Too Close to the Sun

By Robin T. Popp

Galactic smuggler Angel Torrence steals a ship to escape capture, only to realize too late that the ship's computer is in control.

On the riskiest mission of his career, Colonel Nicoli Romanof has allowed his life essence and his physical form to be separated. And the Harvesters have taken the bait: his body.

Now, with his life essence residing in his ship's computer, he needs the cocky pilot who's stolen his ship to help him retrieve his body and destroy a deadly race of aliens but their fiery chemistry and differences may jeopardize the mission as they fly "Too Close to the Sun."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robin T. Popp
• Release date: Jul 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301486908

Robin T. Popp

USA Today Bestselling author Robin T. Popp has built a reputation of delivering highly sensual, action-packed reads. Three-time RT Bookclub Reviewers' Choice finalist, she is best known for Too Close to the Sun and her Night Slayer series (Out of the Night, Seduced by the Night, Tempted by the Night, and Lord of the Night) but she also contributed to the Immortals series (The Darkening, The Haunting and Beyond the Mist (part of The Reckoning)). Weaned on Star Trek and science fiction stories, she's now exploring "strange new worlds" of her own creation --a trip she has thoroughly enjoyed. Read more about Robin's books at www.robintpopp.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

You’re not afraid.

Standing beside his friend, Nicoli Alexandres Romanof did not bother to respond. Though he could sense his friend’s unease, there was nothing he could do to lessen it.

There were others on the West Coast beach, enjoying the night-fishing, the stars, the moonlight, each other. A couple sat watching as the incoming surf chased their children up the shore. Their peals of laughter floated to Nicoli on a salty breeze and mingled with the soft crash of waves. For a moment he paused to watch them, envying their happiness. His own childhood left him with bitter memories.

The thought that he was about to leave these children the same legacy caused guilt to shoot through him. He wished he could warn them - warn everyone on the beach - to leave, find safety; but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. If the beach were empty, then they wouldn’t come, and it was imperative that they show up. Even knowing that others on the beach would die horribly tonight did not alter his resolve. What he was doing was more important than the loss of these innocent lives. As a soldier, he knew the good of many often comes at the sacrifice of a few. There was no solace to be found in those thoughts tonight and so he forced his attention back to his task.

This will do, he said softly, selecting a more remote stretch of beach.

The older man merely nodded before reaching into his inner jacket pocket to remove a slim silver disc, no larger than the palm of his hand. Next, he took off the chain he wore around his neck, at the end of which hung a clear crystal tube, about four fingers width in length. He stared at them, doubt clearly etched in the lines of his frown and the worry in his eyes.

It’ll work, Nicoli reassured him, nodding to the disc.

This is not your best idea, Alex.

Nicoli smiled at the use of his middle name. Only Yanur Snellen persisted in calling him Alex because, in Yanur’s words, Colonel Romanof was too military and Nicoli sounded too formal. Nicoli tolerated it, not because Yanur was the most brilliant scientist he’d ever met, but because Yanur was his friend. In a universe full of people, he only had one of those.

If the Harvesters show up tonight, Yanur continued, and this plan of yours works, it could be days, even weeks, before your life essence is returned to your body. He paused before quietly adding, I don’t know if I’ll be able to put it back.

I’m doing this.

This whole plan is crazy. What if I run into problems tracking your body? What if I never find it?

Let Richardson worry about tracking my body. That’s why I hired him.

"Okay, let’s say we find your body, but can’t put you back? Are you prepared to live the rest of your life in this?" He held up the tube.

Nicoli sighed. If you can’t put me back, then purchase my body, have it programmed for sex and give it to your Aunt Myrice as a present. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way she looks at me when we visit. Just don’t tell me what she does because I don’t think I could live with that image floating around in my brain.

You won’t have a brain, Yanur pointed out dryly.

Seeing the concern in his old friend’s eyes, Nicoli grew serious. You are the most brilliant man I know. I have complete faith that if you find my body, you’ll be able to restore me to it.

What if I’m not as good as you think? You might actually succeed in killing yourself this time.

I’m not afraid to die, Nicoli assured him.

Yes, that’s what worries me.

