Keeper

By Kristine Williams

When Captain Alex Marcase heard his father had died, he expected his inheritance would fund his deep space expedition. When that legacy turned out to be a genetically altered slave named Evan, it spelled the end of Alex's normal, orderly life. The pair head into deep space with their enemies in hot pursuit, Alex's chief rival ahead of them, and a saboteur onboard.

Book 1 in the KEEPER Series

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristine Williams
• Release date: Nov 24, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452419589

Kristine Williams

Born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, I'm an avid reader, writer, and government employee with a degree in Veterinary science (go figure). I write Science Fiction but occasionally dabble in Fantasy, and have been known to explore Mainstream now and again.

Book preview

KEEPER

Kristine Williams

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

KEEPER

Smashwords Edition.

© 2009 by Kristine Williams. All rights reserved.

See more titles by this author:

www.Midnightreading.com

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

KEEPER

Alex was angry.

He stared into his glass of whisky, seeing nothing but his own brooding face reflected darkly back at him -- the ice a cold mirror of the heat boiling inside. When his mood was this black, few people dared approach with anything less than extremely good news. He knew that because they told him, well after his mood had changed. But he'd never before noticed that look staring back at him as the ice slowly diluted very old scotch.

Never noticed his father's eyes in that angry reflection.

Alex lifted the glass in a toast to no one. I hope you're in hell, old man.

The scotch was downed in one swallow, but the reflection remained, clinking up against the sides of an empty glass. Alex caught the eye of a waitress and motioned for a refill. The burning in his throat was perfectly appropriate, considering his mood, and he'd just decided a good hangover might do the trick. Drinking to excess might not ever solve a problem, but the pain it would cause the next morning would lend justice to his rotten mood.

Right now he wanted to brood. He wanted to sit there and contemplate the fact that -- sometime between last night and five hours ago -- fate had, for no good reason, kicked him in the ass. Or was it destiny? He could never quite figure out which one hated him so much. It was most likely a conspiracy.

Here you are, sir. I'll just charge it to your cabin. The waitress deposited the fresh drink and paused, touching the bottle on her tray with a question in her raised eyebrows.

Alex nodded, neatly avoiding eye contact. She left the bottle on his table and vanished quickly into the small crowd, muttering something about tips and attitudes. He was working up a great reputation. A mere two hours into the trip and already on his second waitress.

No matter. Casual conversation wasn't something he wanted to tolerate right now. He could barely stand his own company as it was.

Alex looked at the ice again, wondering why the angry man looking back at him didn't just go drink in his room and leave these good people alone to enjoy their cruise.

Alex?

A female voice interrupted his attempt to swallow the dark ice-face. Alex looked up sharply, fully prepared to send whoever it was away so he could be alone with his misery.

"Alex Marcase? It is you! The tall, auburn-haired beauty with perfectly manicured fingernails slid gracefully and without invitation into the seat beside Alex. Just the other day I told my father I’d heard you were around this neck of the universe. Miranda Carpenter smiled her best debutant smile. How have you been?"

Miranda? Alex blinked, unsure if the slight aura around the woman's face was due to the dim lighting of the cruiser's bar or a testament to the quality of the scotch and the amount he’d already consumed.

You remembered. Miranda Carpenter reached out, lightly touching his arm with a delicate hand. It's been years.

Twelve, I think. Reluctantly, the glass of whisky was set aside. Alex forced a smile and tried to appear pleased to see her.

Miranda moved her head from side to side slowly. A gesture designed to impart a sense of sadness at the time passed without actually expressing any true regret. After a perfectly timed pause only a lifetime of high society could cultivate, her gaze drifted over his head. You remember my father, don't you?

So much for a quiet, solitary evening of drinking, brooding and wallowing in self-pity. Alex looked up, then began to stand, but he was waved back down by the distinguished gentleman easing himself into the chair beside Miranda.

Paulson Carpenter was a commanding personality, tall and well built, and one of the most successful entrepreneurs from Alex’s home world. He’d known the man -- and more intimately his daughter -- since childhood.

