Girl Gone Nova

by Pauline Baird Jones

  What she minded about spending her last hours with him was the ugly coming for her like a freight train. He did like pretty.

  And she was using up coherent time sitting on the bunk. She’d have given herself a shake, but she was afraid her head might fall off, so she got up instead. The ship moved smoothly through subspace, so the problem with walking had to be her. She kept a hand on the bulkhead as she stepped out into the corridor. It wasn’t pretty out there either. She looked around with interest. So this was Kalian’s world. Which, she wondered, did he prefer? Where did his soul live?

  It wasn’t a big ship, but appeared well laid-out and functional. There was a hatch and ladder that probably led down to the engine room and cargo bays. Another small cabin and the galley were mid ship. The corridor most likely ended at the bridge. A smell that made her mouth water had her changing focus from the bridge, and following her nose to the galley. Everyone deserved a last decent meal. This smelled more than decent.

  The galley, like the ship, was compact and practical. Doc was more interested in what it didn’t have: no fire, no nasty-looking sludge, no Conan.

  It did have Hel. Doc blinked. It wasn’t a hallucination. He was cooking.

  He had his back to her and instead of Leader garb, he wore the half-pirate, half-cowboy predominantly leather uniform of the rowdier elements in the galaxy. And he wore it very well. She tipped her head to the side, the better to study the good stuff. The guy was built from top to bottom. He made her hormones sit up and take notice, even though they’d had their trash kicked as hard as the rest of her.

  She propped a shoulder against the jamb. Her knees were losing the battle with artificial gravity, but it wasn’t the flu doing it to her this time. That feeling came again, the one where her even her demons rolled over and played dead around him. Okay, bad word choice. Maybe she should talk instead of think.

  “That smells good.”

  He turned, and the front was even better than the rear view. He made scruffy real pretty.

  “You look better.”

  “I look cleaner.” She tried out a wry smile. “Better” had been crossed off her list of options when she caught the flu.

  He examined the clothes he’d left for her with an earthy appreciation that went well with his scruffy. Hel was there, somewhere inside Kalian. Her body knew it, knew him, but her mind recognized differences that weren’t all on the surface. Ruthlessness and an attention to detail were the meet points between the two. And then there was their interest in her, which appeared to be mutual. What else did they have in common? Pity there wasn’t time to find out.

  “You’ve lost weight.” He frowned.

  Doc crossed the short distance to one of the chairs, sinking in with an inaudible sigh of relief.

  “They didn’t try to starve me.” She shrugged, surprised she felt the need to defend Conan. “I didn’t like the cuisine.” And she didn’t trust them not to use it as a delivery system for drugs. The only time it had been hard not to eat was after the food upgrade. That had smelled good.

  “You cut your hair.”

  She touched the shortened ends. “I was trying to look less creepy.”

  He might have looked puzzled by that comment. It was hard to say. So much passed so quickly over his face, not to mention through his eyes. It felt like being on a hyper-fast merry-go-round. Dizzying, but nice.

  “I like it.”

  She used to be better at controlling her smiles, but the escape of one was a small blip on a big screen full of big incoming problems.

  Hel—no, this was Kalian, Ojemba leader, she corrected herself—set a plate of something in front of her. It looked as good as it smelled. The layout was sort of like a TV dinner, but it had a small bowl of soup in one section. Her fingers curled around a spoon-like utensil while her stomach rumbled hopefully. She dipped the spoon in, noticed her hand trembled on the way to her mouth. No clue if it was illness or anticipation. She just knew it tasted divine. As a last meal, it was batting a thousand so far. The soup flowed down her dry throat, soothing and warm and richly flavored.

  She flashed him another smile as he took the seat opposite her. “It’s good.”

  “I’m pleased you approve.”

