Roark (Women Of Earth Book 1)

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  “Harmful to whom?” There was playfulness in the question.

  “To us,” the higher voice answered with a hiss of teasing laughter. “I don’t know what it will do to you.”

  “Now you tell me. It’s customary to inform the subject before you use him for experimentation.”

  “You’re not a subject. You’re a prisoner,” said yet another voice, this one without the humor of the others.

  Mira tore her eyes from the Viking’s green ones and tried to look around him to see who was speaking. She caught a glimpse of something soft and furry flicking up and down to the floor. A tail? She tried to lift her head to get a better look at the woman in the white coat, but strong arms held her shoulders down.

  “Oh no you don’t,” the Viking’s voice rumbled and then he turned his head away. “Ahnyis, put it away, and the rest of you cut the chatter. Fix the female or go back to your cell.”

  The next face Mira saw was much more frightening than the Viking’s. Face, wild unkempt hair and beard, clothes; everything was filthy. His pale blue eyes were bright and alert, if a bit wild, and amidst the mass of facial hair, she saw a smile.

  “Not to worry,” he said. “I’m not as uncivilized as I look. My name is Mason Mason.” The grin widened. “I know. My father, poor man, thought he was being clever. Every teacher I had thought I was being a smartass.” He shrugged. “I was, but not about the name. In spite of the ridiculous name and my appearance, I am a doctor. Let me take a look.”

  He opened her swollen eye, and then felt the bruised cheek beneath it. He pressed his fingers over the area until Mira whimpered with pain. With the sound, Mason was dragged back, the Viking’s hand around his throat.

  “No. Stop.” Mira rolled forward, reaching for the hand that was cutting off Mason’s air supply. Her head swelled with pain at the sudden movement. The sheet slipped dangerously low before she realized she was naked beneath it. She grabbed the covers instead of her head, but couldn’t stop her moan of pain.

  The Viking released the doctor and shoved him aside. Those green eyes blazed with heat. His face still looked harsh, but his rough hands were gentle as one slipped behind her shoulder and one behind her head to lower her back to the pillow. He didn’t smile until he had to peel her clutched fingers from the blankets. He then smoothed them out across her chest and over her shoulders, a little higher than they were before.

  A man in a lab coat, looking much like the woman, spoke to the Viking as if what had just happened was no big deal. “If you’re through choking the life out of him, there’s more he needs to look at. Abdominal contusions, rib fracture,” he said to Mason. “Our scan shows no internal bleeding, but...” He let the sentence hang.

  “I’m not touching her unless he steps back,” Mason declared.

  “I will not step back and if you hurt her...”

  “Your goons have done a pretty good job of that already.”

  “Goons. Goan ed ta disa?” the Viking asked the people behind him.

  “Henchman, cohorts, minions,” Mira supplied without thinking.

  “Unless, of course, it was you who hurt her,” Mason continued. “Was it?” he asked Mira.

  “What? No, I don’t think so,” she said, searching her foggy memory for the truth. “It wasn’t him. I’m pretty sure. Why is everything else so foggy?” she asked and looked to Mason for the answer.

  She rolled her head to the side and glanced down at the big black boots. Slowly, she followed the length of leather clad legs up past the narrow hips and waist to broaden into the vee of his upper body. Here, too, he wore leather, but the vest only accentuated the powerful breadth of his chest and showed off the swirls and dips of the tattoos that covered his muscular arms and shoulders. By the time she reached his face, the god of golden light had turned to the one of thunder and that thunder was echoed in the beat of her heart.

  “No, it definitely wasn’t him,” she whispered.

  “I am not in the habit of abusing females, nor are my...” he thought for a moment, “Henchmen.”

  “Yeah, somebody ought to tell that to the henchmen,” the doctor muttered.

