Ontarian Chronicles 2: Operation Hydra

by Cyndi Friberg

  “You can say anything you like. I was just explaining my plan.”

  She blessed the wall behind her, seriously doubting her legs would have supported her. When he turned, she pressed her hand over her chest, amazed at the heat of her skin. Was her entire body flushed?

  “As far as Meditek goes, I don’t really have a plan. We don’t know if I-219 is a person, place or thing. I’m going to walk up to the information desk and ask for directions to I-219. Hopefully, the response of the receptionist will give me some clue what I’m looking for.”

  “Wait.” He spun and she collided with him. “You’re an alien.” His hands cupped her bottom. She swatted them away.

  “And?”

  “No, that’s the plan. When you approach the information desk thicken your accent, make it sound like you can barely speak Earthish.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, and his hands moved to her hips. “It won’t seem as suspicious if I’m struggling with a language barrier.”

  “Yes. Oh, I wish I could just go with you.”

  “We can’t risk it. But you can play voyeur.”

  Pushing against his chest, she raised her gaze to his face. “Voyeur?”

  He grinned, his even teeth starkly white against his bronze-toned skin. “I’ll show you.” He retrieved a small device from the pocket of his jacket and opened it, revealing a small vidscreen. “I’ll send my com signal here and you can monitor everything that happens. I’ll be able to hear you as well, but obviously it won’t always be possible to respond.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Well, let the games begin.”

  Krysta watched his retreating form, fascinated by the confidence in his stride. His movements stopped just short of swaggering. She smiled. No, there was a bit of a swagger in there, too.

  * * * * *

  Bless the gods of the day moon, the receptionist was female. Trey slipped off his jacket, summoned his most charming smile and approached the information station.

  The dark-haired woman’s slender fingers flew across the smooth surface of her workstation, her brown gaze never leaving the vidscreen inset in the hutch style desk, preventing visitors from seeing the display. Trey cleared his throat and she raised one elaborately painted, long-nailed finger, silently staving him off. Her fingers paused and she raised her gaze.

  “How may I...”

  Trey folded his arms onto of the hutch, leaning slightly toward her.

  “You poser.” Krysta’s voice whispered across the comlink and directly into his ear, but he focused on the receptionist.

  “How may I help you, sir?” The receptionist completed, after licking her lips.

  “You are a pleasing to know.” Deepening his voice to a throaty growl, he pronounced each word with a thick Ontarian cadence. He reached across the desk and gently drew the bewildered receptionist to her feet. Pulling her hand to his mouth, he kissed the inside of her wrist, his gaze never leaving hers. “Lord Lay Tonn.”

  Her dark eyes rounded, her bright red lips formed an O. “What can I do for you, Lord Lay Tonn?”

  “I am the need to knowing I-219.”

  She flashed an eloquent smile. “The Companion Emporium is up on three. It has its own entrance, but you can get there from here.” Happily skirting the desk, she wrapped her arm around Trey’s bicep and led him to the nearest info screen. “Companion Emporium,” she said, and a blue line illuminated in the wall. “Just follow the line.”

  “My thanks are many.” He kissed her knuckles in farewell. Striding down a hallway, he rounded a corner, following the blue line.

  “That -- trollop couldn’t wait to get her hands on you,” Krysta grumbled. “The Emporium operator better be male.”

  Trey glanced around to make sure he was alone before he spoke. “You know what this Emporium is?”

  “Yeah, it’s basically a shopping center,” Krysta explained as he walked. “People program elaborate simulations and rent them to other people. Some are games, with rules and objectives. Some are fantasy situations. There are clubs with themes, like different eras in time, reenacting famous battles, living history.”

  “You think I-219 is one of these programs?”

  “Go up those stairs, Lord Lay Tonn, and we’ll find out.”

  The slender young man behind the counter in the Companion Emporium took one look at Trey and turned petulant. His shoulders squared, his green eyes narrowed, and his head cocked at an angle that would have made Trey redress any of his crewmembers. Trey waited for the customary greeting, but the youth just watched him with hostile green eyes.

