“All right then, I should go.” Trying not to run, she headed for the door.
“Azsla.”
She slowed and turned. “Yes?”
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You were here. You were kind. I won’t forget.”
Azsla shuddered. She couldn’t let down her guard. Not ever.
She shut the door and slammed down on the sadness welling through her chest, an emotion that might cause her Quait to raise its nasty head and bite. Sadness was simply another emotion she couldn’t afford to feel.
“Micoo’s had a terrible nightmare and is resting now,” she told the men as she strode through the apartment. They must have heard the edge in her tone. Neither Rak nor Jadlan asked any questions or tried to stop her from leaving the apartment.
Within moments, she was outside. Back on track.
AZSLA HEADED FOR the building where she was supposed to report for work, fully prepared to deny knowledge about her crew’s whereabouts if any Firsts came looking to ask her what had happened to them. Since the tranqed Firsts had already set up her cover under a new name and identity, she didn’t concern herself with worrying whether or not President Laurie could track her down. Her original mission plan had anticipated a huge fuss would be made of the escaped slaves and that Azsla would need a more commonplace identity.
So Azsla had kept her first name, since it was a fairly common one on both Zor and Rama. And she now possessed a new last name. At a fantasy store, she’d bought a bottle of instant hair color, and her black hair was now brunette streaked with blond and red. In addition, she’d colored her irises a nondescript green and punched up her bustline two cup sizes.
Certain that even her own crew wouldn’t recognize her after she finished with makeup and a cheek tattoo, she strode into the Loran Ministry of Weapons, a twenty-story granitite building that looked more like a museum than a military establishment, with its beautiful lines and large windows that let in bright sunshine.
She reported to the front desk, expecting to see tight security, including thumb and iris checks, but the man simply read her pass and jerked his thumb to the elevators. “Third floor.”
The gleaming brass elevator opened into a spacious foyer filled with empty chairs and a powered-down vidscreen. She followed a carpet runner, heading to the end of the hallway where a secretary asked her name, then handed her a clipboard and a wad of paperwork. Filling out the myriad of forms took most of the afternoon, and she was grateful for her training, which allowed her to answer the questions in a consistent and thorough pattern that went all the way back to her birth.
Azsla had her fake background down pat. Instead of the first child of two Firsts that she really was, she was supposed to be the second child of two Firsts, which would help explain her height, fitness, and superior health. On Rama anyone who wasn’t a firstborn sired by a male First was of lower intelligence, possessed slower physical reactions, a weaker immune system, poorer reflexes and muscle control, and had no mind control abilities whatsoever. No Quait.
To keep the population stable, male Firsts sired one firstborn with their wife and were allowed to sire one other child with anyone else they chose. These children were raised by the First wife and rarely knew their biological mothers. Theoretically, any accidental and subsequent children of two Firsts became slaves—but no accidents had happened in thousands of years.
Azsla was supposed to have escaped Rama ten years ago, and her cover story said she’d lived on a Zoran farm and attended a nearby college. Overly qualified for her position as a weapons specialist and covert ops, she expected a low-level position from which she could work her way up through the ranks until she found a way to hack into the systems or was trusted with the information she needed.
After spending hours filling out the damn forms, she handed them to a woman who tossed them in a basket without looking at them. Azsla frowned, her annoyance rising, but the woman didn’t even look up from her paperwork, simply jerked her thumb toward another office.
Easy. Annoyance led to anger. Anger could lead to trouble. Azsla stomped down on the emotion and headed to yet another office. However, when she again was handed more paperwork to fill out, she had more difficulty taming her annoyance. At least these papers weren’t about her background. They were simple tax forms.
Although she was in a hurry to hear the latest intel about the slaves who’d escaped from Rama, she hadn’t yet made it past the secretaries who guarded the inner sanctums. And every hour of delay placed her crew in additional danger of being found.
But she could do nothing to speed the process. After completing the paperwork, she went to wardrobe where they fitted her for a uniform. And then they sent her home with orders to return tomorrow morning early.
Azsla went to the fresher to calm her irritation and think over her plans. She’d wasted most of the day and had learned nothing. The longer her crew stayed in her apartment, the higher the risk they’d be caught by a tranqed First contact.
But Azsla had nowhere safe to move them. She needed intel, access to the government computer systems to see what kind of search was being conducted. And she wanted to find out if that vision she’d experienced was a weapon. Should she risk snooping around? As it was her first day here, if she were caught in the wrong place, she could claim she was lost, but she might be fired. And if she blew this job opportunity, it would make her mission to assess the Zoran weapons a total failure.
Perhaps she should wait.
A woman entered the fresher as Azsla washed her hands. With her head down, she looked a bit familiar and when she raised her head, Azsla recognized her contact. Yawitz. The woman who’d handed her credits and instructions back at the capital. But she had been heading home to Rama. What was she still doing here?