Mr. Carpenter, good to see you again, sir, he lied as he shook the offered hand.

Marcase. I'm surprised to find you on a cruise at a time like this. Shouldn’t you be getting ready to leave port on the Ascalon? I’m sure I heard Franklin was already getting his ship prepped.

This was definitely a twisted union between fate and destiny, and both were laughing.

He could hear them.

I wish I was, sir. Alex adjusted his expression now that there was a man sitting at the table. A man of wealth and position, to be sure, but still a man who could understand the dark mood of another man without taking feminine offense at his demeanor. This isn't a cruise, just an unexpected trip. He straightened slightly and glanced at the whisky waiting patiently for his attention. Believe me, I'd much rather be warming up the engines myself.

Must be an important trip, to take you away at a time like this. Carpenter's eyebrows arched upwards, giving the offer of elaboration. The Pendulum Nebula, isn't it?

Is that your latest goal, Alex? Miranda purred, leaning back in her seat. To beat Franklin to the Nebula?

Alex grinned ruefully and rested the tips of his fingers on the glass in front of him. "Not to it, Miranda, through it. He glanced knowingly at her father. I'm willing to stake my reputation on finding Turbidium out there."

Paulson Carpenter knew as well as anyone what Alex Marcase's reputation was worth. No matter what opinion was held regarding his lineage, or what one may have speculated about his personality, his career was widely known and well respected. When he set out to locate something in the infinite blackness of space, he didn’t fail.

Actually I'm inclined to believe you. The elder man dipped his head in a slight bow. The scans are vague enough to make exploration intriguing. Who's your backer?

Alex's face darkened. Sarcasm threatened to ooze into his voice and he was loath to deny it the opportunity. I'm still open, sir. You don't happen to have a few million credits in need of good use? A small voice deep inside his mind insisted he share his scotch if he was going to hit the man up for funding.

He killed it before it could argue.

Is that what this trip is for? To drum up funding for your next exploration? Miranda ran a long, delicate finger through her hair in a mild attempt at flirting that was more instinctual reaction than thoughtful act. I thought your mother was holding a dinner so you could rub elbows with the elite?

The ice busily diluting old Earth scotch on the table shifted position impatiently.

Elite elbows are being rubbed as we speak. Alex tried a smile, but it didn't fit. She's holding the dinner, and none too pleased that I'm not there. He looked at her father again, arching one eyebrow. I can beat him. Franklin's ship might be fast, but he's predictable. He's always been predictable.

I'm sure you can, Paulson nodded easily. He's the only pilot who could ever compete. And you beat him to Carmex 6 by three days. The news wires were abuzz with that story for weeks.

Three days that cost his investors seventeen billion credits. The Elias Corporation has a new system to mine and unlimited employment security for the next hundred years, thanks to my having beat Franklin there. Alex paused to listen to the little voice he thought he'd killed flop about in protest. He really hadn't come here to talk shop, or find a new financial backer to get his next voyage paid for. And he wasn't in any kind of mood to take advantage of the only situation he found himself in. He was beginning to wonder if jettisoning himself out the nearest airlock might not solve everything rather quickly. The only problem with that plan was the fact that it would then leave Jason Franklin with the most likely chance of discovering what lay inside the Pendulum Nebula before he did. Alex couldn't live with that.

He couldn't die with it either.

Paulson shook his head, perplexed. So what could possibly be so important as to drag you away from your ship at a time like this?

Alex clamped his teeth down hard and let an index finger slide around the rim of the glass. The Carpenters were members of a very small group of people who knew exactly who his father was. He hated that they knew. He hated that anyone knew. But at least this time, he didn't have to mentally search his stock of forged replies or premanufactured responses.

My father’s dead. He forced his gaze off the ice and made eye contact with Paulson. "I got a call this morning. They said it was imperative that I take possession of the estate immediately. I think his old partners are circling the corpse or something." That was a mental picture he wanted to hang on to. It kept him from completely regretting his decision to accept the inheritance.

