Her Darkest Beauty: An Alien Invasion Series - The Second Generation

by Patricia Renard Scholes

Her right arm moved slightly. He heard the soft metallic sound of a safety being set, or released.

  "If I could have, I would have taken the beating for you. I really had no idea this would turn out this bad, Sis. Look, all I am is the messenger. I never claimed to be the one in charge. You've got to believe no one in the Front wants anything to happen to you, especially not now."

  "Yeah. Whatever it takes to get me in with the Commissioner, right?” Karra’s voice.

  “Please, Karra,” Jem begged in Sami’s voice. “Don’t stand in my sister’s way. Would you take away the only man she’s ever loved?” Jem didn’t know if this was true, but it might be fun finding out.

  Karra shuddered and shut her eyes. He didn’t know what battle was being fought, but he heard the click of a purse being closed.

  Jem pulled a black leather case from his coat. "Laren,” he said. “I want you to look at this.”

  When he got her attention, he continued. “Inside this is a special camera designed to photograph, in detail, small areas such as the pages of a book." He demonstrated the use of the camera. "And this is how you change film disks. Once a handspan we will exchange disks, used for new. I want you to encourage A'nden to bring his work home. When you get a chance, I want you to photograph every sheet of paper in his apartment, plus the title page of every book he owns. If we find a book we want reproduced, you'll be responsible for getting us that copy. Letters are very important. We need to know all the communication going and coming from that apartment. Any questions?"

  "No," she said. “I think I can do this.” She raised her eyes to him in surprise, as if it never occurred to her that she could do Karra’s assignment for her.

  “Good girl,” he said, just to see how she responded. Karra hated the phrase. She associated it with being some man’s compliant tool.

  But Laren acted as if he had just given her a compliment. She put the camera and film disk in her purse, an oversized one large enough for a gun with a silencer, and stood.

  “Uh, Sami,” she said in a girlish voice. “Is there anything else? I mean, do you have any other instructions?”

  He smiled and stood with her. “No, my good, good little thing. You’re all I expected in my baby sis.”

  All of his words were designed to get under Karra’s skin, if she was present at all, and he no longer believed so. Karra would have exploded with scalding words. Laren, to his delight, simply returned his smile.

  But as he watched he walk away, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He had witnessed Karra’s behavior too many times before planned assassination. He knew he was lucky to be alive. Had he not sown his seeds of doubt and gotten Laren to respond, he would never have walked away.

  A'nden is mine, Jem gloated.

  So is Laren… completely mine.

  Chapter 22

  Encourage him to bring his work home, Sami had said. Aside from trapping him with her body, Laren had no idea what to do. That Del seemed immune to her physical charms confused her.

  What do I do? she asked her alter.

  What do you need me for? Karra shot back, irritated that Laren had completely taken over. The steady purr of the beast in the background only made her angrier.

  How do I get Del to bring his work home, of course, Laren replied.

  Karra thought with longing of her sister’s home-cooked meals. There were many fine restaurants for both Nevians and Homelanders, and many of those delivered delicious meals, but they didn’t fill the air with their preparation, only the finished product. Karra remembered many a snowy evening coming home to steam-baked potatoes, the apartment dewy as well as fragrant. Even though there was never any place for her to sit at the table unless one of her siblings was at work, she still enjoyed the vibrant chatter that would fill the room. Chalatta’s squeals and giggles punctuated the conversation, and Karra would sit back, contented, letting the flow of their conversation wash the filth of the street from her.

  Her stomach clenched. Those days were over. Her sister wanted her to stay away, permanently.

  She could override Su’s demand that she never return, simply by showing up, but what she wanted…

  What was it she wanted from Su? Her approval? No, not quite. She hadn’t done anything to warrant approval. She could not quite identify what she wanted except that Su would stop hating her.

  And I want Chalatta back.