  His intent gaze made her want to do something girl-flirty. She didn’t. Not enough energy, even with the soup. She cleaned that up and started on the meat course. If this was the Gadi version of an MRE, their people needed to talk to the Gadi chef. The silence between them was comfortable, despite air thick with questions. She didn’t want to break it by asking where they were headed. She didn’t want to have to be anything except here. About halfway through the next section her stomach shifted uneasily. She lowered the utensil, her finger tracing its plain length so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  “I didn’t thank you.” She looked at him through a lash veil. It helped some.

  Something flared in his eyes. “I recall a most satisfactory thank you.”

  Color washed over her face. It kind of surprised her she could blush. Even her blood felt tired. Her smile felt, and probably looked, a bit wry.

  “Your timing was impeccable.”

  “I would have transported you sooner, but I wasn’t sure how the electrical properties of the storm would affect the beam. When they went after you, I knew I had to take the risk.”

  “If you hadn’t, all Conan would have seen is me doing a Dorothy.” Hel looked at her uncertainly. She’d been told it was hard to be funny in a different galaxy. Fine time to find out it was true. “There was a wind vortex on my six.”

  She’d felt the tree she’d been in starting to move from the force of the wind just before he transported her out of there.

  “This Conan is the one who captured you?”

  Doc nodded. “That’s not his name. It’s what I called him.”

  “This annoyed him.”

  “Everything I did annoyed him.”

  Hel’s lashes veiled his eyes for a moment, then he pinned her with an intense look. “He hurt you?”

  Doc shrugged. “I hurt them more.” His brows arched and she realized what he was asking. Color did a swift reappearance. “They didn’t hurt me.” This was so not the conversation she expected, or wanted, to have with him. “They were wife hunting.”

  “Bond mates?”

  “No, wives.”

  Hel frowned. “Then they are not of this galaxy.”

  “I agree.” She pushed the tray aside and leaned her elbows on the table. “Did you get a look at their ship?”

  He turned, keyed something into a band on his wrist and a screen came alive in the bulkhead wall. The first shot was a recording of Conan’s ship as it dropped cloak. The screen split, giving her a view of his sensor logs scan. This one showed more detail. It was big, much bigger than she’d expected for Conan’s small band of barbarian bozos.

  “Life signs readings?”

  Thirty life signs appeared on the screen, so it was just the people from the encampment on board.

  “It’s packing some serious fire power,” she murmured. And better-than-theirs cloaking capability.

  “Does it not remind you of something?” Hel lifted an interrogatory brow.

  Doc did a mental pull back, focusing on the wider view again. It didn’t just remind her of another ship. It made her brain waves explode. Data pelted her like a meteor shower. She fought for control, but she didn’t need it to see what he saw. Conan’s ship looked very similar to their ships. It was a bad copy, if that was the plan, but she didn’t think it was. She’d seen this one, no, she’d seen a plan for this one somewhere. It must have been fleeting or not attached to any operational necessity, because she couldn’t place it. She just knew she’d seen it. Her brain on Garradian influenza refused to make the connection for her. That wasn’t good. Usually her brain loved connections, the more obscure the better.

  He swung back to face her. “Is this ship from your galaxy?”

  Doc didn’t hesitate. “No, though I can see why you
’d think it was.” She rubbed her face, left her chin resting on her hands. She hesitated, wishing she wasn’t so far off her game. “Did the General tell you why he was so determined to stay on Kikk?”

  “He gave me a reason, yes.”

  Doc almost smiled. One of them would have to quit being cagey. Guess that would be her. He didn’t know how. “Did he tell you about the portals?”

  “Yes.” Some slight tension eased in his shoulders. Then the tension returned. “You think this ship is somehow related to that?”

  “They went somewhere.”

  “Two of your years is not enough time for what you are thinking.”

  So the General hadn’t told him all of it. He might be annoyed with her, but what was he going to do? Kill her? “We have reason to believe the portals can send people through space and time.” This time he couldn’t hide his shock. While he dealt with it, she added, “We’re pretty sure the trip was out of galaxy, but no one knows for sure where or when.”

  She could have told him they all thought the trip was to Earth, but that would involve information not hers to share.

