Orrin, First Moon of Planet Forest
DECLAN AND FALLON stood on the outside of a series of underground cave hangars. The horizon showed puffs of white with a wonderful backdrop of gold displays. They had landed on the outskirts of the hangers, behind a clump of trees, and walked to the underground docking area, which was a series of excavated caves.
Declan knew the princess’s hands hurt her. Black circles under her eyes marked her fatigue, but she smiled brilliantly every time he looked in her direction. It confounded him. “How are you doing, Peaches?”
“All right,” she replied and tucked her bandaged hands behind her.
He gauged her answer, which probably did not describe her hurt at all. “We need to get you to a doctor.”
“I am all right, Savage.”
“Unlikely,” he muttered and turned back. Behind them, blue pillars of stalactites hung from soaring crystal ceilings. Light came from millions of tiny glowworms housed in sticky mucus tubes on the crystal and limestone walls. He quickly skimmed the docking area for a choice ship to steal. A gray working-class freighter stood in one of the berths, waiting for her cargo to be unloaded, but it was too large for his purpose.
He turned back to the landing strip. Beyond the ships, oceans of butter-hued grasses dominated the landscape. Cool morning winds blew, creating rippling waves through the tall grasses and scenting the air with sweetness. The calm unnerved him for some reason.
In the distance, the sound of a faint engine could be heard. He stuffed the pulsar gun, another confiscation, in the waistband of his pants and searched the horizon for the incoming ship.
“You steal well.”
He detected a note of royal disapproval. “Only when I have to, and this situation requires it.”
As they watched, a white ship skipped and skidded to a halt across the well-lit landing strip. It came to rest several paces to the right of where they stood and a slow, satisfied smile curved his lips. This ship was exactly what he had in mind.
“Dear God,” his princess gasped softly, gripping his arm much too tightly. “He almost landed the ship on its side.”
“Yes. That is space dominance.”
“More like space disturbance if you ask me.”
“The ship, Princess. Not the pilot.”
“The ship?”
“Gazer Class. First kill capability. Highly maneuverable. Highly sophisticated. Crew of five. Soon just two.”
“You mean it owns the battlefield?”
He glanced at her with a frown. “Sort of.”
“That is the one then.”
“Yes, that’s the one we steal.” Placing his hand on her back, he guided her forward.
“How?” She looked back at him, her face pale and uncertain.
He walked around her. “Just follow my lead.”
“Now? Do you not think this is rather impulsive? Perhaps we should wait until night falls?”
“Now, Princess.” He didn’t try to reassure her because he really didn’t know what would happen. He just reacted to situations as they presented themselves.
“What about the pilot? I do not want you to hurt anyone.”
He walked directly to the ship. “I’ll deal with the pilot. You stay behind me.” A sharp surge of adrenaline flowed in his blood, making him feel nearly invincible.
“You will not deal harshly with the pilot, Savage.”
Declan laughed. “No.”
“I mean it,” she said firmly.
“I don’t doubt it. Now stay behind me.”
As they approached the front of the ship, the hatch swung slowly open.
Declan crept along the side, stopped just below the hatch, then crouched low in the ship’s shadow. He heard grumbling inside then saw a large hand reach for the handholds.
“Move back into the ship,” he commanded and leveled the pulsar gun at the pilot’s stomach.
The pilot huffed in annoyance, not at all fearful. “I just landed this infernal ship and managed to release the cumbersome hatch. No one said anything about hostile encounters on this blasted moon.”
The voice sounded familiar. “Move back into the ship.”
“Bloody culprit, show yourself then.”
From behind him, his princess tugged on his arm. “Not now,” he said low.
“I willna be handing over the Clan Douglas Stargazer to you, whoever you are,” the pilot said indignantly.
“Please do as he says,” his princess pleaded, leaning around him. “We will not harm you, but we need the ship.”
Declan pushed her back behind him just as the pilot leaned out of the hatch in a vain attempt to locate the owner of the lovely voice.
“‘Tis not verra friendly of you, lassie, to steal a good man’s ship.”
Before he could grab her, she skirted around him and faced the pilot.
“Please, sir,” she said with a note of anxiety in her voice. “We are in desperate need of your ship and do not want to harm you.”
“Is that so, lassie?”
“Bloody hell,” Declan growled. “Peaches, get back here.”
“Bloody hell?” the pilot echoed with a strange note of interest. “I know that voice.”
His princess turned to him and Declan wanted to strangle her. “Savage, the man will not harm us.”
