Stark Surrender Read online

  Alone for the first time that day, Stark lifted a hand to rub his temple. It was futile against the dull ache throbbing in his head.

  Something was definitely wrong. He never got headaches, and he'd had a steadily worsening one for two days, which even the best gesics only dulled.

  He needed to see a medtech, although the thought made his shoulders tighten even more. Still, whatever was wrong, he would face it with the blunt honesty with which he'd confronted all obstacles in his life, and he would get help to deal with it. He hadn't risen from the gutters of New Seattle, Earth II to straddling a galactic empire by hiding from the truth.

  It was just that increasingly, the truth seemed to be hiding from him.

  Oh, not everything. He knew who he was—Logan Stark, business magnate extraordinaire, with factories, holdings and properties on five planets. He knew where he was—in the small but thriving Frontiera City, on the newly settled planet of Frontiera.

  He knew the elegant building over which the hovie now slowed was the headquarters of his LodeStar Corporation here on planet. Inside was his office with holovid screens monitoring galactic business markets, and accouterments such as the built-in coffee bar, attached conference room, and the apartment next door, all built to his exacting specifications, spacious and elegant.

  He knew the tan domed hangars and warehouses nearby were full of materials and goods that one of his many LodeStar businesses had either manufactured or purchased, to be sold to the settlers here. He knew he'd chosen this planet to expand onto because both of his brothers were here, and so was his woman—even though she refused to admit she was his.

  And since the three most important beings in the galaxy chose not to stay on Earth II where his empire had been centered, he'd opened a new center of operations here, and begun to plan the move of LodeStar HQ to Frontiera.

  The raw planet had been a pirate outpost for years. Recently, the temperate climate had begun to attract settlers despite Frontiera’ lawless reputation. The IGSF had raised a satellite communications grid to blanket the planet, and established law and order.

  He knew these things.

  But the details, such as what he was meant to be doing when he landed ... this was hidden from him as if it were secreted in the darkest, wettest, foggiest alley in the slums of New Seattle, possibly even guarded by a laser-wielding Gorglon or two.

  These strange blanks in what he knew was his ordinarily magnificent command of several threads of consciousness, allowing him to mull over business deals while he studied the markets or conversed with one of his employees, had begun a few days ago.

  He'd witnessed his younger brother Joran's epic confrontation with the IGSF and a group of foul slavers at Bone Arch, an ex-pirate outpost on a rugged pass high in the northern Frontieran Mountains. Stark’s trouble had begun to manifest on the flight home. He'd found himself drifting off in mid-sentence as he spoke with his brother Joran and ... who the hells was the other man who'd ridden with them? Bronx, no ... Bronc. That was it. He worked for LodeStar, doing something with weapons.

  Logan had thought at first his inability to concentrate was caused by the depression that had come over him following the confrontation with the slavers. Logan had played his own part, bringing with him the parents of one of the captured slaves, Lady Ellianne Braveling.

  Once there, Logan had looked into the face of another of the slaves, and received one of the biggest shocks of his life. The young man was nearly a twin to Kiri te Nawa. Thus, Logan had come away bearing a splendid gift for the woman he wanted. Her brother Kai, for whom she'd been searching half her life.

  Flying back aboard the Arcturus, Logan’s sleek cruiser, Joran had frowned, worry in his gray eyes so like Stark's own, and advised Stark to get a med exam, as he looked tired and ill. When Stark had brushed this off, Joran and Bronc had exchanged a look.

  Kai had watched them all. The wary suspicion in his golden brown eyes was so like Kiri's the first time he met her, Logan had chuckled inwardly despite his malaise. His laughter had a bitter edge, however. Because he was giving Kiri her heart’s desire … but it wasn’t himself. Her future would be brighter for his gift, but it wouldn’t include him, because she didn’t want him back. Thus, his depression.

  Even so, when he stood on her doorstep, he'd been filled with fierce satisfaction as her lovely eyes widened with incredulous joy, and she reached out to claim the man who looked so much like her, they could be twins.

