Contact

by Susan Grant

  “How a world like Earth became separated from the rest is a great mystery,” Moray read. “If Earth exists, then it follows that other lost worlds do, too. It is my wish that this possibility will spawn a new era of exploration, and a galaxy of thanks for Commodore-elite Ilya Moray, a selfless hero, a true visionary, and”—Moray lowered the hand-held—“my father.” The commodore’s eyes were moist. “Thank you, Kào.”

  “I said nothing more than the truth.” The men regarded each other silently. “I haven’t heard anything from Headquarters. I hope it means they’re giving the matter proper consideration.”

  Moray spread his meaty hands on the table. The excitement in his gray eyes was unmistakable. “We’ve done it, my boy. Never did I think it would happen this quickly. We’re on our way. Before you know it, we’ll have you installed in the Grand Forum.” He gazed somewhere far off. “Perhaps a senate seat. It’s well within your abilities, you know.” He brought his attention back to Kào in sharp focus. “We’ve always known that. Soon they will see your potential, too. Ah, yes, this is but the start.”

  “What is, Father? I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

  “Your war records, of course! They’ve agreed to review them. Headquarters has. You’ll be vindicated; your name will be cleared, just as I told you. Wait and see.”

  “My records are to be reviewed?” Kào shook his head. “My correspondence with the Academy led to this?”

  “Yes, son. Your efforts on my behalf spurred Sofu to reopen the case. Just as you’d hoped.”

  “My hope was to clear your name, not mine. My actions brought about the biggest defeat of the war—”

  “Lies, Kào! All of it.” The crimson tinting Moray’s neck rose to his jowls and cheeks. “I’ve forwarded them the additional information I’ve gathered over the years. It will clarify what we already know, that you made your decision that day based on the best intelligence available to you. You were doing your duty as a loyal Alliance soldier. No more,” he growled, “and no less. You were made a scapegoat.”

  Kào stared at his scarred hands. If what Moray told him was true—and he had no reason to believe otherwise—there was a real possibility that his record could be wiped clear of all blame for the mistaken attack, because he’d acted on faulty intelligence. As for the information he had let loose in the prison camp, there was no proof; and all the other suspects were dead.

  Kào drew a deep breath. This turn of events he would never have imagined. This was more than all he’d ever wanted: the chance to clear his father’s name. But the victory was a hollow one. Jordan would leave for the relocation port with her people, and he’d be obligated to remain on the Savior. An open and active investigation would take an unknown period of time. There would be data requested, interviews, and likely a holo-appearance before a military tribunal.

  Moray watched him, clearly awaiting a response of some kind. With conviction he didn’t feel, Kào said, “This is good news, good news indeed.”

  “It certainly is.” His father’s eyes narrowed. “You look tired, Kào.”

  “I am, sir.” Of being more a puppet than the master of my destiny; of not being the man Jordan needs me to be. And he was tired of his overwhelming sense of debt to his father, which blinded him to what choices were the right ones.

  Kào thanked the heavens that Moray didn’t know that his relationship with Jordan had turned intimate. He needed breathing room in which to give the entire dilemma the deliberation it required. Pricking his father’s misplaced protective instincts would only make matters worse.

  “Perhaps today I will exchange my workout for a nap,” Kào said lightly and pushed himself to his feet. “Is their anything else you require of me?”

  “No. Go rest. You well deserve it.”

  Kào returned the man’s warm smile and trudged to the exit.

  “Oh. One more thing, Kào.”

  He turned around. The man dug something out of his chest pocket. It was a two-dimensional image of a pretty little girl with blond hair and eyes of blue. Kào couldn’t name what swept through him upon spying the familiar reproduction of Jordan’s beloved daughter, but if one were to take outrage and defeat and mix them together, it’d be pretty blasted close to what he felt gazing at the picture of Jordan’s child in Moray’s hand.

  By the Seeders! Had he and Jordan been so distracted that they’d left this behind? Apparently so.

  “This was found in the viewing room,” the commodore said and placed it on the table.

