Farenough: Strangers Book 2

by Melissa McCann

  Annia said, "You can't leave anyway. You could spread the plague to Firstep and from there to the known galaxy before anyone realized what it was."

  Mr. Ventnor came in through the gate. He brought Tora aside. "Bad news, Colonel. The chief is out on the perimeter. He thinks Cyrion is planning to hit us with firebombs."

  Tora did not know firebombs. Mr. Ventnor said, "Big weapons from the sky. They'll burn Murrayville to the ground as fast as we can blink."

  That was why the black-uniforms had left. Tora looked at the sky. "Must stop enemies."

  Mr. Ventnor said, "Question is, how?"

  Tora said, "Where is enemy?"

  "In the city. We can't get to 'em. Too far, too many soldiers between here and there. It wouldn't matter if we could get there in time. The parliament has decided to firebomb the plague out of Murrayville, and we're just not big enough to influence the parliament."

  Tora said, "Who is big enough?"

  "Maybe Admiral Hirshhorn down the coast. He's United Worlds Marines—outside the jurisdiction of Yetfurther government—but he won't interfere unless he gets a straight order from the UW, or unless we can convince him there's a reasonable chance of designing a cure, and I don't know how we'd get a message to him through the blockade anyway."

  Tora thought. "Water will stop fire," she said.

  Mr. Ventnor said, "They'll boil the lake dry to be sure nobody gets out that way. They're scared, Colonel. They're not going to give us an escape route."

  "How long?" Tora asked.

  "Don't know for sure. Hours, maybe. Maybe less."

  The gate flew open and slammed against the fence. Mr. Hollin came through, running. He saw Tora. "Where's Ms. Charmmes' cousins?"

  "Maycee's shelter," Tora told him.

  Mr. Hollin jumped the steps to the deck.

  Tora followed with Mr. Ventnor.

  The humans had gone inside the shelter where the Jordan-Kyle was to argue. Mr. Hollin interrupted them. "Ms. Charmmes, that trick you pulled where you convinced the Department of Planetary Health to treat Ms. Annia's plague warning as a crackpot call. Can you pull that off again?"

  Mr. Ventnor and Mr. Hollin explained about the firebomb weapons. Elizabeth-Belle was indignant. "They can't do that. Mother Louise will demand sanctions if any member of the family is harmed."

  Then Mr. Hollin and Annia had to explain that Cyrion would not care, and the Elizabeth-Belle could not understand, and they had to explain it again with short words. A clone would not be so stupid.

  When the Elizabeth-Belle stopped being too stupid to listen, Tora said, "The Mother Louise general is bigger than the parliament enemy."

  Mr. Ventnor said, "Colonel's asking if you can't get someone to override the local parliament."

  Elizabeth-Belle said, "How am I expected to contact them? Those idiot police won't let me out of this mud heap even to use a public tele-fax."

  Mr. Hollin held up a gold-colored shell as big as Tora's palm. "I got my hands on a private com-fax. Has its own power cell, no need for a satellite bounce as long as you're in line-of-sight."

  The Elizabeth-Belle scowled. "That thing won't reach over the horizon much less all the way to Mother Louise on Firstep."

  Mr. Hollin waved the communicator shell at the Jordan-Kyle. "It will reach as far as the spaceport, and the boy here has a ship."

  She snorted. "The ship can't broadcast an inter-stellar message from inside the atmosphere."

  Mr. Hollin looked at Jordan-Kyle. "What about it, kid, can you get your ship to send a message through the satellite system?"

  Mr. Ventnor said, "They'll have shut down interstellar communication from the satellites."

  Mr. Hollin said, "What about raising the ship into orbit? We could bypass planetary systems. A scout that size has to be able to broadcast at least as far as the nearest relay station."

  Jordan-Kyle held out his hand for the little shell shape and opened it. He fiddled with the communicator. "There's an interference field, but the Skate has her own frequency. I'm trying to run a systems check."

  "There's not much time," Mr. Hollin said.

  "I can't just tell her to jump atmosphere. She could be refueling, or someone could be working on the platform."

  After another moment, Jordan-Kyle said, "She's through her warm-up and ready to jump, but I'm not cleared."

