They passed through the immigration barrier without challenge. All the formalities had taken place before Vulsaur had been given permission to dock. Even so, Morgan told him that sensors checked them as they walked down the corridor. Much smarter than the bottleneck at Iniciara. Morgan had booked them into a hotel near the sea at his request. Besides, it would only be a short hop from there to where Partridge the archaeologist lived, in a mansion on the cliffs. Always assuming he'd see them, of course.
The shuttle to the ground arrived dead on time, and left dead on time. This place was well-organized, efficient. Ravindra liked that.
"I think we'd be best off hiring a skimmer, rather than mess about with public transport," Morgan said, after the ship had launched from the station toward the atmosphere.
Ravindra shrugged. "If you think so."
On the ground, Morgan pointed at a desk offering a rental service. "I'll arrange a skimmer."
"We'll wait for you outside." Ravindra headed for wide doors that led to the road, edged by an expanse of parkland. He found a bench under a tree and sat, stretching out his legs, sucking real air into his lungs. Unlike the recycled spaceship air, every planet's air had a tang, a taste all its own. This one felt good, clean. Earthy, with perhaps a hint of ozone from the nearby sea. A leaf fell, spiraling gently down to the ground, a bright red patch in an expanse of bluish-green. This planet's sun was a little brighter than that of his home world. Even now, after all his years in space, he could still discern the difference in the colors, the reds more vibrant, the greens washed out.
Two people, a man and a woman, dressed in cream trousers and shirts, their belts bulky with attachments, ambled toward him. No doubt the local police. He noted each carried a nerve whip, and a sidearm in a holster. The two slowed down, glancing at Jirra and Prasad, who sat together on a low wall.
The female police officer stared at him as she approached, looking him up and down as though he were a piece of meat. She licked her lips, a glint in her eye, her gaze sliding down to his groin, undressing him with her eyes.
The last time a woman had had the temerity to look at him like that, he'd been a callow youth fresh out of the Academy, a target for older women looking for some action while their husbands were away. He glared at her.
She stopped in front of him and turned, standing with legs apart, hands on hips, a hint of a lascivious smile lurking around her lips.
"On your feet," she drawled.
Ravindra's hackles rose. Still, this was another planet, different rules. He stood, taking his time, and folded his arms, gazing down at her. "Is there a problem?"
"You're foreign?" she asked, the grin still there.
"Yes."
The officer held out her hand. "Give me your identification." Up close, the woman was past first youth, her eyes old and hard.
Oh, he'd like to slap her down, wipe that insolent smirk off her face. Behind her, the male officer stood with one hand on the butt of his sidearm, enjoying the show.
She snapped her fingers. "I said ID. Now."
Anger raged up his backbone.
Before he could say anything, fingers grasped his arm. "Something the matter, officer?" Morgan asked, her grip tightening. "Don't be a fool," she muttered in Manesai.
"He's yours, is he?" the woman said, lowering her arm.
Yours. He stiffened.
"It's okay, Ashkar," Morgan said in Manesai. "Give me your data stick."
Ravindra knew Morgan was right. He glanced over at Jirra, who was watching, round-eyed, making sure she knew that if she so much as quirked her lips… but the lieutenant had the sense to jerk her head in a tiny bow and avert her gaze.
Morgan took the ID stick from his fingers, and handed it to the officer, who inserted it onto an oblong unit on her belt. "Is he military?" the officer asked.
"Not anymore," Morgan said. "A retired admiral."
The woman smiled. "Ah. I might have known." She handed the stick back to Morgan. "All our admirals are women." She directed one more stare at Ravindra's crotch. "You'd better keep him close," she said to Morgan, her smile widening. "He's decorative." She turned away, strolling down the street with her companion.
"I think she fancied you," Morgan said, smiling.
"Well, I didn't fancy her." Forcing the anger down, Ravindra unclenched his fists.
"Do they all do that?" Davaskar appeared beside them. "I've just been inspected by a woman. Felt like I'd been stripped naked, and decided an orderly retreat was a wise option."
