“You’ll kill me?” Eden supplied sarcastically.
“No, Dr. Fynn. But you’ll wish I had.”
THE FOREST
Kel-Paten knew Tasha no longer trusted the data on the handhelds. To be honest, neither did he. But those units and his own cybernetically augmented senses were all they had to go on as night closed in on the forest at the edge of the outpost.
He refused to believe they were in McClellan’s Void or any kind of hallucinatory anomaly. Too many other indicators told him this world and everything on it were real. He even had an explanation as to how Tasha and Fynn traversed the same distance he and Serafino did—in less than half the time. He and Serafino ran at a faster clip. They must have missed a shadowed shortcut, an alternate but more direct trail.
As to why the outpost was not where it was supposed to be, he blamed mechanical error. Something—perhaps the planet’s magnetic field—was skewing their scanners and sensors. They did have the correct direction but the distance was off.
“Then tell me why talking furzels are normal,” Sass countered, her face hidden not only by the twilight but by the binoculars she held over her eyes. They were conducting surveillance on a hillside overlooking the outpost—not the same one from which Serafino and Fynn were snatched or transported or blinked away, but the one closest to the side of the outpost where Tasha said Tank sensed emanations from Reilly.
Kel-Paten took more care in scouting out a better hiding place this time, one less likely to lend itself to a sneak attack or ambush. Although if whatever had kidnapped Serafino and Fynn came back for them—especially if it wasn’t a skimmer with a transbeam but some kind of psi-creature—thick bushes, a solitary narrow access path, and Kel-Paten’s biosignature jamming program would be little hindrance. The fact that nothing had kidnapped them in the past hour, though, seemed an encouraging sign.
“Stress,” he said, in answer to her question about talking furzels. He angled up on his elbows. They were side by side, both flat on their stomachs, watching the lights flickering on below while the fidget alternately paced or pounced around them. Kel-Paten had often dreamed of lying close to Tasha in a verdant grove, stars and a moon or three glistening overhead. He just didn’t picture doing it in full battle gear. “Under stressful conditions, the body’s senses are heightened and the physical frame is capable of unusual feats—a crewmember lifting a huge section of bulkhead single-handedly to free a trapped friend, for instance.”
Tasha lowered the binocs and eyed him skeptically. “Tank isn’t lifting me up. He’s talking to me in my head.”
“Telepathy is a sensory ability. Did it ever occur to you that you might be a latent telepath? The stress of the blind jump in the dirtside landing might have triggered it. Do you have an aunt or uncle who was telepathic or even empathic?”
She raised the binocs to her face again. “I have no idea.” Her tone was flat.
He thought for a moment she was withdrawing from him, then he realized it had nothing to do with him at all but with another friend.
“Tasha. We’ll find her.” He took a chance and brushed her short bangs back from her face, trying to put into his clumsy caress what he didn’t know how to put into his words. Especially since he’d been running on full ’cybe function for several hours now. It made him feel as if he were encased in that metal that comprised his infamous nickname. “I promise you.”
For a moment she tensed, then with a soft sigh she leaned her face into his hand. Even with his emo-inhibitors in place, it was all he could do not to pull her against him, cover her body, her mouth, with his own.
He touched her lips with his thumb. She shook her head slightly. “We have work to do,” she said, and turned her face and attention back to the outpost. “Tank says they’re alive and unharmed. So far. Figured out a way in yet?”
He shouldn’t have touched her. His timing, once again, was so wrong. “Tasha, I’m—”
“Branden. Please.” Her voice was suddenly raspy. “I’m about thirty seconds from tearing your clothes off. Believe me, I’d like nothing better—but under the circumstances, that’s not an option. And it’s definitely not going to help us find Serafino and Eden.” She huffed out a short, exasperated breath and stared out into the fading light.
He found himself shocked into silence. A dozen familiar fantasies sprang into his mind. She wanted to be with him. More than that, she wanted him. He cleared his throat nervously. “May I take you up on that offer at a later date?”
She glanced over at him, her lips twitching slightly as she fought a smile. Then the binocs came up again. “Sooner’s always better than later.”