Nicoli looked out across the horizon, his patience wearing thin. He was much more realistic about this mission than he’d let on to Yanur and wasn’t without his own reservations about its success. But, there was a time for talking and a time for action - and the time for talking was over.

Yanur, the Harvesters must be stopped. Their systematic annihilation of our people cannot be allowed to continue.

I agree. But who made it your responsibility to save the universe?

I did.

Why? Why you in particular?

Because I have the military experience. Because I have no family to leave behind. He turned to face Yanur and his tone left no room for further argument. Because I figured out how to stop them. Now let’s get on with this. The night is getting old.

Nicoli lay down on the beach, raising his arms to place his hands, fingers interlocked, beneath his head. He crossed his legs at the ankles and for all appearances seemed to be resting peacefully. Further down the beach, other moon-sleepers lay in similar poses, ignorant of their imminent danger.

Resignedly, Yanur knelt beside him and placed the silver disc on Nicoli’s forehead. He stood the tube on the disc, then ran his finger along the side to activate a hidden switch, but hesitated at the last moment.

Are you sure there is no other way? he asked, voice gruff with emotion.

The answer was in Nicoli’s grim expression. Remember, once the transfer is complete, leave. It won’t be safe. Come back at the first light of dawn. If my body’s been taken, go to the ship. Richardson will be waiting for you. If my body is still here, we’ll try again tomorrow.

But--

Don’t argue with me. Just do as I say. Nicoli suffered a moment’s hesitation as children’s laughter floated to him once more. He cursed himself mentally for being weak, knowing that despite a lifetime of practice, he had failed to rid himself of all emotion. How many great plans failed because emotions got in the way? At thirty-eight, he was getting soft. One more thing, he said softly. When you leave, take that family with you.

Yanur nodded and then, with their gazes locked, he pressed the switch.

Nicoli’s eyes went blank

Yanur watched as a wispy, amber light seeped out of the body of his closest friend. It grew brighter as it cocooned Alex’s prone body. Then the top of the tube opened with a quiet hiss and the light was swiftly sucked into the tube.

When all the light was contained inside, the lid lowered, making a slight clicking noise when the tube was properly sealed. He placed two fingers against Alex’s neck and only removed them when he felt the strong, steady beating of a pulse.

The process had worked! Alex was still alive, or at least his body was. Even the worry of what lay before them was not enough to squelch a moment’s elation for an experiment gone right.

He picked up the brightly glowing tube and secured it to the chain before hanging it around his neck. He returned the silver disc to his pocket and lifted his gaze to the night sky for a quick check. All was quiet – for now.

He had half a mind to drag Alex’s body to safety and restore it tomorrow morning, telling the younger man that the Harvesters had failed to show up. Knowing Alex, though, he’d insist they try again tomorrow night, and each night thereafter until the Harvesters took his body. Eventually he’d realize Yanur was sabotaging his plans and decide to exclude Yanur from his future efforts. Yanur couldn’t afford to let that happen.

They were operating on a premise, with no contingency planning. The opportunities for failure were more than an average man could contemplate. Yanur knew this because, possessing a greater intellect than most, he’d pondered them all with the inevitable conclusion being – they were going to die.

He sighed and after struggling to his feet, crossed the beach to the young family.

I will give you a thousand credits to leave the beach this instant with your children, he told the parents. It was a hefty bribe and Alex would feel the pinch in his budget, if he survived the mission. If not, then what did it matter?

With the father watching him warily, Yanur pulled his communicator and a credit chip from his pocket. He tapped the necessary commands on the screen then swiped the credit, effectively transferring the money. Then he held the chip out to the man.

Leave now. No questions asked.

The young man nodded.

Yanur stood by and watched as they gathered their children and belongings and left. Once they were gone, he returned to his friend’s side and, ignoring the earlier order to leave, settled down to wait.

Less than an hour later, an isolated portion of the night sky began to shimmer and, like a hologram taking on definition and substance, an alien spaceship emerged. Caught dozing, Yanur scrambled to his feet, fearfully looking upward. Clutching the tube hanging from his necklace in a death grip, he gave Alex’s body a final look and a silent prayer, then turned and ran from the beach.