  Except that Kiri was entirely feminine, her short, dark hair feathering across her forehead, leaving bare her small ears and slender neck, and framing her oval face with winged ebony brows and thick lashes around her amber eyes. And her soft, peach-tinted lips, pouting when she rebelled in bed, pursed when she was angry at him, or curving up to reveal white teeth when she let loose her husky, surprisingly ribald laugh.

  Her lithe body, with high, small breasts and surprisingly lush ass, her slender but strong limbs … all of her captivated him. When she'd been with him, he'd enjoyed polishing her like the gem she was, dressing her in the finest clothing and jewelry.

  But, returning to her a long lost family member? Surely the best gift ever. One he’d been delighted to give her … and one he’d also hoped would inspire her to return to him.

  He'd had to force himself to walk away this afternoon, to give her time alone with her brother—perhaps for good. Because unlike the slaves at Bone Arch, Kiri had always been free. She made her own choices. One of those had been to leave him and all he had to offer her.

  And the bitter truth was, maybe she was right to stay away from him. Because while he might not keep others in actual bondage, hadn’t he reached his pinnacle of wealth and achievement by using beings, playing them like the dice on a giant, complex holodice set?

  Great God beyond, listen to him, detailing his sins like a penitent. He was not a man accustomed to self-examination. He knew what he wanted, had worked hard and smart to get it, and used his power and wealth to beget more. He paid his people well, treated them well, and expected their complete loyalty in return.

  But along with the pain in his head seemed to have come this awful new self-awareness. If he was not very, very careful, he could become as bad as the slavers … a monster who used beings ruthlessly, without any care for their feelings, their hopes, and their dreams.

  He shivered, chilled despite the heat of the day.

  "Mr. Stark?" the pilot asked from the front seat of the hovie. "Uh, was there somewhere else you wanted me to take you?"

  Stark blinked, and looked out of the hovie. It was stationary. Right, they'd arrived on the rooftop landing pad of his office building. A warm afternoon breeze wafted in through the open passenger hatch.

  "No, thank you," he said automatically. "I'll get out here."

  "Yes, sir. I'll take your luggage down to your apartment."

  "Thank you." Stark stepped out of the hovie and strode across the roof to the waiting elevator.

  Three floors below, it opened into a spacious foyer with a bank of green plants and a reception desk. A slim female rose as he walked in. An Aquarian, she had the alabaster hair and porcelain skin of her race, and wore a neat business suit.

  "Mr. Stark. Welcome back."

  "Thank you." What the hells was her name? Vler...? No, Vera.

  Pulling her name from the shadows gathering in the back of his mind took an effort that left his head throbbing with even worse pain. He rubbed his right temple with forefinger and thumb as he walked on into the open office door behind her.

  Once inside, he looked around at the large, gleaming desk, the waiting leather chair and grimaced. No, he couldn't stay here, not now.

  Vera followed him, a hovertray at her side. "Coffee, sir? And perhaps something to eat?"

  His stomach churned at the sight of the sandwiches on the tray. "No. I'm ... going out again."

  She blinked, then nodded serenely. "Yes, sir. Shall I link Tel to pick you up again?"

  He shook his head, then had to close
his eyes as the pain in his skull overtook him. "No. On second thought, I'll ... be in my apartment."

  He strode across the expanse of plush carpet to the door into his apartment. A gesic was all he needed. A strong one from a sealed pac, so he could be certain it hadn't been tampered with.

  And then a drink—or drinks. Which would hopefully bring him escape from what he’d glimpsed in the depths of his own psyche.

  * * *

  The next morning, back in his office, Logan Stark stared at the four holovid displays open before him. Intergalactic news, Frontieran news, and two galactic market financial reports. All of which he'd been watching for the last hour in his large, elegant office. Even longer, he saw with a glance at the clock scrolling at the bottom of the holovid viewing area.

  He'd been here all morning, making his way through the various reports awaiting him. None of which made any quarking sense.

  He hadn't slept well, but even so, this inability to focus was bizarre. Had he ingested some sort of sleep gesic last evening which now refused to let go of him? Yes, that must be it, even though he didn't recall taking anything.

