Warrior

by Angela Knight

  He watched her move to the main console and bend to murmur instructions to it. A moment later his computer spoke in his mind. Infirmary computer offers a temporal rehabilitation specialist EDI. No virus detected.

  Download it. He braced himself.

  Information poured into his mind in a torrent of words, images, and concepts. He didn’t fight it—just let the flood surge through him like a river of light. The kind he’d experienced so many times before.

  What would it be like to endure that surging flood for the first time?

  Galar opened his eyes to find Chogan watching him. “On second thought,” she said, “I’m just as glad I don’t have a neuronet comp. I thought for a minute there you were having a seizure.”

  He rolled his shoulders, trying to banish the knots that had gathered between his shoulder blades during the download. His mouth tasted faintly of copper, and his head ached violently, but he ignored both sensations with the ease of long practice.

  As always when Galar absorbed an EDI, everything seemed almost ridiculously clear now. He no longer felt helpless in the face of Jessica’s confusion, anger, and pain. Not that helping her integrate her new knowledge would be easy, but at least there were proven techniques he could use, and he understood the psychological processes at work.

  There was nothing he hated as much as feeling helpless and ignorant.

  “It was worth it.” Galar gave the doctor a faint smile. “I know how to help her now.”

  Chogan lifted a brow. “Oh?”

  “I need to get her the hell out of here for a few hours. Give her a more familiar situation to deal with.”

  “Like what?”

  “I think the expression was—a date.”

  Jessica came awake to the crackle of a fire and the warmth of a man’s arms. She opened drowsy eyes to find the golden glow of a campfire dancing in a circle of stones.

  “Feeling better?” The rumble in her ear was deep, calming. The words were English.

  She knew that voice. “Galar?” Her tongue felt thick.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  She frowned, remembering she’d been really pissed at him. Hadn’t she . . . hit him? But why? What had . . . ?

  As if that question had broken some mental dam, strange words and concepts began to rush into her mind, a chaotic, terrifying flood of information she had no memory of acquiring. Jess stiffened, sucking in a hard breath like a drowning woman.

  Arms tightened around her with the faint creak of leather. “Don’t think about that.”

  “What . . . ? You’re not . . .” Words crammed their way onto her tongue until she was reduced to helpless stammering, overwhelmed by alien ideas, by thoughts that made no sense.

  Men from the future. Spaceships. Strange worlds. Was she losing her mind? “What’s happening to me?” Her voice shook, high and breathless.

  “Don’t think.” Galar’s voice was low and calm and deep. Soothing, like the big hands that rubbed slowly over her shoulders. “Just breathe with me. In. Out.”

  Fighting mindless panic, Jess managed to pull in one breath, then two, then three, breathing in time to the muscular chest slowly rising and falling against her back. Gradually, her terror began to abate.

  “Yes,” he said softly. “Think only about now, about this moment. Look around you. Smell the air. Taste it. Look at the trees, the mountains, the sky. You know these things. You understand these things. You’re safe here.”

  Obeying him, she gazed around the clearing. They lay on a warm blanket on a bed of crackling autumn leaves. Trees surrounded them in a half circle, blazing with the brilliant reds and golds and oranges of October.

  Just beyond the colorful branches lay a steep drop-off overlooking the rolling sweep of a familiar mountain range. The Blue Ridge. They were in the Blue Ridge Mountains, not on some alien world in some alien time.

  Safe.

  Jess took another cleansing breath and felt her panicked muscles relax another fraction. The air smelled cool and deliciously crisp, scented with wood smoke.

  Not threatening. Not alien. Familiar.

  “There,” he murmured in her ear. “That’s better.”

  “Yeah.” Abruptly she was aware of him as he half-reclined with her resting against his muscular chest.

  For a man I don’t even know, I’ve spent a lot of time in his arms. . . .

  And it felt good. Good not to fight. Good not to be afraid. Good to be safe.