  "You won't be," Mr. Hollin said. "Just go."

  "There she goes. She'll climb the well on her AI navigator and run for cover in the asteroid belt. As soon as she's clear of the satellite defenses, she'll send for thirty minutes on continuous loop, then wait for instructions."

  He stopped. "They're threatening to open fire. Come on, baby girl, climb." He sounded anxious, like Maycee when one of the catpils was hurt.

  Elizabeth-Belle said, "They'll destroy it before it jumps atmosphere."

  Mr. Hollin said, "Don't write your epitaphs yet. Could be we've got a friend left at the spaceport."

  In an office at the spaceport, Mr. Fosby watched a single-pilot scout vessel on his monitor. His aid stood by the corner of the desk. "It's going to lift off, sir."

  Mr. Fosby sighed. Deep lines ran down the middle of his forehead. "We'd better be able to show we tried to stop it."

  "Yes sir. Perhaps an interference field?"

  Mr. Fosby rubbed his eyes. "Do you think the pilot has the capability to cut through a field? Never mind. Better if I don't know. Arrange it, please."

  Mr. Dolman departed, and Mr. Fosby answered his tele-fax. A familiar woman's translucent face appeared, superimposed over the image of the ship on the monitor. A few days earlier, she had been delivering instructions on the handling of the Federation hunter ship.

  "What ship is that, Mr. Fosby? Planetary Defense gave orders no ships are to jump atmosphere until fifteen hours today."

  "The vessel is registered to a Mr. Charmmes. He is not aboard. I suspect a nav malfunction and am trying to contact the shipmaster."

  The woman made an exasperated sound. "Is that what I am supposed to report to the parliament?"

  He raised one eyebrow. "What else?"

  On the monitor, the little interstellar vessel tucked its atmospheric stabilizers, fired its launch jets, and began its climb.

  The woman's lips tightened. "Get that ship down, Mr. Fosby."

  The blue light flashed on the desk. Mr. Fosby said, "My assistant is calling." Mr. Dolman's narrow face and unimposing mustache replaced the woman on the monitor.

  "Sir, the ship is jumping atmosphere. I have rendered the first warning and am about to give the final one. Would it be very distressing to you if I mentioned I have found a tracking problem in the big guns?"

  Mr. Fosby fixed his face in a neutral expression. "Very distressing indeed, Mr. Dolman. See to it immediately."

  "As you like, sir."

  The monitor switched back to the woman's face. Behind her features, the little ship continued to climb. It topped the mountain and came into range of the ground-to-air guns. Mr. Fosby folded his hands and said, "Now, I think we will see something."

  The ship turned on its jets, oriented itself and fired hard. The perspective shifted to show the big guns turning on their mountings. Mr. Fosby said, "Firing now."

  The guns rocked silently on the monitor, and their distant boom communicated through the mountain as a dull throb in the floor and walls. Missiles raked the atmosphere. There did indeed seem to be a glitch in the tracking system. The missiles streaked harmlessly under the vessel's tail and across her back and detonated near enough to gouge her finish without disabling her. The guns crowned the mountain with smoke and fire until the ship climbed out of range and left the buzzing missiles behind.

  The woman said, "What did you do, Mr. Fosby?"

  He shook his head. "Tracking is out of alignment, I suppose. We'll have to overhaul the ground-to-air defenses. It is a badly outdated system."

  The woman said, "Defense satellites will destroy it before it gets high enough to send a message."

  "A
h yes. Here we are." Mr. Fosby's interlaced fingers tightened out of range of the tele-fax pickup.

  The ship rose faster as it climbed further from the bottom of the gravity well and out of the thin veil of atmosphere into range of the satellite network. Satellite control had already been alerted to her flight. A missile streaked toward the ship. She rolled out of the smart-bomb's trajectory. Energy weapons mounted on the wings and nose of the ship fired white bolts into the missile. It detonated too far away to damage its target. More spears of white fire stroked the satellite itself, and the orbital defense went dark as missiles arrived from the further satellites. The ship cut an evasive maneuver into the gravity well, and three more smart bombs streaked past.

  "Darling little AI on that vessel," Mr. Fosby observed. "Custom program, too, or I'm a groundling."

