Nyssa's Guardian

by Reese Gabriel

  Meanwhile up front, security was swarming—human and robot officers alike. Nyssa’s staff was rushing in from offstage and the fans were coming up out of the audience. Theron feared Nyssa would be mobbed. His every protection instinct snapped back to life.

  “Stay back,” he roared. He must have had the devil in his eyes, because the lot of them stopped short, even the gleaming silver police robots. Laying Nyssa flat on the ground, gentle as could be, Theron called her name. He was hunched over her in maximum protective mode.

  “Nyssa? Can you hear me?”

  Her eyes opened, weak, confused. She saw it was Theron and smiled very faintly. “I guess someone didn’t like the show, huh?”

  “I guess not.” He touched her cheek, emotions raging. “Just rest, Nyssa. You’re going to be all right, baby.”

  There was blood on her stomach, red staining the red of her costume. She’d been hit. He covered the hole in her with the heel of his hand. Had the blast been sustained, it would have cauterized the wound. She would have had her insides fried, but as it was now, she was in danger of bleeding to death.

  Why couldn’t it have been me? Why couldn’t I have taken it to the chest? No one would have missed me in this world, not for half a second.

  “Fetch a medidroid,” he ordered. “And stars help you all if it’s not the best one in the system!”

  “Theron…” Her voice was fading and her eyes were glazing over. He beat back a wave of panic. He had seen it go this way before on the battlefield. Last words, whispered to comrades. “Yes, baby,” he kept his voice calm as possible, “what is it?”

  “The…show,” she breathed. “Did you…like it?”

  He blinked back tears. The first ones of his adult life. How courageous she was—as much as any Guardian he had ever known. “I did, Nyssa. It was the best thing I’ve ever seen…next to you, of course.”

  Her smile angled rakishly, even as she fought back a grimace. She was having trouble breathing. “You’re trying to…suck up,” she accused. “And it…won’t work…you still owe me…for…the hairbrush.”

  Theron’s mind went to darkness. The ice-cold thoughts of a warrior. Someone would pay for this. The shooter and anyone who had ever so much as smiled at him or given him a cup of coffee…

  “You had it coming, Nyssa, and you know it.”

  “Theron…” She grabbed at him. “I—”

  She lost consciousness in his arms. Theron held her to his chest. The medidroid was there, hovering, but he would not let it get any closer. Unexpected new passion was clouding his reason. Raising his eyes instead to the stars above the amphitheater, he let loose a scream. A warrior’s cry. The roar of the stricken lion.

  There was only one who could get through to him now.

  A single voice, a single hand on his shoulder…the last person he would expect in the world.

  “Son,” said Morax gently, “let her go. Let the droid do its work.”

  Theron released her. He was shaking, oblivious to his surroundings. Morax gathered him into his own arms. “Release it,” he whispered, “don’t be ashamed. The Code be damned—we are human beings, not machines.”

  Theron’s tears soaked the old warrior’s tunic. The General accepted his sobs, and treasured them, one soldier to another. Theron had not known he had such feeling in him—he would never have dreamed of such a thing even a day ago.

  Had not the old man been here, he did not know what he would have done. “Sir, this was all my fault,” he confessed once the worst of the emotion had passed.

  “What are you talking about, Theron? You were a hero. You averted Nyssa’s certain assassination.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Could he tell Morax about his distraction? About how his loins had clouded his judgment and critically weakened his reflexes?

  Morax patted his shoulder. “Be strong, son. There is no place here for guilt. Guilt is the mind killer. Nor must you allow yourself to doubt. Your heart is telling you she must live and you must allow no other possibility to exist. Nyssa will do the same.”

  Theron had many questions. How could he be sure Nyssa was still alive, much less how strong she was? And why was the Commander-in-Chief of the Guardians here, attending a holo concert on a remote satellite world in the first place?

