The Siren, the General's Daughter Book One

by Breanna Hayse

  “We already know about your knowledge in your field of study, young woman. It does not impress me,” the man sneered.

  “I didn’t mean that. I mean a test. You have a goal, correct? To train your animals for missions,” She smiled again. “I wager that we make an artificial mission and if I can take the lions out and perform properly, you reconsider your position of me in the unit. Only me. No other females.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have two years to wait for you to train the animals. Your wager is sublimely ridiculous and immature.”

  “You are speaking to an officer, Master-Sergeant” Scott intervened.

  “Beg your pardon, General. Ma’am. Now if—” he turned to leave.

  “Give me one week. With wild peds.”

  “That would be impossible!”

  “Then you have nothing to lose. If I fail, you don’t allow me entry. If I succeed, then you’ve gained another scientist for your unit. Well, Sir?”

  “Are you to tell me you will actually support this claim?” he asked the other three. They nodded.

  “Support and encourage. “ Scott responded, touching the girl’s shoulder.

  Sam lifted her chin higher, blue eyes sparkling under long dark lashes. “Do we have a deal, then?” she asked, holding her hand out.

  He shook it, surprised by the strength of her grip. “We have a deal. I will plot the mission and give it to you in a day or two.”

  “No, master-Sergeant,” Michael spoke out, his hand on her other shoulder. “Hold it until the mission begins. Let her do this blind.” The three men stared at him. His smile was an exact replica of his sister’s—it said “Bring it on.”

  “I have faith in anything she chooses to do. If I can’t believe in her abilities, who can? Come on, we have work to do,” he said, “If we may be excused?”

  “Dismissed, lieutenants,” Scott said formerly.

  The three watched the two leave. Dr. Quimby spoke up. “Master-Sergeant, I don’t give a shit about you, your politics or your games. If you ever speak to my daughter or any of my crew like that again, I promise I will press charges for insubordination. Got it?” he hissed, towering over the stout man. Scott raised an eyebrow, trying to recall the last time he had seen his mild tempered best friend so worked up. The man nodded with a ‘yes, Sir’ and quickly excused himself.

  “Breathe,” Scott whispered in Dr. Quimby’s ear.

  “Fuck you.”

  Scott laughed and continued towards his office.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Does this mean you’re speaking to me now, Michael?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t go much longer anyway. Higgins pissed me off. You handled it well, though. Better than I would have.”

  “Thanks. Did you mean what you said? About believing in me?”

  “I did.”

  “Even when it seems like I’m doing something dangerous?” her voice was little.

  He took her hand, leading her into the lab. “Yeah, but I don’t like it.”

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “They are waiting until guilt drives you to approach them. Then you are dead meat.”

  “I thought that might be the case. Except now, well, I don’t really feel guilty. In a way, that jerk proved my point for me.”

  “You need to feel guilty, at least for scaring the living hell out of me. I was the one there to witness it. And going out with the lions? I told you not to.”

  “Some things I need to do without you. Our connection is getting more pronounced and distracts me,” she said, sitting at her desk. He was actually listening! “I think these bands are training our synapses to function in excelled ability. I can’t read your mind, but I can sense your feelings. Like when you know you’re being watched.”

  “I’ve noticed that too. Maybe we should go without them for a while.” They had taken to wearing the bands constantly, not knowing when they would need them when out in open water.

  “It’s not hurting anything, is it? I’d like to see how far they can take us. Hey, if I have to be joined mentally with someone, who better than you? Of course, that might mean me becoming less reasonable and more mule-headed,” she gave him a cheesy grin.

  “Don’t start. Let’s go out and see what we can do about this challenge. Show me the signals.”

  ***

  They worked dry for an hour and then departed for the kelp beds. When noticed by the scout, the girl signaled for permission to enter the herd.

  Granted.

  Michael also repeated the signal.

  Denied.

  Sam instructed Michael to turn his back to the herd and remain as still as possible until she said otherwise. Sam left him and communicated his connection to her, thus receiving a distrustful invite.