  The scout's energy weapons sliced up the late-coming missiles from distant satellites, and a yellow light flashed on the desk. "Oh dear," Mr. Fosby said. "It would seem to be spinning up its sublight drive. I suppose with no human passengers aboard, it will be able to...yes, there it goes."

  The ship kicked itself out of orbit and accelerated toward the asteroid belt at point eight of light. That acceleration would flatten any passengers even with inertial compensation. Out there, out of range of the planetary defenses, it would be able to play dodge-and-hide with Yetfurther's single, comparatively lumbering, Navy patrol ship, assuming Admiral Hirshorn deigned to intervene in what could be interpreted as a civilian matter.

  A readout scrolled up the monitor. Mr. Fosby shook his head. "Receipt code, Firstep. Addressed to Louise-Belle Charmmes."

  The woman on the monitor had already seen it on her own display. "It sent a message."

  Mr. Fosby failed to suppress a sigh of satisfaction and tried at the last minute to turn it into an expression of regret. "It would appear the catpil is out of the crate."

  The woman said, "You know if I lose my position over this, I will divorce you."

  He smiled serenely. "Yes, my dear. Dinner at the SkyBridge tonight? Assuming, obviously, that we are not grieving the unfortunate but necessary deaths of thousands of innocent men, women and children."

  "Flowers," she said. "I will expect flowers. And jewelry."

  "I would not consider anything less."

  "At the usual time, then, and Willoughby..." Her voice softened. "I'm sure you did your best."

  #

  Annia and Mr. Hollin had gone outside to look toward the spaceport. If Jordan-Kyle's scout was shot down, the explosion should be visible from the camp. Mr. Hollin's arm went around Annia's waist and tightened. Threads of smoke streaked from the flat-topped mountain, and sparks burst in the sky. Annia stiffened, thinking the ship had been shot down.

  "They missed," Jordan-Kyle reported from inside the shelter.

  Of course, if the ship had been hit, they would have seen the red ball of fire from here.

  Mr. Hollin grunted as if he had expected it. "That'll be Mr. Fosby. The real test is the satellite defenses."

  "She's out of my range." Jordan-Kyle said from inside. "If she evades the satellites, she'll start sending her message in a few minutes."

  Annia and Mr. Hollin moved to the door. "How soon can we expect to know?" Annia asked.

  Mr. Hollin said, "Maybe twenty minutes to Firstep through the station relay system. After that?" He looked to Elizabeth-Belle.

  "With the family emergency code, it will get to Mother Louise wherever she is. She'll contact Senators George-Mark and Jemma-Carroll personally. They'll be able to get full authority within half an hour. After that, another five minutes to get a hard beam through null-space. They won't ignore a hard-beam from George-Mark," she added with satisfaction.

  Annia didn't guess they would, since it was Senator George-Mark who had initially persuaded the DPH to ignore Annia's warning about the plague. Although that hadn't worked out well for Yetfurther.

  Mr. Hollin said, "It will be a close thing then, and we won't know either way for a few hours."

  He raked his fingers through his hair. "Ms. Annia, could I take a quiet word with you?" He steered her down the stairs and a little distance from the shelter. He cleared his throat. "What I'm thinking, Ms. Annia, is with the future looking so short, well..." He looked over her shoulder, then over her head, then rubbed his palms on his breeches. "Maybe you noticed and maybe you didn't. I don't know how they do courting where you come from. Maybe I don't suit you, and I wouldn't want to offend you, but if you could give me a notion..."

  Annia's throat suddenly felt dry and thick, and her palms felt hot and wet. A warm, sliding sensation poured from her heart to her knees. She tried answers in her head. Yes? No? Please? I can't? Anything she could think to say made her stomach turn over with either fear or shame. What if he realized how far she was from belonging in his circle of friends? What if no one ever again wanted her the way she wanted him?

  She couldn't look at him, couldn't control her own face, and couldn't bear to let him see her so confused. She kept her eyes on the center of his chest in the deep vee of his ruffled white shirt.

  "Ms. Annia?" He touched her cheek with two fingertips. "I wouldn't want to make you unhappy. If you don't feel for me."

  She just needed a little time to get herself pulled together so she could say something one way or another. She put her hand to the back of his and immediately regretted it when she felt her own sweat on her palm.

