by David Ryker
“Bet you had no idea what was coming back then,” he said.
“Oh, and you did?” she asked, sipping her wine.
He shrugged. “I always knew I was destined for greatness.”
Chelsea struggled to keep from snorting her wine out her nose. She slapped him again, harder this time.
“Stop it!” she finally gasped. “That hurt!”
“The truth always hurts.”
That set her off into a gale of giggles, and he soon joined her. Soon she was leaning over and propping herself on his shoulder. He didn’t try to move. They stayed that way for a few minutes, not talking, just breathing. Chelsea didn’t know what to think of what was happening, but she did know there was something she really wanted to talk about.
“I think King might be wrong about something,” she said finally.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think it absolutely has to be you and the others leading the assault mission.”
She sat up and he turned to look her in the eyes. Not for the first time, she noticed that his were a shade of brown that were almost the color of caramel.
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“Haven’t we done enough? I mean, everything we did to get here and warn the world, and now what Dev is doing, working around the clock? Getting King back into a position of influence without revealing him to the world? Why do you have to be the ones to risk your lives and go back to that hellhole?”
“We’re Marines,” Quinn said, as if that explained everything.
“You’re not the only Marines on the planet! Don’t you think it’s about time you guys got the reward you deserve for everything you’ve done?”
Quinn frowned, deep in thought. She cared about him—more than she’d admit, even to herself—but sometimes his military pigheadedness drove her up the wall. But when he spoke, his answer surprised her.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said quietly.
Geordie Bishop still couldn’t get used to the incredibly smooth feel of the ultrasilk sheets against his bare skin, even after weeks of sleeping on them. For that matter, he was still having trouble getting used to sleeping next to the woman he loved every night.
“You okay, babe?” Ellie asked sleepily.
“Sure,” he said. “I’m fine. Go to sleep.”
“You wouldn’t be awake if you were fine. What’s up?”
He sighed. That was a good question, and he really didn’t want to answer it. But he knew he had to.
“I know you don’t want me to go on the mission. You don’t talk about it because you’re so fucking wonderful, but I see it in your face every time the subject comes up.”
She was obviously awake now and pulled herself up so that she was propped against the headboard like him. The moonlight streamed through the window and delineated their bodies in the darkness. The storm had ended exactly at 2300 hours, just as the schedule had predicted, and there was a cool breeze wafting in through the bedroom window.
“I won’t lie,” she said quietly, laying her cheek on his shoulder. “I want you to stay here with me. I want us to have a life together—the life that was stolen from us when you went to prison. The life we deserve to have.”
Bishop nodded silently. Everything she said was right. It was logical, it made sense.
“But,” she added, “I also know you. Duty has always been your top priority. And you’d follow Quinn through the gates of Hell itself if he ordered you to.”
“You’re my top priority,” he protested.
“I didn’t say that as an accusation. It’s just the truth. But you were the one who brought it up, and I’m not going to lie. Everything in me is screaming for me to grab hold of you and never let go.” She kissed his cheek softly. “I want my man, especially after such a long time apart. Sue me.”
Bishop let out a long sigh. “I’m not going to sue you,” he said. “I’m going to do something else to you, but it’s got nothing to do with the courts.”
“Really?” She grinned. “Should I throw myself on your mercy, then?”
“Throw yourself on something, anyway.”
She leaned in and their lips came together. Her passion was obvious, and it sparked something inside him that made him pull away and put his lips to her ear.
“I don’t ever want to leave you again,” he whispered.
She pulled him to her and wrapped her body around his. Their lovemaking that night was better than any he could remember in all their years together.
Dev Schuster staggered through the door to find Gloom snoozing on his sofa, her ever-present hack box on her belly as it rose and fell in time with her deep breathing.
The door slid closed behind him as soon as he stepped in, leaving his security detail, a pair of soldiers in black, in the hallway. He still didn’t like having them around, but he understood why they had to be there. At least they didn’t insist on following him inside.
Gloom flinched awake to the shooshing sound. She blurted something unintelligible as she bolted upright.
“What the heck was that?” he asked, throwing his hands up in surrender.
“Huh?” Her big, dark eyes seemed to finally focus on him. “What was what?”
“You just said something that sounded like a different language.”
She blinked. “Must have been sleep talk. What time is it?”
“After midnight. What are you doing here?”
She yawned and stretched her lithe arms. Schuster struggled not to stare at the rest of her as she did so.
“I wanted to talk to you when you got in,” she said. “How are things in the lab?”
He dropped onto the sofa beside her, exhausted.
“Better than I could have expected, actually. We’re close to finishing the four Rafts. I know Drake wants more, but I think we have what we need to mount the assault. Time is more important than ordnance right now by a wide margin.”
“So you’re saying things are moving faster now that you—”
“Yes,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m saying that you were right, and having Sloane riding shotgun isn’t the nightmare I thought it was going to be. Are you happy?”
She grinned wide. “Yes.”
