Warrior

by Angela Knight

  “What’s it doing to her?” A chill spread over him. “Do you think it’s going to . . . hurt her?”

  “I have no idea,” Chogan said bluntly. “Luckily her autoimmune system doesn’t seem to be attacking the new material, so we don’t have to worry about her body killing her own nervous system.” She returned her attention to the tube’s readouts, frowning and pushing buttons.

  Galar waited, controlling his impatience until she finally stepped back away from the tube. Was it his imagination, or had her expression lightened with relief? “Well?” he demanded.

  “Physically, Jessica seems perfectly healthy. Exhausted, which isn’t surprising considering what she’s been going through the last few days. Needs a couple of good meals too. Her blood sugar’s too low for my taste. Other than that, though, everything’s fine.”

  He blew out a breath in relief. “So why’s she unconscious? ”

  “Good question. Come to think of it, these readings . . .” Chogan’s eyes narrowed. “Actually, they look rather like an EDI reaction. I’ve seen this kind of thing before with patients in the aftermath of a particularly traumatic download. Let me see if I can bring her out of it. . . .” Delicate fingers danced over the tube controls. The mist stirred, then slowly began to thin. Chogan popped the lid. “Jessica? Wake up, Jess!”

  Jess’s blue eyes fluttered open, and she began to cough. “What . . . happen’?” Her voice firmed as her gaze began to sharpen with its customary intelligence. “Dr. Chogan? Galar? Where did you . . . ?”

  “Ruby told me you’d gone back to your house.” Galar took her hand and helped her sit up. “I went after you and found you out cold on the floor. What happened?”

  Jess coughed again and leaned both elbows on the edges of the tube, looking a little dizzy. “I remembered Charlotte had said something about one of my paintings having the answers I needed. So I went back to check. Sure enough, she’d left some kind of nanobot message in the paint.”

  Chogan shot Galar a look. “I wonder if that was all that was in that paint.”

  “You think Charlotte slipped her something that accelerated the neural changes?”

  “Could be.”

  Jess frowned at them both. “What the heck are you talking about?”

  Chogan displayed the brain scans for her. Galar watched her pale in alarm. “Holy shit.”

  “That about sums it up,” the doctor agreed, then went on to explain her findings in more detail. “The good news,” she concluded, “is that you seem healthy otherwise. So far you’re not suffering any ill effects, but I want you to keep me posted on anything—and I do mean anything—that strikes you as weird.”

  Jess gave her a dry smile. “Like blowing up robots with the power of my mind?”

  “Yeah. Like that.”

  She snorted. “Believe me, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Galar scratched his chin thoughtfully. “What did Charlotte actually say in her message?”

  Jess shrugged. “That she was sorry about what she’d done to me, but we both had tests we had to pass. That we had to prove ourselves.”

  “Prove what? To whom?”

  “Exactly what I was wondering. Unfortunately, she didn’t say. Then she triggered this . . . psychic bombardment. It was like the EDI, but worse. Knocked me out completely.”

  “Do you remember anything about it?”

  Deep lines grooved between Jessica’s fine brows as she seemed to struggle to remember, then shook her head in frustration. “Nothing I can make any sense of. Just . . . this wild confusion of colors and smells and sounds.”

  “If it’s anything like a regular EDI, your brain will have to incorporate the information you’ve downloaded,” Chogan told her. “Give it time, and it’ll start surfacing as you integrate it.”

  “Assuming we have time.” Jess gnawed gently on a knuckle. “I have an ugly feeling everything’s getting ready to go straight to hell.”

  Galar snorted. “You mean it’s not there already?”

  “Yeah, the concept of this getting worse boggles my mind, too, but that was the implication of Charlotte’s little psychic candygram.”

  “Candy what?” Chogan looked puzzled.

  Jess sighed. “Never mind.” She turned to Galar as a new thought occurred to her. “Please tell me you’ve found out Ivar was your mole. And is Dona okay?”

