Jake wrestled within his mind, struggling to find the appropriate proof, something that would make Jareshk realize that he'd known him all their lives—that this ludicrous moment, this wrong-body encounter, hardly mattered anyway when you tossed the dice of friendship.
"Anna believes me, sir."
Jared nodded regally. "And Anna is the reason that you are here now, before me. She said you gave her undeniable proof as to your identity. Surely, with as many years as you claim we have known each other, you can do the same for me."
Jake leaned back in the chair, glancing around the meeting room. He sat in the deepest recesses of a base that had been destroyed for him four years earlier. All that Jared and the resistance had created as a mainstay for operations had been obliterated with a few easy missiles.
"There are so many things I need to warn you about." Jake pressed his eyes shut. "All you have to do is believe me."
Jared glanced sideways at his wife, smiling. "Perhaps I've already been mated with a scientist for too long, but I do require some firm proof."
Kelsey took the lead, spreading her freckled hands atop the table between them. "Jake, nothing about what you're suggesting is impossible. We know that—I know it perhaps even more than Jared. Can you tell me why that might be?"
Ah, smart queen. "The mitres technology fused within your mind is what enabled me to power the mitres to make my journey," he answered evenly. "You are the one who set it, who uploaded the codes and even allowed me temporary storage of them"—he gestured at his data collector—"in here."
Kelsey cocked her head with a winning look of approval. "Not bad. But … what if we believe you're a time traveler, but not that you're our ally?" Damn. And he'd thought he had her convinced.
Jake looked to his king for some sort of seal of approval, for a glimmer of faith in his dark eyes. Instead, Jared lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing as he waited for Jake to prove that he was, in fact, Scott Dillon.
Jake sighed. "Once, when we were boys," he began, "I had a glunshai." It was a small, slimy creature akin to a lizard. "You were what, seven? I was just about the same … and I brought that creature into your father's great hall during a formal speech before the elders. All of us—and I do mean all—were meant to be respectful, but I stashed that little guy in my pocket."
He dared a glance at Jared, but his king's face remained stoic, unmoved. Even so, Jake continued. "We sat there on that stone floor, listening to your father's address, but he kept going on and on." Jake couldn't help but smile, remembering. "I worked that little glunshai out of my pocket. And there he was, on the floor … and next thing we knew, he took off running across the hall. Man, you looked at me—and I looked at you—and all at once the elders swooped down on us. We were in some serious, deep medshki, and all because of a lizard." Jake began to laugh in earnest, just remembering their last moments of innocent childhood.
"They yanked me right out of that hall, pointing the finger at me, Jareshk, but you wouldn't let me take the blame. You stood, and your father hesitated during his speech, seeing you rise up that way, but you just smiled and followed me out of the great hall as regally as any prince should … and insisted that it was your little pet that had caused the whole damned thing. You wouldn't let the blame ride on me. It was always that way with the two of us: We never would let the other take the fall."
Jake shut his eyes, feeling his face contort, his memories taking him too far back into an innocence that had vanished long ago. "That's what I remember, Jareshk. That you always stood up for me, even when I didn't deserve it. Even though I was vlksai and … not royal-blooded like you, by the gods, you always claimed me as brother anyway."
He was met with a long, enduring silence. "That proves nothing," his king and best friend said at last. "I want to believe you. Compel me to do so." Jake heard rough emotion in the man's voice, and it was enough to finally break him.
"You know me, Jareshk. You always have." Jake buried his face within his hands. "He killed her, and I had no choice. I had to take his life, too."
"Who killed 'her'?" Jared rose and took several determined steps closer. "How did he kill her? Tell me what you mean."
Everything about that fateful day overpowered Jake in the space of a moment. That Jared didn't know those events—that this version of the only brother he'd ever known had no knowledge of what he'd endured—tore at his heart.
He ground his teeth together. "Don't make me say it."
"I want to trust you, Jakob. I really do."
He cried out as if physically wounded, unable to meet his king's keen stare. "Then trust me! But don't make me live it all over again."
"You're going to have to, if I'm to figure any of this out."
Jake leaped to his feet and spun on his lifelong friend. "For just one moment I let my guard down. I went for help because Hope needed it, and Jake Tierny killed her. That's how it went down." Jake clutched at his head, the memories utterly unstoppable—and unendurable as well. Pulling at his hair, he tried to wrestle through the heartbreaking emotions that he'd already had to live once today.
"I went for a doctor, and when I returned Hope was dead. I never knew why, but Jake had killed her, was standing over her, blood still on his hands. I took his life because I had to. He'd taken everything from me, and so"—Jake drew in an unsteady, furious breath, just remembering—"I took the only thing I could. I took him. I took Jake Tierny's life because he killed her. Because he killed my wife, and he killed our baby in the process. And that, my king and friend, is why I am him today." Only once he'd finished did Jake realize that tears had filled his eyes, but he refused to cry; he didn't have that right, not here with his king and queen.