  “The General thinks you can bring them home?”

  “The General hopes.” She hesitated again and wondered why she bothered. “They bring me in when a situation is deemed impossible. My skill set is…diverse.” She could tell him it wasn’t this diverse, but again, why bother? Whatever plan the Major had, would not be happening now.

  He stared at her for what seemed like a long time. His smile was slow and heart-stopping. “I am unsurprised. And surprised to be unsurprised.”

  Doc chuckled.

  “Can you do it?”

  That killed the chuckle.

  “I told the General that sometimes the impossible is impossible. Time travel is above my skill set. And—” She stopped. There was the whole dying thing. It was kind of funny really. She’d done hundreds of impossible things, and she didn’t know how to tell him she was dying. “I’m sick.”

  It was a wimp out, but surely she was allowed one. He looked almost relieved, which was odd, and wouldn’t last.

  Hel had wondered what was different, what felt wrong since she came on board. The sharp lines of who she was seemed blurred. Now he knew why. She was ill.

  “You and your people call it the Garradian influenza.” The bruises under her eyes were dark and tiny pain lines scored the skin around her eyes and mouth.

  They had named it for the Garradians because they did not know where it went or when it would return.

  “Sorry about the germ exchange during the kiss.”

  “I have had it. You only feel like you are going to die.” He smiled ruefully and felt something cold track down his back when she didn’t smile back. “The kiss was worth it.”

  “Six of our people have gotten it in the last month,” she paused to bite her lower lip, “and they’re all dead.”

  His body jerked, his heart, too. “That’s not possible. It is uncomfortable, but—”

  “Our immune systems are different from yours.” She frowned. “We were aware of the immunity problem, but it’s been two years with just minor problems. This came at us out of nowhere.”

  “It takes many seasons for it to cycle through the galaxy.” His words were absent, his mind on a frantic search for an answer, proof she was wrong. She wasn’t—he couldn’t think it, refused to believe it.

  “I should have thought of that. Our flu viruses hit every year, but we’re all on the same planet.” She rubbed her temples as if they pained her.

  “How long?” It pained him to ask. Her lashes lifted, her gaze met his. When had this woman become so important to him? He’d given himself many reasons for coming out here to secure her release. Failure tasted bitter in his mouth, but it wasn’t as bad as the painful bite of grief. He’d known her briefly, but already he knew she would leave a hole in his heart bigger than when his bond mate died.

  “Twenty-four hours. Maybe. Probably less.” Her mouth had a weary droop to the edges. “General Halliwell needs this intell.”

  “We can give him your report when we dock with the Doolittle, unless you think he needs the information sooner?” Hel noted the shock in her eyes before she could hide it. “You are surprised.”

  Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times.

  “Yes.” Shock gave way to amusement, though weary still dominated the landscape of her face.

  “It shocks you that I would deliver the Chameleon to Kikk.” That word should have surprised her, but it didn’t. With the shadow of death hanging over her perhaps she’d lost the capacity for surprise.

  “Yes,” she said again. She leaned back in her chair. Her mouth curved, the slight movement deepened his despair. “Why?”

  It was a good question. That she’d expected his original plan would have amused him a few moments ago. What had happened to her during captivity didn’t amuse him. The memory of how she’d looked when he brought her aboard would haunt him for many seasons. He reached out and secured her hand, lightly touched one of the angry scratches marring the smooth pale skin, felt a shift in the walls that kept his alter egos apart, felt them begin to merge.

  “Why did they leave you out in that storm?”

  “They didn’t leave me. I left them.” A flare of anger put faint color in her pale cheeks, showed she was not dead yet. “I shot Conan and used the storm for cover.”

  “If I hadn’t had the frequencies of your personal beacon, I might not have found you in time.” He hesitated, not sure he wanted to know. “For how long were you out in it?”

  “All night.” Her expression wasn’t hostile, just closed.