“Good for you. I, on the other hand, am exhausted and I want to got to bed. So whatever you wanted to talk to me about, get to it before I pass out.”
“Are you always this much fun when there’s a woman in your room late at night?”
Schuster felt a surge of blood rush into his cheeks. He never knew how to take Gloom, and that, combined with his current mental state, left him flummoxed. She must have seen it, because she took it easy on him.
“All right, all right,” she said. “I just wanted you to know that there’s been some talk among the others about the mission.”
He blinked sleepily. “So? That’s been going on for over a week now.”
“I don’t mean the mission itself, I mean who’s going to be on the mission.”
“What about it?”
“I’m getting the sense that the others don’t want to go. They’re fine with planning the assault, but they’re having second thoughts about actually taking part in it.”
Schuster frowned as he thought about that. He’d been so busy the past ten days that he never really put any thought toward what was going to happen when the ships were ready to go.
Now that he did, he was starting to wonder himself.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go,” he said. “We’ve done more than our part.”
“And then some,” she said, nodding. “Ben and I were talking earlier. We’ve both lived our lives in the shadows, on the fringe of society. It was by choice, sure, but what were we actually accomplishing?”
“Well, for starters, you saved our lives and Ben helped expose an alien threat to the world. Not to mention bringing down Toomey’s Prometheus black site.”
“True. But we both wondered what more we could do if we were out of the shadows, especially now t
hat we know Frank King is not only alive but getting ready to step back into the spotlight. We were big fans before he disappeared, and when he walked through that door in San Jose—” She shook her head. “It was a revelation. I mean, this whole thing with the aliens could start a movement that changes the world. That finally brings people together.”
Suddenly Schuster was wide awake. Everything Gloom was saying was true, and he’d never thought about any of it before. He’d been so focused on getting the work done that he’d never thought about the long-term effects of any of it.
“That guy in your head, for starters,” she said. “The technology that the two of you could come up with, especially if we could get the whole world on board? It could change the course of history.”
She’s correct, Sloane said in his head. For the most part, he’d remained silent outside of guiding Schuster’s work in the lab, but apparently this was something he felt strongly about.
“It is interesting,” he said. “The potential is huge.”
“And we can’t do anything about it if you all are killed in outer space,” said Gloom. “And, to be honest, if you got your ass blown apart by aliens… well, I’d miss you.”
He felt an electric charge run through his belly at that.
“R-really?” he stammered.
Gloom leaned in close, until her face was only inches from his.
“Yeah,” she said. “So maybe start thinking about what I said, okay?”
“Uh,” he said. “I mean yeah. Sure. I will.”
“Good.” She stood and stretched again, then grabbed the box from the coffee table and tossed it into her pack. “Night, Dev.” She grinned. “Night, Sloane.”
“Night,” he said, barely aware that he was speaking. His heart was racing.
The door slid open and Gloom walked out into the hall. The two guards didn’t even acknowledge her before it slid shut again.
She is an interesting woman, said the voice in his head.
You have no idea, he answered back.
19
The bass thumped in Percival Maggott’s chest as he, Ulysses and Ben made their way through the throng of people in the night club. The storm might have been over outside, but inside the excitement was just beginning.
It was called The Streetcar, and it was built to resemble the old San Francisco staple that was its namesake, except on a huge scale that took up almost an entire block in Nob Hill, just off Union Square. There were hundreds of young people moving to the thrumming of the music, some downing drinks while others sucked on vapor tubes. A few were even putting devices into their ears.
“What the fook izzat?” he yelled in Ben’s ear.
“Infrasonics, I imagine,” said Ben. “Makes them dizzy.”
“Well, if that don’t beat all,” said Ulysses, shaking his head. “What kinda idjit wants to get by that shit? I had a lifetime’s worth when Zero blasted us in that hangar!”
“At least booze tastes good goin’ down,” Maggott observed. “Mebbe not comin’ back up, but that’s nae the point.”
A server in a white body suit that left nothing to the imagination sidled up to the table to take their orders.
“Liter o’ lager,” said Maggott. “I wanna keep me wits aboot me.”
Ben chuckled and ordered a Bloody Mary, while Ulysses stuck to his usual, Tennessee whisky, neat. As she left, they scanned the floor around them, watching people laugh and gyrate and generally enjoy themselves.
And, for the first time in awhile, no one was looking at them.
“That’s a bit odd, innit?” asked Maggott. “Usually there’s folks pointin’ at us n’talkin’ behind their hands.”
“I think we’re starting to fade from the public memory,” said Ben. “We never followed up on the original video three weeks ago, and the government made rumblings about ‘looking into things,’ so people have moved on to the next big thing on the network. From what I’ve seen, that’s a scandal about some politician being caught on video participating in an orgy in Singapore.”
“That’s too bad,” said Ulysses. “I was kinda likin’ bein’ famous. Coulda done with some groupies ‘fore we crashed n’burned, too.”
Maggott chuckled as their drinks arrived. He waved his wristband at a panel on the tray and it flashed green, prompting a practiced smile from the server.