Morgan winked at him. "That's happened to me many a time. From men, not women. I think I was supposed to be flattered, or something. It's different the other way around, isn't it?"
Ravindra bit back a response. She had better not continue with this attitude. "Where is this skimmer?"
Grinning, Morgan jerked her head at a blue skimmer parked at the curb. "Over here, Srimana."
Ravindra slid into the seat beside Morgan while the others climbed into the back, and Tullamarran loaded bags into the trunk. In a moment the vehicle had lifted, gaining height above the space port before it banked to the left toward the sea.
Morgan eased the skimmer down beside the resort's reception area, where liveried staff came to take the luggage into a brilliantly white building with a curving roof. The surrounding gardens overflowed with green-fringed trees, and plants in shades of orange, yellow and purple. A waterfall tinkled into a stream, which meandered under an arched bridge that led to the front doors.
"Welcome to Astasia, My Lady." A liveried doorman greeted them, addressing Morgan. "May we take your baggage?"
"Of course. My… man will complete the check-in details."
Gritting his teeth, Ravindra approached the fellow at the desk. This was going to be hard work. Jirra and Morgan had better not try to take advantage of the situation. The fact that some actress and her party had already booked the best suite in the place simply added to his displeasure. He signed the necessary documents and turned, looking for Morgan.
"She's gone outside, Srimana," Jirra said.
"You go on," he said to Davaskar, Jirra and Prasad. "I'll wait for her."
Ravindra gazed around the foyer, built to resemble a crashing wave. Light sparkled through translucent, sea-green glass that curved over the entire area. The carpet was the soft gold of sand. It almost felt like being underwater, in a sunlit grotto.
"Oh, this is a lovely spot, Marina. So clever of you to choose it."
A group of new arrivals advanced on the reception desk. Ravindra stepped aside. The young woman with the too-loud voice was certainly attractive, but she didn't match Marina. That had to be her in the centre, a glorious mane of golden hair cascading down her back. Her pale-blue dress draped around generous curves, dipping between her breasts. Silver sandals added even more height to long, shapely legs. Very nice. Very nice indeed. She met his gaze as she passed, her glance flicking over him while a slight smile curved full lips.
"I'm here."
Ravindra started like a guilty schoolboy, while Morgan looked up at him with a wry smile on her face.
Marina and her party had reached the desk, where the staff fell over themselves to assist.
"Her name's Marina Seabright. She's an actor. Not currently in a relationship. Anything else you'd like to know?" Morgan's face, and the tone of her voice, were both deadpan.
He frowned. "This woman has the best rooms in the hotel booked out."
Her eyes twinkling, Morgan gazed up at him. "So you'll have to settle for second best for a change. You should see your face."
"Don't push your luck, my dear," he growled.
Still grinning, Morgan beckoned to a porter with a propulsion cart to bring the bags. After a short walk along a shade-dappled path, the young man opened the door of the apartment for them, brought the bags in, then left.
"So. Here we are." Morgan wandered out onto a balcony.
Ravindra joined her, sucking in the salt-laden breeze as he gazed over a strip of golden beach. Fast-m
oving craft left foaming wakes in pale green water. Further out, sails provided drops of color in red and yellow, while groups of people dotted the sands. Closer by, a pool surrounded by lush plantings provided a cool oasis. "Nice. But I think we should get our business over and get out of here." Anger still simmered. Who did that policewoman think she was?
Morgan snorted.
He spun her around to face him. "And I've had quite enough of you enjoying the spectacle. It will cease. Understood?"
With her fist pressed to her chest, she bent her head. "Srimana. I'll get onto Partridge, shall I?" She turned away before he could say any more, and sat on the sofa, directing the call through the display unit on the corner, so he could see and hear.
A soft male voice answered, no visuals.
Morgan introduced herself as Marion Sefton. "Could I speak with Mister Partridge? It's about a picture of his we saw recently at Galaxy Library on Torreno."
"I'll see if he's available."
"Partridge. What is it you want?"
Still no visuals, but judging by the voice, the man was suspicious.
"Mister Partridge, so good of you to speak with me. Netsa Simmons at the Galaxy Library on Torreno gave us your name."