Sweet holy gods. “Then I guess we better get this rescue operation under way.”
“So how are we going to get inside that building?”
“We’re not.” He pointed to the Mystic Traveler. “We’re going to get inside that ship instead.”
THE OUTPOST
“Ah, my favorite doctor twin,” a familiar voice drawled as Eden followed Bianca through the single door into the smaller room. “But my manners are appalling. You two haven’t been formally introduced. Bianca,” Jace said as his sister stepped toward the diagnostic panel on the near wall, “may I present my bride-to-be, the lovely Dr. Eden Fynn?”
Eden stopped in her tracks, and not only because of his jesting or the hard tone of anger she heard under his words. Jace Serafino—grinning in spite of the deep sense of hurt she felt emanating from him because of his sister’s betrayal—was strapped into a diag bed, shirtless and…hairless. Not just the stripe that Jorden had. Jace’s head was shaved completely bald.
Bald as a Morrassian Elo Orb, he told her, and she sensed that the lightness in his tone was forced. Bianca got a bit carried away.
Your sister was going to remove the implant and let you die.
Sibling rivalry stinks, doesn’t it? He winked at her and continued. “Eden, the bitch over there with the blue glowing pet is Bianca Serafino Kel-Rea, my once-beloved older sister. A Faction favorite. Human symbiont to a Ved’eskhar that—although she won’t acknowledge it—is draining her, killing her inch by inch.” His smile faded abruptly, and a wave of weariness washed over Eden. When he spoke again, his voice rasped with emotion. “Damn it, I wish you’d listen to me just this once, Bee.”
“You bore me, Jacinto.” Bianca turned to Eden. “Nando and Mara will assist you.” She motioned to a man and woman standing on the other side of the diag bed. The woman was the telepathic guard who had accompanied her earlier. “Both are experienced med-techs, and they will know if you try to damage the harness.
“Give Dr. Fynn,” Bianca told the pair, “what she needs to perform the surgery. I want the harness safely removed by sunrise. Max and Dr. Kel-Novaco are waiting for it.”
Her long robe swirled as she turned then exited back to the main room, the door sliding silently closed behind her.
“What do you need, Doctor?” Mara stood rigidly, almost as if at attention. So did the taller Nando.
Sleep, Eden admitted ruefully to herself. About a week’s worth. And a decent hot meal would help.
Sex? Jace volunteered.
Gods, how could he be so teasing at a time like this? But even as she questioned his demeanor, she knew the answer: he was as frightened as she was, but he was not going to give his sister the satisfaction of knowing it. And he was not going to let his fears drag Eden down. She had a feeling the hurt and weariness she felt from him were just a small part slipping past his usual tight controls. Unlike herself, Jace Serafino was an excellent actor.
“Would you happen to have any Orange Garden tea?” Eden asked. “Then I need all the specs, the schematics on his implant—harness.”
For two, three heartbeats the pair didn’t move, then: “I will find some tea,” Mara said. “Nando will send you the required data to this station.” She pointed to a small console and chair in the corner.
They turned almost in unison. Mara stopped at the doorway. “The door will lock beh
ind me. It’s bio-coded. You can’t get out. Don’t waste valuable time trying.”
“Lovely to see you again too,” Jace called out as the door closed. He looked up at Eden. “Such a charming couple.”
The tears she’d been holding back filled her eyes. “Damn you, Jace Serafino!”
“Ah, sweetling. I love when you talk dirty. Here, unhook these straps, will you? I think I need some of Dr. Fynn’s special medicine.”
She hit the release button. He sat up swiftly, pulling her into his arms. She kissed him through her tears, her hands stroking his shoulders, his back, as if reassuring herself he was whole and real.
He murmured soft, sweet words into her mouth, her ear, then trailed kisses down her neck.
“Jace, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, “about your sister—”
His arms tightened around her, and for a brief moment, a deep, wrenching sense of loss trickled through. Then it was gone.
The door opened. “Your tea, Doctor,” she heard Mara say. Eden didn’t turn around but buried her face into Jace’s shoulder.
