They sat on a pair of high stools at the counter, contentedly ingesting sugar, and ignoring the sleepy teenager manning the small ice cream parlor. Rys was only half-way through the sherbet and wondering how he was going to finish the rest, when an incoming call buzzed through.
An ominous premonition descended on him as he coded the mental command to answer. This is Savar.
“Arystair!” There was no mistaking Jeremy Bloch’s voice. “Where are you? Brandon just came home with the most ridiculous sounding story I’ve ever heard.”
Rys groaned and buried his head in his hands. Yes, sir, I imagine that he did.
“What is it?” Anne asked in alarm, the spoon hovering in midair.
“Brandon went home carrying tales of his version of our night out on the town,” Rys answered succinctly.
“Oh. Crap.”
“Yeah, that covers it.” He was distracted from saying anything else by the Admiral’s response.
“You didn’t answer my question. Where are you?”
Fifth Street. I’m with Anne Dorian.
There was a long pause. “What on earth are you doing with Anne Dorian? Brandon made it sound like you stormed off into the country somewhere alone.”
Sir…your son is probably cutting out a story from a bolt of white cloth. The truth is…the truth is considerably uglier.
“I believe I knew that.” Jeremy’s voice was very grim. “Arystair, you need to get home quickly. Should I come to get you?”
No, Anne will bring me. And I think…I think she needs to be there for this. Not for anyone else’s sake, just for his. Sometimes, the only thing that felt sane to Rys these days was Anne.
“No problem, just come ASAP.”
I am on my way, sir. Rys cut the connection and turned his head. “Anne, we need to go.”
“I figured as much.” Immediately hopping off the stool, with one final bite of her ice cream, she led the way back outside to her car. “Do you just want me to drop you off?” she asked quietly, giving him the option.
“Negative. I would appreciate it if you would come inside with me.” he added softly, giving her the chance to dodge the approaching storm. “I’m not exactly sure…how this is going to go down. What can I say to them? This is going to be a major blow.”
She paused with her key in the ignition. “Are you afraid that they won’t believe you?” She sounded momentarily indignant.
“No, I am confident they will believe me. That is the problem.” The evidence that he could provide would be devastating. “But this…as much as Brandon can be a pain and a disappointment, he is still their son.”
“Not much of a son,” she mumbled to herself, starting the car up.
“Agreed,” he nodded, absently rubbing a hand over his neck.
The drive to the Bloch house was silent, they were both lost in their own thoughts. Anne did resume her possessive grip on his hand, which was far more comforting to Rys than she probably realized. That warm soft hand felt like a Durasteel lifeline to him, which was exactly what he needed. He knew he was in way over his head.
Every light on the first floor of the house was blazing. At this time of night, that wasn’t an encouraging sign. Rys led the way in through the front door, Anne close on his heels.
Jeremy was pacing restlessly around the living room, but stopped when they walked in. Sara was seated in a chair, hands knotted together nervously. Brandon, looking only faintly worried at Rys’s appearance, was sprawled on the couch.
It was only the three of them waiting in the living room; the rest of the family was conspicuously absent. Rys assumed that Brandon hadn’t mentioned the involvement of his friends in whatever flight of fancy he had concocted.
“Out with your girlfriend pretty late, aren’t you, Mr. Perfect?” Brandon sneered.
“Brandon, shut up!” Jeremy snapped. “Miss Dorian, I appreciate you bringing Rys home.”
“I’m happy to do it, Admiral Bloch,” Anne returned curtly. “After what almost happened tonight, I’m very glad to be able to bring Rys home.”
Brandon sat up again with his mouth open to speak, but with the dark glare from his father, he faltered and slumped back into a sullen silence.
“What do you mean by that, Miss Dorian?” Jeremy asked with quiet intensity, picking up every nuance and intonation in her voice with the practiced skill of a military analyst.
Rys shook his head at her. “Anne, it is better to display this first hand, instead of trying to explain it.”
