Read Online Shadower by Catherine Spangler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catherine Spangler
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headed for the corridor. "I don't know how to operate a replicator. Where is the galley?"
"Second panel on the left. What do you mean, you don't know how to operate a replicator?"
"Never learned."
In disbelief, he followed her to the galley. "Every ship that's less than fifty seasons old has a replicator. How do you fix your meals?"
"I don't. I eat prepackaged food." She turned and smiled tauntingly. "So I guess you get to cook."
Several choice words came to mind, but Sabin decided he'd cursed enough for one cycle. "I should have known," he grumbled. "But you get clean-up duty. And you can get out the dishes. Except the utensils. I'll handle those."
Silently she began opening cabinets and looking for the plates. He pushed the pads on the replicator panel. "How do protein sticks and amargrain sound? I might even throw in some of my special bread, if you ask nicely."
"Fix whatever you want," she answered indifferently.
But when they sat down a short while later, she dug into her food without hesitation. She ate like she hadn't eaten in cycles, and she probably hadn't. There was nothing dainty about her at the table. He leaned back to watch as she rapidly diminished the food on her plate.
Here was evidence that her graceful poise and modulated voice hadn't always been part of her persona. When she ate, a more basic woman emerged. Fascinating. A sudden flash of insight told Sabin that perhaps she had learned to eat so fast out of necessity, such as a lack of food and having to battle for what was available. He knew what that was like.
"Whoa! Don't you think you should slow down? If you haven't eaten in a few cycles, you should give your body time to adjust to solid food," he cautioned. "I'll give you more later, I promise."
She paused, her fork heaped with food halfway to her mouth. Still chewing, she lowered the utensil. She swallowed before raising her eyes to his. "How do I know this isn't my last meal?"
Her tension was palpable. She appeared to be strung tighter than a miserly Shen. Yet he was reluctant to tell her much. She was too clever and resourceful, and any knowledge in her hands could be dangerous. "Look, you'll just have to trust—"
"Forget it," she cut in. "I've heard that line before, especially from men like you, and I know how meaningless it is." She shoved back from the table and rose swiftly, picking up her plate. He tensed, halfway expecting the plate to be hurled at him, but she turned toward the wall unit. "Is this the refuse chute?"
Without waiting for an answer, she began scraping the food into the chute, her movements jerky. Men like him? What did that mean? Damn, but she appeared madder than a wounded Antek. Sabin rose and approached her. He placed his hand on her shoulder, his fingers tangling in her hair. "Listen—"
"No!" Tossing her head, she jerked away from his hand and turned to glare at him. "I don't want any empty promises from you, Travers."
The flash of fear in her eyes tugged at him. He reached toward her, but she brushed past him to pick up his plate. He reached out again. "Moriah—"
She whirled, knocking his arm away. "What are you really going to do with me?"
She didn't trust him, and he couldn't blame her. She didn't know him from a Trion cave dweller. She probably assumed he was going to kill her to keep her quiet about the Shielder colony. He understood her fear. He understood fear all too well.
For a brief moment, the present faded, and the black void opened around him, obscuring everything but the screams of anguish, the explosion of blasters, the stench of burning flesh. The running, the hiding, the darkness, but most of all, the fear. The all-consuming fear that dominated every sense…
Wrenching himself back from the void, Sabin knew he had to tell Moriah his plans. He had thought to keep her in the dark, to use her uncertainty to control her. He couldn't do that. He couldn't endure seeing in her face that which was etched in his soul for eternity. "I'm going
"Second panel on the left. What do you mean, you don't know how to operate a replicator?"
"Never learned."
In disbelief, he followed her to the galley. "Every ship that's less than fifty seasons old has a replicator. How do you fix your meals?"
"I don't. I eat prepackaged food." She turned and smiled tauntingly. "So I guess you get to cook."
Several choice words came to mind, but Sabin decided he'd cursed enough for one cycle. "I should have known," he grumbled. "But you get clean-up duty. And you can get out the dishes. Except the utensils. I'll handle those."
Silently she began opening cabinets and looking for the plates. He pushed the pads on the replicator panel. "How do protein sticks and amargrain sound? I might even throw in some of my special bread, if you ask nicely."
"Fix whatever you want," she answered indifferently.
But when they sat down a short while later, she dug into her food without hesitation. She ate like she hadn't eaten in cycles, and she probably hadn't. There was nothing dainty about her at the table. He leaned back to watch as she rapidly diminished the food on her plate.
Here was evidence that her graceful poise and modulated voice hadn't always been part of her persona. When she ate, a more basic woman emerged. Fascinating. A sudden flash of insight told Sabin that perhaps she had learned to eat so fast out of necessity, such as a lack of food and having to battle for what was available. He knew what that was like.
"Whoa! Don't you think you should slow down? If you haven't eaten in a few cycles, you should give your body time to adjust to solid food," he cautioned. "I'll give you more later, I promise."
She paused, her fork heaped with food halfway to her mouth. Still chewing, she lowered the utensil. She swallowed before raising her eyes to his. "How do I know this isn't my last meal?"
Her tension was palpable. She appeared to be strung tighter than a miserly Shen. Yet he was reluctant to tell her much. She was too clever and resourceful, and any knowledge in her hands could be dangerous. "Look, you'll just have to trust—"
"Forget it," she cut in. "I've heard that line before, especially from men like you, and I know how meaningless it is." She shoved back from the table and rose swiftly, picking up her plate. He tensed, halfway expecting the plate to be hurled at him, but she turned toward the wall unit. "Is this the refuse chute?"
Without waiting for an answer, she began scraping the food into the chute, her movements jerky. Men like him? What did that mean? Damn, but she appeared madder than a wounded Antek. Sabin rose and approached her. He placed his hand on her shoulder, his fingers tangling in her hair. "Listen—"
"No!" Tossing her head, she jerked away from his hand and turned to glare at him. "I don't want any empty promises from you, Travers."
The flash of fear in her eyes tugged at him. He reached toward her, but she brushed past him to pick up his plate. He reached out again. "Moriah—"
She whirled, knocking his arm away. "What are you really going to do with me?"
She didn't trust him, and he couldn't blame her. She didn't know him from a Trion cave dweller. She probably assumed he was going to kill her to keep her quiet about the Shielder colony. He understood her fear. He understood fear all too well.
For a brief moment, the present faded, and the black void opened around him, obscuring everything but the screams of anguish, the explosion of blasters, the stench of burning flesh. The running, the hiding, the darkness, but most of all, the fear. The all-consuming fear that dominated every sense…
Wrenching himself back from the void, Sabin knew he had to tell Moriah his plans. He had thought to keep her in the dark, to use her uncertainty to control her. He couldn't do that. He couldn't endure seeing in her face that which was etched in his soul for eternity. "I'm going
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