Copyright © 2009, Rayne Forrest
Published by Whiskey Creek Press LLC

Reviews For THE REA CHEVEYO CHRONICLES Book 3: REZA by Rayne Forrest

“This installment meets the high standards that Ms. Forrest has set in the previous books in the series. The love scenes are erotic and yet very tender. I've always liked to read about life aboard a spaceship and I love happy endings. This is an excellent example of SF romance that I know fans will enjoy.” Jean, Fallen Angel Reviews

This installment meets the high standards that Ms. Forrest has set in the previous books in the series. The love scenes are erotic and yet very tender. I've always liked to read about life aboard a spaceship and I love happy endings. This is an excellent example of SF romance that I know fans will enjoy.

Jean, Fallen Angel Reviews

Reza Breen stared in horrified disbelief at Kaiton Ryze. This could not be. The Keeper of the Souls could not seriously send her away from her home on Colony.

“Kaiton, there is much still to do here. So many remain ill. I cannot leave them. Who will care for them?”

“There are other healers, Reza. No one but you can address the Sovereign and say what must be said. It is your lineage that has suffered the most, lost the most. Only you remain of all the Breen. Surely you wish to seek restitution.”

Reza shook her head, denying the truth of Kaiton’s words. A great weariness descended upon her.

It was true. She was the last of the once respected Breen. Her sister, wed-brother, and their three children, had all died of the genocidal plague that killed so many on Colony.

Let it end here.

“I seek nothing. All that matters is lost. Lives cannot be restored.”

“There are others who will not speak if you do not.”

“Kaiton, please. I am a Healer, not a politician, nor an orator, nor anything else they would see me as. If they cannot, or will not, speak for themselves, then it is not I who would hold the blame if they do not receive.”

“Reza, it is decided. You will go. And you will speak, not only for yourself, but also for all the others. You will tell of the suffering you have seen. You will tell of those who could not be saved. You will do this for all of the Yahto.”

“Please, Kaiton. I beg you to reconsider. I am needed here.”

“The humans are here, as you well know. They are everywhere with their recording devices, taking samples, testing the very air we breathe, even in the Temple, Reza.”

She paused and fixed Reza with a sad, steady gaze.

“They are even in the Temple,” she repeated. “They are equipped to aid those whose recovery is not yet complete. You are going.”

Chilled to the bone, Reza nodded. The Keeper of the Souls did not need to say more. Reza knew. She understood.

* * * *

Mick Coulter was getting tired of the stupid grin on his face. It was so permanent that his jaws ached. He fell asleep grinning. He woke up grinning.

What if his grandmother were right and his face could freeze in an expression? What if the stupid grin were it?

His grandmother had also said a gift was something you didn’t know you wanted until you got it. Well, that was certainly what command of a ship was. A gift.

And it wasn’t just any ship. It was one of the Cheveyo-class cruisers. The Rea Cheveyo.

The Cheveyo-class heavy cruisers were poetry. Pure poetry.

Graceful. Sleek. Symmetrical. Powerful. A long body with two sweeping wings mounted just beyond halfway back, the Cheveyos were like some mythical bird.

But if one looked closer, the truth was there. The Cheveyo-class heavy cruiser made a serious statement. From its corvidite nose to its direllian tail, it looked like the warship it was. Mick was glad the League of Aligned Worlds tried to be an instrument of peace, because if the LAW decided to wage war, the Cheveyos would be a deadly weapon in its arsenal.

And he was glad it was the humans and not one of the other members of the League who had built these particular ships.

The Cheveyos sported a revolutionary corvidite nose that housed a breaching ram of the heaviest titanium-clad direllian that could rip open anything in its path. With no less than twelve pulse cannons pointing forward, and six laser cannons pointing to the rear, any adversary that got a good look at one would be foolish to fire on her.

Each slightly curved wing, raised as if poised for flight, housed a twin pack of slower, more conventional impulse engines, but it was the main engines that gave the Cheveyos their speed. Mick had only experienced that speed firsthand once, but he’d never forget it.

The Rea Cheveyo had been number thirteen off the line, and had a special mirror-black finish that made her sparkle in the darkness of space with the reflection of the stars. She was the most impressive ship Mick had ever seen.

She’d been in service for almost twelve years. In those years, she had twelve captains and gained a reputation suitable to her unlucky production number—the kiss of death to a captain’s career. So now here he was, captain number thirteen for ship number thirteen. It was, he hoped, a match made in heaven.