“Savage?” The pilot leaned further out of the ship trying to see him. “Would that be the Douglas Savage trying to steal my ship then?”
“Oh, hell.” Declan grabbed the edge of the hatch with his free hand and swung up into the ship. In the next instant, he found himself facing an older man with white hair and a pair of highly intelligent brown eyes.
“Hello, laddie.”
Laddie? “Are there others on this ship?” he demanded.
“Just myself. I have had a terrible time finding you.”
Declan surveyed the pilot and felt a queer awareness. “Who the hell are you?”
“Who do you think I am?” The question was asked carefully like a doctor’s inquiry and Declan felt a piece of memory flicker inside him.
“I don’t know you.”
“That is rather strange, as I know you.” He frowned. “Why is your right ear bleeding?”
Declan ignored the tickle in his bad ear. “Answer me, who are you?”
The man puffed out his chest. “I am Dr. William de Douglas.”
The name meant nothing to him and he could see the man’s disappointment.
“Can you tell me where you got that nasty scar on your temple?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I see.” The Douglas doctor rubbed his chin, the lines in his forehead deepening with thought. “It looks like you be needing an emulsion tank healing and some time in a sensory unit.”
“Declan?” a soft voice called from below the hatch.
“In a minute, Peaches.”
“I do not think we have a minute.”
“What’s wrong?” he called over his shoulder.
“There are five men near the entrance to the hangar and they are pointing their guns at us.”
“Get in here.” Backing up while keeping the older man in sight, Declan held his hand out to her just as a red stream of pulsar fire blinded him.
“Fallon, get down.” He ducked but knew his warning came too late.
His princess bounced off the edge of the hatch and landed below, out of his sight.
“Where are the goddamn ship shields?” he roared in fury. Hanging out of the hatch, he returned fire. “Fallon?”
No answer.
“Doctor, if you want this ship to remain in one piece, get the shields up now!” he bellowed over his shoulder. Without the ship shields to protect them, they were vulnerable.
Firing his gun with one hand, he jumped down and scrambled under the wing to his bleeding princess.
“Fallon! How badly are you hurt?”
She looked up at him with shadowed eyes and he dropped down beside her. “When I tell you to get into a ship, you move like there is a fire under your feet. Do you understand me?” he bellowed, fear for her clawing away at his insides.
She nodded.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he dragged her to him. “Hang on.”
A yellow film came over the ship as the shields activated. They were close enough to the hull to be protected. Above their heads, red beams of light crossed the air and bounced off the automated shields in a splintering spray of red sparks.
“Fallon, keep your eyes open. Where are you hit?”
“Under my arm,” she mumbled into his shoulder.
A numb terror ran down Declan’s spine. He jammed the pulsar gun into the waistband of his pants and carefully lifted her.
“Get her in here,” the doctor called from above them.
Declan grabbed the edge of the hatch but her blood on his hand made the grip slippery.
“Here, let me help.” The doctor’s fingers locked around his wrist. With a powerful surge of strength, he swung them both up into the safety of the ship’s interior.
“Lock the hatch,” Declan commanded and swung her up in his arms.
The doctor slammed the hatch closed behind them and with two quick thrusts of the lever, locked it.
Declan carried her inside.
“Damn the bastards,” the doctor muttered in anger. “Why are they firing? Who are they? Wretched bastards. Bring her back here, Declan.”
Declan pressed his lips to Fallon’s temple. “Hang on,” he whispered.
“Here, let me pull out the sleeper. Now, put her down gently.” The doctor grabbed the medic pack from the compartment.
“I am fine,” his princess said weakly. “Savage is hurt.”
“No, Peaches, that’s your blood on me.” In an effort to stem the flow of blood, Declan pressed his right hand over the wound under her left arm. She flinched back in pain.
“Easy.” He brushed a few strands of hair from her pale cheek. A great anger began to beat in him for the men who had hurt her needlessly.
Her eyes fluttered closed. “I am cold.”
“Fallon? Open your eyes for me. You need to stay awake, honey.”
“My eyes are open.”
He laughed shakily. “No, they are not. Open them for me. Come on.”
Her eyes cracked open.
“Good girl.”
“Hello, lassie,” the doctor said gently and knelt beside Declan.
“Dia duit.“
“That means hello,” Declan explained.
The doctor gave her a reassuring smile. “My name is Dr. William de Douglas and I am going to help you.”