“Display?” she repeated in confusion. “Do you have proof of what happened tonight?”
“Yes I do.” Rys replied matter-of-factly, and gave Jeremy a pointed look. “Sir, as of this moment, I am fully disclosing everything to Anne and your wife. They have the necessary clearance, and they deserve a more complete explanation than what they’ve been provided so far.”
Jeremy Bloch hadn’t become an Admiral just because of his longevity and seniority. He suddenly understood what Rys meant, and the blood drained from his face. “Guardians,” he choked out, closing his eyes. “Of course, your optic replacement recorded everything that took place tonight, didn’t it?”
“His artificial eye,” Sara breathed in realization. “I almost forgot about that.”
“What are you talking about?” Brandon demanded. “Doesn’t that fake eye of his just let him see?”
“It does a great deal more than that.” Rys allowed him a feral smile. “Actually, that is probably the least of what it can do. It can also zoom in at enormous distances, act as a camera recording real time events, or switch to infrared to allow for optimal night vision.”
At the word “camera” Brandon froze in dawning horror.
Rys gestured to the slim, black laptop on the coffee table. “Sir, if I may?”
Jeremy drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Go ahead.”
It took only moments to boot the computer up and download the fifteen minute video file from his chip to the laptop. When it was finished, he swung the screen around so that everyone could see it, and hit play.
Then he deliberately stepped out of the way, distancing himself from that computer, as it faithfully related the events of the evening.
Rys did not watch their expressions—he couldn’t. Seeing the growing pain and horror on their faces would have felt like someone was twisting a knife in his own chest. Instead, he watched Brandon. Seeing stark fear frozen on his face was an entirely different experience. He wasn’t gloating or euphoric, he just felt vindicated.
Yeah, you thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? Then you thought you would twist this mess to your advantage after all. You’d make a pathetic soldier, Brandon. You always come up short, because you fail to do enough research on your enemies.
As honed in as he was on Brandon, it was impossible to miss the soul wrenching sound of Sara starting to cry or Anne’s horrified gasps. He had a feeling he would be attending a complete lecture series about recklessness—from all three of them.
When it was over, Jeremy quietly closed the laptop with a soft, ominous click. “What did you show them, Arystair, when you took your shirt off?”
Rys had hoped that the camera angle wouldn’t catch that subtle movement. Nuts! “It was my battle scars, a dose of mute testimony to back up my claim.”
“I saw the looks on their faces, Arystair. Those boys were terrified by whatever it was you showed them.” Jeremy’s face could have been carved from stone.
If it had only been the Admiral in the room, Rys wouldn’t have hesitated. But he remembered how Sara had reacted to the inconsequential scar near his eye. Anne hadn’t had a much better reaction, when she noticed it. The chest…would be worse, a whole lot worse.
Feeling suddenly cornered, he shot a look of desperation at Anne, willing her to leave the room, or at least look away. “Anne?”
Tears were standing in her eyes, but her chin was set in a stubborn line that he knew all too well. “I want to know, too.”
Ann
e could probably take it. He was not so sure about Sara. Running a hand roughly through his hair, he blew out a frustrated breath, and squared up his shoulders as he reached for his buttons. “All right then, but I want all three of you to keep in mind that I am fine. There’s nothing wrong with me. These are just scars; I don’t feel any discomfort from them. There is nothing to worry about.”
“That disclaimer of yours is not helping us to feel any better, Rys,” Anne gritted out. “Just lose the shirt.”
He gave up. If Sara did faint, he was certain that Jeremy was close enough to catch her before she hit the floor. With no other recourse left to him, he complied, unbuttoned the shirt and took it off.
Jeremy’s was by far the calmest reaction. He took one long look and just covered his eyes with his hand, having seen enough. Sara didn’t faint as he feared, but she turned away and started sobbing into her hands.
Anne…Anne’s face was so stricken that he felt his heart constrict in his chest. He quickly crossed the room to her, lifting her chin so that she had to look into his eyes. “Anne, take deep breaths. This is just a physical memory, all right? It doesn’t hurt me!”
