by CJ CADE
Destined for great things, her father said, if he could get a grip on his wild-ass ways.
Which it seemed Van intended to.
And part of his ascension was to be marriage to a general's daughter. That T'Bele A'Hodan was a complete bitch to anyone she considered a rival or inferior, did not seem to factor into Van's decision. He didn't care that a woman who got along with all his friends, and who understood the rigors of military life, could be his for the taking. Her, Reva.
The hot ache of tears pressed behind Reva's eyes, matching the pain that squeezed her heart in a vicious grip.
Van's deep voice echoed in her ears. 'I'm not interested, and it's time Reva got that through her fluffy little head’.
She choked back the sob that tore up her throat, pressing her face into her knees, clad in light summer fabric. She would not make a sound and betray herself to Van and his friends. That would make her humiliation complete, to let them know she'd heard them laughing at her.
She knew Van was ambitious, of course she did. But she'd hoped that if she spent enough time with him, he'd see she could be an asset to him. And that she cared for him far more than T'Bele ever would.
She'd even tried to beguile him with sex—and what a humiliating mess that had turned into. He'd turned his back on her, and demanded that she get out of his bunk and dressed, or he'd call Nola to come and remove her.
But it seemed her lot in life was to ache for the affections of men who would never notice her, not in ways that counted.
Her father lived for his job, and for his evenings in the base bar, for the camaraderie of other base staff. Since her mother had died when she was young, Reva had been raised catch as catch can, by teachers and other base staff, more than by her father. He made sure she was fed and clothed, but then essentially ignored her.
Van evidently planned to live for his career as well, and marry for it.
The voices below her paused, and then Van spoke again, his deep voice sober. "All right, there's my ride coming in."
"Whoa, that's a big transport," Nola said, as a deep throbbing shook through the ground, and wind rushed around the tatt.
Reva swiped her wet eyes with the heels of her hands. Careful to keep her head below the silhouette of the tatt's high sides, she lifted just enough to peer out at the huge, silver ship landing on the paved landing pad in the middle of the quad. It was a large transport for only one team of soldiers.
"Well," Nola shouted over the rush and rumble of the wash of the ship's landing. "Luck, Commander A'Ralle. See you soon."
"Yeah," Van called back. "Soon."
The two other commanders leapt into their hovie and hummed away, and Reva watched Van wave them off.
But as soon as the ship had landed, the wind of its landing quieted, he spoke again, tipping his head down and to one side to listen. "Yes, sir?"
His face was now in profile against the sun-blasted ground of the quad.
She knew that angular face with its wide, firm mouth, straight nose, sandy brows, and deep-set eyes so well she could map it with her eyes closed.
Knew how determined his jaw, and how his beautiful, green eyes twinkled when he was amused, or blazed when he was angry.
Knew the wave in his auburn hair, the way it kicked up at the peak of his forehead when it wasn't smashed down by his helmet.
Knew the breadth of his shoulders, lean taper of his torso, and the tight curve of his ass, the strength of his arms and legs.
Not that she'd ever been allowed to touch, but she'd watched him so long, and imagined so thoroughly, she was sure that when—if—she finally touched him, the feel of him would be new, and yet not.
He nodded, listening. He was on his com-link, she realized. Aurelians, like most sentient beings in their galaxy, wore the small devices surgically attached to the shell of one ear. Civilians often had their coms embellished with jewels. Reva's com was like Van's, a plain unadorned cerametal, dull so that light would not reflect off it and give away a soldier's location. Her father hadn't been willing to pay for any frivolous ornamentation.
Com units contained the tech to send and receive holo-vid and audio. They also contained universal translators which could decode and translate any language and dialect into the wearer's language.
"Holy winged angels," Van said. "The jump pod is here, in the transport? Why'd they bring it here? And do we get to keep it?"
He listened and then stiffened. "Right. Sorry, sir. I won't, sir. Yes, I remember—far as anyone knows, we're bound for Bryght. I'm on my way."
He bent, scooped up his duffel and then jogged away toward the transport, anticipation and tension in every line of his lean body. A group of five soldiers, also with duffels, waited at the bottom of the ramp up to the ship. His team, waiting to follow him wherever he led.
Reva's eyes burned as she watched him go.
That was it then.
She was through dreaming about him, done following him with her heart whenever he flew out on a mission, finished with praying for him to return safely.
He wasn't for her. That was fine. She no longer wanted him, either. She was tired of him alternately teasing and ignoring her, as if she were a pesky younger sibling.
She stared out at the pale sky, seeing instead the blackness of space beyond. The stars and moons and nebulae that blazed so bright at night, beckoning to the brave, the free to come and explore.
She wished with all her battered heart that she was the one leaving. The one who got to board that transport and jump—not to wherever Van was going, but somewhere else, far away. That she could just... leap into space and leave behind the devastation carving her into jagged pieces. Leave behind her father and his drink, and Van and his bone-headed ambition.
Then she sat up straight, her eyes wide, heart thumping.
Wait a sec! Van had mentioned a jump pod. He and his men would use one to get where they were going? Not if they were on diplomatic duty with the Tygean ambassador, they wouldn't.
