by Neal Jones
"Look at me." Laura obeyed. "I told you this was too fast. You've only known this guy for a year. You've been engaged two months. It's okay to admit that this was a mistake, hand back the ring, and take some time to sort all this out."
Laura removed Jeanette's arm and succeeded in standing. "I keep telling you that there's nothing to sort out. I love Keith. He's smart, attractive, we share common interests, and he's just as career minded as Marc was. We're a good match."
Jeanette followed her into the kitchen. "So that's what it's about these days. How you feel about a person doesn't matter as much as the size of his bank account or his stock holdings or his hobbies –"
"I didn't say that!" Laura snapped with just a little more vehemence than she had intended.
"So what's the matter? Why can't you admit that you still care about Marc? That you might still have feelings for him, despite everything in the past? You told me the other day that he still has feelings for you."
"Yes, he does," Laura admitted. "But it just wouldn't work between us, and besides, I don't want a third failed marriage. There are some things that are acceptable in groups of three, and divorce isn't one of them. It's just tacky."
"You're not married yet."
"Same difference."
"So is this a marriage of convenience?"
"I didn't say that either."
"You know something, mom, I've always wondered why you felt it's necessary to be married at all. Every time I have a new boyfriend, the first question out of your mouth is, 'Is this the one?'?"
Laura paused in the midst of pouring herself a tumbler of Scotch. "Marriage has its own rewards. There's a sense of stability and comfort in knowing that someone is waiting for you at home. Someone to share your life with and to curl up in bed next to at the end of the day."
"But not necessarily for the rest of your life."
Laura shrugged. "Alec and Braden just didn't work out. We had too many differences."
"Or maybe it's because they were safer choices, and neither measured up to Marc. Which is the same thing that's wrong with Keith. After spending all this time with Marc, you're wondering if you made the right choice after all twenty-three years ago."
"That simple, huh?"
"Yes, and you've known this all along. You just refuse to admit it. It probably also had something to do with the fact that your grandpa and grandma were in the middle of their divorce when you were in high school. Yes, I know, you don't like to talk about it, but that's the truth."
Laura gave her daughter an exasperated look. "You think that my marriages all failed and I ran out on Marc because of my parents' divorce?"
"Well, grandma says it was pretty nasty. And it explains why you're so damned afraid of commitment."
"I'm not afraid of commitment. The problem is finding the right one to commit to."
"And that was Marc."
Laura headed for the bedroom. "It wasn't. Marc and I weren't good together."
"You keep saying that, but you never give any details. What exactly was it that wasn't good? The sex? Is he one of those who's into kinky stuff?"
"What?? No! The sex was fine, great in fact. It was other things, little things."
"Like what?" Jeanette persisted.
Laura sighed. "I don't want to have this conversation with you. He's your father, I'm your mother, and all of this is just too...weird!" She opened a suitcase and began to pack up her closet.
"Oh please, mom, you're the one who was ready to buy me birth control and a sex education video the day I had my first period. We're both adults now, and the only reason this is weird is because you don't want to be honest about your relationship with Marc."
"The military, for one."
"What?"
"His primary devotion was to that damned uniform, first and foremost. I hated it. I wanted him to be devoted to me first and his career second."
"But he was willing to give up that career for you, and you still left him."
Laura folded a blouse and placed it neatly in the suitcase beside the rest.
"Mom?" Jeanette prompted.
"His lack of refined taste."
"Huh?"
"I couldn't talk about books or art with him. I loved the opera and going to plays and reading, and Marc didn't want any of that. His idea of a formal evening was wearing a collared shirt to the academy hoverball games."
Jeanette snickered. "Yeah, I can see where that would be an obstacle for you."
"It wasn't just the little things. I didn't like us together. We weren't a perfect fit."
"What couple is?" Jeanette argued. "Nobody's perfect. It's learning to live with those differences that ultimately strengthens the relationship."
"And you're an expert all of a sudden? How many boyfriends has it been now?"
"I'm young. I'm allowed to be picky."
"And I shouldn't be?"
