Enemy Overnight

by Robin L. Rotham

  Fighting breathlessness, Tiber crossed his arms and braced his feet apart as he stared at Shauss. “That is irrelevant. I am the physician in this bond.”

  Shauss stared back for so long, Tiber might have wondered if he’d become lost in his own thoughts—that is, if he hadn’t felt the man’s will bearing down on him with a force that was almost physical.

  Then Shauss reached out in a very casual way and touched Tiber’s cheek with his fingertips. Tiber jerked slightly but stood his ground as those fine fingers moved down and traced his lips. Shauss’ black gaze was mesmerizing, and though somewhere inside Tiber was jumping up and down and screaming at him to move, to knock Shauss’ hand away, all he could do was stand there and feel.

  “Who is primary in this bond?” Shauss whispered.

  Tiber swallowed, his heart racing. “You are.”

  “If I tell you to leave her under, what are you going to do?”

  “Leave her under.”

  Shauss leaned closer. “And if I tell you to take down your suit and bend over this bed so I can work my cock into your ass like I did Jasmine’s, what are you going to do?”

  Tiber nearly whimpered. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Take my suit down and bend over.”

  He leaned even closer. “And if I tell you to scream when you come for me, what are you going to do, Tiber?”

  This time he did whimper. “I’m going to scream.”

  His lips within a micron of Tiber’s, Shauss breathed, “And come for me.”

  “Yes!”

  Shauss retreated slightly. “That day is coming, Dr. Tiber. Do not doubt it.” Then he turned to leave, and Tiber cursed the disappointment that left him feeling weak.

  Pausing by the door, Shauss told him, “Leave her under until the worst of it has passed. I saw what Monica went through and I don’t want her conscious for it.”

  * * * * *

  The Council convened before the conference with the Narthani monarch.

  “Do we believe Miss King infected the steripod?” the minister asked.

  Shauss shook his head. “At this point, no. Analysis confirms that the virus’ host DNA is not hers.”

  “Circulate among the doctors you trust and question them about any unusual people touching it,” Cecine ordered, adding severely, “That could have been Monica.”

  “The thought has crossed my mind often,” Kellen said.

  “And what of Miss King’s condition?”

  “She has entered full transition and Tiber is maintaining a light coma until the worst of it has passed. After questioning her under corai serum, I believe she is utterly ignorant of any Narthani presence on Terra besides Ragan King’s.” Shauss paused before saying, “Minister, Empran’s projections of her transition growth have led Dr. Tiber to speculate that she might not be Narthani at all.”

  “What! Why would she lie about that?” Gillim wheezed.

  “There seems to be no logical reason, which also leads us to believe she might herself have been lied to by her parents. She believes she will reach seven feet in height after her transition, much taller than either of them.”

  The minister looked startled. “Peserin, could she be one of the hybrids?”

  “That was our first thought, but her DNA isn’t consistent with any of the reconnaissance scouts.”

  “What else could she be?”

  “At this point we don’t know, but we believe the first step in solving this mystery is obtaining a sample of Ragan King’s DNA in order to either confirm or eliminate him as her father.”

  “What do we know of him thus far?”

  “Less than we originally thought, Minister,” Shauss said. “He has amassed considerable wealth over the years, the initial source of which is unclear. His companies, however, hold hundreds of technology patents, and it stands to reason that he’s been selling minor Narthani technology to the Terrans. Since Terra didn’t rely heavily on computers until well after his arrival, it’s difficult to determine which records of his past are genuine and which are manufactured. Further, it’s becoming apparent that high-level government is involved in the manufacture of some of his records.”

  “What of his mate?”

  “She died last year in an automobile accident. Before her death, she was reportedly a simple housewife. I find the timing of her death rather suspicious though. She died just a few months after we made contact with the Americans. I’m not sure what one has to do with the other, if anything, but there it is.”

  “And Miss King? Have all aspects of her story been confirmed?”

