Outside in the street, the mob roared. Sirens wailed, voices shouted, footsteps thudded past. Ravindra's heart pounded. Somebody would be looking down here very soon, and then it would be run, or act the innocent. A figure slipped into the alley. Ravindra pressed back against the wall, ready to strike. Prasad. Ravindra sighed with relief.
"Okay?" Ravindra asked.
Prasad brushed his hand down his sleeve. "Filthy, bruised, but a lot better than the fellows who attacked me."
Weren't they all? "Morgan has a way out. Hurry."
Ravindra followed Morgan, jogging along between the slimy walls. This place stank so badly, his eyes were watering. His foot slipped as he stepped in something. Behind them, the racket became a muted hubbub.
"Slow down," Ravindra said when they had turned a corner. He didn't add the rest; they would both realize that running would be seen as guilt—although running would get them out of this stinking warren faster. Their footfalls, little more than a rustle or a squelch, disappeared as if swallowed up by the fetid fog surrounding them.
They turned a corner. Finally. Ravindra's spirits soared. Daylight straight ahead. Three blocks away, the space port's glowing lights beckoned.
"Let's hope Captain Davaskar has finished the replenishment." Prasad rubbed his face, and scowled at his filthy fingers. "I have no desire to hang around here any longer than we have to."
"Agreed." Ravindra glanced at Morgan, walking uncharacteristically quietly beside him. If she thought he was finished with her, she could think again.
Inside the space port, the overhead news screens showed views of a riot in the city, gangs of youths brawling. Three people were confirmed dead. Police were in attendance, and dozens of people had been arrested.
Ravindra's steward, Tullamarran, came to greet them as they entered the ship, his nose wrinkling.
"I know, Tullamarran," Ravindra said. "We all stink. This planet stinks. Get me new clothes, will you? You can probably destroy these."
***
Ellen Cruickshank closed the door to her temporary quarters and sank onto the sofa. Just a couple more days of testing, and she could go home to Torreno. Sometimes Fleet did crazy things. The new Firebrand fighters had been rushed into deployment, and she'd had to come to this ghastly planet to ensure the computer systems were running as they should. The work could have, should have, been done in the ship yards off Torreno. Inefficient, incompetent idiots.
She gazed around the room, at blank walls, worn carpet and shabby furniture. The whole damn planet was like that; over-used and showing the effects. She couldn't wait to get out of here, back to her apartment and Tom.
Sighing, she crossed over to the kitchen and poured herself a drink. Might as well watch the news, she thought. Her implant connected with the room's data port to switch on the set. A screen cleared on the far wall.
Even the news was predictable. She sagged back onto the couch, sipping at her wine. There'd been a brawl in the city, in one of the horrible slum areas, the locals versus newly-arrived immigrants from Solvaria. The police chief, a paunchy man with a luxuriant mustache, crowed over the arrest of a few of the ring-leaders. Never local, of course; they were terrorist infiltrators from Solvaria. It wouldn't be long before the two planets were involved in an out-and-out war. Then again, that's what the Coalition Government thought, too, which was why the Firebrands had been deployed here. Solvaria couldn't hope to win a conflict, but desperate people try desperate actions. Makasa had explained the politics before he sent her to Iniciara.
The news report zeroed in on a segment of the crowd, while the local Chief of Police provided commentary.
"This man, Confid Lesak, was identified on our surveillance cameras. You can see him here, starting the fight." The police chief pointed a pudgy finger at a man wielding an iron bar. The man he attacked disarmed him, and then the mob became a many-headed monster, howling for blood. The footage didn't linger, moving on to another of the terrorists, who'd been in the crowd as well.
Ellen straightened up. This fellow Lesak had been disarmed easily. Impressive. She'd like to see more of the fight. She scrolled back the footage in the newscast but they'd only used a brief snippet. Still, they must have based it on surveillance footage which presumably they'd have in the Iniciara intelligence system. Grinning, she put her empty glass back on the table. This could be fun.
