by J. J. Green
“Is that a question, sir?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You don’t?” He wasn’t sure if her answer was genuine or she was only being difficult now he’d offended her.
“I’d never been trapped on a mountainside while under attack from EAC soldiers before.” Her gaze remained glued to the ceiling. “Sir.”
Wright unknitted his fingers and sat upright, all the while studying her. He found he couldn’t read her. He’d looked up her file prior to coming to the sick bay. She’d enlisted only a few months previously and had taken part in only two engagements since passing Basic. There was no way she could have learned to handle herself so well during her short term of service. The information on her past had been minimal and vague. All he knew was she was from the Britannic Isles, a refugee from the EAC invasion.
Conflict conditions on the surface meant for many all their documents were lost, entire life histories vanishing as data centers were destroyed and internet lines severed. If she wasn’t exaggerating the truth, he wondered what had happened in Ellis’s past that had made her such an effective killer.
But he doubted she would tell him now, not in her current outraged, insulted state.
He stood up. “Let me know when the docs say you’re fit to return to duty. We’ll talk again.”
Nothing but silence came from the woman, who seemed on the verge of exploding.
Wright turned to leave.
“Sir.”
“Yes?”
Ellis was deigning to look at him again.
“Who’s in there?” she asked, nodding toward the intensive room. “I tried asking one of the medics but they wouldn’t tell me a thing. Who did we rescue?”
“Honestly? Your guess is as good as mine.”
Chapter Nine
As Lorcan relaxed in his private suite at the end of the working day, a familiar starscape filled the viewing portal. His rooms were one of the few places aboard the Bres that included an actual window looking out into space. Nearly everywhere else, the travelers would rely on screens if they wanted to see outside their ships.
He spread an arm over the sofa and gazed out at the stars. Hanging in the void at Earth-Moon Lagrange 4, the slowly whirling constellations didn’t alter, and the planets wandered into and out of view. Over the years of his ships’ construction, the sight had become almost a comfort to him, a reassurance that one day, he would look upon a different sight.
He wondered what he might see once the ship was underway, during the months or years of relief from life suspension. What new stars, nebulae, comets, and galaxies might heave into view?
Returning to a more practical state of mind, he reached for one of two glasses of champagne standing on the low table at his knees. As he moved, he checked his ocular display for the time. He tutted before taking a drink and returning the tall flute to the table.
His visitor was late.
Just as he was about to comm the Bres’s landing bay to confirm the shuttle’s arrival, his door chime sounded.
“Ah.”
Rising to his feet, and feeling unexpectedly nervous, he instructed the door to open.
A woman stood in the doorway, but she didn’t immediately enter, apparently allowing time for her appearance to have its full effect.
Lorcan didn’t blame her. She created quite the impact.
Two forward-facing, curved, single horns rose thirty centimeters above her head, forming the structure of her headdress. A gray, iridescent cloth hung between the horns and cascaded down her back to the floor, forming a cloak over her shoulders. Her white, inner robe also fell to the floor. Not a strand of her hair was visible. All was wrapped inside a white cloth that encircled her face and head and disappeared beneath her cloak.
Sufficient time had passed. She stepped into the room. Silently, she descended the few steps that led to the lowered, circular space at the center of the lounge. Her cloak caught the low light and glimmered.
Lorcan admired her showmanship, though he also found it amusing. He wondered how Kekoa, Steadman, and Jurrah would react if he turned up to work in a similar get up.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me in private, Ua Talman,” said the woman.
“Call me Lorcan, please. Shall we sit?” He gestured to an armchair opposite the sofa.
“Do you mind if I sit...here?” She pointed at the spot next to Lorcan.
“Um, not at all.”
As he sat down, he moved closer to the sofa’s corner.
“It’s so difficult to communicate securely these days,” said the woman. “We encrypt, create sealed networks, even send physical messages, yet something always gets out.” She lifted her cloak to spread it out as she sat. “Speaking to you face to face seemed the only way of keeping our conversation private,” she went on. “You are confident we won’t be spied upon here?”
“Thoroughly confident, Dwyr Orr.”
He was, naturally, recording every moment of their encounter.
But she knew that.
His hand rested on the sofa between them, and when she spoke next, she laid hers on top of his.
“You may call me Kala, Lorcan.”
He stiffened at the touch and slowly slid his hand out before placing it on the back of the sofa, trying to behave casually, as if he’d intended the movement all along.
Her lips turned up slightly at the corners, though Lorcan thought he also detected a hint of offense taken. He’d never seen the head of the Earth Awareness Crusade in person. Now that he was close to her, he noted her features were regular, and her irises so dark they were almost black. Though her eyebrows were not plucked, they framed her eyes perfectly.
As a young man, he would have found her attractive.
From the way her gaze roved his face, she appeared to be sizing him up, too.
He was used to it. Most people he met were momentarily distracted by his red hair, a rare color in any human population, though he guessed it was more than a third gray now.
“I confess I was surprised to receive your request,” he said.
“You were? I suppose it is unusual in the circumstances.”
