by R S Penney
Toward the end of the movie, Cassi perked up as the rebel fighters made their run on the Death Star. Jack was almost sad when it was over; he didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to go back to thinking about all the topics he had been avoiding.
Luckily, he didn't have to.
Cassi scooched closer, leaning her head against his chest and letting out a soft sigh of contentment. “I like you,” she said. “In case that wasn't clear from the dozen times I've already said it.”
“I like you too.”
“Well then?”
He ventured a glance at her and found himself transfixed once again by her lovely violet eyes. Before he could react, Cassi touched his cheek with one hand and kissed his lips. God have mercy! He was returning the kiss.
“Wait…” Jack mumbled.
She straddled his hips and seized his face with both hands. “Stop over thinking it,” she whispered between kisses. “For once in your life, just do what feels good.”
An hour or so after that, Cassi was lying flat on her stomach on Jack's bed, her chin resting on folded arms. “That…was fantastic,” she murmured. “You should consider doing this professionally.”
Jack closed his eyes, breathing in as his head sank into the pillow. “Well,” he said. “I always appreciate an evening that defies my expectations. You weren't so bad yourself, you know.”
“Thank you.”
Rolling onto his side, Jack dug his elbow into the mattress and leaned his cheek against his fist. “So,” he began. “Where exactly does this leave us? Because I'm thinking beaucoup de awkward when Larani starts asking questions.”
Cassi shut her eyes, then buried her nose in her arms. “Why do we have to tell her anything?” she replied, her voice muffled. “There's no rule that prohibits relationships between Keepers.”
“Is that what we have?”
Cassi's head came up, and she blinked several times as she considered the question. “Is that what you want?” Of course, she wouldn't just give him a straight answer! People never gave you a straight answer.
He flopped onto his back with hands folded on his chest, chewing on his lip as he thought it over. “I don't know,” he answered. “To be perfectly honest, I was planning on staying single for the next little while.”
“She's not worth it.”
Jack sat up, hunching over and pressing a hand to his forehead. He ran his fingers through his hair. “You know, I'd appreciate it if you stopped giving me input on that,” he said. “I can figure out my own personal life.”
Soft laughter was Cassi's response; not anger, not indignation. It left him feeling uneasy. Like she knew something he didn't, understood something he couldn't. What was he supposed to do now?
Deep down, he knew that he would never stop loving Anna. Not after everything they had shared. But if she didn't want him…
This was what he was supposed to do, wasn't it? Meet other women, date them, fall for them? Maybe if he grew to like one of them enough, he wouldn't be tempted to call his former best friend. He wouldn't feel the need to ask her if there was some way they could work this out. Anna had made her wishes clear; his job was to respect them. Would that be easier if he found someone else to love?
But did he love Cassi?
No…
Jack winced, shaking his head. “I'm sorry, Cassi,” he said, sitting back against the headboard. “Maybe this was a bad idea; I don't want to lead you on or do anything that might hurt your-”
She crawled over him, gripping his shoulders with both hands and pushing him back against the headboard. Her lips found his before he could say one single word, and then all he could think about was how good it felt to have this goddess in his arms.
“Do I look like I'm hurt?” Cassi asked. She gently sank her teeth into the soft skin around his collarbone, nipping at him. “You worry too much, Jack Hunter.”
“But-”
“Shut up, and enjoy yourself.”
Metal doors slid apart to reveal a cramped room with a sleek, curved desk along the back wall. The man who sat behind that desk was short and slim with pale skin and black hair that he wore in spikes. “Mr. Carlson,” he said without looking up. “What brings you by at this hour?”
Harry stood in the doorway with his shoulders slumped, his eyes downcast. “I want to speak to the prisoner,” he said, stepping forward. “I have several questions that I need her to answer.”
The young Keeper – Harry didn't know his name – sat back and smiled in the way a father might smile after listening to a lengthy argument about why his daughter just had to have the latest iPhone. “You realize that just a few nights ago, we had someone forge Larani's credentials to get in here.”
Wetting his lips, Harry shut his eyes and tried to remain composed. “Look, I'm not going to commit fraud,” he said. “But that prisoner has critical information that I'll need if I'm going to assist Director Andalon in tracking the Sons of Savard.”
“That's still not very compelling.”
Harry leaned against the door-frame with his arms folded, tilting his head back to blink at the ceiling. “Then what would be compelling?” he asked. “I realize that I'm not exactly on the payroll…or whatever you call it around here.”
The other man was smiling into his lap, shaking his head slowly. “Mr. Carlson, you are listed as a consultant with Director Andalon's team,” he said. “You have been granted access to many restricted areas of the building.”
“But?”
The young man stood up and tugged on the hem of his shirt. His face hardened with stern resolve. “But Chief Director Tal has made it clear that no one is to see the prisoner without her direct authorization.”
“What's your name, son?”
“Jensen Noralis, sir.”