  He stepped a little nearer as if he was creeping up on a shy catpil. "It's all right," he murmured. "It's all right, Ms. Annia." A sheet of hair had fallen across her face, and he pushed it behind her ear. His fingers brushed her neck, and the shock of his touch made her shiver and twitch her head away.

  "Settle now," he whispered, still coaxing.

  She had to say something. He would think there was something wrong with her, but she couldn't think in words anymore, and her throat wouldn't work, and her lips felt numb, and all she could do was swallow and turn her face back toward his hand.

  He edged another step closer, filling the whole world with his height and weight and the smell of wood smoke and the slightly musky and animal smell of his jacket. "You know, I liked you by my first look when you came into the spaceport office looking like you'd been run over by a tugolith and still meant to dig in your heels and rein it back." He chuckled. "And you such a tiny little thing with that 'I-dare-you' stare."

  "I don't look like that." She didn't. Annia had never dared anything in her life.

  He ignored her protest. "And then you fussing over those two flaming dangerous clones and bossing them around like a mother werecat, and refusing to sell them when I knew you the credit."

  "I'm responsible for them." That had nothing to with caring about them; she just hadn't wanted them to be bought by someone who would abuse or misuse them. Someone like Ganymede Solante.

  His voice went lower, and his fingertips brushed under her chin. "And you being so kind to Ms. Maycee in spite of her problem, and to Ms. Cho'en who's not fish or fowl."

  "I'm not kind," she whispered. She wasn't. Maycee and Cho'en had bullied her into friendship, refusing to let her escape.

  He bent his head over hers. "And you being so beautiful and sad and lonely I can't help wanting to drink you like water."

  She tilted her head to one side, turning her cheek up toward his bend head and letting him push her hair behind her ear, but she couldn't look at him. He edged a little closer. His heart beat so hard his pulse vibrated his chest, and his rapid exhalations brushed her cheek and made her shiver with ripples of pleasure.

  She hooked one finger in the vee of his shirt, and he curved his hand around the back of her neck. His voice dropped lower. "I want to be so deep inside you there's only one of us."

  Her knees stopped holding her upright, and she teetered into him.

  His hand cupped the side of her face and held her against him. Air went in and out of his chest quick and deep, and his heart beat against her cheek.

  Her arms went
around his waist under the animal-skin jacket without realizing she had done it. Now her hands fisted in the back of his shirt.

  He stroked a thread of hair back from her temple and bent his head. She wanted to pull back, get control, stop the sweet drowning sensation, but his hand cupped her neck, and he wasn't holding her by force, but he was so big she couldn't withdraw unless she made a firm decision to do so let go of him.

  She bent her knee between his and pressed herself into the muscle of his thigh. Now his free hand dropped to her hips just below her back and pulled her closer. She tipped her head up, and he met her lips halfway with a rumble in his throat. His wide his back filled her arms, and she breathed deep and fast, drawing in the smell of his skin.

  She lost track of a few moments before she clutched at her fleeing thoughts and brought herself at least halfway back to reality.

  "Someplace private," he murmured into her ear.

  He scooped her up like a child's doll and nuzzled her neck, nipped at her shoulders until her thoughts fuzzed as he carried her across the two lots to her own shelter. Sleeping cabinets weren't designed for anything but sleeping. More than ample for Annia, it couldn't contain them both. Annia dragged her thermal sheet out. He pulled the gel mattress free of its secure-tabs and threw it on the floor, and they fell onto the mattress. He tried to kiss her and shed his coat at the same time. She pushed at the coat sleeves and pulled the hem of his shirt out of his breeches.

  He got one arm free of the coat and fisted his hand in her hair, holding her head back while his mouth and teeth on her neck sent ripples of pleasure down her throat to her breasts, tightening her nipples to match the hard line of him pressing into her thigh.

  His big hand circled her breast, his thumb stroking, and Annia lost herself. Her back arched. Her hips jerked. She made a shrill sound half pleasure and half protest. If he would just give her a little time and space, she could hold herself together, but her body wasn't hers anymore, it was her, as if thirty-six years of careful, analytical training could co-exist with this impatient pulling and panting.