  “Feldstar has long nights.” Her slight nod signaled agreement. “You fight hard to be free. You risked your life to be free. I don’t wish for you to fight to be free of me.” He’d never wanted to fight with her. His mind refused to produce what he did want to do with her. It wasn’t possible now anyway. He didn’t want to believe she was dying, but he had to. It was there in her eyes. This was a woman who knew when to fight and what to fight. She wouldn’t give in easily, but she would conserve her strength to finish her mission.

  His reward was a smile, it was wan, but one of her real smiles. It reached her eyes, turning them purple for him. For those eyes to dim with death, it was wrong.

  “How can I help you?”

  The smile widened, then faded into weary. Her shoulders drooped, too. “You don’t want to be around when I need help. It’s not…pretty.”

  He stared at her, lifted one brow, managed to control his horror when she outlined what was coming.

  “I have treatments for this in my medical kit which should help ease your symptoms.”

  “That’s good.” She looked away. “Best thing to do is get me to the Doolittle. They’ll be able to keep me comfortable until it’s over.”

  She was a long way from the dangerous woman who had paced the edges of the party. She looked beaten up and beaten down, but her courage shined through the battering to her body and in her bruised gaze. She could have given up, given in while down on the planet, but she hadn’t. She’d fought to be free, so she could pass on what she’d learned. He knew this about her, though he wasn’t sure she knew it.

  She traced a pattern on the tabletop, and he knew there was more.

  “There is more you wish to tell me?” He kept his voice neutral, a bit soft and saw her relief, though he didn’t understand why.

  “If I become delirious or incoherent, do you have sedation medication on board?”

  “I do, but I hardly think…”

  She pinned him with a look. “I’m dangerous when I’m in control of my mental faculties. I don’t know what will happen when I’m not. It is possible I could become a threat to you, this ship, or myself.” Now she looked like the woman he’d first noticed at the reception. “I’ll try to give you a heads-up, but you need to be ready and willing to take me down, by whatever means are necessary.”

  He saw, he sensed more than she sa
id, felt something bubbling below the surface that seemed to frighten her more than the flu, more than dying. If this was the only way he could help her, then so be it.

  “I’m always ready and willing to do what I must, Delilah.” He kept his voice even and saw relief wash over her face. She needed his strength more than she needed her own, so he would be strong for her. He refused to spend his last hours with her in mourning what couldn’t be changed. She deserved better from him and she would receive it. “You will wish to create a report for the General while you still can.”

  He rose, extended his hand. She took it. He thought it would be cold, but it was hot. Already her eyes seemed deeper in their sockets. He pulled her up and into his arms, felt her body burn everywhere it touched his.

  “You are very hot.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t mean that in a guy-looking-at-a-girl way?”

  “No,” he said, though he didn’t understand the question.

  “I’d better hurry with that report.” She leaned against him for a moment. “And we need that fever medicine now.”

  * * * * *

  Vidor found it an easy matter to track the Earth squadron of ships. As expected, they returned to the Kikk sector. He knew about the hidden outpost. He knew about all the outposts.

  Was Morticia the Doctor of their history? Bana believed she was. Frustration coiled in his gut again. He’d had her and lost her. Whatever she was, whoever she was, he had to complete the mission. It was the only way to be sure. The time frame to find her was small. Once the attack began, her life would be at risk with the rest of her people, if she had returned to them. While he knew he should let her die with them, he wasn’t ready to give up on securing her for himself. They might be wise and get out of his way. If they weren’t wise, he would blow them out of his way. He couldn’t fail. The future of his people depended on him.

  Her people interested him, he could admit to himself. They did not react as he expected, did not do what he expected. On Historlet, where he had secured Morticia, they had launched a vigorous search. They’d tracked her to the capture point and also collected her ship debris in space. Her escape rig had broadcast a signal that they had destroyed, but perhaps not before her people had locked on. They’d transported close to that spot. He did not know how they tracked her to where they intercepted her. Possibly some of her people were skilled trackers. Once there, there were signs of a struggle, he had to concede.