  “It belongs to one of the refugees.” His back straight, his shoulders squared, Kào returned to the table and collected the image. “Thank you.”

  The picture burned a hole in his hand as he strode to the hatch. The image of Jordan’s child had led to an encounter so moving and so life-affirming that the presence of the photo in this environment and under these circumstances conspired to sour that experience. But he steeled himself against the temptation to give in, to let something so valued be stolen from him. As a man with a dearth of beloved memories, he wasn’t apt to part easily with what few he’d gained.

  Something made him stop in the hatchway. A sixth sense. Gut instinct. He didn’t know what to call it, but the impulse had often served him well. “By the way, sir,” he said, turning around. “Who found this?”

  Moray made a show of gathering his handheld and other items. “Trist did.”

  “Trist,” Kào repeated flatly. Trist! Blast it all. What goal had she in mind, taking the picture to Moray and not directly to him?

  “Yes. Trist,” Moray replied, as casual as could be. Kào couldn’t fathom his father not pondering the implications behind the appearance of the picture in the viewing room shortly after dawn. He must know now that Kào had brought Jordan there, though not, he hoped, that they’d ended up making love on the viewing room floor.

  “Trist knew that I’d called you to the bridge, Kào. I suppose she thought to save time by giving the image to me to pass along instead of returning it in person. She’s been rather busy of late with her duties.”

  “Yes, she certainly has.” Busier than Moray knew, what with escorting refugees to the ship’s bar.

  The two incidents were related, Kào decided: Trist giving the picture to his father and her involvement with the refugees last night. But Kào couldn’t discern the connection. It was like trying to string together two matching beads with a too-short cord. Fortunately for him and perhaps not for Trist, he enjoyed puzzles. His mind was already working on solutions as he gave his father a curt nod, backed up two steps, and left the room.

  “Carte blanche,” Jordan repeated to Dillon’s surprise as she peered over his shoulder, watching him probe deeper into the Savior’s computer. “Trist said we can poke around the computer and she won’t say a thing.”

  “A green light,” he said, his fingers tapping atop the keyboard. “Look. The files that were protected aren’t anymore.” Periodically he’d stop and study something. Then he’d be off again. “What do we owe her for the privilege?” he wondered aloud as he typed.

  “I asked that, too. She’ll want an eye for an eye, apparently.” She pulled over a pair of ottoman-type chairs that Dillon had grounded for her by disabling the buoyancy. But to be at the same height as someone sitting on a floating chair, she’d have to stack them. She lifted the second and balanced it on the first. Atop the double chair, she scooted backward until she felt secure on the cushion. A momentary twinge between her legs reminded her of what she’d been doing most of the night before.

  Ah, Kào. She missed him already. Their time together would be too short. They should be spending every last moment together, but they had responsibilities, both of them. She worked at keeping her feelings for Kào, or anything that might hint at her extracurricular activities with him, from appearing in her face.

  Dillon watched her with some skepticism. “Piling the chairs one atop the other.” He shook his head. “I thought that’s why I fixed them for you, because you didn’t care for th
e height.”

  “Height I don’t mind exactly. It’s a perceived lack of control that I can’t stand. I’m a pilot, remember?”

  “Yeah.” He cracked a smile and returned his attention to the computer. “So . . . an eye for an eye, is it?”

  “Yup. We owe Trist a future favor. God knows what we’ll be able to do for her. I say we got the better end of the deal.”

  “Ah . . . here we go.”

  “What, what?” Her heart rate picked up, and she leaned forward.

  “I plugged in Earth’s coordinates, and there’s our star map.”

  The image was three-dimensional, reminding her uncomfortably of the holo-recording. “Now all we need is our present position and we’ll know where we are in relation to home.”

  “Home,” Dillon murmured. “It’ll always be that, even burned to a crisp, eh?” He bent his head to his task again.

  Ben sauntered up to where they sat. “He found Earth’s coordinates,” Jordan told him.

  Ben peered at the numbers scrawled on Dillon’s scratch-pad. “That’s not right. The fourth symbol . . . it’s their number four. The half C with the squiggle on the top. You’ve got a seven.”

