Guardian

by Knight, Angela

  “Assuming that record survives.” And there was no guarantee it would. Hundreds of years was a very long time for a temporal SOS to travel.

  “So she’ll leave more than one. Quit being a furry pessimist.”

  The sound of shouts rose in the distance. “Witches! Get the witches!”

  “Oh, shit.” Dyami sighed. “Not again. Come on, Frieka. Let’s Jump before they try to burn us at the stake.”

  The thunderous boom of their joint temporal leap made the mob scatter with screams of terror.

  It was a beautiful sunlit day on Vardon as Riane Arvid rode her gravboard through the park. Frieka followed patiently just below, zigzagging down the pedwalk after her as she jinked around the tall, ferny trees of her home world.

  Safety boots clamped her to the board, holding her in place as the cool breeze of her passage blew in her face. The sun felt pleasantly warm on her shoulders, and she grinned in pure enjoyment.

  “Hey, you’re getting a little high there,” Frieka called up at her. “Come down a meter.”

  “Oh, don’t be such an old Femmat,” Riane said, leaning left a little and bending her knees. Her board obediently arced right and climbed another meter higher.

  “Riane, dammit!” Frieka growled over the approaching whine of an airbike. “Get down here before I bite you!”

  She laughed down at him. “Gotta catch me first!”

  The Xeran came out of nowhere, hitting her like a swooping hawk. One brutal kick of his boot smashed her gravboard into two pieces and snapped it loose from her feet. Stunned, Riane watched the broken halves tumble out of the sky as a hard arm clamped around her waist. Whipping her head around, she realized her captor was riding an airbike.

  Frieka dodged the pieces of her gravboard, his horrified gaze on hers. “Riane!”

  She twisted to look at the man who’d grabbed her, about to demand he put her down. Her eyes fell on the glint of silver at his temples.

  Horns. Oh, sweet Mother Goddess! He was a Xeran!

  He grinned into her face, his pupils red, reptilian slits. “Yes, you little bitch. You’re dead!” He laughed, the sound nasty, suggestive. The most evil sound she’d ever heard. “Scream for me. Scream for your furry friend down there!”

  Fury stormed through her, almost hotter than the icy spear of terror piercing her heart. She balled a fist and slammed it at his face. He only laughed harder.

  Kicking, struggling, swearing uselessly at her captor, she barely heard Frieka’s terrified howls as he raced after the airbike climbing into the cloudless violet sky.

  Riane jolted awake, sweating, her heart thumping a violent beat. She lay against a hard male body, the scent of him flooding her head. Jerking away, she scanned him wildly.

  Xeran!

  She rolled out of bed so fast, her back hit the wall.

  Green eyes flared open, and light burst from the Stone clasped around his upper arm. He bounced out of bed and into a combat crouch, his gaze sweeping the room as though looking for whatever alarmed her. “What?”

  Seeing nothing, he turned his attention on her. She was shaking, her skin ice-cold with remembered shock and terror. Nick’s voice went low and soothing. “Hey, it’s okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

  The bedside lamp flicked on, flooding the room with a soft light. He hadn’t touched it; apparently he’d activated it with psychic ability alone.

  It’s Nick, Riane told herself, bringing her mind back to the here and now. She forced her body to straighten and relax.

  “Nightmare?” he asked, his eyes warm, sympathetic.

  “Yeah.” She raked a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her eyes.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not particularly.” There was more than a trace of snap in her voice. She was damned if she was going to hand a weakness like that to a potential enemy.

  He didn’t appear to take the rejection personally. “Want anything?”

  “Just the bathroom.” She already knew where it was, of course, but it gave her something to say—and an excuse to get the hell away from him for a few minutes.

  “Across the hall.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the doorway.

  Riane escaped across the narrow corridor and closed the bathroom door behind her, then let her back fall against the cool painted wood.

  Xeran. He was Xeran. How had she allowed herself to forget that?