  Her breath came in tiny gasps. Her heart hammered in her chest. I want my baby back, she told the elegant room. The elegant room did not care. Its owner, Del A’nden, would rather see her dead. And if Laren failed to follow through with this assignment, the Homelander Front would eliminate her. Either way, both of them would die. She fought nearly overwhelming sadness.

  With great effort Karra turned from her thoughts to her present circumstances. Somehow, she told her alter, you will seduce the High Commissioner. You will become such an integral part of his life he will share his deepest secrets with you. He will bring his work home, and then you will…

  …betray him, Laren finished. Is that how I am to treat someone I love, with betrayal? What part of my life do I need to shut out to betray a beloved? I can’t do what Sami wants!

  You will, because you will do anything Sami wants, Karra reminded her. The thought depressed her even further. You always have. You always will. And we will stay alive.

  What if Del continues to reject my advances? So far Del appeared immune to sexual enticements, walking away instead of moving closer.

  He has mentioned how much he misses meals cooked at home, Karra said, for the first time wishing she had helped Su more in the kitchen. We’ll make him a meal together.

  Laren regarded the idea with great reservation.

  As she slipped her palmfilms on, she tossed a doubtful glance at the meal she had just prepared, a Nevian dish she had heard Del mention. The films could not stand heat, or she would have worn them while cooking. Usually they were the first things she put on each morning.

  The meal looked all right. In fact, it looked just like the picture in the Nevian cookbook she had purchased after her meeting with Jem. But it smelled strange. Was she supposed to put the diree spice before or after cooking the sauce? And what kind of a measurement was a paru?

  The first thing Del commented on when he arrived home, though, was the specially set table with its fresh-flower centerpiece.

  "You did this?"

  "Yeah," she answered, still worried.

  "You also cooked?" He sniffed at the strange odor that was not flowers.

  "Sort of." She brought the dish from the kitchen.

  "Why, it is beautiful!" His eyes lit in surprised delight.

  "Yeah. Well, I hope it tastes as good as it looks, because if it doesn't I'm going to have to rely on your appreciation of art. I'm not a very good cook."

  Laren sat opposite him, watching while he dished up both plates. Karra kept herself at a distance, observing, fighting a surprising wave of fear. Fork poised, she waited for him to take the first bite.

  He scooped up a large forkful and shoved it into his mouth.

  His eyes watered and his whole face contorted as he swallowed. He took a huge drink of water before he tried to speak.

  "I do appreciate fine art," he said at last.

  To her further dismay Del began laughing. "You should see your face. Darling, being unable to cook is not the end of the world.” Laughter stole his voice again. “But it is definitely not one of your talents."

  Laren gave a wan smile, not quite hiding her fear that he would throw her away for the ruined meal. Was he laughing at her? He didn’t seem to be, but what could be so funny about this evening’s failure?

  "Oh, by the Path. Laren, you’re marvelous. It has been so long since I laughed like that, and all because of one horrible dinner. A person should never wait the years I have for such precious moments."

  Precious moments? She had just destroyed the evening with her horrible venture into cooking, and he called it a precious moment. As she cle
aned the kitchen, she wondered what he meant. She had no courage to ask.

  Next time, Karra promised her, we will please him. Above all she must please him. With Jem in charge, their lives may well depend on it.

  Chapter 23

  Karra stood aside as Laren stepped into Del's study. She had little place in Laren’s life now, especially where it concerned Del. Often she paid no attention at all, so it startled her when her alter let out a frustrated sigh at the mountain of work facing her. Besides a desk stacked with papers, drawers and three file cabinets, Del had a library in his study. One lifetime was too short to take pictures of it all. With most of it written in Nevian, she had no idea what she photographed. Jem will be delighted to get letters from Del's wife and mother back on Nevia, Karra told her with a silent laugh.

  The laughter stopped when Laren found, in a desk drawer, a holocube of a Nevian family. A younger Del sat in a chair. A woman approached and sat on the arm of his chair. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her smile was the intimate kind that spoke of a long, tender relationship. When two children walked toward the chair, Laren felt a sharp pang of jealousy.