  “How the hell would you know?” Dillon asked.

  Ben tapped the side of his head. “I have a photographic memory, remember? You said it would come in handy someday, and it did. In the holo-vid last night I saw a string of numbers, bottom right-hand side, like they’d labeled the flick. It was the same format as what you’ve got there—almost the same number, too, except for the seven. If it wasn’t the coordinates, then what was it? Especially with the numbers being so close to the ones you’ve got there.”

  Dillon traced his index finger across the flexible screen, distorting the image under the light pressure. “There are twenty-six numbers in galactic coordinates. That’s a lot of figures to remember. You sure about that four you saw?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Dillon swore under his breath, grumbling as he went back to work.

  “What’s his problem?” Ben asked Jordan under his breath. “It’s probably just a typo.”

  “But which one has the typo?” Jordan murmured back. “Dillon’s been working on this day and night, trying to pinpoint our present position.”

  “Why not just ask where we are?”

  “I did,” she said. “It’s classified. No one but the senior staff knows our position at any given time. If they haven’t told Kào, they’re not going to tell us.”

  “And Earth’s coordinates?” Ben whispered back. “Can’t you ask about those?”

  Dillon interjected, “Those I had to find myself. Or at least I thought I had. Now you tell me they’re wrong.”

  “Hey, man, I’m sure what I saw was a misprint.” Ben tried to appease him with a smile.

  But Dillon was already hunched over the computer, so deep in concentration that he hadn’t heard him.

  “I’ll let you work, Dillon,” Jordan said quietly. “Good luck with it.”

  Ben offered her a hand. She grabbed it for balance and hopped off the double chair. “It seems to me he’s going through a lot of trouble for nothing,” Ben remarked as they walked away. “What’s the point of knowing where we are in space now? Maybe it was a big deal once, when we didn’t know where they were taking us, but now we know. Kào told you. The Rim.”

  “Dillon wants to know. He won’t give up. And frankly, I hope he doesn’t. I think it’s safer to question, to confirm things on our own. Thank God Trist is letting us. Or we’d be totally in the dark.”

  “Like we are now.”

  Jordan shrugged and sighed. “We’re in the dark and searching, Ben. That’s better than the alternative. I guarantee that if Dillon were to throw in the towel—and he won’t—I’d jump right in and take over. And, no, I wouldn’t know what the heck I was doing, any more than he’d be able to fly that nice jet we’ve got parked downstairs, but I’d feel like I was doing something.” She rolled her hands into fists. “I have to feel like I’m doing something. Going forward. In control.”

  Ben rubbed her back. “Ah, Jordan. This whole thing sucks.”

  She sighed. “Yeah. But it’s getting better.” Thanks to Kào.

  They stopped by the water dispenser, where it was blessedly deserted. They filled glasses and drank. Ben refilled his cup. “Last night must have been pretty intense for you,” he said under his breath.

  She choked on her swallow of water. He doesn’t mean Kào. She cleared her throat. “It’s going to be a while before I stop seeing the explosions every time I close my eyes.”

  He sipped pensively. “Trist helped me put things in perspective.”

  Jordan lowered her glass. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No. She’s a lot different than we thought. She’s . . .” His eyes unfocused, and then his mouth curved smugly as his attention came back to Jordan. “Really nice.”

  “That’s . . . great.” Jordan didn’t know what else to say. She’d had a very different first impression of Trist than what the woman was turning out to be. If she made Ben happy, then the least she could do was try to like her.

  Ben chuckled. “I called her ‘snow angel.’ She didn’t know what to say.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “She looks like one, you know, with that skin and white hair. And she’s so tiny. Really delicate.”

  “Size is deceptive. I wouldn’t underestimate her strength.”

  He gave a very male-sounding laugh. “I won’t anymore. Not after last night.”