Harry closed his eyes, breathing deeply to work up the nerve for something that he really didn't want to do. He was a stickler; coaxing someone to break the regs was not in his genetic makeup, but he needed to know what Isara knew. Even Harry had his limits. Most cops would follow the rules to the letter – unless they were crooked, of course – but these Keepers were a little different.
Years of working with Jack and Anna had convinced him that they were guided by their emotions. In some ways, that made them more compassionate – more focused upon the spirit of the law – but it was also a weakness that he could exploit.
If he had to.
“Did you know Director Morane?” he asked.
“No,” Jensen replied. “We never met.”
“I knew her,” Harry said, striding across the room. “She was my partner, and that woman in there has her face. I need to know the truth.”
Harry stepped up to the desk with hands clasped behind himself. “I could be wrong,” he went on. “But I was under the impression that you Keepers were the experts in finding an exception to every rule.”
“What is it you think you can learn from Isara?”
Now to play his hand; he would have preferred to have avoided this necessity, but he needed a compelling reason.
Slipping a hand into his jacket pocket, Harry retrieved the N'Jal in its curled up ball form. He held it up in front of the other man. “Do you recognize this?” he asked. “Do you know what it is?”
Jensen shook his head.
“It's an Overseer device,” Harry explained. “A powerful weapon, a scanning tool, and it probably has several other functions we haven't discovered.” He wasn't going to mention his ability to reprogram a ziarogat on the fly. “Just about everybody who bonds with it becomes unstable, paranoid. But I can use it just fine. Isara tried to get her hands on this thing a few months back, which means she probably knows why I can use it just fine. So, I want answers.”
All of that was true; Harry Carlson was no liar. In fact, he had brought the N'Jal specifically to ask what Isara knew about it. But that only scratched the surface of what he wanted to know.
The other man stared at him with an open mouth, then blinked and tossed his head about
as if to clear away an unpleasant mental image. “Right,” Jensen said. “That makes sense…I'll trust you, Mr. Carlson.”
“Thank you.”
“But please,” Jensen implored him. “Don't do anything that might compromise her rights. We're in enough trouble as is.”
“I won't.”
The doors behind the desk slid open, and Harry stepped into a long hallway with cells in both of its gray walls. The third door on the left: that was where he was headed. His heart was pounding.
Closing his eyes, Harry sucked in a deep breath. “You can do this,” he whispered, nodding to himself. “She's just a woman, no different from any other Keeper.”
He placed the N'Jal against the palm of his left hand and felt the little ball uncurl, tiny fibers bonding with his skin. Using this thing always felt like a shot of adrenaline. His senses were sharper, his mind focused. He could feel things that were imperceptible to any other person.
If he concentrated hard enough, he would know – intuitively – the composition of the air in this hallway. He would be able to sense even trace amounts of other chemicals. It was exhilarating…and terrifying.
He went to Isara's cell.
After going through the necessary security checks – he had to remember to use the hand that didn't have the N'Jal attached to it – he watched the door slide open to reveal a cell where Isara sat in a simple wooden chair with her back turned. “Harry!” she said without looking. “It's so nice to see you again! It's been what? Six months?”
“Seven.”
Isara stretched, fingers straining for the ceiling, and then she got out of her chair. “Far too long,” she murmured. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company.”
She faced, and Harry felt the frigid sting of grief, like an icicle piercing his chest. Her face was a perfect match for Jena in every way, right down to the boyish hair that she wore parted in the middle. Christ…I thought I could handle this. Now was not a good time to lose his composure.
Thrusting his hand toward her – palm out – Harry gave her a moment to take stock of the N'Jal bonded to his skin. Then he marched forward while the door slid shut behind him. “You know what this is?”
Isara nodded.
“It's the one we found in Tennessee,” he added. “Why did you want it so badly?”
A wry little smile appeared on Isara's face, and she shook her head. “I should think you would know that by now,” she replied. “No doubt you used it to discern the location of the Key.”
Isara slipped her hands into her back pockets and stood with her head held high. “I want to know when you bonded with it,” she said. “It can't have been long ago, or you'd be a quivering ball of paranoia.”
Harry squinted at the woman. “Well, it's funny you should ask,” he said. “Turns out I can use this thing with no unfortunate side-effects. And I'm betting you know why.”
Isara froze.
He'd caught her off guard. This exchange went to him, but Isara would come back with something devastating. Was it possible that she didn't know what the Overseers had done to him when he and Jack had found the first cipher?
Isara turned on her heel, pacing a line across the room with a smile on her face. “I see,” she murmured. “What makes you think I know anything about your predicament? Better to ask the Inzari, yes?”
“I thought you had the inside track.”
Isara stopped at the side of her bed, her chest swelling as she took in a deep breath. She let it out slowly. “I am just a servant,” she said. “They tell me what they want me to know and nothing more.”
Harry felt his face twist, then tossed his head about with a rough growl. “Not good enough!” he snapped. “You're one of their most trusted agents. You expect me to believe you don't know how their tech works?”
“What you believe is irrelevant.”
“We'll see about that.”
As he closed in on her, Isara turned on him with her arms folded, raising her chin. “Really?” she asked, arching one eyebrow. “What exactly do you expect to accomplish here, Harry?”