  What did you expect? Karra challenged. You were never his first love. Our kind never is.

  In uncharacteristic fury, Laren stormed from his study and tried to slam the door, but it only responded with an accusing whisper as it closed. Furious, she charged through the huge apartment. She stormed through each living room, one of them formal, through each dining room, again one of them formal, through the kitchen and breakfast nook, past the two gigantic bedroom suites, each with its own bath and breakfast and sitting alcoves, then back to the study. Her sandaled feet crushed the deep carpet; her long fingers raked against the silky fabric that covered the wall.

  She was ashamed to be a rich Nevian's contracted Lady. Being a common paygirl would have been cleaner.

  Karra understood. But she hated not being in control even more. I hate living in the trap Jem has set. I hate living with Laren’s Del. He’s the enemy, and she’s too stupid to see it. And I hate being a non-person.

  Furthermore she seethed with anger against all Others for taking what should have belonged to her people: homes, families, basic survival, but: I want my daughter! Curse all Nevians for making my world so difficult! Del was no different from the rest. When he arrived home she would end the assignment…

  Laren calmed instantly, alarmed at the ferocity of Karra’s growing rage.

  Leave, Laren told her. Leave this apartment.

  I’m stuck with you, or are you too stupid to see that too?

  I’m stuck with you too. Take a long walk and regain control or your anger will kill us both.

  Karra dropped Laren’s camera into her purse and left the apartment, too furious to think. She wanted to act. She wanted to cause damage. Inside her chest harsh emotions boiled and vied for attention.

  The beast chuckled.

  It was hours before she could calm down enough to return home.

  Sometimes you lose control, the beast taunted.

  Not today, she told it. Today I walked it off.

  Tomorrow, then… The beast whispered a suggestion into her head.

  A few nights later while she straightened the living room, her hand brushed against the screen, turning it on. A news bulletin caught her attention.

  Bordello owner, Mason Wester, who called himself the King of the King's Palace, was found brutally knifed in his Third Level apartment. The hospital coroner reported his body had been slashed numerous times, even after his death. Security officials have no clue as the identity of his murderer except for the alleged presence of a mysterious Nevian woman…

  She flicked the screen off. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, the beast told her, rewarding her with peaceful, numbing ice.

  From across the room Karra could tell Jem was upset. His brows knit darkly and he drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for her to arrive. His eyes fastened angrily on her as she strolled toward him. She knew what he would say as soon as she came within hearing.

  "Fool," he hissed as she sat across from him.

  "You have a problem?" Karra flashed a sugary smile at him.

  "You had no business killing him!" he replied.

  "Who?"

  "The King, as if you didn't know. You were an absolute idiot to do such a thing."

  She shrugged. "I didn't. I cried hysterically, though, when I heard about it on the screen."

  "Stop it, Sis. I know you killed him. Why? It might have ruined you."

  “But I didn’t.” Her icy stare dared him to prove otherwise.

  He studied her a moment before responding. "Laren, tell me the truth. I know you didn’t kill him, but Karra might have.”

  “Laren couldn’t come today,” Karra said, wearing a pleasant smile. “You’ll have to spend your impotent rage on me.”

  He glowered at her. “No one knows better than I do how you work. If you recall, I was the one who taught you. You killed him, all right. I suppose the reason you cut him so many times was because you were angry with him."

  "I was angry with him," she said. "But I was angry with you too, and I didn't kill you." She regarded him in mild curiosity. “Was it because you convinced me you did not set me up, or for another reason? Perhaps I simply did not want to kill you after all.”

  He returned her stare with impotent accusation, lacking proof that she was the bordello owner's assassin. "You don't usually work that way," he admitted. "But you could have."

  "I came here to deliver a disk. Do you want this?" She pulled a tiny flat container from her purse.

