by R S Penney
A pang of grief hit her, and she had to force it down before she got trapped in the sadness. Thinking of Earth reminded her of Bradley. Why was it that her rational mind could be so convinced that she had made the right decision while her heart felt as if she had ripped out a piece of herself.
Closing her eyes, Anna tried to steady her emotions. “You don't have time for this,” she said. “If you're gonna be any help to anyone, you can't afford to let yourself collapse into a pile of mush.”
A knock on the glass door that looked into the hallway startled her. Nassai couldn't see through solid objects, even when they were transparent.
She spun around, expecting to see Larani Tal outside her door, and instead found the one person she really didn't want to talk to. Jack stood in the hallway in jeans and a gray t-shirt under a blue sweater he left unzipped. He was as handsome as ever with that unkempt hair and a mischievous glint in his eye.
Anna smiled, bowing her head to him. “You can come in,” she said, striding toward the door. “I thought you might stop by.”
He pushed the door open and stepped into her office, pausing for a moment to take in the total lack of décor. “Hmm,” Jack said, deep creases forming in his brow. “I guess you really haven't had a chance to settle in.”
“I'm only here for one day.”
“I see,” he mumbled. “Blue hair?”
Covering a grin with the tips of her fingers, Anna shut her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, nodding once. “Just a whim I had about a month ago. After restricting myself to blonde and red-head so your people would take me seriously, I wanted to cut loose.”
Jack turned on his heel, facing the wall to her left with his fists on his hips. “Well, maybe you should cut loose in here,” he teased. “I mean, if this place gets any wilder, we might see accountants using blue ink instead of black.”
Ordinarily, that would make her laugh. Well…Maybe not. Distracted as she was, she could still tell that Jack wasn't at the top of his game when it came to making quips. Maybe he was feeling the awkwardness as much as she was. “Did you need something?”
He rounded on her with his arms crossed, concern evident in his expression. “So, is everything okay?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. “I don't mean to pry, but you seem kind of tense.”
“Now really isn't a good time,” Anna said. “I have a lot on the go.”
“I thought you were on leave.”
“And that means I can't have a lot on the go?” she snapped. Bleakness take her, she did not need the awkwardness of this conversation on top of everything else that she was feeling. “I'm busy, Jack.”
He blew out a deep breath, striding deeper into her office with his arms swinging. “Yeah, I can tell,” he said, moving past her. “Four months go by without so much as a peep from you. You must be busy.”
She whirled around to find him standing there with his back turned, staring out the window at the buildings across the way. The petulance in his tone made her want to give him a piece of her mind. Before she could stop herself, the words started spilling out.
“I told you that I need space,” she said coldly. “What part of 'space' involves knocking on my door and demanding to have a conversation with me?”
Jack stumbled around to face her with his hands up defensively, his mouth hanging open. “I'm your best friend!” he sputtered. “It's been four months! Frankly, if our roles were reversed, I'd be offended that you hadn't checked in.”
“I don't need you to check in.”
“No, apparently not.”
He marched past her to the door, pausing there for a moment. “If that's the way you feel,” he began, “then believe me, I won't reach out again.”
And then he was gone.
Anna blew out a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. The anger faded within moments, and she became aware of another voice in the back of her mind, a voice that cautioned her to hold back her harsh words.
Jack didn't deserve her anger…
Except, in a way, he did.
Gah! It was all so unbearably complicated. She could see that Jack had nothing but the best intentions, and there was really no way he could have known her state of mind, but at the same time, she was a grown woman. She didn't need him to check in on her. When she was ready to resume their friendship, she'd let him know.
Sadly, that might not be an option now.
The standard refrain about checking her impulsiveness rose to the forefront of her mind, but she silenced it. It wasn't her job to mute her feelings for someone else even if they were inconvenient.
Anna sat down on the gray-tiled floor, drawing her legs up against her chest. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eye-sockets. “I hate my life,” she muttered. “I really fucking hate my life.”
Pushing open a set of double doors that led to a large room in the church basement, Brinton strode through. There were boxes stacked against the cream-coloured walls, each containing copies of The Light and the Way, the holy book that detailed the covenant between Layat and the Holy Companion.
People stood in a circle in the middle of the room, their conversation coming to an abrupt halt when they saw him enter. Not a good sign, but he had larger concerns in his mind, at the moment. He took stock of the others.
Kaylia Sandez was a tall woman in a black skirt with white flowers and a blouse that revealed a hint of cleavage. Her long, black hair was left loose to frame a gorgeous face with olive skin and dark eyes that seemed to pull you in.
Across from her, Tran Sovala looked out of place in gray pants and a matching t-shirt. A short man with fair skin and tilted eyes, he wore his black hair up in a forest of tiny spikes.
And then there was Jarl.
Tall and imposing in a high-collared black coat that dropped almost to his knees, Jarl stood across from Brinton with a stony expression on his dark face. His eyes were narrowed in thought. “You're late.”
With his mouth agape, Brinton looked up at the ceiling and blinked. “That's what you have to say?” he blurted. “A comment on my punctuality? We agreed that the Sons of Savard would not reveal themselves until we were ready!”