“Leave it on the table,” Jace told her.
There was the slight clink of ceramic on metal. “You’re wasting time,” Mara said.
“Doubled up on our bitchy pills today, have we?” Jace shot back.
Mara said nothing. Her footsteps faded.
Eden raised her face, then ran her hand over Jace’s shaved head. “You’re incorrigible.” She smiled through her tears. And he was still one handsome devil.
“That’s my evil twin, not me. I’m the nice one, remember?” He kissed her nose. “Share your tea with both of us?”
She stepped reluctantly out of his embrace, then returned with the tea. He angled the head of the diag bed up to ninety degrees. She nestled by his side, took a sip, and let her eyes drift closed for a moment. She was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.
Not share our concerns or plans where others can hear them, for starters, he told her.
It’s safe this way? But all the telepaths—
They have implants.
And that Ved thing?
They’re emotional parasites, not telepaths. They’ve not acted on anything I’ve done telepathically.
What have you tried?
Besides flirting with you? I’ve had a few conversations with Reilly.
Reilly? Joy fluttered in Eden’s heart. Reilly’s okay?
He’s one very tired furzel, but he’s okay. And you were right. Furzels can neutralize the Ved. He’s hunting them, one by one. When he passes through overhead ducts, he talks to me in small snatches. He doesn’t have the bond with me that he has with you; our range is limited. If he comes back this way, you’ll hear him. In the meantime, you’d best start going through that data on the implant.
I will not operate on you unless it’s completely safe.
You may not have that luxury, sweetling. Bianca has some powerful friends.
You’ll need recovery time after surgery. How can we make a run for it if you’re unconscious?
There was a long, hard silence.
Jace, if Reilly gives us a chance to escape, I’m not leaving without you.
If Reilly gives you a chance, take it. Go find Sass and Kel-Paten.
Are they alive? Can you reach them?
Another silence. Reilly has seen them through his contact with Tank. It looks like they’re going to make a move on the perimeter guards. But I don’t want to start a psi-trace for them here. The Ved can’t sense the furzels. And they don’t read normal telepathic conversation. They do pick up strong emotional vibrations or psi-energy surges, like a psi-trace. I was in trace mode—and in an emotional upheaval, he remembered—when it grabbed us. I can’t take a chance that one of them might be able to follow a trace to Sass or Kel-Paten. I have to trust Tank will tell Reilly when there’s something we should know.
The Ved don’t just attack telepaths?
They’re parasites, Eden. They feed on anything with the capability for strong emotions. The difference is, with telepaths and empaths, they come into your mind to feed. With oullums—nontelepathic humans—they can’t create as strong a sensation, so they physically bring you into this dimension and play with you, torture you. Like a furzel with a mizzet, you know?
Where is this dimension?
If there’s any truth to the legends I’ve heard, it’s not to be spoken of, Jace said, and sent her an image: thumb and little finger touching, with the other three fingers curved.
McClellan’s Void.
Reilly Blinked into a section of overhead ductwork and sneezed. His mouth was dry. His eyes watered. His whiskers were filthy. His paws hurt. But there was still a lot of work to do.
Bad Thing was so very many here. He lay his head down on his paws for a moment, panting. He had to protect MommyEden. He had to protect JaceFriend. But to stay by their side meant he couldn’t hunt Bad Thing.
He almost went to MommyEden when Bad Thing pushed her in the lake. Then Bad Thing pulled back. And Reilly returned to weaving his Blink shields.
Eight so far. Three big. Five small. Eight Bad Things now glowing blue to purple.
But there were so many more.
He didn’t know if he could Blink them all in time.
Tank can help! the small voice said.
Tank protect MommySass. Tank protect BrandenFriend, Reilly admonished. But even as he said it, he knew he couldn’t do this alone. Tank was only a fidget, his shields not as tight and strong as a furzel’s. But there were just too many Bad Things.
He hated—hated!—leaving MommySass and BrandenFriend unprotected. They weren’t mind talkers like MommyEden or JaceFriend. They couldn’t sense the neverwhen like JaceFriend. They were like newborn fidgets! Helpless.
