She hesitated in the doorway. “If you want to do a debrief tonight it’s fine, but any chance I can take a shower first? I smell like smoke and blood.”
“Your arm could use a medwrap, too.”
She glanced down at the abrasion running the length of her left forearm and shrugged. “I’ll rub some gel on it later.”
“Good work today. I mean I didn’t see much of it, but given what I did see, and the results…good work.”
She rested on the door frame and crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the burning sensation as the abrasion rubbed against her other arm. “Were you expecting something less than ‘good work?’ ”
Morgan’s gaze drifted across Brooklyn and away again. She hopped off the edge of the conference table to pace around the room while drumming her fingers on her thighs. “You never can tell about these things. I’m not comfortable relying on others to get the job done.”
“You mean you’re not comfortable being in charge of more than a few pilots.”
“No, I’m not used to being in charge of more than a few pilots. Big difference.”
“Well, I can be in charge if you want. I don’t mind.”
“You’re quite….” The woman’s face screwed up, her eccentric—and Brooklyn now knew unequivocally Artificial—lavender irises flashing. “Did you just make a pass at me?”
She wiped sweat and probably a little blood off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Oh, if I make a pass at you, you won’t have to ask.”
Morgan’s tongue flicked out to lick her lips. She likely didn’t realize she’d done it, but it sent electricity shooting up Brooklyn’s spine. The electricity mixed with the adrenaline still coursing through her veins to create a volatile mixture.
Then Morgan scowled and headed decisively for the door. “Fucking Marines….”
That was uncalled for.
Morgan tried to evade her on the way out the door. Brooklyn’s arm darted out and grabbed her wrist, then slung her into the wall and pinned her there before she could escape. The woman’s wrist was surprisingly small, almost dainty; Morgan’s arrogant and flippant demeanor hid a slight, thin build.
“You should try that, actually. You might learn a few things. Oh, and in case you were confused, this is me making a pass at you.”
Morgan’s free hand snaked around her waist and yanked her closer until their lips lingered a trace apart. The woman’s voice had dropped to a sultry whisper and taken on a hint of a velvety Senecan accent. “You think you have something you can teach me? By all means, enlighten me.”
Brooklyn reached over to the control panel in the wall, closed and locked the door.
She felt behind her for her shirt. When she found it she wadded it up and stuffed it behind her head as a makeshift pillow. The marble floor was cold beneath her bare skin, though she hadn’t noticed until now. “So what did Stanley think? Or was it not his first time?”
“It’s not like that, not really.” Morgan rose up on an elbow to lean over her.
She had never seen the woman’s hair unbound before tonight, but now it hung in tangles to graze her chest. It was a rich, deep chestnut color. She chuckled throatily as Morgan shifted her head, sending the tips to tickle Brooklyn’s skin as they brushed over her breasts and back again.
She tried to concentrate on Morgan’s words instead of her hair and its mischief. “How is it, then?”
Morgan’s nose crinkled. Always aloof of countenance, in the repose of afterglow her face was expressive and her features bordered on…soft. Best to not say it aloud, however. Dainty bones or no, the woman had demonstrated earlier tonight that she packed a hefty right hook when properly motivated.
“He’s fading away or…being subsumed into me. I think his personality and individuality weren’t well enough developed before we joined—he hadn’t existed for very long—and he can’t maintain it now that there’s no physical separation.”
“Hmm.” She’d learned only the most basic details about the Prevos and had never directly interacted with an Artificial. In this respect, Morgan had much to teach her. Maybe a few other respects, too, not that she was ready to admit it.
Brooklyn moved onto her side and reached up to run fingertips along Morgan’s temple. “Still have the eyes, though. Looks to me as if they’re shining as dazzlingly as ever.”
A smug grin spread across Morgan’s face. “You fancy them, do you?”
“They don’t suck.”