  The floating medidroid moved quickly, joined by two others. They were spherical in shape, approximately three feet across and bristling with special arms and dispensers. They did some initial stabilization work and then wrapped Nyssa in a medi-coon, an airtight transport container designed to move her quickly to a restoration facility. They would fly under police escort.

  “Go to her,” said the General, warding off any opportunity for inquires on his part. “Don’t let her be alone.”

  Theron obeyed, though he walked as a ghost to the nearby police cruiser that would take him to Nyssa. Never had he felt so scared in all his life. Please, he begged of the stars. Let her live. I will never spank her again or disturb her. I will let her go…I will let her be happy without me. I promise.

  * * * * *

  Nyssa’s world collapsed like a temp-bubble, its purpose served, conveying matter from one point to another. She could hear the voices around her, but nothing made sense. Theron was gone; he had been holding her and that had been her safety, her protection. Getting shot was nothing compared to losing him. She would have taken a hundred blasts so long as he was by her side.

  But it was a little hard to say that when your lips weren’t working. When your whole body was limp and you had to depend on people to lift you up and carry you and you weren’t even sure if you were dreaming or awake or if you’ve maybe died outright and gone to some different plane of existence.

  Some place without color, where bizarre and random shapes passed by and where the only memories are those of the dressing room, Theron behind her, pounding at her with his manhood, making her not care if she lived a second longer or if any man ever gave her the time of day.

  Was there ever a time she didn’t know him? Hard to imagine now…

  Presently she heard blipping and saw a lot of small silver arms, spindly robot arms, more like wires and antennae poking in the air about her. Inhaling, she caught the scent of condensed sterility.

  I’m in a restoration facility, she thought. I must not be dead yet.

  “Nyssa, can you hear me?” The blue-suited doctor was so close to her face she could see up his nostrils. He had hairs in need of trimming.

  Hardly the sort of sight one would pick after a near-death experience, she chuckled to herself. Fortunately, she did not laugh aloud. That would have hurt. A lot.

  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  She blinked. “If you need me to figure that one out, you’re in more trouble than I am.”

  The doctor, a member of the star physicians’ guild, cleared his throat. “I think she’s going to be all right. We caught the wound in time. The DNA knits healed nicely. She won’t be getting up and dancing anytime soon, though.”

  Nyssa looked around the light-bathed room, pure as a freshly fallen star. She was sitting up, in a perfect position to see everything. There were a dozen or more top officials, doctors and nurses and a couple of holo reporters. Not one of the faces interested her, except for… “Theron!”

  She made no attempt to hide her joy. Let the droidarazzi report what they liked. The man was a hero—her hero. She might have gone unconscious, but she remembered enough. He had knocked her out of the way, saving her life. “All of you,” she declared, “leave us. I want to talk to the Guardian alone.”

  “You heard her,” said the medic. “Let’s give the lady some peace.”

  Nyssa waited until they were alone. She grinned. “Come here and get a hug, you big lug.”

  Theron approached, quite stiff. “I don’t think you’re in any condition for hugs.”

  She looked down at the flexi-bandage wrapped around her waist. “Maybe not,” she admitted, “but you could kiss me.”

  He frowned. “I’m no
t sure that would be a good idea either.”

  Nyssa cocked her head. “What are you talking about…back in the dressing room you…I mean, we…” She trailed off. It wasn’t her imagination, was it? There had been a breakthrough once the belt was off, pardon the pun?

  “I think we should leave the past in the past,” Theron said curtly. “Don’t you?”

  Oh…so it was time to play flip-flop again, was it? Now you want me, now you don’t. The primale’s favorite game, it seemed. Except this time she wasn’t up for games. Not with Theron or anyone else. “No better place for it.” She glared at him. “Along with all those other things in life that don’t matter.”

  He thrust out his chin, taking the hit. “I came to see how you were.” He declined the opportunity to spar. “That’s all.”

  “I think you can see I’m just fine, Captain.” She cut him off at the knees. “I guess that concludes your business, then.”