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Skeeter’s was the last remaining icon of an era gone by. Situated at the remote end of the Las Vegas Coastal Airfield, the Old World pub offered sanctuary to world-weary travelers down on their luck. The ale might be watered down, but it was cheap. The meals weren’t gourmet, but they were hot and the portions filling. The rooms upstairs were small and lacked the amenities considered standard fare at even the low-end hotels, but they came free of pests (of all species) and could be rented by the hour, day or month with no ID and no questions.

The gaming that went on twenty-four / seven in the dank side rooms was just this side of legal. The activities that took place in the back rooms were so far outside the law that most patrons felt it was safer to pretend nothing was going on. All in all, Skeeter’s was a place best avoided by self-respecting, law-abiding citizens and the last place one would look to find a young woman of good breeding from an affluent family. Which was precisely why Angel Torrence called it home.

Sitting now in the cockpit of her Falcon XLT, she studied the pub’s lights shining from across the tarmac. It had been a safe place to hide these past two years. Given the circumstances, she’d almost been happy here, but two years was about a year and a half too long. It was time to move on.

She was in a better position to leave now, she thought, running a hand lovingly along the console of what was soon to be her ship. The money she’d earned from this last job gave her enough to make the final payment. Then, with the means to go anywhere, maybe, just maybe, she could finally be free.

Free.

She’d been on the run since she was fifteen. Running from those who wished to control her, use her for their own purposes. Running from those who refused to let her go. In the early days, her survival had been more thanks to luck than anything else, but she’d been born with the ability to think on her feet and experience had made her tough. Now she worked as an independent galactic courier - uncertified, because that required registration and a background check, but her lack of certification didn’t matter to the clientele she attracted. Transporting illegal goods wasn’t always easy, but it was lucrative.

She’d just finished a run and Dugan would be waiting to hear how things went on Felinea. More important, he’d want his money.

Angel verified that the stasis field holding the ship firmly anchored to the ground was operational before leaving the pilot’s seat. She headed down the short passageway to the small onboard cabin to retrieve her things, pausing when she caught sight of her reflection in the small wall mirror.

After eight years, the blonde-haired woman staring back at her should have looked familiar. Angel absently ran her fingers through her too-short hair, remembering how long - and blonde - it had been eight years ago. It had nearly reached her waist - and acted like a shining beacon of light bringing her too easily to the attention of those looking for her.

That first week on her own, she’d cut it herself. What she hadn’t realized at the time was that her new style, combined with her light violet eyes and dark clothes gave her a tough, edgy appearance that went a long way toward making sure no one bothered her.

Shaking herself of the memories, she opened the closet door and, grabbing a cap, pulled it low to partially hide her face. She checked the charge on her gun before securing it the shoulder holster, knowing it would be well concealed beneath the heavy leather of the flight jacket.

When she reached for the satchel containing Dugan’s money and hefted it over her shoulder, pain lanced through her side. Sneaking a look beneath the jacket, she saw that her wound had opened and blood had seeped through the homemade bandage onto her shirt. The stain was small, so she figured the bleeding would stop soon and she wouldn’t need stitches after all.

With the satchel in hand, she exited the ship.

The sun was just beginning its ascent across the eastern sky, painting the airfield in a vibrant display of pink, orange and yellow. Despite the early hour, there was a steady drone of activity on the airfield. At least a hundred ships hovered a meter or two over designated landing pads, stasis fields holding them in place while maintenance crews ran through pre- or post- flight checks. The field itself was in decent shape considering it was routinely subjected to terrorist attacks. The last attack had been only a couple of weeks ago and Angel hoped she’d be long gone before the next one came.

At the head of the tarmac stood the Control Tower, from which all launches and landings were coordinated. Even this far away, she smelled the familiar pungent odor of Tyrillium fumes and inhaled deeply, watching as pilots and other personnel rushed back and forth, taking care of business. She would miss all this.

She gave her ship a cursory once over. Everything appeared in order. As much out of habit as curiosity, she took note of her neighbors. Most of the ships she knew by sight. On the left hovered TJ’s derelict cruiser, the kind typically used for common trade. On the right, however, was a sleek little number she’d not seen before. A real beaut. A smaller craft designed for high speeds and long distances. She wondered if it handled as good as it looked and ignored a twinge of longing to find out. Drawn by peculiar openings on either side of the nose, she stepped closer. Smartly embedded in the outer paneling were PCPs: pulse cannon portals. Definitely not a standard aircraft. It might have been government issue, but why keep it here? The United System of Planets’ Security Forces had its own airfield not far from here.

