Devoted Deceptions, A 4th Millennium Adventure, Book 3

by Cherie Singer

  Two remaining problems stymied that path of experimentation. Every time the researchers attempted to replicate the fuel required, the crystalline substance known as plunarium demonstrated itself to be explosively unstable. The obvious solution, natural crystals, proved to be even more elusive than bloodcrystals. No source had yet been discovered, though mining engineers had been scrambling for months to find a deposit.

  A few weeks ago, a Covert Free Agent managed to smuggle a small amount of natural plunarium across the Mallochon border. He came back with enough to operate a small shrouding device with just enough power to shroud Cat's specialized little fighter. The only fighter capable of ghosting that the Corps possessed.

  If she held on to her sanity long enough, she might be able to use it as an advantage against Malloch.

  Cat rubbed her tired eyes. They stung and made the screen blur. The muscles in her neck and shoulders cramped and burned with fatigue. "Computer off."

  Work didn't tire her body half as much as emotions exhausted her spirit. Cat glanced at her journal on the desk, picked up the comforting book that tied her to past generations of Bellon women, her mother, grandmother and on back through the ages.

  Although she'd chronicled the highs and lows of her life within its pages, she'd been unable to write anything since the Mallochon attack on the crew's shuttle and the Falchion. Maybe if she could sense someone's--anyone's--emotions again, she wouldn't feel so isolated.

  The soft door chime pulled Cat from her dark contemplation. Briefly, she considered ignoring the summons, then realized not too many crew members would bother her with something trivial.

  "Enter at your own risk," Cat called out. The door panels slid apart, but no one stood in sight. "Anybody there?"

  Albright poked her head around the edge of the doorway, her blue eyes showing signs of mischief. "Will I be safe inside?"

  Cat gave her a weak smile, the best she could muster. "Safer than anybody else would be right now."

  "Good." Albright entered, one hand hidden behind her back. She noticed the journal. "Taking a trip down memory lane?"

  "No. Can't face the memories--good or bad--yet." Cat set the book down on the wood-grained desk. The wulfenite crystal, nestled within its gold mounting set into the front of the antique cover, glinted in the light.

  Albright ran a finger over the golden crystal's faceting. "I can remember when you had Morgan convinced this stone carried all your happy memories. She believed the wulfenite--excuse me, the memory stone--would reinforce your desire to live. A child's belief system can be so idealistic, almost magical."

  "Maybe. Think about it, though. Around the time Morgan brought the memory stone to sickbay, my healing rhapsody really kicked in and you started to think I had a chance to recover."

  Albright chewed on her bottom lip, a look of consternation on her face. "That's true, but it's only a Bellon myth, right?"

  "Perhaps." Cat smiled, leaned around to the doctor's side. "You hiding something back there I should know about?"

  "Oh." Albright laughed, moving her other hand into sight. "I bring an offering." She held up a garnet-colored bottle and two glasses. "For medicinal purposes only, of course."

  Cat eyed the heavy glass bottle, then Albright, as the doctor poured two healthy portions into the snifters she'd brought with her. The potent aroma of aged Bellon liquor wafted through the room. "Do you know what that is, Nora?"

  "You bet. I did a little research--courtesy of Mykal Lyon--and discovered that wildfire brandy is one of the few alcoholic beverages known to sentient beings that can really set you Bellons on your keisters."

  "If we drink it in sufficient quantity, which is a good amount. I needn't remind you we metabolize alcohol a bit differently than Earthers. Nursing mothers even manage to keep from passing it on to their babes."

  "But it does manage to pin back your ears on occasion?"

  "It's been known to." Cat grinned. "I'll have to take you to a Bellon bonding ceremony or a victory celebration sometime."

  "Ooh, I'd love it. Maybe I should have given some of this magic elixir to the captain to soothe his prickly mood."

  "What do you mean? What about Wulfe?"

  The doctor shrugged peevishly then sighed. "I've been over and over his medical records--sideways, backwards, you name it--all with an eye to anything out of the ordinary. Can't find a damn thing physically wrong. I'm beginning to wonder...maybe he saw something...oh, forget it." Albright handed Cat a glass. "Here's to you."

  "Hold it!" What could Wulfe have seen that would so effectively wipe everything from his mind? "What are you talking about?"