“No, they don’t. And no, they’re not fading. None of the quantum processes cavorting in my brain cells are. It’s only his consciousness, his…voice which is diminishing. It’s not happening to Annie or…honestly, I’m not entirely sure what Mia and Meno even are anymore.”
She winced. “I didn’t mean to kill him. And sometimes…sometimes I find myself thinking or saying something that sounds like him, so maybe it’s more we’ve truly merged, just on a deeper level than I can perceive. I know, all this sounds weird and creepy.”
“Damn. Here I thought I was having a threesome—”
Quick as lightning, Morgan had shoved her fully onto her back and hovered above her, hands splayed on either side of her shoulders. “Are you saying I wasn’t enough to satisfy you? Because if you are, I might take it personally.”
“I’d say the jury’s still out.” Such a lie, and she suspected Morgan knew it. “You should try again, and we’ll see how I feel about it after.”
Morgan lowered herself down until the length of their bodies touched. She placed a gentle yet insistent kiss on Brooklyn’s lips. “Be careful what you wish for, Marine.”
34
SENECA
CAVARE
DIVISION HEADQUARTERS
* * *
GRAHAM’S DOOR WAS OPEN, but he stood behind his desk, facing the window and studying a screen. Richard hesitated before rapping his knuckles on the frame to announce his presence.
Graham turned around and waved him in. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Oh?” Richard asked as he sat down. They’d continued on with a veneer of business as usual in the days since Graham had divulged the details of Operation Colpetto, but an air of tension had developed between them nonetheless.
“Laure Ferre was murdered, along with all the people in his office. I guess Montegreu finally decided she wanted him dead. As to why everyone else present was also killed? I suppose it makes it easier for her to do whatever she wants with the remains of his organization but…hell, she is one psychotic woman.”
“And now you figure you have a burgeoning Zelones problem on Krysk.”
“I can only hope it’s burgeoning. More likely it’s already full grown. I thought you might want to take a trip and see what you can learn on the ground there.”
Richard grimaced. He did view Montegreu as his responsibility, and the news of her murdering a bunch of people stirred up plenty of outrage. But some things were more important, with a great deal more lives—legitimately innocent lives—at stake.
“I can’t. That’s why I’m here. I need to take a leave of absence for a couple of weeks. Possibly longer.”
Graham nodded solicitously. “Because of Colpetto?”
“No. I mean, I won’t deny it would be a good idea for me to take a step back and give myself time to…make peace with everything. But no, it’s not why. I need to do something for Miriam—help her on a project. I know, conflict of interest. Again. But it’s not for the Alliance, or at least not the new Alliance government and…it’s not contrary to Seneca’s interests….”
He gave Graham a rueful expression. He wanted to fill his friend in and believed Graham would keep the information confidential, but he was sworn to absolute secrecy. “I’m sorry, but I can’t say anything further. I wish I could.”
“No problem. This arrangement has always been dependent on your personal interest in continuing it. What about Will?”
At first Richard hadn’t understood why Will had reacted in such a vehemently negative manner t
o the revelations of Colpetto. Until he realized he’d never truly internalized the fact that Will’s home—where he’d been born, grown up and given his allegiance—was and had always been the Senecan Federation. Will felt betrayed by his government, an institution he’d devoted his professional life to serving and protecting.
The flash of clarity had made for an odd moment, if a far less traumatic one than learning Will’s true profession. He had sensed the world shift a hair off-kilter…but once there, balance had been restored. Once he’d understood, he’d been able to help, even while still struggling with his own outrage. On the flip side of a far more honest conversation, a shower, alcohol, sleep and a lot of venting, Will’s anger had faded to low-grade umbrage.
“He’ll be staying. I may want his help a day or two here and there, but he’s not abandoning you, too.”
“I’m going to operate under the assumption you’re not abandoning me until you tell me otherwise.”
