Saving Morgan

by MB Panichi

  Shaine turned her head, focusing clouded green eyes on her. A hint of hurt appeared in her expression. “I walked in the door and the com buzzed,” she replied tiredly. “And no, my asking you to dinner had nothing to do with any of this mess. That was just me. No ulterior motives. Just me. And you.” She kept their gazes locked together.

  Morgan smiled. “I’m glad.”

  Shaine returned the smile. “Me too.” She got to her feet and stretched before walking toward the oversized sofa under the vid-screen. “Come sit with me. Might as well be comfortable, huh?”

  Morgan shrugged. “Sure.”

  Shaine settled into the corner of the sofa. With a hopeful expression, she patted her lap.

  Morgan pushed to her feet and crossed to take the offered hand.

  Shaine grinned and guided her down. “C’mere.”

  Morgan settled sideways in Shaine’s lap.

  Shaine wrapped an arm around Morgan’s shoulders, cradling her. She gave her a squeeze. “Comfy?”

  “Yeah.” Sighing, Morgan relaxed into the warmth of Shaine’s embrace. A voice in the back of her head warned her off and she purposefully ignored it. It felt good to have Shaine’s arms around her, felt good to have someone to hold onto. Despite the niggling doubts, she trusted Shaine. She didn’t understand why, but she was too tired to question her instincts.

  She closed her eyes against the dull pounding in her head. Her jaw and upper back still throbbed, reminding her of the close call she’d had only hours ago. She shivered. It was one thing to have someone come after her in a bar fight or on the grav-ball court, but entirely different when she never even saw it coming, and even more disconcerting because she could see no apparent reason for the attack. What did they want from her? None of it made any sense. She sighed.

  Shaine murmured, “You okay?”

  “I don’t like not knowing what’s happening.”

  Shaine hugged her closer and nuzzled her hair. “I wish I knew more, too.”

  Morgan tipped up her head. “Seriously, Shaine, is there anything at all you can tell me? I know you have at least a hunch.”

  “But that’s all it is. A hunch. I don’t want to start making stuff up when I could be way far off.”

  “And I don’t want to go into this situation completely clueless.”

  Shaine was silent for several moments. Finally, she said slowly, “You bear a striking resemblance to someone in Maruchek’s family. That could be why you’ve been targeted.”

  “Mistaken identity?”

  “Possibly. I honestly don’t know yet.”

  Morgan nodded slowly and returned her head to Shaine’s shoulder. It wasn’t exactly an answer, but it was something. For the moment, she had to be satisfied.

  Shaine hugged her closer again. “It’ll be okay, Morgan.”

  Morgan wasn’t sure she believed the sentiment, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. Shaine’s arm was a comforting weight around her shoulders, Shaine’s breath warm against her hair. She closed her eyes and turned her face into the soft fabric of Shaine’s tunic, letting exhaustion overtake her, just for a while.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The landing on Earth was quick and mostly smooth. The shuttle hit the ground with a roar and a bit of a bounce before it taxied to a halt and the pilot announced passengers were allowed to remove their crash webbing.

  Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Morgan yawned and stretched as Shaine crossed the cabin and keyed open the pressure hatch.

  Shaine looked over her shoulder. “You ready?” she asked.

  Morgan shrugged. What choice did she have?

  Shaine gave her an encouraging grin and stepped out onto the lowered boarding ramp.

  Morgan followed. The acrid engine fumes washed over her. She stepped into nearly blinding sunlight and stopped, blinking and squinting into the glare.

  Thick summer heat closed around her. Gasping, she fought down panic. Her brain insisted she was fine even as she fought to suck in the heavy, exhaust-tainted atmosphere. I’m drowning! There was so much air and it was so rich, so unlike the scrubbed air on Moon Base. She stood at the top of the ramp clutching the hatch frame, forcing air through her lungs. She relaxed when she started to catch her breath. Her eyes remained squinted nearly closed against the glare, but she smiled at the warmth of real sunlight on her face. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Shaine stood a couple steps below her, grinning and holding out a hand she automatically reached out to clasp.

