Parallel Heat

by Deidre Knight

  ‘‘I don’t care who hears—if I’d known about the letter, I might have been able to prevent what happened tonight.’’

  Jared touched her arm gently. ‘‘How, cousin? Tell me.’’

  She wiped a hand across her eyes. She’d cried the entire drive back from the bar, surely they could all see how swollen and red her eyes were. ‘‘It doesn’t matter,’’ she muttered.

  Jared took hold of her elbow, pulling her toward where the others sat. ‘‘Here, Thea, come and sit with us. Tell us what you mean.’’

  She followed his lead, snapping, ‘‘I don’t want to talk about it. Sir.’’

  Taking hold of both her shoulders, Jared forced her to take a seat. ‘‘But you will. Because Marco needs you right now. We all need you. Tell us what you mean.’’

  ‘‘He’d intercepted your connection before,’’ she explained, casting her gaze toward Kelsey and Sabrina.

  Jared squatted before her, staring seriously into her eyes. ‘‘We already know that. Sabrina explained.’’

  ‘‘All he ever wanted was to serve you, cousin. It was everything to him—didn’t you realize that?’’

  Her commander searched her face, then half-whispered, ‘‘You were involved with him—weren’t you?’’

  ‘‘That doesn’t matter. It’s not relevant to this discussion.’’

  ‘‘It is relevant,’’ Sabrina piped in. ‘‘You know that it is.’’

  ‘‘Why should it be?’’ Thea asked, wanting to wail her anguish to the pine ceiling beams. ‘‘He wasn’t going to act on it. He told me all about his Madjin vows and how he wasn’t allowed to have a relationship.’’

  Sabrina appeared genuinely perplexed—even a bit affronted. ‘‘That wasn’t really how it was, Thea. Did he tell you that?’’

  ‘‘It’s what he believed! Completely. Whether it was true or not, it was true for him.’’

  ‘‘I never suggested that he had to be alone—neither did the elders,’’ Sabrina continued, leaning forward in the chair where she sat. Made completely of antlers, it gave her an imposing look, almost as if she sat on a spiky throne. ‘‘I did tell him it could be dangerous with his natural gifts, but not because of his vows.’’

  ‘‘Then maybe he just didn’t want to be with me.’’ She buried her head in her hands. ‘‘He said that he couldn’t be with me because he was an empath.’’

  ‘‘Because he cared for you.’’ This time it was Kelsey volunteering her opinion.

  Thea dropped her hands from her eyes, feeling bitter and annoyed with the queen. ‘‘And you know this how, Kelsey? Huh? You’re suddenly a true intuitive because Marco worked with you twice.’’

  Kelsey’s freckled face infused with color. ‘‘No, Thea,’’ she replied coolly. ‘‘I know it because I know what love means. I know what it is to love someone so much, you’d do anything to protect them.’’

  ‘‘Who said anything about love?’’ Thea whispered, staring at the human in shock.

  Kelsey shrugged. ‘‘I guess nobody did—except you. When you went after him, flying out of here like your very life depended on it. When you stood up to your king, demanding that he give Marco a chance to explain.’’ Kelsey paused, sighing as she stared at Thea for a long moment, then added, ‘‘I guess one of these days you’ll realize it too.’’

  Sabrina gave her a slight smile. ‘‘Maybe she already does, my lady.’’

  Thea bounded to her feet, sidestepping Jared where he still half knelt before her on the floor. ‘‘I need some sleep,’’ she declared. ‘‘God only knows where Marco’s gone tonight. The least I can do is warm my comfortable bed.’’

  ‘‘Thea, please wait,’’ Jared called after her, rising to his feet.

  ‘‘What for?’’ she responded, not caring how abjectly bitter she sounded. They’d all seen right through her anyway.

  Reaching into the front of his uniform, he retrieved the letter. ‘‘I’d like you to have this.’’ He extended it toward her. ‘‘Please take it, read it, and give me your thoughts in the morning.’’

  Thea stared at the white envelope extended in the space between them; she had the feeling that if she took the thing, it would change her life forever. ‘‘I may not have any insights.’’

  ‘‘Use your gift, cousin—please.’’ His hand seemed to tremble around the letter. ‘‘It may be critical to our future that we stop Marco from leaving. And to do that, we need to understand what happened before.’’