  It was all Jordan could do to keep her jaw from dropping. Had he slept with Trist? Had there been time? When Jordan had walked through the front door, Ben was already sitting on the couch with Natalie, waiting for her. But if he and Trist had made love only once, one quickie instead of . . . A hot blush flooded her face, and she tried to hide it by taking a deep drink of water. “Snow angel, huh?” she prompted, swallowing.

  “Yeah . . . last night was pretty incredible. But she’s in a relationship.” He shrugged. “She didn’t tell me until after, though.”

  Whoa. After? After what ?

  Ben regarded her thoughtfully. “So, did you and Kào . . . you know?”

  This time she managed to swallow without choking. She thought of fibbing. But what was the point in denying her involvement with Kào? Ben and Natalie would figure it out soon enough, especially if her plans to sneak away to Kào’s quarters became a nightly thing. They’d already seen the official Alliance uniform she planned to use as a disguise, courtesy of Kào, that just happened to be folded neatly inside a large box delivered that afternoon along with a surprise ration of rare, fresh, ready-to-eat produce for everyone on Flight 58. On Earth, he would have sent roses. “He’s a really good guy, Ben,” she replied as enigmatically as possible.

  “You need a good guy.”

  “For however long I have him around. He can’t leave the ship. And we have to.” She wished she could feel as casual and unconcerned about the prospect as she sounded. The bittersweet feeling of “doomed romance” settled over her once more. Two people destined to cross paths and never see each other again. God, she was depressing herself all over again. Buck up, Jordan.

  She forced a smile. “So, why the sudden change in heart about Kào? Only yesterday you had him at the center of a conspiracy to keep us all as prisoners.”

  “Let’s just say that I learned a few things.” He rubbed his shadowed cheek. “People aren’t always what they seem. And you can’t judge a book by its cover.”

  “Meaning the Talagars.”

  “Yeah.”

  If Trist had wanted an ally among the refugees, she’d found one. “Well, I’m happy for you, Ben.” She was. Really. Everyone needed someone in difficult times, and who was she to judge? “So, are you ready to get to work? Let’s finish that inventory we started. I want listed everything we want to take with us when we leave the ship. Including what’s left on the airplane, and the airplane itself, if they let us ta
ke it. We’re not going to have the chance to come back and look for anything we left behind.”

  Broken hearts included.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Kào’s quarters were bathed in a romantic amber glow, and the air was scented with something fresh—simulated outdoors, Jordan guessed, since it smelled like a forest after a soaking rain, clean and fresh. Luxury settled all around her like a downy comforter. Languidly she glanced at the time. It was the middle of the last third. When it ended, Kào would have to sneak her back to New Earth. But for now, they were together.

  The bedding was twisted around her ankles. Her lips tingled, abraded by the roughness of his beard. The tender skin of her inner thighs tingled for the exact same reason. And more, much more. They’d made love impatiently as soon as the hatch had sealed behind them. It was always like that: first the hunger and then the tenderness.

  Kào lay with his back toward her. She snuggled closer, bumping into Kào’s translator. She longed for the day when they wouldn’t have to sleep with their computers. Though she’d be gone by then, she thought sadly. “You were pretty wonderful,” she murmured in his ear.

  He answered with a grunt. She propped herself on one elbow and forced his shoulder down to the mattress, shifting him onto his back. His mouth was hard; his scar stood out starkly. And his eyes burned as dark and ominous as a late afternoon thunderstorm in the Rockies.

  She pursed her lips. While she’d been lying in bliss, he’d been brooding. She should have figured as much; he seemed to have a tough time assimilating happiness. “Someone is wearing the world on his shoulders again.”

  He picked up his translator and gave it a funny look. “I don’t understand the phrase.”

  “It’s vernacular for putting pressure on yourself, taking everyone else’s problems and making them your own. Because how bad can your problems be”—she traced her finger over his shaven jaw—“after tonight?”

  He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The blanket, wadded between them, was made of a holofabric. Tiny spruce-colored leaves danced atop a matte background of black-ticked gold. Absently she waved her palm above the pattern. Her hand didn’t pass through the leaves but above them, destroying the illusion. “You’re shutting me out, Kào.”