  “What did you tell them?” Michael asked, swimming with her into the herd’s eye.

  “No laughing. I don’t know how to say brother. You are my mate. Sorry.”

  “Oh God, don’t tell the folks. They would shit bricks.”

  “It’s just for this. Ok, now let’s see what we can do.”

  The giant male sea lion swam briskly around them, sizing them up. He was familiar with the small beach dweller, and the larger one was her mate.

  Sam warned her brother to stay perfectly still, no matter what the animal did. The swimming quickened and they were pushed into rocks and against the ocean floor. He charged straight at Michael and rammed his head directly into the young man’s torso, knocking out his breath out as he was slapped against the rocks. Trusting his sister’s instructions, he floated and did not attempt to right himself. The bull charged again, sinking his teeth into Michael’s leg and twisting sharply. Protected by the wetsuit, there was no skin breakage, but the pain was almost intolerable as the muscle fascia tore. The bull charged a third time and sunk its jaws into Michael’s right upper arm.

  “Sink to the bottom,” his sister instructed, trying not to hold her breath as the sharp teeth of the bull snapped near his face. Michael closed his eyes, praying that he would survive the initiation. He sat frozen on the ocean floor for an hour before his sister instructed him to surface. The bull, satisfied, swam away.

  “Come on, let’s get you back. You’re probably gonna need some bandaging for support,” she said softly, taking his arm.

  “Did he do that to you?”

  “Yes, only I got slammed by three males. Sound familiar? No biting, though. This was only a test to see if you were my mate and would respect me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sea lions,” she suppressed a giggle, “depend on the females to hunt and breed. The cows run the herd and the males are simply there to protect. By submitting to the gatekeeper, you submitted to me. We will have full access now, plus more respect since we are a breeding pair.”

  “That is disgusting. Damn it, Sam, this really hurts,” Michael said, accepting assistance out of the tank. His sister ordered ace dressings while peeling the wetsuit from his long, lean, muscular body. Despite the protection offered by the special fibers imbedded in the material, there was a giant blackening bruise in the center of his ribcage and large dark purple indentations where he had been bitten. His quadriceps vibrated with uncontrollable muscle spasms, causing him to grimace as he tried to apply weight to the limb.

  “Should we call your father?” a tech asked, helping Sam wrap the bandage snugly around his ribs. “Something might be broken.”

  “Yeah, my neck if he finds out about this. No. I’ll be ok.”

  “I’ll get you some meds, Mike. The corpsman won’t say anything,” another team member offered.

  He nodded gratefully. “I gather they all know when this happened to you?” Michael asked, painfully pulling his cammies over his wet swim trunks.

  “I wasn’t as bruised up as you are. Besides, they know how to keep secrets. And they wanted to protect my butt from your fury.”

  “Literally,” several of the Allegro men said at once. “Speaking of which, are you ok, Sam?”r />
  “Nothing happened. Yet. Ok, this is my plan….” She shared the wager with the team.

  Recon walked in during the talk. “Sammi, we heard some rumors about the seal unit. Is it true?”

  “What rumors?” she asked.

  They relayed the event from that morning. Apparently, several ears were privy to the confrontation and bets were being placed over the entire base. “I wish we could say that the majority is in your favor, but not so. The enlisted are all siding with the Master-Sergeant and it sounds like the officers are betting that your Dad’s gonna get reassigned. I guess he said something a little threatening after you two left.”

  “Really? Uncle Scott is usually the one to blow.” Michael commented, seeing his sister nod. One of the men repeated the words said and both Quimby’s nodded.

  “Yeah, that sounds like Daddy.”

  “Scott would have threatened to shove a pineapple up his ass or something just as delicate. Don’t worry, Dad isn’t going anywhere. We need your help, though. I have a little Recon work for you, but it has to be off the record,” Mike said, rubbing his throbbing arm carefully.

  “Oh no, and it begins,” groaned one of the Allegro crewmen as the Recon team nodded eagerly.