The connection to the room's data port became a cyber highway, filled with a stream of data packets. Surfing the lines to the military base's servers, she found the connection to the intelligence system. The security slowed her down for a few minutes, long enough to find the record of someone on the base with sufficient clearance to access the data. It was easy enough for her to impersonate one of the officers for a few minutes; he'd never know his identity had been borrowed. Besides, daily surveillance footage was hardly top secret.
She scrolled through the list of cameras, looking for the identifiers from the newscast shots. Ah. Brigalow Street, not far from the university. The busy street appeared before her, almost as if it was real, but thankfully without the smell. Like most streets in this city, it was crowded, wending its way between the horrible apartment blocks where the poor people lived. A rare autocab passed overhead.
For a few minutes, nothing happened except the usual ebb and flow of people and pushcarts. Here was something different. A woman ran out of a doorway, a man in hot pursuit. The man caught up with her, swung her around, and hit her hard enough to throw her to the ground. Oh, that was awful. The fellow was twice her size. Ellen hated bullies. She stopped the action and zoomed in to check if this fellow was Lesak. No match. Another woman stepped in. The man with her tried to pull her away. Someone else carrying a metal bar intervened, attacking the second man.
This was it. The man with the metal bar was Lesak. Ellen ran the action again in slow motion. That second man was incredibly fast. And strong. He flattened two attackers without even trying.
Ellen stopped the movement and focused on him. Wow. What speed. He'd snatched the bar out of the air so fast, the motion was nearly invisible. What a hunk. Ellen squirmed in her seat, a familiar tingle in her groin. Now there was a man she could fancy. A strong face, almost arrogant, with compelling dark eyes, finely chiseled lips. His face had too many hard planes for him to be considered handsome, but what a body. She recorded every angle so she could add him to her private file of gorgeous men. Oh man. What would he look like with his shirt off? Her mouth positively watered. Not young, but lean and hard. He wore his hair short at the top and sides, but long at the back, tied neatly in place with an ornate silver clasp. She zoomed in on the clasp and admired the intricate workmanship, something like a dragon. As she zoomed out again, she glanced at his female companion.
Ellen froze. No. Oh, no. It couldn't be.
Her heart thundered. Selwood. Morgan bloody-damn-her-eyes Selwood. Ellen focused on the figure. Right hair, right build. Eyes. Blue eyes. Selwood never covered her eyes. They looked like mercury, silver and unreadable. People said it was a fault when Selwood was created, she could have used contacts, but she never did. Silver eyes. The man lifted the woman as if she was a doll, flung her over his shoulder, and ran off. The adrenalin drained, leaving Ellen trembling. Selwood wouldn't have put up with that, not for a moment.
Ellen disconnected from the data port, leaning back against a musty sofa in a borrowed apartment, her eyes closed, while her mind returned to its human state. Her heart rate slowed. Maybe she was mistaken. Selwood had disappeared somewhere near the Calisto's Veil Nebula nearly two years ago. They said everybody had a double. Perhaps Selwood had a double on Iniciara. That must be it; it had to be.
She blew out a breath. Settle, Ellen. Selwood was gone. Hopefully dead. But she might just take away some of those images and check them a bit further. The last thing she wanted was Selwood coming back to complicate her life.
***
Morgan stepped out of the washroom. Ravindra was waiting for her, stern, his arms folded over his chest.
Without the contacts, his eyes would have glittered. She turned her back on him, opened a drawer, and took out clean clothes.
"I've seen you pull some stupid stunts, but that was… unbelievable. What would have happened if we'd lost Prasad? Been arrested ourselves? Been injured? All because of a fight between a prostitute, and a disgruntled punter." His deep voice rumbled like a distant thunderstorm. Boy, he sure was angry.
"I said I was sorry," she said, pulling on underwear.
He crossed the distance between them in a stride. Gripping her chin, he forced her to look at him. "We are aliens, Morgan. Remember how it felt when you were an alien? Remember what I did to you? What I had to do?"
She glared at him. He was right, but she'd already said she was sorry. What more could he want? "You hit me. I had finger marks on my face."
