library. She covered him with an immaculately decorated afghan. She could tell that even it had received its share of care over the years, for it smelled clean and fresh, without a trace of the stale reek of age. When his eyes fluttered open, she said, “Go back to sleep. We’ve got a while longer before we go.”
Reza mumbled something unintelligible and did as he was told. Leaning down, she kissed him softly on the lips, then left him to rest.
Back in the cockpit, she went through the ship’s abbreviated checklist again. The weapons, above all, were ready. While the yacht’s armament made it no more formidable than a Coast Guard cutter, it could still deliver a sharp sting to anyone not being very careful. In addition to the four twin laser barbettes arrayed around the hull, she had two torpedoes in a ventral launcher for more serious situations.
She just hoped she would not have to use them at all. Compared to what was probably arrayed against them, it was little more than a last great act of defiance.
Sitting at the pilot’s station, she switched on the data scanner. She had programmed it earlier to sweep any channels it could access for information pertaining to herself or Reza, as well as Tanya, Nicole, and Tony. She hoped the latter two were all right, but all she could do now was pray to a God that she was starting to believe in. She had been having too much luck to believe otherwise.
The computer had graciously prioritized the tidbits it had come across in the last hour or so. And after viewing the first one, Jodi did not need to see any more.
“Ladies and gentleman,” announced some talking head news anchor Jodi did not recognize, “we have just received a startling announcement from General Staff Headquarters.” The screen cut to the face of someone Jodi knew only from thin gossip: Admiral Laskowski.
“Commodore Marchand,” the fleet operations officer said, “in command of the Seventy-Third Reconnaissance Squadron, with her flag aboard the cruiser
“More significant than the capture itself, however, is that the child is a male, the first living Kreelan male to ever be discovered.” There was an animated murmuring in the briefing room a few thousand miles away as the reporters and other attendees assimilated this bit of information. A few people raised their hands for questions, but the admiral ignored them.
“Even more startling,” she went on after a suitable pause, “is that we believe the child is the product of the union–” she made it sound like a dirty word, “–between Reza Gard and a high-ranking Kreelan warrior.”
The conference room went as silent as a grave. “This is not a joke or a publicity stunt, ladies and gentlemen,” the admiral cautioned darkly. “Some of Commodore Marchand’s people have been able to establish rudimentary communication with the adult warrior that led to this conclusion.” Jodi was suddenly treated to the image of Eustus Camden gesturing to the warrior, and evidently receiving some kind of – to Eustus, anyway – intelligible response. “And the child’s overt physiology bears out the claim.” Another shot of the child’s face.
“My God,” Jodi whispered as she leaned closer to the display. “His eyes…” There could be no doubt they were Reza’s eyes, the same penetrating green as the boy’s mother had when Jodi saw her on Erlang.
Except for one detail near the very end, the rest of the press conference went by in a blur to Jodi, whose mind was still captivated by the face of the child born to parents of two races. The only other thing that she heard and understood was the destination of
Markus Thorella was tired, his body and mind spent in what he considered a good day’s work. He opened the door to his apartment and switched on the lights. The furnishings and other adornments, exactly opposite Borge’s tastes, were spartan and plain. He spent little time here or in any of the five other dwellings that he held the keys to on as many planets, using it only as a place to rest and recover for the next day’s work.
He carefully hung his cap on the hook that silently slid from the wall to accept it, then made his way to the living room – it might have been comfortable had it been furnished – and the waiting bar for a well-earned drink.
He stopped when he saw the glass of scotch sitting in the bar’s outlet port.
“Scotch, straight,” a female voice purred from the direction of the darkened bedroom. “Just the way you like it. Plain and boring, like you. Turn around, Markus. Slowly.”
The back of Thorella’s scalp crawled. “I know that voice,” he murmured to himself. Turning around, he saw the woman emerge from the shadows. She held a blaster trained on his stomach. “Tanya,” he said, a wry smile touching his lips. “It’s been a long time.”
“I’m so flattered that you recognized me… Anton Borge,” she said quietly.
Thorella’s smile cracked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked innocently. Tried to. He felt the weight of the knife in his uniform sleeve. “The senator has been a good friend of mine since my parents died,” he said, “but he’s hardly my father.”
Tanya shook her head, the anger glowing in her eyes as she stepped further into the light. “Don’t play games Anton. I hated your guts when we were children, and I can’t say I shed any tears when I found out you’d died in the crash. And then what your father managed to pull off. And what you did to me…”
“Anton Borge is dead, Tanya,” he said decisively. “Whatever Jodi Mackenzie told you – it was her, wasn’t it? – was garbage. Lies.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry that you felt hurt when we… broke up. But that was a long time ago–”
“And I’ve been living with it ever since,” she snapped viciously. “I loved Markus, and you were jealous. I know you were. And after the crash, when I helped him – you – recover, what was my reward? To be raped like an animal until you grew tired of using me and left. It was the perfect crime, Anton. I was so blinded by my feelings for Markus that I never knew that I had been destroyed until you walked away. You took my soul, you bastard. You stole it. And what did your father do to Markus?” She stepped closer, the barrel of the gun unwavering. “Was Markus already dead, or did the good senator murder him?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The knife slid unseen into his palm. “I am Markus Thorella. If you want to believe otherwise, that’s up to you. But I suggest you leave now, or I’ll have to call security.” He moved toward the comm panel over the bar.
“He killed him, didn’t he?” Tanya said almost to herself, her eyes boring into Thorella as he reached for the controls on the wall. “He murdered Markus and stuffed your beaten body into his clothes. And with his power, he bought silence and secrecy, even from his own accursed son.” Her finger tensed on the trigger. “Goodbye, Anton.”
As Tanya squeezed the trigger, the illegal Kreelan knife that Thorella always carried flew from his hand as he dodged away from the blast of her weapon. He rolled to the floor as the wall behind him exploded in a flash of sparks and the stench of molten plastic, and watched with satisfaction as Tanya slumped to the floor, the knife buried to the hilt just above her right collarbone. The gun fell from her lifeless arm and clattered onto the floor.
“You silly fool,” Thorella said as he regained his feet. “You should have just killed me when you had the advantage. But you had to act out your ridiculous little passion play.” He smiled. “And now it’s going to cost you.”
Tanya was already pulling herself toward the gun, the knife a searing pain in her chest as the handle dragged along the floor. A thin trickle of blood seeped from her lips; her right lung had been deeply punctured. She moaned, but did not cry out.
Thorella casually kicked the gun aside. “I’m afraid you already had your chance, Tanya,” he said quietly. “Now it’s my turn.” He knelt down and roughly turned her over. His hands squeezed her breasts, then ran down her stomach to linger between her legs as she struggled weakly against him. “I’d very much like to relive old times,” he glanced up at the SECURITY ALERT light, activated by Tanya’s blaster firing, “but I’m afraid I just don’t have the time.”
He knew he would have to work fast. Gripping the knife’s protruding handle in one hand, he clamped his other around her throat. “You see, I need to know where Reza and Jodi are, and you’re going to tell me.”
“Go fuck yourself, you murdering bastard,” she hissed through bloody spittle. Working behind the cover of her injured body, one of her hands groped for the tiny transmitter hidden in her belt. A trembling finger pressed the single button on the device’s face.