Bold blue letters across the side spelled out the ship’s name, Icarus. The name sounded familiar. She searched her memory of ancient Earth folklore and remembered a character from Greek mythology who had fashioned wings out of wax and feathers to fly. Unfortunately, he had foolishly flown too close to the sun, causing the wax to melt and him to plummet to his death.

Was this really an appropriate name for a starship? The ship’s owner certainly had an odd sense of humor, which negated the government theory - for obvious reasons. As everyone knew, the government was not capable of humor.

Turning from the ship, Angel scanned the tarmac once again before starting across. The sense of foreboding that had started last evening before she left for Felinea was getting worse. If what happened there was any indication of what was to come, the sooner she left, the better.

Inside Skeeter’s, things were quiet. Only the die-hard patrons were still up and about at this hour. A few heads turned briefly at her entrance. Across the room, Martin stood behind the bar, cloth in hand, wiping down the counter. Ol’ Joe was passed out in his usual spot, head down, a thin stream of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth to pool on the countertop below. Over by the stairs, Pixie was finishing business negotiations with a potential client. Angel had to admire the older woman’s stamina. This was probably her tenth customer tonight. Other patrons sat around gaming tables, wagering and drinking ale. It was the same scene as a hundred times before, right down to the outsider sitting in the corner.

He looked out of place drinking coffee, but he was minding his own business. Angel could respect that.

She gave a mental shrug and continued into the room. She had her own problems to worry about. The door to Dugan’s office was closed and she knew better than to knock. Martin had no doubt pressed the button under the counter alerting Dugan to her arrival, so she headed over to the bar to wait.

How ya doin,’ Angel? Martin’s smile was warm and friendly while her own no doubt came across looking more like a grimace. Tucking the toe of her boot under the bottom rung of a stool to pull it out, she hiked one hip onto the seat, leaving her other foot on the floor for balance. With effort, she lifted the satchel off her shoulder and onto the countertop.

Jeez girl, what happened to you?

Angel looked up and saw Martin staring at where her jacket gaped open revealing a shirt stained with more blood than the last time she’d checked. She quickly pulled it closed. Nothing.

Don’t give me that. You run into trouble on Felinea?

Nothing I couldn’t handle. You should see the other guy. She smiled at the lame joke while Martin continued to frown.

Yeah? He sounded skeptical. Maybe I should take a look at it. Clean it up. Do a little sewing?

No thanks.

Martin didn’t press her further, but instead reached under the bar to pull out a double-shot glass, which he filled with an iridescent sky-blue liquid.

He pushed the glass toward her. She downed the icy cool liquid in a single swallow. Martian Ale went down cold, but arrived hot. As the warmth spread throughout her body, the pain in her side eased.

Angel pushed the empty shot glass across the counter, indicating with her hand that Martin should fill it again.

He gave her a questioning look. You never drink more than one. That side of yours must be hurting.

I’m celebrating, she said, watching him fill the glass again.

Really? Care to share the good news?

As of tonight, I am the proud owner of one Falcon XLT space craft.

Tonight, for the first time in my life, I’m free.

And at such a young age, too. Martin smiled. Well, I guess congratulations are in order. He pushed the refilled shot glass toward her, then poured a smaller one for himself. They raised their glasses in a silent toast and downed the contents. This time the icy burn wasn’t as startling to her system.

Tell me about the stiff in the corner?

Don’t know, Martin said. He doesn’t talk much, just sits and drinks coffee. Every now and then, he’ll look at his watch and go outside. I followed him once, just to see where he went.

And? Angel prompted when he paused.

And nothing. He walks over to that sleek little number on the field, you know the one I mean, and just stands there for a minute like he’s waiting for someone. Then he comes back here and orders more coffee.

Angel lazily pondered what the man was up to. Thanks to the Martian Ale, she felt almost as good as new. Her hands absently played with the empty shot glass as her attention wandered down the bar.

I miss something? She nodded toward the images flitting across the vid-screen.