Carpenter pursed his lips and nodded, knowingly. He had no others, then? I know your mother contracted for other children, before you were born.

Alex shook his head and let his gaze return to the scotch. None he registered, anyway.

But he was wealthy, wasn't he? Miranda's question belied her own knowledge of the man. You're heading out there now, when you should be launching for that Nebula. So it must be worth it. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "It is worth it, isn't it?"

Miranda!

Don't scold, father. Miranda sat back in her seat, looking for all the world like a petulant twelve year old instead of the grown woman of twenty-nine. I was just thinking if his father's estate is worth what I'm betting it is, he could just fund that expedition himself, investors be damned.

I really don't know what he was worth, Alex lied while meeting her gaze.

Yes, of course. Paulson, at least, understood these things. I tell you what. Miranda and I are going to visit her aunt, on Sirui. We'll be on this ship when it makes the round trip back. If you're onboard, and you haven't found funding for this exploration of yours, we'll talk. I could probably do with another tax break.

Alex looked up, eyebrows creeping up in hopeful surprise. I might take you up on that, sir.

Carpenter stood, motioning to his daughter. We'll talk more about the prospects later. He glanced pointedly at the bottle of scotch. Come along, Miranda. When she failed to respond, he reached for her arm. Can't you see this man would like to be alone?

I'll be along shortly, father. Miranda shot him a look, but leaned closer to Alex, smiling. We haven't seen each other in years, there's a lot to catch up on.

Father and daughter shared a momentary stare that appeared to communicate on a level Alex could only imagine. He knew if you were close to someone, close enough to really know someone, you could practically communicate without words. But he'd never experienced that intimacy himself.

____________

Of course, he had nothing to communicate either verbally or otherwise with Miranda Carpenter. Fate, destiny and every other force both real and imagined had placed the young woman in the center of wealth and position. Her family had known privilege for generations, and showed no signs of regret. Alex's mother had seen to it he was raised as close to money as she could manage, being somewhat touched by wealth herself. But most of those around her understood her grasp on the position was tenuous at best. She afforded Alex the opportunities he'd needed to gain scholarships, and sustained a position socially high enough to bring her into the proper circles where important elbows could be rubbed, though he'd never been particularly friendly with any of them himself. And if more had known exactly who his father was, aside from the Carpenters and one or two others, he knew what little position he'd had would have collapsed years ago.

Alex poured another glass of whisky and watched the new chunks of ice settle into position.

Miranda was on the bed in his small cabin, still wrapped in the shimmering white sheet. Her idea of catching up had involved very little conversation. Do you always drink scotch?

Only when I'm angry. Alex turned to face her and leaned back against the liquor cabinet.

I hope you're not angry with me. She moved her legs until they were underneath her, then flicked hair off her shoulder.

He laughed shortly, the glass so close to his body, he could feel the coolness of the ice against his bare stomach. No, of course not.

Interesting hobby.

A sudden memory sent a smile creeping slowly over his face. When I was a kid, I saw an ad. There was this man sitting at a table, staring into a glass of whisky. He had this look on his face, and I remember thinking -- he was someone you wouldn't want to mess with. He glanced at Miranda and she nodded. It was obvious she had no idea what he was talking about, but he accepted her polite response and continued. I thought this guy had found the perfect tool to keep people away. And, being a kid, I figured it must have been the scotch that did it. He shrugged. So I made up my mind that when I was old enough to drink, that’s what I’d use.

To keep people at bay? Miranda eyed him as if judging his looks. You’ve managed that pretty well since we were five. Finally she nodded and slid off the bed, wrapping her slender body in the sheet. Anger is a very good look on you. You get all dark and dangerous. She traced his chin with one delicate finger, letting the tip tickle the slight growth of beard often allowed to take shape in the hollow between Alex's lip and chin. I like this.

I should get rid of it. Alex was far too tired to react to her touch, so he let her have her fun.