Tossing his head, Ravindra let go of her. "That was nothing. Just a slap. For a Manesai woman it was little more than a tap. How was I to know you're fragile?"
Ravindra's 'tap' had knocked her to the floor in the detention cell on his flagship. He'd never offered an apology, she'd never expected one, but it was nice to know he was almost embarrassed. One for her. Morgan tucked her shirt into her pants. "All right, it was stupid. I just don't like seeing women being beaten around. She's probably a prostitute because it's the only work she can get."
Sighing, he shook his head. "You can't right the wrongs of every world. We're here to find out where my people came from. Kindly remember that."
Morgan stared at him for a long moment, then placed a fist on her breast and bowed her head. "Srimana." If he wanted to play admirals, she could play subordinates. Only he'd know she was playing.
Ravindra’s eyes narrowed. Suppressing the urge to grin, she put her hands on her hips. "But while we're at it, I didn't much like being carted around like a naughty girl. Okay?"
Ravindra snaked an arm around her waist, dragging her against his body while his fingers slid through her hair, sending tingles down her spine. His face was inches from hers, his eyes hot. "Oh, you try my patience." He murmured the words before his mouth descended on hers, parting her lips with his tongue, demanding. Morgan molded to him, her arms around his neck, inhaling his clean, spicy smell. The heat of anger morphed into the heat of desire.
He tugged her shirt out of her trousers, then slid his hand up over her warm, bare skin. An ache of longing erupted in her groin, her nipples tightened.
"I just had a shower," she managed to choke out.
She felt his lips curve. "You can have another one. Later."
***
Glass of water in hand, Ellen resumed her place on the sofa. Some basic detective work should solve this mystery. If the woman wasn't Selwood, who was she? Her cyber consciousness found the security system, and police headquarters, where she had just been. The police had bio-images of everyone legitimately on Iniciara, but that was seven billion images. She could filter by location, age, sex or anything else, but even so, the process would take time. Judging by the couple's clothes, they weren't locals. Maybe they were new arrivals to the planet. Ellen hoped so, she could makes matches with a few thousand images in a minute. Let's see, now. New arrivals. The images zoomed through her implant, a blur of data.
Yes. Ellen punched the air. Marion Sefton. She rotated the image a few times, comparing with the grainy footage of the woman in the riot. No doubt about it. Marion Sefton, just arrived from Coromandel. She sighed with relief. Not Selwood. She'd had trouble two years ago, containing her glee when the news came that Selwood's ship had disappeared after leaving Belsun Space Station.
What about the man, though? According to the notes, the man she was with was a retired Coromandel admiral. He looked like a dancer, wide shoulders, narrow hips, sculpted muscle. She wished some of the Star Fleet admirals looked like that. Not that it mattered; they weren't interested in her, anyway; not in that way. Ellen had never been able to understand why Selwood had to beat off senior officers with a stick. Oh, Selwood was good-looking enough, but she was a surly bitch. They all said so. Huh. Maybe they enjoyed a challenge.
Ellen went over to the dresser, and poured a glass of wine, then lay down on the couch, and let the stirring opening bars of the overture to Hrabek's opera 'Armageddon' wash over her. Magnificent. Her spirits soared with the music. With Selwood back, she would have been relegated to the back room again. Admiral Makasa was a smart man, but he seemed to be totally blinkered when it came to Selwood. He thought the sun shone out of her— Ellen giggled. She didn't approve of language like that. Not like Selwood, who was foul-mouthed enough to make a trooper blush. Of course, technically, Selwood wasn't in the Star Fleet anymore. She'd resigned her commission years ago, only operated as a consultant. Even so, Ellen had heard that Makasa had hinted that he would have liked to see Selwood take over from him when he retired. Well, that wasn't going to happen, and she, Ellen Cruickshank, was going to be promoted to admiral very, very quickly.
Wait a minute.
She put her glass down and found the record for Sefton and her admiral friend. The name of the ship they'd arrived in was Curlew. Her heart beat a crescendo to rival the crashing bars of the music. Selwood and Curlew. The music changed, moving into the gripping build-up of the forces gathering to defend against the demon armies. The bass beat matched the rhythm of her heart. But this ship wasn't the grubby freighter Selwood had been piloting, it was an armed, luxury yacht. A coincidence?
