"Well—” Te's face tightened into stubborn, hard lines that Sol had never seen before. Her voice rasped strangely, too. “—just be glad I was on the council when that Hydra debacle blew up in 1251. I was able to keep you as captain even though you lost your crew in an illegal rescue. And—” She pointed a finger at Sol. “Before you yell at me, Sis, I've been meaning to tell you about that and my other life, despite the Guild's edict, but you've always been so busy. Then when you got so angry over your forced retirement, I just couldn't make you any unhappier. Just remember, if I hadn't moved heaven and earth, you never would have captained a ship again after Hydra."
Te’ paused, then hurried on in a harsher voice, her finger still jabbing at Sol over the transmission. “I've been the assistant governor for years now. That's why, my dear, you've held onto your commission as long as you did. But I couldn't prevent your retirement. It's Guild law, and a good one, too. Just look at your decision to rescue those people shipwrecked on Hydra. Any younger captain would have left them to their fate for breaking the law and landing there. But you? You took it into your head to rescue them without consulting the Guild. You were beginning to think too much on your own even then."
Sol saw red. She longed to punch something hard. Control was such an effort, her words gritted through clenched teeth. “If I had waited for Guild sanctions, Te', they all would have died there—even Gelli.” Sol's hands fisted so tightly that her nails cut into her palms. The thought of what Gellico had suffered—almost died from—sickened her. And Te'angel had known about the shipwreck. The fucking Guild. Sol felt empty, betrayed by someone she had always trusted. It seemed as if she had never known her sister. Even her voice sounded as remote and as uncaring as a stranger's.
"Better they had all died there than all this trouble we've had since. That's why we've had to shut down the prison. It's also why we've had to send your precious Merriweather there for a peaceable treaty with the bloody prisoners. I've risked a very good friend there, too, so don't think you're alone in your concern."
Sol couldn't believe her ears. All these years she had thought Te's was the voice of reason in her chaotic world. To find that her thinking was just as convoluted as any politician's shocked Sol. Her words rolled from her gut. “If Merriweather has trouble with this treaty, with—with anything on Hydra, I'm holding you responsible, Te'.” She pointed her finger at her link to punctuate her determination. “You and the damned Guild."
She hurried on over her sister's open-mouthed image with, “And I don't know how to feel about your meddling in my life.” An awful thought occurred to Sol. “Did you get me my commission or did I at least earn my captain's bars on my own?” Her heart trembled with the waiting.
Te's shoulders stiffened then she growled. “Damn it, Sol. You passed all the tests on your own. I did nothing but vote the way I felt on your advancements."
"Good.” Sol spat just the one word and signed off before she said something to completely sever the ties with her only family. How much of her life had been manipulated by her sister? And for what ends?
* * * *
Just days after their heated exchange on the vid, Te’ strolled into the Dante's Circus dancehall as big as you please. Sol was supremely thankful Te’ had caved first, but hid her joy. She hadn't expected her stoic sister to give in; she never had in the past. But then, they had never had this serious of an argument before. Mist filled Sol's vision, but she stood at attention, her head above Te's. Te’ didn't greet her or sit down. She just grabbed Sol into a quick embrace and held on. Sol felt her trembling over her own. After a moment, Sol relaxed and returned the hug.
Te's eyes glittered when she pulled back. “Sol, I can't stand the thought of you alone, pregnant and thinking the worst of me."
More worry lines bracketed Te's mouth. Shadows under her eyes testified that she hadn't slept much. Sol knew something terrible was wrong. Te's voice quivered a little too much to be caused by a spat with her sister.
"What's happened?” Sol demanded. “Tell me. Is it Gabriel?"
Te’ shrugged and hastened to reassure her. “Don't get too worried, Sol. There has been an interruption in communications. I'm sure it's just a delay—a glitch."
"How sure are you?” A lump gathered in Sol's throat. She fought to breathe.
Te's brows lifted. “I'm hoping?"
Sol's heart dropped. Oh god, what had gone wrong on Hydra?
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Chapter Fifteen
"There hasn't been any intel in the last few weeks, so I don't know much about Merriweather's mission, success- or failure-wise. I only know that communication with the Treaty has been out for days.” Te's keen gaze stared at Sol then she shook head. Her voice lowered. “You know that I can't tell you more until the investigation is over."