  “So far,” Shauss nodded. “Every record we’ve found indicates that she is what’s referred to as an all-American girl-next-door type, extremely intelligent, especially by Terran standards. Her education focused on biology and botany, which initially concerned me because of the pad sabotage, but she holds no advanced degrees and her life has been very well documented. Before accepting a position at the compound, she taught high school science classes, kept a greenhouse full of vegetation, and in fact suffers from a psychological malady known as pica, or more specifically geophagia, which compels her to eat soil.”

  The minister’s brow rose. “That’s quite…interesting.”

  “Indeed. Tiber reports that pica is not uncommon among Sparnites and that transition seems to resolve the compulsion.” He half hoped it wasn’t true—he’d enjoyed tasting soil on her lips.

  “Jasmine and Ragan King apparently did not speak for more than eight solar years after her graduation from high school,” he continued. “Only she and her mother maintained contact until we arrived in orbit. When the alliance was announced, her father arranged for Jasmine to take the secretarial position and report on our activities. Her reports that we were doing exactly what we claimed to be doing annoyed him and he stopped answering her calls.”

  “No father I know would send his daughter into such a situation, much less abandon her to it,” Cecine growled.

  “Perhaps daughters mean less to the Narthani,” Gillim said.

  “No doubt, but that’s still quite a callous attitude.” The minister turned to Kellen. “Figure out the best place to obtain a sample of Ragan King’s DNA and send down a small reconnaissance team to retrieve it. If she’s one of us, I’d like to know it.”

  “It will be done.”

  “Now I suppose we should convene our meeting with Lord Sals.”

  The door opened and Ensign Verr stepped in. “My apologies for interrupting, but there’s a situation developing in atmospheric systems, Commander.”

  * * * * *

  “It’s definitely sabotage,” Verr said as they stared up at the massive atmospheric generators.

  Shauss tipped his head to the side. “What in Peserin’s name happened to them?”

  It looked as though stone were flowing from the ventilation ducts of two of the generators, and the other four were contained in stasis fields.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Kellen growled. “Empran, analyze foreign substance in the atmospheric generators.”

  “Analyzing…”

  “Is it as hard as it looks?” Shauss asked.

  In answer, Kellen grabbed an oveyon wrench and slammed it against one of the floes—the resulting clank was loud enough to make them all wince.

  “Harder,” he confirmed.

  “Foreign matter,” Empran reported, “is the waste product of a microorganism biologically engineered to consume tectonite.”

  Kellen’s face got as hard as the substance. “Narthanis. They’re on the biowar attack again.”

  “It’s fortunate we found this when we did,” Verr said. “The stasis fields are holding the organisms in check while allowing the generators to remain in operation. If we’d found this a few hours later, we would have had to evacuate the ship.”

  Kellen looked at Shauss. “We need to find Ragan King and his accomplices. Now.”

  * * * * *

  The minister opened the remote conference with the Narthani monarch Lian
Sals. He didn’t look pleased to have been kept waiting.

  “Minister, your message was quite a surprise,” he said, leaning back in his throne. The royal chamber looked to be filled to capacity. In the chair beside him sat his wife Ferla, a stunning but dour beauty. “To what do we owe this extraordinary honor?”

  “It isn’t a courtesy call, Lord Sals.” Cecine rose from his chair and circled the end of the table to stand in front of it, leaning his hind quarters on the edge and crossing his arms. Shauss smothered a grin. Everything about the minister said You’re in deep shit.

  “Then shall we get right to the point?” Sals cocked a brow. “Or are you just going to send a warship to finish what you started all those years ago?”

  “You know as well as I that our attack was warranted,” Cecine said sharply.

  “I know no such thing. Do you have any idea how much all the innocent people of Narthan have suffered because of your petty revenge?”

  “It’s nothing compared to what they will suffer if I find out that you’re in any way behind the incidents that have been happening on Terra lately.”

  Lord Sals stiffened. “Incidents? Oh no—you’re not doing that to us again. If you try to attack because of something we haven’t done, there will be consequences.”