Richard huffed a breath. “Fair enough. Before I go, I’ve received a few tidbits of data and a crappy image of someone who’s high up in the OTS chain of command. The information suggests he’s from Earth, but I don’t have access to Alliance security databases any longer. Besides, you have better files on the people who matter on Earth than the Alliance does.”
“Why would you ever think such a thing?” After a beat Graham’s exaggerated façade of innocence broke, and he laughed. “Pass it on. Maybe we’ll strike gold. Tessa’s beginning to make an impressive amount of progress infiltrating OTS channels in the last few days. She should be able to match it to someone, or at a minimum to additional details on this someone.”
“So having a Prevo on staff is working out, then?”
Graham looked pained. “Don’t get me started. I guess. So far. Ask me again when we prevent an OTS attack and have terrorists in custody.”
“Will do.” He stood and reached over the desk to shake Graham’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Always.” Graham brought a hand to his jaw, looking uncommonly thoughtful. “Earlier today I heard we were suddenly diverting some of our adiamene output—and a few of our new prototype ships—to a covert location. Your leave of absence wouldn’t have anything to do with those moves, would it?”
Richard had always prided himself on his poker face. “Sorry. I don’t know anything about that.”
SENECAN FEDERATION HEADQUARTERS
It disturbed Graham more than a little to find Vranas available to see him immediately upon his arrival. It was ten o’clock in the morning; there should be Cabinet meetings, or at a minimum meetings with advisors. There should be strategy sessions, updates from underlings and a variety of other urgent comings and goings. Instead, the Chairman was simply sitting alone in his office.
The sight reaffirmed his reasons for coming. He kind of wished it hadn’t.
Vranas motioned for him to enter and closed the door behind him. “I’d offer you a drink, but, well….”
“The sun’s still on its upward trajectory, sure.” He prevaricated for a second, then sat in one of the guest chairs and dropped his elbows to his knees. “Nothing urgent demanding your attention this morning?”
“Not as of yet, small favors and all.”
“Why the hell not?”
Vranas merely raised an eyebrow in question.
Graham exhaled. “Let’s see. There’s the fact Olivia Montegreu is in the process of surrounding the Federation with planets and assets controlled by her—I realize that’s my problem, which is why you should be dragging me in here to demand I do something about it. I’m sure you’ve been briefed on her attempt to steal Advent Materials’ Rasogo II facility and get her hands on a shit-tonne of adiamene. Luckily she failed, thanks to the IDCC’s response team—another small issue you need to be figuring out what the bloody hell to do about. Is the IDCC our ally or our enemy? Do we need a treaty or an embargo?
“OTS is blowing up buildings from here to Nyssus and back again, yet another thing you ought to be chewing my ass over, or Gianno’s ass, or somebody’s ass.
“Oh, and the new Earth Alliance Prime Minister is picking a fight with pretty much the entire galaxy, including us. For now, we seem to only be third or fourth on her hit list, so we’ve got a small reprieve. Which is a damn good thing, as it appears we require the time to get our act together.”
Vranas frowned; he looked genuinely perplexed. “I don’t understand. You came here to see me because you want me to yell at you?”
“I want you to do something. Anything. We’re in serious danger of finding ourselves caught in the middle of several galaxy-sized messes, all at once, and you’re just…sitting here counting the minutes until afternoon tea. I don’t know what’s fuzzed up your head, but you have got to snap out of it, for everyone’s sake. For all the people out there’s sake.” He blinked. “Sir.”
“Ha. Was wondering if you’d bother to remember that formality.” Vranas swiveled his chair around to stare out the windows. “I think maybe the Metigen War was the last great battle I was prepared to fight. I’ve been doing this too long. Even though I’m not, not in the grand scheme of things, I feel old. Tired.”
He looked tired, too, but Graham had piled on enough and then some. He worked to soften his tone. “Listen, Aristide. If you want to step down and not run the next election cycle, no one will fault you, least of all me. You’ve done far beyond your share.
