by Kate Donovan
The army, navy, and marine guards greeted Zia with brisk enthusiasm. When she explained Rem’s absence, Lieutenant Harada was quick to remind her that Captain Stone wasn’t really a trained bodyguard like they were, so she needn’t worry, or miss him too much.
She liked the hint of rivalry, imagining that Rem’s three Exemplar medals and privileged position as Zia’s “escort” in the suspension chamber had grated on the other men. Vowing to stroke their egos regularly, she trailed them for a tour of their new surroundings: three suites on an otherwise empty and heavily guarded floor of Pangua’s finest hotel.
Zia’s quarters were luxurious: a huge bedroom overlooking a park, a large living and dining area, and a complete kitchen—not that any of the gleaming appliances looked familiar to her at all.
Flanking her rooms were two other suites, one for Rem, the other for the honor guard. The men explained that they would rotate shifts so that two of them were always awake and near to Zia. At night, two active guards would be stationed in her living room, with the third asleep nearby on a cot.
Humber offered to leave the four Malaran soldiers on permanent duty as well, but Zia could see that her honor guard was offended by the suggestion, so she reminded Humber that there was a guard at the elevator door and several others in the lobby. That would be more than enough extra protection.
She knew Humber was torn—he wanted to stay with her but had other duties in his role as ambassador that required his presence at the prime minister’s office. He also wanted to steal as many precious moments with his family as possible. She urged him to go home, but asked first if he’d show her how to use the vid equipment in her bedroom so she could conduct some research while she waited for Rem to return.
“It is thought-activated,” he explained, leading her into the room and motioning for her to sit on the bed while he adjusted the freestanding monitor. “What subject interests you? Malaran history? Mechs? The Battle of the Canyons?”
She hesitated before admitting, “How about the trial of Aengus Stone? Is that too Earth-ish to be available up here?”
Humber gave her a long, hard stare. “Captain Stone upset you with his speech at the press conference?”
“He’s so sure his father was framed,” she explained. “Obviously we studied it in school, which must have been so awful for Rem in his school. But I never paid attention to the details, and now I feel like I need to know them. To understand him. And to be sure.”
“To be sure that your mother did not frame his father? You cannot possibly believe that of her,” Humber murmured.
“No. But Rem does. And he’s . . . well, he’s Rem. I want to be able to discuss it with him intelligently.”
Humber arched an eyebrow. “But when it comes to his father, he is just a child. Not a grown man.”
“I know. I know.” She shook her head. “Maybe I should just drop it.”
“I was there, you know,” Humber told her.
“There?”
“At the trial. And for the events that preceded it. I can provide background if you would like.”
Zia stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “I’d be so grateful, Mr. Ambassador.”
The title brought a smile to his lips, and he turned toward the forty-inch screen. It came to life instantly, showing a wide view of a hearing being conducted by the United States Senate. “You will see your mother the president speak first. Then her vice president—Aengus Stone.”
A lump formed in Zia’s throat at the sight of her mother, looking young and pretty, despite her attempts—via stern hairstyle and minimal makeup—to look older and more dignified. “Mom . . .”
“She was amazing,” Humber said quietly. “All alone, except for her little girl and Aengus, the man she trusted the most in the world.”
“What?”
“After your father died, Aengus and his wife were her closest friends. You do not remember that, but it is so.”
As Zia watched, Elena Quito began to speak, extolling the virtues of, and the need for, an early warning and defense project called GARD—the Global Alarm and Rapid Defense system. She was passionate and persuasive.
Then her vice president—a handsome, blue-eyed official—was summoned by the panel.
“Oh, wow,” Zia whispered. “He looks so powerful. But sweet too. Just like Rem.”
Humber nodded. “Listen to his words.”
Aengus Stone was as eloquent as Elena had been, but in the opposite direction. He was convinced—or so he said—that the GARD system would lead to disaster. It needed more testing. It wasn’t secure enough. It insulted alien cultures that might stumble upon Earth in search of an ally, only to be blasted to bits by an automated, mindless defense system.
