She groaned as she recalled his fumbling efforts to undo her bra. She’d almost let herself go with it before she remembered he was married, like Jacob. She’d shown him the door with a warning she would inform his wife if he tried anything like it again. Then she’d lain on her bed and cried herself to sleep.
Ignoring the recorded call signal, Hickory crawled out of bed, wiped the mascara from her eyes, and splashed some water on her face. In the kitchen, she loaded the blender with fresh fruit and yogurt. This was a daily ritual, her own little rebellion against bland, pre-processed, pre-packaged food that was the norm these days. She carried the frosty glass back to the lounge and swallowed two analgesics.
The night’s celebrations had left her feeling unsettled. She was happy for Katrina, if a little envious. Her fiancé seemed a nice guy. Made for each other. Hickory wondered if she would ever find a soul mate. It’s my own fault. I’ve never made the time to look, not really.
There were men she’d been attracted to, where the chemistry had bubbled for a while. She’d taken some of them to her bed, but it never lasted more than a few months. Once, when she’d had too much to drink, she’d kissed a girl and found it a pleasurable experience, but she’d never felt any serious attraction to the same sex. Until now, Hickory had never regretted her decision to pursue a career. Her work had seemed important. There was meaning to what she did. Hickory laughed bitterly. Ridiculous. She pressed play on the remote.
The Admiral’s face flickered onto the screen. “Hickory—are you there? Pick up, damn it. I need to speak with you. We’ve got a problem.”
We’ve always got a problem, murmured Hickory to herself. It would be a shock if you called just to say hello. She switched off the message and carried her juice out to the balcony. It was six a.m., and already New Rome was abuzz with people heading off to work. The United World Government had rebuilt the city after the war to showcase the new order. Most of the original buildings were so damaged they’d been demolished, but landmarks such as the Coliseum and the Pantheon had been restored to their original glory and were now surrounded by green parkland.
Hickory wasn’t sure if the UWG had achieved its aim. The city looked clean, but perhaps sterile was a better description. In their determination to present a brave new world, she felt they’d left behind some of the best culture and traditions the past had to offer. It made the place seem a little less human.
The scene she’d witnessed outside her grandmother’s apartment continued to bother her. On the surface, people appeared free to follow their own path, provided they remained within the confines of the law. Individual human rights were ranked behind the rights of society as a whole, but discrimination based on color, sex, or sexual preference had more or less been eradicated. Government policy was promulgated by the state-owned press. Hate broadcasts were banned and perpetrators punished by extensive re-education in state institutions; “constructive” criticism of government performance was permitted, but open dissent or membership of secret cabals carried a death sentence. Sometimes it was difficult to know where the line was drawn.
She mulled over whether she should go for a run along the Tiber before heading off to the Academy. The exercise would clear her head, but Cortherien had reinstated her as senior lecturer only two weeks previously, and she didn’t want to keep her students waiting. Reluctantly, she finished her juice, returned to the holoscreen, and pressed the connection to her adoptive father.
George Sebastian Lace looked relieved to see her. A wide grin lit up his face. “Hickory! Thank God you’re there. I thought you must have gone off on sabbatical again.”
“I called as soon as I woke up, Admiral.”
The Admiral drew his eyebrows together. “Still have that fantastic sense of humor, I see.” He paused, and Hickory could see him take a deep breath. “Sorry. Things have been a bit tense here lately. How are you and Jack getting along?”
Hickory recognized the attempt to introduce a lighter note into the conversation. It was a peace offering of sorts, but it was also a deliberate ploy to ingratiate himself. He needed her. A faint tic of the eye betrayed him. Something serious had cropped up, and it had the admiral worried.
She almost felt sorry for him. His life as a career officer in the navy had left little room for a personal life. She opened her mouth then pressed her lips together in a thin red line. He’s made his choices, as have I.
