checked out at
the earliest opportunity.
    He heard a chime a few minutes later, just as he pulled on
a pair of loose hip-hugging trousers, and he opened his door to
the Strike’s backup cook. The young man was barely
into adulthood but already had the hard look that all in his crew
eventually wore. He entered without a word and set down a large
tray, covered with an ornate metal dome. Daurent must have left
very specific instructions Tangus thought with an amused twitch of
his lips.
    When the youth left, the