“Rys, those are bullet holes in you!” she protested, tears finally slipping down her cheeks.
“One or two,” he admitted. More like six or seven. “But I had great doctors. Honest, I’m fine. It just looks a little busy.”
“I can certainly understand why it rattled them so badly, and shocked them into backing off.” Jeremy’s tone was black and hollow. “It certainly would have taken more than one bullet to stop you, wouldn’t it?”
“Jeremy, don’t even say that!” Sara wailed, fighting for control. “I don’t want that poor boy to ever be shot again—especially not by my own son.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Jeremy growled behind clenched teeth, his eyes drilling into Brandon.
Rys decided slipping his shirt back on would help calm everyone down. He quickly dove back into it, keeping a wary eye on his best friend as he did so. There was definitely another lecture about weapons and self-preservation in the making behind her eyes.
Jeremy was shaking with the rage he was fighting to contain, his expression like an ominous thunderhead spiking up about forty thousand feet. “Miss Dorian, I assume you found Rys on the road after all this happened?”
“Yes, I did,” she confirmed.
“Thank the Guardians for that,” Sara whispered. “Otherwise he might still be wandering out there alone, and we wouldn’t know it.”
“That’s true,” Jeremy agreed. The look he turned on his son made Brandon shrink back into the couch, as if he was trying to disappear. “Life is going to be a little kinder to you, Brandon, because of Miss Dorian. Knowing that Arystair is safe is the only thing that is keeping me from flaying you alive.”
“Jeremy, before you start, I think we need to call the other parents of those boys.” Sara wiped her face dry with a tissue. “They should be aware of what happened tonight, so they can take steps too.”
It took the Admiral a moment to regain his control, and shift his focus. “Yes, of course, you’re right, Sara. Arystair.”
Rys jerked his attention back to the Admiral. “Sir?”
“We have a lot to straighten out here tonight. After I’m done with him, Brandon might well attempt to murder you in your sleep. Can you stay with one of your Lieutenants, just for tonight? Being threatened with death once is more than enough for one day.”
“He will stay with me,” Anne declared firmly, cutting him off.
Normally Rys wouldn’t have argued with that, but he still had this firm conviction that she was going to read him the riot act once they were out of ear shot. He would rather face Sergeant Barrett. “I don’t…”
Anne’s eyes cut to him, like a laser carving ice. “You’re staying with me.”
Rys knew when he was beaten. “Yes ma’am.”
“And if you ‘ma’am’ me one more time, I will leave a lasting reminder not to do it again.”
Rys figured a hasty retreat was definitely in order; discretion was indeed the better part of valor. “I’ll go pack.”
“Good idea.” Anne gave Brandon a look that could only be described as lethal. If her eyes were weapons, Brandon would be dead many times over. “I would like to have a chat with Brandon while you do that.”
Despite what happened tonight, Rys could almost feel sorry for the kid. Anne was as dangerous as a large wounded animal when she felt one of hers had been wronged.
Rys had no idea what she said, but by the time that he thundered back down the stairs a mere five minutes later, Brandon appeared to have shrunk in stature, and was cowering behind a huge couch pillow. Mental note to self: stay on this woman’s good side at all costs.
Anne looked up when she heard him, and nodded. “Let’s go.”
Rys had no intention of arguing, and trailed her out the door.
It was quiet, very quiet in the car. Actually, the silence was so profound that it was loud. He kept darting nervous looks in her direction, but Anne could have morphed into stone, for all the expression she was displaying.
When you don’t know what the enemy is up to, Sergeant Barrett always pounded into them, shut up, keep your eyes open, and wait.
Anne wasn’t the enemy by any stretch of the imagination, but she was definitely angry. An angry woman was one of the most dangerous creatures anywhere. They were unpredictable, and the lengths they would go to express their anger was beyond comprehension.
Rys steeled his nerves, and just shut up and waited for the opening volley.
