by Sarah Bylund
And there he was. Lieutenant Colonel Geoff Thorne. No tattoos, no albino skin, no alien mask; just Geoff. Well, Geoff and a whole squad of fierce-looking officers decked out with a mega-load of weapons and riot gear.
Behind a protective riot helmet, her lieutenant’s bright eyes were already locked on her. The savage determination in his eyes washed over her like a cloudburst in a desert.
“Geoff!” she croaked. “Two hostiles—your ten. Pharm restraint on board.”
And that was all she could manage before Geena lurched to her feet, the iDose control held high. Geoff pivoted in Geena’s direction, raising his blaster.
“Stop! Or she’s dead!” Geena barked.
“Okay, okay.” He obeyed, making a sharp signal to his crew. Eleven high-powered blasters lowered slowly.
Whitley! Deja strained her neck, trying to see if he still breathed. She could see…yes, that was blood on his face and chest. And a leg seemed crooked. Crap. The guy must’ve shielded Famous from the worst of the blast. Muscles in her neck spasmed, and she groaned, swinging her head forward.
“Deja? What—”
“She’s fine, for now,” Geena rasped, blotting a head wound with her sleeve.
“Deja, hang in there,” Geoff said, his gaze flickering to her and back to her kidnapper. “What now, Famous? We let you go free and you let her live?”
“No. You let us go free”—the chef motioned toward Whitley—“and I let Deja keep her life and her memories.”
Quick as anything, Geoff’s expression knotted into a snarl. Exhausted as she was, Deja could not remember him ever looking that enraged. Despite her predicament, a smile drifted across her face.
She breathed deep, tugging her hand again, trying to get free. She couldn’t do a thing about the iDose. But she hated lying there trussed up like a baked turkey. Then a thought occurred to her.
“Geoff, the judge is their father!” The lieutenant’s eyes widened but he kept his raptor gaze on Geena. Ignoring Deja’s outburst, the crazed chef looked down at her brother, nudging him with her foot. Whitley, stretched on his side, didn’t respond. But Deja thought she saw him breathing. Barely.
Hang in there, mister. I’d like you to meet your future namesake one day. If, you know, your sister doesn’t kill me or melt my brain.
“My brother,” Geena said, enunciating clearly, “is hurt. He dies and the deal’s off.”
“Well, let’s say I have a counter offer, hmm?” Geoff said, voice hot and cutting as a blowtorch. “Famous Foodie, I am Lt. Col. Geoffrey Thorne. You are charged with attempted murder of a judge, kidnapping and torture of an undercover CI, and, oh, about a hundred other crimes. If we let you leave, we keep your brother for insurance.”
“Famous Foodie?” she replied, smirking. “Why, there are hundreds of food lovers who use that moniker in our righteous cause. How will you ever prove who did what?”
Deja’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“And I had nothing to do with the judge, who is certainly not my father,” Geena continued. “Your girlfriend here stole several of my prized recipes. I wanted to erase them from her thieving mind, that’s all.”
Geoff, tension telegraphed in every angle of his body, exhaled a big breath. “Ah, the ‘she said, she said’ defense, huh?”
“Not a defense, just the truth. And my brother comes with me.”
Deja’s sudden laughter drew the gaze of Geoff and Geena alike. “Playback Delta-Eight-Niner-Victor-Ten,” Deja said loudly. Beneath the table, a muffled beep sounded.
“Good. I dislike repeating myself. It’s akin to eating leftovers.”
“Then perhaps you should choose more tasteful things to say.”
“Pause Whiskey-Seven-Papa-Tango,” Deja said.
The activist’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. “You tricky, meddling—”
“Oh, puh-leeze!” the oddsbreaker snapped, aching and tired and brimming with wrath. “You, Geena, are the interplanetary meddler—and murderer—not me, lady. You didn’t have the guts to shove dirt down your father’s throat—to kill him yourself. Instead, you played the coward and set me up to do the dirty work, literally.”