Mick had made his career, thus far, as a trouble-shooter. He had less than four years until he could retire with twenty years of service and settle somewhere to pursue his dream of teaching martial arts and the accompanying philosophies.

He’d started out in navigation, worked his way into operations and then to command ranks. In the sixteen years he served in the LAW fleet, he’d been posted on twenty-three ships. Now it seemed as if the next few years were taking a different path. He had a permanent command, and he was going exploring.

The Rea Cheveyo had found her last two captains a ladylove. Mick looked for only one lady in particular, his new first officer, Bonnie Dennis. His agenda did not include romance.

He knew Bonnie from a previous tour where he’d spent six months implementing new protocols to a navigation system and teaching the crew how to work them. Bonnie had been the second chair on operations, studying for her final testing to qualify as a full operations chief. They’d hit it off and become fast friends.

He walked onto his bridge and took in his young communications officer’s pale face.

“Trouble, Mr. Langston?”

“Sir, there’s a Kaiton Ryze on the link for you.”

“Who’s Kaiton Ryze?”

“The Keeper of the Souls on Colony.”

“The Keeper of the Souls?” Oh, gods, he was in trouble. He’d been too busy running the ship and trying to help save the lives of the plague-stricken Yahto to do much of anything else like learn the finer points of their society.

“Does anyone know exactly what a ‘Keeper of the Souls’ is, other than the obvious?” he asked his silent bridge crew.

He sank into the captain’s chair and slowly pressed the button to take the call.

“This is Captain Michael Coulter.”

“Captain Coulter, thank you for finally taking my call. I’m wondering how soon the League of Aligned Worlds plans on sending you to us. We are anxious that Reza Breen begin her journey.”

“The Rea Cheveyo is currently en route to rendezvous with another ship and pick up crew. We will then immediately head for Colony. I anticipate we should arrive there in less than seventy-two hours.”

“We were assured of your full cooperation, Captain Coulter.”

If she kept up that condescending tone with him, cooperation ould be the last thing she’d get. He counted to five.

“You have my full cooperation. What I don’t have is my first officer. That will be remedied very shortly. Once she’s onboard, we will head for Colony immediately.”

“I was not made aware there were inadequacies in your crew or your ship. I was assured it was the best ship the League of Aligned Worlds had in this sector. Reza’s safety is of the utmost importance. She is unique among us.”

Mick took a deep, silent breath. “I have every confidence you’ll find the Rea Cheveyo adequate for Miss Breen’s needs and safety, ma’am.”

“Let us hope that is so, Captain. I look forward to meeting you in seventy-two hours.” The link went dead. Mick closed his eyes and let his head fall back against his chair.

Isn’t this little jaunt going to be fun?

“Ripley, how soon…”

“Two hours, sir.”

Mick raised his head and glared at his operations chief.

“Get us there in one and I won’t demote you back to communications.”

Ripley grinned. The deck vibrated under Mick’s feet as the ship picked up speed.

“You’d think they’d be a bit more grateful.”

Mick turned to his navigator, Andie James. Privately, he agreed with her. Publicly, he needed to warn her away from saying anything.

“We’re not going to speculate on the level of the Yahto’s gratitude. They’ve been through a lot. We’ll allow them to be a bit nervous about being integrated back into Casaian culture.”

What remained unspoken was a rebel faction of Casaians had attempted genocide on the Yahto and almost succeeded.

He sensed more than heard the discreet shuffling of bodies as they shifted and settled back to work. Ripley met his gaze, the only person to do so.

“I’ll be in my office,” he announced as he rose. The bridge crew would chatter among themselves if he weren’t sitting there brooding.

“There’s a file waiting for you, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Parker.”

Mick didn’t have to ask about the contents of the file. He knew.

It was the expanded file on the customs and culture of the Yahto. Sometimes—frequently—Ripley could read minds.

* * * *

“Mick!” Bonnie Dennis threw protocols to the four winds and launched herself into Mick’s arms. He grinned as she planted a noisy kiss on his cheek.

“I’m glad to see you, too.” He laughed and made a grab for her suitcase. “This is not regulation,” he commented dryly. He motioned her down the long corridor.

“I don’t care. I hate those old duffel bags. Space me.”

“Nah. Then I’d have to have dinner alone again.” He matched his long stride to her shorter one. Bonnie had barely met the height requirement for fleet service. Just skimming the six-foot mark, he stood a full twelve inches taller than she.

The lights along the corridor blinked, signaling the Rea Cheveyo’s departure from the Monument. Bonnie turned to him, looking surprised.