Had the tranqed Firsts learned Azsla had helped her crew escape? Were they even now being rounded up and sent back for execution?
Despite her surprise and worry, she chose her words with care, reminding herself that if her contact had shown up here, she probably hadn’t gone to the apartment. “I thought everyone was going home?”
“Change of plans.” Yawitz took the sink next to Azsla, turned on the water and handed her a key. “Apparently, we’re working through the night.”
We? The slight emphasis told Azsla the timing of her mission had changed. Apparently, the Corps needed that Intel as soon as possible. Great. Azsla hadn’t even had time to scope out the building yet. Sure, she knew the schematics, but she’d already learned that her old intel was often outdated.
But she was eager to begin and slipped the key into her pocket. She was also pleased Yawitz hadn’t questioned her about her crew, which likely meant the Firsts had no reason to think she knew of their whereabouts. “Actually, I was just heading home,” Azsla murmured in case anyone was listening and eased back into the hallway and toward the stairwell. Classified information was on the tenth floor. Hopefully she could walk right inside the inner sanctum since the tranqed Firsts had paved the way for her by entering her into the computer’s security systems. And now she had a master key for the doors.
However, security would still be tight. And it was unlikely she could single-handedly take out all the guards.
Damn. If only she could have sent her crew someplace safe before she’d had to complete her mission.
But she had no choice. She had to proceed upstairs. Rama needed to know the weapons capability of this world. While she didn’t understand what the emergency was, she suspected Yawitz did.
Why hadn’t her contact told her what was going on? Had she feared they’d be overheard? Surely she could have slipped her a coded note like she had the key.
Why had the timetable been so drastically moved up? She was supposed to accomplish her mission over weeks, months, possibly years. What could have happened to alt
er the careful plan? She didn’t like being kept in the dark. She didn’t like the change that wouldn’t allow her to establish a decent cover before having to break into the Space Ministry.
But she had to follow orders.
Yet this was extreme. Now they wanted her to get the information on her very first day? What was going on?
DERREK. HAD GONE straight to Archer Intersolar Mining’s headquarters on Zor. Here he had access to communications and computer systems—some of the best equipment and minds on the planet. However, he wasn’t about to put the techs on the problem of his vision. For one thing, he’d lose credibility. It didn’t look good for the boss to admit he heard voices in his head, or that he thought he was having sex with a woman he’d just met when in reality he was walking down the street.
His miners were a down-to-dirt unruly lot. But they were practical men who believed mostly in what they could see and feel. Engineers asked for proof. Geologists demanded it. Spaceship pilots had their own superstitions, but if rumors of his vision got out, they’d all think he’d gone off the deep end of Alpha One’s Mount Crion.
So Derrek kept the knowledge of the voice inside his head, along with his lovemaking fantasy, to himself—even if the conference room, which could hold fifty, was almost empty. He stood at one end of the giant table with its ten sweet leather chairs on both sides. Right now, only Sauren and several stellar-IQ computer techs were there with him, along with computer systems and lots of untouched food.
Derrek kept his tone casual. “All right, people. Let’s assume we can’t find the Raman escapees because they’ve taken on new identities.”
Well, duh.
The voice in Derrek’s head was back, and he didn’t like it, not at all. Once was an aberration he could explain away. Three times meant . . . he’d lost it. He was insane. Crazy.
You aren’t crazy. I’m real. Just as real as you are.
Then how come no one else can hear you?
Because I don’t want them to.
Derrek shook his head, as if that would stop the voice. He messaged Dr. Falcon, his note short and abrupt: Find anything?
Zip. You’re clean, came the text message reply.
The being in his head even had a know-it-all tone. I told you there was nothing wrong with you.
“We have no idea what their new identities might be,” Sauren told him from across the conference room, oblivious to the byplay but accustomed to Derrek’s multitasking.
Derrek tried not to let frustration override his sense of urgency. He’d canceled many of his meetings, certain his compulsion to find Azsla had to be important. Derrek trusted his instincts, and right now his gut told him this woman was vital to his future—although after that dream he was no longer certain that his cravings weren’t now just as much physical as mental.
The vision had ended way too soon. Neither of them had reached satisfaction. And since he hadn’t taken care of those needs in a long time, he was having difficulty settling down. Even now he was partially aroused, not enough for others to notice, but he found the lack of control . . . disturbing.
Yet Azsla had captured his total interest—to the point that he was neglecting the rest of his life. To say he was shocked by his own behavior had to be the understatement of the century. Derrek didn’t do lust. He didn’t allow himself to be swept away by powerful urges he didn’t comprehend.
Yet, like the salmenda who swam upstream to spawn, he felt driven, compelled to find her. To be near her. To love her.
Damn it. He could not love her. He didn’t know her.
But he did. He loved her with his whole heart. His entire being.
His feelings made no sense. And that irritated him all the more.