“Rys.” That simple syllable was as thunderous as cannon fire.
He swallowed involuntarily. “Yes?”
“Why didn’t you call for backup?”
I was desperately hoping she wouldn’t think to ask me that question. “I did not believe anyone could get there fast enough to make a difference,” he answered. It was the truth, for the most part.
She frowned slightly as she considered his words, but didn’t respond, at least not immediately. “Why didn’t you call anyone after it happened?”
“I was undecided if I should call someone, and who to call if I did. I was in the process of trying to figure out the best way to approach the situation when you showed up.”
That was not the answer she wanted to hear. “Rys, in this circumstance you should have called someone, anyone, all right? You most certainly should have called me, if you weren’t sure of what to do.”
“I will remember that next time,” he assured her, with honest sincerity.
“There isn’t going to be a next time.” The glare she shot him could have melted the hull of a deep space cruiser with one blast. “Because you’re going to avoid situations like this in the future, aren’t you?”
“I will certainly make every effort.”
“Effort,” she repeated in a rolling grumble. “Guardians! You need a keeper,” she stated flatly.
“Are you volunteering?” he teased, hoping he saw an opening to defuse their conversation.
“I’m not kidding, Rys.”
“Neither was I.” There, he had said it; the ball was squarely in her court.
She pulled up into her driveway, smoothly transiting into the garage with the ease of long practice. When the car was parked and turned off, she turned to face him. “Will you allow me to watch out for you? I depend on you so much, for so many things I can’t even name off hand, but you never let me return the favor.”
Rys could not believe what he was hearing. “Anne, are you serious?! I can’t begin to list all of the ways that you’ve helped me since we met. It’s because of you that I’ve found my center again, that I’ve learned how to cope with this culture. How can it be possible that you don’t see the influence you have already had on me?”
Her mouth opened, as if she wanted to say something, but no sound came out.
“Anne,” he said in clear exasperation. “What do you call what you’re doing right now, if not t
rying to help me?”
“Um, keeping you away from Brandon?” she responded slowly, clearly not wanting to concede any points.
This amused him a little. Just who was protecting whom? “Well, that’s one perspective. I think—”
The door entering the house from the garage opened, and a familiar, lithe red headed figure appeared in the doorway. “Anne, are you home?”
Anne got out of the car. Rys followed her lead and got out as well, slinging his backpack onto one shoulder as he did.
“Oh, Rys, you’re with Anne too.” Rosalita looked back and forth between them, taking in the backpack, surmising something was up.
“There’s…a problem at the Bloch house,” Anne explained in stiff tones. “Rys is going to be staying here with us tonight. I’m not sure how long it’s going to take to resolve the problem.”
“Oh dear, is it serious?”
There’s was no trace of humor in Anne’s smile. “Yes, very serious.”
Rosalita was an astute woman. She knew when to stop asking questions. “The guest room is ready. Are either of you hungry?”
“No, we’re fine,” Rys assured her.
Rosalita gave them a nod and quickly doubled back into the house.
Rys didn’t think Rosita’s interruption had ended the conversation with Anne. She didn’t let things go that easily. There was something else bothering her, and he wanted it out of the way before he actually went into the house. “What else is bothering you?” he probed quietly.
“Your chest.” She took in a deep, steadying breath. “I realize now that you’ve taken great pains to never let me see you without a shirt on. Even when we were swimming together. Why? Did you think I would be repulsed or something?”
“Or something,” he admitted. “It unnerved you and Sara to just know about the eye. I knew that your reaction to my chest would be a lot worse. I wanted…to spare you that, I guess. I hate seeing you two cry over me.”
“I want to know the good and the bad, Rys.” Her voice was painfully level, with what effort he could not guess. “The only reason those scars bother me is because they make me realize just how many times I almost lost you before I even had the chance to meet you. That I can handle. What I don’t like is that you feel you have to keep things from me, that I’m too delicate to cope with the darker side of your life.”
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