  Michael nodded with approval as he carefully bent his leg to sit on the desk. “Here’s what I need you to do. Just don’t get caught or we are all busted.” He spelled out his plan and the team snickered joyfully. Michael accepted the Vicodin and glass of water handed to him, wincing as he lifted his bruised right arm. “Remember, we have to make it look real. He doesn’t know about her secrets. You’ll have to watch your timing so the items won’t be missed.”

  “Mike, for this to work, he’ll need to be in the water,” his sister said, placing an icepack on his arm.

  Michael kissed her cheek. “Thanks, baby. I’m pretty good at reading people. His pride would insist upon it. He’d want the front seat in seeing you fail.”

  ***

  “Um, I think things may have gotten a bit out of hand this morning. I need to apologize,” Dr. Quimby said on the way home. He shamefully admitted to, what he considered, losing his temper

  Scott laughed heartily. “You need to stop being so self-controlled. You were not out of line. So how are you planning on winning this wager, my dear?”

  “Are you talking to me again?” she asked, still confused.

  Both men nodded as Scott turned around in the seat to look at her. “Dad and I agreed that we all over-reacted. We have to accept that what your brother said was right. You are still grounded for a month, though.”

  “Um, could I opt for something different?” she glanced at her brother, who smiled warmly.

  “No, not this time,” Dr. Quimby said, eyes glued to the road.

  “I would like to suggest a compromise,” Michael chirped. “Two weeks restriction and a good, hard paddling. No strap or ruler. I was there, you weren’t. And have restriction start after she wins the wager.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Dr. Quimby said. That usually meant ‘yes’, where Scott’s meant ‘no’. Michael looked pleased with himself as he ignored his sister’s glare.

  The conversation changed to work. Sam, still annoyed with her brother, innocently asked about how they were going to deal with the Master-Sergeant, especially since he was so insulting to the family. Dr. Quimby commented that there would be no retribution. Scott additionally stated that things would be handled professionally.

  “So, I gather that he will get away with everything he said and his chauvinistic attitude? That doesn’t seem right,” she ignored Michael as he kicked her leg. “I mean, he seriously needs an attitude adjustment.”

  “You winning this wager will serve its purpose. No pranks!” Dr. Quimby ordered, knowing her quite well.

  “Oh, Daddy, I won’t have time for pranks. Mike,” she slapped his bruised right thigh and watched him cringe with pain, “and I have a lot to prepare for. Don’t we, big bro?”

  “Yesssss,” he clenched his teeth as she pummeled his right arm. She blinked sweetly. “Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “Samantha, stop punching your brother. No kicking, either. I swear they act like children sometimes.”

  “He’s a big boy,” she slugged him again. “He can take it. I know, Mike, there are flies loose in the car. Isn’t that what you always say when I’m punching you?”

  “Will you please stop hitting me? I’m not in the mood!”

  “Well, since you asked SO nicely. Just one more!” she sniggered, knuckling his thigh again.

  “That’s enough, you two. Don’t make me pull over,” Dr. Quimby ordered, casting them a sharp look in the rear view mirror. They arrived at the large house 30 minutes later, pulling into the gate and up through the long driveway.

  “Who’s turn to make dinner tonight?” Scott asked, stretching as he exited the car.

  “Yours, I believe. Mike? You ok? You’re limping,” Dr. Quimby observed.

  “I’m fine, Dad, just pulled a hammy today during a dive. Twisted wrong.”

  “Oh, ok, let me know if you need anything. Why don’t the two of you go get changed and we can help Scott with dinner. I know you like his BBQ, but we need more than that,” the man suggested, picking up his paper and opening the front door for his children.

  “Daddy? I think it would be fun to take a run before dinner. Don’t you, Mike? It might loosen up that hammy.”

  “No,” her father interjected, “he needs to let it rest, and I’m tired. And since when do you like running?”

  “I don’t,” the girl shrugged. “I just thought it was a good idea.”