  “This should be fun.” Krysta’s voice chimed in his ear.

  Her amusement doubled Trey’s determination. Turning to the brat, he realized the situation called for a different strategy.

  “Good morning, kind sir.” He made his words easier to understand, but retained an Ontarian inflection. “It is to your fine establishment that I have been referred by a friend.”

  “Gotcha,” the clerk said. “Newbie. Had you pegged as a first-timer when you walked through the door.”

  Trey inclined his head to hide his smirk. “I place myself in your competent hands. I am to request I-219.”

  “Well, let me see what I can find.” He ambled to his terminal and worked for a moment. “That’s an instructional program. Do you want me to trigger the simulation while you’re here?”

  “I will purchase only I-219 today.”

  “This is weird,” he muttered. “Doesn’t seem to be a corresponding sim anyway. Must give several suggestions at the end of the lesson. Do you have a control module? Can’t run this without one. We’ve got them new and used.”

  “I have a control module.”

  “Then scan your hand and give me the SAT ID of your control mod.”

  Trey withdrew his voucher card and handed it to the clerk.

  “Oh, you’re not coded.”

  He sounded so condescending Trey imagined dragging the little monster across the counter and teaching him some manners. “I travel far beyond your... world. My means of commerce must be intergalactic.”

  The clerk glared and went beck to his station. “Your SAT ID?”

  “Pretend to look at something written on your hand.” Krysta coached. “Now tell him Cassiopeia Nine-SW. User: #124.”

  Tal carefully repeated the sequence.

  “You should have waited to mouth off until after he sent the file,” Krysta whispered.

  Waiting until the clerk was occupied with the transmission, Tal whispered in return, “I’ll wait until after he sends the file to kick his ass.”

  “Temper, temper.”

  * * * * *

  Krysta paced the passenger cabin, wondering if the clerk’s transmission had been worth the trip. “I hate this. It could be nothing or it could be something incredibly important.”

  “And you won’t know for another four hours and forty-five minutes. How will you survive?”

  Shooting him a playful glower, she tossed her long blonde hair. “Thank you for doing this. Patience has never been my strongest virtue.”

  “Come here.”

  He stood near the viewport, a silent reminder of his ignoble intentions. “Why?”

  “Because I want to talk about your virtue.”

  She laughed, her toes curling into the thick carpeting. “Somehow, I don’t think talking is what you have in mind.”

  “If I come over there it will be a much shorter conversation.”

  Glancing at the bed directly behind her, she realized his meaning. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

  “Come here and I’ll make sure you’re ready.”

  She took two tentative steps toward him, more to get away from the bed than to reach him. “You look like a brigand with your hair like that. It makes me wonder... if I want you to stop, will you?”

  With one angry jerk he unbound his hair and shook it free, but the dye still accented his solid obsidian eyes. “Krysta, come here.” His tone cajoled, compelled
her toward him.

  He stayed against the wall, but pulled her near, not stopping until her skirts brushed his legs.

  “You know how badly I want you. But I won’t touch you unless you want this too. I’ve never forced a woman. I can’t imagine anyone finding pleasure in such a way.”

  She only feared the unknown and she’d wanted Trey since she first saw him. Why was she fighting her own desire? Without a word, she began unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it from his trousers as she went. He was so beautifully made, she was eager to touch him, to explore his muscular torso.

  He allowed her to strip him to the waist before he framed her face with his hands and gently kissed her. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

  “I don’t know if I can wait,” she whispered.

  Chuckling softly, he pulled her into his arms. The first, brief kiss didn’t prepare her for the deep, sweeping intimacy of the second. His lips melded with hers, moving over and against them, urging them apart.

  She accepted the slow penetration of his tongue, even encouraged him, but soon he claimed her, possessed her. Overwhelmed, she pushed against his chest, but he didn’t budge. She tried to turn her head and his fingers tightened in her hair. He pulled her head back. His mouth moved to the arch of her throat.