  The metal just to her right hissed loudly. Burning pain seared across her bicep.

  Shaine barked, “Down!” and dove at her, tackling her back into the cabin.

  Laser blasts peppered the hull around the hatch. She watched a handful spray overhead and burn holes into the carpeting.

  “Get back!” Shaine pushed her further into the compartment before swinging around on a knee and firing a small laser pistol through the entryway.

  Morgan lay on her back, blinking at the ceiling. Her arm stung. She turned her head to see the charred fabric of her shirt. Her gaze tracked to the door. Shaine alternately ducked behind the hatch and then forward, returning shots. She started to sit up.

  Shaine caught the motion peripherally and snapped, “Stay the fuck down!”

  Morgan obeyed without question, startled at the fierceness of the order. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

  After a few seconds silence dropped around them. Shaine remained kneeling at the side of the hatch, her body completely still, waiting. Seconds passed. A minute. Finally a shout came from outside. “Wendt, stand down! You’re clear!”

  Another moment and Shaine’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. Slowly, she stood.

  Morgan started to do the same, but stopped when Shaine held a hand flat and shook her head sharply.

  Shaine eased around the corner, still wary. Taking a look outside, she completely relaxed. She turned back toward Morgan, shoving the pistol into a holster at the small of her back. Her expression shifted in an instant from cold business to worried concern. “Are you okay?”

  Morgan eased to a sitting position and touched the throbbing burn on her upper arm. “I think—”

  “Fuck.” Shaine dropped into a crouch beside her, gently easing the burnt fabric from the wound. “This is my fault,” she growled angrily. “Should have seen it coming. Fuck.”

  Morgan frowned. “It’s not bad,” she murmured. “You couldn’t have known.”

  Shaine’s green eyes flared. “I should have.” She stood and helped Morgan to her feet, keeping a supportive arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

  Rogan appeared at the hatch, a dark, menacing shadow framed in sunlight.

  Shaine sent him a furious glare. “Nice reception,” she snapped. “Ever fucking hear of clearing the area?”

  “The problem has been eliminated,” he returned blandly. “Come. Mr. Maruchek is anxious to speak to Ms. Rahn.”

  Morgan held her injured arm against her chest, leaning into the arc of Shaine’s arm. She turned an angry frown on Rogan. “And I’m anxious to know why I’m getting attacked and shot at,” she said.

  Shaine added, “We need to see a medic.”

  Rogan’s gaze rolled past Shaine, then up and down Morgan. He nodded curtly. “Of course. Come.” He turned on his heel and headed down the ramp.

  Shaine sighed, shook her head, and gave Morgan a gentle squeeze as they stepped onto the boarding ramp and walked down to the steaming duracrete surface.

  A nondescript hover-car waited for them several meters away. Rogan ushered her and Shaine into the car, slammed the door shut with a bit more force than necessary, and got into the front passenger seat. The car accelerated with a lurch, pushing the occupants into the plush leather seats as it powered forward to take the sky lanes into the city.

  Morgan closed her eyes against the pain radiating from the burn on her upper arm. At least it wasn’t bleeding, but it stung like hell.

  Shaine patted her leg. “Welcome to Earth.”

 
Morgan shot her a dark look. “Thrilled to be here.”

  A short while later, Morgan marched down the hallway beside Shaine while they followed Duncan Rogan toward Tarm Maruchek’s personal office suite. The group had stopped in the small corporate infirmary and she now sported a bandage over the stinging laser burn on her arm, and a fresh coat of Nu-Skin over the cut across her left cheek. She was beginning to feel like a pincushion. Or a punching bag.

  On the other hand, the various pains served to take her mind off the fact that she was about to be thrust into the presence of one of the most powerful men in the System who, for some bizarre reason, had an interest in her. Shaine had said she looked like someone in Tarm Maruchek’s family, but she didn’t see why that would make her particularly interesting. She ran into people every day who reminded her of someone else. There had to be some kind of mistake. This was Tarm Maruchek. Not Joe-on-the-Street. Was there some kind of ulterior motive?