Jared rose from the table and strolled toward Kelsey, his face a troubled mask. She had been sitting to the side, simply listening. Already, as in the future, Jared obviously relied on her counsel a great deal. Time itself hung in the balance, Jared and Kelsey trading some kind of knowing look, then speaking in muted tones. He wished he were a deep intuitive, that he could enter their thoughts and discern whether they trusted him, and he didn't dare soul-gaze them at such an intense moment. But finally, at long last, Jared turned to face him.
"Tell me one more thing. Tell me why you came back through time."
Jake bowed his head, not wanting to share the awful, ruined truth of their future. But he had no other choice. "Because we're defeated there, my lord. Everything is destruction—you sent me back because you hoped I could stop Marco McKinley from bringing even more bloodshed. But now, it seems, that version of Marco has already been stopped."
Jared nodded simply. "Yes, he has, and I trust Marco."
"He betrays you in the future."
Jared tilted his chin upward, resolute. "Another version of that man, but not this one."
Jared had him there; everything in this time was spinning out differently. "My journey was fruitless, Jareshk." He shrugged. "And yet I'm still here."
Jared stepped close. "Do the Antousians truly destroy us in your future? Is that what you're telling me?"
"They gained control of a large number of missiles over at Warren Air Force Base. They turned them on the major cities and populations … it's all in ruins. All of it—here on Earth, back on Refaria. Only the smallest remnant still battles." He glanced between them meaningfully. "And the three of us are part of that remnant."
"At Warren," Jared repeated, having paled visibly.
"They attacked the base, stormed it, and got control of the launch facilities."
Kelsey bowed her head. "We stopped it this time."
Jake staggered backward. "You stopped the takeover at Warren?" It was the first moment since arriving in this time when he'd actually felt hopeful.
"And you won't believe it, but in his own way, Marco McKinley stopped it when he traveled back from your time," Jared explained. "He left a letter for us, one that enabled Thea to see the future, to intuit the Antousians' plans at the base. Ultimately that's how we thwarted that at
tack."
"Nothing here is the same as in my world," Jake whispered numbly.
"My brother." Jared opened his arms wide, tears glinting in his black gaze. "I'm sorry that you've known so much pain."
Jake folded into his best friend's embrace, refusing to cry like the seven-year-old boy he'd once been with this man. "I don't pretend to understand any of this," Jared continued, hugging him close, "but we will do whatever we can to stop these vlksai from bringing down such destruction again. Tell me now, what can we do?"
At that moment he felt Kelsey, too, her gentle yet strong touch, as she rubbed his shoulders. Jared didn't let go of him, either, holding him chest to chest, as if he never intended to break the moment.
And for the first time in more years than he could count, Jake cried. Like an absolute baby. At last—at long, long last—he'd come home once again.
Chapter Twenty
Hope hunkered low on the small berth where Kryn had left her, listening to the rumbling sounds of the ship. Vibrations shot through her body; the cruiser's lurching and tilting occasionally caused her to rock slightly where she sat. In general, her unsettled equilibrium led her to believe that they were dropping low over the earth, not going farther out into the stratosphere, as Scott had predicted. Man, she'd do anything to be close to him again, to touch him … to hold him. Locked away as she was, she couldn't be sure what his enemies might be doing.
She'd been given a meal, allowed to take her accompanying insulin shot, and now that her immediate health needs were secured, she could only imagine the worst for Scott. What he'd said about being at the top of these Antousians' kill list haunted her. Leaning back on the narrow bench seat, she pressed her ear against the side of the craft, trying to discern whether they truly were landing—or even where they might be headed, period.
There was just so much Scott didn't know. Like Jake's real identity. And the truth of what had happened in their future—some future— including the fate of their sweet baby girl. Hope stifled a sob, pressing a hand against her eyes, determined to maintain clarity of mind.
Keep it together, girl. Keep it fucking together for him.
If Scott's predictions were true—if these enemies wanted nothing more than to extract a pound of his flesh—then her training and smarts might be his only prayer for survival. She couldn't afford to ruminate on futures that might not come to pass, or baby daughters that they might someday lose. All that mattered was the here, the now, and what she could possibly do to secure Scott's freedom.
The craft dipped, sending her back against the pillows of the berth; they had to be coming in for a landing. As outlandish as such a public exposure might seem, she'd already learned a lot about aliens in the past few weeks: Their craft could come and go at will, never revealing their location to human radar or USAF tracking. These alien transports brought a whole new meaning to the term stealth technology, which served only to fuel her thoughts that nobody—absolutely nobody, human or alien—could find them now that the Antousians had taken them prisoner.
Suddenly the compartment door slid open, making a hissing sound. Hope tensed, alert and waiting for someone to speak. Hard footsteps echoed off of the steel-framed flooring, moving with cold calculation in her direction.
"Who is it?" she called out, folding her arms about herself protectively.
"I'm asking the questions here." The voice was male, harsh and hissing.
"Well, pal, you'd better identify yourself if you want answers," she said, squinting against the dim cabin lights. Without warning, a fist struck her across the jaw, sending her sprawling against the wall.
So much for putting on her tough-gal routine, she thought, giving her head a shake.
Before she could sit up again, a pair of rough hands slipped about her throat. "Listen, human, I can fuck you blind right now. Rape you. Kill you. So you'd better start showing a little respect."