But his primary contention was the lack of security. According to Aengus Stone, it would be child’s play to invade the system, steal the codes, and evade detection. In fact, he boasted that he could do that himself with nothing more than good timing and a standard locksmith’s kit.
“And then that’s what he did,” Zia whispered. “He broke into the command center and stole the codes. And when that guard saw him, Aengus panicked and shot him. Oh, Humber . . .”
“Such a tragedy,” the ambassador agreed.
“But Rem’s right about one thing. It’s not treason. He wasn’t trying to sabotage our planet. He was trying to save it!”
Humber’s eyes were warm with sympathy. “You sound like your mother. Watch this. It is the trial. Listen carefully to her testimony.”
A courtroom appeared on the vid screen, and there was Elena again. This time, she didn’t need tricks to obscure her youth or beauty. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked as though she had the proverbial weight of the world on her shoulders. “I was in my office at the command center. It was after midnight. I heard sounds, so I walked into the hall. I saw a man in a mask run out of the GARD room. He didn’t see me, but he did see the security guard who tried to confront him. The masked man fired a shot right at the guard’s chest. Then he ran off.” Elena turned her attention from the prosecutor and stared up at the judge. “I’m not saying it was Aengus Stone. You understand that, don’t you? I still can’t—I still don’t—believe Aengus could do such a thing.”
The judge frowned. “That isn’t the issue, Madame President. Mr. Stone has already admitted that he is the man who put on a mask, broke into the command center, and stole the codes. The question for you is, was that the end of it, as Mr. Stone claims? Or did he willfully shoot the guard?”
Panic showed in Elena’s golden eyes. “It wasn’t treason. I know that for a fact. If Aengus fired that shot, it was because he panicked. He was stealing the codes to make a point. That the GARD system wasn’t secure. And I agree with that now! I’m convinced. I only wish I had listened to him sooner.” Turning her attention to the defense table, she insisted in a sob-filled voice, “Forgive me, Aengus. You tried to warn me.”
The judge pounded his gavel. Then the image disappeared.
“Wow,” Zia murmured. “I never got it until right now. Rem says my mom was the eyewitness, but that’s not true. She never identified the intruder as Aengus Stone.”
Humber nodded. “Aengus identified himself. Watch.”
The ambassador reactivated the image, which now showed a grainy security tape of a man in a ski mask approaching a control panel. The man checked his watch, then punched in a series of numbers on a keypad. A compartment opened and the man removed a one-inch diskette and tried to pocket it, but it slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. Retrieving it quickly, he ran out of the room with the disk still in his hand, only to be confronted by a security guard, who ordered him to halt. The disk slipped to the floor again as the masked man pulled a hand-blaster and fired at the guard. The guard fell, and the man picked up the disk and ran down the hall.
Humber cleared his throat. “This security vid was authenticated by the government, by independent testing labs, and by Aengus’s own experts. Ironically, Aengus
corroborated it too. He admitted he was the man in the vid. But he claimed that he never saw—much less shot at—any guard. So his defense was that the first part of the vid was genuine, but the last portion was tampered with. That testimony doomed him.”
Zia licked her lips. “If only he had just admitted that he panicked. That he was trying to do a noble thing, and it backfired.”
When Humber didn’t respond, she turned to study his impassive face. “Humber?”
“I knew Aengus well. He was not the type to panic,” Humber told her, adding quickly, “But you are correct, Zee. If he had simply admitted it, he might have been convicted of manslaughter rather than murder and treason. It was his refusal to confess to the shooting that gave the prosecutor so much power. Your mother begged him to admit the truth so that she could pardon him—”
“What?”
“It’s true. In fact, I believe she would have pardoned him anyway, even for treason. But he killed himself before she could decide whether she dared do that.”
Zia sat back against the bed pillows and digested the information carefully. Then she told Humber, “Rem thinks Mom lied. He thinks she framed his dad. That’s seems crazy, doesn’t it? She was so upset. So desperate to help him. And what motive could she have had for wanting him convicted?”