Harvester attack, not far from here. West Beach.

You’re kidding? How’d I miss that? Angel absorbed the news in shock. She’d just flown over that area not an hour ago.

Yeah. Martin nodded. It’s getting so decent folk aren’t safe going out at night.

Angel shot him a look, eyebrows raised. How long had it been since either of them had been considered decent folk?

Point is, no one is safe anymore. He focused his look at her injured side.

I can take care of myself.

Torrence! A male voiced bellowed. Get your ass in here.

Then again... She pushed the empty glass toward Martin and slid from the stool. Been nice knowing you. Hardly wincing this time when she hefted the satchel onto her shoulder, she headed for the back room.

Alistar Skeeter Dugan, Underground Boss of the West Side, was in his mid-fifties and sported an athletic build just starting to go soft. His commanding presence gave him the stature his average height could not. He was overbearing, unforgiving, and his sense of humor had died along with his wife and daughter ten years ago. He was not a man to be messed with and Angel had no doubt that if she irritated him enough, he would forget how much she reminded him of his daughter.

I know what you’re going to say and I’m telling you, it wasn’t my fault. She slid the satchel off her shoulder and let it fall to the desktop. By the way, here’s your money.

Not your fault? Dugan shouted, slamming the door behind her. You shot the son of Felinea’s leading crime boss!

Give me a break, it’s not like I killed him. It was just a scratch.

You shot off his –.

I know what I shot off, Angel interrupted. Look, the guy was all over me. I told him I wasn’t interested, but the more I said ‘no,’ the more he heard ‘yes.’ I didn’t have any other choice. Besides, what’s the big fuss? He’s Felinean. It’ll grow back.

Dugan stormed up to her, causing her to step back. She wanted some distance between them, just in case. His hand shot out and grabbed her arm, wrenching her around. Pain shot through her side with the sudden movement and she couldn’t hide her reaction fast enough. Distracted from what he was about to say, Dugan pulled back her jacket flap.

Explain this, he said when he spotted the blood.

Like I said, Tony didn’t like hearing ‘no.’ Things got a little rough before I got my point across.

Dugan studied her for a moment. Then, some of the anger drained from his face to be replaced by another emotion. Resignation, maybe. If you were anyone else, I’d have your head on a platter, literally, and see that it got delivered to Felinea with my deepest apologies.

Angel swallowed hard because she knew Dugan meant what he said. I’m sorry, but the guy had it coming and it’s not like I did any permanent damage.

Yes, you did.

No way. I purposely used a narrow beam so I could isolate the damage to that single area. Now granted, there was some confusion and it was a small target, but —

Oh, you hit what you aimed for. But you don’t get credit for originality. You do, however, get credit for being number nine and as they say, ninth time’s the charm with Felineans. No more regenerations for that particular organ and folks over there are upset. Tony in particular.

The news hit her like a slap in the face, but she tried to cover it with flippancy. He’s a slow learner. They should thank me for taking him out of the gene pool.

Yeah? Well, his father, who runs the entire east-side, isn’t laughing. He wanted grandkids. Now he wants revenge.

Going to stand behind his desk, he pulled the satchel closer and opened it. From inside, he pulled out the bundles of currency and counted them. After counting them a second time, he looked at her. It’s not all here.

No, it’s not. I took out what you owed me, less the final payment for the ship, as per our agreement. She refused to look away, waiting for his reaction. Then, to her relief, he nodded. Picking up one of the bundles, he stared at it for a moment, as if trying to decide what to do, then tossed it out to her.

What’s this for? she asked.

You’ll need it where you’re going.

Which is where?

I don’t know and I don’t care, but don’t take your time getting there.

She was tempted to keep the money but pride made her toss the bundle back to him. I don’t need it. I’ll be fine.

Dugan walked around the desk and shoved the stack of bills into her jacket pocket, being careful not to touch her injured side. Don’t be so damn stubborn. The Felineans will be here soon. For political reasons, I won’t stop them, but I sure hate the thought of you dying, so I think it’d be better if you weren’t here when they arrived. I’ll ship the stuff from your room to you later.

That won’t be necessary. Angel learned long ago not to accumulate more than she could carry. So her stuff included the clothes on her ship, the locket hanging around her neck (a gift from her mother) and the Nguyen V-500 resting in her holster (a gift from Dugan). Everything else could be replaced.