  “She’s fine. And yes, we did. Unfortunately, no sooner did we put Ivar in the brig than someone sent a team of exploding battlebots to break him out.”

  She blinked at him. “Exploding battlebots? That sounds . . . not good.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. We now have craters in the brig.”

  “Anybody killed?”

  “No, but Ivar escaped. Dyami has dispatched every available Enforcer to track him down. I almost pity the bastard when the chief gets his hands on him.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a crack at him myself.”

  Galar curled his lip in agreement. “I owe him for Jiri and Ando.” Something dangerous flickered in his eyes as his voice dropped to a menacing growl. “And you.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “That’s a good question.” Chogan rocked back on her heels, eyeing Jess. “I could keep you here for observation, but I think what you really need is some food and a good night’s sleep. Charlotte’s EDI would be more likely to surface if we give you some peace and quiet—which you won’t get in an infirmary bed with various things beeping at you all night.”

  Jess grimaced. “That’s a pretty safe bet.”

  Chogan aimed a stern look at Galar. “That goes for you, too, Master Enforcer. How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

  He blinked. “Well . . .”

  “Go. To. Bed.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with suspicious meekness.

  “What are you waiting on? Get out of my infirmary.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jess and Galar chorused as he helped her out of the tube. Together, they made a fast escape as Chogan shook her head and went to search out Dyami to make her report. She knew the big Warlord wasn’t going to be happy about this situation.

  At all.

  16

  The Outpost’s cafeteria was deserted at this hour, since it was between the mid-watch’s dinner and the late watch’s early-morning meal. Galar and Jess had the dining area to themselves, so they found a choice table beside the enormous window that took up most of the room’s rear wall.

  Stifling a yawn, Jess stared out over the moonlit mountains, listening absently as Galar put in their order with the table’s vendser. Five minutes later, a panel slid open and two steaming plates appeared, accompanied by the appropriate flatware and a couple of glasses. Galar parceled everything out and they settled down to eat.

  Jess paused, fork lifted, as she stared down at her plate dubiously. She couldn’t identify a single substance on it, though she thought the purple thing with fronds was some kind of vegetable.

  “It’s safe to eat,” Galar told her, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth. “I promise it won’t even bite back.”

  She poked a dark brown substance. “Are you sure? What is this?”

  “Vardonese keflir. It was my favorite meal when I was a boy. My father’s keflir was incredible.” He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. “This isn’t quite that good, but it’s not bad.”

  She warily cut a forkful and bit into it. It was covered with something that had a nutty kind of crunch. The meat inside flooded her mouth with delicate juice and a taste reminiscent of lamb. “It is good.” Emboldened, she tried the purple thing. It wasn’t much like any other vegetable she’d ever had, but she decided she liked it anyway. She turned her attention to a fluffy green pile with little red bits scattered inside it. “Kind of slimy,” Jess said after a bite. “Reminds me of boiled okra. You could probably fry it though. . . . Then again, Southerners can make anything edible by breading it and covering it in ketchup.” She forked up another bite of purple frond.


  “I never liked gedira either,” Galar admitted. “But it’s good for you.”

  She snorted. “It would be.”

  They ate in companionable silence for several moments before Galar spoke again. “I wanted to apologize for what I did to you.” He stirred his fork through what was presumably some kind of vegetable, his expression brooding. “Those things I said. I know I hurt you.”

  Jess looked up from cutting another bite of keflir. “Dyami told me you were trying to clear me.”

  “Yeah.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “But there was more to it than that. Tlain . . . Who told you about her, by the way? I know somebody did, because you threw her name in my face.”

  “Ahhh. . . .” Trapped, she stared at him, remembering she’d sworn not to rat out Riane. But if she lied, he’d know it. “I promised not to tell you.”

  One corner of his mouth curled up. “Never mind. I think I can guess. No wonder Riane and Frieka looked so guilty when they slunk out of my quarters the day I asked them to guard you.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jess said with dignity.

  He snorted. “Please.”

  She gave up and grinned. “There’s a definite downside to”—loving—“dating a man with sensors. No little white lies.”

