Contact

by Susan Grant

  “Is Mommy happy . . . in the sky?” she couldn’t help asking. Craig had never been the man her daughter needed. No matter how strong a woman was, she deserved a strong man. If a good relationship had eluded Jordan in life, then at least she could have one in her little girl’s imagination.

  But Roberta shook her head. “She wants to come home.”

  The cold, dense ball of sorrow in Barb’s chest expanded. God help you, baby. “Maybe this man is an angel sent to help your mother’s soul find peace.”

  The child pursed her lips, and a determined little valley formed between her brows. “No, Grandma. Mommy’s not dead. And the man is not an angel.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kào strode onto the bridge with a decided spring in his step. On his way past a row of mission techs manning their monitors, he spied a familiar white head. “Greetings, Trist,” he called out. “The language program you created for the refugees is working quite well.”

  The woman almost dropped her handheld.

  He walked onward, whistling an old soldier’s ditty, until he noticed that the entire row of mission techs stared at him. He paused a moment, then continued. Heads turning and whispering behind hands wasn’t new; they all did it when they thought he wasn’t looking. Frankly, he didn’t care. He rarely socialized with the crew.

  The psych-medic had suggested that Kào’s self-imposed isolation was a consequence of the length of time he’d spent in solitary confinement in the Talagar prison, but Kào knew better. He simply lacked the urge to form acquaintances.

  As a child, he hadn’t any playmates, but that was a matter of circumstance more than preference. Moray’s weren’t family ships. As a soldier, he’d finally experienced friendship, camaraderie forged by hardships and fear. But those men were dead now, killed in the war. There had been the occasional longer-term lover over the years, when circumstances permitted such liaisons, but friendship had never been involved or expected. The relationships had been based on sex, an arrangement that had suited the women as much as it had him.

  If he looked at his social history objectively, as it was his inclination to be analytical, it didn’t make sense that he was so drawn to Jordan. Ah, but he was.

  “Kào, my boy!” His father’s jubilant voice called to him from across the bridge. Then the man stopped, gaping at him.

  Kào cast an uneasy glance down the front of his uniform. “Don’t tell me I brushed up against the wet paint in the corridor.”

  “Your hair is damp.”

  “Ah, that.” He smoothed the fingers of one hand through the cropped wet strands. “I took a water shower.” Water was used for cleansing only rarely. Medical insisted on the waterless hygiene showers for health reasons. “I had a particularly long workout, and treated myself.”

  “Well.” His father grinned. “I don’t know which pleases me more, that you’re working out again or that you treated yourself.”

  “It was only a water shower, Father,” Kào said wryly. “You act as if I wallowed in luxury.”

  “It’s your duty with the refugees.” His father waggled a thick finger at him. “Did I not tell you that it would yank you from your doldrums?”

  “Actually, Father, you didn’t.” Kào’s mouth quirked. “But I long suspected it was the reason you handed me the chore.”

  “You know me too well, son.” Moray pounded him on the back. “I’m glad it’s been a positive experience for you. I admit that I had my doubts after the start.”

  He wasn’t the only one. Jordan Cady had caused them much trouble that first day. But now she caused Kào turmoil of a different sort. His feelings in the wake of their intense and intimate conversation on the observation deck had left him spinning like a lost observation buoy. “She’s really something,” he mumbled to himself.

  “Who is, Kào?”

  Instantly Kào regretted letting the remark slip. “Jordan Cady, the refugee leader.”

  “You’re quite taken with her, I see.” Even as his father made the statement, the man’s narrowed eyes searched Kào’s face for confirmation. “Don’t lose sight of the fact that she’s a refugee, Kào, and you’re a ship’s officer.”

  “I understand that, sir.”

  “I consider you the best man for the job—I still do—but if the refugee woman is complicating matters for you—”

  “Nothing is becoming complicated, sir.” Or was it?

  “Good.” Moray took a blinking handheld from a passing aide. “Have you given more thought to marrying?”