  ‘‘He betrayed you and you kicked him out! That’s what it says, you already told me.’’

  Kelsey stood, walking toward her. ‘‘But you’ll see more. We’re counting on it.’’

  Thea took the letter, and clasped it over her heart. ‘‘I-I don’t know what else I could have done,’’ she whispered, beginning to weep anew. ‘‘I tried everything to get him back.’’

  ‘‘We know that,’’ Kelsey assured her.

  Thea’s shoulders slumped and she felt as if her very life force poured out of her. Kelsey stepped much closer, opening her arms. ‘‘Here, Thea. Come here,’’ she encouraged, pulling her into an embrace. The woman was so tall, that Thea found her face pressed against her chest. It was strange: She wanted to shove away from her, but instead what she felt was . . . tremendous comfort. The tears came even harder, for a long time, and then they stopped. The pain ebbed a bit, and she felt stronger. Pulling away from her queen she whispered, ‘‘Thank you, my lady,’’ and spun on her heel without another word.

  Bright lights sliced into Scott’s sleep, jarring him awake. Immediately there was the sound of the security locks and then footsteps as he turned his head sideways, spending all his energy on the simple gesture. Flanked by two military escorts and the colonel who’d been heading up this ongoing interrogation stood Hope Harper. Dark circles lined her eyes, and he suspected by looking at her that it was, in fact, the middle of the night. She had that haggard appearance humans assumed when deprived of sleep, the same look he’d seen on Kelsey’s face when they’d kept her up too late.

  The colonel made a gesture indicating the table, and the two soldiers headed toward him. Instinctively Scott tensed, preparing for another beating or injection, although Hope’s presence promised interrogation, not torture.

  ‘‘Get him up and at the table,’’ the colonel ordered, and the men unfastened his cuffs and leg chains, wrangling him off the bed roughly.

  ‘‘Come on, Nank,’’ one of the soldiers muttered under his breath, pulling Scott by the elbow. His legs gave way beneath him. He was too weak to walk—so they dragged him across the harsh floor, scraping his knees.

  Hope stared in concern, her clear gray eyes not masking the horror she felt at his treatment. She pushed her thick-lensed glasses up the bridge of her nose, watching, and for a moment it almost seemed she transmitted silent encouragement toward him. He knew she couldn’t see clearly, could only guess at what was happening as he grunted and groaned while the soldiers shoved him down into the empty chair, fastening him there for a moment with their strong hands.

  ‘‘Are you ready to proceed in English?’’ the colonel began. ‘‘If you want to eat—or have water—the time has come to cooperate, son.’’

  He hung his head, gasping. It was the water he craved the most. In quick Refarian, Hope ‘‘translated,’’ adding her own words: ‘‘Do it.’’

  It took all his strength just to talk. ‘‘If . . . I . . . do?’’

  ‘‘We can talk about the vlksai,’’ she answered. ‘‘They’ll bring you water.’’

  He nodded, struggling to lift his head to meet the colonel’s expectant gaze. Licking his parched lips, he mumbled in English: ‘‘Water.’’

  The colonel gestured toward the door, waving, and immediately a uniformed officer entered, slapping four unopened bottles of water in front of Scott. Weakly, he reached for one, but the colonel stopped him. ‘‘Not yet, Dillon. First you talk.’’

  He shook his head, begging, ‘‘Water . . . please.’’
/>   Hope turned to the interrogator, expectation in her eyes, but the man didn’t look her way. ‘‘You’ve made this much more difficult than it had to be,’’ he explained in a rational tone. ‘‘I’d like to hear something more from you first.’’

  The room spun on its axis; Scott feared he’d pass out, but forced words out. The most important ones if his suspicions were true: ‘‘Antousians . . . coming.’’

  The colonel’s gray eyebrows lifted a bit, a smile playing at the corners of his mustached mouth. ‘‘Good, Dillon. Very good.’’ With a methodical gesture the human reached for one of the water bottles, loosened the lid, and then slid it toward him. Scott grabbed it greedily with shaking hands, spilling part of it on the table as he lifted it to his parched lips. Cool, satisfying water slid down his throat as he guzzled the bottle dry. Expectantly, he reached for another bottle, but yet again the colonel stopped him.