  "Grasping at stars, I guess. I dislike not knowing the answers, especially about something like this. I'm frustrated because I can't solve the problem."

  "Frustration I understand. Wait! Nora, have you ever had any of this brandy before?"

  "Nope, but I'm looking forward to the taste experience." Albright leaned toward her and sniffed. "Didn't think so."

  "Didn't think what?" Cat decided to bide her time, allow the brandy to loosen Albright's tongue. Then she'd pull the information about Wulfe from her.

  "You don't wear perfume."

  "No, I don't."

  "Anything scented?"

  "I use bath oils, light ones, sometimes, when I manage to find time for a soak instead of a sonic shower, which seems to be a cycle or more ago. Why?"

  "Not important."

  "It was important enough for you to mention."

  One corner of Albright's mouth twisted upward into a moue of impatience. "The captain said something about your perfume."

  Goose bumps swept across Cat's skin. "Of all the bloody, incompetent--how could I miss that detail?"

  "What detail?"

  "Mated Bellons--when they're bonded--know one another by scent. In the dark. Across the kilometers."

  "A pheromone thing?"

  "Precisely, and only the couple can detect each other's scent in that particular way."

  "Ah-ha! Then, subconsciously, the captain does remember you! We only have to bring the memory to the surface."

  "Only, she says."

  "Here. Bottoms up."

  "Nora, do yourself a really big favor. Take a very small, very slow sip. Wildfire brandy is potent."

  Albright shrugged, took a quick, deliberate taste and swallowed. "That's not so--good God! My stomach's on fire!"

  "Hence the name." Cat tossed back a mouthful of her own, welcomed the heat exploding in her midsection; oh, she should have eaten something. Sparkling light and bright colors burst onto her inner eyelids when she closed her eyes for a second. Definitely not a replicated product; this was the real thing. "Good year."

  "Catherine, I think this stuff has blinded me!" Albright's blue eyes streamed with reflexive tears as she gasped for air.

  "Give it a few seconds. The flashing lights will stop."

  "It's supposed to do this? You intentionally do this to yourselves? No wonder Bellons are so hot-tempered! I think I'm beginning to understand quite a few things." Albright tried another experimental taste, this one much smaller, but she coughed and sputtered, nonetheless.

  Cat nodded, sipped and waited. In ten minutes, Nora would be giggling and nearly incoherent like any other Earther under the influence of wildfire brandy, and in twenty, be passed out. She'd have to get Nora to talk in that window of time. Then, once the doctor fell asleep, Cat planned to get back to work.

  "Sheesh," Albright slurred right on schedule. "Glad I didn' share any o' thish stuff with Lyon and the cap'ain `fore they went to exershise." Albright broke into peals of laughter. "They'd never find eash other wi' their fal--falk--um, their swordy things. `Course, jus' maybe, th' alca--alca--the brandy--would make th' cap'ain fo'get about what he doesn' wanna see an' `member, an' then he'd jus' `member."

  Make the captain forget about what he doesn't want to see and remember? If she followed Albright's convoluted, alcohol-impaired thinking, the doctor suspected Wulfe intentionally blocked somethin
g. What in the Underworld had Nora believing that now? And what could it be? One way to find out.

  "Why do you say that, Nora? No! Don't drink anymore! Pay attention! What doesn't Wulfe want to remember?"

  Blast! She couldn't make sense of Albright's garbled monologue. "I'm sure you're right," she soothed Nora, then helped her sink down onto the ecru lounger. "Can you tell me anything more about the captain's condition? Don't go to sleep yet! What do you think is happening?"

  Albright snored her answer.

  "Blast!" Cat poured herself another dose of `medicine' and headed for her bedroom. She changed into a set of Bellon leathers--the ivory-colored set Wulfe had chosen for her--to the accompaniment of the doctor's not-so-gentle snoring. Cat slid her falchion from its sheath, inspected the edge, resheathed the blade. Yes; exactly what the doctor had ordered in this case.

  Before leaving her quarters, she stopped long enough in the common area to drape a soft, apricot-colored throw over Nora's slumbering form. She stoppered the bottle and locked the brandy away from the eager, foolish hands of children and Earthers.