Her eyes twinkled like a schoolgirl playing with fire. It makes you look like a rogue.

It makes me look like my father. Alex pulled his chin away from her fingers and moved aside, looking for his shirt. I need to shave.

Miranda accepted defeat and went in search of her own clothes. Are you planning to work the crowd, take advantage of your situation?

I didn't come here to schmooze the rich and famous.

I'm sure you didn't come here to sleep with their daughters, either. But that shouldn't stop you. Until you know for sure what this estate is worth, you should keep your options open. She pulled the expensive dress over her head and smoothed down the rare fabric with her hands, all the while keeping both eyes on him. Ooh, but not with that face.

Alex finished pulling on his shirt and looked at her, one eyebrow arching.

That's your brooding face. You'll scare them all away with that one.

Well it's the only face I brought with me.

A word of advice? Miranda stood in front of him, fully dressed except for the jewelry still dangling in one hand.

Alex forced himself to relax his features and shrug.

There happen to be a lot of people on this cruise who might very well be interested in your little venture. Wealthy, bored people who like to invest in discoveries so they can feel they've taken a dangerous risk themselves. You’d do well to let them know you're here. She smiled and fingered the jewels in her hand. We may have lost touch over the years, but I do know your reputation as an explorer. My father has always been impressed. Besides, if word spreads that you're here, and my father is considering funding your trip, it could spark some interest and net you more credits than you need.

Maybe you should join my crew, be our recruiter. Alex dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled strongly, considering her words while silently praying she'd understood the joke in his.

Miranda's light laughter proved him right. Deep space explorer? Me? That's very funny. She finished attaching her jewelry and touched his shoulder. If you feel like working off any more of that anger, you know where to find me.

Alex nodded at her back as she left in a swirl of bright fabric and fresh perfume. The scotch was staring at him from the counter, but his stomach growled at the thought.

Get your act together, Marcase. He walked to the bar and lifted the glass, then dumped it into the potable recycling tube. Nobody's gonna do it for you. The whisky bottle was still half full, so he stored it away and checked himself in the small mirror. Cruise ship dining areas were notoriously dark, and the hour was late enough to avoid the more fastidious early diners, so he decided a shower wasn't needed. This shirt had to go; it had Ascalon insignia all over it. Can't be too obvious on the first pass.

After a change of shirt and a quick check for messages, Alex stuffed his PDA into a thigh pocket of his pants and headed for the dining section of the massive ship.

The Terria Rose was a high-end cruise vessel catering to the most prestigious of travelers. No luxury was out of the question, and special requests were encouraged -- at a slightly elevated price, conveniently and quietly added to the traveler's bill prior to disembarking. She typically carried a full contingent of passengers, usually families on holiday or businessmen desperately trying to impress a prospective client or sexual partner. Because she was one of the fastest ships in the galaxy, if a passenger wanted a longer cruise, they were forced to book several destinations and pay the added expense of stopping in more than one port.

Alex sat at a back table in the dark dining room and watched the wealthy people eat, laugh, and pretend not to be discussing business proposals. He hated that he was sitting on the Terria Rose, watching such misuse of credits the average person couldn't even dream of. Credits he could put to excellent use funding his exploration of the nebula. But he needed a fast ship, something that could get him to his father’s planet and back without losing too much time. His mother's cousin was a navigator on board who didn't mind using some influence to make the last empty cabin available at a reduced rate, so he'd promised to use the opportunity to rub elbows with the rich and pitch his offer.

This was the one aspect of his life he hated, almost more than his lineage.

Wealth was as easy to spot as poverty, even in the dark. It glowed like an aura and penetrated a room as sharply as a searchlight. Something about a man's carriage, a woman's attitude, spoke volumes and set them apart with a gaze down a slender nose or the rise of a sculpted eyebrow. Money attracted money, just as poverty perpetuated its lack. But as with everything else, there was a gray area. A side that hovered between the two, dancing so fast only the experienced eye could see it for what it really was. Courting rich widows, conning wealthy men, dating the well-to-do’s offspring, hoping for a payoff. Chameleons who could conform and adapt well enough to fool both the rich and the poor, taking full advantage of both.