  Kào gave a quick, disbelieving laugh. “No.”

  “Well, I have. A well-placed mate, that’s what you need. As I predicted, the recent elections on Sofu have presented us with many opportunities. Ones I would imagine that you will be as anxious as I to snap up.”

  Ah, so it was back to this battle again. But today Kào didn’t feel like arguing. He felt like . . . whistling.

  Moray noticed. “Kào, are you not feeling well?”

  “I’m feeling fine.” Kào walked to the viewing window where he could see the stars. He stretched, inhaling deeply. “As a matter of fact, I’m feeling more than fine. The best in years.” And it was almost the truth. He didn’t think he’d ever purge the guilt and the pain, or fully escape the dreams of Talagarian torture that shattered his sleep like broken glass, but the shadows had been pushed farther from his consciousness than ever before.

  He turned around to find his father wearing a disconcerted expression on his florid face. “As I said, Kào, I’m glad to hear you’ve taken to working out again. Weights? Running?”

  “Both. Your officers-only holo-arena is an impressive facility.” He’d been on the ship for months, but he’d just made his first visit after his observation-deck rendezvous with Jordan. The arena was immense, the three-dimensional, digital holographics vividly real. His father had spared no expense.

  “But physical conditioning isn’t all I’ve worked on of late,” he continued. “To make sure you receive full credit for your efforts, I had to forward Earth’s coordinates to the Ministry of Planetary Registration on Sofu. I thought we already had, but apparently, in the confusion afterward, no one had gotten around to it.”

  Moray’s eyes widened. “Did you first verify the coordinates with my science staff?”

  “Yes. And a good thing I did. Apparently, there was a glitch in the data that would have placed the planet in an entirely different zone. But that’s been corrected now.”

  Moray’s entire body deflated with his exhalation. It proved to Kào that his father shared his belief that the Earther rescue was critical to restoring his former standing in the Alliance.

  “The Ministry is quite taken with the possibilities of your discovery,” Kào said proudly. “I’ll admit that I, too, am fascinated with the theory that the planet had become separated from the rest of the Alliance in prehistory. I made sure that the Ministry was well aware that you’d made the initial discovery as well as first contact. And orchestrated the entire rescue operation.”

  Moray puffed himself up. “You flatter me,” he said with the barest trace of humbleness.

  “I want this for you, father,” Kào said with quiet conviction. “I want to make up for what happened in the war. Before I leave this ship, I promise you your name will be respected and praised once more throughout the Alliance.”

  Moray’s smile faltered. “What is this talk of leaving the ship?”

  If the commodore had his way, he’d keep Kào by his side forever. The man had lost his first family. Kào knew he was loath to lose a second. It was with patience that he replied, “We act as if my recuperative stay here is an open-ended visit, but we both know better. I hold no official position here. Sooner or later I’m going to have to find my own way, my own life.”

  An aide tiptoed up to them. “Commodore Moray, here is the report on the rogue vessel,” he said meekly.

  “Thank you, Jinn.” Moray made a sound in his throat and took the handheld. “Join me for dinner, Kào. We have
much to talk about. And not enough time in each other’s company lately to do it.”

  “Very good, Father. I look forward to it.” And normally he would have, Kào thought. But the commodore took his evening meal at the bottom of the second third, cutting into the time Kào had set aside for Jordan and refugee affairs. Dinner with Moray meant that he’d miss their meeting. But such was a son’s obligation to his father.

  Moray turned away, then stopped. “A thought just occurred to me. Ensign Pren mentioned that her team is finished with the refugees’ computers. Perhaps you’d like to give them back. It would be seen as a nice gesture.” He smiled and walked off.

  Kào rubbed his chin. He’d taken to visiting Jordan in the mornings. Their official meetings remained in the early evenings. Now today he’d be able to show up at midday, too, if he were to use the computers as an excuse.

  He returned to Trist’s station. “Ensign, the commodore has told me you’re done with the refugees’ computers. Please arrange for immediate return of the items.”