  “Yes…it does.”

  “Good.”

  “If you ever need anything…”

  “Trust me, I won’t.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Callous bastard. “I will, don’t worry.”

  Theron turned and walked out, giving her the last word. How could he be such a jerk? She never even had a chance to say thank you.

  Nyssa reached for the first thing she could grab on the shelf beside her. It was a handheld diagnostic device. For her purposes, however, it would make quite a fine projectile.

  Theron was gone by the time her missile reached the doorway, however. In his place was another man, much older, wearing the same kind of uniform. His reflexes were quick. “Do you greet all your visitors so warmly?” He snatched the thing out of midair.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Nyssa demanded.

  “I am Morax,” he replied. “General of the Nation. Commander-in-Chief of the Guardians.”

  Nyssa snorted. “If you expected to impress me with titles, you picked a really bad day.”

  “Yes,” he smiled thinly, “you have had quite an ordeal. We are just glad that you are going to be okay.”

  Nyssa narrowed her gaze in recognition. “You said you were in charge of the Guardians, right? That would make you Theron’s boss, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact it would.”

  “Good. Then you’re the one I need to talk to. I would like to bring him up on formal charges.”

  The senior Guardian’s eyebrow rose. “What sort of charges?”

  “You name it—he’s done it. Harassment, kidnapping, assault…rape.”

  The other brow went up. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same Theron? The one sent to guard you? You say he forced himself on you sexually?”

  Nyssa fought back a blush as she thought of all the moaning she’d done with the man—and the begging. Still, she had a principle to uphold. “For all intents and purposes, yes.” She stuck to her guns. “And he struck me repeatedly with a hairbrush, and he put a…a belt on me.”

  Morax’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Ahh…Fem Dekalia spoke of this with me. Theron put you under discipline.”

  Nyssa swooned. Had the High Councilor broadcast on holo what was going on between them?

  “I refuse to discuss this any further with you,” she pronounced. “Not only are you a man but you are a total stranger.”

  “It is true, you have never met me,” he acknowledged, “and it’s certainly a fact that I am male…but I am not entirely a stranger to you, young lady.”

  Nyssa was rapidly losing patience. “What is that supposed to be? Some kind of riddle?”

  The old man smiled enigmatically. “I suppose in a way it is. The reason I am not a stranger to you, despite our never having been introduced, is because we share a bond of a different kind. I’m your father, Nyssa. Your biological father.”

  Nyssa’s mouth gaped. In two days of surprises, one after another, this one topped them all. “But…but no one can know that,” she stammered.

  “An exception was made in your case. You have been designed for a special purpose. To fulfill a place in the society requiring unprecedented energy and strength.”

  “Don’t tell me,” she couldn’t help but quip. “Vonda’s getting her own holoshow?”

  “Actually, you are going to take your biological mother’s place one day on the High Council.”

  “My mother?” Nyssa blinked. “But I don’t have—” Of course…now it all made sense. “Fem Dekalia,” she whispered.

  “Yes. Her egg…and my sperm. With a little tweaking.” Morax gave her a wink. “I think the results speak for themselves.”

  Nyssa ran the new information through her gray matter, to see what else would fall into place. “So that’s why you pulled one of your best men out of the field to protect me.”

  “Correct again.”

  “Does he know?”

  “Only partially. He knows of the connection to Fem Dekalia, but not to me.”

  “So he was part of the plan to deceive me?” She drew her conclusion, designed to condemn Theron afresh.

  “He operated under orders, to protect your life. And that he did.”

  “Yes,” she said, barely disguising her contempt. “He did his duty.”

  Morax studied her. “Do you still wish to file charges?”

  She pouted her lips. “No.”

  He was silent a moment. “You know this is none of my business, and I can imagine you are pretty angry with all of us right now, but I want you to know something…if you’re willing to hear it.”

