Pike nodded. “We’ll be docking at the space port in a few hours.”
“Earth’s space port?”
He blushed again. “I keep forgetting you’ve been in the pod. Yeah, we’re almost home.”
No doubt it was easy to forget she was in the pod, she thought derisively, since it seemed she’d been there almost from the time they’d escaped the destruction of ‘lucky’ number thirteen, Staging Platform Thirteen.
He didn’t linger to chat. In fact, he seemed extremely uncomfortable in her presence. She didn’t know what to make of that, particularly since she barely knew him. When she’d finished her own semi-liquid and completely unappetizing meal, she went to the bridge to see if she was needed in any capacity.
She couldn’t help but notice that everyone looked at her strangely. It wasn’t just Pike that was uncomfortable around her. Even Captain Laine’s gaze slid away from her. “We’ve got everything under control.”
Their discomfort made her uncomfortable—and vaguely angry—particularly when she couldn’t quite figure out the reason for it. No doubt they all knew about her amazing recovery since she’d awakened in the pod naked—which meant at least Laine had had an opportunity to thoroughly examine her—but that still didn’t seem an adequate explanation for them behaving so strangely toward her. It wasn’t as if she’d done it herself!
Nodding, Anya lingered for a few moments, staring at the forward view screen where she could see the bright blue globe in the distance that she’d longed for a sight of, and finally left the bridge. After a little thought, she headed for the med center. Positioning the scanner, she climbed onto the gurney and activated it, staring absently at the ceiling while it performed the scan, her thoughts wandering from the way everyone was behaving toward her to the dream she’d had.
Why, she wondered, was she still dreaming of Legion as she had before he had died? It hadn’t been an ‘ordinary’ dream. It had been like those she’d had before, which hadn’t been true dreams at all.
She wasn’t entirely certain she understood what he’d done before, but it had certainly been more than telepathy—or at least telepathy as she understood it. Telepaths could communicate ideas or word streams, generally in short bursts that ‘sounded’ like broken English or a child’s speech patterns. They could get complex thoughts across, for all that, but she hadn’t met one that was able to communicate as easily with their mind as they could their vocal chords and certainly not at such a distance or with images that made it seem to her mind that she was standing next to them. Telepathy as she knew it was nothing more than ‘voices’ in the mind.
What he’d done was similar, she thought, to the way she’d heard transmigration, or out-of-body experiences, described. Those who had those abilities, though, generally appeared as apparitions, not entirely substantial, clearly nothing more than a spirit form, but that was to the conscious mind, not the subconscious.
Maybe he had only seemed so ‘solid’ and real because he’d invaded her subconscious mind?
The buzzer indicating the end of the scan cycle brought her mind from its wanderings and she got off of the gurney to check the readings. She was still puzzling over them when Laine poked his head into the room.
“We need to talk.”
Since Anya found her scan somewhat unnerving—disturbing in the sense that she was in peak physical condition with no sign whatsoever of damage, even repaired damage, to her heart, she turned the computer off and gave him her full attention.
Laine scrubbed a hand along the back of his neck, massaging it absently. “I assume you realize the debriefing is probably going to be damned unpleasant?”
She hadn’t actually thought about it, but she felt her belly tighten into an uneasy knot at his prompting. “I’ve had too much on my mind since I woke up to give it any thought,” she admitted, “but I don’t doubt it. Is that why you’re here? To find out what I’ll be telling them?”
He looked irritated. “Something like that.”
Exactly that, she thought, feeling anger join her uneasiness. “Well, since I hadn’t had time to think about it, I have no idea.”
He seemed to tamp his impatience with an effort. “How much do you remember?”
“Not a hell of a lot,” she responded promptly, “Certainly not much of anything about the battle or our escape. That’s pretty much a blur. I was barely conscious and that only part of the time. I remember everyone was shooting. I remember that I realized they’d taken the inhibitors off—the running. I was in too much pain even the little time I was conscious to focus on much of anything else.”
He seemed to relax fractionally. “I think we’re going to have a problem with that.”
“What sort of problem?” Anya asked, although she had a feeling she knew.
He gnawed his inner lip uneasily. “There’s no sign you were ever injured—no outward sign, anyway. I see you did a med scan, though …?”
Anya abruptly felt nausea well inside of her. “The scan didn’t bring up anything either.”
“Which means they aren’t going to buy into any of your story—or ours. We don’t have anything to support our version of the truth.”
* * * *
Expecting to be questioned as soon as they docked, Anya didn’t know whether to be relieved at the brief reprieve or more unnerved when they were shuttled down immediately from the space port to the surface. She didn’t actually have time to feel any real relief, however. They were met by an escort as soon as they debarked, marched to the shuttle docks and inside a waiting shuttle, and then left the space port behind less than an hour after they’d first arrived—a strong indication, she thought, that they should be very worried. When the shuttle settled on the landing pad on the roof of the SSRED (Science and Space Research, Exploration, and Development) administration building, they were met by yet another security detachment and escorted to a conference room on the fiftieth floor where a room full of men and women awaited them.
Anya couldn’t resist sending Laine an uneasy glance as she and the other survivors took their seats.