  Morgan thought of the less than truthful statements Tarm Maruchek had made to the media about Digger’s death, claiming the suit had been defective and they were working with the manufacturer. I don’t know what you want from me, but I know I’m not going to be bought by your face-saving lies. Digger deserves better than that. Of course, if she actually came up with the guts to defy Maruchek, it would probably just get her killed more quickly. She was glad of Shaine’s confident presence at her side. At least Shaine didn’t seem intimidated by these men.

  The door to Maruchek’s corporate office opened when she, Shaine, and Rogan approached. Rogan halted and waved them forward.

  Morgan walked in a half step behind Shaine and stopped at her side. She got an immediate impression of expensive functionality from the room—dark wood, plush carpeting, leather and chrome.

  Tarm Maruchek stood in front of a monstrous mahogany desk in the back of the room. She felt the man’s gaze assessing her with an intensity that made her uneasy. Maruchek wasn’t a large man, but he was well built and wore a conservative gray business suit. He had impeccably styled hair graying at the temples. His intense blue eyes seemed to stare right through her.

  He came forward and stopped in front of her. Strong, well-manicured fingers reached out and took her hands between his in a strong grip.

  Startled, Morgan backed up a half step and pulled her hands away. She felt the brush of Shaine’s fingers on her arm, steadying her.

  After a long, uncomfortable pause, Maruchek took a step back as well, but his gaze did not leave her face. He said quietly, “I have waited a long time to see you in person.”

  Morgan regarded him, her wariness settling into a vague, self-protective anger simmering in the pit of her stomach. “Why?” she demanded. “I don’t know you. What do you want with me?”

  Maruchek gestured toward a grouping of comfortable furniture. “Please, let’s sit down. We have a great deal to talk about.”

  Rogan said sharply, “Wendt, let’s go. I have a job for you.”

  Morgan looked at Shaine, who raised a questioning brow, an unspoken check to see if she would be all right. She managed an uneasy smile. She sensed Shaine’s reluctance to leave with Rogan, but as much as she had no idea what was happening, she wasn’t afraid of the man standing in front of her. She gave a slight nod.

  Shaine smiled and brushed a hand over her arm a second time in a reassuring touch. She turned to follow Rogan from the room.

  The door slid shut, leaving Morgan to face Tarm Maruchek.

  He motioned again at the small grouping of overstuffed leather furniture crowding a slate-topped coffee table. Morgan moved carefully to stand in front of the loveseat. Maruchek smiled. “Please, sit down.” He waited until she perched on the edge of the sofa and lowered himself gracefully into one of the chairs across from her.

  Morgan sat stiffly, her feet flat on the floor, her hands on her knees. She continued to watch Maruchek warily, wondering what he could possibly want from her.

  He poured tea from a shiny black and white tea service and set a cup in front of her. Taking the other cup for himself, he settled back in his chair.

  Morgan didn’t take the tea. She just wished he would get on with it.

  Maruchek’s expression slid between stony seriousness and openly curious assessment of her. He sipped his tea. “We have much to discuss, Morgan Rahn.”

  “I don’t even know you.”

  A flicker of something looking to Morgan almost like sadness crossed his face. “No,” he said, “you don’t.” He studied her.

  She looked down at her hands, unease bubbling up the back of her throat. She wanted to scream, Just tell me what the fuck is going on!

  “There is so much to say and it’s difficult to know where to start.” He stood abruptly. “You are my daughter,” he said.

  Morgan blinked. “What?”

  He made an impatient flick of his hand and repeated, “You are my daughter.”

  Morgan stared up at him. “I think you’ve got the wrong person. My father is Vinn Rahn. My mother was Elise Rahn.”

  Maruchek walked away from her. He spoke without turning. “You know you were adopted?” he asked.

  Morgan glared at his back. Of course I know. It’s not a secret. I always knew. It doesn’t matter. Anger seeped through her unease. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  Maruchek turned to face her, his expression flat and unreadable. “You don’t believe me.”