  Jess took another deep breath, conscious now of his scent, equal parts masculinity and leather. She could hear the strong, even thud of his heart as her head rested against his chest.

  But that’s an illusion, unwelcome knowledge warned. He’s not the ordinary man he appears. He’s something else. Something not quite human.

  She tensed.

  “Shhhhhhhhh,” Galar breathed in her ear. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

  God, she needed to believe that. Had to believe that. She thought she’d go crazy if she didn’t.

  “Breathe,” he insisted softly. “Don’t think. Breathe.”

  For a long moment, she concentrated on doing just that, looking out across the fire at the mountains beyond. Until finally, painfully, her fear abated again.

  He wasn’t going to hurt her, no matter what he really was. He’d saved her. He cared. He held her in his arms and tried to soothe her fears. Those weren’t the actions of some kind of cold, alien man.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice a comforting thrum in his chest. “There’s food.” He gestured, pointing out a basket that stood on one corner of the blanket. Folds of red-checkered fabric protruding from its closed wicker top, and steam rose gently from it, smelling deliciously of fried chicken.

  Jess’s stomach rumbled; she was ravenous. She found herself wondering how long it had been since she’d last eaten. “That does smell good.”

  He eased out from behind her, laying her back against a thick pile of pillows. They felt warm, as if heated from the inside. Comforting. She snuggled into them and watched Galar move to the basket and kneel, flipping back the lid.

  He was dressed in jeans and a cream cable-knit sweater worn under a black leather jacket. His golden hair blazed in the light of the setting sun, and his shoulders looked very broad. The jeans stretched tight over the long, powerful muscles of his thighs.

  He reached into the basket and pulled out a couple of plates, then started loading them with food. Silverware clinked, and fragrant steam wafted into the air.

  Looking down at herself, Jessica realized she, too, was dressed in jeans, along with a red fleece sweatshirt under a blue-jean jacket.

  Galar knelt beside her again to present her with a plate and a fork, then handed over a cup of steaming tea. She surveyed the meal a little dubiously, then relaxed. Fried chicken, potato salad, corn on the cob, a buttery golden biscuit. Familiar and homey.

  Jess picked up the chicken breast and took a bite. It crunched, flooding her mouth with juice and the taste of tender flesh. Experimentally, she tried the tea next. It was just as perfect to her Southern girl taste, sweet and strong and wonderfully hot.

  Galar sat down cross-legged next to her and settled his own plate on his lap. Dubiously, he picked up a chicken leg and studied it as if he’d never seen one before, then took a cautious bite. He blinked in surprise and licked a crumb of breading off his lips. “This is good.”

  “Yes.” Chewing, she gazed out over the mountains. They looked like blue, rolling waves in the orange glow of the sunset. The food and familiar surroundings gave her courage to ask the questions beating so demandingly in her brain. “Why? Why did you bring me here? What are you?”

  Galar looked up from probing his potato salad with a cautious fork. “A man.” He gave her a faint smile. “Just a man.”

  “No, not just a man. You’re from the future.” She knew that, though she couldn’t have said just how. “You and those other people who appeared in my living room. And that . . . thug. The one with the horns, who stabb
ed me.”

  Galar sighed. “Yes. We’re from the future.”

  Hearing that impossible knowledge confirmed threatened to tip Jess back into panic, but she fought off the fear with gritted teeth. “I’m not crazy.”

  “No. You’re not crazy. We gave you a data implant to help you understand our language, our time, but you’re having trouble processing it. I’m trying to help you.”

  “This . . . data implant. That’s where all those weird images and words are coming from?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t want it.” Her heart started pounding again as she felt the pressure of unwanted knowledge. “Take it out.”

  “I can’t. You need it if you’re going to survive in our time.”

  “So put me back where I came from!” The words burst from her, heartfelt and desperate.

  “I can’t. The Xeran will try to kill you again. And without us to protect you, he’ll succeed.”

