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  GABE: A Badari Warriors SciFi Romance Novel

  (Sectors New Allies Series Book 5)

  By

  Veronica Scott

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  About the Author

  Other titles by Veronica Scott

  Copyright 2018 by Jean D. Walker

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

  DEDICATION

  To my daughters Valerie and Elizabeth, my brother David, and my best friend Daniel for all their encouragement and support!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Julie C and The E-book Formatting Fairies!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Gabe worked the controls to send the flyer diving as close to the ground as he dared to go at this speed. Proximity alarms blared, warning him of both the terrain underneath and the three flyers on his tail.

  Three! Where the seven hells had the Khagrish gotten three armed flyers?

  He zigged left as a bolt of energy sizzled past his wing. This was a new and unwelcome development in his people’s war against the alien enemy, the Khagrish, who’d kidnapped and imprisoned them. Making a dramatic move straight up before jinking to the left again, he did a tight loop and banked in the opposite direction. No way was he leading the enemy to the valley where his friends and allies were hidden. He wished he had weapons, but his stolen flyer wasn’t equipped for combat.

  Good thing I’m a reckless pilot. He grinned as he executed another daring maneuver. A towering front of gray and black storm clouds loomed ahead, and if he could just get into the maelstrom, he could lose the Khagrish chasing him. The lightning playing across the tops of the anvil shaped clouds didn’t deter him.

  Cross winds and lightning arced as he entered the wall of clouds. His flyer was buffeted by downdrafts. In the vidscreens, he watched as two of the enemy craft on his tail veered off. The third continued its pursuit.

  Pilot number three has guts. Or he’s slightly crazy like me. He fought the controls and tried not to think about how well constructed the alien craft might be. If he’d been flying a Sectors ship, he’d know how far he could push the design parameters, but it was all guesswork with his stolen ride. Another glance at the vids had him riveted as the Khagrish flyer rolled over and dove to the ground thousands of feet below, in what was obviously not a planned or controlled maneuver.

  Alarms blared, recalling him to duty. If I don’t want to suffer the same fate, I’d better pay attention.

  Time to exit the storm. Hopefully, the other two pursuit ships had broken off and gone home by now.

  But he couldn’t find a path out of the towering clouds. No matter how high he flew or how low, the front seemed to have blanketed the planet with its violence. The mountains below didn’t look hospitable at all, and included more than a few volcanic peaks. He set a northern course, operating on instinct and a prayer to the Lords of Space.

  But the Sectors’ deities didn’t seem to be paying attention to lost pilots today. A booming noise filled his ears from the direction of the flyer’s tail and suddenly he lost all control of the plunging craft. As the shuttle fell into a steep glide, Gabe took a deep breath, pushed the Khagrish version of an ejection seat control and was vaulted into the heart of the storm a few seconds before the flyer crashed into the mountains below.

  Not enough altitude. Desperately he tried to steer himself to float sideways rather than plummet to the ground as his ship had, but the pilot ejection module’s personal antigrav pack was defeated by the sheer force of the storm, and the violent winds caught the oddly shaped parachute attachment. He fell like the proverbial stone, his velocity only somewhat arrested by the emergency harness and the inadequate safety device he wore. The mountainside rushed up at him. Gabe was an elite soldier, one who ordinarily grew calmer as a situation worsened but now his heart was pounding. He drew a deep breath against the force of the wind buffeting his body and tried to relax as he’d been trained to do a long time ago. Gotta stay alive through this landing. Gotta roll with it...

  The ground rose up to hit him, ready or not.

  Pain shooting from his leg and hip through his body like a spear overwhelmed him, and he lost consciousness.

  Keshara had made good time hiking into the mountains since she escaped the Retreat in the pre-dawn hours. She’d seen no evidence of pursuit, although she couldn’t imagine the Director would allow her to go so easily. Never doubt there are people on your trail. Her self-admonishment was stern because over confidence could be her downfall. The storm had been fortuitous indeed, however, and Keshara kept hiking as long as she could, well past the margin of safety and prudent time to find shelter. The howling wind drove the rain like needles into her body, despite the thick jacket and hood she wore. Her all weather pants kept her lower body warm and the boots were essential to avoid frostbite. But even as motivated as she was to escape what had been her home, Keshara had to abandon the trek and admit the need for protection from the elements.

  Finally, she’d been forced, despite her desperation, to hole up in an abandoned furbana den—one of the large, thatched structures the group-based creatures built from branches and vines to house their colonies in the high meadows. Stumbling across the sturdy lair, she thanked the goddess for her good luck. She’d no idea why this one was abandoned but it happened fairly regularly. The furry animals migrated every other year and rarely returned to a den, preferring to build new ones. She asked no questions but gratefully accepted the gift of a suitable place to shelter from the vicious winds and dangerous lightning strikes. The furbana built dome shaped lodges, not high enough for Keshara to stand up inside, but she could kneel and have headroom. She appreciated that the rodents were fastidious creatures as well so the interior remained fairly clean. Once safely inside the structure, Keshara leaned against the low wall woven of branches and listened to the rain and the wind rage outside. Furbana were instinctive master builders all right—not a single leak inside the den.