People like that were the enemies. They soured potential investors against honest ventures. There were a few vampires working the room, but Alex could spot them and try to work around their maneuvers. He would just have to find the right targets, before the leeches made their first failures and searched for new marks.

Even in a darkness designed for intimacy, faces could be recognized after a moment of intense gazing. To his left, three tables away, sat Theodore Welsford, of Dakable Mining and Exports. A fat, lazy man, Theodore Welsford had never physically worked a day of his life. Alex hated men like that. Inheritors of someone else's hard work and determination, who did nothing to improve or add to the legacy. Approaching him with an investment offer would be a waste of time. He looked at the next table and recognized the woman sitting with three vastly younger men as the widow of Marcus Rogonian Cog, one of the most famous scientists of his time. The widow, Sadie Rogonian Cog, had been left with a fortune of credits and plenty of youth left to spend them. Alex seriously considered speaking with her. Sadie had been incredibly devoted to her husband for over six years of contracted habitation. If he could approach her just right, explain how her husband's legend could live on by having a discovery as important as Turbidium named after him, she might be swayed to invest in Alex’s expedition, rather than the young suitors making fools of themselves at her table.

There were others in the room that Alex ranked by probability, and several faces he didn't recognize that might be worth a try. But not tonight. He finished his dinner without speaking to anyone, then returned to the cabin and kicked off his shoes as soon as he entered the room.

Messages?

There was a soft chime, and then a mechanical voice filled the wall speaker. You have no messages at this time.

No news is good news. Alex sighed and tossed his shirt over the back of the only chair in his small cabin. The washroom was generously sized for an economy cabin, and sported a full shower, but he was too weary to enjoy it. Within seconds after stuffing his feet under the thin, insulating blanket, he was asleep.

____________

The time is now 0700 Standard. Breakfast is being served on --

Shut up. Alex opened one eye to make sure he saw the green light on the table unit acknowledge his response, then closed it again and pressed his face further into the pillow. He was on his stomach, one leg errantly drifting off the bed, and in no mood to get up. Slowly and with very little effort, he felt the fog of sleep return.

The time is now 0800 Standard. Breakfast is --

Shut up! This time the announcement had startled him straight out of oblivion and onto his elbows. Blearily he glared at the table unit until the green light appeared. Now both legs were on the bed, but the blanket had somehow abandoned him and gone to the floor. He left it there and rolled over, shoving one arm under the pillow. The room was dark and quiet; the hum of gigantic drive engines twelve decks below barely perceptible even to those who tried to listen for them. Alex found the sound soothing, as he did on his own ship, and used the deep hum to numb his mind back into sleep.

The time is now 0900 Standard. You have messages.

Alex opened both eyes and stared at the ceiling as he calculated the ship's Standard time with that of the planet he'd just left. Replay messages. He sat up reluctantly and ran both hands over his head, through bed-tussled hair.

First message as follows. . .

The voice of Alex's mother, Madam Duvia, immediately replaced that of the computer.

Alex, the dinner was a partial success. Commodore Wilcox is interested, but he needs facts and you weren't here. Her disapproval couldn't have been plainer. Call me the instant you get this business over with, so I'll know if I have to invite the Commodore for tea next week. The I'd rather eat Denuvian Ledworm inference came through just as clearly as the disapproval.

Second message as follows . . . This voice was equally female, but much softer.

Alex, it's Sara. We have to talk. Call me as soon as you get this.

End of messages. Do you wish to make a call?

No. Alex dragged himself off the bed and padded barefoot to the washroom. He stared at his reflection for a moment, but the answer he was looking for wasn't there. Hell, the question wasn't even there. Just this nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with last night's whisky. He showered and shaved, then found a clean set of clothes before ordering breakfast from the automated room server. While he waited for delivery, he pulled the PDA from the pocket of his other pants and dialed Sara's number.