  It would explain why he'd awakened that morning from a nightmare, sweating hard as if he'd been working out, and staggered into his showerdry in a daze which still clung to him, its remnants swirling in the back of his mind like black tentacles.

  His Pangaean houseman had startled him by appearing silently at his elbow the moment he left his bedroom, concern clear in his pale green features and the weave of his cornsilk hair about his skinny throat. Stark had followed the man to an elegant dining table where he'd breakfasted in solitary state. He'd eaten with a lack of interest or connection which extended to the view outside the floor to ceiling windows of the house.

  A pristine countryside, rolling away from green lawns toward a blue sea, and a town on the plain below. Darkness coiled in the back of his mind, and the little he'd eaten twisted in a knot in his stomach.

  Where the hells was he?

  As soon as the houseman had left the dining room, Logan had keyed into his comlink and scrolled thru the newsfeed on the holovid he brought up. 'Frontiera City, Frontiera' read the signature in one corner.

  Relief had nearly swamped him. Of course, he was on the new planet. That's why the view was not the wet, foggy, soaring cityscape he'd somehow expected to see. He was fine, simply in unfamiliar territory. Couple his lack of sleep with the constant travel he'd been doing lately, and no wonder he couldn't remember where he was.

  But when he examined his holofiles, they showed he'd been here for lunar months. And the large structures under construction which he could see from his window were his, as was this building. And all the beings in them worked for him. Which meant the place should be familiar.

  Now, sitting in his quiet office, he rubbed his temple irritably, pushing at the headache which seemed to grow worse with each hour. Perhaps he needed more coffee? But when he picked up the carafe waiting on the cerametal tray hovering nearby, it was nearly empty, and the small beaker of creamer was half gone. On a small plate beside this sat two plump whole grain scones. He glanced at them without interest.

  Could a fugue state this strong stem from a sleep gesic, or was there something more going on? His com records also showed he arrived back here in town last evening and delivered a passenger to an address near the seashore. He couldn’t recall who that had been.

  He was fairly certain he'd had several drinks in some bar along the beach, and later at his house, as well. But he hadn't ingested enough alcohol to be still under the influence, surely. Unless he'd then combined the alcohol with some other drug and set off a reaction in his system which still lingered.

  Did he indulge in substances stronger than drink? Why couldn't he even remember such a basic fact about himself? His hands shook, and sweat dampened his upper lip as panic roiled harder in his chest, seeking to overpower him. He held it back only with sheer force of will. He was Logan Stark, and he was in control of his world, not the reverse.

  "Mr. Stark?" The pale, blonde woman in the doorway was eyeing him with concern. She was as polished as the office, from her pale gray business suit to her subtle cosmetics.

  He’d forgotten her name again.

  Blinking back the darkness as the slithering tentacles in his mind crept further, greedy to devour more of his consciousness, Stark rolled his neck, grasping at normality with sheer strength of will. Sweat broke out over his body. He wanted to rip open the high throat of his tailored jacket and tear it off. The suit was as suddenly as constricting as shackles, binding him in a role he no longer understood, or wanted.

  But he must keep up the pretense of normality. Don't let them see him vulnerable—this he knew deep in his bones. Any sign of weakness could be exploited. He should know, he’d done so himself.

  Dull despair weighed on him. He was so damn tired of the struggle between his better nature and raw instincts.

  "Yes, come in," he managed.

  The Aquarian nodded, her relief evident. "Yes, sir. Here you are." She glided into the room to place a holopad before him on his desk. The screen was dark, but in the center a silver space ship flew endlessly toward a bright star. A lodestar. It gleamed from the holovid, mocking his inability to follow.

  The woman flicked her long fingers across the screen, and a menu of documents appeared, waiting in the virtual file display. "May I freshen your coffee, sir?"

  "Yes." When she returned, he was still staring at the virtual files, their gleaming titles taunting him. What the hells was he supposed to do with them?

  "So, just signatures?" he murmured as if thinking aloud.

  "Yes, sir." His cup full, she set the carafe down and reached to flick her finger over the first title. "Ready for your print."

  Ah, an oval at the bottom of the first page, exactly the right shape and size for a fingerprint. This he knew. Relief washed over him again, a wave so strong it nearly swamped him.

