by C. Gockel
Jerem looked from Dr. Chand to Risa, who frowned at him as well. However, the expression wasn’t nearly as impressive on Risa, since she had wide blue eyes and the sort of mouth that always looked as if it were smiling.
“Um...” hedged Jerem. Truthfully, he really hadn’t thought about it. He’d just thought it would be funny. Besides, the patriotic fervor on Nova Angeles about Founder’s Day always seemed a little silly to Jerem, considering that Nova Angeles had been forcibly annexed by the GDF. Or at least that’s what he had gleaned from the history texts they made him study, even though said texts tried to make it sound as if the transfer of power had been welcomed by the planet’s original settlers. But he knew he’d better try to look contrite, or they’d keep talking at him for hours. “Um, no, sir,” he continued. “I guess we didn’t.”
“I thought so,” said Dr. Chand, looking pleased with himself. “Consider this a valuable lesson, Jerem—just because you might think something is amusing doesn’t mean that other people necessarily share your opinion.”
“Yes, sir,” Jerem said, looking down at his boots and wondering how much longer this would go on. He’d rather just go home and get started on his punishment right away. Maybe they could get it over with before his mother even got back.
Dr. Chand watched him carefully for a moment, eyes narrowed. Jerem tried to stare back as guilelessly as possible. If the principal sniffed out the slightest hint of insincerity, he’d keep at Jerem without mercy.
But apparently he was satisfied with Jerem’s air of contrition, for after a moment Dr. Chand looked over at Risa and said, “You can take him home now. But he has early detention the rest of this week. And I will need to speak to his mother when she returns.”
“Yes, Dr. Chand,” Risa said wearily. Jerem knew that his mother hated morning detention because it meant she had to get Jerem ready and out of the house that much earlier, and he imagined Risa didn’t like the idea any better.
She hustled him out of the principal’s office and down to the waiting aircar, scolding him the whole time. Jerem tuned out most of her complaints, and then paused for a second while she opened the door to the car. As he stared up at the gleaming white façade of the administration building, he got a sudden image of it the way it had looked the night before, with the words “Free Nova Angeles!” shimmering in a bright acid green that could be seen for miles. Jerem and Mikhal had argued over whether it should say “Nova Angeles for the Natives” or “Free Nova Angeles!” but decided on the latter simply because it was shorter and so, as Alic had pointed out, they could use a bigger font. They hadn’t actually believed it, after all.
Grown-ups get bent about the weirdest things, he thought, as Risa whipped the car up into the traffic lanes above the school and merged with the other vehicles at a not entirely safe speed. Her smiling mouth was pressed to a thin line. But at least the stream of reprimands had stopped—for now. Jerem had no doubt they would start up again once they were home.
Well, even if it meant no vids for a week and early detention, it still had been worth it. He grinned suddenly, although he made sure to keep his gaze studiously in his lap as he did so. After all, no matter what Risa might think, he was still getting off a lot easier than he would have if his mother had been home.
“You don’t have to do this,” Miala protested, watching helplessly as the huge sandy-yellow disk of Iradia fell away somewhere off to starboard.
Thorn didn’t turn to look at her. His hands moved expertly over the controls of the Fury, maneuvering them with ever-increasing speed away from her home world.
“I think I do,” he replied. “Only way to make sure you get home safe.”
She wanted to snap back at him, but realized that not only would he ignore her anyway, but it was somewhat rude to be abusing the man who just saved her from certain death—or worse. Lips clamped shut, she stared out the viewport, watching the starry pinpoints outside blur into washes of non-color as they entered subspace.
“Besides,” he added, reaching up to unwrap the fabric from around his head, “I’ll need to collect some of that cash you’ve been holding for me all these years, since I doubt Murgan’s going to pay off my commission any time soon.”