  Jess remembered the cold agony of the horned thug’s knife. Automatically, her hand went to her stomach, tugged up the hem of her shirt. Her belly was smooth, unmarred. “He stabbed me. Where’s the—?”

  “Our doctor healed you.”

  Jess frowned, realizing she must have been unconscious for weeks, judging by the complete lack of any sign of injury. “How long have I been out?”

  Galar shrugged. “A couple of days.”

  “Is that all? Wonderingly, she stroked her fingers over her unmarred skin. A new thought made her frown in puzzlement. “Why did he attack me? I never did anything to him. Was he crazy?”

  “He wasn’t crazy. But as to exactly why he came after you, we have no idea.” He cocked his blond head, studying her face. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

  She considered the question cautiously. “Yeah, I need to understand what’s going on.”

  “What do you remember?”

  Jess shrugged. “I was asleep. Next thing I knew, this guy grabbed me, jerked me off the bed, and slammed me against the wall. Choked me.” She rubbed her arms, feeling again the echo of that icy terror. “The guy . . . What did you call him, a . . . Xeran?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was he an . . . alien?” She felt self-conscious just asking the question, but Galar didn’t look amused.

  “No. He’d have looked a lot weirder than that.”

  Jessica snorted. “He was weird enough as it was. Big. Really big. More than seven feet tall.” She closed her eyes, calling up the memory of his face with an artist’s attention to detail. “Probably about three hundred pounds or so. He had some kind of metal horns protruding from his head. . . .”

  “Skull implants. The Xerans decorate their heads with spikes, horns, and hoops.”

  “Sounds like somebody’s compensating for something.” She grinned at him, holding her fingers a fraction apart.

  Galar grinned back. “Could be.”

  “Anyway, this guy had a square, kind of brutal face. I could do a sketch for you, if it would help.”

  “No need. We’ve already identified him. What else can you remember? What did he say to you?”

  He listened intently as she related everything she could remember. His eyes narrowed when she told him the Xeran was looking for Charlotte. It was obvious he didn’t like that idea at all. Jess could understand that; she wasn’t crazy about it either.

  Why did an alien assassin want her roommate, anyway?

  5

  “You’re sure it was Charlotte he was after?” Galar frowned, his golden brows lowering.

  “He kept asking where she was.” Jessica shrugged. “I told him I didn’t know.”

  “Where did she go? She wasn’t in the house—we looked.”

  “I have no idea. For all I knew, she was hiding in a closet or something. She was still home when I went to bed.”

  Galar nodded, his expression abstracted. “I saw her walk into the living room before I lost consciousness. When I came to, she was gone, and the Xeran was in your bedroom.” He ran a thumb thoughtfully over his full lower lip.

  “Wait.” Jessica frowned at him, putting aside her plate. “What? You were there before the attack?”

  “We were watching the house.” He said it in an offhanded way, as if it didn’t occur to him she might object.

  “Why?”

  “We knew you were going to be attacked.”

  Her jaw dropped as incredulous anger stirred. “And you didn’t warn me?”

  He shrugged impressive shoulders. “We didn’t know who the attacker was going to be.”

  “So? You couldn’t have called and said, ‘Hey, you might want to get out of the freaking house before the psycho tries to kill you’?”

  “No.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because that’s not the way it works.” His expression was patient, reasonable—and, to Jessica, infuriating.

  “Since when?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “This entire thing is insanely complicated. No, it’s just plain insane. Explain it anyway!”

  He rested his forearms across his knees and sighed. “We’re not allowed to even attempt to change history. He was supposed to stab you. There was nothing we could do to prevent it.”

  Jess opened her mouth to blurt something outraged, then slowly closed it as more of that upsetting knowledge burst into her consciousness. “It’s not just that you’re not allowed to change history,” she said slowly. “You can’t, can you? At all. It can’t be changed.” She knew that in the same maddening way she knew he was from the future.