  Trist’s mouth thinned. “That will not be a good idea.”

  “Why not? They’ve lost everything. If we can give them something back, even the smallest link to their lost world, then I want it done.”

  “But many of the devices were damaged in the data collection process. Not intentionally, Kào, but that was the end result.” She tucked wispy strands of colorless hair behind one pink ear. “My advice to you is not to give any back, not knowing which are functional. The refugees will be angry, and blame it all on you. I recommend you schedule the whole lot for destruction—the computers, that is,” she said, her red eyes glittering in what appeared to be a smirk. “Not the refugees.”

  She’d made a joke, one at which only a Talagar would have laughed. Kào frowned. “If you can’t save all the computers, then destroy them all? Is that your thinking?”

  She shrugged, unrepentant.

  Trist had been born and raised under Alliance rule, but her behavior was pure Talagar. He knew, having met enough of the creatures in the past three years to last a lifetime. Ten lifetimes. But even Trist couldn’t spoil his mood. He was on his way to New Earth, bearing gifts—a brilliant suggestion on his father’s part. If decorum prevented him from bringing Jordan flowers, then, by the Seeders, he’d bring her computers instead.

  He smoothed his uniform and ran his fingers through his damp hair. “The computers will be returned to their rightful owners, Trist. End of discussion. I thank you for your assistance in the matter. Good day.”

  Humming the old ditty that was stuck in his head, Kào fought the unsettling sensation of more than one pair of disapproving red eyes following him as he walked off the bridge.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The afternoon staff meeting with the flight attendants had just broken up when Christopher galloped up to Jordan, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Darth Vader’s here!”

  Her gaze swung to where the child pointed, and her heart did a flip. Hands clasped behind his back with that soldierly stiffness that endeared him to her, Kào stood in the hatch, observing the bustle of Town Square. Aloof, self-assured, he looked every inch the cold military man he once was. But Jordan knew that on the inside, he was anything but chilly and detached.

  All in one movement, she hopped off her floating chair and shoved her feet into her shoes. “He’s early,” she said to the others sitting with her. It wasn’t easy to keep her pleasure at Kào’s unexpected appearance from showing on her face as she gathered her handheld and to-do lists. She could hear the flight attendants’ murmurs behind her as she hurried across Town Square. Tough. Let them speculate. The way she saw it, in a life gone suddenly dark there was one bright spot. And he’d just shown up at the front door.

  Kào spied her hurrying toward him and lifted his hand in the Alliance greeting. For a fraction of a second, his gaze dipped to her mouth, sending a frisson of desire racing through her belly.

  “Greetings, Kào,” she said, a little too breathlessly.

  Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes sparkled, though, and he looked . . . well, he looked great. Happier. The thought that she had something to do with his transformation over the past few weeks warmed her even more. “I have an appointment that will keep me from meeting you at our usual time,” he informed her. “I came now, so I could return these.”

  He disappeared into the corridor, returning with a three-foot-long black pole in one hand and the handlebar of a floating pallet loaded with electronics in the other. He looked like a cross between Santa Claus and a futuristic shepherd as he pulled the cart into the room.

  Jordan immediately turned around and called out, “The computers are here!” A cheer went up. All the laptops, CD players, cell phones, and electric shavers had been confiscated the day they’d arrived. She’d assumed it was for security reasons. Now it looked as if they were getting them back.

  Near the top of the pile was a scratched and battered, aqua-blue Walkman with a heart-shaped Black Beauty sticker on its face. Jordan winced. Just when she thought she had it all under control, one of the shards of her shattered life would slice across her heart. But she put on her “official” face and expressed her gratitude. “Thank you for returning our things.” Her appreciation was echoed by many of the others. Kào acknowledged the thanks with a pleased nod.

  Ben and Natalie pulled the pallet farther into the common area, and the passengers surged toward them.

  “Stand back,” Natalie ordered in her no-nonsense flight-attendant voice.