  Thing was, he didn’t look Xeran, didn’t act Xeran. Was that because he was exactly what he seemed—somebody who’d been abandoned in time—or was he trying to run some kind of elaborate scam on her?

  Dona Astryr had been the victim of just such a scam. She’d thought Ivar Terje was a loyal Enforcer, right up until he’d tried to kill both her and Galar’s lover, Jessica Kelly. As a result of his betrayal, Dona had fallen under suspicion of being a traitor, too.

  Of course, there had been indicators that Ivar was lying. He’d used his computer’s sensor shields to hide the brain activity that went along with lying. Dona would have caught it if she’d been looking for it.

  “Have you seen any indication that Nick has lied to me?” Riane asked her computer implant.

  “Affirmative.”

  She tensed. “When?”

  “When he said he knew nothing about your father.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Negative.”

  “Has he been shielding brain activity?”

  “Negative. Sensor data suggest he has been honest in all statements, except when talking about your father.”

  “Now, what the hell does that mean?” she muttered under her breath. “How would a twenty-first-century primitive have encountered my father? Especially one who claims to know nothing about time travel.”

  None of this made sense. Somebody, presumably Ivar, had sabotaged her suit to trap her in the twenty-first century. Ivar then attacked her and was about to kick her ass until Nick showed up just in time to save her.

  And yet they had to know she’d know he was half-Xeran. They hadn’t even made an effort to hide it. So what was the point? What were they trying to accomplish?

  Or was she overthinking all this? Nick could be exactly what he seemed: a decent man with remarkable abilities who just happened to be half-Xeran.

  Should she just confront him? Demand to know what he knew about her father? Even if he lied, the lie itself would tell her something. Or should she go on pretending to believe him, while watching every move he made?

  Watch him, Riane decided. Watch him very, very closely.

  Nick lay with one arm bent to pillow his head as he stared at the ceiling. Wary suspicion radiated from the bathroom in waves he could almost see.

  Riane didn’t trust him, even after everything he’d done. Yet she’d given herself to him with hot abandon just three or four hours before.

  The dream. He wished to hell he knew what it was about, because it had obviously triggered her doubts again.

  That hurt.

  He supposed it was a little ridiculous to feel wounded at her distrust. Yes, sixteen years ago he’d saved her life. And yes, he’d always sensed that somehow they’d meet again. Though if he’d known she was from the future, he probably wouldn’t have been quite so optimistic about the odds on that.

  But she didn’t know any of that.

  He could tell her, of course. Nick frowned, troubled. Would she believe him? Or would it just make her more wary, more convinced, as she obviously was, that he was lying to her for some reason?

  No, better wait. Let her get to know him a little better, realize that he had no intention of hurting her. He’d win her over.

  Eventually.

  The door swung open, and he lifted his head to watch as she walked naked into the room. His mouth instantly went dry. That long, gently curving body, lean and lithe as a cat’s, red hair tumbling around her shoulders in tousled waves. The tattoo added a flourish to her exotic beauty. He cleared his throat. “You all right?”

  “Fine.” With
out looking at him, she slid into the bed and curled up on her side facing away from him, her lean back stiff.

  Fine. Yeah, right.

  Sighing, he reached over to the bedside table and turned off the light.

  • 9 •

  Frieka padded into the Outpost mess aching as if someone had beaten him with a board. His eyes felt sandy with exhaustion, and his stomach growled in demand. Too many hours of fruitless searching lay behind him. Dyami had finally thrown him out of Central Computing and ordered him to go eat.

  Scanning the room, he saw Dona Astryr sitting at one of the tables that stood around the vast space. She was staring out the enormous window that dominated the Outpost mess with a breathtaking view of the rolling Blue Ridge Mountains. Since Frieka was desperate for company—hell, for any diversion at all from his dark thoughts—he trotted over. “Hey.”

  She startled and looked down at him. “Oh. Hi.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Dona waved a hand. “Go ahead.”

  Frieka jumped up into a chair and told the table, “A double order of chiva.” He turned his attention to Dona, glad for the distraction from gnawing worry.