“I'm gonna get some answers.”
He strode forward.
Isara spun for a back-kick that would throw him across the room if it connected. By instinct alone, Harry reacted. His left hand came up, and the air before him rippled with a force-field.
Isara's foot touched the curtain of electrostatic energy, and she was flung to the floor. The woman landed with a grunt, shivering as she let out a ragged breath. “You've grown stronger, Harry.”
Harry let the force-field vanish.
Dropping to one knee beside her, he clamped his left hand onto the back of Isara's neck and felt the N'Jal's fibers dig into her skin. Instantly, he was aware of every last bit of Isara's nervous system, and he used that knowledge to his advantage. He flared pain receptors throughout her body.
Isara shrieked, arching her back and then flopping about like a fish that had been left on dry land. “You think that will contain me?” she bellowed. “I have known every torment the Inzari can visit upon-”
Harry intensified the pain.
Her screams were loud enough that they would have drawn attention if not for the fact that this cell's walls were soundproof. Not that the Justice Keepers were in the habit of torturing their prisoners – the idea would be abhorrent to them – but they didn't want prisoners talking to and possibly plotting with the person in the cell next door.
Isara kicked her feet and pounded her fists on the floor. Every time she tried to get up, Harry only intensified the pain. He wasn't likely to get her in this vulnerable position again, and she would kill him if he let her take control of the situation.
“Tell me everything you know about the Overseers!” Harry shouted. “No more secrets, no more manipulations, no more lies! WHAT ARE YOU HIDING?”
The door slid open.
When Harry looked up, he was expecting to have to explain himself to Larani Tal, but instead, Jensen Noralis stood in the hallway with his hand on a holstered pistol. “Let her go,” he said, stepping into the cell.
“You don't understand.”
Jensen drew his pistol and pointed it at Harry. The LEDs on the barrel were dark. No stun rounds; a shot from that gun would kill. “Let. Her. Go.” the man insisted. “Get up and back away.”
Harry did so.
Getting to his feet, he backed away from the man with his hands raised defensively. “Don't get close,” he said, shaking his head. “She's dangerous.”
Grinning as his face went red, Jensen shut his eyes and bowed his head. “I know,” he said, moving deeper into the cell. “Are you all right, ma'am? I wouldn't have let him in here, but he claims to be able to use the device without side-effects. I thought you would want to examine him for yourself.”
Isara pushed herself up on extended arms, and when she looked at Harry, her face was crimson and tear-stained. “That's quite all right, Jensen,” she assured him. “You did well. I take it we're on schedule?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Isara stood up, wiping tears off her cheeks with two fingers. “Excellent,” she said with a curt nod. “Now, if you please…”
“No!” Harry shouted. “You can't!”
The other man produced a key from his pants' pocket and slid it into the locking mechanism on Isara's collar. The collar popped open with a click and then dropped to the floor. Terror was like a fist squeezing Harry's heart.
Isara turned to the man who stood beside her, smiling the kind of smile a mother bestowed on her favourite son. “You have proved yourself.” Abruptly, her attention was focused on Harry again. “Kill him, recover the device, and then join us at the SlipGate terminal.”
When she stepped into the hallway, Isara found Cara Sinthel and Calissa Narim waiting for her. Both stood before her in rumpled track pants and sweaters, each with hair in a state of disarray.
“What now?” Calissa said.
Isara turned and started up the hallway, flanked by the other
two women. “Well, there are several options,” she said. “But right now…I'm thinking violence.”
Chapter 25
The cell wasn't that big; once, Harry would have thought that these Leyrian prisons that were basically like small hotel rooms would have been excessively lavish – criminals did not deserve furniture, books or tablets with interactive games – but now, he regretted those hasty sentiments.
It was a small, box-like room with a table on one side and a bed on the other, and he stood by the window along the back wall. The exit was blocked by a short and slender man whose pale skin was contrasted by his black hair.
A short and slender man who could rip him to pieces.
Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath. “You don't have to do this, Jensen,” he said, stepping forward. “I don't know what they did to you, how Isara convinced you to join her misguided cause, but-”
Jensen pointed the gun at him.
Harry raised his left hand, a force-field rippling into existence, blurring the other man as if a curtain of falling water stood between them. Slugs hit the wall of shimmering energy, and Harry caught them each with his mind, holding them all in place instead of allowing them to fall to the floor.
He thrust his hand forward.
The force-field flexed and vanished, throwing half a dozen bullets back toward the man who had loosed them. Jensen became a streak of colour, resolidifying in the corner and lifting his weapon to point at Harry. “EMP!”
I'm a dead man.
Years of training kicked in, pushing that voice to the very back of Harry's mind. He threw himself down on the floor as the other man's gun beeped its confirmation, landing hard on his belly.
White tracers flew through the air, striking the wall.
Harry rolled onto his side, stretching his left hand toward the other man. A small force-field – no larger than a tennis ball – appeared in the palm of his hand. He loosed it with a thought.