  “Trey,” she murmured, half protest, half plea.

  Ruthlessly tugging the laces, his hand slipped inside her loosened gown, cupping her breast, squeezing her firmly. Krysta moaned.

  “All I’ve been able to think about is the fact that you’re naked beneath this damn dress.”

  His breath fanned her skin, hot and moist. Pressing against him, the ache within her intensified. She felt his fingers working frantically, pulling her skirt up along her legs. Then, his hand touched her bare skin, stroking her from knee to hip in one unbroken motion. Rocking restlessly against him, everything she did expanded the tension, spread the heat.

  “Your skin is amazing.” He groaned, his hand wandering freely under her skirts. He touched her legs and hips and thoroughly explored her rounded bottom.

  She clutched his shoulders, trembling, needing to sit, or better yet, lay down. His mouth moved against the sensitive skin along her throat and his hand slipped between their bodies, covering her feminine curls. Jerking and stiffening, she tried not to fear this new intimacy.

  His long middle finger slipped between her folds and found a place so exquisitely sensitive Krysta cried out. Her eyes flew open and met his gleaming black gaze. Something was wrong. His eyes were wrong! They looked as they had always looked, and yet she knew they were wrong.

  “Trey.” She forced his name past the dryness in her throat, embarrassed by the way it cracked. “I can’t do this.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and his head rolled back, thudding against the wall. She stepped back, but his hand closed around her skirt, preventing her escape. “I’ll slow down. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Tugging her skirt out of his light grasp, she moved farther away. He looked at her, his black gaze unsettling her all the more. “I can’t.”

  “Why?” His voice rasped harsh with frustration. “Are you going to try and convince me you don’t want me?”

  “No. I want you very much. But sometimes wanting isn’t enough.”

  He muttered several words she couldn’t understand. “I wish to the gods of the day moon I was this brigand you call me.”

  He stomped toward the bathroom and she braced for the door slam. He didn’t disappoint. She hadn’t called him a brigand, she’d said his disguise made him look like a brigand. But why had his eyes seemed hollow and cold? She needed to see warmth and passion, but all she’d seen was the same unchanging black gleam.

  Covering her face with her hands, she willed the tension within her to ease. That hadn’t ended well at all. She hadn’t meant to make him angry -- again. But something about him seemed wrong and she couldn’t just keep her eyes closed and pretend. Maybe she could make him understand. Maybe if she explained what she was feeling, he’d confess what he was hiding.

  Quickly fastening the front of her gown, she tapped on the bathroom door. No response. She knocked a bit louder. Silence. Concerned now, she tried the handle. It rotated smoothly in her hand and she slipped into the bathroom.

  Trey stood in the shower stall, his arms braced against the wall, head bowed as water saturated his soapy hair and rolled in rivulets down his muscular body. The bottom half of the stall was frosted, but the sculpted perfection of his back, shoulders and arms would keep her dreaming for months.

  “Get naked and get in here or get the hell out,” he groused without turning around.

  Not a good start. “I want to explain why I got upset. I didn’t mean to make you angry, but --”

  “I thought I made your options clear.” His fingers flexed against the tiles. He shifted his weight restlessly. “You want to talk, fine. But you do it naked and in here with me.”

  He didn’t think she’d do it. Silly man. Half of her hesitation had been caused by the change in his appearance. His hair was again its multi-colored glory. She wasn’t afraid of Trey dar Aune. She loosened the laces and stepped out of the gown, hanging it on the large hook beside the towel rack. Pulling open the door, she stumbled awkwardly into the shower; too busy gawking to notice she needed to step over the threshold.

  His broad, corded back narrowed dramatically to lean, solid hips. The bunch and flex of his tight buttocks fascinated her as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Long, thickly muscled legs supported the whole perfect body and Krysta wanted to start with his toes and work her way up -- slowly.