For the first twenty-two years of her life, Hickory believed the Admiral to be her father. Then, following her first mission for the Corps, he’d told her he’d married her widowed mother after her husband, Jack, had died in a car accident. She was adopted, he said.
On Hickory’s last mission to Prosperine, she’d discovered Jack was still alive. Hickory worked out that the Admiral had helped him escape capture for a treasonable crime. Her birth father had fled Earth and donned the persona of Professor Markhov, an expert in alien archaeology. Hickory felt there was much more to that story she hadn’t yet heard.
Jack was an empath too, and they dined together on the first of each month. They’d become friends, but she didn’t have strong familial feelings toward him
“Just fine,” she said.
The Admiral’s hand reached for the controls. “Get dressed. I’ll send a shuttle to fetch you. We have a meeting aboard the Prince of Wales, eight o’clock sharp.”
As soon as the screen went blank, Hickory punched in Cortherien’s address but received a busy signal. She left a message to call her back and put the coffee on to brew.
#
Eight o’clock. She fidgeted in her seat, waiting for Cortherien’s call. Her father, whom she always thought of as the Admiral, with a capital A, was an enigma to her. For ten years, until she was called up for the Prosperine expedition, the only communication she’d received from him had been an occasional birthday card with his name printed on it. She hadn’t heard a thing from him since her return to Earth until this morning’s call. She wondered what he had in store for her. It’ll be a spy mission to some forsaken corner of the Universe, I bet. I just hope it’s not jungle. God, I hate jungle.
Hickory was six years old when he left her and her brother Michael to be raised by his sister, Maddie.
No wonder I was such a basket case as a kid.
By the age of thirteen, Hickory had developed into a talented gymnast and was selected for the USA team to train for the 2124 Olympic Games. Her emotional growth from child to adult had been sporadic, however. I was a self-centered brat. Perhaps if my mother hadn’t died giving birth to Michael, things would have been different… or if the Admiral had shown me any paternal feelings, he might have kept me on track. But she knew those were glib excuses which ignored the real problem. The rare mutation she’d been born with had given her enhanced empathic awareness, and she’d been quick to take advantage of it.
#
Sandra had been Hickory’s rival in the gymnastics team, and she’d bullied and teased her about her boyish figure all year. For months, she’d mocked her, saying none of the red-blooded boys in the team would be remotely interested in Hickory, least of all her Lochie.
Sandra’s groupies had sniggered and whispered together, casting dirty looks at the redhead who had developed a reputation as a weirdo, preferring the quiet of her bedroom to the adolescent chatter of the girls’ locker room and their preoccupation with boys and sex.
The girl had demurred when Hickory first proposed a test, but the others had coaxed her into it. “It’ll be a blast. Lochie will laugh at her.”
But Hickory had endured enough. She figured it was time to teach the bitch a lesson, and what better way to do it?
“Do you truly love me?” she’d whispered into Lochie’s ear. Hickory knew he didn’t, but she liked the power that came from turning the fourteen-year-old wild with her wet tongue and light finger strokes running up and down his thigh. She sensed the buildup of desire. Soon it would overwhelm him, and he would reach for her immature breasts.
She’d smiled t
o herself, pleased. So much for you, Sandra Stevenson.
Sandra had watched them from the other side of the glass paneled door, and the look on her face had been worth zillions.
“I truly, truly love you.” Lochie’s face had been hot, and he’d licked his lips.
Hickory walked her fingers a few steps higher up the boy’s thigh. From listening to the girlish gossip, she’d known a gradual advance to a boy’s sex organ was guaranteed to drive him wild. “But what about Sandra,” she’d said. “Don’t you love her?”
Lochie had shaken his head so hard she’d thought he might cause himself brain damage. “Sandra means nothing to me. She’s a silly girl.”
Curious as to what all the fuss was about, Hickory had let him place his hand on her breast, which was the moment Sandra and her friends had burst through the door.
#
After that, the girls had given Hickory a wide berth, but she had learned the power of her gift.