“Thank you.” She began to shiver uncontrollably from shock.
“Let me see what I have here. Laddie, move your hand.”
Declan’s gaze locked with the doctor’s unwavering brown eyes. A world of knowledge stared back at him. A black cylinder and examination table flashed in his mind. Feelings of pain and isolation flowed through him …
“Laddie?”
“Are you a medical doctor?”
“Among other things.”
Declan removed his hand just as she whispered, “I cannot seem to c-c-catch my breath.”
If he could, he would breathe for her. He felt powerless and desperate in a way he could not name.
“Everything will be fine.” The doctor reached in to the medic kit for the slim ultrasonic cutter. He began to cut through the princess’s scorched uniform to reveal a small slit in her flesh that was spewing blood.
Bile locked in the back of Declan’s throat. He had to trust this man to help her, as he could not.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
The doctor gently probed the wound with knowledge. “Could be a collapsed lung.”
The ship abruptly rocked under them.
“Laddie, I think it prudent you get us out of here.”
He agreed and touched her cold cheek. “I must leave you for a little while, but you’ll be all right. The doctor will take good care of you.”
She nodded and his focus switched into defensive mode.
Suspecting their attackers had a pulsar cannon, he climbed to his feet. That was the only weapon possibly capable of penetrating the shields of this class ship. With a quick stride, he made his way to the control center. Once there, he slipped into the pilot seat with an odd familiarity and wiped his bloody hands on his thighs. Crimson stained his fingernails and fury consumed him, leaving only the red haze of vengeance and a lust to kill.
His fingers played about the black semicircular panel of controls in front of the seat. He had no idea who their attackers were. Some bounty hunters out for the reward, no doubt.
His body knew this ship, knew her capability. He did not question it. Engines powered up in a few clicks. Warm air pushed through the silver vents at his heels and along the walls.
The doctor had called this ship Stargazer. Under his hand, she rose from the landing strip and rolled to starboard. Like a predator poised over its intended prey, she hovered close. Gun ports slid open in a single whoosh. Declan’s gaze moved to the tactical display near his right elbow. The screen showed the perimeter of the ship. The men on the ground continued to fire, stupidly unaware of the gazer class ship’s destructive potential. Deep down in the dark reaches of his damaged mind, he knew what this ship could do. Bloodstained hands grasped the weapon controls. “Damn you for hurting her,” he snarled and gave no quarter.
The Stargazer left the moon’s atmosphere and sped into the cold blackness of space. Declan gazed out the window into the endless void. Planets and stars and distant galaxies glittered in the far darkness. He felt strange and all torn up inside.
When heavy footfalls sounded behind him, he glanced over his shoulder. “How is she?”
“Resting.” Dr. William walked around the black railing of the pilot area. “I gave her a sedative, and cleaned and wrapped the minor burns on her hands.” He shook his head. “She needs the healing of an emulsion tank for the internal injuries.”
Declan turned to the small screen below his left wrist and punched in a set of search codes, trying to locate the nearest emulsion tank installation.
“I know where there be a fine emulsion healing tank,” the doctor said.
“Where?”
“The Claymore. She be somewhere in this sector. I need to …”
Declan didn’t let the older man finish, but grabbed his wrist. “Contact them.”
“I will, if you unhand me. I canna reach the commlink this way.”
Shame washed over him instantly and he jerked his hand away. With a muttered apology for his violent response, he stepped back from the control panel to make room for the doctor’s larger frame.
“I see you have not mastered the matrix temper, yet.”
Matrix?
“Learning patience is the key to overcoming the matrix influence and rage. It will come to you, laddie, give it time.” The doctor peered down at the console and frowned. “Now, where is the blasted commlink again?”
“Here.” Reaching around the doctor, Declan pressed a red button and activated the commlink.
Loud static screeched across the air.
“Ah, there it is then. Claymore, this is Dr. William de Douglas. Please respond. I have an emergency, over.”
For a few moments, only the crackling noise of the open commlink filled the silence. “Claymore, please respond,” the doctor called again.
The crackling cleared.
“This is the Clan Douglas warship Claymore,” a male voice replied. “Please identify yourself, over.”
When Dr. William didn’t answer, Declan moved beside him and flattened his hand against the control panel. “What is wrong? Answer them.”
“Give me a minute, laddie. I am trying to remember my private code. Do you remember yours?”
“No.”
Dr. William frowned then pressed the red button to respond, “Claymore, this is W20 William, over.”