"Not if you're being picky for the right reasons. In your case, you're trying to make up for one mistake you made twenty-three years ago by settling for the wrong men. You need to break it off with Keith and back with Marc."
"I can't. Our lives are on very different paths these days, and it just wouldn't work."
"But you want it to."
Laura put the last pair of pants into the suitcase and shut the lid. "It's too late. The right choice at this time is Keith, even if he's not the best one. It's better this way. For everybody."
"If you say so."
"I do. And since you're not packed yet I'm assuming that you're staying here?"
Jeanette nodded. "Another month at least. I kind of like it here, and I think I can find some temp work on the promenade. Don't give me that look. We've already had this discussion. You agreed to not be judgmental about my career choices."
"I haven't seen you make any choices yet. That’s the problem." Laura hauled her suitcase to the living room, and Jeanette trailed her.
"That's what temp work is for. I want to see what all my options are."
The comm panel twittered, interrupting Laura's response. "Computer, answer." The wall screen near the desk came to life, and a face appeared. Laura nearly choked on her Scotch and managed to sputter, "Keith!"
"Hi, Laur. Is this a bad time? Hi Jeanette."
"No, not at all." Laura glanced at the background. "You're not at home or in your office?"
"I'm on a transport. I'll be there day after tomorrow. There's been a change of plans. I'll tell you all about it when I get there."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Unpack your suitcase. You and I are staying on Exxar-One for awhile. I gotta go. I'm transmitting my ticket info. See you on Thursday." The screen went blank as the connection was terminated.
"Well that's just great," Laura muttered.
"Did Ilkara change her mind about letting you network the hypergate?"
"No, not that I'm aware of. I'm sure Commander Garrett would have told me if she had."
"What about that planet? What's it called – the one where Ilkara was found?"
"Gateway Prime?" Laura frowned. "Yeah, maybe..."
"You don't sound too excited." Jeanette took her mom's empty tumbler and walked to the kitchen to refill it.
"Oh, I'm thrilled to get a closer look at that planet..."
"But..."
Laura sighed. "Nothing. I'm fine. If Keith is here to tell me that we're going to be working on Gateway Prime for awhile, I'm glad that he arranged it so we could work together."
Jeanette's face lit up. "Hey! Maybe you could have the wedding here! Have you seen the arboretums yet? There's this spot in the south garden that you would love! They have Indravian orchids in full bloom that would go perfect with your bouquet –"
Laura yanked the glass from her daughter's hand. "Aren't you supposed to be out looking for a job?"
"I put in a couple apps today while I was shopping. C'mon, I'll help you unpack."
Laura downed the last of her drink in one gulp. Jeanette was right. Laura should have let her come out her
e to Exxar-One on her own. She should have let one of the other directors take on this project, and she and Keith should have eloped a month ago.
"I'm gonna need more Scotch," she muttered as she left the kitchen.
Part Three
"The Lost"
Chapter 14
____________________
( 1 )
THE NEVALA SECTOR WAS A VAST expanse that lay between the borders of the Chrisarii Alliance and the Jha'Drok Emperium. Dozens of non-aligned worlds and territories occupied the expanse, and while most of them ruled themselves, government in this sector was, for the most part, a joke. The Rykon League – the most notorious and the largest black market ring of organized crime in the quadrant – had one of its major headquarters in this sector. Every criminal from a petty thief to a drug lord used the non-aligned territories to make a living, and if one knew what was good for oneself, one wouldn't go wandering into this expanse without a good reason. Or a good weapon, preferably two.
Alikk Vi'Sar had five. Four of them were cleverly hidden on his person, and the fifth rested loosely in its holster on his right hip. There was no shortage of seedy bars and even seedier brothels in places like the Nevala Sector, and the one that Vi'Sar entered was both. As he stepped inside, he cast a quick glance at the few patrons that were scattered across the two dozen tables. They eyed him as well, and he strode confidently to the counter that ran the length of the far side of the room. The bartender was an alien with six arms, and only two of them were busy at the moment. He – she, it? – set down the pitcher he was cleaning and waited patiently for Vi'Sar to order.