  Minutes later, Cat made her way along one of the secondary paths in the ship's arboretum. She followed the sound of metal clashing against metal, spoken suggestions and muttered curses that led her to where Lyon and Wulfe wielded their falchions. Cat found a low-slung branch of a satin-barked tree, swung up to the limb and made herself comfortable.

  Shielded behind a profusion of aromatic gray-green leaves, she treated herself to the commanding sight of her husband dressed in his dark leathers, the magnificent body strong and virile. The powerful bare arms that held her with such protective vitality. The well-muscled chest covered with short dark curls. Long, wavy hair tied back with a thong. The air currents brought his musky man-scent to her.

  Automatically, her mind reached out, strived to reconnect with Wulfe. Nothing but blank walls. She couldn't fight her way through or vault over the obstacle. Hopeful expectation turned to bitter frustration and renewed anger.

  "That's it, Captain. Follow the sounds," Lyon urged.

  Cat noted Wulfe had deactivated the sensor system he now used for sight, the small pulsing light normally seen at his right temple gone dark. Evidently, Wulfe had decided to remaster the art of falchion defense without the advantage of vision. If anyone could do so, he could, she thought proudly. At the very least, the exercise would sharpen his other senses beyond their normal acuteness.

  Wulfe lunged with his sword, barely missed Lyon. Lyon retaliated with a thrust of his own. Wulfe managed to parry, though clumsily for him. Lyon didn't push his obvious advantage. Cat frowned when the chief of security sidestepped and dragged one foot across the ground.

  Lyon intentionally gave Wulfe the added sensory input by making the noise! She couldn't stand to see anyone, even Mykal Lyon, take pity on Wulfe. She'd put this right, treat him like a warrior instead of some helpless child who had yet to undergo his initiation rites.

  Wulfe swivelled after Lyon, following his opponent's movement by sound. He managed better than ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have under the same circumstances, but....

  "Right, Captain. Track by sound. Trust your instincts. Good job," Lyon encouraged.

  Cat slid out of the tree, so fired up over the situation it was hard to stand still, but she leaned against the trunk with an air of indifference. Determined to provoke Wulfe's sense of honor, she called out, "Not bad for a blind man being led, Captain, but not really good."

  Both men swung around, surprised by her presence and words.

  "How long have you been there?" Wulfe demanded.

  "Long enough to see Mykal going easy on you."

  "I wasn't--"

  "Yes, you were, Mykal, even if unintentionally. I'll demonstrate, Captain, if you're willing."

  "Try me."

  "As the captain prefers." Cat slid her falchion from the finely-worked sheath nestled against her spine. She motioned Lyon in her direction, indicated a rough circle on the ground, the area of combat. "Captain, Mykal and I will go at it for a bit. Concentrate...listen."

  She and Lyon went through the standard exercise movements for forty-five or sixty seconds. "Hold," she said. "Captain, could you track our movements?"

  "For the most part."

  "Good." Relieved to find Wulfe paying attention, Cat sheathed her blade. "Computer, replay thirty seconds, audio only, of the last combat exercise between Captain Kincade and Lieutenant Lyon."

  Wulfe tilted his head. He listened with great attention to the sounds, then nodded when the recording finished. "She's right, Mykal. You made excessive noise--your steps and your breathing--for my benefit. Your technique is different, far more subtle, with Catherine. The way you used to be with me."

  "I didn't realize I--" Lieutenant Lyon's comm tag chirped one unique tone. He sheathed his blade. "I have a session with the refitting crew working on the flight deck."

  "You go on ahead, Mykal. I'll stay and work with the captain." She turned to Wulfe. "That is, if you have no objection, Captain Kincade?" She'd bet every last credit to her name she knew how he'd answer.

  "It wouldn't be a fair match, Commander."

  Did she know him, or did she know him? Albright's mumbling about Wulfe not wanting to remember or see echoed in her mind. Did she know him anymore? Maybe the doctor had a point hidden somewhere behind the haze of wildfire brandy, a point that hurt like the devil. But, if her natural scent bothered him... "I quite understand if you feel you're not up to the effort."

  Lyon turned back, watched with apparent fascination, shook his head and walked away, smothering a fit of laughter.

  The strong, handsome lines of Wulfe's face went grim and menacing. "That is not what I meant, Commander. The match wouldn't be fair because you wouldn't stand a chance."