  He supposed a human male would consider her beautiful, with those high, dramatic cheekbones and big violet eyes. Her navy blue Enforcer’s uniform, piped in silver, hugged a lush, athletic body. Like her former partner, Ivar Terje, she was a cyborg. Unlike Ivar, she was also one of Riane’s closest friends.

  “Any luck?” she asked.

  He sighed. “Not so far. We’ve been combing the historical record for any sign of her. Nada.”

  Dona frowned, a line of worry forming between arching dark brows. “How the hell did Ivar get to Riane’s suit? I thought the Chief and his tech team had made sure he couldn’t get through the Outpost’s defenses.”

  “They did.” A small door slid aside in the center of the table, and a plate rose into view. Dona reached out and pushed it over in front of Frieka. “Thank you.” The chiva smelled delicious, and he buried his muzzle in it. The vocalizer around his neck allowed him to continue talking even as he devoured the rich meat. “The Chief suspects the Xerans have someone else on the inside.”

  “Yeah,” Dona said bitterly. “Me.”

  Chewing, Frieka shot her a look. “If he really believed that, you’d be in the brig right now. His investigation cleared you, remember?”

  “Corydon thinks otherwise. And I’m afraid he’s almost got the Chief convinced. Dyami certainly seems to be keeping an eye on me.”

  “Dyami always keeps an eye on you.” Frieka snorted and took another huge bite. “And it’s got nothing to do with suspicion. He just likes your ass. And your tits. And probably your—”

  “Well, Corydon doesn’t,” Dona said, her high cheekbones coloring. “He keeps dragging me into the Chief’s office and grilling me.”

  “Alex Corydon is a dick,” Frieka growled. “He was a dick when I met him twenty-six years ago, and his dickishness has only ripened with time. Kind of like one of those really stinky cheeses.”

  “You’ve known him that long?” She lifted a dark brow and swept a lock of curly hair back from her face. “How did you get that bit of misfortune?”

  “He transported Baran and me to the twenty-first century to save Jane from Jack the Ripper. Who was actually a Xeran named Kalig Druas. Turns out there was no Victorian killer, just a bastard leaping through time committing the Ripper’s crimes.”

  She cocked her head in interest. “Jane, as in Riane’s mother?”

  “Right. She’s from the twenty-first century.”

  “Riane never mentioned that.”

  Frieka grimaced. “She doesn’t talk about her parents much. People tend to make too many assumptions.”

  “About her mother?”

  “About her father.” Instead of going into details he’d just as soon avoid, Frieka continued, “Corydon thought the Ripper was supposed to kill her because she disappeared from the historical record. ’Cause, you know, she moved here. But when we succeeded in saving Jane anyway, Corydon tried to kill her himself to prevent a temporal paradox.”

  Dona frowned. “But paradoxes are impossible.”

  “Yeah, we know that now. Then, everybody thought the universe would end if you changed history. So Corydon was all for murdering her until Baran forced him to transport all of us back to the twenty-third century.” He chewed the chiva thoughtfully. “None of which did much for Corydon’s career. I think he’s still carrying a grudge.”

  Frieka suddenly noticed Dona had gone still as she gazed across the room, an expression of mixed longing and deep misery in her violet eyes. He followed her gaze.

  Chief Alerio Dyami crossed the room in long, powerful strides. He dropped into a chair at another table and glanced in their direction. Dona quickly looked away.

  For just a moment, the Chief gazed at her, his expression dark with a kind of haunted need.

  “Humans,” Frieka growled in disgust. “Always have to make everything so damned complicated.”

  “What?” Dona asked, looking confused.

  “Nothing.”

  Corydon had just walked in, looking like he had a metal rod up his butt. Catching sight of Dona, he strode across the room toward them.

  “Watch it,” Frieka growled. “Dickhole on the approach.”

  The Senior Investigator stopped beside their table. After sweeping a contemptuous glance over Frieka, he looked down his nose at Dona. “Report to my office, Enforcer. I have some questions.”