“Doctor William de Douglas,” the voice replied. “How may we be of assistance?”
“I have an injured lassie and need Claymore’s emulsion tank immediately. Meet me here.” The doctor sent the coordinates.
“Delay that order.” Declan slid into the pilot seat, did a quick calculation, altered the coordinates, and resent them. When the doctor started to protest, he quickly explained. “It is faster if I go to them rather than have them just come to me.”
“Coordinates received. Dr. William?” the voice over the commlink paused. “Who is with you?”
Declan stared at the commlink. What name should he give? But the Douglas doctor answered for him. “Declan de Douglas.”
“You’ve found him then.”
“More like he found me.”
Declan’s gaze dropped to the floor. He had a name, but it did not feel familiar.
“Doctor, we will inform Lord Lachlan so he may call off the search.”
“Good,” the doctor agreed.
The voice on the commlink reconfirmed the coordinates then said, “Our ETA is two hours.”
“Make it one.” Declan ordered.
The doctor nodded his approval. “The sooner the better.”
“Stargazer out.” Declan set the autopilot to bring the ship to top speed. “Is the princess secure in the back?”
“Tucked tight in the sleeper.”
“Then you’d better hold on to the railing, Doctor.”
The ship lurched and banked toward a cluster of dimmer stars, her speed rapidly increasing.
As the ship leveled off, Declan stood and stared unseeingly at the control panel. “My name?”
“Declan de Douglas.”
He lifted his gaze and looked out the ship’s window. “You know me?”
“I do.”
He turned and quietly regarded the older man. “I am of Clan Douglas?”
“Aye, by choice.”
“By choice, not by lineage?”
“That, too.”
His gaze narrowed. “Either you are being evasive or my mind is more damaged then I thought.”
“What happened to you, laddie?”
“I have no answers. Just strange dreams.”
The doctor folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me.”
The black fissure in his mind wavered like something alive. “A rose-colored castle rising from a pool of blood. At the shore is a woman with fiery hair. After that, only a black void.”
“A forced memory wipe or identity wash, be my way of thinking. The rose-colored castle should be the MacKendrick Castle Keep.” He nodded over his shoulder. “And back there, I’m assuming, the woman with red hair be the kidnapped MacKendrick princess.”
“Why did you say forced?”
“Seeing the scar on your temple and you wearing a slave collar, I have to suspect something amiss. The Declan I know would never be collared willingly.”
Declan looked away.
“I must also assume you to be the odd-eyed pleasurer in the wanted posting? There is mention of a sword tattoo as well. When did you get a tattoo?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I do not remember.”
“I see. Ah laddie, you have got yourself into a heap of trouble.”
Declan sat back down. “Please go and stay with the princess, Doctor.”
In less than a standard hour, the Stargazer reached the Claymore. Blue and pink star clouds were splattered like paint on a black canvas all around the big ship’s brilliant white hull.
Sitting in the pilot seat, Declan leaned forward and pressed the commlink. “Claymore, this is Stargazer.”
“We have you, Stargazer,” the ship’s female commutainications officer immediately responded. “Medic team awaits in landing bay four, over.”
Declan searched his memory but he could not remember the bay’s location. “Port side?” he asked.
“Aft, sir.”
“Affirmative, Stargazer out.”
Declan drove his ship with expert ease under the warship’s sleek belly and entered the landing bay from the back. He followed the landing strip lights to the last runway as if he had done this all his life and docked the ship in the cylindrical berth.
“We’re in,” he called back and quickly powered down systems. The ship did a click-click-whir before settling into a diminishing hiss in her berth. He stood, then vaulted over the black railing surrounding the pilot area. When he arrived at the back of the ship the doctor was securing the sleeper.
The princess lay pale and unmoving. Declan knelt beside her and nodded to the doctor. Reaching out, he stroked her cheek. “We’re here.”
“Where is here?” she murmured, sounding greatly fatigued.
“The Clan Douglas warship Claymore.”
Her eyes cracked open. “So fast?”
“Yes, now hold still.” Declan helped the doctor to detach the restraints holding the sleeper firmly to the deck, then he took up a position on the other side. The older man grasped the sleeper’s carry handles, nodded, and said, “Let’s go.”
They lifted her and carried her to hatch. “Doc, I need to open the hatch. Set her down here.”
They eased the sleeper to the floor and Declan stepped over and released the hatch. As it swung open, bright lights spilled in from the berth. Two medic technicians were waiting expectantly.