The head of the SSRED began the interrogation, to her surprise, by asking what her findings had been on the alien artifact. Anya didn’t glance at Captain Laine that time, although it startled her that they seemed more interested in the alien artifact than the lives lost, or even the fortune that had been tied up in the staging platform.
She cleared her throat, trying to think where to start. “You didn’t get my preliminary report?”
The man glanced down at the reader lying on the table in front of him. “We did. We’d like to hear what isn’t in the report—your personal observations and impressions. Tell us the … story from the beginning when the artifact was first spotted.”
It dawned on Anya forcefully that she hadn’t actually considered that she would be giving a report on an object, and an alien, that no one had ever seen beyond her and the crew of SP-13. Or that, with the SP-13 destroyed along with more than half the crew, she had no one to back her up but men who were just as suspect as she was of incompetence—at the very least—if not criminal negligence.
Because if one eliminated Legion from the equation—and the committee could very well dismiss their claim—it was a foregone conclusion that the crew, and only the crew, was responsible for what had happened.
The SP-13 was gone. There was no incident recording from the onboard computer. There was no proof at all beyond her word—no artifact, not even the record of the scans she’d performed. She hadn’t sent those with her reports because she’d hoped to decipher them herself. “I … I wasn’t actually there when it was first spotted,” she stammered, stalling for time.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Close enough … from what you said in your report.”
Anya nodded, diving for the glass of water that had been set on the table in front of her. Not surprisingly, the water was tepid, not cold, but it at least moisturized her bone dry mouth and gave her a few moments to compose her thoughts.
Not that that really helped. If she left out any part of what had happened, it would be obvious that there were holes in her story, and yet, if she told all, how likely were they to believe it?
They were going to send the lot of them down for a psyche evaluation when the meeting was over and, when they were done, her and the rest of the crew were very likely going to be facing charges, she thought a little sickly.
“Most of the crew was in the rec room celebrating the completion of SP-13 when the proximity alarm went off,” she began, deciding she could at least omit the part where most of them had been drunk, or half way there. “The crew scattered to stations immediately to determine what the threat was and how bad.” She left out the part about abandoning two of the crew members when they’d abandoned ship, too, but, since there seemed no hope for it, told them about the strange behavior she’d observed in the crewmembers and her suspicion that it was somehow related to the artifact.
“Why would you associate the behavior of the crew with the artifact?” one of the scientists cut in. “You don’t think it might merely have been space dementia?”
“My first thought was space dementia,” she admitted. “It seemed unlikely, though, that the entire crew would be exhibiting symptoms all at the same time, particularly when no one had shown any signs of it before we’d retrieved the object. Then, too, I discovered that all of the female crew members had had dreams—which sounded almost like the same dream.”
“Dreams? But you decided it wasn’t a dream?” one of the other scientists asked, her voice carefully neutral.
“I didn’t actually get the chance to interview them. They’d begun to behave … strangely. But Melanie—Dr. McPherson—told me about the man she’d seen in her dreams and also that Cpl. Carol Nix had told her she’d had the same dream—or at least dreamed of the same man. They’d had conversations with him.” She wasn’t about to tell them that Legion had seduced them in their dreams! “I had a similar dream where he showed me an alien world and told me it was the world he’d come from.”
She was sweating bullets by the time she’d finished relating her tale and was able to draw a tentative breath of relief as the interrogators moved on to Captain Laine. Five hours later, Carl Melton, the head of SSRED finally called an end to the ‘meeting’. They were told to report for a complete physical the following morning—which Anya realized a little sickly would certainly include that psyche evaluation she’d worried about—after which they would meet again to clear up remaining questions about what had happened on the space border.
She wondered if, after the psyche evaluation, once they’d probed her mind and the minds of the others and discovered everything they believed had happened, they would simply lock them all away in a psyche ward—or order a complete ‘readjustment’.
Unnerved by their situation, Anya paused by Carl Melton as the others filed out. “There might be some chance of retrieving at least a part of the artifact,” she suggested a little hopefully, realizing that if they found even a small piece it would bear up some of their story. “It had obviously survived a very long journey through space. I wasn’t able to determine what it was made of, but certainly materials like we’ve never seen.”
Carl Melton smiled thinly. “Oh, you’re absolutely right about that, Dr. Rambo. In point of fact, we have the artifact and it’s completely intact.”
Anya felt her jaw go slack with shock. Her mind erupted into chaos. “Here?” she finally managed to ask in a hoarse croak. “How? You’re sure it’s the sarcophagus we recovered?”
“You think there might have been more than one?” he asked sarcastically. “I’m reasonably certain it’s the same, yes—and without a scratch on it, which begs the question ….”
Anya stared at him blankly, still too stunned to gather her wits. “What question?”
His eyes narrowed. “Of how much faith we can place in the story you concocted. We’re finding it difficult to reconcile the story we’ve gotten from the crew with our findings.”
What findings, she wondered? She didn’t ask, knowing he wasn’t about to tell her anything that she might use to defend herself. “Legion?”
His shaggy white brows met over the bridge of his nose. “Legion?” he echoed.