  “A good idea would be to take care of your brother right now. Put those hands to work and try to rub out the pull.”

  “No, Dad, I don’t—” Michael began.

  Sam smacked his bruised arm as she hooked her elbow in his. “Nonsense. Don’t be a big baby. Come upstairs, I’ll rub the ‘ow’ right out, just like I always do.”

  “You little bitch,” Michael whispered.

  “Payback for the compromise. I could have gotten away without getting spanked!”

  “You deserve it, and you know it. OW! Damnit, Samantha, stop hitting me!”

  Once upstairs, the girl detoured into her brother’s room with him, taking pity on him as she helped him out of his uniform and into loose sweats. The bruises were intense and had markedly worsened, and he experienced sharp stabbing as he painfully took in a deep breath.

  She frowned, gently pressing his side. “Lay down, Mike. Shh,” she said as he grimaced at her touch. She bit her lip. “I think you have a busted rib. It’s moving loosely. Your arm is ok, but your quad is definitely torn a bit. I don’t know how long we can hide this from Daddy.”

  “I don’t know what story I can come up with to keep you out of it. Sorry. Yeah, this is bad. Fuck.”

  “We should just come clean. I’m already in deep kimchee anyway. I really don’t want to add lying. They don’t have to know I was beat up too. Damn, you really got hurt.

  I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was this bad. Let me get you some ice packs.”

  “Get Dad too, he needs to check this out. If the quad doesn’t heal properly, it will mess me up.”

  “A fractured rib piercing your lung wouldn’t be good either. Alright, be prepared for the shouting.”

  Minutes later, Dr. Quimby appeared with his daughter. Mike was leaning on his headboard, holding his ribs and trying to breathe carefully.

  “Hmmm, this looks like more than pulling a hamstring, son. Who did you get into a fight with? Did you do this to him?” he asked his daughter as he gently probed the rib cage.

  “If it were me, he wouldn’t look so good,” she answered lightly, stroking her brother’s hair.

  Michael glanced at her. “Neither would you. Let’s just say it was a large, angry guy who I shouldn’t have crossed paths with.”

  “Do you think I would let it go at that? No? The truth, Mike, these look like tooth marks.�
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  “They are, Daddy, from a sea lion. Before you get upset, let me explain.”

  “I’m not upset. Yet.”

  She carefully explained the dynamics of the herd and entry requirements, adding information that made it sound more like research than risk. She inputted comments regarding the thesis and defending a doctorate, aware that her father was intently studying her face.

  “You know that was a giant load of shit, young lady. The truth, I am not going to ask again.”

  “Just tell him. You suck at lying anyway,” Michael sighed, feeling more comfortable with his ribs wrapped properly. So she did, waiting for the vein to start popping. There it was.

  “I’ll be right back. I want to get a support for this muscle,” her father said, slowly standing and leaving the room.

  “Wait for it…” Michael warned, listening carefully. “SCOTT! I’m gonna murder her!”

  “And there he goes. The epitome of patience and understanding.” Michael smiled, allowing his sister to massage his hand.

  Moments later, Scott arrived. “I only got pieces of the story. What happened exactly?” Again it was explained. Surprisingly, Scott kept his temper intact, shocking his niece and nephew. “So you have access to the herd now?”

  “Yes, Sir,” they both answered. He moved aside so Dr. Quimby could stabilize Michael’s thigh.

  “And you know for certain you can win the wager?”

  “Scott! This is about them getting hurt, not your wager!” Dr. Quimby yelled, gently fixing the dressing.

  Scott shrugged. “No pain, no gain. Speaking of which, let’s take care of you, little girl, while dinner is in the oven.”

  “No, please Uncle Scott,” she begged, allowing him to take her hand and go into her bedroom.

  “Yes, Sir, Uncle Scott,” he corrected, “Joe? Do you want to join us?”

  “No, go ahead. I want to have a long talk with my son.”

  Michael cringed. His father’s lectures always left him feeling like a little boy again.

  ***