Something else was going on here... and the only current event she knew of that involved jumping was Octiron Media's Great Space Race.
Held in a parallel dimension, the race was a huge, mega-media event, with bazillions of credits already spent on publicity, and more to come in surveillance of the race, not to mention the prizes for the contestants.
And the tech to jump beings long distances through space was so new, so incredibly expensive, that few had it. Octiron had a jump pod. And if this was their transport, was it the same one Arek had left on? And why was it here again?
But never mind all that. Reva stared at the silver ship, and the group of soldiers following Van up the ramp. As they disappeared through the open hatch her eyes narrowed, her fists clenching at her sides.
She was the quarter-master's daughter. She'd grown up here. The troops, officers and support staff were used to seeing her all over the base. Even in the offices and quarters, since she often assisted her father with his work. When he had a bad enough hangover from the legals dispensed at the base bar, she could do his job, until he recovered and took over again.
Since Aurelians were currently not involved in a war, the mood on the base was relaxed... at least as relaxed as an Aurelian base ever got. Also, she knew the soldiers standing guard at the end of ship's boarding ramp. She could grab a container from the mess hall and pretend she had special coffee and treats for the ship's top crew.
If she couldn't beguile her way onto that ship for a peek at the jump pod, then she wasn't her father's daughter. And she might not be a warrior, but she had an Aurelian heart. Time to stop waiting for a man to take her where she wanted to go, and find her own way there.
She climbed down from the tatt, and ran for her quarters to pack a duffel. She could hide it in the bottom of the bakery hovie-cart.
CHAPTER TWO
Magic, New Mexico
Van fought his way up through layers of thick darkness.
Every movement, each breath was an effort. Death lurked, crouc
hing in the darkness like a Quark O'gren, ready to rip him limb from limb. With the discipline of a warrior honed since youth, he fought for control and found it, keeping his breath shallow, his heart-rate moderate.
An unfamiliar voice spoke. Van's com-link identified the speaker, and translated the strange dialect. 'Race; Human. Spoken language; English.'
"He's coming around," said the deep voice.
"Thank you, Doc," replied a female voice in the same language. "I can't wait to find out what they're doing here."
The male grunted. "Stay back, they may be dangerous, especially this one."
"Hmm, soldiers or explorers?"
"Possibly both, and their mission here may not be peaceful. Did you reach the sheriff yet?"
"Theo and a team are out in the mountains, looking for a lost hiker. I can handle these folks until he arrives."
Just the effort of listening sent pain shooting through Van's head, but he fought harder to wake. They? Who was the 'they' she spoke of. Was his team here as well?
His team needed him. He must wake, and take control of this situation—whatever it was. They might have to fight their way out.
Van's eyes felt as if they were weighted with space rock. He fought them open and gazed up into the open, attractive face of a small female in shapeless pale garments. Weirdly, the fabric was printed with smiling felines.
Behind her he saw a small, sterile room with cupboards and a sink. A galley—no, from the faint stench of chemicals, this was a med-center.
So, the female was some kind of medic. Civilian. Her expression was unguarded, and she carried no weapons. Also, he was not restrained on the firm med-cot. She was definitely not Aurelian—too short in stature, and her hair was too dark a brunette. Not to mention the open friendliness of her expression. Aurelians were trained from childhood to restrain their emotions before others, especially strangers.
"Don't worry," the female said to Van. "You'll be fine, and so will your partner. Or, is she your wife?"
Van stared up at her, trying to make sense of her words as his head pounded with pain. His partner? Was one of his team here with him?
He turned his head with a supreme effort, and followed her gaze with his own. On the med-cot next to him lay a familiar face, pale and still under a disheveled length of silky, reddish-blonde hair.
Reva.
With a moan of despair, Van gave in and let the darkness sweep over him again.
* * *
Reva woke with a start. Wide-eyed, she stared at the ceiling overhead. Pale aqua, with a fluted lamp attached to the ceiling. She closed her eyes and opened them again, to the same view.
Where in the universe was this place? She always woke to the same drab, tan ceiling of her sleep cubby in her father's small quarters on base. Except for the few times she'd been allowed to bivouac outdoors with a platoon, next to one or more female warriors. Even then, the troops were always up and breaking camp before dawn, so they woke to a dark sky skeined with stars and moons.
This room was already bright, not only from the lamp, but from light streaming in through the windows at one side of the small room. She gazed in fascination at the wedge of bright, clear sunlight falling through the window covering. This sun was gentler than that on Hamor.
But, where was here?
Reva focused on her other senses. She lay on a firm, narrow med-cot of some kind, with a light blanket over her from the shoulders down. And she felt strange, as if she'd been ill. Peering under the blanket, she sighed with at least partial relief. She still wore her own clothing, a long-sleeved gaaulite tee and leggings with soft ankle boots.
The door at the foot of the med-cot opened and a small female with dark red hair entered. She smiled at Reva and spoke. Not Aurelian, nor Serpentian. Perhaps Tygean? No, this female's eyes were not golden.