  She ground her teeth. “The same questions I’ve answered a dozen times already?”

  Metallic golden eyes narrowed, and his thin lip curled. “You may have your chief fooled, but I know exactly what you are. And I’m going to prove it. Report to my office. That’s an order.” He turned on his heel and stalked away.

  Frieka looked at Dona. She was sheet-pale except for two flags of angry color riding her knife-blade cheekbones. “Want me to bite him?”

  “No,” she gritted. “You might catch something.”

  The bedroom was quiet except for the soft sigh of slow, deep breathing and the occasional stir of sleeping bodies.

  Riane’s T-suit lay tumbled and forgotten on the floor of the living room. Its scales gleamed dully in a thin shaft of moonlight flooding in through the room’s sole window.

  One of the scales stirred, moonlight sliding across its surface like oil over water. Five thin pseudopods extended from its slick blue body, then slowly straightened, pulling it free from its fellows.

  Free, it scuttled across the suit and onto the floor. It altered the moment it touched the new surface, taking on a nubby brown that perfectly matched the carpeting. Quick as a cockroach, it made for the window. The climb to the expanse of glass took little effort, its pseudopods clinging to the smooth paint. Anyone looking for it would have been unable to see it at all, so perfectly did it match the wall.

  The closed sash cost it a few minutes. It had to flatten itself thinner than a sheet of paper before it could wiggle through the tiny gap between the window and its frame.

  Out on the brick lip of the window, the thing went still, taking on the appearance of the surrounding brick.

  Beneath the window, in the shadow of a stinking green Dumpster, a small fist-sized globe stirred, then floated quietly upward. A camouflage field surrounded the metal globe, shielding it so perfectly that it went undetected by Riane’s computer implant.

  The globe stopped before the window. The scale spat a burst of data in a tight, quick beam. The courier ’bot replied with a quick burst of its own, then zoomed upward as if shot from a catapult. It Jumped the minute it was far enough from Nick’s apartment to avoid detection.

  The planet Xer, the future

  He existed in the heart of a howl. Data raged around Him, a storm of bits and bytes that thundered against His consciousness like hail. Every computer and cyborg and sensor on the planet contributed to the storm, information coming so fast even His inhuman consciousn
ess couldn’t process it all. Voices spoke to Him in a senseless babble, human and machine blending into one feral roar.

  Goiva said she . . .

  Sensors indicate atmospheric . . .

  . . . honor to the Victor . . .

  I would make a better priest than that fool.

  Chemical reaction between sodium and . . .

  . . . myself a perfect tool for His hand . . .

  . . . never good enough . . .

  . . . why won’t he listen when I . . .

  I must prove myself to . . .

  Soil temperature of 28°C results in . . .

  Engines at full power . . .

  She lies, lies! It’s all lies, the bastards need to die . . .

  What if they find out?

  On and on it went, shards of knowledge pelting Him, acid fragments of emotion making no sense, forming no connections.

  Sudden pain sliced through His awareness, and He seized it gratefully. Pain stabilized His thoughts, gave Him something to focus on.

  Somewhere on Xer, a penitent was making sacrifice to Him, wrapping a piece of spiked wire in an intricate braid around the worshiper’s own erect penis. He dragged the sufferer’s pain into His mind, savored its razor sharpness. Felt Himself integrate around the act of worship.

  He was the Victor. He was the god of Xer, the Most Glorious, the Conqueror, He Who Walks in Victory.

  And He was not mad.

  Most Glorious?

  He ignored the courier’s hail, busy drinking in the penitent’s sacrifice. Through His worshiper’s ears, He heard blood droplets strike bare stone in a swift, sweet patter as the man prayed, praising the Victor’s wisdom and power.

  This concerns the Demon, Most Glorious.

  The Demon? He jerked to full awareness, Himself again, sharp and coherent. He remembered He’d placed a nanobot colony on the Warfem’s T-suit and sent a courier to follow it. “What news?”