“But right now you are Chairman of the Senecan Federation, and you’re taking our ‘hands-off, minimal government’ approach a mite too far. We need leadership, dammit, more than usual, and I believe you can provide it. I’ve seen you do it a hundred times.”
Vranas ran a hand down his face. “You’ve certainly cleaned my clock right and proper.”
“Yeah, well, you can fire me later.”
“Likely not. Can’t guarantee my successor won’t.” He squared his shoulders. “I won’t answer ‘what’s fuzzed up my head.’ It doesn’t matter, because you’re correct. So while you’re here, do you have any ideas on how not to end up in another war with the Alliance?”
Graham smiled. “I do. On that issue and that issue alone, we wait. We don’t do a damn thing.”
“You’re serious. You chewed my ass worse than the nuns at my Catholic primary ever did for not acting—so you could tell me we need to not act.”
“There’s plenty of other acting for us to do, don’t worry. But yes, I did. I have a sneaking suspicion something else is afoot with respect to the Alliance, and it would be a good idea for us to let it play out without our intervention.” He paused. “Or mostly without our intervention. If you’re serious about being back on the job, you’ll want to have a conversation with Gianno. I suspect when it comes to the Alliance situation, she’s taken a bit of her own initiative.”
35
ROMANE
INDEPENDENT COLONY
INDEPENDENT DEFENSE CONSORTIUM HEADQUARTERS
* * *
MORGAN THREW HER FEET UP on the table in the break room, the better to study the list of potential recruits on her aural. The Romane government kept trying to give her an office, but she had no need of one. All the information she required at any given time resided in her head, her only legitimate workspace the flight hangar. So instead she wandered around the building and did whatever work she needed to do wherever she happened to be.
She was already turning into a bureaucrat and administrator as things were. The minute she called an office home, her life was over anyway.
She’d fired Olsen after the Rasogo II op, so now she had to find a replacement. Plus two more new pilots, as an additional set of fighters were due to be delivered next week. They wouldn’t be the new 2nd gen ships, thanks to Rossi being preoccupied at the hospital. But having now flown a 1st gen fighter in combat, she couldn’t really complain, for it was an order of magnitude more advanced than anything the Federation or the Alliance currently fielded.
Theoretically, she had a target roster of thirty pilots and thi
rty-six ground troops to be stationed on Romane. The other colonies were being given some flexibility in determining their manpower needs. The recent wars had produced a lot of battle-tested combatants, some of which had left the military in the aftermath…though many of those who did so had no desire to return to a life of danger and violence.
She heard the footsteps approach from down the hall long before they reached the break room, knew it was Harper by the light yet purposeful, no-nonsense gait. The woman always moved with economy of motion, never wasting effort when it could be put to better use elsewhere.
A sly smile burgeoned on her lips…
…which she quickly squelched when Harper slid into the chair opposite her and clasped her hands on the table. They were keeping their relationship—was that what it was?—secret for now. Or not advertising it. Not that casual displays of affection were something she did in any event.
Of course, she also didn’t do relationships—with men or women. With anyone. So she supposed at this point everything had become subject to…reinterpretation.
Harper rarely wasted words, either. “You and I need to take a ride.”
“It’s working hours.”
“This is work. We got some coordinates out of one of the prisoners. Technically out of his eVi—” At Morgan’s darkening expression, Harper raised a hand in protest. “Don’t worry, no torture was involved. Merely tech. But these may be the coordinates for where they intended to take Rasogo II.
“Now, I don’t want to go in guns blazing before we know what we’re dealing with. So let’s take a ride.”
SPACE, CENTRAL QUADRANT
INDEPENDENT SPACE
The recon vessel was designed for two, a pilot and a tech operator, but it was cramped nonetheless. Still, given unmatched cloaking and an sLume drive, it served as the logical choice. The ship had been acquired, not built, and Morgan made a note to requisition a new, more modern design from Rossi.
Dissonance: Aurora Renegades Book Two (Aurora Rhapsody 5) Page 20