“What’s the hurry?”

“I’ll fill you in over dinner. We’re headed straight to Colony. I want you to unpack and get settled and be in my quarters for dinner at eighteen hundred. No working until we reach Colony.”

“I’ll want to review the crew roster.”

“That’s okay, but no interviewing anyone yet. I just want you to take what little time I can offer you and catch up on your sleep. Decompress some. I know your stint on the Monument had to be difficult.”

They stopped in front of a door already bearing Bonnie’s name and rank in flowing gold script.

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “It was. Thanks, Mick.”

He leaned down and brushed a kiss to her forehead. “Rest. That’s an order.”

“Too bad you’re only offering dinner.”

He smiled sadly. “Yes, it is, but the Rea Cheveyo is all the mistress I can handle.”

“I know, but it’s still a shame. I’ll see you in a few hours. Be on time, Mick.”

“I’ll do my best. It is my quarters.”

“Like that matters.” Bonnie flashed him a grin, then the door closed between them.

Mick covered the space between Bonnie’s quarters and his in a few long strides. He needed to continue his reading on the Yahto and absorb as much of it as possible. Ripley had been thorough. The file probably contained reading material to fill the free moments of several more days.

The captain’s quarters were large and comfortable. Several view ports graced the outside wall. The cabin boasted a small kitchen, sitting area, and office, and an honest-to-goodness bathtub as well as a shower. It also contained a big, lonely bed.

Mick brewed a fresh cup of green tea and settled at his desk. The file from Ripley was almost three gigabytes. Quite surprising considering the Yahto remained aloof and distant on their tiny planet. They’d been on Colony over fifty years before any of the other races that called the Cygni Omega sector home had realized they were there.

Scanning the files had solved one mystery. Much of the information had come from the Sheadonn, specifically from Talyss of Warlonah and from the Yahto healer, Reza Breen.

Talyss of Warlonah was the female responsible for the long red hairs he’d found all over his quarters when he’d moved into them. She’d been a guest of the previous captain of the Rea Cheveyo, Heath Douglas. Reza Breen, he’d not yet had the pleasure to meet, but knew her to be the one Yahto with courage enough to ask for help in saving her people from the recent plague.

He skimmed the official overview on the blue-skinned humanoids known as the Yahto. The strange mottling on their necks and faces denoted familial connections and rank. Most offworlders had not been allowed, until now, to know the names of the families or a Yahto’s place in that hierarchy.

They were to some extent tribal, and practiced worship of a Great Spirit and an earth goddess figure. They said a giant asteroid had destroyed their homeworld, of which they would not speak of by name, many years ago. That had not been altogether true.

The first world the Yahto had settled after being cast out from Casai had been destroyed by an asteroid, but Casai still thrived.

Mick understood the deception even though it annoyed him. He supposed if he were in charge of defending and protecting a group of people that had no defenses, no military, and no outside protection, he’d perhaps stretch the truth a bit, too.

Colony lay on the edge of LAW jurisdiction, approximately midway between Hann-raoi and Sheadonnya on the backside of everyone’s claimed territory. Of the eight inhabited worlds of the Cygni Omega sector, Hann-raoi and Sheadonnya were the farthest apart, spatially. The little planet of Colony had been a refueling port for smugglers until the LAW had taken control of the sector.

Mick wondered again at the reasons the Yahto had for turning a blind eye on the smugglers. He surmised they’d feared retribution from those more prone to violence. Some things in life were that simply explained. Some things weren’t.

Why the Yahto, outcast for one hundred generations by their own people, the Casaians, would seek to reunite with them was something he’d really like to figure out. The Yahto had become autonomous. Why give that up?

Thoroughly engrossed in his reading, and sipping his third cup of tea, Mick jumped when his com unit beeped. He sighed and set down his mug. As captain of the Rea Cheveyo, it was now his lot in life to be interrupted—and smile pleasantly—when it happened. He opened the link with a quick tap of his middle finger.

“Go ahead, Camden.”

“Sir, there’s a message from Kaiton Ryze.”

“Just read it to me. And, Camden…” He paused.

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t have to ‘sir’ me in every sentence. Relax, son. I won’t bite you.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Mick sighed.

“The message says we’ve kept Miss Breen waiting too long and we should afford her more courtesy. Sir, should I put Miss Breen in the VIP quarters next to you, sir?”

“That’s fine, Camden. Do that.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll make the arrangements. Langston out.”

Mick closed the link on his end and went back to the files. He’d better find out all he could about this Reza Breen.

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