A snort of derision. "Simmons? Told you I was funny, did she? An amusing little man with delusions about being an archaeologist? Well, I don't want anything to do with those precious prigs who think they know everything there is to know. Why didn't she send you to them?"
"She told us you'd be able to tell us more about a picture you left with the library. It's badly damaged, and not on display."
A pause. When Partridge spoke again, the belligerence had been replaced with cautious curiosity. "Hmmph. There's a few of those. Which one?"
"If you'll turn on visuals, I'll show you."
"Just send me the image."
She did.
"That one." A few seconds elapsed before Partridge spoke again. "There's not much left."
"No. But we think we might have seen something similar."
"Really? Where?" The man's voice held a note of excitement. Ravindra could imagine him bouncing in his chair.
"We're happy to discuss. Can we come and talk to you?"
"Come here? To my home?"
"Certainly, if that suits," Morgan said.
After a brief pause, Partridge said, "Yes. All right. Tomorrow, mid-morning?"
"Tomorrow? Fine. We'll be there." Morgan flashed a brief smile.
"We? Who?" Distrust again.
"Me, and I'll be bringing my employer with me. Admiral Ravindra."
"Does she need to be there? I don't much like military."
"Admiral Ravindra is a man. We're from off-world. And he's retired from the service."
"Ah. A man." A note of satisfaction colored his tone. "Well, then. Here's the directions. I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow."
Chapter 12
A stiff breeze tried to rock the rented skimmer as Morgan landed the vehicle, but this was one of the first exercises she'd done back in Supertech training. She'd had to set a skimmer down in a gale without any movement, which was all about controlling the attitude systems. She grinned as the skimmer settled. Piece of cake.
"You make it difficult for me to fly with a normal pilot, you know," Ravindra said from the passenger seat. "I keep having to remember that they're just pilots."
She patted his hand. "Glad I'm good for something."
That won her a stare. He'd wanted sex last night but it had lacked tenderness, as if he felt a need to assert himself in this female-dominated world. Although he'd taken time to make sure she was satisfied, he'd rolled over and gone to sleep with hardly a word. On a one to ten rating, she would have given the whole performance a six.
Ravindra eased his tall frame out of the flipped-up door. "Are you coming?"
"Yes. Just shutting down."
Morgan closed and locked the doors, narrowing her eyes against an even stronger gust of salt-laden wind that set her hair dancing, then followed Ravindra across crunching gravel to a portico in a two-story mansion that almost seemed a part of the cliff on which it stood. Whoever had planted the gardens had used the local stone, creating rockeries filled with tough, grayish-green plants. Her pants brushed against them, releasing a pungent aroma strong enough to compete with the sea smell, as she walked up the steps.
"Good morning. You are Miss Sefton and Admiral Ravindra?" The smooth male voice came from a unit next to the front door.
"That's right."
The door swung open, revealing a cool, stone-flagged foyer where a man wearing a white shirt open almost to the navel, greeted them. "Come on in," he said, his brown eyes sparkling with good humor.
Wow. This was one attractive young man. Morgan noticed his smooth, suntanned chest as she stepped past him. He wore his blond hair scraped back, probably into a ponytail. Almost Manesai. She held out a hand. "And you are?"
"Brent Eastly," he said, taking her hand in a firm grip. He turned to Ravindra, offering his hand. "Admiral, nice to meet you, too."
Ravindra hesitated before he returned the gesture. Judging by the tightening of Eastly's lips, his grip was a bit too firm. "Where is Mister Partridge? We came to see him."
Rubbing his hand, Eastly said. "Sure. I'm his secretary. He's in the study. I'll take you to him."
Eastly turned on his heel and walked across the hall. Yes, his hair was tied in a ponytail. Nice butt, long, strong legs, wide shoulders. A bit willowy for her taste.
Ravindra stepped closer to her. He was aware of her inspection of Eastly, and he wasn't happy. Wasn't that just too bad?
