The Loralynn Kennakris series Boxed Set

by Owen R O'Neill

  Why’s he got all that water standing in his eyes?

  “I’d like to take you there, Kri—Loralynn. That’s the invitation.”

  She worked some moisture back into her suddenly dry mouth. “Where exactly is this place?”

  “Michigan. On Earth. Where I grew up.”

  “Oh.” Feelings, tentative and vulnerable, were beginning to melt all around her heart. “Earth’s an awful long way from here.”

  “Yeah. But they’ve offered you your choice of duty—anything, anywhere.”

  “Huh?” The words were an unexpected—almost unwelcome—jolt. For all Kris knew, she might have still been technically under quarters arrest. No one had said anything, and there’d been no signs of it, but— “But what about what . . . happened?”

  “I’m pleased to say that wiser counsels prevailed. Quillan has a great deal of explaining to do, and right now, the smart money is not on him being able to pull that off.”

  “Oh.” She was tempted to ask to what extent he’d been involved. But this didn’t seem like the time.

  “So where do you think you wanna go?”

  “I—um . . . I’m not sure.” There weren’t a ton of exciting options for a fighter pilot in peacetime. With the Bannermans out of the picture and Cathcar destroyed, anti-slaving patrols had been scaled back. That left maybe— “Maybe Survey?”

  He nodded, almost as if he’d been expecting that answer. Which he might’ve been. “There’s a lot of career advantages to Survey, and with the treaty being signed, most everything else will be training—or desk work. It’d mean a posting to Lunar 1.”

  “Are you opting for Lunar 1?”

  “They didn’t give me a lot of choice, but yes. G-Staff billet. Treaty compliance.”

  “So you’ll be there.”

  “Yep . . . and, I thought, if that was your preference and—things worked out, we might . . .”

  “Might what?” she prodded.

  The words came in a rush. “Consider going on as a team. That is, if you say yes.”

  She shifted closer to him and put her hands on the slope of his shoulders by his neck. “That’s a nice offer, but . . . I was thinkin’ you were gonna ask me something else.”

  Her tone, her look, the warm pressure of her hands, left no doubt what that something was. The uncertainty smoothed out of his features to be replaced by another look, not solemn, but deeply earnest and not to be trifled with. “I would have, but—considering everything that’s happened—I felt it’s not my place to bring that up just yet. I don’t want to cause unnecessary complications.”

  “I understand. And thanks. But . . .” The hand on the back of his neck pulled him closer. “Look, Rafe”—bending her neck so their foreheads touched, her voice the barest whisper—“I know this may not work. I know it could be a big fuckin’ mistake. But I just died. It focuses the mind, y’know?”

  He made a soft sound as if he’d been holding his breath. She felt a tear slip through her closed eyelids and eased the pressure of the hand holding them together.

  “So if that’s what you think—that this is gonna be too complicated—walk out that door now and we’ll go back to where we were—no harm, I promise. Or kiss me.”

  He kissed her.

  A minute later he felt her lips curve into a smile against his own. “See? Wasn’t that easy?”

  Opening his eyes, he smiled to match hers. “Am I allowed to point out that technically you haven’t answered my question yet?”

  “No, you’re not.” She twined her arms tighter around his neck and kissed the warm lips again. “In a minute? ’Kay?”

  “Just a minute?”

  “Dunno. Try again.” They did. “Well, guess what?”

  He gathered her in, holding her by the armsful. “What?”

  “Gonna take more than a minute.” Her fingers attacked his buttons.

  “Loralynn—”

  “Very good!” Buttons defeated, his zippers yielded under her assault.

  “—you are aware we’re in a hospital and the doors here do not lock?”

  The assault did not pause. “So what? You care about the three-grade rule or something?”

  “No, actually. Check your pillow.”

  She did, her fingers momentarily halting in their incursion. “Huh?”

  “The other one.”

  “Oh.” A lieutenant’s twin gold bars were pinned there. “When did that happen?”

  “Late last week.”

  Her eyes came back to his; her hand, having claimed its objective, achieved its liberation. “So what’s the problem?”

  “No problem.” He shifted forward, giving her more room to work.

  “Okay, then. I’m certified totally operational. Totally.” She breathed the syllables softly in his ear.

  Hospital attire has this one virtue: it’s easy to remove. Even with one hand.

  A sweep of her unengaged arm sent pillows tumbling. Maneuvering him onto the bed, her palms inexorably pressed him back against the mattress. Smiling as his hands coasted up her flanks to seize the high ground after a brief reconnaissance—thumb and trigger finger engaging each coral-tinted peak, which rose to the occasion—he looked up into her eyes, at the luminous emotions simmering there.

  “I suppose they were right about one thing.”