  “Why should I? It’s ridiculous.”

  His gaze bored into hers. “Believe me or don’t, but I speak the truth. I am your biological father. Your birth mother, my wife Arella, was murdered. She was seven months pregnant with you. The medics were able to save you, but not Arella. Your life was in danger. My enemies had already kidnapped your brother Garren and there were ongoing threats. I couldn’t save my wife. I barely saved my son. I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to save you, so I let you go.”

  Morgan sent him a disbelieving glare. “You expect me to believe one of the most powerful men in the known universe would give up a child because he was afraid for her life?” She choked on a bark of laughter. “I may be a lowly mechanic, but I’m not an idiot. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you can stop now.”

  Maruchek stiffened in anger, though his voice remained even. “If you don’t believe me, ask Vinn Rahn.” He nodded toward the com console behind his desk.

  Morgan glowered at him. I don’t care who you are, you don’t have the right to mess with me and my family. She raised her chin, challenging him. “Why come and find me now? If I’m supposed to be your long-lost daughter, why wait thirty years to bother to contact me?”

  Maruchek’s expression went hard and steely. He said sharply, “Because until now you weren’t in danger. Have you not noticed there have been attempts on your life?”

  Morgan surged to her feet and touched her dully aching cheek. She was also aware of the stinging burn on her arm. “So I have you to thank for this?” she shot at him.

  He softened. “I am truly sorry for that, Morgan. That’s why I had Rogan send Wendt to help you. It was all I could do before I could get you to safety.”

  “Yeah, it was real safe getting off your shuttle,” she said.

  Maruchek flinched. “I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly.

  She stared at him for a long moment, caught by the tone of his voice. Could he really be telling the truth? His story seemed too much to believe, too convenient. She shook her head and caught her breath as a thought smacked her between the eyes. A surge of panic rose into her throat. “When Digger’s control unit exploded and his suit ruptured, that wasn’t terrorists, it was an attack really meant for me?”

  Maruchek shook his head quickly. “No. No. As best we can tell, the incident was random terrorism. The suit had been tampered with, yes, but it wasn’t targeted at you particularly. The attacks on you happened after that.”

  She shivered, tucking her hands into her pockets. “It still makes no sense. How do you get from a random incident to attacks on me
personally? I still think you have the wrong person. Or someone does.”

  “No. You are the target because of who you are.” Maruchek walked past the cluster of furniture to perch on the edge of his desk. “Internal reports of the incident that killed your crewmate were smuggled out of my organization. The reports contained names, personal background, and photos of everyone in your work crew. My enemies—one specific person, actually—saw your photo and made the connection that turned you into a target. The media has not been provided photos or identifying information of you or your crew.”

  “Someone made a connection from a photo,” Morgan repeated doubtfully.

  Maruchek reached behind himself and picked up a holo frame from his desk. He crossed to where she stood and handed her the holo. “You are the spitting image of your mother.”

  Morgan took the heavy chrome frame, carefully not touching his hand, and tilted it to bring the holo into focus. She stared, incredulous.

  The smiling image could have been her. The woman in the holo was a bit older than she was now. Her black hair fell in gentle waves around her shoulders instead of being cropped short. But the eyes and the lines of the woman’s face—she sucked in a ragged breath. It was like looking at her reflection in a mirror.

  The photo had been taken on Earth. The ocean and a fair blue sky framed the background. Dark strands of the woman’s hair whipped behind her in a strong breeze as she smiled at the camera with an open, relaxed expression.

  Morgan glanced at Maruchek. She had no words. This can’t be! Her gaze returned to the holo. She wanted to believe it was fake—somehow Maruchek had fabricated the photo and the story—but deep down, she knew he hadn’t. After a long time, she handed the frame back to him.

  Maruchek took the frame without speaking, setting it carefully on his desk. When he turned back to her, he raised a dark brow. “Now do you believe me?” he asked.

  Morgan chewed her lower lip. “I don’t know.” Taking a long breath, she tried to process the information.