Solar Heat

by Susan Kearney

  “Sweetie, let me see.” The woman peered at the vidscreen. “After you eat, go another five blocks northwest. It’s right here.” She pointed. Azsla thanked her again, slipped the vidscreen back into her pocket, and strode outside to find Micoo, Jadlan, and Rak sitting on a bench. “We lucked out.”

  “How so?” Rak looked at her, his face blank, his eyes alive and piercing.

  “That woman, I thought I’d remembered her. She was a good friend of my mother’s. She keeps an extra apartment in the city for her son, who is away visiting his father. We can use it for a few days.”

  Micoo grinned. “That’s wonderful.”

  Rak clapped her on the back. “You did good.”

  “Yeah, real good,” Jadlan agreed, but his tone implied he was suspicious as hell.

  And when he came up alongside her, leaving Micoo and Rak together, Azsla’s pulse escalated. She’d wanted to say the woman had given them credits so they could purchase food, but Jadlan was clearly already suspicious. So she zipped her lips and waited to see what he’d say.

  They walked about a block side-by-side before he spoke. Jadlan was not one to go off without thinking over the ramifications. However, from his stiff posture and the occasional wince she caught out of the corner of her eye, he clearly had something eating at him. Maybe a lot of somethings.

  She headed across the street, and the hovercrafts droned out any chance for him to talk. A law officer walked by, delaying him again, but finally, when there was little chance of anyone overhearing his words, he muttered, “I’m going to trust you. But I wish you’d trust us.”

  A dozen replies zinged through her mind. She could play stupid and pretend she had no idea what he was talking about. She could tell him that of course she trusted him. She could accuse him of being delusional. But his simple words had touched her. Damn him. And she didn’t want to lie. So she nodded. “Thanks. You won’t regret it.”

  “At least you didn’t say I won’t live to regret it,” he joked. “Since I’m betting our lives on you.”

  “Kali gave up his pod for me,” she blurted. If she couldn’t tell him how she was helping them, she wanted him to understand why. “My pod was broken and I hit my head, and while I was blacked out, he picked me up, slid me into his pod, closed the canopy, and ejected me.”

  Jadlan’s shoulders that had been set and stiff eased, as if she’d suddenly added a puzzle piece that made all the rest make sense. “Kali was a good man. Perhaps he knew how much the rest of us needed you.”

  She would have rolled her eyes at the irony, but it seemed disrespectful to Kali’s sacrifice. “I didn’t say anything before because I thought you would blame me. It happened so fast . . .”

  “Cap—Azsla, Rak and I both would have done the same. Micoo might have too if he had the strength.”

  “Please . . . don’t . . .” Sweet Vigo, she did not want to hear this. Not from people she’d intended to betray. Her Quait rumpled and swirled liked a caged animal eager to escape. Not that she needed her Quait to do anything for her. There was no enemy to evade or kill. No defense that was necessary. However, strong emotions unchained the beast, and she couldn’t afford the distraction right now.

  She locked down the guilt and the sorrow, tied it down so tight, it couldn’t draw breath. For a moment she too couldn’t breathe, but the door slammed shut, recaging the dangerous emotions. Swallowing down a soft sob of relief, she wondered what Derrek would have thought of her if he’d known she was a First. A spy.

  Would he still have kissed her so tenderly? Or would he have killed her himself?

  What was she doing? She couldn’t afford to confuse reality and fantasy. Derrek had not kissed her. She’d had a dream that was too real and unexplainable, but she had to keep things straight in her head.

  Perhaps the strain of the last few days was getting to her. Perhaps the cold-sleep medicine had aftereffects. Whatever. She and Derrek had not made love and never would.

  From all she’d learned about Derrek Archer, she knew that he saw himself as the protector of his new world. Even when he mocked that world, even when he’d disagreed with its leaders, it had been clear to her he was proud of what they’d built here.

  And she understood that pride.