  “Whazzat?”—the index finger of one hand coasting over the old break in the bridge of his nose while her other hand, by a smooth flank movement, retook the salient it had briefly relinquished and stroked slowly.

  “You are crazy.”

  “I know.” Sighing, she leaned into his grip and shuffled up along his recumbent torso until her knees were well above and outside his shoulders. “Don’cha love it?”

  “Yes,” he murmured as she poised there for a trio of seconds, her breath catching high in her throat before she began to lower her hips those few crucial inches; and again in that brief interval while speech was still possible: “Yes, I do.”

  Some minutes later, amidst the soft and rhythmic cries that at times broke out rather less softly and were often punctuated by sweetly uttered gasps or a delighted whimper escaping through clenched teeth—sounds that would occasionally overflow the room and waft faintly to the bend in the corridor where Rachel stood watch with a medical periodical, making her smile—he had his answer.

  And it was: Yes.

  # # #

  Authors’ Notes

  The engagement in which Huron and Kris attack a formation of sixty Halith fighters was inspired by the historic exploits of Commander David McCampbell (USN) and Ensign Roy Rushing (USN) at the Battle of Leyte Gulf where, unsupported by any other aircraft, they attacked (in McCampbell's case, against orders) a formation of sixty enemy aircraft, forty of which were fighters, and shot down fifteen to seventeen of them (McCampbell, nine to eleven; Rushing, six), causing the entire formation to retreat before any of its planes reached their targets—and lived to tell the tale. We ask the forgiveness of Ensign Rushing’s memory for our fictional Ensign Kennakris upstaging him. We think he would have understood.

  The quote: “The only thing sadder than a battle lost, is a battle won,” recalled by Admiral PrenTalien in the penultimate chapter, is attributed Field Marshal Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington, after the Battle of Waterloo.

  The original quote paraphrased in the same chapter is: “The Neapolitan officers did not lose much honour, for God knows they had not much to lose—but they lost all they had.” It was said by Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson, 1st Viscount Nelson, after a French rout of the Neapolitan army in 1798.

  We also beg the reader’s indulgence for putting the words of General Lord Edmund Allenby, spoken during his advance on Damascus in the latter stages of WWI, into the mouth of one of our characters. “Pound them, Harry! Pound them!” did not, under the circumstances, seem capable of improvement.

  Cooperative engagement capability (CEC) is the ability to fuse sensor and weapons data from multiple platforms into a fully integrated targ
eting and engagement system.

  The French phrase “Sauvé qui peut” may be loosely translated as: Every man for himself.

  Iacta alea est (Latin for The die is cast) is the phrase uttered by Julius Caesar (according to Suetonius) as he crossed on the Rubicon with his army on January 10, 49 BC. It is also rendered: jacta alea est.

  For more background on the universe which Loralynn Kennakris inhabits, we have produced an extensive glossary that defines terms, describes technology and organizations, and provides additional background material for the series. Comprised of over 300 entries, the glossary is fully indexed and cross-linked to give you easy access to the information you want. An indexed biographical list of characters is incorporated as well.

  You can download our glossary at: www.loralynnkennakris.com/loralynn-kennakris-series-glossary.mobi

  For full-color, high-resolution maps showing the Battle of Wogan's Reef and the larger vicinity, see here .

  We suggest not viewing these maps until you have reached the appropriate chapter in the Part II of this book, as they might be considered spoilers.

  We hope you find these extras useful.

  About the Authors

  Jordan Leah Hunter is a writer, artist and model living in Northern California. Descended from Irish High-Kings, Vikings and Native Americans, she brings all the passion of her turbulent ancestry to her work. A true devotee of Nature, she can be found outdoors at all hours and in all weathers, and when she suffers to have a roof over her head, it is usually to sit by her fire and read or play one of several instruments. Her Celtic fantasy novel, The Erl King’s Children, is also available on Amazon, in paperback and for Kindle.

  Owen R. O’Neil is a physicist, a writer, an amateur historian and the descendant of a long line of engineers. After three years working for the US Navy as a missile-systems engineer, he became a member of the intelligence community and spent the rest of his career there. One of the last generation of Cold Warriors, he worked on topics as diverse as satellites, infrared semiconductors, telecommunications and C4ISR. He is an expert on technology projection and threat assessment, and did groundbreaking work on IW/IO before it was cool.

  These days he writes, exercises a passion for photography he inherited from his father, and indulges in his two principal vices: cooking unhealthy food and ferreting out exceptional but under-appreciated wines. He lives on nine rural acres in northern California where, when not engaged in the foregoing, he listens to his tenants (bullfrogs and coyotes) and watches over his infant vineyard.

  They have completed three books together, and the fourth novel in the Loralynn Kennakris series is currently underway.