She became an instant cause-célèbre when she won her two gold medals, but the constant round of civic receptions and publicity was tough for the teenager to handle. By the time she turned fifteen, Hickory’s spontaneous piggybacking onto other people's feelings had reached the point where she had trouble distinguishing which thoughts and emotions were her own.
Eventually, she’d suffered a nervous breakdown and was admitted to a private psychiatric hospital in New York. There, she’d been hooked up to PORO, the Proto-sentient Objective Reasoning Organism, and surgeons from around the world had probed her mind via the bio-computer. They applied patches and created new gateways in her brain that allowed her to better control the intensity of her empathic responses.
She worried about it now. Since Prosperine, she’d noticed a gradual slackening of that control. Maybe the surgical solution has broken down.
#
The holoscreen beeped, and Cortherien’s skull-like face smiled out at her. As usual, he sat behind his nineteenth-century walnut writing table, smoking one of his trademark Sobranie cigarettes. “Hickory, good to see you, and congratulations on your promotion, by the way. Very well deserved. How’s your recuperation coming along?”
Hickory sipped her coffee. It was good, the best in New Rome. “On track. The M.O.’s given me a clean bill of health. I’m ready to resume active duty.” She smiled. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Had enough of teaching?” Cortherien grinned.
She kept her face straight and sank into her chair with her hands clasped together. “The kids are good, quick to learn, and desperate to get off to Prosperine for their final year of practical. No, I enjoy teaching, but I admit I miss the excitement of the field.” She allowed a smile to creep across her mouth. “Actually, I thought the Admiral might have spoken to you.”
“No, but I do know he’s expecting you shortly. How do you feel about working with him again?” He drew the smoke into his lungs and let it emerge with apparent satisfaction.
Hickory shrugged. “I’m not sure why he wants me. Do I have any choice?”
“I’d like to think I could bring some influence to bear, but unfortunately it’s out of my hands. I had the Politburo on the phone when you called. They suggested, without telling me much, of course, the Bikashi have become a serious threat to Earth’s security. They left me in no doubt that neither you nor I have much say in the matter.”
Every human had cause to know the Bikashi. Earth and Auriga had been enemies for a long time. Many years before, the planet had been admitted to the allied federation, but the Bikashi had lied, cheated, and schemed so much they’d been thrown out. Since then, there’d been ongoing conflict with several full-scale battles and hundreds of dead on both sides. The affair on Prosperine was just one instance. Many believed it only a matter of time before the Federated planets and Auriga were engaged in all-out war. But why were Earth’s Politburo the ones making the request?
Hickory filled in what she knew. “Two years ago, Bikashi jets were conducting daily sorties to the Eridanus sector. We thought they’d found some wreckage from the Ark, maybe even its black box. My guess is the Admiral has new intelligence that has the NWG worried.” Hickory’s heart rate zoomed out of control, then instantly plummeted as common sense prevailed. Kar is dead. It has to be the Sword. But if the Sword survived, was it possible the Teacher could still be alive, too?
How stupid can you be, girl! He died in a massive nuclear explosion. But the last words he’d spoken persisted in her mind. Be at peace and know I will be with you, always.
She caught Cortherien’s worried look and nodded. “I’ll keep you informed.”
CHAPTER 4
The Bikashi
Hickory stepped out of the planetfall elevator and strode along the corridor to the welcome room of the Prince of Wales. It was a strange feeling after so long to be once more aboard the Admiral’s flagship. Her eyes softened when she saw Jess and Gareth, the two members of her unit and her best friends. She let out a long breath. Would they hate her for cutting them off the way she had? She didn’t mean for them to be hurt, but she’d needed a break from everything and everyone associated with the mission—she simply couldn’t face being reminded of Kar every day.
Jess jumped into the air and clapped her hands, letting out an excited squeal, while Gareth walked towards her, hands extended. “Captain,” he said. “Great to see you.” His eyes searched her from head to toe and back. “You’re looking good.” He wrapped her in his arms and was joined by Jess.