"Hello, there. You're awake. Can you understand me?'"
Slowly, cautiously, Reva sat up. Her fingers curled around the edges of the blanket as she regarded the woman with wonder. "You are human," she breathed. Excitement and terror swirled inside her, a heady, yet gut-clenching mix. She was definitely not on Hamor.
Memories flooded her mind—making her way onto the Octiron transport, then sneaking into the nondescript little space that was the jump pod. Closing the hatch after herself.
She remembered little after that, just a dizzying whirl of images, sounds and impressions.
Suffocating darkness, punctuated with harsh lights that rushed past her at speeds beyond comprehension… a low whine that rose and rose until it enveloped her in a deafening roar… feeling every atom in her body sucked outward from the room and into nothingness.
Now she hugged her arms around herself, shuddering at the memories. She'd done it. She'd jumped, and now she was here. Wherever here was.
"Please," she asked urgently. "What is this place?"
The woman's smile widened. "This place? My clinic. I'm Lacey, and I usually treat clients with a lot of fur and no words. But, since you and your partner appeared on my doorstep, we thought it would be best to care for you here, instead of taking you to Doc's clinic."
Reva blinked. "Your clients have fur? What race of beings are they?"
This made the woman laugh, a soft, musical sound. "Canines and felines, mostly. With the occasional reptile and avian thrown in. I'm a veterinarian."
'Veterinarian; a being who cares for common domestic animals and pets,' supplied Reva's com-link. 'Commonly dogs and cats, small fish, snakes and birds.'
Reva's stomach clenched with nerves, and she clenched her fingers in the soft blanket. "I have heard of these creatures. Again I ask, what is this place? Where am I?"
"Well, you and your partner here are in the United States of America. More specifically, you're in Magic, New Mexico."
Reva didn't even hear the rest of the woman's words. At the word 'partner', a deep, male groan sounded from nearby.
Her heart leaping, Reva turned to look at the male sprawled on the med-cot next to hers.
Joy flooded her, so profound she felt as if she might float up off the cot.
Van was here! She was not alone. He was with her in this strange place, and his team was here somewhere too. They could all explore together, and then return home to their people together. Except that he was unconscious.
"He does not wake," she said, her heart thumping as she scanned him for injuries. "Is he injured? Will he be all right?"
"Don't worry," Lacey said. "He'll be fine. He's just taking a little longer to come out of it. Don't know how you two got here, but it was hard on both of you."
"Are there others like us here?" Reva asked. "Have you found them?"
The human shook her head. "Not that I know of. Were you traveling in a group?"
"Just a small one," Reva said. "I... should let him explain."
She pushed back her blanket, and swung her legs down, ready to go to Van. But then she remembered his disdain, and sat where she was, her hands clenched on the edge of the cot. Van didn't want her here—or anywhere else that he was. And of all the places she could have landed, she ended up in the same place as the man she had sneaked into the jump pod to get away from.
It was on the tip of her tongue to declare that she didn't care whether he was fine or not. But she bit back the bitter words, because they weren't true.
Why did he not wake? As a battle-hardened warrior, he should be far tougher than her, yet here she sat while he was still unconscious. Ah, there—a dark bruise on his temple, just visible through the tousled strands of his hair.
Was he alive? Without thinking, she slid off her cot and went to him, reaching to touch his throat. Under her fingers his pulse beat, strong and true, although his skin was cool and clammy. His lashes lay in miniature ginger fans on his tanned cheeks, and his firm lips were parted. He looked, for the first time in her memory, vulnerable.
The door opened again, she whirled as another male entered the room. He stopped short at the sight of Reva on her feet. He was human, thi
s one with dark, suspicious eyes and large muscles. Reva turned, side-stepping to place herself between him and the unconscious Van.
The large male raised a heavy brow, as if to ask what she could do against his strength, should he decide to harm the unconscious commander. Reva scowled at him, and crouched, ready to defend herself and Van.
"It's fine," Lacey's voice emanated soothing waves. "This is Doc. He means you and your partner no harm."
"Not unless you two mean harm to us." Doc scowled at Reva. "Do you?"
"No," Reva stated. "But if you attempt to harm us, I will bash in your skull."
The man seemed to find this amusing. "Sounds fair. Now, will you let me examine your fella? He took quite a knock on the head. I want to make sure he doesn't have a concussion, or worse."
'Your fella', meaning your man friend, your romantic interest', her com translated.
Reva opened her mouth to say Van A'Ralle was not her fella. But she still would not allow him to be harmed. "No. The female Lay-cee will examine him, not you."
"Hey, I happen to be a human doctor. Lacey's specialty is animals."
"I don't care. You have threatened his safety, she has not. Come closer to him, and I will incapacitate you."
The doc snorted. "Like to see you try, blondie." But he crossed his arms and cast a look toward the woman Lacey, who looked as if she was trying not to laugh. "Have at 'im, Lacey. But do me a favor—pretend he's a big, ol' wounded mountain lion, and you're not sure how ticked off he'll be when he wakes."
Lacey smirked at the doctor. "You know size has nothing to do with it."