It seemed too long before she answered, but the little screen finally flicked to life with the familiar face. Sara Feller was three years older than Alex, having just recently celebrated entering her thirty-third year, and never looked more beautiful. Blonde hair gently curled its way to the top of her smooth shoulders, framing perfect skin and sparkling blue eyes that could light up a room from miles away.

Alex, you got my message?

What's up? He sat back in the room's single chair, resting the small computer on one knee, and tried to figure out why his ship's doctor was talking to him outside what appeared to be a strange hangar bay.

I hate to break this to you over the com, Alex, but you left before I could get a chance to sit down and talk to you.

Considering we share a bunk, I think we can agree whose fault that was. Alex knew what she was about to say before she could answer. She was leaving, just like the others. Sara, I'm going to be back in two weeks.

Then what? You may or may not have inherited enough for the expedition? You may or may not have found a backer on the trip? Alex, I've had an offer.

An offer? Alex blinked, wondering if he was still asleep. Look, I know we’ve both been busy lately . . .

Alex, I've waited as long as I can. I can't wait any longer. She sighed, shaking her head sadly. I'm sorry. It's been fantastic being with you, but I need a paying job, just as much as you do.

"Being with me? Sara . . ."

I am sorry, Alex.

Dammit, I can't take a ship out with that many crew without a physician onboard! The Council would shut me down before I pulled out of the system.

I left several recommendations on file in your quarters. There are plenty of good doctors available, I'm sure. Her face morphed quickly from regret to resignation. I'm sorry, Alex. I'll see you around. Good luck.

Before he could argue, she canceled the call. Shit! Alex threw the PDA toward the bed and watched it bounce off the mattress and hit the carpeted floor, undamaged. Sara Feller was the twenty-seventh crewmember to bail on him, to accept new jobs that could pay now. He'd lost his engineer to his main competition, Jason Franklin. The man had his funding, and could pull his ship out of port within the month. Alex couldn't, in all conscience, blame anyone for leaving the uncertain future of his ship for a good year's worth of paid work. He just reserved the right to be angry about it.

But Sara . . . They’d shared more than a job, and -- he’d thought -- more than just a bed.

Marcase, you better have died a rich man. Alex walked to the door and accepted his breakfast order from the service 'bot, glad he didn't have to be polite to any human deliverer just then.

Breakfast was coffee, toast, and a residual headache from the night before. And he hadn't even managed to get drunk. At least he had a half bottle of whisky to fall back on if the return trip saw him still without enough credits to fund a ship of one hundred trained crew out past the edge of explored space and back. That is, if he still had a crew of one hundred.

Alex retrieved the PDA and dialed his ship. He'd left one man in charge, the only man he ever trusted with anything of importance, his second-in-command. After three chimes, the screen lit up and an older man's face smiled back at him from his own office on the bridge of the Ascalon.

Jeff, please tell me I haven't lost more crew.

You heard from Sara, I take it? Jeff's eyes looked dark from lack of sleep, and his hair dusted with a bit more grey. Since her, no, we haven't lost any more. Yet. Trouble is, Franklin's over there getting fitted, cash in hand, taking on new crew.

I know, I know. Alex rubbed his eyes, his mind fleetingly contemplating the whisky again. He found himself desperately in need of someone he could confide in, someone he could go to for advice in situations like these. But he was alone. It had always been like that, and probably always would be. While Jeff could help in many ways, Alex never shared that much of himself with any one person. It was a habit he pretended not to be conscious of, but one he couldn’t seem to break. I never should have left.

You had to. Listen, if that guy left you a fortune, our troubles are over.

And if he didn't? Jeff wasn't one of the few who knew Alex's lineage, only that a wealthy man he knew from his childhood had died, and left him his estate. It was easy to assume that meant something, but it could just as easily be sentimental pocket lint.

Plenty of rich passengers on that cruise, I imagine. Are you working the crowd?

Alex tried to hide