In silence Miala watched as he finally revealed the face she had dreamed about, wondered about, for the past eight years. He did not look much different. The lines were cut more deeply into the skin around his eyes and mouth, and she thought she could see the first faint traces of gray brushing the dark hair at his temples, but otherwise he was very much the same man she remembered from all those years ago.
Something inside her seemed to turn over. She held her breath, willing the hurt away. It was so much easier when I couldn’t see his face.
“You still have it, don’t you?” he asked.
What? Miala thought. Oh, of course. The money.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she retorted, forcing herself to look at him. “All of it, plus interest. Which is quite a lot after eight years.”
A look of amusement came and went in those dark eyes. “So I’m rich now?”
“Something like that.” Indeed, it had surprised her how quickly money could accumulate when it kept earning interest and the principal remained untouched. She had had to dip into her own part of the treasure when she was first starting out, but over the years she had gradually replaced what had been spent, and built on it as her business grew. Even by Nova Angeles standards she was considered a rich woman. Never again for her the gnawing worry of whether there would be enough money to buy food or pay off the landlord for yet another month.
“How much?”
“A little over ten million units,” she replied. At least, that had been the balance as of the last statement she’d received. It might have compounded again since then.
She’d known he wouldn’t react much, even to such a huge sum, but he did lift an eyebrow slightly. “Guess I am rich.”
And now he seemed bound and determined to return her to Nova Angeles. Miala had known this day might come, but now, confronted as she was with the reality of Thorn soon landing on her adopted home world, she could feel panic begin to well up inside her. Not now—it’s too soon, she thought. Even though she had at times longed for Thorn to know his son, she knew she was a fool if she didn’t fear his anger...at least a little.
But perhaps she could delay him a bit. “Your money’s not even on Nova Angeles,” she pointed out. “It’s in a numbered account on New Chicago. I thought that might be safer. It would make more sense to go there first.”
“Do you have to be there in person to withdraw it?”
Well, he had her there. She’d set up the account so she could access it remotely if need be. Miala had tried to plan for every contingency, and she hadn’t wanted to risk his wrath by making the money too inaccessible. She wondered if she should mention the waiting period to withdraw the funds if she did it remotely, caught a glimpse of the grim set of Thorn’s mouth, and decided he probably didn’t want to hear any more excuses.
Her silence seemed to be the only answer he required. “Right,” he said after a slight pause. “We’ll be at Nova Angeles in about ten standard hours.”
So fast? she thought miserably. Of course, that second-rate passenger liner she had taken to Iradia would be much slower than Thorn’s hyper-modified private ship.
“Lie down for a while,” Thorn added, not unkindly. “You look like you could use it.”
As much as she hated to admit it, Miala knew he was right. Even now her legs felt shaky with fatigue, and one of her knees was throbbing where she had skinned it when she fell to the ground in the courtyard of Mast’s compound. Besides, the less time she spent in his presence, the less chance she had of betraying herself somehow.
So she nodded and took herself back to the small, cramped bathroom, where she cleaned up her dirt-smudged face as best she could, then pulled a hairbrush from her satchel and pulled her hair back into a sleek, tight braid. The satchel only contained a few n
ecessary items such as the brush and an extra tooth scrubber, both of which made her feel a little better but couldn’t do much to help with her torn and stained clothing. After ineffectually brushing at the worst of the dirt, Miala gave up in disgust and went off to the ship’s one small passenger compartment.
That, too didn’t seem to have changed much over the past eight years, although she thought the dingy blanket on the narrow bed used to be blue, and this one was dark green. No matter; she arranged the lumpy pillow under her head as comfortably as she could and lay back, trying to ignore the familiar scent of Thorn that seemed to permeate the pillow and the bedclothes. It wasn’t a bad smell, just a peculiarly masculine scent of clean sweat and some other indefinable aroma that reminded her partly of leather and partly the crisp taste of metal.
How she’d tried to forget that over the years, that and the way his mouth had felt on hers, and the way his freshly shaved cheeks had rubbed against her smooth skin. Why was it that every other man’s touch had felt wrong after his?