  Nyssa fought to keep herself together. Before meeting Theron she would probably have thrown a tantrum. But he had taught her a thing or two, after all. Obnoxious and heartless as he might have been, he was right about her behavior. She did have a selfish streak in her. And maybe, just maybe, other people could be hurting, too, sometimes, besides herself.

  “I am,” she said. “But after you tell me, will you give me some time to myself. Please?”

  “Yes,” he smiled approvingly, “that I can do. What I wanted to tell you,” declared the steel-eyed man with the noble, timeless features, “is that, while I have never met you, I have sought to keep up with your life. To learn as much as I could about you. And I am so very proud, Nyssa. You are a fine young woman. But Theron is a fine young man, too. He does not share my blood, but I know him as much as any father could know his son. He does care about you. Whatever happened between you—and I will never interfere, or seek information from either one of you—I do believe he acted with a good heart. The Theron that I saw tonight was not the same man I dispatched to protect you. This Theron has feelings that have awoken in his heart. This Theron has passion. You have brought this out in him…and I think he is bringing something out in you, too, isn’t he? Don’t try to answer now. Don’t try to think. Just let it settle…let time work its magic. This connection between you is strong. It has not yet run its course.”

  Nyssa turned away, her head on the pillow. “Thank you, Morax. You are…a good man.”

  He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Sleep,” he whispered, “my daughter.”

  He turned off the lights at the door on his way out. She called to him just as he was about to close it behind him.

  “Yes, Nyssa?”

  “What is Theron going to do now?”

  “He is going to hunt the one who tried to kill you. And all those others who may have been involved.”

  “I don’t want him to get hurt,” she said impulsively.

  “He won’t, child.”

  “That doesn’t mean I like him…or that I want to see him. I just don’t want him hurt.”

  “I understand. Get some sleep now.”

  Nyssa closed her eyes, but no sleep came. A single thought crowded everything else out, including the possibility of rest. My life for his…let Theron live, and I will give up my own existence, my empty fame, and my life built on my own impetuous ego.

  She buried her head in the pillow. This was new
territory. Regret. And guilt. She had given him such trouble. Made his job impossible. All he was trying to do was keep her alive. She didn’t give a damn about the assassin. She would give him her life as a trade if that’s what that cold-blooded, cowardly killer wanted so badly.

  Theron had so much to live for. So many things beyond her own talents and capabilities. Personally, she would never, ever give him trouble again if she lived. She would never harass him or even talk to him.

  The thing was, it was going to be awfully lonely and complex figuring things out without him. Yesterday she was a happy-go-lucky holostar. Today she was a High Councilor’s daughter. A General’s daughter. Genetically engineered for some special purpose that had required a fundamental breaking of the rules of gene secrecy.

  A new thought occurred to her now. If Morax was her father, what did that make her? Stars alive—she was fifty percent primale! Yes, indeed, the surprises just kept coming, one after the other.

  One thing made sense, though. Given her quirky biology, it was no wonder she couldn’t make up her mind whether to keep taking Theron to bed…or take him out to some personal combat simulation facility and knock his stubborn block off.

  She had to chuckle a little at that one. Like she could ever take him down. The movement hurt her side, but stars, did she need that little bit of levity right about now.

  Chapter Twelve

  Theron crouched behind the wall of gray, impervious ice. Silent as a stalking cat, he waited for the sentry to circle back on his rounds. A six-day beard covered his face, well coated with frost and miniature icicles. He wore no gloves, though the temperature barely exceeded negative ten degrees Celsius. Keeping his body at a warm and constant temperature in virtually any environment was part of his primale genetic coding.

  So was the ability to track a pack of killers across deep space to a slag of an ice world with the intent of eliminating them, one by one. So far he had finished off three of them, the perimeter guards. Their bodies now lay under snowdrifts, eventual gifts for the white wolves of the planet, nearly twice the size of their Earth counterparts. It was the perfect hiding place, really, and had a vengeful primale not caught scent of their trail, they might have gone on with their intended killing.