  Mira giggled and then winced as pain shot through her head. “That’s not the word you want,” she explained to the Viking. “Say soldiers or my troops. Henchmen connotes bad guys. It’s like your word shialtek. The literal is arrowhead, but when you say it, you mean a strong and true person. And you,” she added, finger pointing at Mason, “Behave yourself. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  If it wasn’t for the pain, she would have giggled again at the so-there look the Viking gave the doctor. He then switched his eyes to her and the urge to laugh was gone.

  “How come you to know these things and speak our language?”

  “I have a knack for languages,” Mira evaded. It wasn’t a lie. She spoke several languages and taught three of them in high school, when there still was a high school. “I was hoping to offer my services as a translator or a copywriter. Your notices and postings need work. I was a teacher before the war and I thought...”

  “Harm, do we have such a position?” the Viking interrupted.

  The older soldier who stood by the door, spread his hands and shrugged in answer.

  “Then I command it.”

  Harm nodded. “It shall be so. I gather the position is already filled?” he asked and at his superior’s sharp nod, added, “Done. I’ll send someone to get her details. You have a meeting with your officers in five. I told the culprits they could just stand at attention until you got around to them. What do want done with him?” He nodded at Mason.

  “May we keep him?” the woman in the lab coat asked as if the doctor were a much coveted pet. “Please? I think he could prove helpful.”

  “Hmph. That’s what you said of the Slovashul dog that ended up eating your mother’s entire flock of hens,” the Viking said with a hint of humor.

  “I was twelve,” the woman laughed. “I’ve changed.”

  “But the dog hasn’t. You may keep him, but his leash is in your hands, Ahnyis. See that he gets cleaned up and fixes the woman. And do not leave her alone with him.”

  “First Commander Roark has just been assigned here to replace the previous First. He’s a good man. You’ll like him,” the healer, Ahnyis, informed Mira when the men had gone. “And he likes you,” she added. Her laughter was girlish, but her body was not.

  The white lab coat and long skirt she wore couldn’t hide the womanly curves of her large breasts and wide hips. Her feet and hands looked dainty and she stood no more than five feet tall. Her face, too different to be human, was round and very pretty in an unusual kind of way. Her eyes were dark against her tawny brown skin and they tilted upward at the corners when she laughed. Her ears were pointy and set high on her head and her hair, cut in a short bob, was black as night. Her nose was small. Her mouth was wide, and the two upper incisors looked a little too large for the straight row of gleaming white teeth that surrounded them.

  “Oh,” Mira said, unsure of how she should respond to the information. The pounding in her head made it difficult to think much past his broad shoulders, solid chest, and thickly corded arms. “That’s nice.”

  “You will come back, won’t you? When you’re healthy again, when you start your new job. We can share our midday meal, our lunch.” Ahnyis grinned when she found the word. “We can practice together. It’s hard to speak fluently when you have no one to practice with, don’t you think?”

  Ahnyis was being kind. Her English was much better than Mira’s Godan.

  “You can help me learn about this new world of ours. I can read the notes and get the data from other Sectors, but first hand is always better, don’t you think?” She leaned in a little closer. “But to be honest, I’ve already asked for a few things from the other Sectors and they weren’t very pleasant. Seems my nose only belongs in medical and I don’t have clearance for anything else.” She rolled her big brown eyes. “One of them even asked what a pretty thing like me wa
s doing on a base anyway. I had a few things to say about that, let me tell you.” Ahnyis bobbed her head in satisfaction. “He doesn’t think I’m so pretty now, and I’m never using the holoscreen again. From now on it’s audio only.”

  Holoscreen? There was apparently a lot missing from the translator Mira had used to learn the language. She almost said so before she remembered she couldn’t.

  Chapter 2

  Mira lowered the footrest of the lounge chair carefully. Except for a slight headache if she moved her head too quickly, she was fine. The rib ached less with each passing day.

  Once Mason concluded that her injuries would heal with time, Vochem had made her drink a bitter concoction he’d made from a packet of powder and water. He said it would take away the pain and make her sleep. It did. She slept more deeply than she had since the invasion began and she dreamed of a golden Viking. Though she couldn’t remember the details, she knew it was a good dream because she awakened with a smile on her face.

  She’d been thinking about the First Commander for the past two weeks, the time Mason and Vochem decided she needed to recover before she was allowed to work, although she was pretty sure Mason just wanted her out of the way long enough for her bruises to heal so that he could claim credit for her recovery. Mira had argued that two weeks was too long, but neither man would listen, particularly after Ahnyis argued for four.

  In spite of her bad beginnings, she liked these people, even the older soldier, Harm, who didn’t smile much, but insisted she be escorted home in a hovercraft. It was the Godan equivalent of a jeep with a much smoother ride. They called it a skitt and it was like riding on a magic carpet as it skimmed over and around the rubble in the streets. She wished the kids could have seen her arriving in it, but she’d used the address that matched the one on her ration card.

  They’d dropped her off in front of their old building and she’d walked the rest of the way. It took her an hour to get home to her worried household, but it was better than the two hours it would have taken had she walked from the compound. With the new job, she would have a little extra money in her pocket. She would be able to pay for a ride in one of the little pedaled vehicles that were sprouting up all over the city.

  She was excited to be working again, though she had no idea what the job would entail and she was eager to see Ahnyis again, but more than that, she wanted to see him, the Viking, again. Ahnyis said his name was Roark, and Mira wanted...well, she wasn’t sure what she wanted, but she wanted to find out.

  “But do you think you can trust them?” her sister asked as if Mira had been speaking aloud. Wynne had probably read the look on Mira’s face, the trials of surviving the last six years had brought them that close.

  There was a five year difference between them and while they’d always loved each other, they’d never been best buds until disaster struck. Soon after the Hahnshin invaded, they found themselves alone with no one else to rely on except each other. Since that time, they’d become much more than sisters. They’d become partners, confidants, and best friends.

  Where Mira had inherited her mother’s northern Italian coloring and features, Wynne took after their Sicilian father. She was dark haired and dark eyed with a dark summer tan that would last until midwinter. Where Mira made snap judgments and had little patience, Wynne was thoughtful with a face as soft and gentle as her heart. She was the middle child and peacemaker of their little family.

  “Liking them isn’t the same as trusting them,” Mira assured her. “It’s a risk, but I think it’s worth it. We know of six other women they hired and then there’s Dr. Mason. As I said, I don’t think he likes them, but he’s willing to work with them.” She gave a little snicker of laughter. “Or around them.”

  Dr. Mason had given her a conspiratorial wink when he insisted she needed something for the pain and recommended she take two tablets four times a day. It was a common pain reliever and fever reducer found in every grocery store before the war. She didn’t need it and had only taken two tablets for the first three nights before going to bed. Half the bottle was stored in a jar in the cupboard. The other half Wynne traded for canned goods at the market which Mira suspected was Dr. Mason’s intent.

  Those canned goods would come in handy come winter when fresh vegetables would become nonexistent, but their family’s appetites wouldn’t.

  “Where are the kids? Shouldn’t they be home by now?” She tried to make it sound like curiosity and not concern, but Wynne was too attuned to her to be fooled.

  “You weren’t asleep that long, honey. It’s still light out and there are plenty of adults on the street. They’re playing.”

  “And what about Davey? I know he’s not out playing in the street. Have you seen him since he left this morning?”

  Head bent, hair hiding her face, her sister was suddenly busy matching thread to the torn shirt lying in her lap.

  “Where is he, Wynne?”

  “I saw him going into the Buzz when I went down to see if Jeanie Troy had any extra milk today,” she said quietly and without looking up.

  “And you let him?” Mira lever herself up from the chair and went to the door.

  “I couldn’t stop him, Mira. He was with some of his friends and they were already going in the door. I know I should have, but I couldn’t make myself go in there.”

  “You shouldn’t have to. He should know better and if he’s still there, I’ll be happy to tell him so.”