She pulled at the stranger's hands, trying to breathe. "I already am blind, you freak," she squeezed out.
"Good, then you won't mind"—one of his hands slid down the front of her sweater, palming her breast—"if I take whatever I want."
She screamed, trying to bite his hand, but he just slammed her up against the wall, pinning her. For a moment everything within her said she was going to die … or worse. Then, just as suddenly, he released her, and she heard him back away.
"This won't get either of us what we want." His tone had changed, becoming perversely jovial.
"I want off this ship."
"Not to worry, Ms. Harper. That will happen soon enough." He let loose a sneering laugh. "And when that time comes, you'll know exactly why I'm the most feared Antousian among your friend Dillon's pitiful ranks."
Rotating her head sideways, she planted both palms against the wall. She couldn't see much, but the man seemed tall, towering over where she sat. It took everything within her, but she forced herself to appear calm and collected.
"I'm new around here." She rubbed at her jaw. "You have to help me out some. What's your name?"
"'What's your name, sir!'" he corrected in a thundering voice that caused her to shiver.
Did this alien maniac really think she'd call him sir?When silence grew between them, he pounced on her again, twisting her hair in his hand and jerking it hard. "Show respect, human."
"What's your name, sir?" she asked weakly, feeling dizzy and terrified.
"Call me Veckus. That's the only name you need to memorize around here."
"Strip that soldier down," Veckus ordered, glancing between his two captives. He'd brought them to their current warehouse hideout, the one where a number of his grunts had been making base in Montana for the past month. He could have kept them in orbit around Earth indefinitely, but something in Veckus's gut told him that down on the ground would be the best place for interrogating Scott Dillon. Yes, right on Earth was the place to act out the final scenes of this little drama. Oh, it would be fine torture indeed, extracting every detail of the Refarian operation—and he planned to take his time about it. Nothing he'd ever dreamed of could be such enjoyable sport as personally torturing Lieutenant Scott Dillon. He licked his lips, practically feeling himself grow hard with arousal at the prospect.
He perused the scene before him—Scott kneeling at gunpoint, and his companion, Hope Harper, mirroring the same position. The female was a luscious little human, all ripe and full-breasted. Plus, when she'd gotten so feisty with him, it had been more than a rush. Too bad he'd chosen not to rape her. For now, he told himself, just for now.
Then he turned and faced Scott Dillon. So many years he'd been plagued by this one. He shook his head, trying to decide the best and most delicious plan for exacting payback in exchange for every time Dillon had outflanked him— most recently at Warren. Veckus rocked back on his heels, meeting the man's steady, hard gaze; perhaps what made him sickest of all about Dillon was that he was a traitor to his own people. Watching the small blind woman shiver, a faint smile formed on Veckus's lips as a plan began to blossom in his mind.
"Strip that soldier down, Lieutenant," he ordered Dayron again with a flick of his wrist. "All the way down."
Strolling slowly past Dillon, he eyed him. "Get ready for the longest night of your life," he promised, exposing his teeth in a threatening gesture.
Scott glowered at him, never so much as blinking. Veckus knew the soldier wasn't intimidated; from what Veckus had learned about his adversary over the years, nothing ever frightened him.
Dayron wrestled hold of Scott as two of Veckus's other under-lieutenants began jerking off his jacket, shirt, and every last item of his clothing. Ah, yes, Veckus would ensure that Scott Dillon passed a very long night in hell.
Objective: to learn the location of Jared Bennett's main bases from Dillon, using the cold night—and as much torture as possible—to achieve that aim.
Planned result: Veckus would firebomb the Refarians' secret installations, annihilate them, just as he'd done to their Texas facility years ago. In
the process, he would quell their intolerable rebellion once and for all.
Dayron shoved Dillon to the hard warehouse floor, sending him sprawling face-first. Veckus studied the man's naked form, saw the battle scars and lines of hardship in the soldier's body. But he would never pity a traitor like this fellow Antousian rebel.
"Sir, what would you like us to do?" Dayron prompted him, planting a boot in the center of Dillon's naked back.
"Our goal is simple—I want to know if Dillon is our future traveler, the one I sensed traversing the time-space continuum." He wouldn't let Dillon in on his plans for learning the facilities locations—not yet. "And if this is not our man, Lieutenant Dayron, then we will learn who we should be pinpointing … perhaps the other rebel Antousian who was there at the mitres. The one who took out two of our soldiers. Either way, Dillon knows the truth, and I intend to extract that knowledge out of him … piece by bodily piece, if need be."
"Very well, sir." Dayron nodded in understanding. "Usual methods?"
Veckus smiled. "I like the idea of the cold as a tool," he hissed. "Let's try that one this time."
No matter what, Veckus had narrowed his search down to just two men. It was either Dillon, right here before him, or the other Antousian they'd pursued on the snowmobile. One of them had traversed time itself, and whether he had to torture Dillon or kill the luscious human woman, he would learn the identity of his future traveler.
Result: Veckus would learn the secrets of time, and would thereby guarantee the defeat of the Refarian resistance once and for all. A most satisfying result indeed.
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