"Give me something off the tap, whatever's cheapest," Vi'Sar growled. One thing he liked about places like this was that one was expected to be surly and rude. The humanoid nodded gruffly and quickly filled a stein. Vi'Sar paid with cash – another thing that was expected in these parts – and then moved to the back of the room to a table that afforded him a good view of the entrance.
The other patrons had already returned to their card games and murmured conversations, and Vi'Sar sipped his ale in relative peace. The drink tasted as hideous as the odor that permeated every nook and crack of this dilapidated joint, and Vi'Sar reached into his pocket for his pouch of fresh enp leaves. He slipped one into his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring the mint flavor.
He was early, as usual. Alikk hadn't been to this particular planetoid before, and he wanted some time to examine the landscape. He had come alone, as requested. It had taken him nearly a standard month to track down Galoret Ain, the man that all of Vi'Sar's sources had pointed to as the de facto leader of the Drigald. From what Vi'Sar had been able to glean from the official news reports as well as his personal contacts that were scattered throughout the Nevala Sector, Ain had taken it upon himself in the last decade to unite the various factions and turn what had once been nothing more than a mild annoyance to the Jha'Drok monarchy into a terrorist force with real power.
One of Galoret's cleverest tactics thus far was to brand the Drigald as the voice of the people. He had seized the recent opportunity presented him by the destruction of the assault fleet – a fleet that no one in the Emperium except the senate and the military council had known about until just a few years ago – and used it as an example of how treacherous and deceitful the monarchy had become when dealing with its own subjects. The economic disaster that had been the inevitable consequence of the fleet's destruction had only furthered Ain's cause, as more and more of the lower and middle classes began paying closer heed to him and his gospel.
The Talik'Jhor, of course, were using every last resource at their disposal – and then some – to find Ain, as well as combat his dogma with their own propaganda machine. They branded him a terrorist, claimed that he bankrolled his rebel movement by selling illegal weapons and drugs, and that he used innocent children as drug mules or prostitutes. He was an enemy of the state, and it was his terrorist bombings of government agencies – such as the one at the Finance Ministry Annex two months previous – that made the current economic crises even worse.
Vi'Sar's assessment of Ain was a mixture of both extremes. He was not a true patriot of the Emperium, else he would be more discerning with his terrorist strikes. A government building was one thing. Bombing a crowded, civilian marketplace – even if it was in a government sector – was quite another. And while there was no doubt in Vi'Sar's mind that Ain was involved with the Rykon League, he didn't believe that the terrorist leader had gone so far as to use children as gun runners or drug mules. He was too smart for that.
Alikk knew that he had to tread very carefully here. The proposal that he was bringing to Ain was a complicated one, with many independently moving parts and variables. It was also a long term plan, and if each phase wasn't carefully executed and/or maintained, the entire enterprise could blow up in everyone's face. Not for the first time did Alikk wonder if Ronnd and Kroth had made the right decision by taking this treacherous and duplicitous route.
He, of course, had little to lose. Yes, Ronnd had finally hunted him down, but that had taken nearly a decade, and Vi'Sar could easily scurry back into hiding in places like the Nevala Sector should Ronnd's and Kroth's plan backfire or collapse altogether. He would miss the privacy and security of his mountain fortress, but that comfort was a small price to pay for freedom and anonymity.
Alikk allowed his mind to wander for just a few moments, as he thought once more of what would happen should this precarious plan actually succeed. Just the thought of returning to the Alliance as a free man, perhaps even having a seat in the new government, was enough to make his heart beat faster, his blood heat, and his mouth water with an almost physical hunger. For ten years he had been patiently waiting for an opportunity such as this, knowing that if he bided his time long enough the Varashok would reward him. Patience is the warrior's maiden, was the old saying, and Vi'Sar had learned this lesson well during the Beta Erendii War.
