This morning, the emptiness in the barracks was nothing but odd.
Now, however, it was soul killing. No voices, no laughter, no bitching and moaning, no friendly wrestling matches and no Mike.
No…please…
Desperate, clutching at a threadbare hope, Liam examined his bunk, dresser and the surrounding floor in hopes that another note had been left by his absent partner. An explanation would have helped. Foolish as it might have been, he would have clung to it.
Just something from the guy would have helped.
Nothing.
He opened the bedside computer terminal and signed onto the message center with another flutter of hope in his heart.
Nothing.
Liam fell backward onto his bunk. What was going on? Why not send a message? Mike was the first sergeant, for fuck’s sake.
He had the necessary privileges to send a note to…to… Hell, he could say it. He could send a message to his adnama, couldn’t he?
Was he in a communication blackout or something?
Aware he was brooding like a lovesick teenager, he pulled the earlier note from his pocket. He caressed it, as if trying to create a tactile connection to his lover, then flipped it open.
Thank you, Liam, for all that you are.
Understanding hit like a brick to the head. Mike had broken up with him. Liam’s voice echoed through the lonely barracks as a heartbroken howl.
CHAPTER 15
Mike was in his chair while the morale officer worked his artistic craft on the skin of his forearm. Beneath Arvidnan’s name, the date they’d bonded and the painful end date, Liam’s name and yesterday’s date was being etched on his skin. It was almost done, so Mike expected to be dismissed soon to go and enjoy the ongoing festivities.
The writing on his arm was not simply a decoration; it was a pledge. It was a promise. It was his right and his honor to bear Liam’s name.
He’d been in the chair for some time, and he’d been witness to Liam’s slowly escalating anxiety. Why hadn’t his adnama reached out to him? He hadn’t, so Mike could only conclude that Liam preferred to handle whatever it was on his own.
Liam’s mental shriek yanked Mike from his conclusions. He jumped in his seat, sending the small, metallic tools into a chaotic dance.
“What the fuck?” he blurted.
The artist at his arm was equally shocked. He gazed at Mike with widened eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I’m about to find out,” Mike answered.
He glanced at his arm, confined beneath the small dome that prevented infection. The morale officer flowed his gaze. A thought must have broken the technician’s temporary paralysis.
He grabbed for a tube of sterilization gel and smeared it onto the area.
An impatient sound rumbled from Mike’s chest.
“I’m hurrying. I’m hurrying.”
Finished, the morale technician flicked closed the tube and went to work turning off and removing the sanitization shield.
A hiss of pressurized and sterilized air prefaced the nearly inaudible hum of the medical canopy retracting into its sleeve, and Mike was free. He shook out his arm muscles, cramped by the position they’d held for a time, and headed for the exit.
He did remember to grunt, “Thanks,” over his shoulder, but he didn’t remember to retrieve his shirt. That oversight was corrected when it slapped against the back of his head.
He ducked and grabbed. The frown he sent back into the room should have blistered the walls. The technician, who’d thrown the garment, laughed.
Mike hurried outside the office complex and trotted to his hover-bike. He threw a leg over the frame, set the autopilot’s directional locater for Liam’s identification code, and steered for his quarters.
The urge to open the throttle to maximum tempted him, but Mike controlled himself. Instead, he used the time spent on his journey across base to study the situation. He didn’t reach into Liam’s mind to ask, “What’s up” because Liam had retreated behind a wall.
Privacy to deal with his concern was how Mike understood it.
He’d respected the silent request, although he would have much preferred Liam share his concerns. But, if he were any judge of the wave of pain blasted through the cabal, it was way past time they talked.
Mike was surprised when the autopilot warned him of an upcoming turn. That was the direction toward the barracks, not toward the festivities. What? Why? And why the barracks? Hadn’t Liam moved his belongings into their quarters? He turned the hoverbike and accelerated toward the icon.
Mike brought the bike in for a landing before the clear entrance doors and kicked down the parking support. He sat there for a moment and traced the threads of the knot.
Liam’s rising anxiety. Liam’s silence. Liam’s pain. Questions that added up to something, and that something wasn’t good. He reflected on his past actions and cursed himself. Was it possible to repair the damage he’d inflicted?
I’d better get busy trying.
Mike dismounted, headed into the building and stopped. Inside was cold. Barren. Like the shell of the man he’d been for so long.
Unsure of where to go, he stood at the entryway. Should he head for the bunks or for the communal area?
“Liam?”
His voice echoed. No response came from the call. No sounds from the entertainment unit in the shared area either. Mike headed for the bunks. He pushed open the doors to the cavernous room and discovered emptiness.
Barren three-drawer dressers stood beside each bunk, as though keeping watch in the Spartan area. A double row of mattresses and metallic frames marched down the length of the hall. Only one set showed signs of life with a rumpled blanket, a dented pillow, and a pile of discarded clothing.
Mike headed over. He snagged a desert-colored T-shirt from the floor and brought it to his nose. Liam’s scent. His heartbeat doubled its tempo, his blood surged with the sound of a wind in his ears, and his dick lurched. It surged and thickened against his pants until the fastenings bit into the sensitive flesh.
His adnama, hurting and confused.
Distress lashed him. Where was Liam?
He cast around him for an