When Humber looked down at the floor, she whispered, “Tell me, please?”
“I will never believe your mother framed Aengus. But if she did—which is impossible—it was because she wanted a life term as president.” The ambassador cleared his throat, then explained. “When Daniel Quito died and Elena became president, she and Aengus announced that they intended to share the presidency. To take turns, more or less. She was nearing the end of her term, and so logically, it would have been Aengus’s turn next. But during those last few months, Elena and he diverged in their intergalactic policy. She believed she was right—that her policy would protect Earth, and that Aengus’s would endanger it.”
“And Aengus believed just the opposite,” Zia whispered. “Believed it so passionately, he broke into the command center to steal the codes. He admitted that much. The real issue was, what did he intend to do with those codes? To prove the system was unreliable? Or . . .”
“Or to sell them to a foreign power.”
“No!”
Humber exhaled sharply. “Your mother did not believe that either. But the prosecutor convinced a jury it was true. Because if Aengus were an honorable man, he would have admitted that he shot that guard. Do you see the conundrum?”
“And then he killed himself. And Mom cried so hard. That’s the only part I remember,” Zia said sadly. “I was just a toddler, but it’s etched in my memory. She rarely ever cried, but she was so distraught over that. She kept saying the same thing over and over: the world has gone crazy.”
Humber walked over and patted Zia’s shoulder. “Did you want to see anything else?”
“No, thanks.” She slid to the edge of the bed and stood up. “You should go home and make love to your wife ten more times. I need to pull myself together before Rem gets here. Don’t tell him I watched these vids, okay?”
“Whatever you wish.” Humber followed her to the living area. “Try to rest, Zia. Tomorrow will be stressful.”
“I’ll be fine. Take your soldiers,” she reminded him.
“And face Captain Stone’s ire?” He chuckled. “They will stay until your escort returns. Then you can dismiss them.”
She nodded, knowing he was right. Rem would be upset if he thought she was under-guarded, and while the three human soldiers were sufficient, the presence of four hunks of well-trained fur would be reassuring to “her escort.”
Harada, Pao, and Jackson were seated in the living room playing cards, but their weapons were prominent, and she suspected that their relaxed expressions hid a high level of awareness. The Malaran soldiers were on full alert, standing around the perimeter of the room as though attack were imminent. All in all, things seemed secure enough to meet even Rem’s standards.
Walking Humber to the door, she thanked him again for his solicitude, and would have kissed his hairy cheek if she hadn’t suspected it would upset the Malaran soldiers. She settled for shaking his clawed hand, then shooed him out the door and wandered into the kitchen looking for something to drink.
Again, the profusion of odd appliances baffled her, but Harada came to her rescue. “We did some snooping. What do you need?”
“Just a glass of water. And something to munch on before dinner.”
“Coming right up.” He opened a glass-doored cabinet and showed her a shelf filled with dark-blue drink ware of various sizes. “They’ve got coffee too, by the way.”
“Oh, yum.” She grabbed a blue mug, and as she did so, she caught the reflection of a Malaran soldier in the cupboard door. The male’s hand had moved to his sidearm—some sort of laser blaster—just as he gave a sly nod to the Malaran across the room.
She spun in time to see both hulking soldiers draw their weapons, one aimed at Zia, the other at the two remaining Malarans.
“No!” She tackled Harada to the ground behind the sofa just as a spray of gas fire passed over their heads. Harada was back on his feet in a second, his weapon blazing. Zia cringed against his leg and felt a gun-shaped bulge. Without thinking, she yanked a second blaster free from the ankle-holster, then stood up too, firing wildly at the attackers.
Harada had already felled one of them, and Zia’s fire—combined with his—finished the other one off. She turned to congratulate him, but he slumped against the sofa and then to the floor. Blood was flowing from a wound in his chest, and she grabbed a kitchen cloth from a hook, pressing it into place. Then she pulled a cushion from the sofa and propped it under his head.