“Hick, my God. You haven’t changed a bit.” She kissed her on the cheek.
Hickory stared. “Well, you have,” she said. “How far along?”
Jess giggled. “I knew you’d guess. Twelve weeks.”
“What?” said Gareth. “You’re pregnant, and you didn’t tell me?”
Jess blushed, glancing at each of them in turn. “I was going to, then I heard we were all meeting up, and I decided to wait until we were together.”
“Well, this calls for a celebration. How is Mack handling it?”
“My husband is, as you’d expect, delighted but very protective. I would have had a heck of a job convincing him I should come here if it weren’t for the directive from the Politburo.”
Hickory smiled. “And he’s right, of course. Anyway, there might not be a mission after we talk with the Admiral. I’m still to be convinced any of us should risk our lives on this venture even if the Politburo says so, especially now.” She nodded at Jess’s almost insignificant baby bump then hugged her tight “It’s such a precious gift.” Hickory’s joy at Jess’s condition quashed the slight stab of envy, but she couldn’t help feeling some misgivings about Jess’s vulnerability on a rugged mission.
Jess and Gareth stared after her as she headed towards the briefing room.
#
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” said the Admiral. “He contacted me on my private line a few weeks ago with some intel on the Bikashi. I’ve had it checked out, and I believe it’s genuine, but best if you hear what he has to say firsthand.” He flicked a switch on the lectern, and the door to the office slid open. “Come in, Sikona,” he said, waving his hand.
Three pairs of eyes widened like owls as an alien strode into the room and took up a position beside the Admiral. He was over seven feet tall, with a broad, muscular chest, narrow waist and hips, and trunk-like legs. His eyes blinked like a lizard’s, and his mouth was a slit below a twitching snout in a chinless head. The skin covering the alien’s face and hands was rough like the hide of an elephant, only darker. Incongruously, he wore the uniform of a space marine, except he carried no weapons.
Hickory’s heart pounded, but Gareth was the first out of his seat. “Bikashi?” His face twisted in rage and he reached for his blaster, found it wasn’t there, and clenched his hand into a fist. He took a half-step forward.
“Stay where you are, Blanquette, or I’ll put you in jail to cool your head.” The Admiral’s voice was stern, but Gareth seemed oblivious to it.
Jess was right, thought Hickory. The alien appeared lighter and slimmer than the Bikashi who’d tortured Gareth physically and emotionally for weeks, experimenting on him to the point where Gareth almost lost his sanity. But he’s still the enemy. “What’s he doing here?” She couldn’t believe the Admiral would admit a hostile to his flagship.
“Sikona will be your guide on Auriga.”
“Wh— No way,” spluttered Gareth.
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Jess.
“Admiral, we can’t trust him. He’s a Bikashi.” Hickory stated the obvious. Take along someone with knowledge of Auriga, yes; but she couldn’t fathom why the Admiral would think to put an Aurigan on the team.
The Admiral’s eyes narrowed. He raised his hands to stop the clamor of complaints. “That’s my decision, Captain. You’ll get your chance to ask any question you wish, but before you say anything, I want you to hear Sikona’s story.” He motioned to the alien, who stood ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back.
He spoke in surprisingly good English with only a slight accent that Hickory couldn’t place. “My name is Sikona, son of Ravitik, son of Marerav. I am a class three worker at the spaceport in Kaffur.” He paused, his eyes flicking shut briefly. “Or at least I was until my Directorate took away my working privilege.” He met the eyes of each. “I am not a thief. But on Auriga, to be branded as such is enough to ostracize you from your class. The Crazket, enforcers of the law, removed me from my home and family and took me to a desert camp where I lived side by side with the scum of society.” His eyes, the most expressive part of him, were like pools of crude oil, his disgust at being forced to live as such, plain-even on his alien features. “They stamped the mark of disgrace on my forehead.” His hand touched the irregular scar above his nose. “And they left me with nothing.”
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