It was a lesson that was especially important in the aftermath of costly mistakes like the failed attack on Exxar-One by Colonel Serehl's fleet almost four months ago. That, along with Arrul's betrayal, had set back Vi'Sar's plans considerably, but there was no time to waste in brooding and regret. That was a mistake that many in his position had made in the past, and it caused them to react out of anger and frustration instead of stepping back and calmly reviewing what went wrong, and then adjusting one's plans accordingly.
For Alikk, it meant sending an urgent message to all cells, ordering them to cease all plans for any future attacks until he gave them permission to continue. He then gathered his commanders for a conference in his fortress on the Kauramide homeworld, and he executed one whom he had chosen at random. He shot him point blank in the back of the head with a shess disruptor, a particularly nasty weapon that was designed to make the victim suffer horribly while killing him in a matter of seconds. The others seated around the table had watched with shock and fear, those nearest the victim not even daring to wipe away the blood that had splattered them.
Alikk then told them of Arrul's deception, and that the officer he had just made an example of was also in collusion with the cell leader. That last part wasn't true – at least as far as Alikk was aware – but that didn't matter. The other commanders didn't know that, and they got his point. If any of them dared to go against him, they would suffer the same fate as their comrade.
Once the body was vaporized and the blood spatter cleaned away, the rest of the conference was spent in devising a new strategy. That was three months ago, and as Alikk chewed the last bits of his enp leaf, he admitted to himself that the plan that Ronnd and Kroth had brought to him was better than anything he and his commanders had come up with at this point. Until this covert assistance from the High Council, the best that Vi'Sar and his army could have hoped for was to remain a fringe terrorist group. But he warned himself not to get too comfortable with this new alliance. There was no doubt about Ronnd's true motives here, should everything go as planned. Once Alikk had
served his purpose, the chief minister of central intelligence would dispose of him as quickly and as quietly as possible, and only by careful planning on Alikk's part could the terrorist leader prevent that fate.
A robot waiter appeared, and Alikk ordered another drink. He glanced at the door in time to see Galoret Ain step into the bar. He, too, was alone, though Vi'Sar was certain that at least two men were stationed outside the establishment in covert positions, just in case. That was no problem, as Alikk had four of his own men positioned in strategic lookouts along this street. Patience may the warrior's maiden, Alikk thought with bemusement, but prudence and preparedness are his soul companions. He gave a slight nod to Ain as the Jha'Drok's gaze turned in his direction, and Galoret motioned to the waiter to meet him at Alikk's table.
"Gunthin ale," Ain ordered, and the droid scurried away to fulfill the request. Galoret sat in the chair opposite Alikk, and the two men took a moment to size each other up.
Vi'Sar cast a sideways at the other patrons. "You picked an...interesting place to conduct our business."
"We're outlaws and terrorists, Mister Vi'Sar," Galoret replied with just a hint of a sneer. "You would have preferred something upscale, perhaps with a musical quartet to serenade us as we dine on fresh shyther and drink summer wine?"
"Summer wine wouldn't leave such a nasty aftertaste in my throat," Vi'Sar quipped. "I think this stuff was once used as an engine coolant." He gestured to the stein of cheap ale.
"Next time I shall bring a bottle with me. And you're right. This ale is worse than piss. Waiter!" The droid whirred back to the table, its mechanical eyes blinking intermittently. Before it could ask a question Ain doused it with his drink. "Barkeep, bring me something from your private stash, and if it's not to my liking, you'll be in a worse situation than your waiter."
The droid was popping, fizzing, and sparking, and it gave one final gasp before its anti-grav stabilizers shut down and the entire droid collapsed in a heap at Galoret's feet. The bartender rapidly disappeared into the back room and returned moments later with a bottle of something that appeared to be cheap wine. He poured the drinks, and then removed the empty steins and retreated to his sanctuary on the other side of the bar. Two cleaning droids came out of somewhere and began vacuuming up the pieces of the demolished waiter. The other patrons took in the entire spectacle with an air of those who have witnessed far worse in a place like this, and they gave little reaction except to cast an occasional glance from the corner of their eyes at the Jha'Drok and the Chrisarii who were newcomers here.