How bad is your side? Do you need Martin to look at it?

No, I’ll be all right.

Then you’d better go.

And just like that, the moment of her departure from Skeeter’s and the life she’d been living for two years had arrived. It didn’t matter that less than an hour ago she’d decided to leave, it still hurt to be told to go. Sometime over the past two years, despite her best efforts to remain distant, she’d developed a fondness for Dugan, Martin and the others who worked and lived at Skeeter’s. They’d become her family.

It shouldn’t be this hard to leave family. After all, it wasn’t like she hadn’t left family before. As she looked at Dugan, a feeling of such loneliness stole over her, the weight of it was nearly suffocating. Emotion rose unbidden to choke any words she might have muttered into silence.

As she struggled to compose herself, a commotion in the outer room distracted her.

Curious, Angel joined Dugan behind the desk. The feed from the various security cameras showed six men, weapons in hand, standing in the front room, looking serious and extremely dangerous. Everyone else in the room had moved to crowd the outer walls, no doubt hoping to stay clear of the line of fire.

Terrorists? Angel asked hopefully.

Felinean Avengers, Dugan corrected.

Damn. This just wasn’t her day. She could see Martin with one hand under the counter, no doubt with his mini-Mag trained on the group. He’d only be able to take out two, three at best. The rest of the patrons wouldn’t interfere and, as Dugan had warned her, neither would he. That left three of them to one of her. She didn’t like the odds.

Take my private exit, Dugan said, pressing a button under the desk. To her surprise, the wall beside her seemed to evaporate and an opening appeared. This comes out two doors down.

Angel stepped into the opening, but couldn’t bring herself to just walk off. She had brought trouble to Skeeter’s and her friends. She couldn’t just leave them to fend for themselves.

Dugan…

He nodded as if he understood, then reached into his own jacket and pulled out an impressive Smith and Wesson Destroyer. He gave her a slow grin. Better hurry.

She knew then that despite what he’d said, Dugan wouldn’t make the Avengers’ job any easier. No one came into Skeeter’s to start trouble without getting a little in return.

She went swiftly through the tunnel and once outside, skirted the side of the building so she could get a look across the open stretch of tarmac separating her from her ship.

There were no Avengers outside waiting for her, but it was a long way to her ship. The hairs on the back of her neck started to prickle as she made her decision to run for it.

She hadn’t taken three steps when the explosion came.

The shock wave caused her to stumble and nearly fall. Gravel rained down on her, peppering her head and back. A few short meters away, the tarmac had been turned into one big scorch mark. If someone had been aiming for her, they’d missed. That seemed unlikely for Avengers, so then - who was responsible?

Into the quiet came another explosion, this time on the opposite end of the field. The explosion was followed by the high-pitched wail of alarms.

Terrorists.

From around the field’s perimeter, patrons flooded out of pubs and restaurants. Some scattered aimlessly to get away from unseen attackers. Others raced across the tarmac, desperate to get to their ships. Spotting the Avengers leaving Skeeter’s, she let the moving crowd carry her in the direction of her ship.

She was nearly to it when the next explosion knocked her to the ground. Momentarily stunned, she struggled to get up but couldn’t move. Fear spiked through her at the thought that she might have been hit.

No.

She fought to stay calm and think. Her side was burning and she knew the wound there had reopened. A quick mental check said her whole body ached, but nothing hurt bad enough to explain why she couldn’t get up. Twisting around as best she could, she recognized the stranger from Skeeter’s lying on top of her, pinning her down.

Get up.

Reviews for Too Close to the Sun

[empress8411 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I picked this up on a whim, as I was looking for science fiction romance novels. Unlike several others I picked up, this one proved interesting and well-written. I enjoyed the characters, the story and the romance. Some of it was a bit contrived - the whoops-we-are-naked parts - but the world-building was interesting enough that I just rolled my eyes and keep reading. This is a pleasing summer read. Oh, and just ignore the cheesy cover.Prude Note: There are three major sex scenes, all of which can be skipped with no loss to the story. They aren't graphic, mostly the normal romance novel stuff, if a bit contrived.