Connecting to the room's data port again, she found the arrivals record for their ship. Curlew, out of Tel Sanna, a planet outside the Coalition. Oh, Lord. Ellen gripped her head with her hands. The identity of this ship matched that of the Curlew that had disappeared. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed, forcing the acrid taste down. It couldn't be a coincidence.
Think, Ellen, think.
She mopped her brow with a trembling hand. Curlew's shift drive had failed, or so everyone thought. The records from Belsun said the ship had left without paying dues, pursued by a patrol ship, but had disappeared into shift space, on a bearing for Calisto's Veil. Could Selwood have found the fault and repaired it before she left Belsun? It was possible; Selwood was good but… that good? Was it possible the drive hadn't failed? Ellen dismissed that notion with a shake of her head. Not a chance. A shiver of dread slid down her spine. What if Selwood had worked out the drive had been deliberately set up to fail? What if Selwood went back to Makasa and told him so? It wouldn't take them long to figure out who had sabotaged the system. In that case, those admiral's stars Ellen coveted would be out of the question. She'd be lucky if she only lost her commission.
Damn Selwood. Damn her to all the hells in all the universe. Ellen picked up her glass, and threw it at the wall. Red wine ran down the cream plaster like tears of blood. Selwood wasn't going to ruin her plans.
Chapter 4
Selwood was still here on Iniciara. Curlew was not scheduled to leave for another day. Ellen disconnected from the space station's computer. Why were they here? What were they doing? Could she even be certain that this really was Selwood? Sure, it was her ship, but maybe she had gone somewhere, and someone else had taken the ship. That was possible, wasn't it? Unlikely, sure, but possible. Such a pity they didn't collect DNA at the space port, she could have run a match.
There was only one thing for it; she would have to find them, to confirm Selwood's identity for herself. A visit to the space station wouldn't be wise. Ellen didn't want to advertize her interest in this ship. So what had they been doing? She knew they'd gone down to the city and caught a taxi to the jewelers' district.
They'd deposited money into an account—rather a lot, from the sale of gems to a dealer. And then they'd gone… where? The taxis recorded pick-ups and destinations. Ellen connected with the computer again and followed the data trail to the taxi records. A cab had picked them up in the jewelers' district and dropped them off outside the university. Then what?
Ellen checked Ravindra's financial records again. They'd bought a data stick at t
he Conflagration museum. From there, they next appeared on the surveillance records, walking through the seedy part of town, before they became involved in the brawl. She swiveled her chair and stood.
"I'm off for a while," she said to the two techs working on the last of the Firebrands. "You should be fine by yourselves."
An autocab dropped her outside the Conflagration museum. Yes, the guard at the gate told her, two tall men with a woman. They went to the museum. Would she like him to call the curator for her? Yes, she would.
A young man, who introduced himself as Yamoto, met her at the door to the museum. "Two sets of visitors in two days," he said, as he ushered her inside. "Maybe interest is surging."
"Perhaps. But your visitors are of interest to us."
His gaze flicked over her, taking in the black Star Fleet uniform and her commander's bars. "Oh?"
"You will have heard about illegal entries from Solvaria."
She could almost see the cogs meshing in his head. He'd make up his own reasons. "Terrorists? But why would they come here?"
She smiled. "I'm sure you appreciate it's not something I can discuss. What did they want here? What did they look at?"
"Uh." Yamoto shook his head. "Just asked about history." He took her to see the photo. "I sold them the translations we have of a number of books dating back to the post–Conflagration years." He chuckled. "The men didn't have implants. Beats me how they get on, always having to mess about with sticks for id's and money. Not to mention remembering everything. I suppose, in a way, it's a relic from the Conflagration. Some societies remain fearful of technology that they think might take them over. A bit like those poor saps on Solvaria."
Ellen wondered what the young man would say if he knew he was talking to a Supertech. "Was there anything in particular they asked about?"
Morgan's Return Page 4