Oh, she’d tried. Even with a child whose father she wouldn’t name, Miala had been the object of more than one pursuit. They’d been handsome young men, much closer to her own age and far more suitable, and she’d been completely bored by every last one of them. Even so she’d kissed several of them, and once or twice let things progress even further than that, but she’d never been able to bring herself to consummate the relationships. Each time she’d abruptly broken things off, and Miala supposed she had gotten quite a reputation as a tease through a certain segment of the young male population in Rilsport. It certainly hadn’t been intentional—each time she’d thought things would be different, and each time she’d proven herself wrong. And so, by the time Jerem was five, she’d given up on men completely. If it was her fate to be alone the rest of her life, so be it. Better that than the continued awkwardness of trying to pretend a relationship was something it wasn’t.
Once she’d even looked up Captain Malick, the young officer who had commanded the garrison at Aldis Nova. He had shown her kindness, and she had been dealing with a troublesome two-year-old and fighting a loneliness that threatened to overwhelm her at times. It had been more difficult than she thought to make friends on Nova Angeles, whose populace had a tendency toward coolness for outsiders. And she, aching for someone, especially someone who could provide a connection—however tenuous—to her old life on Iradia, had seized on the thought of finding Captain Malick.
It hadn’t been as difficult as she had thought. Money bought all sorts of things, including skilled investigators. Miala soon had a comm address, and discovered that, after serving a second four-year stint, he had resigned his commission and returned to a quiet civilian life. It hadn’t taken too much persuasion for him to come visit her on Nova Angeles.
Oh, how she’d wanted to love him. He’d been so happy to hear from her, even though at first he was wary, wondering why she would be seeking to contact him after so much time had passed. He hadn’t asked awkward questions about Jerem, and the little boy clearly grew attached to him quickly. They had all spent several idyllic weeks together on Nova Angeles over the summer break from school, and Miala had almost convinced herself that she was making the right choice—Gerald clearly adored her and had dropped a few hints that he would be more than happy to join her here on Nova Angeles permanently.
But even as she had been on the brink of taking the next step in their relationship, she realized she just couldn’t do it. The specter of Eryk Thorn seemed to haunt her, and she acknowledged finally that poor Gerald Malick couldn’t replace the mercenary any more than any of the other young men she’d seen on Nova Angeles. And then he left, still not understanding exactly what had happened. Miala wept for the pain she caused him, but she could no more have made a life with him than she could have given her son to another woman to raise.
And now Eryk Thorn had unexpectedly dropped back into her life. Not in a way she would have wanted—if nothing else, she felt slightly ridiculous for being taken in by Murgan and worried that Thorn thought her still foolish and not entirely grown up. Even though she had spent the last eight years planning what she would say to him if she ever saw him again, still she wanted more time.
But time was not on her side. She slept some, fitfully, but the exhaustion that settled in after she lay herself down on Thorn’s uncomfortable bed soon claimed her. Before she knew it, Miala felt the ship drop out of subspace and knew they had arrived at Nova Angeles.
Like so many others, it was a blue jewel of a planet, overlaid with wisps of pale clouds, its many continents strewn like semiprecious stones against a sapphire sea.
“Where to?” asked Thorn, as he looked up to see her standing in the doorway to the cabin.
“Rilsport. It’s the main city on the continent of North Cape.”
Miala watched as he contacted the spaceport and received permission to land at one of the public platforms. As before when they had gone off-planet, he gave the authorities the false name of Captain Marr, and no doubt the ship’s I.D. he transmitted was just as false. Not that it mattered. Nova Angeles was probably about the last place anyone like Eryk Thorn would usually frequent—certainly no one would be looking for him here.
The landing was smooth, and when they left the ship the familiar breezes of late spring caught at her hair. The air smelled faintly of salt from the nearby harbor.