“The alien—he was in ….” She broke off and licked her lips. “Is he …?”
Melton gave her a strange look. “The artifact was empty.”
* * * *
Anya kept her shoulders straight and her bearing unconcerned until she’d stepped inside the quarters assigned to her and closed the door behind her. She slumped wearily against the panel, however, once it had slid closed, covering her face with a shaking hand.
“You are not well?”
The voice might have jerked a scream out of her if she’d been able to find her own voice. She shook all over, sucked in a sharp breath, and whipped her head around to scan the room. Legion rose from the chair where he’d obviously been waiting for her.
“How did you …?” So many questions swarmed her mind, she couldn’t choose which to voice first.
His dark blond brows rose. “I told them to bring you here,” he said calmly, “although …” He paused to survey the cramped room. “I cannot say that I am favorably impressed. Still, they did not seem to have facilities that were more comfortable. Is this a typical sort of domicile for your species?”
Anya found that she was still too stunned to really follow his comments. It occurred to her, briefly, to question his remark that he’d had them bring her, but she realized almost as soon as the thought formed that she knew how he’d done it, that she didn’t doubt, at all, that he was fully in control of that, at least. “But … how did you get here?”
Again, he sent her a look of surprise as if she shouldn’t have had to ask. “The liezarct, of course. This body is fragile. I must have the liezarct to insure that it is not damaged. Otherwise, I am forever repairing the thing and that can be tedious.”
Feeling abruptly as if she might faint, Anya wobbled toward the bunk and wilted onto it.
Legion’s eyes lit immediately with possibilities. One moment he was standing on the opposite side of the room, the next he was pushing her down onto the bunk, nuzzling his face along the side of her neck. “I have missed you so, Anya. Let us fuck and then talk later.”
Anger flickered to life. Anya shoved at his shoulder. Fortunately, he was obliging enough to roll off of her. She could never have budged him if he hadn’t. He settled on his side, his head supported by his hand as he studied her. He frowned slightly after a moment. “You appear … unwell. You are certain you are not ill?”
Anya stared at him for a long moment and finally looked away, staring at the ceiling instead. “Thank you for the compliment! My god! This is a nightmare!”
“You said that you did not believe in mythical beings,” he pointed out, amusement threading his voice.
Anya glanced at him blankly. “Oh! Figure of speech. I hadn’t actually considered …. Damn it! Are you in my mind?”
He frowned, looked vaguely affronted. Though why he should she was sure she didn’t know when he had a bad habit of delving into her thoughts whenever the mood struck him and ‘visiting’ her mind! “I am here … in flesh,” he elaborated.
She sat up. “How did you get here? Why are you here? How did you get here before we did, for that matter?”
Grasping her arm, he dragged her down again, his gaze warm as it roamed her face. “I told you how. You know why. As for the last ….” He shrugged. “I trailed your ship for a time, but it was tedious. Do not take insult, but it is a very slow convenience. I grew impatient to explore my new home and decided to come ahead and do so while I waited for you.”
“Your new home?” Anya asked faintly. “Why didn’t they find you in the sarcoph … the liezarct?”
He grinned, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek lightly before he molded his palm to it. “I like the way you say that. I found it … charming the way you pronounced it … but it was a ve
ry good effort,” he added when she glared at him. “Shall I teach you more of my native tongue? It would please me a very great deal if you would speak it. I have not heard ….”
Anya felt a curious pang when he broke off. He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. She knew he must miss his home world and his own people terribly.
It took an effort to push the thoughts, and the discomfort it caused her, aside to focus on the questions she needed answered.
Several emotions flickered across his face in quick succession, irritation among them. He seemed to dismiss it. “You have a great capacity for empathy, beloved, but you need not squander it on me. I am resilient. I do miss my home and my people, but their passing was long, long ago, even in my memory.”
She eyed him doubtfully, but decided not to challenge him on it since it was obvious he resented her sympathy, regardless of the preceding comment that seemed to indicate he admired, or at least appreciated, her sensitivity. “You make my head hurt,” she said irritably. “You haven’t explained anything!”
“I have explained everything,” he replied promptly, frowning at her curiously. “How do I make your head hurt?”
She uttered an irritated huff. “Trying to figure out what you’re doing here. How you got here … everything!”
He considered that thoughtfully for several moments. “You suspect me of … subterfuge,” he said finally.
“It did cross my mind,” she retorted dryly.
He seemed to struggle for a moment, as if he was trying to decide if the comment amused him or annoyed him. “I have no need to be.”
She sent him a look. “You aren’t going to make a lot of friends around here if you’re going to be brutally honest about everything.”
“But I cannot make friends with you if I am dishonest. You do not respect dishonesty.”
“You’re … trying to make friends?” she asked curiously. “Why?”
“I want to be your friend, companion, protector, lover … mate. This is what you require to consider a male worthy of your regard.”
Despite the pang that caused her, Anya didn’t know whether to laugh or hit him. “You’re not going to make friends with me if you don’t stop messing around inside my head!” she snapped. “I value my privacy above just about everything else!”
Lords of Mayhem Page 9