“In here,” the doctor called.
Two men immediately climbed into the ship, took the sleeper between them with calm efficiency, and carried his princess back out of the shuttle. Declan followed right behind the doctor, who proved to be an agile man despite his age.
“Hang on, lassie. I’m going to give you something more for the pain.”
The princess nodded bravely.
“Let’s go.” The doctor waved and they started off at a brisk pace, with the technicians carrying the sleeper between them.
“Declan, please do not leave me,” she rasped.
Gently, he grasped her bandaged hand. “I’m right here.”
“Declan, I want you to keep her awake,” Dr. William called over his shoulder, then turned to one of his technicians. “Give me a blasted commlink.”
The man handed the doctor the small circular device. Immediately, he began giving orders into it.
Declan heard the doctor say something about “traumatic pneumothorax” and “air entering the pleural space,” and “not enough pressure.” There was also a mention of “depersonalization disorder,” “identity theft,” and “possible psychiatric impact.”
He understood “traumatic pneumothorax” to mean a collapsed lung due to injury. But the disorder and psychiatric impact, he guessed, had to do with him. Soon, they entered a white corridor filled with black uniforms and headed for the turbo lift.
When they entered the lift, he squeezed her hand. “How are you doing?”
“My chest feels heavy.”
He could hear her struggling for breath and nodded that he understood. The lift began to ascend, taking them to Medical, but it was not fast enough to suit him. “Can you hang on a little longer?” he asked.
She nodded. “As long as I have to.”
Doors slid open with a whoosh and they exited into a crisp white corridor. The doctor turned to his technicians. “Get her prepped for the emulsion tank. I will be right there. Declan with me.”
Declan squeezed his princess’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”
“Declan, I do not want to go into the tank.”
“You have no choice. I’ll be right there with you.”
She searched his face, her eyes gone hollow.
“You need to let go of my hand. I’ll be right back. I promise.”
She released him and turned her face away.
Although her response gave him more cause for concern, Declan followed the doctor through a set of large white doors while the technicians disappeared with his princess down the corridor.
“Doctor, why did we come in here?”
“This is the main part of the science lab and I need to double check the emulsion tank’s startup readings for your DNA.”
“I’m not going into the tank. What are you talking about?”
The doctor looked up from his computer. “Do you remember this place?”
Declan glanced about the cavernous space. Numerous computer printouts plastered the walls and two black examination tables stood in the center. Behind the tables, an ominous black cylindrical machine spanned half the length of the room. “No,” he replied.
“Verra well. The emulsion tank I ordered readied for the princess is back here.”
The two-ton glass emulsion tank stood off to the side, shrouded in lavender light, a ghostly specter from Fallon’s childhood nightmares. In the tank’s center, a cone of gelatinous bubbles would develop, rising endlessly to the surface, over and over, again and again, until finally sinking away, their jelled life spent in healing.
The old nightmare took hold of Fallon’s memory, eroding her good sense.
In the small white room, she could taste the metallic sweetness of the healing fluid, feel the cold liquid chill her skin, see the gray darkness of approaching death.
“Princess Fallon,” the blond technician leaned over her, “we must remove your clothes.”
Fallon blinked, returning to the present, and pushed at the technician’s hands. “Stop.”
“Princess, nonorganic material impairs the tank’s healing ability. We need to remove your clothes.”
Her panic increased and she shoved at their hands.
“Don’t touch her.” Her savior burst through the doors, causing the technicians to back away quickly, their hands held high.
Declan came to her side. “Hey,” he said simply.
Fallon grabbed the front of his jacket with her bandaged hands. “I do not want to go into the tank.”
“Princess, calm down.”
“I am calm,” she wheezed in his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I do not like emulsion tanks.” She stared up into silvery-blue eyes, hoping he understood the desperation growing inside her, and let go of him.
He frowned faintly and glanced at the red and blue veins skirting the bottom of the tank. They crackled with an electrical current. He turned back to her and Fallon saw understanding light his eyes. “Are you afraid?”
She nodded, shamed to her core, and grabbed his jacket again. “I cannot go in there.”
“No reason to be afraid,” the doctor said with firm conviction from their right. “Declan, I want both of you in the tank. Strip down. I have programmed the tank for both of you. Now, laddie. Her left lung has collapsed. I’ve stabilized her but I want her in the tank immediately.”
My lung? Fallon squeezed her eyes shut. It felt like one of those fat brillbears from Planet Glyndwr was sitting on her chest, restricting her breathing.