She turned her attention to the two glasses on the table and picked up the one that was entirely full.
“Is this champagne?” she asked sweetly before sipping the liquid.
Realizing the faux pas, Lorcan was ashamed to feel a flush spread up from his neck and over his face. The EAC were famously covetous of their rare, local specialty products, never exporting them. The only way the Antarctic Project could have come into possession of champagne would be via an assault on an EAC province.
Still, what was the matter with him? There was something about the woman that unnerved him—he, who hadn’t been unnerved by anyone or anything in a very long time.
“It is,” he admitted. “You have me.”
“Genuine champagne, from my region in Old France? The choice would make you very daring or exceptionally rude. Which is it, I wonder?”
She reached out and trailed a fingernail up his blushing cheek.
He resisted the temptation to snatch the digit away.
“Perhaps it is a very old vintage,” she said, “from before the days of the Crusade.”
“Perhaps so,” he replied, grabbing the out. “I had to provide something fitting for the occasion. I have to confess, I never thought we two would ever meet face to face. Though we aren’t strictly enemies anymore, neither are we exactly friends. I’m gratified that the EAC has turned its attention to grabbing BA territory, and not mine. Shall we get down to business? It’s a delight to have the pleasure of your company, Kala, but I’m sure you’re here to discuss something important.”
She put down her glass and shifted in her seat to face him full on. She was perched on the edge of the sofa.
“You’re very direct. I like that.” Placing her hands in her lap, she said, “I think it’s fair to say we have different and oppositional goals
. My organization seeks to celebrate and enshrine the spirit of Mother Earth, while yours wishes to...” her face twisted in an effort to suppress a strong emotion “...shall we say, exploit her resources?”
“I think that accurately summarizes the essence of our aims.”
“Yet, one day...” she cast her gaze around his suite and to the starscape beyond the window “...one day, this starship and the others you’re building will be finished. You’ll depart the Solar System forever and have no further interest in Earth.”
“That’s the plan.”
“But until that time, you’ll have a thorn in your side—a thorn that also pricks the EAC.”
Finally, she was coming to the point. He’d guessed this might be the reason for the clandestine visit.
“The Britannic Alliance.”
“Exactly,” said Dwyr Orr. “There was a period when the EAC thought we could work with them, that our philosophies were similar, but, sadly, that proved not to be the case. They don’t understand our ideals and motivations, and theirs.... Well, theirs are only too apparent: Keep everything exactly as it has been for centuries, for millennia. They have no vision, no spirit, and lately they’ve been frustrating our efforts at every turn.”
“Is that so? I thought you were winning against the BA. The latest reports I’ve received stated you’ve gained considerable ground.”
“We’ve had several successful encounters lately and added land to our stock, but recently, they acquired something that has a deep significance to us. After long years of research and months of scouring the countryside, just as we were on the verge of achieving our goal, they snatched it from beneath our noses. I...we want it back, very badly. But the BA’s military capability remains strong on land, despite the losses we’ve inflicted. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, they control most of near-Earth space. We need help penetrating their defenses if we’re to retrieve it.”
Lorcan looked into the woman’s dark eyes, his interest piqued. “What is this thing you want so badly?”
She gave a sigh of exasperation. “It isn’t anything that would interest you, Lorcan. I know what you seek—raw resources, new technology, and uncommon or exceptional organisms. Your thirst for materials and diverse genetic code is legendary, but this isn’t anything like that. It’s something that only threatens the EAC.”
Lorcan leaned back and studied her. “So you want us to join forces.”
“It makes sense, if only on a temporary basis. I know the BA is blocking your prospecting and mining efforts, and they’re fighting us at every turn. If we work together, share our intel and military resources, we can increase concentrated assaults on the Alliance and wipe them from the map.”
“And, as a byproduct, you’ll get this object.”
“Get it and destroy it. More importantly, the BA won’t bother either of us anymore. How much longer will it be until you’re ready to leave?”
“We’re on track to complete all three ships in another four and a half years.”
“I think Mother Earth can withstand another four and a half years of resource gathering. You’ll stick to non-EAC land?”
“I’d like some time to assess exactly what we need going forward. But I’m interested in your proposition. I suppose your idea is that, when we go, you’ll have the planet to yourselves.”
Kala’s features glowed. “Yes. Our temple will belong to us alone.”
Lorcan was not one for any kind of religious fervor. The look on Dwyr Orr’s face made him uncomfortable, but he hadn’t been lying when he’d said her offer tempted him. A reduction in the BA’s efforts to thwart his operations would speed up the Project immensely. He’d been building the Bres, Balor, and Banba for eighteen years, and he hadn’t been a young man when he’d started. Any time he saved would be time he could spend living out the rest of his life on a new planet.
“You don’t have to decide immediately,” said Kala. “I understand I’m asking you to trust me and take my word. We should relax a little, get to know each other better.”
With an enigmatic look, she suddenly shrugged off her cloak, allowing it to spill onto the sofa.
Lorcan’s gaze became fixed on her. What was she up to?