  She almost hoped she’d discover a Zoran stash of weapons so terrible that the Corps would change their course of action and decide an invasion wouldn’t be worth the cost. That they’d refuse to attack. Perhaps even leave this world alone. After all, no other slaves had escaped Rama in over a decade—and her crew wouldn’t have either, not without help. The economy on Rama had readjusted.

  The lives lost . . . including her parents . . . could not be brought back. Perhaps it was time to let go of the past. While she couldn’t have a relationship with Derrek, it might be time to heal . . .

  She drew up in an abrupt halt. Was this why the Corps had told her breaking one rule led to breaking others? Was saving her crew the first of many steps over the line, ending in betrayal of her own people?

  She was no traitor.

  If she’d kissed Derrek Archer, she couldn’t be blamed. It had only been a very weird dream.

  She would do her duty.

  She’d forget Derrek’s kiss. Forget his hands on her breasts. Forget how aroused she’d been. How much she’d ached for him.

  She would complete her mission.

  She would.

  11

  AZSLA SENSED HER crew weakening with every step through the Zoran capital. If she hadn’t been so distracted by that strange vision she would have noticed sooner that Micoo was fading fast. She had to get them off the sidewalk, into an eating establishment. Luckily the choices were many.

  Azsla and Jadlan were practically carrying Micoo. So they stopped, rested, and ate. The food, plentiful and wholesome, gave a whole new meaning to being off Rama. Either this establishment had a master chef, and from the casual atmosphere and low prices she doubted that, or the bland cafeteria food they’d previously eaten didn’t represent the food on this world. While Azsla couldn’t identify all the savory ingredients, the steaming platter of pasta shells filled with a variety of meats in a hearty sauce filled her belly and satisfied her palate. It didn’t hurt that salt had already been liberally sprinkled on their food.

  While she ate, she went over her options. Her goal—getting them to the apartment for one night—was her only good choice, but still risky. Since the Firsts had set up Azsla’s cover, they knew where she would be staying. Hopefully they had no idea her crew was still with her. But if a tranqed First dropped in unannounced and saw that she’d brought her crew to the apartment, she doubted she could explain away her actions.

  But without other friends or family here, what other choice did she have? Not only were the tranqed Firsts looking for them, the Zoran government probably was, too. She’d landed herself in a fine mess and although she worried over everyone’s safety, she felt good about her decision to save them.

  So they ate quickly, she paid with credit she told her crew that she’d found in the pack she’d “lifted,” and they left.

  She found the apartment without any difficulty. The single bedroom layout was meant for one person or at most, a pairing. The unit had a tiny kitchen area off a small living area and one fresher, with a sink, shower, and commode. Four of them made the quarters cramped, but her crew was accustomed to tight spaces after working and living within the close confines of the spaceship. Still, no matter how tight the group and how well they got on, Azsla couldn’t allow them to stay with her for long. They needed jobs, new quarters, and new identities to be safe.

  Micoo had recovered slightly after their meal, but he was so weak that she and Jadlan didn’t need to discuss who would get the bed. They placed Micoo there, and he grunted as she removed his footwear and covered him with a blanket that smelled new.

  Everythi
ng in the apartment appeared bright and shiny—just like the city itself. Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed exploring every nook and cranny, the drawers, the shelves, the sights from the windows, because this was the first space that was hers and hers alone. As a kid, she’d shared a room with her nanny. During her years in the Corps, she’d shared quarters with other trainees. Later, as a slave, they’d bunked down together in groups. Every once in a while during an overnight mission she’d been on her own and had enjoyed the silence, the privacy, the luxury of not having to listen to the constant murmur of voices, of a soft cough, or snores.

  Azsla, Rak, and Jadlan convened in the living quarters, which contained a couch, two chairs, and a wooden table set over a soft-fibered floor rug vibrant with colors. While Rak checked the food stores in the well-stocked kitchen, Azsla laid out her plan. The backpack Yawitz had given her included her new job. She intended to report there immediately. Hopefully she could tap into local intel and figure out her next move.