“Fallon?”
She looked up at Declan through a watery blur.
“You need to let go of me, honey.” She had not realized she was holding on to him. He squeezed her hand and freed himself, as she was incapable of letting go. “Doc, do you need these technicians?” he asked.
Out of the corner of her vision, Fallon saw the doctor peek around the control panel at the two young men standing quietly nearby. “Edward, Daniel, wait for me outside.”
The two technicians turned and left, leaving the three of them alone.
Fallon looked back at Declan. The drugs Dr. William had given her were finally taking effect. She felt light as air and curiously displaced as she watched Declan undress. First, went the jacket. Next, the ribbed knit sweater came flying off, revealing a muscular torso.
“Laddie, does the slave collar come off?” the doctor called from behind the control column.
“No.” He removed the pulsar gun from his waist and laid it on the floor within easy reach.
“And about the tattoo … I know you said that you doona remember getting it. Perchance, do you remember if the tattoo is synthetic or organic flash ink?”
“I have no idea,” he replied.
“Verra well.”
“Declan, the controller is in my thigh pocket.” Fallon struggled to reach for it.
“Lie still, I’ll get it in a minute.”
He unwove the bandages from her hands.
The doctor moved from behind the column of controls into her peripheral vision again. “I will have to make a few additional calculations to compensate for the collar, Declan. Emulsion technology and nonorganic material doona play well together, as you know. If the tattoo proves to be formed with nonorganic flash ink, you may lose it.”
“Not a problem,” Declan said.
It was a problem for her. Fallon liked the tattoo. The doctor leaned over a small screen on the tank. “I have already loaded the program to compensate for your biomated matrix, Declan. What materials is that collar made of?”
She frowned. “What is biomated matrix?”
Declan straightened, the silver in his eyes suddenly shadowed. “I don’t know what the damn thing is made of, Doc. Code it synthetic.”
“That’s not too helpful, laddie.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
“I find your confidence in me most inspiring.”
“You will be going in the tank with me?” Fallon rasped and tried to rise up on her elbows.
“Yes. Lie down.” He pushed her back down, then turned and pulled off one of her boots. Declan’s reassuring presence and the dulling affect of the drugs in her system were doing wonders for her panic. “Are there system alerts for drowning?”
“The oxygen coil.” He paused and looked up. “Is that what happened to you?”
“When I was four years old, I nearly drowned.”
“That will not happen here, Princess.”
He yanked off her second boot then opened the pocket flap containing the controller.
“Don’t touch it,” Fallon whispered urgently, coming to her elbow.
“I have no intention of touching the damn thing.” With a quick snatch, the hated device tumbled from her pants’ thigh pocket and hit the floor in a muffled thump. Wrapped still in the piece of red silk sheet that Declan had given her, it looked small and harmless. With the tip of his boot, Declan coaxed the device over to the emulsion tank.
“Doc,” he called.
Dr. William lifted his head and looked over.
“On the floor,” Declan directed. “Be careful with it when you remove the cloth, and don’t push any buttons.”
“Ah, the collar’s controller.” The doctor carefully picked the controller up and removed the red silk. He tossed the silk in the corner and put the controller in the front pocket of his lab coat. “I will be keeping it safe for the princess, then.” And once more he disappeared behind the tank’s control column.
“Declan?” Fallon asked very seriously. “You trust that man to hold the controller? We hardly know him.”
“I don’t know why, but I feel strongly that we can trust him and so far my instincts have proven true.”
“But the controller.”
“It’ll be all right. Besides, the less synthetic material in the tank the better.”
With curious detachment, Fallon lay back and watched him finish undressing. Lavender light from the tank reflected the sinewy strength of him. Before long, he stood there completely unclothed, except for the collar. And what a fine body he had, she thought. In her drugged state, she voiced thoughts she would normally keep silent. “You remind me of a warrior god from one of my books.”
He chuckled, shaking his head and coming to her. “You say the oddest things, Princess.” He pulled the pants off her easily. Next, he began to cut her out of the top part of her uniform with a slim ultrasonic cutter. “I’ll try and make this quick. Doc,” he called over his shoulder, “do I carry her in?”
“Bring the table to the tank’s entrance then lift her.”
“Got it.”
Fallon tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry. The feeling of displacement increased. “Declan, I feel strange.”
“Hang on.” He pulled the transport table with him as he climbed the black ring platform surrounding the emulsion tank.