Sol snorted and held her temper, but it was with an effort. “Yeah, I know about Guild regulations and all that bullshit.” She gripped her sister's arm, her glare steady. Her new emotional strength gave her courage. “Te', I've really got to know. Did you send Gabriel to Hydra? Was it on your orders?"
Te's flushed cheeks got redder, and she pulled from Sol's grip. She paced around Gellico's room, refusing to sit down and refusing to meet Sol's eye. “I'm not used to this, Soledad—your questioning me. What's happened to my little sister? When did you get so big that you doubted me?"
"Oh, I don't doubt that you love me as my big sister, Te'.” Sol tilted her chin. “What I do think is that you personally sent the man I love into an unknown dangerous situation for the further edification of the damned Guild. Right?"
Te's shoulders slumped, all resistance drained out of her. She plopped down next to Sol and took her hands. “No, I didn't send Merriweather out on a whim. It's important that we end this mess on Hydra.” She took a deep breath. “A few years back, after the debacle of 1251, I sent an operative to Hydra with the last bunch of prisoners to search out anyone of value and to form a working alliance. This operative—” Here Te’ paused. She struggled for her next words, and Sol saw the brilliance in her gaze. Her stoic sister fought tears. “This operative is very important to me. I didn't know just how important he was until he left on the mission. Now, I find that I'm slowly going mad with worry."
"You sent Gabe more for word of this operative than for the colonization of Hydra.” It was a statement rather than a question, and Sol stared at Te’ in amazement. Her sister had never been involved with anyone as far Sol knew. When had this attachment started?
Te’ avoided her gaze. “Yeah, I'm afraid my motives weren't exactly pure, although the Guild was petitioned for settlement. Lots of people want the misery of the prison ended.” Sol almost missed the implied, “And lots of people don't."
"Well, it's good to know you're not such an ice queen after all.” Sol hugged Te’ to soften her words. Te’ pulled back and frowned at her.
"I am not an ice queen.” She glared then there was a faint twist to her lips. “And I'll freeze anyone who says so."
With Te’ halfhearted laugh, the tension finally eased. But both sisters were teary-eyed—Te’ in frustration, bound by Guild policies, and Sol in irritation, torn between loyalties. She hated her sister's involvement with the Guild.
"Would you have come home more often if you had known about my empathic ability?” Te’ asked, then shook her head to answer her own question. “No, I don't think you would have. I think you would have been disturbed by my talent and stayed away. You wouldn't have accepted your own tranq talent either—to say nothing about my Guild involvement."
Sol gazed at her sister, stunned, and laughed. Te’ knew her too well, and she didn't have to be an empath to know how uncomfortable they both felt after their one and only fight. A tight muscle loosened in Sol's chest. “I think, perhaps, you read me too well, Te'. You're right. I probably would have stayed away, especially knowing that you are the Guild's temporary governor. And that wouldn't have helped either of us."
Te’ frowned. Sol heard the co
ncern in her voice. “You won't stay away after the baby gets here, will you?"
"No, my darling sister, I'll come as often as I can.” Sol, wanting to keep the new found peace with Te', wisely didn't mention Gabriel and his involvement. Her sister would just have to learn to accept him being in the picture because Sol wasn't going to give him up.
Nagging worry hovered in the back of her mind. Gabe had to be okay. He had promised to return to her. But after days of waiting, there was still no communication from the Treaty.
With a twinge of misgiving, Sol recalled her last conversation with Te', over tea in the safari splendor of Gellico's room.
Te’ smiled over her cup, and Sol felt that, perhaps, they were on the way to their former closeness, but Te's next question caused her heart to skip. “Do you think the baby will have either an empath's ability or a tranq's?"
Shocked, Sol remained at a loss for words. She'd never given the idea any thought. Finally, she exhaled a long breath. Bloody hell, she hoped her son had neither. She had answered Te’ with the inane response that all she cared about was that the baby was healthy.