  ‘‘Not until we hear more about the Refarian collusion with the alien race known as the Antousians. We have a lot of ground to cover.’’

  The Antousians had crossed the Canadian border yet again. Ten times in three days, and Jared now knew that some sort of massive attack was in the making. It was after three A.M., but the latest intel had him down at Base Ten awaiting further word from his security advisor. Sabrina had accompanied him, and waited silently at the large meeting table, ready to talk to him about Marco’s departure once Nevin had finished briefing him.

  ‘‘We’ve sent up the ready fighters,’’ Nevin explained, standing at parade-rest stance by the table. In Scott’s absence, Nevin was serving double duty as both military and security advisor. Like Scott and Thea, he held a military position as well as his advisory one.

  ‘‘Sit down, Lieutenant, and show me the overheads.’’

  Nevin pulled out a seat beside Jared, settling in it uneasily. The man never liked to sit in Jared’s presence, preferring instead to prowl the room or to stand at respectful attention. He was true old guard, all the way. It had become clear to Jared years ago that Nevin viewed Jared as king, first and foremost, and only reluctantly did he acquiesce to the more casual forms of military respect. If Nevin had his way, Jared would be in the center of the room, high atop a dais in the ancestral throne chair wearing robes of purple and gold.

  ‘‘My lord, please review the following surveillance images, taken by fighters only a few hours ago.’’ Nevin clicked through photograph after photograph of Antousian stealth fighters, flying in full squadron formation.

  After a long period of narration, his chief security advisor turned in his chair to face him. ‘‘Commander, we are preparing a battle plan for your review.’’

  Jared studied his trusted lieutenant thoughtfully. Nevin had never let him down when planning maneuvers before. He was well seasoned in warfare, and nearing forty he bore the telltale sign of a Refarian male deep in his maturity—silver hair. He studied Jared through confident, keen black eyes.

  ‘‘What now?’’ Jared asked, leaning back in his chair. The lighting in the meeting room was low so they could study the overhead projections—photographs taken by fighter jets, maps, and strategy charts.

  ‘‘We know the targets in this region,’’ Nevin continued stoically, changing the visual projection to an overhead shot of a missile silo, which looked to be a rather unimpressive set of square buildings. Probably sitting in plain sight, appearing like nothing so much as an industrial business.

  ‘‘As you’re aware sir, Warren maintains one-hundred and fifty Minute Men III missiles and five launch-control centers scattered throughout Wyoming, Nebraska, and Colorado.’’

  ‘‘They’ve targeted some of these silos before, Lieutenant,’’ Jared reflected aloud, recalling the times he and his fighters had single-handedly deflected such attacks. ‘‘What makes you so sure this time is different? The border crossings?’’

  Nevin bent his silver head over a sheaf of papers in front of him, reviewing data as he spoke. ‘‘The Antousians seem to be mounting not a single launch against one of these targets, but preparing for a carpet sweep of sorts—at least based upon their test flights.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps because they think we can’t stop them en masse.’’

  ‘‘That’s our guess, sir. They plan to override our defensive efforts—and those of the Air Force.’’

  ‘‘Interesting that Lieutenant Dillon is currently held at Warren.’’

  Nevin nodded. ‘‘Likely why Dillon was taken there—they believe we might be targeting the silos.’’

  ‘‘Not protecting them, as we are.’’ Jared rubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘‘They’ve never successfully distinguished our fighters from the Antousian jets.’’

  ‘‘Without some sort of summit, Commander, there is no way the human governments will ever understand.’’

  ‘‘What are you suggesting?’’ He noticed that Sabrina, although positioned on the far side of the table, was completely engaged in the conversation.

  Nevin folded both arms over his chest thoughtfully. A quiet man, he had served Jared’s father twenty years ago in his youth. He’d been a military prodigy despite his young age, and he had never—not once—let Jared down. ‘‘If we get Dillon back—or if we don’t, Commander—it’s time to broker a discussion with the US government. Straight to the top, if possible.’’