  She was most eager to learn about new weapons systems . . . and not just the ones that could be lobbed at Rama. She wanted to know if the Zorans had discovered a way to implant visions. She shuddered at the idea of how that technique could be used against Rama. Suppose instead of a love scene, she’d experienced torture?

  The scene with Derrek had been so real it haunted her. All her senses had kicked in. She’d heard him speak and enjoyed the need in his tone, felt his lips and hands skim over her body, tasted his flesh and reveled in his scent. Sleeping dreams shouldn’t have been so full-bodied or detailed.

  In every way, making love with him had seemed real. Logic told her that if she hadn’t been making love to Derrek, the memory must be fake. And if it was fake, she needed to know how it had gotten inside her head.

  “Jadlan. Rak. You two stay here and take care of Micoo. I need to head out—”

  “Wait,” Rak immediately protested. “Going out alone is dangerous.”

  Jadlan didn’t look surprised that she intended to leave them behind and stepped in to defend her. “They’ll probably figure we’ll split up into two teams. The last thing the government will expect is for one lone female to be out by herself.”

  She shot him a grateful look. Rak looked from one to the other of them and frowned. “What aren’t you two telling me?”

  Jadlan shook his head. “She has told me nothing. But she’s gotten us this far. I’ve chosen to trust her.”

  “This isn’t a question of trust,” Rak sputtered. “We expected to be welcomed. We thought our escape would make history. Instead, I’m not sure what happened or what’s going on.”

  “That’s why I need to gather information. Let me talk to the women in the shops. They appear to love to gossip here. Did you notice them chatting as they made their purchases?”

  “I didn’t see—”

  “You were too busy watching the hovercraft,” Jadlan teased but again defended her. “Besides, you are not a female.”

  “Exactly. She shouldn’t be going alone.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Azsla wasn’t staying to argue. She headed for the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  She’d fully intended to leave before Rak again tried to stop her, but a soft moan from the bedroom had her turning back in concern to see if Micoo was all right. Azsla opened the door to find him thrashing on the bed. The front of his shirt twisted, and perspiration soaked through the lightweight material. And either it was a trick of the light or . . .

  Micoo wasn’t a young man. Azsla saw the curve of a breast beneath the damp material.

  Micoo was female.

  Stunned, she barely had the presence of mind to walk inside the room and speak to the men over her shoulder. “It’s just a nightmare. I’ll take care of this.”

  Azsla shut the door firmly behind her and approached the bed. “Micoo.” She shook his shoulder—no, make that her shoulder. “Wake up. Micoo. You’re having a nightmare.”

  Azsla prayed the nightmare was simply that and not the kind she’d experienced. She held her breath, waiting to see how Micoo reacted.

  Micoo’s eyes popped open, terror seizing her into a tight knot as she drew her knees to her chest. Sweat trickled down her face and into her eyes. Azsla smoothed back Micoo’s hair and waited for her to calm. Just because Azsla had had a strange vision didn’t mean Micoo had the same problem.

  “You’re safe now, Micoo. Safe on Zor. We’re in an apartment with Jadlan and Rak, and we won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  As Micoo took several deep calming breaths, the terror in her eyes slowly receded. “Give me a micronbit.”

  Micoo rolled out from under Azsla’s touch, and the movement reminded her of other incidents when Micoo had avoided her touch. During the walk here, she’d thought it a young man’s embarrassment over his weakness. Now she realized it was more. While it might simply have been that Micoo didn’t want anyone to discover that she was female, she hadn’t wanted a hand on her waist or shoulder, either.

  “Micoo.” Azsla sat on the bed. “I know you’re female, but I will not reveal your secret.”

  Micoo hissed on an indrawn breath, and her face paled. “Nooo.”

  Azsla sought to reassure her. “Your secret is safe. I won’t tell anyone. Not Rak. Not Jadlan. I just thought if you realized I knew, you would have someone to talk to.”

  Tears trickled from Micoo’s eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice. Turning her head away from Azsla and to the wall, she spoke, her voice low and anguished. “I don’t want to talk.”