  He took it and exchanged it for another that she promptly dropped in her purse.

  “Any further instructions?”

  "No." He rose to leave.

  She touched his wrist to stop him. "I have some money for Suzin. I haven't been in touch. How is everyone?" How's Chalatta, she really wanted to ask.

  Jem returned to his seat, body still tense. "All right so far. Carlon moved out last handspan, but he's still sending money home. The wedding isn't for a couple of cycles yet, so Su has that long to find a job.”

  Karra shook her head. "Even if she finds one… Do Saril and Dugaan still have their jobs?”

  "Saril still does. Dugaan has a good recommendation from his previous employer. He shouldn't have too much trouble finding another. You know his last one was only temporary.”

  "I know. How's Chalatta?" she finally permitted herself to ask, and leaned forward for the answer.

  "Great," Jem said. "She's a good student from what I hear. She takes after her mother in that respect."

  Karra's arms ached to hold her.

  Jem rose to leave again. “I want Laren to give Sami the disks from now on,” he told her. “It’s her assignment. Not yours.”

  She could only stare. How am I to check up on my daughter if I can’t talk to Jem anymore?

  The beast giggled.

  Jem boarded an airway, wearing a frown. His eyes had taken in each expressive flicker, white face, taunt skin, the slight clenching of her jaw muscles, the tiny frown line at her brow. The signs of stress presented themselves all too clearly. Although a perfect short-term actress, long term assignments were anathema to her. Eventually she always reacted against the part she played—violently. Each tiny blink and muscle quiver told him the inevitable storm brewed within.

  Eventually she would lose control, as he had hoped it would happen. Strategically placed, she would provide the Front with as much information as possible before she finally succumbed to one of her rages. Then, if she performed as planned, she would kill A’nden if only because he was the closest Nevian.

  If she somehow survived the assassination, she would at least be imprisoned, awaiting death, and he would finally be rid of her. It was strange that she no longer remembered the old priest who had taught them, but in the end it would not matter that Gradi had chosen her over him. Jem had everything arranged so that she would never replace him now. All she needed
to do was produce one of her amazing explosions while A’nden was present, and he would be rid of both of them, and one step closer to grasping control of Sector Five for himself.

  Pushing Laren ahead of Karra was definitely feeding her fury, if her killing the King was any indication. It wouldn’t be long now.

  The vid in the kitchen rang. Laren checked a curse before it left her lips and wiped her hands on a towel.

  "Yes?"

  "Laren?" Del's face came onto the screen. "Were you busy?"

  Laren laughed. "Look at me! Flour from head to toe. Busy? Only if I were entering a Mess of the Year contest.”

  He studied her doubtfully. "Well, do not plan anything. Friends of mine have invited us to supper.”

  "Friends of yours? Should I wear something special?"

  "Would you like to buy something new? Not formal, though. We will be going to their home, not out."

  "I'll be ready," Laren promised.

  As she cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, her mind wondered about the friends a High Commissioner would have. Naturally he had friends, even though the whole city knew that Commissioner A’nden had been reclusive. It was ridiculous to think he had no friends at all.

  She let herself out of the apartment to shop for yet another gown. She rarely wore her clothes more than once, a waste, but it was what Del expected. She wondered if these friends were also as wasteful. She entered a Third Level boutique, eyeing a pale lavender gown with startling black trim. She slipped it from the hanger, planning to wear it for another outing. A gown worn to a friends’ home might look more like the aqua item next to it, the one with the deep blue piping in the bodice.

  Because some Third Level women in Del’s circle had their clothing specially made for them, Del had asked her if she would like a private designer. He had smiled when she insisted that she could buy anything she wanted from several nice shops, that such an extravagance was unnecessary. Furthermore, when she asked if she could donate clothing she would never wear again to a charity, he had beamed. He had let her know that he appreciated such stewardship. “Stewardship” was the word he had used. What an odd word choice.