For several hours after Te's departure, Sol's mind spun with the possibilities of what her offspring might inherit from two Chakkra bloodlines. The idea was disturbing, but maybe not so bad. An empath would be like Gabe and a tranq would be like her. Suddenly, she laughed. Either way, she could live with it. Then her worry centered on what Gabe might be facing at this very moment. Her heart raced at the thought of the danger on Hydra. That—that man. Oooh, just wait until she got her hands on him again. She stomped around Gelli's rooms, mad at her and then at Gabe for leaving her behind. He needed her protection, the bloody diplomat. He didn't know what he faced on Hydra. Never had she worried for so long over things beyond her control. She hadn't been herself since that night at the Pleasure Dome.
A sharp kick to her ribs brought Sol out of her misery. Her eyes widened with a sudden enlightening thought. She really should be thanking the Pleasure Dome, Gabe, Te’ and the clinic, and, yes, even her wormhole dyslexia. If just one thing had been different, Sol might not be carrying the precious bundle of joy in her womb. Another sharp jab stole her breath. Sol ran her hand in a circling caress, and swore she felt a comforting response. Perhaps it was just wistful thinking on her part. She again recalled Te's goodbye. Somehow, her sister's words rang false.
Te'angel had smiled knowingly, smoothed her already perfect, slick-braided hair and kissed Sol on both cheeks. “I've got to go, kiddo. Take care; I'll call you as soon as I know anything."
"You're going home?” Sol questioned.
She hadn't liked the way her sister averted her gaze or the way she hedged, “Soon, yes.” Te's had given her another quick hug. “You'll hear soon."
After Te left, thoughts of the future kept Sol from thinking too hard about what could be happening to Gabe and his mission, but nighttime became the time for nightmares. And Soledad was always a great one for nightmares. She sank deep into them.
Cordite gasses filled the Guild's ship's corridors with the remnant of spent explosives. Confused bellowing and frantic yells rang out. In the chaos, grim-faced Marines ran through the narrow byways, followed by a frantic Gellico and Asher. All carried a full accompaniment of battle gear. Guns, knives, lasers, and radio helmets bounced on tense uniformed bodies. Their thick boots pounded out a cacophony on the ribbed decking. What had gone wrong? Where was Gabriel?
Asher's voice boomed through the mayhem. He snarled into his shoulder radio, “I don't care what it takes, Brubaker. Find him. That ship had to leave a signature behind. Get a fix on it, Lieutenant!"
The man's radio reply of “Aye, aye, Sir!” was barely audible over the scream of alarms and thumping through the corridor. Gellico knelt next to a spray of dark fluid that spattered the pristine military green in front of the ship's air lock. And there was a lot of spray, too much to come from just one man, one commander. But some of it was most assuredly his. Gelli ran her finger through the spots then raised dark eyes filled with dread to Asher's. Her voice shook.
"Sol's going to kill us for letting him get hurt."
"We may not be alive for her to kill when this is over, Miss de Marco.” Asher's voice reflected the grimness of their predicament. “I don't know how those convicts could have gotten their hands on a galactic battle cruiser, much less, why they felt the need to snatch the commander.” He shook his head and thumbed off the safety on his rifle.
"Did they know Merriweather was coming with a treaty offer?"
Asher shook his head, “No. We weren't in transmission range of Hydra yet. But someone knew.” His icy eyes narrowed. “Someone doesn't want us to succeed with this mission.” His speculative gaze grew even more thoughtful, more chilling. “We have to rescue Gabriel—then go after the sonofabitch that doesn't want this treaty. We owe him that much."
"Easy for you to say, Major."
"What's the matter, Miss de Marco? Not up to the challenge?” A hint of humor colored Asher's words.
Gellico laughed; a hollow sound in the ship's corridor. “I'm up to anything you are, Major. Lead the way.” Her dark gaze grew more haunted.
Asher ducked into the loading bay of a fighter with Gellico on his heels. Blackness surrounded them.
Sol jerked awake. Her nightshirt stuck her skin. This was just another nightmare. Right? It had to be. She cursed the dream and tugged her sweaty clothes over her head. Just a nightmare, right?
She swore again and threw her nightshirt across the room. “Damn you, Gabriel Merriweather. So help me, if you get hurt, I'll kill you myself."
Sol was still grumbling when fatigue overcame her in the last hour before dawn. This time her sleep was free of nightmares.