  He scanned the agreement to supply and help fund the TerraCon Expedition, a joint enterprise between LodeStar Corp and Masterson Enterprises in an extensive exploration of Frontieran lands and seas, beginning with the mountains to the north and east of the settlement of Adamant, and continuing to points east on an attached holomap. Straightforward, and thank God for it, as he could scarcely concentrate through the pain in his head.

  He braced his left arm on the desk, holding himself upright and steady as he pressed his right index finger to the spot.

  His assistant flicked to the next page. "Next, the Aquarianus Expedition."

  This was a similar agreement, to supply and help fund an expedition headed by Prince Azuran of Aquarius himself in a complete exploration, sampling and cataloging of Frontieran seas, and the life forms within.

  Hells, the Aquarians could have the damned oceans and everything in them. He didn't care about any of this. He stabbed his thumb impatiently at the signature space.

  She straightened. "Thank you, sir. I'll send these on to AquaTerraCon right away. Thrilling, isn't it, sir?"

  With a look at his expression, she took a step back, her smile faltering. "Sorry, sir."

  "It’s fine," he said with an effort. "I'm glad you're interested. Er, what is it you like about the deal?" He couldn’t bring himself to care, but if she was talking, she wasn’t asking anything of him.

  "Everything, sir. With the new AquaTerra crawlers, we can learn so much about the planet—go places we couldn't otherwise. I can't wait to see all the creatures living in the seas here. Will they be similar to those on Aquarius, or very different?" Her pale cheeks flushed with excitement.

  Logan nodded, even managed a parody of a smile. "Of course. May their discoveries be everything you imagined."

  "Thank you, sir."

  She tipped her head to regard him with renewed concern. "Are you all right, Mr. Stark? You look very tired."

  He realized he was rubbing his temple again, behind which the pain was now pounding like giants boots stomping through his head. He
lowered his hand.

  "I'm fine," he said brusquely. "What's next on my agenda?" There, that sounded right.

  “Let’s see … oh, yes. Prince Azuran’s people linked to confirm your audience with him the day after tomorrow. He’ll be arriving late tomorrow evening, and will of course be staying on board his ship at the space port. He will receive you and members of the Frontieran delegation there at noon for luncheon.” The glow in her eyes said this was a great honor.

  “Right.” This Prince Azuran could leap into the Frontieran seas he was so curious about and stay there.

  She looked disappointed at this lack of enthusiasm, but rallied. "And now, Mr. Berenson is here to speak with you."

  He nodded, holding his body straight to hide the cold sweat which sprang out in his armpits and down his spine. Berenson? Who the hells was he? "Fine, send him in."

  "Yes, sir." She glided from the room.

  The sec she was gone, he rose and strode across the room to the lav, where he rummaged through the storage units until he found the supply of gesics. He took one, then added two more, and went back to his desk.

  Hearing muffled voices outside his door, he fumbled with his com until he was able to open an audio link to the outer office.

  "Oh, Mr. Berenson," the Aquarian said, relief clear in her hushed voice. "I'm so glad you're here."

  "Why?" rumbled a deep voice. "Something wrong?"

  "Well ... I'm not sure. It's Mr. Stark. He's ... not himself, somehow. I'm afraid he's ill in some way."

  There was a short silence. "I'll talk to him."

  "Oh, thank you, sir. I'll announce you."

  Stark broke the link as her voice sounded through another link. "Mr. Stark? Mr. Berenson to see you."

  "Send him in." Waiting, he picked up his coffee to take a drink, then scowled. Why was it empty? Grabbing the carafe, he poured the last of it into his mug. He took a swig, scalded his mouth and swallowed as quickly as he could. Hells, that burned.

  He looked up as a huge man moved into the room, the door sliding shut soundlessly behind him. Stark relaxed a fraction. He knew that broad, stoic face, brown hair so short the color blended with his tanned skin, and keen hazel eyes. Knew the erect carriage of an ex-soldier, the centered stance of a fighter. Bronc Berenson, his ... what? He frowned, scanning the man's attire.