  "That sounds like a challenge to me." Cat walked a wide circle around him, smiled when Wulfe pivoted to follow the sound of her voice. With luck, she might get him so involved in the session, he'd remember something--unless, as Albright seemed to suspect, he didn't want to remember. If nothing else, she'd give him the opportunity to act and react like the warrior she knew him to be. An honorable warrior who couldn't hide from the truth for long. "I accept. What's the wager?"

  Wulfe clenched his teeth until his jaws ached. He'd teach this little snip of an Earther female her place. She'd learn not to test his patience. "Let's make this really interesting. The winner doesn't have to name his prize until he's won."

  "Agreed. The victor names her price."

  The husky voice he'd come to recognize as Catherine's made him feel swathed in rich, expensive satin. Wulfe shook off the seductive sensation, mentally prepared himself for the challenge of sparring with Catherine without doing her serious harm. Not as easy as it sounded, especially when he wanted to teach her a lesson in the process. "How do you wish to begin, Catherine?"

  "Pretty much the way you and Mykal were doing it, only I won't make the task so easy for you."

  "I see." So sure of herself. "Any words of wisdom you wish to impart before we start?"

  "Concentrate on the sound of my movements--those you can detect, anyway. More importantly, envision me. Anticipate my next action. Feel me in your gut. Oh, yes, one more thing; prepare to defend yourself."

  Well, at least Catherine talked like she knew what she was doing. Talk could be a cheap commodity. "I'll give it my best shot."

  "I am more than ready for you."

  Wulfe lunged toward the softly mocking words--and missed.

  "Good, but not good enough, Captain."

  He swung to his left, caught off balance from hearing her words spoken on the same height as his ear. The little wench must have found a boulder to stand on. "You cheat, Commander."

  "Oh, and a true enemy would treat you fairly? Envision me."

  Wulfe swung his blade in response to her goading. He fully expected to make her jump in surprise. Now, that he could envision. Instead, Catherine parried his stroke with joint-popping deftness. A second
later, the tip of her blade sliced across his chest, the sting--to his body and to his pride--accompanied by the sweet, spicy scent of her perfume.

  "Too slow, Captain. Picture me, dammit."

  Her taunt found its target--his pride. He spun to the right, crouched to match her lack of height. She blocked his thrust and then had the nerve to rap his knuckles with the hilt of her sword.

  "You're not bloody trying." Catherine's words, laced with impatience and frustration, slapped at him, at his honor. "Picture me in your mind. Or are you incapable of even that level of control? Bellon warriors do this simple exercise blindfolded before they're old enough for their rites."

  "Aye." Wulfe set his jaw, pivoted to follow her again. "Don't hold back just because I'm your captain. You might--" Wulfe anticipated her thrust and evaded her blade--"regret--narg!" Her backslash caught him on the neck, just enough to drag the skin. He scrambled to defend himself against her swift attack. Who the narg had taught her that Bellon move? He went at her, moving--and listening--with new awareness.

  "See me," Catherine demanded.

  Her blade sliced the leather of his vest, assaulted his body, nipped the top layer of skin, taunted him.

  "It's so simple, Wulfe--"

  Thrust--spin.

  "--if you try."

  Swing--parry.

  "Your problem--"

  Lunge--evade.

  "--is you don't want to see me!"

  Thrust--retreat.

  "You could see me--"

  Spin. Wulfe gasped for air.

  "--if you bloody well wanted to--"

  Stagger--parry.

  "--damn you to the deepest levels! See me, Wulfe!"

  Between the blows given and received, Wulfe began to visualize her. He envisioned Catherine dressed in curve-caressing leather. The ivory color emphasized the fantasy color of her honey-bronze skin. He imagined a gold-laced copper hairpin slipping loose to allow a wealth of mahogany-colored curls to billow around Catherine. The cloud of red silk covered her from the top of her head to the middle of her shapely calves. Her scent came to him, warmed by the strenuous exercise. In his mind's eye, he saw her push the heavy length of hair away from her exotic, beautiful face, whip the thick curls over her shoulder and brace for his next swing. At the last minute, Catherine spun away. The mass of hair swirled around her, crackling with static electricity. The sparks reached for him, danced on the surface of his skin.