* * * *
Gabriel swiped his bound forearms across his forehead, flinched at the sting and blinked his sticky blood from his vision. Impossible to stop the head wound's steady blood flow entirely, but he could alter it by tilting his head. Now the blood dripped more to the side of his face than into his eyes. His head throbbed abominably. His thinking remained clouded, surreal. Had he called up his Chakkra blood and lost himself in battle against overwhelming odds? Did he really let warrior haze overtake him after all these years? The last time Gabe had felt such pain, done such violence, was long ago. Had he fought Chakkra in truth or were they ghosts from the past?
Gabriel gave himself up to the oblivion of memory and was drawn back to his childhood on Chakkra.
There was no safe place on Chakkra's savage world for a half-human boy. Heavy-armed, ham-fisted, vicious dark warriors surrounded Gabriel on all sides for everyday of his existence. Punches, kicks and slaps became his daily routine. No warrior let the opportunity to inflict pain on him go by. Over the years, every limb on Gabriel's body, including his nose, was broken. His bottom front teeth grew in crooked from shattered baby teeth. His heart turned bitter, and still he persevered. Even the medic who treated Gabe's broken body managed to inflict more pain than necessary when setting his bones. The only reason the medic helped at all was because the king commanded it.
The great king, Gabe's grand sire, actually believed Gabe was just a clumsy, weak-limbed human boy despite his half Chakkra lineage. Gabe never told the king any different. In fact, he conversed as little as possible with all of them. He knew the warriors waited for him to flinch, to cry out or beg for mercy, or better yet, for him to petition his grand sire for help. Gabe didn't give them the satisfaction.
In silence, for every bruise he suffered, he learned avoidance. For every broken bone, he stored up his hate. For every drop of spilled blood, he kept a tally. All his injuries taught Gabriel battle hardness.
In their cruelty, the warriors unintentionally showed Gabriel their best skills. Gabe gave them only a token battle. He fought just enough for the warriors to become disgusted with his weak defense and lack of aggression, and they left him alone in Chakkra shame. But as Gabriel gave the Chakkra one thing, he took another. He learned warrior fighting techniques
from the best of them. In his teens, he perfected his newly acquired empathy and learned to read the warriors like an open book. And Gabe never forgot his parents or the manner of their deaths. He was determined that someday, when he grew big enough, all of Chakkra would pay.
For years, Gabriel practiced their battle moves in secret and honed his skills. He learned to control and call up his great hatred. He used it to call on battle rage. Finally, when he was nineteen, the longed for day arrived—it was time.
Fresh from a battle victory, jubilant warriors surrounded Gabe, poking him with their great war weapons and laughing from their lofty heights. He absorbed as much as he could, letting his anger slowly build. Steadily, his hate grew, and using his anger to their taunts, Gabe called on his warrior rage. His hot blood surged through his veins. Red filled his vision. His muscles swelled with power. Finally, with a savage roar that shook clouds of dust off the high rafters, Gabe drew himself up to the full height he had grown into, not quite as tall as the others but formidable. Twin, sharp, curved blades danced in his nimble fingers. As a half-human, Gabriel was more adept with his hands than the blunt-fisted warriors. The curved short swords he'd welded were different too. He had adapted them from the Rigelian traders’ weapons that the Chakkra scoffed at, but Gabe knew better than to scorn something just because it was different. His Chakkra battle rage was also better. Years of stored hate had honed it to perfection.
As he slashed and danced among the crowd of warriors, Gabriel's blades flew like butterflies and stung like bees He neither felt the cuts that nicked his body nor cared if he lived or died. He also felt no remorse for the great globs of warrior blood and flesh that flew from his blades. Chunks of Chakkra warriors littered the floor, but Gabe kept carving, even as he slipped and slid on the gore. Shrill cries rent the air, roars of the wounded, but Gabe heard nothing until his grand sire fired the staff of justice. The staff boomed amid the roaring in Gabe's ears.
In the sudden quiet, the red rage finally faded from Gabriel's vision although his pulse still throbbed in his hearing. His chest rose and fell, and he desperately sucked air into his lungs. His bloody kin, those still standing, glared at him. They moved together and, as one, stepped toward him. Gabe sucked in another deep breath, knowing this was his last.
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