  Staying in one place for too long made her restless. Surely the storm will break by morning and then I can move on.

  How far would the Director order her sisters to chase her? At what point would they turn back, fearful of running into the others who allegedly shared this planet?

  I have to avoid the others myself. I wish to observe, to learn the truth. Maybe then I could return home and share what I learn. The Director always says she seeks the truth of matters. How long has it been since she ventured outside the retreat to evaluate anything for herself?

  Keshara jumped as a new sound penetrated her hearing: engines running at top speed, unregulated. A moment later, the ground shook as a considerable mass crashed into the earth not far from where she sat. For a few heartbeats she sat frozen, debating which course of action to take. She could stay hidden in the furbana den or she could go investigate. Better to know what’s happening close by than to hide. From her first days of life Keshara had been an independent person, preferring to take challenges head on and today was no different. All part of the adventure
. With no more hesitation, Keshara pulled her rain garb over her head and crawled out through the tunnel her unwitting and fortunately absent hosts had dug. Staying within the confines of the well-built, reinforced entrance, she peered through the driving rain, but at first there was nothing to see. Then the downpour cleared for a heartbeat and she glimpsed a broken aircraft lying crumpled in the meadow.

  From the outside dwellers. Her hand went to the knife at her belt. The Director warned unceasingly of the dangers to her kind from the residents outside the Retreat. She mustn’t be found by them, or at least not until she’d done a lot of observation. She needed to decide for herself if the other residents of the planet were as duplicitous and deadly as the Director and the First Daughter insisted. But, looking at the wreck before her, stubborn flames burning sluggishly in places where the rain didn’t reach or the fuel was impervious to water, she couldn’t believe anyone could have survived.

  Briefly, she debated going to check, but a new barrage of thunder deterred her flicker of doubt and the ground trembled under her for a few heartbeats. Wondering if the earthquake was going to be a bad one, she froze while it lasted, clinging to the branches woven into the framework of the den. At least there’s nothing here to fall on my head if the shaking worsens. There’d been a few near miss incidents at the Retreat in the last few months where equipment had toppled. And there was the odd, steaming pool of mud which had developed in the farthest garden, as well as mysterious narrow fissures crisscrossing the western side of the plateau. Yet the Director denied steadfastly that the volcanic mountain upon which the installation perched could be growing unstable.

  Another compelling reason for Keshara’s decision to make a risky trek to freedom. There might be more knowledge about volcanoes outside the Retreat than the basic training modules offered. The swarms of quakes and other disquieting signs like trees dying off in certain areas seemed to her to indicate a heightened danger.

  If the residents of the Retreat ever had to evacuate they needed to know what lay outside the area.

  Deciding not to risk herself in the storm for mere curiosity’s sake, she prepared to return to the cozy den when a flash of lightning illuminated the sky and she caught sight of a new problem. A man was falling, clinging to a strange harness. He seemed to be fighting whatever was slowing his fall, and it was clear to Keshara he was descending much too fast.

  Heart pounding, hand on the hilt of her knife, she watched him attempt to blunt the shock of hitting the ground by allowing his body to go limp. As he collided hard with the muddy, rock strewn ground near her den, she winced in unwilling sympathy. Through the driving rain she watched him, but he made no attempt to rise. After a minute, she heard an exclamation of pain and a few words with the force of a curse.

  Enemy or not, Keshara didn’t have the heart to leave the poor man to die in the cold rain. She could at least go check out the situation, see if he had any chance to survive his amazing fall.

  Adjusting her rain cape, knife at the ready, she crawled from the tunnel, rose to her feet and ran to where the man lay. Cringing as thunder boomed overhead, she prayed the lightning would hold off. The man lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes and, as she drew close, she froze in astonishment.

  He had no large crest of red and yellow hair and his skin tones were pale. He wasn’t Khagrish.

  He was of some species unknown to her, similar to her own perhaps.

  Groaning, he attempted to sit up but cut the move short with a jerk as he realized she was nearby. He fumbled at his hip as if searching for a weapon that was no longer there, lost in the turbulent fall perhaps. Then he spoke in a variation on her own language, the secret tongue the Director was unaware the sisters all knew. His accent was odd, some of the words made no sense, but the general meaning was clear.

  “Well, you’re the last thing I was expecting.” He managed a lopsided grin despite obvious injuries, blood welling from a bad cut on one thigh and another on his head. He swiped moisture from his face. “Can we get out of the rain before we do introductions?”