Back when he’d been a slave on Rama, Firsts had controlled his will. He’d been fully aware when he’d worked as a chef that he wasn’t free to disobey orders. No slave could. The horror of the mental enslavement was that he’d understood every act he’d committed—but couldn’t control his own muscles. He’d risked his life for freedom and didn’t appreciate being enslaved to emotions he didn’t want and hadn’t encouraged.
Yet he couldn’t save himself. He couldn’t stop himself from loving her. From wanting her in his arms, in his bed.
Although it bothered him that he didn’t understand why he felt this powerful attraction, he’d figure that part out later. Never in his life had he felt so compelled to do something irrational—except perhaps when he’d been determined to make Beta One fly. That project had turned out well—he hoped this one would too.
But they’d hit one dead end after another, and his frustration level had increased. So he’d scratched his schedule and his business meetings to find new equipment and lock up a new contract. For once he’d delegate the business side and go after what he wanted. Azsla.
Where the hell was she? A dream about her was not enough. And he now wanted to know if she’d been responsible for that episode in his head. Had the Firsts sent her as some kind of secret weapon? Because if that vision of her hit every man on the planet at the same time, Holy Vigo, look out. He didn’t imagine any of them would resist—leaving Zor wide open to invasion.
Starting from zip, placing himself in the position of the slaves, he tried to think through the difficulties Azsla and her crew had faced since their arrival on Zor. Laurie had locked them up. They’d escaped. He didn’t have much more to go on. Still, they were people. People always had basic needs. “If you’re new on this world, you’d need a place to stay.”
A tech said, “We’ve already checked hotels and—”
“Check every new lease. Each new home sale. All new job applications. These people just got here and need the necessities. Food, shelter, work. Let’s start there.”
“You know,” Sauren said slowly, “maybe we haven’t found them because President Laurie still has them.”
Derrek never ceased to be amazed by some of Sauren’s wild ideas. It’s why he liked the man. He thought in directions no one else took. “You boys hack into the government files, too. See what’s doing with Laurie.”
“How wide do you want the parameters, boss man?” asked one of the techs.
“Cast wide and deep. Let’s see what’s going on.”
Two hours later, they had found an oddity in the election voting system, four bribes to the press, an encrypted data system within the Space Ministry, and massive funds diverted to a secret project, but nothing on Azsla and her crew.
“They can’t have vanished. Not without help,” Derrek muttered, his frustration making his head pound.
“So let’s assume they got help,” Sauren theorized. “After all, they are the first escapees in a decade. Maybe they have resources on Zor that we don’t know about.”
“Like what?” Derrek challenged Sauren’s theory. While he liked to encourage ingenuity and outrageous ideas, his job was to search for the best one among the dozens of suggestions that Sauren threw his way.
“Like whom might be the better question. If Laurie isn’t helping them or jailing them, maybe one of his enemies is. Or the military. Or that new religious group of reborn Vigo worshippers.”
Derrek knew these fringe associations were understaffed and underfunded. “None have the resources to have linked up with Azsla’s group so quickly.”
“Maybe that’s why the Space Ministry encrypted their files. Maybe they have resources we can’t imagine,” Sauren suggested. “There’s certainly been a massive infusion of funds in that direction in the last few weeks.”
Derrek turned to his techs. “How long until you break the encryption?”
“It could be micronbits. Or days.”
“Keep on it.” Derrek moved down the list. “What about Laurie’s enemies?”
“None of them operate in the open. They don’t dare. And because they have to stay underground
, I can’t even name them, never mind find them.”
Derrek motioned for Sauren to come with him. “You’re with me.”
Sauren nodded, his eyes grave. “Where are we going?”
“To the Space Ministry. I want to know what they’re hiding.”
Now there’s an idea.
Shut up.
Anything you say, boss man.
12
AZSLA DIDN’T DARE wait another moment to confront Yawitz. If she gave her contact enough time to leave the building and she followed, she might not be able to get back in. So she nabbed Yawitz by the elbow just outside the double elevators and escorted the tranqed First into the stairwell. Stunned and trained not to bring attention to herself, Yawitz didn’t protest until the door slammed behind them and they were alone.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, her voice indignant, her eyes wide with apparent fear and anger.
Azsla leaned against the door, blocking a quick escape in case she decided to bolt. “Why was my mission speeded up?”
“Huh?”
“You told me to go in tonight. But I haven’t even seen the layout, yet. It’s dangerous.”
“It’s your job.”
“And this kind of rushing lowers my chances of success.”
“You’re trained for—”
“If I blow my cover due to the grand rush, all the effort to get me here will result in failure.” Hoping the woman knew a whole lot more than she’d revealed, Azsla didn’t let up her interrogation. “So why am I going in tonight?”
Yawitz evaded her gaze. “I don’t know.”
Azsla tried another tactic, hoping to fill in the puzzle pieces from a different angle. “Are you still going home?”
Solar Heat Page 14