A blue glow spun through the corner of his sight and disappeared.
Another one. Shtift-a!
Reilly had no choice. Friend?
Friend? Tank ready! Tank help!
Yes. Go Blink now. Help FriendReilly.
The neverwhen glistened, and with a thud, Tank arrived. Hunt Bad Thing! Kill Bad Thing! The fidget danced from paw to paw, sending puffs of dust flying.
Reilly groaned low in his throat, then sneezed again. Fidgets!
THE FOREST
Tank go hunt! Love Mommy! Go Blink!
The small voice sounded in Sass’s mind just as she and Kel-Paten neared the base of the hill outside the compound. She stumbled slightly, quickly glancing behind her and under nearby bushes for a flash of white. The furry fidget that dogged her heels had disappeared.
“Tank?” Her voice was soft but urgent. “Tank!”
Kel-Paten turned, eyes narrowed. Calling out for a fidget didn’t engender an aura of stealth. But Sass knew underneath that stern look was also a concern for her safety and her fidget’s.
“He’s gone.” She kept her voice low. They were too far for anyone at the outpost or on the tarmac to hear them but close enough that they might intercept a foot patrol—though they didn’t see signs of any on their trek back toward the outpost.
He put his hand on her shoulder, guiding them both down into a crouch. They were well off the trail, moving as quietly as they could through the thick underbrush. Darkness had fallen and so, correspondingly, had the temperature. Sass had pulled down the sleeves of her black jacket and sealed its front. A black cap covered her pale hair.
Kel-Paten’s luminous eyes were muted, on night vision. Which meant he could see far better in the dark than she could, even with her binocs on ambient. They were generic binocs, not field-spec, because the Galaxus wasn’t stocked as a field-combat craft. On ambient they tinged everything green. Kel-Paten’s enhanced full-spectrum optics didn’t have that problem.
He glanced around carefully, intently, then shook his head. He couldn’t spot the fidget. He leaned toward her ear. “He can’t run that fast.”
“He didn’t run. He Blinked. He said, Tank go hunt.”
�
��Not after a slitherskimp, I trust.” His voice was a deep rumble.
“He must be with Reilly.”
Kel-Paten’s grip on her shoulder tightened, turned into a small massage. “He’ll be back.”
She pursed her lips, pushed away the worry. “Yeah.”
He stared at her a long moment. “Let’s go.” He pulled her to her feet but kept his hand lightly on her shoulder for the next few minutes.
Reassuring her, she knew. She was very aware of him. Far too aware. And she really had been very close to tearing his clothes off earlier. Their little bit of fun in the cockpit had not lasted long enough. Godsdamned stress.
They slowed, cutting to their left when the forest thinned unexpectedly, moonlight breaking through the canopy of trees. Without Tank’s constant singsong patter filling her mind, she needed something else to think about other than the fidget’s absence.
She watched Kel-Paten move with an almost sensuous grace through the shadows and let her mind play with what it would be like to be lovers. She could usually peg most men’s styles after being with them for ten minutes. But Kel-Paten was a mystery and she’d known him more than ten years. He could be forceful and demanding as an officer, but his touch was invariably gentle. Almost…hesitant. Not at all what she expected. Especially not after reading his personal logs.
Of course, that might be exactly why he acted that way—as a means to tease her, intrigue her. He was, she reminded herself, close with Captain Ralland Kel-Tyra. Rowdy Rall. The good captain had a reputation as an accomplished lover. Did he and Kel-Paten cruise the pubs together on shore leave? Probably not. She’d been with Kel-Paten on liberty. Around his crew, his officers, he was strictly by the regs.
Somehow she suspected that once he was out of uniform and off duty, he’d be anything but. He couldn’t have accompanied Rowdy Rall all these years and not be.
So if they became lovers, would she measure up? Did he like his sex fun and flirty or more elegant and seductive? She wasn’t sure. She could see him in an expensive suite with silk sheets. But she also had a feeling he was equally prone to stop a lift between floors and pin her against the wall, his body hard with passion.
Games of Command Page 29