Jarl crossed his arms, frowning as he looked down at himself. He shook his head with a soft sigh. “We are ready, Brinton,” he said. “Your assignment at the vertical farm was a complete success.”
Brinton felt sweat on his forehead but resisted the urge to wipe it away. “I'm not sure,” he muttered. “The event is getting all kinds of media attention; the Keepers are involved.”
“We anticipated such eventualities.”
“If they find me…”
Jarl reached out to clap a hand onto Brinton's shoulder, a lazy smile blooming on his face. “Then you will face that like a man,” he said. “You cannot advocate the values of strength and independence and then become a coward when things get difficult.”
“He was always a coward.”
That came from Kaylia.
She stood there, yawning and covering her gaping mouth with three fingers. “Let's be honest with ourselves,” she began. “Brinton hasn't ever been fond of making the hard decisions. Of course, he would want to back down.”
“I'm the one who planted the damn bomb!”
“And a very good job you did of it too.”
Cutting them off with a soft sigh, Jarl turned his back on Brinton. He marched away from the group with his hands moving in emphatic gestures. “We have taken an enormous step forward,” he said. “And we don't have the luxury of waiting for 'the right time' anymore.”
He turned partway so that Brinton saw him in profile, then looked over his shoulder to fix smoldering eyes on the lot of them. “The Ragnosians could be crossing over to our side of the galaxy at this very moment.”
“I'm aware of that!” Brinton shouted.
“We need to prepare our people,” Jarl went on as if he hadn't even spoken. “We need to cut away the dead weight of those who cannot fend for themselves. A return to traditional values in preparation f
or the war that we know will follow. That is why we must begin the next phase of our plan.”
“Next phase?”
“I've been in contact with other cells around the planet. They're coming here. In three days' time, we're going to destroy five more farms and two of the city's geothermal plants. That should create a little chaos, and chaos has a way of exposing the truth about human nature.”
Brinton felt the blood drain out of his face, his eyes slowly widening as he studied the other man. “You're insane,” he whispered. “We don't have the resources to pull off something like that.”
“Ah, but you do!”
Brinton jumped at the sound of a voice that didn't belong to anyone in his group. It seemed to come from somewhere in the back of the room, near the boxes that were piled up along the wall.
The air seemed to ripple, forming the shape of what seemed to be a woman striding toward them, but it was just a silhouette. He could see right through her. It seemed as if he were looking at some ghostly apparition.
The illusion vanished moments later, the woman growing less and less transparent until she stood before them in a black dress and a cloak of all things. The hood was up, making it impossible to see her face.
Brinton found himself backing away from the newcomer with his hands raised up to shield himself. “Who are y-you?” he stammered. “What…Where did you come from? How did you do that?”
The shrouded woman offered only the tiniest shrug of her shoulders. “Ragnosian cloaking technology,” she answered. “It does very little to conceal you if you move too quickly, but it's quite useful if you want to watch someone without being seen. Life is a lot more interesting now that we can travel across the galaxy.”
“Who is this woman?” Brinton demanded.
Jarl stood in the corner with his arms crossed, smiling down at himself. “She's our benefactor, my friend,” he said. “The bomb you used to destroy the vertical farm? Where do you think it came from?”
Brinton didn't have an answer to that question. He had just assumed that Jarl had gotten his hands on explosives somehow. Acquiring the bomb wasn't his job, and he did not want to know too many details.
The woman came forward, inclining her head to meet his eyes, and he stared into the hood. A lovely face stared back at him, bathed in shadow, but he almost thought he had seen her before. “You wish to make your people strong again,” she said. “Hesitation is weakness.”
Brinton stiffened, trembling at the scorn in her tone. “You're talking about a large-scale assault on the city's infrastructure!” he protested. “We are not trained soldiers. The Keepers will bring us down in seconds.”
The woman flowed past him, tapping the side of her hip with gloved fingers. “You underestimate yourselves.” She looked Brinton up and down. “Resources can be provided that will nullify many of the Keepers' advantages.”
“Like what?”
“The cloaking technology for one. And this.”
She reached beneath her cloak to retrieve something from a hidden pocket. A vial of small blue pills. How would pharmaceuticals help them fend off Justice Keepers? “Do any of you know what these are?” the woman asked.
Four heads shook.
“With these,” she explained, “you will be able to mimic the strength, stamina and agility of a Justice Keeper. Did you think we would leave you without aid?” She tossed the vial to Brinton, and he caught it by instinct.
“But why?” he stammered.
The woman planted her fists on her hips and stood before him like a disapproving mother. “You say you want a return to the days when people had to fend for themselves,” she intoned. “We agree with these goals.”
“And who are you?”
The hooded woman strode forward as if she meant to mow him down, one hand lashing out to seize his chin with gloved fingers. She squeezed hard enough to bring pain, and Brinton grunted. “We are your benefactors,” she said. “That is all you need to know for now. Do you have any further questions, Brinton?”