  He gave her an approving smile, like a teacher whose student has made a major mental breakthrough. “Exactly.”

  For a moment she almost understood why, but the knowledge seemed to dance away. Before she could try to drag it back, Galar asked, “You said the Xeran told you he could smell Charlotte’s blood on you, and that’s when he stabbed you. But when did she cut herself?”

  Still groping for understanding, Jess grumbled, “I have no idea.”

  “Do you remember anything she did that was . . . unusual?”

  “No. Charlotte’s just a really nice person. A freelance writer. And a lot more successful at her art than I am, because she makes a good living. Why would some time-traveling psycho want to kill her?”

  “He knew something. Something about Charlotte, something about you. He said you were dangerous.”

  Jessica blinked. “Me? I’m a painter. I’m about as dangerous as a bag of marshmallows.”

  Galar arched a blond brow. “Aren’t you the same woman who torched a Xeran battleborg?”

  “Battleborg?” A genetically engineered Xeran warrior with cybernetic implants, her mind supplied. This time she found the implanted knowledge more welcome than overwhelming. “He’s from a world called Xer, which is the capital of some kind of totalitarian interstellar empire. Kind of quasi-religious. An enemy of your government, the Galactic Union.” Thoughtfully, Jess continued, “But both you and the Xerans are descended from humans. Right?”

  He gave her another of those pleased smiles. “Right.”

  She rocked back, thinking. There were so many things she almost understood, yet there were all these frustrating holes in her knowledge. “Why did you save me?”

  Galar blinked. “Why wouldn’t we?”

  “I’m from—what? Three hundred years in your past?”

  He shrugged. “About that.”

  “So what difference would it make if I died? Why go to all the trouble of Jumping through time to keep that Xeran from turning me into sushi?”

  He picked up the ear of corn from his plate and took a bite, his teeth very white as they closed on the golden kernels. He chewed, visibly considering what to say, then swallowed. “I’m an agent with Temporal Enforcement. My job is to keep time travelers like the Xeran from preying on people like you.”

  “In that case, thanks for saving my ass.”

  “Actually, you saved your own with that turpentine trick.�
�

  “Except for the whole bleeding-to-death thing, which is what I would have done if you hadn’t gotten me to a doctor.”

  He inclined his head. “Well, yeah. But still, for a human to accomplish even that much against a battleborg is no mean feat.”

  Battleborgs. People from the future. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.” Jess watched her breath puff white in the air, though her backside felt toasty against the pile of heated pillows. Her gaze slid to Galar, sprawled on the blanket braced on one elbow, biceps bunching beneath the sleeve of his leather coat, his body long and powerful— and more mouthwatering than the picnic.

  He looked up and caught her watching him. His golden eyes crinkled at the corners, and his teeth flashed white against his tanned face.

  A man from the future who looked a hell of a lot like the man of her dreams. . . .

  It was working. Getting her away from the alien environment of the Outpost, speaking English, feeding her familiar food—it was all helping her cope with the flood of strange knowledge. Add to that her natural intelligence and strong will, and she’d already begun to process and accept her situation.

  Which was a damn good thing, because the mess she was in was even more complicated than Galar had thought. It had never been about Jessica at all. The Xeran’s target had apparently been Charlotte Holt all along.

  But why?

  “You said you knew this Xeran was going to come after me.” Jess looked up from her plate, her gaze sharp. “How did you know?”

  “Police report,” Galar told her absently. “Anything that involves a famous artist and murder raises red flags with us, particularly when no body is found.”

  She shook her head sharply, as though not believing her ears. “Okay, wait. Famous artist? What? Me? Since when? And murder? I’m not dead.”

  “We know that, but the police don’t.” Tersely, he outlined the conclusions the Claremont County coroner had drawn based on the amount of blood on the scene.

  “So they do think I’m dead.” Her eyes widened in realization. “Ruby thinks I’m dead!” She rolled to her feet. “I’ve got to tell her I’m okay. How do I get back?”