  Tongue tied, she stared at him. His face was undeniably handsome, although set right now in lines of pain, radiating from his eyes and lips. He was probably the same height as she was, well over six feet, and since his odd uniform was plastered to his body by the rain, Keshara could tell he was solidly built, with the muscles and sinews of one who was a deadly fighter. And what the wet fabric outlined between his legs was impressive as well. Her primary knowledge of males was gleaned from study modules, and observing the few Khagrish men left at the Retreat. This man put them to shame with his physique.

  Thunder crashed again and lightning stabbed a tree at the far end of the meadow, throwing massive sparks high into the air and breaking her concentration. “We’d better get inside,” she said in her own tongue since he obviously understood the language. Reflecting on his aborted search for a weapon, she showed him the knife. “I’ll help you, but don’t think me easy meat for your taking.”

  “Aww, seven hells, lady, if you’re what I think you are, you have better weapons than that.” His smile, although strained, was warming. “Do you have a shelter?”

  “Yes, in the furbana den over there. It’s been abandoned for quite some time so the smell is tolerable.” She came to his side, scanning his condition with a critical eye. In close proximity she could tell one leg was obviously broken in several places, and she feared he might have internal injuries as well. His landing had been rough. “If we get you on your feet, can you lean on me and make it?”

  “To get somewhere dry, I’ll do whatever it takes.” He reached out to her, and she helped him rise, balancing his sturdy frame on one leg. Keshara was glad of her own strength, which enabled her to support the injured pilot. He was turning his head gingerly, peering through the rain. “We need to take the antigrav ejection harness. Can’t leave it to draw the enemy’s attention once the storm passes. Let them think I died in the wreck, if they find it.”

  So he views the Khagrish of the outer world as enemies too? What else do we have in common?

  “Let me get you to safety, and I’ll retrieve it later,” she said, astonished at his ability to disregard the agony he must be enduring and cling to consciousness, let alone move.

  He didn’t breathe a word of specific complaint, but grunted and cursed in his own language, and she had to take most of his weight as she guided him slowly toward the den. He was perhaps a foot taller than she, and outweighed her by 50-100 pounds but it was her strength keeping them moving forward.

  “We have to crawl through the entrance tunnel into the den proper,” she said in his ear, over the howling wind. “I can drag you on your back if needs be.”

  “Will the opening be large enough for my big bones?” he asked, flashing the grin again.

  Humor must be his armor against the uncertainty of his situation. Admiration for the stranger made her match his smile. “I believe so.”

  He was unable to be much help when it came to making the passage through the tunnel, and she did indeed have to drag him a few feet. Once he was safely in the center of the den, he said, “Just give me a few minutes to recover.” He was breathing hard and lying on his back, his bulk suddenly making the den seem much smaller to Keshara. In the dim light from her hand lamp, he was pale and his jaw was clenched. He took up a lot of room sprawled out.

  “I don’t have much in the way of medical supplies to help you with,” she said sorrowfully, preparing to make her second trip into the storm for the harness.

  “I’m not dead yet. We’ll figure something out.” The man seemed driven to project good humor at all times.

  Keshara approved. Complaining didn’t accomplish anything. He was showing strength of character, which appealed to her.

  The wind had increased in the brief time she’d been inside the den, and Keshara had a hard time locating the contraption the man had used to partially break his fall. There was no time to examine it, so she sprinted to the den with her prize
and ducked into the tunnel.

  “I have your device,” she said.

  He took a shallow breath as if to conquer pain before speaking, one hand bracing his ribs on the left side. “Good. No use making it easy for them. Thanks. My name is Gabe Carter, by the way.”

  “Keshara, a Second Daughter of the Retreat.” She was curious if her title would carry any meaning for him and was disappointed when he had no reaction. “Your leg is badly broken. Possibly other injuries.”

  “Yeah, well nothing we can do about it, I’m afraid. At least I don’t have to die cold and wet, thanks to you.” Gabe lay back on the floor, which the rodents had covered in straw like weeds. “What the seven hells is this place?”

  “A furbana den.” With her enhanced vision, she realized not even the dim light could hide the fact he was white around the lips, and must be in extreme pain. He could die tonight. She found the realization upsetting on a deep level –not only was it her duty to heal others, she wanted to know more of this man. He must have knowledge of the outer world she was seeking to explore. Keshara took off her rain cape. “May I examine your injuries more closely?”

  Half rising, he caught her wrist in a strong grip and gave her a searching look. “If you can’t help, why should I subject myself to more agony?”

  Surprised he was so suspicious of her motives, she made a conscious effort to keep her voice and demeanor calm. “I—I might be able to help. I have some healing ability.”

  “Ah.” He released her wrist and let his head fall to the floor of the den. Hastily, she made a pillow for him from her pack. If he were uninjured, he’d be a formidable opponent, judging by his strength and resolve.