“No…”
“Good…Then in three days' time, you'll make a statement history will never forget.”
Chapter 9
The small outdoor patio was bathed in the light of early evening, a warm, golden glow that fell upon square tables with colourful tablecloths. A human-shaped robot came walking through on metal legs, carrying a tray of drinks and setting them down in front of three women who sat laughing and talking.
Across the street, a building that looked like a cone with the top sawed off stood proudly with a garden on its roof. The windows that encircled each of its seven floors looked in on apartments, though some had the shades drawn.
Ben knew when Jack called him up in the middle of the day that something wasn't quite right. It wasn't that his buddy didn't like to socialize in the daytime, but lately, Jack had buried himself in his work. Probably out of some sad attempt to take his mind off his complicated situation with Anna.
What little he understood of that tangled web said that his two friends had finally admitted their feelings for one another, but then Anna wanted to take some time to get over her relationship with that Earth guy. What's his name? Not that he didn't understand. Ben was still getting over the sting of losing Darrel.
There was nothing quite like hearing the person who had professed their undying love just a few months ago tell you that they never wanted to see you again to break your heart into a million pieces. So, he listened to Jack's story. With any luck, that would take his mind off his own problems. And he procured for them the one thing that would be a balm on any relationship troubles.
Alcohol.
Closing his eyes, Ben lifted a shot of whiskey to his lips and downed it. “Oh, that's rough,” he whispered, tossing his head from side to side. “So, she just booted you out of her office. Not even an 'I'm sorry?' ”
Jack sat across from him with his shoulders slumped, frowning into his own lap. “That's pretty much it,” he said with a shrug. “Just 'I told you not to talk to me; so why are you talking to me?' ”
Ben scrunched up his face, shaking with frustration. “Someone needs to have a talk with that woman,” he growled, sliding his chair closer to the table. “She was completely out of line.”
“She did ask me to stay away from her.”
Leaning back in his chair with arms folded, Ben shook his head. “And that meant you were never supposed to speak to her again?” he snapped. “Because if I were in your place, I'd want to know where I stand.”
Jack set his elbows on the table, lacing fingers over the top of his head. The man let out a soft groan. “Well, now I know,” he rasped. “Which should make it that much easier to put the whole thing behind me.”
“No, you don't know.”
“Dude, she said she doesn't want to talk to me.”
Ben slapped a hand over his face, grunting his frustration. “You can be so dense at times,” he muttered into his own palm. “Yeah, you should stay away from her while she sorts her shit out, but trust me, this isn't the end of the story.”
Bleakness take him, if there was a way for Jack to find fault with himself, the man would find it and then shine a spotlight on it for all to see. It was mildly irritating as Ben had his own troubles to deal with.
Everywhere he went, he felt as though people's eyes were on him. The fallen LIS agent, the man exposed for smuggling weapons. Of course, that was absolutely ludicrous. The number of people who would know him on sight was so small that his chances of running into one of them at random were next to nothing.
But being a spy taught you to be paranoid.
“She's made her decision,” Jack muttered.
Ben crossed his arms, hunching over in his seat and shaking his head. “Indeed she has,” he said softly. “And you should respect that decision. But there's no reason to think that the woman who was your best friend for years will never talk to you again.”
“If you say so-”
“I do.”
He stoo
d up, instinctively dusting himself off, and turned his head to stare off at the street. So little traffic. He had grown used to the constant bustle of Earth cities. “Look, I have a few things I need to take care of,” he said. “But why don't I call you tomorrow and we can actually do something fun?”
“Sure,” Jack mumbled.
Ben left his friend to work things out on his own; that was really the only thing you could do when someone was suffering from heartache; he knew that perfectly well. Pain still flared up in his chest every time he thought of Darrel.
As he made his way up the sidewalk, along a curving city street with tall apartment buildings on each sidewalk, he pulled up a document he'd been writing on his multi-tool. Black text scrolled across a white background.
Ben reviewed the words.
It was a letter of apology, an explanation for why he had done the things that he had done. Why he had given weapons to the colonists, why he had pleaded guilty, why he had been unable to return to Darrel despite his promise to do so. He had considered sending it to his ex-boyfriend many times. Every time his finger hovered over the button that would deliver this message to Darrel's inbox, he found himself unable to go through with it.
This time, his finger hovered over the button that would permanently delete this pointless message. He couldn't go through with that either. Ben growled like a hungry dog. Life was never simple. He put his ex out of his head for the moment.
There were more pressing concerns.
His fist pounded on the white front door of an apartment, and he took an instinctive step backward. This corridor was nicely decorated with paintings hung up on the pristine white walls and the odd potted plant near the bank of elevators.
Ben stood in the corridor with his arms folded, looking down at himself. “Don't tell me you're not home,” he mumbled with a touch of venom in his voice. “Because we both know you never go anywhere.”
The door swung inward to reveal a tall, dark-skinned woman in black pants and a blue tank-top. “Tanaben,” Keli Armana said. “I could feel you coming for the last fifteen minutes. I considered opening the door before you knocked.”