They raised their glasses. “What should we drink to?” he asked.
“How about old flames?” said a female voice from behind them.
Maggott recognized the voice, even over the thumping music, and it prompted a flash of adrenaline to run through him. He turned slowly, knowing it couldn’t be true, it had to be his imagination. But then he saw her, and his tree trunk legs almost collapsed under him: a petit blonde who didn’t even reach his shoulder, with short blond hair, blue eyes and full lips that he’d dreamt of kissing for the last two years.
She was staring at him intently, biting her lips, her eyes shimmering in the bright nightclub lights.
“Peg,” he breathed.
He felt a hand drop on his shoulder. It was Ulysses, and his grin was a mile wide.
“Who’s yer friend?” he asked. “Ulysses Coker, ma’am. Maybe you seen me on the network? Don’t suppose yer interested in bein’ a groupie?”
Maggott felt hot anger flare in his chest and he had Ulysses’ shirt collar wrapped in his fist before he knew it. He lifted the man until only his tiptoes remained on the floor, and yanked him close to his face.
“She’s my wife,” he growled.
Ulysses’ eyes went wide. “Whoa, there, hoss! I ain’t after another fella’s filly!” His frantic eyes shot to his left. “Nice to meetcha, ma’am! I didn’t mean no offense! Could you, uh, call him off?”
“Percival!” Peg shouted. “Let him go!”
Maggott did as he was told, leaving Ulysses to pull open his collar and take a deep breath.
“I didn’t know yuh was married,” he croaked, turning to her. “I’m Ulysses Coker. This here’s Ben Jakande.”
The woman nodded. “Foster Kenya,” she said. Her accent had never been as thick as Maggott’s own, but now it sounded almost American. “I watched the video. Many times.”
“There’s a reason I didn’t tell ye I was married,” he said, glowering. “It’s because Peg divorced me soon as I was convicted.”
Ben and Ulysses shared an awkward glance and developed a sudden interest in their drinks that Maggott was grateful for. The shock of seeing Peg again had knocked him off his pins, and the last thing he needed was to deal with the two of them.
Peg reached out and took Maggott’s hand in hers. As always, it was like a child carrying a baseball mitt, and it made his heart cramp. She pulled him into a nearby alcove that muted the music and other white noise to the point where they could talk.
He looked her up and down: still as stunningly gorgeous as always, though her clothes were more upscale. Part of him wanted to lift her in his arms the way he used to, but another part of him was furious with her. Still another part was hurt beyond his ability to even put into words.
“What’re ye doin’ here?” he asked. It was all he could think of to say.
Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes the moment she started to speak.
“I saw the video,” she said. “Suddenly you were back on Earth, and the bloke in the glasses is saying you weren’t guilty in Astana, and I didn’t know what t’do…” She paused and took a breath. “I dinnae know if ye’d want to see me, or even if I wanted to see you. I thought it was all over, I’d moved on with me life…”
Maggott’s guts were roiling. He’d thought about her since he got back—how could he not have?—but it had never entered his head to get in touch with her. He’d assumed her part of his story was over; it had ended when she walked out on him at the darkest point in his life.
“Yuir accent’s changed,” he said. Again, nothing else came to mind that wouldn’t lead to an argument.
Peg smiled and wiped at her
tears with a tiny palm.
“I’m in New York now,” she said. “Manhattan. I work for Marcie Han and the others from your old unit. They started a security company, and they hired me on the first day.” She looked down at the floor. “I think they may have felt sorry for me, but a job’s a job, ye know?”
Maggott nodded. Quinn had told him about Precision Security and its high-end offices. At the time, he’d thought that fate liked to play some messed-up games with people’s lives. Now he was almost grateful for them, since it meant Peg had landed on her feet.
“Look,” she said, “I dinnae come here to make ye sad. I just wanted to, you know, let you know that I’m still here. I still care. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about it. About everything.”
Maggott didn’t know how to answer. Was he still angry? Did he want her back? Could he even have her back? He’d lived most of his life with simple emotions, reacting to situations as they came up and never giving any of them a lot of thought. Peg was the only thing in his life he wasn’t sure of, the only thing that could throw him off his game.
He didn’t know what to say to her. Luckily for him, he wouldn’t have to spend much time thinking about it, as a moment later a liquor bottle sailed through the air next to his head, missing him by mere inches.
“What the hell…” Peg began, but a second later, Maggott was in front of her and staring down the group of people in the area where the bottle had originated. They were young men, probably early twenties, with gymnasium physiques and haircuts that probably cost more than Maggott made in a month in the Marines.
“Ye mind tellin’ me which o’ you ponces threw that?” he growled.
“You’re that guy from Mars!” one of them crowed. “Hey, you got aliens in your brain?”
Peg stepped from behind him and stood facing the men, arms folded across her chest.
“Oi! Show some respect, ye bastards! This man’s a Marine!”
“He’s an escaped convict!” yelled another of the frat boys. “That video was bullshit! Him and his buddies are traitors!”