  “Lady, I’ve tried to be honorable. I’ve tried to be kind. You’re about to meet the brigand face to face.”

  Krysta’s heart pounded with resounding applause. He flipped his hair out of his face, sending water everywhere. Stumbling back, she shivered as her back touched the slick shower stall.

  He turned slowly, menacingly. She stood straighter, her toes digging into the softly giving floor. Her eyes met his and she gasped. Like pools of swirling honey, shot through with molten gold, his thick-lashed amber eyes met her gaze and held. On the peak of his sharp cheekbone rested a thin piece of some black substance. She snatched the convex film from his skin and examined it for a second, before flicking it from her fingertip.

  “They usually stay on in the shower. This has more water pressure than I’m accustomed to.”

  He hadn’t meant to show her. He’d meant to allow her to continue doubting her gift, her very sanity for the sake of... what? What did he gain by keeping this from her?

  This was the final insult. Widening her stance, she let the familiar twist of fury take her, welcomed its icy grasp. She tightly clenched her fist and waited until his gaze drifted back to hers.

  “You cowardly son of a bitch!” she yelled, and punched him right in his swirling amber eye.

  Chapter Twelve

  Blinded by the pain ricocheting through his head, Trey staggered back, colliding with the cold, slick wall of the shower. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted.

  “You’re a pathetic excuse for a hero,” Krysta snapped in return.

  He heard her palm slap the door panel and a sudden rush of cold air told him where she went. His eye burned and his cheekbone throbbed, but he stumbled after her.

  “Krysta!”

  It was past time they put this pretence behind them. He wrapped a towel around his hips and hurried into the outer room. She stood in front of one massive viewport, staring out at the Earth below. An occasional cloud sped by, obscuring her view, but he doubted she saw any of it.

  She’d donned a pink robe bearing the hotel’s logo. Reflected on the surface of the viewport, he could see her face as she mechanically dragged a brush through her damp hair. Anger still burned in her swirling gaze, but the faint trembling of her lips revealed her vulnerability.

  “You’re like me.” She didn’t turn around, but her gaze shifted, meeting his. “How can you play
Hydran’s games when you’re one of us?”

  “It’s because I’m one of you that I’m forced to play Hydran’s games. I came here to --”

  “How has he forced you to do anything?” She spun to face him. “You’ve been his willing accomplice. You’ve --”

  “You don’t know enough about me to cast judgment. All you know is that I’ve disguised the appearance of my eyes.” He snatched the brush out of her hand. Her temper could ignite like a solar flare.

  She clutched the front of the robe and glared at him, her swirling purple gaze searching his face. “Why did you lie to me?”

  “If there is even the possibility that Hydran could find out what you know, then it was safer for you to believe the masquerade was real.”

  “Safer for whom?”

  “Safer for everyone.” He tightened the towel. He should have grabbed a robe or at least his pants. This was an awkward outfit for an argument. “Hydran might be able to access your memory. You don’t know what’s going on in ward D, and neither do I. How many of the occupants are empathic? Do you think you can hide your excitement from all of them?”

  She combed her fingers through her hair, then crossed her arms over her chest. “I saw you in my vision. I saw you vanquish the Hydra, triumphant and heroic. Your hair flew all around your face, and at one point, I saw your eyes. I saw your real eyes.”

  Her voice sounded hollow, desolate. He tried to touch her face, to let her know she wasn’t alone. She turned away.

  “He told us the same genetic abnormality that gives us our powers causes our eyes to appear this way. Every person I’ve ever known who has unusual abilities also has these abnormal eyes.”

  Unable to ignore the pain in her beautiful Ontarian eyes, Trey moved closer. His need to touch her was surpassed only by his need to pummel Hydran. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not abnormal; you’re Ontarian.”

  “Just like you,” she whispered.

  She covered her face with her hands and Trey couldn’t stand it any longer. If she punched him again, so be it; he had to touch her, attempt to comfort her. Slowly, stealthily, he slipped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest.