by Neal Jones
"Then I'll start the work on my end." Ronnd took another puff on his cigar, then doused it. "What about the Quorum? Are you sure that all of them can be trusted?"
The chancellor nodded. "There are times when I'm relieved that our government is not run like a democracy. Most of the councilors have served for two decades at least, and I trust Crit. He's been sitting in that chamber the longest, and he knows every one of the men sitting around him. We will tread very carefully here, and I will meet with Ormran again. Alone. But I think that as long as this stays in my chamber and in your offices, then we'll be all right." He frowned as another thought occurred to him. "The hardest part of all this is finding Vi'Sar and bringing him in. This information is too sensitive to be entrusted to a field agent. It has to be presented to Alikk in person, by you."
Arius nodded. "I wasn't going to tell you this until we actually had him in custody, but we know where Alikk is hiding. He's on the Kauramide homeworld, in a safe house well outside the HZ, deep in the mountains. I've already dispatched a team to bring him in."
Maliston was astonished. "When did you learn all of this?"
"Three months ago. Part of the intel that Lieutenant Sikandra and Lieutenant Navarr supplied us when they returned from Om'Nalu included several possible locations for Vi'Sar's headquarters. It took us this long to narrow them down, and I strongly believe that he has no idea what's coming."
"He has to know that Arrul betrayed him."
"Yes, but according to the various members of his army that we've managed to capture in the last few weeks – thanks to Arrul's intel – Alikk hasn't bothered to change his central location. The safe house is a heavily fortified mansion deep in the mountains. My belief is that Vi'Sar is suffering from overconfidence. I don't think he's aware of how many of his lieutenants know of his headquarters. And if you think about it, it makes sense. The people we've captured because of Arrul are some of the higher ranking soldiers in Vi'Sar's rebellion. He can't keep a good communication flow with his officers if at least some of them don't know how to find him so they can report in when they need to."
Kroth nodded. "Good. As soon as you get him back to homeworld, let me know."
"You'll be among the first." Arius doused his cigar stub and set the dish on his desk. He reached out to clasp his friend on the shoulder. "Let's go see what our wives are up to. I'm sure that Keeya has already steered Nurra into the drawing parlor."
Maliston snickered as he followed the chief minister out of the room. "You're not going to be happy until you've showed it to me, are you? You're getting more and more domesticated every time I come here, Arius."
The beefy man's raucous laughter followed them down the stairs.
Chapter 3
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( 1 )
COMMODORE GABRIEL WALKED INTO his quarters and headed straight for the bathroom. He'd just come from the gym, and all he wanted now was a long, hot shower and then something heavy for dinner. A chicken casserole maybe, or a double cheeseburger and fries. And a tumbler of Scotch to go with it, of course. He'd been so distracted by the arrival of his ex-fiancé the day before that he'd gotten even less sleep last night than usual. That was one reason for going to the gym after his duty shift, and after his shower and a hearty meal, he would be ready for an early bedtime. He had finally reached the point of exhaustion that he just might get a full night's rest tonight.
It was only after he had stepped into the shower and begun to lather himself that the shrill tune of the door chime interrupted his solitude. Thanks to the extra thoughtfulness of some engineer during the drawing up of Exxar-One's blueprints, the door chime was programmed to sound from the waterproof computer panel inside the shower stall, just for such a situation as this. Gabriel grumbled to himself as he shut off the water, stepped out, and reached for a towel. The chime played a second time, as he cinched up the waist of his robe and walked barefoot into the living room.
"Come in!"
As soon as the door slid aside Marc wished he had thought to check the small viewscreen on the com panel beside the door. It wasn't currently activated, and had he known that Laura Sysko was on the other side of the threshold he would have taken a little more time to get dressed.
Or maybe not answer the door at all.
"Laura –" was all he could manage. He swallowed, coughed, and then tried again. "Hello."
"Hello." She paused, waited, and then finally prompted him. "May I come in?"
"Yes. Yes, of course. Umm..."
She glanced at his wet hair. "Would you like to finish your shower first? I apologize for interrupting. I can come back later if you want."
"No. No, not at all. Just give me a couple minutes to get dressed. I was about to fix dinner, if you'd like to join me."
"Sure."
Marc stared at the woman that he had once been ready to drop out of the academy for.
I'll go with you to Mars.
But your place is here. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself if you weren't wearing that uniform.
"Marc?"
"What?"
"If this is what I can expect for dinner conversation, then it's going to be a long meal."
He smiled. "Sorry. Be right back."
Laura watched him go and then cast her gaze around the living room. "As austere as I expected," she murmured. She caught herself chewing the inside of her cheek and forced her nervous teeth to be still. Same for her hands. She folded them behind her back and walked to the viewport, if for no other reason than it offered something to look at besides drab, gray walls. She smiled as she remembered a painting she had bought Marc, one that would have put some color and life into the living room of the apartment that he moved into during his junior year at the academy. He'd dutifully hung it above his couch, and he'd thanked her profusely for it, but she doubted that he ever truly appreciated the artwork.
You really like it?
Yes, of course. It's...daring. Bold. I like the color. Who's the artist again?
I don't remember the name. I bought it at one of those secondhand places in Frontier Market.
"Nice view, isn't it?"
Laura turned, startled, wondering how long Marc had been standing behind her. "Yes, it is. These quarters are much bigger than that little apartment back at the academy."
Marc gave a nervous laugh. "Thank the gods. I hated that place." He motioned to the kitchen. "I'm starving. What would you like?"
"Have you learned to cook or do you just program the dispenser?"
"Is there a difference?"
Laura snickered. "Nice to know that some things haven't changed."
"I was thinking of a chicken and broccoli casserole."
"With a glass of Scotch? Or are you still favoring Crown Royal?"
Marc accessed the dispenser's menu and selected the casserole recipe. "Plates and glasses are in the cupboard above you, and the silverware's in that drawer. I haven't had Crown Royal in years."
"I'll take a Scotch on the rocks, with a lime wedge."
Marc smiled as he ordered up some fresh limes. He couldn't think of what else to say. Both of them were so awkward, so stiff and formal with each other, as if they were old classmates, or siblings who had quarreled constantly with one another in childhood and were now unsure of how to relate to one another as adults. He grabbed the bottle of Scotch from the cupboard and poured two tumblers. Laura pulled a knife from the silverware drawer and started cutting up the limes.
When they were both seated across from each other, they raised their glasses.
"Cheers," Laura said.
"To the future," Marc replied.
They drank and began eating. After a few bites, Laura asked, "How have you been?"
"Good. You?"
"Good. I was promoted to project administrator a few months ago. I have four teams working beneath me, and I brought one of them with me to study the hypergate."
Marc nodded. "Congratulations!"
"What's it like commanding a starba
se?"
"It's...stressful. It's like nothing I ever imagined, and as long as we don't come under attack again like we did three months ago, I think I'll be fine."
"I heard about all of that. A friend of mine is in the press corps, and he was here during the attack." She paused to sip her Scotch. "I'm sorry about your father."
"Thank you."
"When I heard about that, I almost contacted you. I was actually on Galadreon at that time, attending a conference."
"What stopped you?"
Laura took another bite and chewed slowly, just so that she could buy time. She hadn't meant to make this confession, hadn't wanted to veer into this territory quite yet, but, as always, Marc was straight to the point. "I guess I was too afraid." She glanced at his hands. "I assume since there's no ring that you're not married."
He nodded and bit back a retort that would have made the conversation even more uncomfortable. "How about you?"
"Twice married, twice divorced."
"Any kids?"
"Just one."
As Marc glanced at Laura, he saw an odd look on her face. She coughed, sipped her Scotch, and nervously prodded her casserole with her fork. This was not the Laura that he remembered. The young woman from twenty years ago was confident, sure of herself and those around her, and was never speechless. "All right," Marc said, crossing his arms, "what's going on? Did I say something wrong? Are you that unhappy to see me after all this time?"
Laura sighed. "No. But there's something you need to know. And I've spent the last three months trying to imagine this conversation." She took another long swallow of her drink, and then a deep breath. "I have a daughter. Jeanette. She celebrated her 23rd birthday last month." Another pause.
"That's wonderful. Congratulations."
"Marc, Jeanette was born about nine months after you and I broke up; four years before I met my first husband." She stopped and wanted desperately to reach for her drink, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from Marc's expression. It didn't take him long to figure out what she was saying.
Neither of them said anything for several minutes. Laura took a bite of her casserole, while Marc stood and paced to the sink, turning his back to her. She finished her Scotch and poured another.
Marc didn't believe it. This was just too surreal. It was like something from a badly written HT film. Of all the things he'd expected his ex-fiancé to say, this was not on the list. But while Laura was many things, she wasn't one to play revenge games. She was too professional, too adult for that. It was one of the character traits that had initially attracted Marc to her. Laura was a career minded woman, four years older than him when they first met. She was graduating from Cornell with her undergraduate degree in computer science, and he was a brash, immature nineteen year old navy cadet who had approached her in a bar on a dare from his buddies. During the next two years of their tumultuous, on-again-off-again relationship, Laura proved to be capable of many things - not the least of which was knowing exactly what to say when she wanted to really hurt the one she loved - but she proved to be a lousy liar.
And right at this moment, Marc was earnestly wishing that somewhere in the last twenty years she had honed that particular skill. He turned to her.
"Please tell me that this is some kind of sick joke."
"It's not a joke. I found out a week after we split up."
"Fuck you, Laura!"
"Yes, we did, remember? It's how Jeanette was conceived."
"She's how old?"
"Twenty-three."
Marc laughed. What he really wanted to do was scream. Laura smiled nervously, taking slow, deliberate sips of her Scotch. He sighed and sat back down, reaching for his own glass. He took a long drink, and then refilled the tumbler.
"I assume she's here on the station with you?"
"Yes. In fact, she's been demanding for the last couple years that I track you down so she can meet you. It wasn't until five months ago that I knew where you were."
Marc nodded. "How can you be sure that I'm the father? We broke up more than once during our relationship."
"When Jeanette was born, I requested a DNA match. I forged your signature on the consent form and the doctor used your naval medical records to make the match."
"I see."
"I know that technically what I did was illegal, but I had to know for sure."
"And why didn't you come to me then? For that matter, why not tell me when you found out you were pregnant?"
Laura didn't answer right away. "We were separated. I didn't want to see you again."
"Bullshit. You've never been afraid of anything."
"I didn't want to marry you. I didn't want a family. I was only twenty-five. I had my whole life ahead of me, and I wanted a career first."
"So why didn't you get an abortion, or give her up for adoption?"
"Because neither of those seemed the right choice at the time. And the fact that when I told my mother about the pregnancy, it pissed her off so bad that she refused to speak to me for almost five years. That was the best gift I'd ever gotten from her. And besides that, I'd already enrolled at Prakton University when we split up, and I didn't find out I was pregnant until I was on Mars. Looking you up again just seemed like a huge mistake."
"As opposed to telling me now. Yes, you're so right, Laur." His old pet name for her. "The truth is, you just didn't want to be a military wife. And even after I told you I would leave the academy, you still didn't want to get married."
"You and I weren't right for each other. You couldn't admit that, no matter how many times I tried to tell you."
"We weren't compatible because you refused to compromise."
"You would never have dropped out of the academy, and I didn't want a long distance relationship. We each had our own career paths, and they didn't run side by side."
Marc sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I'm too tired for this."
"So am I. Jeanette will be ready tomorrow night at seven. We're staying in DS three, section nine, 14J. If you want to meet her, that is. She and I will both understand if you don't."
"Yeah, right. If I don't show up, I'm an asshole."
Laura stood. "No, Jeanette's an adult. She understands our past."
"What did you tell her?"
"Just the facts. You and I dated, we almost got married, then we decided we weren't right for each other, and we ended the relationship mutually. She was born a few months later. I also said that it was complicated, and she understands that."
Marc emptied the last of the Scotch into his glass, and then walked to the reclamator to recycle the bottle. "Does she like pizza?"
"Yes. Anchovies and mushrooms, which I think is evidence enough that she's your daughter."
Marc barked a short laugh. He grabbed his tumbler and took a long drink. "And after tomorrow night? How long are the two of you staying here?"
"I'm here as long as it takes to dissect the hypergate and fully analyze the Erayan technology. Based on the progress that Commander Garrett's people have made thus far, it could be several weeks. Jeanette, however, is free to leave whenever she wants."
Marc sighed and leaned against the counter. "Tell me about her."
"What do you want to know?"
"Anything. What was she like as a child? What's her favorite color? Does she look more like me or you?" He sipped his drink, knowing that he was more than buzzed, and he also saw that Laura had left her tumbler half full. Was that her first or second glass?
"Her favorite color is red. She has my ears and nose, but I've always felt she has your eyes. Just the way she looks at me sometimes, I swear she knows exactly what I'm thinking. And as for her childhood -" Laura reached into her pocket and handed Marc a data disc. "Braden, my first husband, adored Jeanette. They're still very close. He recorded hours of footage from pre-school to sixth grade. That was when our marriage soured."
"And what about the teenage years?"
"Alec, Braden's successor, didn't arrive on the scene until a couple yea
rs later. He and Jeanette didn't get along as well as she did with Braden, but I managed to get all the dance recitals, poetry readings and school plays on hard drive. I've spent the last month and a half editing that." She pointed to the disc. "I didn't tell Jeanette about it, though. She'd be too embarrassed."
Marc smiled. "I'll wait to watch it until after tomorrow night."
"So you are going to meet her?"
"I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
"Goodnight, Marc. Thanks for dinner." She turned to go and then paused, suddenly nervous again. "It really is good to see you."
"You too." He was amazed. Laura had learned to lie pretty well after all.
Marc cleared the table and put the dishes into the reclamator. He started to request a bottle of Scotch from the food dispenser, but then changed his mind. He ordered Crown Royal instead. Only after half the bottle was empty did he finally pass out on his living room couch. On the HT, a five year old Jeanette was posing for her stepfather in her new Halloween costume.
She was a princess, and the plastic jewels in her tiara sparkled like the reflection of sunlight on water.
( 2 )
The commodore awoke with a hangover the size of a type seven stardrive reactor. His mouth tasted like sand, and the inside of his skull felt as if it were on fire. Even his eyelids hurt as he forced them open so he could locate the com panel beside his bed. He thrust out a hand to silence the computer's blaring announcement that it was zero-six-hundred and time to get up. On his nightstand was the empty bottle of crown royal, and as Marc forced the dead weight of his six-foot, hundred and ninety pound frame into a sitting position, he frowned, trying to remember when he'd gone to bed. The last that he knew, he'd been on the couch in the living room, watching the home video of Jeanette that Laura had given him. He must have passed out, then woken in the middle of the night, drank the rest of the crown royal and stumbled into bed.
As he took a deep breath, a fierce wave of nausea sent him running for the bathroom. Ten minutes later, stumbling to his feet, he wiped his mouth, took two aspirin, a sip of water, and then turned on the shower, setting the temperature to near scalding. He stayed beneath the blessedly sharp spray for almost half an hour, and then dressed in a fresh uniform. He started for the kitchen, but another brief surge of nausea forced him back into the bathroom. More water and another pill to settle his stomach. His headache, thank the gods, was down to a dull throb. Breakfast was out of the question. He paused in front of his closet mirror to make sure his appearance was in order and then walked out of his quarters.