Part 1 (1/2)

THE DARE.

by Susan Kearney.

Dear Readers, After writing THE CHALLENGE, I realized that Dora deserved her own story.

However, using a computer-even a s.e.xy and sentient one-as a heroine proved more difficult than I expected, but more exciting. I wanted to give. Dora a body, and of course a hunky man to share that body with, but also, I wanted her to learn what it meant to be human. Her growth not only fascinated me, but stretched the limits of my imagination.

Hopefully, this journey also brought out the best in my storytelling abilities. I'm hoping readers will enjoy watching Dora grow und change in ways I couldn't possibly have envisioned when I began her tale.

Since I have a love/hate relations.h.i.+p with my computer, I gave Dora a hero who had to overcome his own misgivings about the wonders of technology. Dora can take the credit for turning Zical around... but I don't want to give away the story. Suffice it to say, that Zical is as stubborn as any Rystani warrior, but more even-tempered than most. He's all alpha male on the outside, but inside, he's a sweetheart.

Writing a romance is always an adventure but writing a book set in the future on other worlds, sparks my imagination and allows me the freedom to explore the universe from the safety of my comfortable office. While every book I write is a complete story, if you enjoyed THE DARE and haven't yet read THE CHALLENGE, you might also like Tessa and Kahn's story. You can find more information about me and my books at my web site at .

Best, Susan Kearney.

NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as ”unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this ”stripped book”.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either, products of the author's imagination or are used fictiously.

To Anthony Schiavino-for outstanding, eye-catching covers.

Thank you.

Acknowledgments:.

So many people have helped to make this book a success. I'd like to thank my editor Anna Genoese for her enthusiasm and support-and for buying the book. Kathleen Fogarty for help above and beyond, Fiona Lee and Phyllis Azar for their advice and patience with all my questions about marketing and publicity, and the entire sales force at Tor for getting the books on the shelves. In addition I'd like to thank Suzanne Forster for her endors.e.m.e.nt and of course, my family for putting up with me during those times when I'm thinking about my books instead of listening to them.

Chapter One.

”What kind of woman turns you on?” Dora asked.

”A silent one.” Zical didn't keep the irritation from his tone when he snapped at the portable computer unit on his wrist. Sometimes Dora could be; more annoying than any flesh-and-blood woman. A sentient machine with Dora's brain power should have observed through one of her many sensors that he was busy clinging to the steep rock face and didn't need distractions. With one hand clawing for his next grip up Mount Shachauri, the planet Mystique's highest peak, and his other straining to prevent a fall to the glacier far below, he couldn't manually shut down Dora's chatter, even if she'd hadn't overridden her mute circuit. He didn't wish to hurt Dora's feelings, but he hoped she'd take his blunt hint to leave him alone.

She didn't. I'm serious. Do you like big-breasted women?”

”Stars.” Sweat beaded Zical's brow faster than his environmental suit could whisk it away. He'd come up here to be alone with his thoughts, to consider his future, but how could a man think with Dora asking such provocative questions? He was lucky she hadn't upset his equilibrium. Plastered to the sheer stone lip, he'd successfully climbed beyond the cobalt glacier, pitted like an old stars.h.i.+p's hull from s.p.a.ce debris. In the silver morning air, the snow bridges had held and he'd worked his way toward the summit where he planned to make an important career decision.

During the last few years, the great distances of s.p.a.ce had become Zical's world, his s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p a safe haven and his crew like family. Still, restlessness shadowed him, a feeling that however much he'd done to help hi people, he still had more to accomplish.

Perhaps, no matter how tired he was of war, he couldn't shuck off the years of responsibility as easily as he'd have wished. Maybe duty was rooted too deeply in his genes to change. However, whether he remained in the military or became a civilian pilot, part of his decision had been made: he wouldn't give up flying.

Now on the steep rocks' south face, striped with vertical snow gullies, Zical strained, swung an arm to the right, aiming for an overhead outcropping. ”Why do you care about my preferences?”

Dora sighed. ”Every man on Mystique says chest size doesn't matter.”

”There you go then.” He grabbed a handhold, of his exasperation rising, though he suppressed a groan of annoyance for her interruption of his solitude. ”Why bother asking me a question when you already know the answer?”

”In spite of their claim. I've noticed their gazes linger on women with larger--”

”Dregan h.e.l.l. Dora, now is no time to distract me.”

9.

Zical had planned to tax his muscles into a pleasant state of exhaustion, detox the stress from his soul, and clear his mind from the past so he could focus on the future. A day off was long overdue. For the last three years, he'd had precious little free time.

After the Endekians had invaded his homeworld, Rystan, he'd escaped on a stars.h.i.+p with the leader of his clan, Kahn, his Terran Wife, Tessa, and other family unit members.

But they'd not forgotten the people left behind. Rather than fight a war to retake the frozen s...o...b..ll of a world that was Rystan, Kahn had organized the relocation of their people to Mystique, a planet Tessa had bought with winnings from a giant wager, lost by the Endekians. For the last four years, Zical had been busy transporting Rystani colonists to Mystique, and he'd just resettled the last group on the planet's southernmost continent. With their people settled and thriving on their new world, his mission was finally complete. He'd taken his first free week, in years to climb Mount Shachauri for some well-earned solitude and to decide what he'd like to do next.

Mystique was full of opportunities and he had several options.

Putting off the decision until he reached the peak, Zical sc.r.a.ped his boot against rock and found a toehold. Right now the only thing he wanted to decide was where to place his next handhold. Dora's attempt to engage him in conversation was a distraction he didn't need, at least until he reached a point where he could rest the straining, muscles between his shoulder blades.

”Now's a great time to talk,” Dora said, interrupting the silence. ”You're not working and you're not sleeping.”

”I came up here to be alone.”

”And you've succeeded. That's why we have the perfect opportunity for a private chat.”

Zical grunted, wis.h.i.+ng he could ignore her but knowing that wouldn't work. Dora could be more stubborn than a Rystani warrior, and he didn't appreciate her game of words that twisted his meaning or her s.e.xy tone that slid under his skin. Flexing the muscles in his thigh, arm, and shoulder, he wedged his fingers in a crack and pulled himself upward.

”If you keep distracting, I could fall.”

”No you can't,” she told him with logic that had him gritting his teeth. ”Unless the null grav in your suit is malfunctioning-”

”It isn't.” He spoke quickly, before she raised an alarm that activated every rescue unit on the planet.

According to legend the environmental suit he wore was the gift of an ancient race called the Perceptive Ones. Eons ago the mysterious race had left behind the machinery that still manufactured suits for every citizen in the Federation. Powered by psi thought, the suits always worked perfectly, allowing one to keep warm on worlds as cold as Rystan or cool on those close to their suns. The suits let trained warriors fight at

10.