  “And what say you to the evidence we have that you have spies stationed on Terra?”

  “Spies! On Terra?” He burst out laughing. “You must be joking. How would we even get to Terra? We barely have the fuel to reach planets in our own system and can little afford even that.”

  “Come now, don’t feign ignorance. We have proof that you’ve had at least one team on Terra for almost thirty years.”

  “Thirty—” His eyes narrowed. “I have only ruled since the attack, Minister. If you will allow me to consult with my advisors…?”

  “By all means.” Cecine presented his back to the view field when the Narthani emblem came up. “I suspect he’s telling the truth, at least as far as he knows it.”

  “The Narthani are cunning creatures,” Councilor Alnack wheezed.

  “No more cunning than we,” Cecine countered. “And they stand to lose a great deal if we cut off trade negotiations with them again. But based on his reaction, I’m definitely inclined to believe his government had no hand in the attack on Terra’s military bases.”

  The ruler reappeared, looking chagrined. “It would appear that you are correct about our having agents on Terra. It has been so long since they were placed there…”

  “Please tell me you didn’t forget about them,” Cecine asked, brow arching.

  “I cannot forget that which I do not know. But there was considerable confusion in the government after your attack and much of the documentation of missions was destroyed. It is pure chance that any of my advisors even remembered the mission.”

  “I need the details—the number and names of agents, their orders, etc.”

  “Minister, that may be impossible,” the monarch said. “My advisor, Megren, was only peripherally involved in the mission. He knows very little about it, beyond the fact that four pairs were sent.”

  Four pairs! Shauss’s stomach turned sour. Either Jasmine was lying or she didn’t realize she’d had company on the planet’s surface.

  “Then you will investigate, Lord Sals. I must also request documentation on all Narthanis traveling off-planet for the last ten years.”

  The man looked like he wanted to protest, but nodded grudgingly. “That will take time, but it shall be done.”

  After his image faded, Cecine turned to Shauss. “Get that DNA sample. Now.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Her mother had always said a bad situation would look better after a good night’s sleep, and as it turned out, she was right.

  Jasmine stretched and yawned, feeling absolutely reborn. Amazing what a peaceful, dreamless sleep could do for a person’s morale. Even in the predawn light, everything looked brighter.

  “Empran, full daylight.”

  Startled by the masculine voice, Jasmine rolled onto one elbow as the lights came up and had to blink away a little dizziness. Hastion lay on the bed next to hers, hands behind his head, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. At least the bruising on his face had disappeared.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Great, actually.” Frowning, she cleared her throat.

  “Is your throat sore?” Tiber asked from the doorway. His spiky blond hair was flat on one side, as if he’d crawled out of bed and gone right to work.

  “No, I just sound kind of funny. Throaty.”

  He walked over and sat beside her on the edge of the mattress. “Your vocal cords have lengthened.”

  “My vocal cords? What are you…” Jasmine’s eyes dropped to her hands and her contentment evaporated. Her fingers looked like talons. “Oh my God. Oh my God!”

  Tiber slid a hand under her chin and pulled her face up. “Be at ease, Jasmine. You’re fine.”

  “Please tell me I haven’t changed,” she begged.

  “Your transition is complete.”

  “But…how?”

  “You were already beginning to suffer the symptoms of transition syndrome, so when you succumbed to the corai, we maintained a light coma in order to spare you the ordeal of full transition.”

  “Coma?” That would certainly explain the dreamless sleep. “You mean I missed the whole thing?”

  Tiber nodded. “You missed the whole thing. As of this moment, you are officially a mature female.”

  It was ridiculous, but for some reason she felt slightly cheated, as though she’d missed the delivery of her own baby or something. While it was nice that she’d avoided the discomfort, she’d passed a significant milestone completely unconscious. “How long was I asleep?”

  “Just over five days. Would you like to see yourself?”

  She cringed. “No!”