  ‘‘How do you intend for us to accomplish that?’’ Jared asked, imagining a scenario where the Air Force would use such a meeting to capture more of his leaders. Perhaps himself. They had no idea what sort of torture or tests the humans might currently be conducting on Scott. He shivered, shaking off the thought.

  ‘‘It’s time to issue a communiqué. Something intended for the president.’’

  The vice president was from Wyoming, still kept a home around Jackson, and they’d often pondered if his close proximity might one day translate to some sort of open meeting. They also knew it was a major reason the military had given them such a tough run for the past years; the security surrounding the vice president’s ongoing presence in the region meant heightened military alerts all the way around.

  Jared gave a brisk nod of agreement. ‘‘In the short run?’’

  Nevin met his gaze evenly. ‘‘We take out as many of those vlksai as we can, Commander. Before they inflict serious damage to Earth.’’

  ‘‘How many fighters do we need?’’

  Nevin didn’t hesitate before answering, ‘‘All that we have, Commander.’’

  On the other side of the table Sabrina stirred, and Jared shot a look in her direction. His Madjin had something on her mind. ‘‘Yes, protector?’’ he inquired.

  ‘‘I believe it’s time to notify the council, my lord. With one of our unit missing, your chief military advisor captured, and the Antousians mounting this kind of attack, they should be brought into this.’’

  Jared rumbled low in his throat. ‘‘I have no use for the council, Sabrina. This you already know.’’

  ‘‘But, my lord, they may wish to send additional battle cruisers. Perhaps if you spoke with them, sought their advice—’’

  ‘‘The council does not run this military, Sabrina,’’ he snapped angrily. ‘‘I’ve not forgotten their role in separating me from my wife, nor have I forgotten their subterfuge in barring the Circle from my presence.’’

  ‘‘We can call for the cruisers if necessary,’’ Nevin advised, ‘‘but we don’t have to go through the elders.’’

  ‘‘Leaving the council out will only complicate political matters for you in the long run, my lord,’’ Sabrina pressed.

  ‘‘Then I will deal with it in the long run.’’

  Strange, Scott thought, but the colonel had left him alone with Hope again. He didn’t understand the strategy, but after a lifetime in the military knew it was all part of somebody’s plan. The colonel had never pressed him to speak more English after getting him to talk briefly about the Antousians. Maybe they thought alternating his harsh grilling with Hope’s gentler discussion in Refarian w
ould get him to cave. He didn’t even care anymore: The only important thing was he was alone with Hope Harper, a presence he craved on his most basic level. He didn’t question his need for her, didn’t try to understand it: After so many days in containment, the elemental comfort he experienced simply sitting across from her was enough.

  ‘‘We have another of your people,’’ she said at last, speaking in easy Refarian.

  His dazed state seemed to lift a bit. ‘‘Who?’’

  ‘‘It doesn’t matter, but we do. They’re bringing him in now—they will keep you in separate cells, but will probably try playing you off one another.’’

  ‘‘Like they’re using you to play me?’’

  She smiled, but said nothing.

  ‘‘They are using you—right?’’

  ‘‘S’Skautsa, you’re a military officer. You know how these things work.’’

  ‘‘I feel a connection with you,’’ he announced boldly. ‘‘I think you feel it too.’’

  Her half-focused gaze shifted slightly, her eyes lowering. She removed her glasses with a deliberate gesture, setting them on the table between them. ‘‘It’s almost three thirty in the morning. I’m tired and want to go to bed. Let’s stay on track here.’’

  ‘‘What did they send you in here to accomplish, Hope?’’ he pressed, taking a slow sip of water. They’d given him an unlimited amount and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

  ‘‘To tell you about the capture of another of your men.’’

  ‘‘Why else?’’

  She hesitated, visibly distressed. She worked for the FBI, but she was no agent, he knew that much. Her thoughts were too transparent; she didn’t wear an armor of cynical protection like his interrogators did.

  ‘‘When your buddy comes in here, they will start pitting you against one another—so you’d better start telling the truth, S’Skautsa.’’

  ‘‘It is the truth. You know that it is, I sense it.’’

  ‘‘You should probably start talking—really talking—to them in English as a sign of cooperation.’’ She’d nailed it; he’d given only small tokens in their language, still holding back out of a need for self-protection.