Eastly pushed a button set in the wall to activate the door, which rumbled aside. She paused, gazing around her. What a place. The guy had books. Real, bits-of-paper books, in shelves. And sculptures and pictures and artifacts, all scattered around the circular room. The man behind the desk in the center of the room rose to his feet. Behind him a window afforded a view out over the cliffs to the foam-streaked sea far below.
"Thanks, Brent." Partridge flashed a toothy grin at Eastly.
Wow. If she'd thought Brent Eastly wasn't bad, this fellow was gorgeous. Chiseled features, pale skin, eyes the color of a summer sky. Partridge wore a well-tailored striped shirt that looked expensive. She found herself smoothing back her hair and stopped. It was pretty obvious which way the wind blew for these two men. She wondered if Ravindra had realized the two men were more likely to be interested in him, than her. Well, she wouldn't be telling him. His attitude was starting to get on her nerves.
"Come in, sit down."
Partridge sat down again, placed his elbow on the desktop and supported his chin on his fingers. Morgan and Ravindra pulled back wooden chairs, probably antiques. A calculating gaze rested first on Ravindra, then, for a longer time, on her. "So Neta Simmons gave you my name?"
Judging by the slightly narrowed eyes, the calculating expression, Partridge didn't trust them. Especially Ravindra. Maybe it was her turn to switch on the charm. "That's right," Morgan said, giving him her best smile. "We wanted to talk to you about this."
Partridge had a relatively new, standard data interface on his desk. Using her human implant, Morgan sent an image of the damaged picture to the screen.
"What do you think it shows?" Partridge asked.
"I think they're statues," Morgan said.
The archaeologist shifted in his seat, his eyes gleaming with interest. "You said you'd seen something like this before?"
"We think they would have looked a bit like this." Ravindra glanced at Morgan. "Show him."
Morgan flashed up an image from the Krystor temple, then superimposed the tattered remains of Partridge's picture over the top.
Partridge tensed, eyes narrowed as he devoured the image of the Krystor Temple. "Where is this place?"
Ravindra put his hand on Morgan's thigh. She drew away from him. What did he think she was? A little girl? Of course she wouldn't tell Partridge any more.
"A dis
tant planet, outside the Coalition," Ravindra said. "But we think the design originated elsewhere."
Partridge's Adam's apple bobbed. Although he was definitely interested, Morgan sensed wariness. A gust of wind stirred the curtains, bringing with it the tang of the sea. At last Partridge said, "What do you want to know?"
"Where did you get this picture?" Ravindra asked.
"It was in my grandmother's possessions." The man hesitated, rubbing the tips of his fingers together. Frowning, he rolled his lower lip between his teeth, then shrugged. "Oh, why not? You'll have gathered from Simmons that I'm not the most well-respected archaeologist around. Not anymore. I was a lecturer at a university in the capital, but then I stumbled across all this." He waved a hand, encompassing the room with its books and objects. "My grandmother had a reputation in academia as an eccentric. A nutter. I'd gone along with the consensus until I inherited these."
"Why was she considered to be a… nutter?" Ravindra rolled the unfamiliar word in his mouth.
"Professor Senjay—that's my grandma—was interested in Rosmenyo. Have you heard of him?" His glance flicked between them.
A tremor slid through Morgan. Pay dirt. Beside her, Ravindra's chair creaked. "We have," he said. "The menace from the stars."
Partridge's lips jerked in a momentary grin. "That's the one. Well, Grandma said he got his ideas from someone here." He stabbed a finger at the desktop. "The brains trusts at the university wouldn't come at it. They said Torreno never had anything to do with the Conflagration. The planet was out on the edge of the inhabited systems, which is why it became the capital of a new system. Grandma was adamant, but in the end she became a laughing stock and lost her position."
"What was her evidence?" Morgan asked.
"The Arch-demon Zenji. Did you come across him, or it?"
"Yes. I read the documents from Iniciara. But that's just superstitious garbage."
Partridge smirked. "Grandma speculated that Zenji was a corruption of Senjay. That name goes back to the earliest times, and the family lived out there in the islands."
Zenji. Senjay. Morgan exchanged a swift look with Ravindra. It made sense.
Morgan's Return Page 10