  “Never stopped Tlain. Then again, big black lies didn’t stop her either.”

  The bleak, angry pain in his eyes made her draw in a sharp breath. “You really did love her.”

  “I thought so at the time.” Galar shrugged his broad shoulders, then gave her a faint smile. “Lately I’ve come to a different perspective on that.”

  Her heart leaped. What did he mean by that? Don’t ask, dammit. “Ria— My source said she did quite a number on you.”

  “You could say that.” His gaze turned inward. “She had a computer implant, so she had pretty good control over her own brain function. Gave her the sociopath’s trick of believing her own lies.”

  “Ivar must have done the same thing.”

  “Oh, yes. Otherwise we’d have tripped to what he was doing soon after he arrived at the Outpost months ago. Dona said she’d noticed he used his implant constantly, even in casual conversation, which should have been a big red warning flag. But I can’t blame her for only seeing what she wanted to see. I committed the same sin.”

  “You don’t think Dona was in collusion with him, do you?” Jess asked, alarmed. “Galar, she didn’t hesitate to jump him the minute she realized he was trying to kill me.”

  “I know. She got badly beaten for her pains. Ivar is a great deal stronger than she is.”

  “The prick.”

  “But I,” he said silkily, “am a great deal stronger than Ivar is, at least in riaat.”

  “Kick his ass when you catch him.”

  “Oh, I will. If Dyami leaves me anything to kick. I gather he has some rather violent plans for the bastard.”

  “I wouldn’t mind giving Ivar a little bit of what I gave that robot, myself. Except I can’t.” She fell silent as realization hit, her eyes widening.

  “What? Why not?”

  “That EDI Charlotte gave me just told me I can’t use my powers to kill people. Run away, yes. Destroy property, yeah. And I did give Ivar a good sock in the mouth, but that’s about as far as I can go.”

  Galar went very still, apparently realizing she was trying to tease more information out of her recalcitrant brain. “Why?”

  Jess blinked. “Because they’re not my powers. They come from the T’lir, and the T’lir won’t allow the use of lethal force. That’s why the Sela had to run.” She sat back in disgust as the information abruptly dried up again. “Run where? From whom?”

  “Who—or what—are the Sela?” His tone carefully lacked any urgency at all.

  “The fuzzy people in the eggs. The ones I saw in that dream I told you about. The Xerans call them Abominations, and they want to kill them all.”

  “Maybe it’s the Xerans the Sela are running from,” Galar suggested.

  “Yeah.” She sounded almost dreamy to her own ears. “Yeah, that’s it. It’s the Xerans. They want the T’lir, and the Sela can’t allow them to have it. We’d all be lost then. The People would only be the first to die.”

  “And what is the T’lir?” His voice was very gentle.

  “An hourglass,” she said, feeling as if she were floating. “Everything pours through. Everyone.” Jess giggled, suddenly giddy. “ ‘Like sand through an hourglass, so are the days of our lives.’” Her consciousness snapped back into full focus, and she buried her frustrated face in her hands. “Fuck. I lost it in the intro to one of Mom’s old soaps.”

  “What are you talking about?” Galar demanded, his tone sharpening as he evidently realized she had stopped drawing on the EDI.

  “Soap operas,” Jess explained. “Daily television serial dramas. There was one called Days of Our Lives my mother loved when I was a kid. That line about sand through the hourglass was part of the intro.” She stopped. “And it means something, but damned if I know what.”

  “Don’t try to force it,” Galar warned. “You’ll just drive it deeper into your subconscious. It’ll come back out when you trigger another association. Probably by accident.”

  “Great,” she growled. “We’re at the mercy of television jingles.”

  “And on that note,” he said, pushing his empty plate aside, “I think it’s time we go to bed.” He stopped, a trace of—was that pain?—in his eyes. “I can find you other quarters if you’d rather.”

  Jess put a hand on his. It felt warm and strong under her palm. “I want to sleep with you.” She grimaced. “Though I won’t guarantee we’ll do much more than sleep. I’m whipped.”