  “Set them on the floor,” Jordan instructed the woman. “And supervise who takes what. Log each transaction, too, in case we have a dispute later.”

  Kào took the pole he’d brought with him and stood it on the floor. “This is the power stick. If your items don’t work for lack of power, touch them here.” From the pallet, he chose a mini DVD player and brushed it across the pole’s smooth matte-black surface. One stroke and the batteries were recharged. Applause and cries of astonishment rang out. One by one, people brought their electronics to the power stick, reverently, like worshipers laying offerings at an altar. Cheers accompanied each success. It was an impressive piece of tech, answering Jordan’s question as to how they were going to charge appliances, since it was doubtful the Savior operated on electricity as they knew it.

  Kào was scoring big points with everyone, she thought. Unlike her, the others didn’t know him. Most remained wary, and she couldn’t blame them. But this gesture of goodwill would go a long way toward gaining their trust.

  Ben couldn’t pass out electronics fast enough. If Kào was Santa, then Ben Kathwari was his industrious elf. He even smiled at Kào for the first time. “This is good, real good,” he told Kào as he helped a woman sort through the pile. “Thanks.”

  Kào appeared quite pleased.

  “This baby’s mine,” the woman Ben had helped said as she found her laptop. “My kids are stored in here.” Her lips trembled. “My husband, too. God bless that digital camera he made us buy.” She touched the laptop to the power stick. With sharp anticipation, she hurried to a floating chair and opened the case.

  Jordan smiled. It was a real boost, seeing Ben and the others animated after so much ashen-faced gloom.

  Then an anguished cry silenced the happy chatter. It was the woman. “There’s nothing here! The hard drive was wiped clean!”

  “Mine, too,” someone else yelled.

  Jordan’s heart sank. There was a problem with the computers.

  “You bastards! You goddamn bastards!” Ben cried.

  Kào whipped his arms up in a protective block as Ben plowed into him, throwing them both to the floor.

  “Ben! Kào! Hey—break it up.” But the two men were too preoccupied to hear her. “Garrett, Rich! Over here—now!”

  The men pushed their way through the cheering, jeering crowd. Jordan wrung her hands and began to pace in short, jerky steps. She couldn’t believe it. Ben and Kào were brawling to the whoops of what s
ounded like half the population of New Earth. This was exciting to them? This was fun? Were the people letting off steam, or were they honestly happy about one of them taking down a ship’s officer?

  Kào was an expert in hand-to-hand combat—that was obvious. In seconds, he’d used his body with the unemotional efficiency of a top-notch weapon, immobilizing Ben with deadly grace. Flipping Ben beneath him, he pinned him with an armlock to keep the purser from throwing any more punches.

  Garrett the Marine grabbed Kào, and Rich Stein, one of her other male flight attendants, took hold of Ben, and they jerked the men apart.

  Pulled to his feet, Kào stood with his boots planted wide. His heaving chest was the only sign that the fight had taken anything out of him. His hands were held behind his back by Garrett, but he didn’t resist. Ben, to Jordan’s dismay, seethed, straining against Rich’s hold.

  “Return the translator,” Jordan ordered. Kào’s handheld computer had skittered across the room. It would be his only way of discerning what was said, since everyone had reverted to English. One of the passengers retrieved it and handed it to Kào. “Now let him go,” Jordan told Garrett. It wasn’t Kào she was worried about, it was Ben.

  Jordan turned toward the purser. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Ben gasped, “He destroyed our laptops!”

  Kào’s voice was cool, unemotional. “It was a mistake. It wasn’t done intentionally.”

  Jordan translated for Ben. The purser’s brown eyes blazed with hatred. “Bullshit! His lips curled back, and he spat. A glob of saliva splattered on the floor near Kào’s boots.

  Jordan stormed over to Ben. He was shaking from head to toe. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” she said under her breath, “but one more move like that and I’ll lock you in the brig.” Brig? They didn’t have a brig. But today’s events indicated that they’d eventually have to make one.