Without protest Miala let Thorn call them a taxi. She knew there was nothing she could do now to head him off—although she was relieved to find that they had landed at midday. At least Jerem would still be at school. Perhaps she could deal with Thorn before her son even came home. Anything, she thought, to keep him from discovering the truth.
The house looked just as she had left it—not that she had expected anything different. She had two household mechs to keep things tidy, and Jerem knew better than to leave his tablet or his toys lying about. He could have as messy a room as he liked, as long as there was still space to walk on the floor, but the rest of the house was sacrosanct. At least there would be no betraying little-boy clutter for Thorn’s sharp eyes to catch.
“Nice place,” he said at length, after she led him through the foyer and into the ground-floor office she maintained for working at home.
“Well, they say you can’t go wrong with real estate,” Miala replied, tension adding to the brittle sarcasm of her tone.
He looked around at the expensive blond-wood furniture, the exotic plants, the delicate light sculpture that glistened at one corner of her desk. Some time while she slept Thorn had changed out of the conspicuous dark robes and into a plain gray jumpsuit, but he still looked dangerous and out of place in the elegant room. “You’ve done well for yourself,” he said.
Miala could feel herself blush slightly. Was his approval really still that important? “I can access the accounts from here,” she said quickly. “There’s a waiting period, though.”
“No problem.”
Still he continued to glance around the room, and she was grateful she’d just recently taken down the portrait of Jerem that usually sat on her desk. He’d complained that he looked stupid in it, since he’d been missing a tooth at the time, and since the school was about to issue new portraits anyway, Miala hadn’t argued the point.
She’d just booted up her computer and was waiting to establish a connection with the bank on New Chicago when the door to her office flew open and Jerem came bounding in.
“You’re back!” he exclaimed. “I thought you wouldn’t be home until the end of—” And he came to a sudden halt as he stared at Eryk Thorn, who had turned from his study of one of the light sculptures to see who the intruder was.
For the longest moment no one spoke. Miala could feel Thorn’s gaze travel from Jerem to her and back to Jerem, where it lingered.
“I got back early,” she managed at last, willing herself to keep her voice calm. “It didn’t take as long as I had thought on Iradia. Speaking of early, why aren’t you in school?”
“Short day,” Jerem replied promptly. “Teacher training or something.”
How could he not see it? To her the resemblance between father and son was almost overwhelming. But although Jerem looked somewhat puzzled to see a strange man standing in her office, that seemed to be the extent of his confusion.
“Jerem, I have a—a client with me right now,” she went on. “Can you give me a few minutes?”
Her son nodded, looking over at Eryk Thorn with a slight frown. “Um, sure. Can I go over to Mikhal’s?”
Her voice a little strangled, Miala replied, “That sounds like a great idea. I’ll call you when it’s time for dinner.”
“Okay.” Jerem gave a quick glance at Thorn, then said, “Bye, sir.”
Thorn inclined his head slightly, but didn’t reply. Then Jerem ran out, the slap of his rubber-soled boots loud on the tiled hallway.
Silence then, as Thorn gazed out the door through which Jerem had just disappeared. Then he turned slowly and fixed Miala with a hard stare. “Is there,” he asked softly, “anything you want to tell me?”
17
Miala’s hands found the back of her office chair. Somehow the feel of the expensive leather under her fingers was oddly reassuring. Or perhaps she felt a little safer because both the chair and the bulk of her desk provided some sort of barrier between her and Eryk Thorn.
He waited, watching her carefully. As always, she could not tell what he might be thinking.
How often had she gone over this scene in her mind? How many times had she tried to decide what would be the best way of telling him about Jerem? She’d always thought she would have more time to prepare, more time to soften the news. There was no way to deny the boy’s parentage—Thorn’s legacy revealed itself in every line and curve of Jerem’s face.
“He’s yours,” she said simply, forcing herself to keep her gaze level and steady, fixed on the mercenary.