  He gave her a smile that made his handsome face even more striking. “I’d be delighted to simply sleep with you.”

  They dropped their plates into the vendser recycler—Jess noted with bemusement that she’d absently cleaned her plate, including the slimy okra-like vegetables. “I must have been hungrier than I thought.”

  Another flash of that breathtaking smile. “And you didn’t even have to fry anything and cover it in ketchup.”

  “Hey—don’t mock the ketchup. It’s one of the Southern food groups. Along with grits, fatback, collard greens, and pig’s feet.”

  “Pig’s feet?” He took her hand as they started out of the mess. “You are really very odd.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say I ate them. Though if you covered them in ketchup . . .”

  “Pig’s feet?” His tone of utter horror made her laugh.

  Jess and Galar returned to his quarters at last. She watched, looking a bit bemused, as he walked around lighting the beeswax candles he’d once acquired with the vague thought of using them during some future special seduction.

  And if a seduction had ever needed to be special, Galar decided, this one was it.

  He turned from lighting the last candle to see her sliding her loose, forest green top off over her head. Galar swallowed, suddenly dry-mouthed, as she stepped out of her pants, then paused, boldly, sweetly naked.

  “Goddess, you’re beautiful,” he managed, his voice hoarse, as he stared at her pretty tip-tilted breasts with their hard, sweet little nipples.

  She gave him a cocky little smile, though a blush pinkened her cheeks. “You’re not so bad yourself.” The soft delta between her thighs was all mysterious shadow in the dancing golden candlelight. Her eyes cast back tiny flame reflections, half hidden in the long, straight fall of her hair.

  Galar suspected his own eyes glowed like coals with the force of his desire. He knew his cock jutted against his uniform trousers, urgent and demanding.

  He ached to show her what he’d tried and failed to express at dinner. His regret had seemed too huge, too complicated to put into words. Instead he’d let himself be diverted by trivialities—Ivar, the Sela, this T’Lir of hers.

  Or at least, they felt somehow trivial in the face of this swelling thing in his chest. A distrac
tion from what his hindbrain insisted was truly important, no matter what his reason said.

  This was not the time for reason.

  The rest would have to be dealt with—questions answered, problems solved. But not now. Now he had to repair the gulf he’d created between himself and Jess.

  She rocked back on a bare heel and lifted a brow. “That thing I said about you being not bad yourself. That was a hint.”

  Somehow he’d lost the thread of the conversation. “A hint?”

  Shaping the words very slowly, Jess elaborated. “You. Are. Wearing. Too. Many. Clothes.” Then she grinned wickedly. “Get nekkid.”

  He grinned back. “Oh.” Slowly, he started pulling up his uniform tunic. Perhaps a seductive striptease . . .

  “You’re just taking too damned long.” Jess grabbed the hem of his tunic and whipped it off over his head. “Now that’s how you’re supposed to take your clothes off for me. Fast. Like you’re unwrapping a birthday present. A really big birthday present.” Leaning forward, she found his hard, flat brown nipples with her soft mouth.

  The first pass of her tongue made him gasp. “Jess . . .” His voice sounded hoarse, pleading. This was supposed to be for her, his apology for his blindness, his ingrained suspicion.

  Her eyes glinted up at him. “Shhhh.” A swirl of her tongue, wet and breathtaking.

  “But I . . .”

  “No.” Her fingers feathered down his chest, tracing the ridges and swells of muscle, combing through chest hair, dipping teasingly into his belly button. “This time is mine.”

  He swallowed. “That’s fair.”

  Her eyes glinted. "I don’t care if it’s fair or not. You owe me, buster.”

  And how did she intend to collect? Intriguing thought. . . .

  Galar found out when one smooth hand slid down the waistband of his trousers, slipped between briefs and skin, found his thick erection. Her skin felt cool against the fevered heat of his. Blunt nails gently raked, and his cock jerked in ferocious arousal.