Next, she lifted her headdress from her head and placed it behind her on top of the cloak. Putting a hand to each side of her head, she pushed back the white covering to well below her shoulders, revealing smooth, pale skin and long, thick, dark brown hair, which she pulled from her dress and spread out.
Now she was no longer an imposing figurehead of a powerful, cultish sect, but a woman in her prime, confident and sensual. When she raised her face to Lorcan again, he found himself moved by the sight of her, despite his years of self-imposed celibacy.
Yet he was confident that, if her intent was to persuade him by seduction, she was going to be disappointed.
Chapter Ten
Taylan lifted the back of her gym shirt.
Abacha whistled as he saw the scar from her operation. “Impressive. Looks like they cut you bow to stern.”
She dropped her shirt and faced him. “They inserted titanium vertebrae and silicon discs, and then they regrew my spinal cord through them.”
Her friend wrinkled his nose. “Gnarly.”
“More like lucky. If I’d been home in West BI, I might never have walked again.”
“If you’d been home, you might not have been blasted from between two boulders.”
“You’ve got a point. The doc said they could grow replacements from my stem cells for the parts of my spine that were damaged, but Colbourn wanted me back on duty ASAP. Something for the future, maybe. Let’s start, okay? I really want to get back in shape.”
They were in the Daisy’s gym. Taylan had been discharged from sick bay the previous day, and she’d taken the first transport from the Valiant to the corvette, ‘forgetting’ Wright’s request to go and see him. She still hadn’t forgiven him for accusing her of lying about the EAC troops she’d killed.
What a jerk.
She’d thought the major was okay, or at least a better alternative to that hard-nosed bitch, Colbourn, but she’d been wrong.
“Sure,” said Abacha. “What do you want to do? Knife fight? Or straight hand-to-hand?”
“Uh...” Taylan rolled her shoulders and winced as pain jabbed her spine. Another one of those painkillers wouldn’t go amiss, but then she pushed the thought aside. She’d cut down her dosage even before the doc began to wean her off them. The thought of her friend slamming her onto her back on the mat didn’t appeal. “Knives. We can do hand-to-hand another time.”
As Abacha walked to the equipment store to get the blunt training knives, Taylan heard a door open above in the observation gallery.
Major Wright appeared at the railing, and her stomach sank. He rested his arms on it and leaned over, peering down and looking her right in the eyes. She was in deep doo-doo for sure.
Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? Going to see him after she’d been discharged from the sick bay couldn’t be that important. What was he going to do to her? She had a feeling that her excuse of a poor memory wouldn’t wash, even though she’d been flying when he gave her the order.
Then a second figure arrived and stood next to Wright.
Colbourn.
Taylan’s stomach sank to her feet. What in all hell was the brigadier doing here? It didn’t require two of them to discipline her, surely?
Abacha returned, carrying a knife in each hand as well as two sparring helmets and protective vests. He registered her expression and then followed her gaze upward.
The two officers looked down impassively.
Giving Taylan a What are they doing here? look, he passed her a helmet and vest.
She returned a Damned if I know expression, and put on the safety equipment. Neither Wright nor Colbourn said anything. They seemed to be there just to watch.
Abacha was ready too. He tossed her a knife, and she snatched it from the air by its handle.
&
nbsp; She crouched, shifting her feet apart, and bending her knees.
Abacha did the same.
They began to circle.
Taylan enjoyed sparring with Abacha. He was skilled, but never held back because she was a woman. He was also never embarrassed or pissed when she beat him, which, so far, she had every time.
It hadn’t been like that in Basic. At first, the other recruits had complimented her, impressed as she won fight after fight. Then the dark looks and muttered conversations started. Being good was fine, being too good wasn’t acceptable. Soon, there seemed to be some kind of competition going on as her opponents came at her harder and harder. And the trainers didn’t intervene, as if they also thought she was too big for her boots.
No one ever said anything to her face, but she felt the others’ resentment and guessed she’d acquired a rep of being stuck up and arrogant. She didn’t think she was either of those things. She was just a good fighter, and she was damned if she was going to hold back in order to be popular.
Fighting had always been easy for her. It was her dad’s doing. From as far back as she could remember until he died, he’d trained her every day. One of her earliest memories was of him teaching her blocking moves. She recalled, at the age of three or four, running through a set in order and after that, randomly. She knew if she got them all correct he would give her a piece of chocolate. Even back then the confection had been rare and expensive, making it a powerful incentive to learn.
As time had gone on, he’d taught her more techniques and schooled her in the use of a range of hand weapons as well as the old pulse rifle he’d kept from his days in the military. Sometimes, the sessions were grueling, but Dad wouldn’t let her rest until she’d met whatever goal he’d set for the day. She never complained, no matter how much her muscles ached or how sore she was from blows she hadn’t managed to deflect. The truth was, despite the pain, she loved it. It hurt, but it felt like learning how to breathe.
Mum had despaired at the two of them, always fighting or training, but she had grudgingly admitted that Taylan had a talent for it, a genetic trait that she must have inherited from her father.