  His smile was sympathetic. “It’s not as bad as you’re imagining. Ketrok learned much from Monica’s transition, so we were better prepared. Of course you still need to gain a significant amount of weight, but that will come with time.”

  Finally realizing she was naked beneath her blanket, she wrapped it around her before trying to sit up.

  “Slowly,” Tiber cautioned, keeping a hand on her bare shoulder.

  Jasmine kept her eyes closed until the worst of the dizziness and nausea had passed. The breasts under her arms didn’t feel all that different from her old ones.

  “How tall am I?” she whispered.

  “Six feet nine inches. It’s possible you’ll grow another inch or so in the next few months, but that should be it.”

  Her lips trembled. Shit, she was a giant.

  Suddenly the need to face what she had become was overwhelming.

  “Tiber, could I…” She swallowed. “Could I see myself—in private, please?”

  “Certainly.” He looked at the wall by the head of her bed and a full-length flare reflection appeared. Then he nodded at Hastion, who rolled off the bed. “We’ll be next door when you’re ready to talk.”

  Jasmine just sat there, her heart beating crazily as she tried to work up the courage to look at her reflection. She wished Monica were here to—

  Monica!

  Crap, she was wasting time. She needed to get this over with and then find some way to help Monica. Throwing off the blanket, she slid off the side of the bed and propped herself up on legs that were as wobbly as a newborn colt’s.

  “Oh my,” she breathed, still clutching the edge of the mattress. She didn’t look as different as Monica had after her transition but… “Oh my.”

  Her hair, which had previously just brushed her shoulder blades, now hung to her waist. It seemed darker, a rich sable that was dull from lack of washing and brushing.

  The face was still hers, although her features were now more sharply defined, her eyes deeper and wider-set, her jaw longer and her chin more stubborn-looking.

  Jasmine lifted her arms, shoc
ked at how slender they were and yet thrilled at their firm youthfulness. She was less thrilled with the small tufts of brown hair under them but they were nothing she couldn’t live with. For some reason, she’d envisioned herself more like a pterodactyl, with fine fragile bones and webbing under her arms. Instead, she looked like a supermodel. An anorexic, Bohemian supermodel, for sure, but at least she still looked human.

  And incredibly, she still had tasteful breasts. Her hands trembled as she reached up and touched herself. What had happened to her implants? Were they still there, hiding under the muscle wall, or had someone removed them while she was sleeping?

  She let one hand drift down over her bony ribs and taut, concave stomach to the dark brown hair between her legs. Silky and almost straight, it didn’t seem all that thick—certainly not enough to hide an SUV in.

  A giggle escaped her before a tear slipped down her cheek. That was her in the mirror—the real Jasmine King. If this was as bad as it got, maybe she’d be okay after all.

  “So, aramai,” Shauss breathed in her ear. Startled, Jasmine met his gaze in the mirror. Heavens, she was just a few inches shorter than he was. “Are you ready to end Monica’s torment?”

  “Torment!” She tried to turn, but he pulled her back against him, twining one arm in front of her to cup her breast and sending the other down lower to cup her mons.

  “My, how you’ve grown,” he murmured. Burrowing through her hair, he nibbled at her neck.

  “Shauss, stop!” She slapped at his hands. “What do you mean, Monica’s torment?”

  “While you were sleeping the week away, Monica has been punished every single day.”

  “No!” Jasmine moaned. “Oh God, Shauss, why didn’t you stop him?”

  “Stop him?” The puff of his laugh against her neck sent chills down her spine. “I helped.”

  “For God’s sake, why?”

  He met her eyes in the mirror. “Because you haven’t told me everything you know about Ragan King.”

  * * * * *

  They’d punished Monica because of her.

  The responsibility was a crushing weight on Jasmine’s chest. She gazed blankly at the flare reflection as Tiber brushed the tangles out of her damp hair, her soul shrinking in horror at the memory of Monica hanging limply in Commander Kellen’s arms. What in God’s name had they done to her since then? How could the commander, a man who had given every appearance of being deeply in love with his mate, turn against her so cruelly?