  “You shouldn’t be in there either,” Wynne called after her as she grabbed her coat from the peg and went out the door.

  “I’ll be fine,” Mira called back. “It’s David you should be worried about.”

  She often wished their mother was still around to deal with the son she’d always referred to as her accidental miracle. Mira sure as hell didn’t know what to do with the boy who at sixteen, spent most of his time griping about the lousy hand he’d been dealt and lazing around with his friends, most of whom Mira no longer knew.

  The Buzz was a local hangout operating out of an old neighborhood restaurant. They no longer sold food, but the bar was open for business, though where they got their supply of liquor no one knew or more correctly, no one wanted to know. Two kinds of people frequented the Buzz; those who could no longer cope with the world around them, and those who preyed on the people who were trying to cope. More rumors flew about the Buzz and its owner than about the Godan.

  Anthony Tomaselli was a liar and a bully, and purported to be a thief. He made his money in the black market. Some said prostitution, too, though to be honest, Mira didn’t see the need unless he was setting up a stable for when the Godan troops were finally allowed into town. He was also the boyfriend from hell who raised Mira’s concern about her taste in men.

  Through the haze of smoke, not all of which came from tobacco, Mira spied a table of young people over in the corner. Hands of cards lay face down on the table, one in front of an empty chair. Red, white, and blue poker chips formed a pile in the center. Her brother wasn’t one of them, but she figured they were her surest bet of finding him.

  “Have you seen David Donazetto?” she asked without greeting.

  “Who wants to know?”

  The speaker was a boy a little older than her brother, but not by much. His shoulder length hair was clean and kept from falling in his face by a red bandanna. His clothes were clean and his jeans fairly new, the same brand and style David said he found while scavenging an abandoned apartment. He might have been a good looking young man if his face wasn’t marred by a permanent sneer. Arm slung around the neck of a blonde girl who couldn’t have been more than fourteen, he looked to his buddies for approval of his clever remark.

  There was a time when Mira loved teenagers, but at the moment, she couldn’t remember when or why. “Me,” she answered with a roll of her eyes, “and it’s a simple yes or no question. If it’s too difficult for you, I can ask someone smarter.”

  “Well, if it isn’t the bitch of Bergen Street. What are yo
u doing down at our end of the neighborhood? You won’t find any Godan cock in here.”

  Mira turned to face him. “It’s been ten years. Get over it, Anthony. I have.”

  The sight of him made her smile. Over the years, she’d seen him on the street, but had studiously avoided meeting him, afraid to reignite his old animosity. The man in front of her was a caricature of the one she remembered. The charisma that once charmed her no longer existed.

  The years had not been good to Anthony Tomaselli. He was nine years older than she was, but anyone seeing them together today would think it was twenty. His hair was thinning and the grey at the temples didn’t make him look distinguished, only old. He’d grown around the middle, too, and a slight paunch hung over his belt.

  She’d hoped to avoid meeting him here, too, having heard that he rarely showed his face in the place until after dark. Seeing him up close, she was glad she’d been wrong. Nature had provided the revenge Mira couldn’t. Her smile widened and Anthony thought it was for him.

  “No woman gets over me, baby.”

  Mira shrugged and smiled agreeably. “Maybe you’re right. It’s kind of like a case of syphilis. You never forget it, but you make damn sure it never happens again.”

  The smartassed kid at the table snickered and the look Tomaselli sent him had the kid shrinking in his seat and swallowing hard.

  “Still a fucking bitch,” Tomaselli muttered when he turned back to Mira. “No wonder you can’t hold a man, a human one anyway.”

  “Whatever,” she said, and then closed her eyes and sighed. Anthony had pulled her back into the role of a smart mouthed nineteen year old in a matter of minutes. All she needed was a wad of chewing gum to snap. “This isn’t about you or me. I’m looking for David. Have you seen him?”

  Tomaselli looked over the heads of the patrons scattered throughout the bar. “Nope.” His looks might have changed, but his smirk hadn’t.