  Azsla sensed Micoo’s pain stemmed from something more than a horrible dream, perhaps a real-life terror relived in a nightmare—but not a vision implanted in her head. Her attitude wasn’t one of surprise, or confusion, but of trying to get past old memories. Painful memories.

  And Micoo’s pain made her heart ache.

  “I understand.” Azsla wasn’t mouthing platitudes. She knew exactly how Micoo felt. “After my parents’ murders, I didn’t want to talk about them either. It hurt too much.” The sight of so much blood, the sounds of their dying screams, the stench of their guts spilling out onto the floor, and the cruelty of their dismemberment had left her raw, terrified, shocked, and barely able to function. She lifted her hand to squeeze Micoo’s, then let it drop to her side, remembering she didn’t like touching. “But if you ever change your mind, I’m here. Okay?”

  Micoo didn’t answer. Her shoulders shook in silent sobs, yet her spine remained stiff, her body turned away, as if her posture could shut Azsla out. Raw pain peeled off layers, and each slice revealed more fear, more sorrow.

  My God, what had happened to her? Azsla’s heart felt like it was shattering for Micoo.

  Azsla had seen Micoo’s file, but nothing in the reports had indicated that she’d led anything but the most ordinary life. Of course, they had no records of her early years in the crèche, where slave children were raised from infancy through the age of five. Only Firsts raised children at home, or rather their nannies raised them. So if Micoo was twenty as her file claimed, then she’d been posing as a young man for at least fifteen years.

  Her lack of almost any body fat had hidden her slender curves. Still, now that Azsla knew her secret, she couldn’t imagine why she’d never noticed Micoo’s girlish high cheekbones, her long eyelashes, and her soft lips. Her dewy eyes had seemed boyish—not feminine. Ditto for her slender frame and frail shoulders. Apparently Azsla hadn’t looked carefully enough.

  “Micoo? Please, say something. Anything.”

  When she shook her head, Azsla caught a hint of pure anguish. And then Micoo thrashed, turned over, and sobbed in her arms. The cries came from deep in her chest until her entire body shook with her grief.

  Stunned by the sudden outpouring of emotion that tore at Azsla’s soul, she cradled the young woman, totally bewildered as to
how to comfort her, helpless to ease her pain.

  She wished she knew how to soothe her. The Corps had trained Azsla to spy, to kill, to be an undercover op. She knew how to assess weapons, kill with her bare hands, and sneak through shadows undetected. But she didn’t have a clue about what to do with the young woman crying brokenly in her arms.

  Instincts she hadn’t known she possessed took over. Protective instincts. She rocked her and murmured to her, sensing the words didn’t matter, that Micoo needed to cry out her grief, that within the walls she’d built and hidden behind, Micoo was desperate for human contact. For a friend that Azsla could never be.

  Eventually Micoo calmed, finally straightening and blowing her nose into a tissue, her face red and drained. “Sorry to throw all that at you.”

  Azsla didn’t know what to say. Although she sensed the burst of emotion might have been a long time coming and a good thing, she didn’t know what to do with all of Micoo’s pain.

  “I’m solid now. Really.” Micoo straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’ve actually thought about starting over on Zor as a woman.”

  Azsla dealt with the statement on a practical level. “If you did, it would help hide you from whoever might come looking.”

  Micoo flicked her thumb over her cheek and dried the last of her tears. “Yeah. I’m not sure . . .”

  “It’s your decision. No need to deal with it now. Why don’t you rest . . .” Azsla’s voice trailed off. She’d felt uncomfortable before, but now she wanted to back out of the room as fast as she could, fearing she’d say the wrong thing. Yet she didn’t want to leave if Micoo needed her.

  She supposed she should have been curious about why Micoo had chosen to pretend she was male. But Azsla sensed an ugly story—one Micoo didn’t seem ready to share. Azsla didn’t need any more reasons to sympathize with Micoo or the other slaves. Period. She had a job to do, and the more she could keep herself separate from her crew’s personal problems, the easier it would be to focus on resolving the situation.