“Don’t move, I’ll get help,” she promised.
It wasn’t until she had run to the front door that she realized the terrible truth: she didn’t know whom to trust, and certainly couldn’t dare dash into the hall. So instead she bolted the lock securely, then hurried over to check on her other guards.
Pao was dead. She could see that from his vacant stare, and the blood that had oozed from his mouth. He was the youngest of the three soldiers—not much older than Zia—and she stared down at his innocent face in silent, speechless misery, her throat clogged with grief.
Then she moved on to Jackson. At first, she thought he was dead too, a result of the gaping wound in his side. But at least his eyes were closed, rather than open and vacant, so she touched his cheek and spoke his name softly.
“Jackson? Can you hear me?”
When his eyelids fluttered open, she smiled in relief. “Thank God.”
He focused on her with an agony-filled expression. “Forgive me.”
“I’m alive, aren’t I? Thanks to you.” She squeezed his hand and promised to find some pain killers, then checked on the loyal Malaran guards, verifying what she already knew—these heroes had been cut to ribbons by the traitors as their first order of business.
As for the traitors themselves, one was in shreds. The other was immobilized by wounds but alive and groaning softly. Without bothering to think about it, Zia clubbed him with his own weapon and was gratified when he became silent and still.
She was about to return to Harada when someone pounded on the door. “Captain Quito! Let us in. Is anyone still alive? Captain Quito!”
“Go away!” she shrieked, her voice hoarse and unfamiliar. “Get Dr. Annur. I won’t let anyone else in, so just go away. Just get Annur! Please!”
“Zia! Open the door.” It was Humber this time, and she dove for the lock and unbolted it, then threw herself against his furry chest.
“Humber! Pao’s dead, and the others—the others are dying!”
“We will save them,” he promised, hugging her tight. “Are you injured, Zia?”
“No.”
“You are drenched in blood.”
“It’s their blood. My guards. Your guards too.” She burst into tears. “They die
d for me, Humber.”
“Shhh . . .” He cradled her trembling body. “It is over now. Forgive me, Quito.”
Medical personnel streamed into the room and began treating Harada and Jackson. Swarms of police were there too, making vids and growling orders.
“This Malaran is still alive,” one of them announced.
Zia pulled away from Humber enough to see what was going on. “He’s one of the bad ones. A Vekzor, I guess.”
“Good. We will question him,” Humber said. “He will regret this, I promise.”
“I want to question him first,” Zia blurted out, then she stumbled over to the semiconscious warrior, who had been placed in metal cuffs. “I want to know why he hates me so much he’d kill innocent men to get to me.”
“Zia, no.”
“He is unconscious again,” the police agent said gruffly. “But not for long. I promise you, Quito, we will make him wish for death.”
She forced herself to nod, knowing she should be grateful. This officer was on her side, just like ninety-nine percent of all Malarans were. They weren’t just allies, they actually worshipped the Quito name and legacy.
But that other one percent . . .
How could she be sure this cop wasn’t one of them?
Retreating to Humber, she insisted, “Send word to Rem, so he’ll be doubly careful on his way back. He may not be a Quito, but they hate him too, I’m sure. They killed Pao like a dog, and tried to do the same to the rest of us.” She paused, then added softly to the police officer, “I’m sorry about your soldiers. They never had a chance. The Vekzori shot them first, just to be sure.”
“They are heroes,” the police officer agreed. “Because of them, you will still be able to pilot Quito’s colossus for us.”
She buried her face in her hands, unable to listen to any more crazy talk. Pao was dead, there was blood everywhere, and she wanted to go home. Now.
It was just as simple as that.
Chapter 10
Jackson was in surgery. Harada was sound asleep in the infirmary with a monitor flickering next to his hospital bed. It would be hours before he would be awake, but that didn’t stop Zia from holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement. And thanks. And apology. It had all happened so fast, and now here they were, stuck on Malara, safe for the moment, but knowing that the once-theoretical threat of Vekzor violence was all too real.