Geoff chimed in. “Yes. Speaking of which, your father wants to have a chat with you, Geena. He’s been listening this whole time.” Geoff pressed a contact on his matte-black helmet. A life-size hologram of the judge, ashen and bedridden, flashed into view. Famous staggered as if slapped, her features glazed with a riot of emotions. Still, she clutched the blasted iDose remote.
“No! Nobody move,” she ordered, steadying herself.
Deja and Geoff cursed in unison.
The judge’s image shifted, and he began to speak, his halting voice projected from Geoff’s comm gear.
“G-Geena? Is that you? Whitley? I’ve heard…everything. I didn’t ever think to…see you b-both again. Please, I can—”
“Explain?” Famous screeched. “You killed our mother and treated us and my people like slaves. You should be dead too. If you hadn’t been hiding who you were so well, I would have hunted and killed you long ago.”
“Please, Geenie,” he coughed, spitting scarlet blood. “No. My b-brother…he killed her. He learned of my alliance with the r-rebel movement. He blamed your…mom. Said I’d g-gone soft. I took a blow try-trying to stop him. Put me in a blasted c-coma. You two left b-before I even—” he wheezed, then erupted into a coughing fit.
The woman shuddered and cried out, doubled over like she’d been kicked by an ortoo beast.
“That…can’t be!” Geena declared. Her head teetered back and forth, her face graying in shock. “But you took the bribe. The toothpick. Everything.”
“Had to. I’m…a d-double agent for the Coalition.”
“No. How can all this be. I know you. You’re evil. You ruined my life! You ruined Whitley’s life!”
“Speaking of Whitley,” Deja blurted out, spotting some interesting movement, “it looks like you got your baby brother killed, not your old man.” A bluff? Yes. But a gravgummit awesome one.
The stupefied activist took the bait, her eyes darting down to look at her fallen brother.
Geoff took the shot—but Whitley rose up on one arm and rammed his shoulder into the side of Geena’s knees. The blaster shot missed as Famous Foodie collapsed, iDose control spinning across the floor.
Geoff’s team rushed forward to secure the prisoners and the remote. But Geoff himself sprinted to Deja. Energy gone, she panted in relief. Tearing off his helmet, the lieutenant leaned down and pressed fevered lips over hers. His passion awoke her own, shoving all her pain onto a back burner that seemed quite far away.
When at last he broke away, she sucked in a deep breath. Without a word, Geoff closed his eyes and buried his tawny head on her shoulder. His shoulders heaved and his breath gasped. Was he…crying?
“Geoff, it’s—”
And then the machine, the one that everyone had forgotten, burbled a few notes in the sudden silence.
Deja saw black spots and then just…black.
“Medic! Medic!” Geoff hollered, frantic, as he cupped Deja’s face. He didn’t dare yank off the memory halo or sensors. But each second counted. Horror pounded in his every heartbeat as he stared at the thin metal probes pressing against Deja’s precious skull.
The unit’s medic joined him, pushing Geoff out of the way. Geoff let himself be pushed, but grasped Deja’s limp hand. The soldier produced a lightwand, then pried open both of Deja’s eyes in turn, flicking the light to gauge responsiveness.
“Please, Char,” Geoff asked. “Can you stop it?” The probes, tipped with lasers, seemed to be firing now. Or maybe they had stopped for a moment? He just couldn’t tell.
Char glanced back at Geoff, her mocha skin slicked with sweat. “Deja’s pupils are responsive, sir. The wiper hasn’t blown either of ‘em. That said, I’m not an expert with this sort of tech.”
His heart crumpled a bit more. “We can’t just take off the halo, right?” he ventured, wal
ling off everything but his concern for Deja. She’s suffered so much. Stars, please let her come back to me.
“No, sir. Bad move. That, I know, could damage her hippocampus or—”
“Got it, but what do we do? Can we hack the system?” He forced himself to start unstrapping Deja’s legs, then arms. He noticed the dislocated thumb with a flash of fleeting pride. She’d almost gotten one hand free. In a gentle motion, he pulled the thumb back into alignment.
“Yeah, we can try,” the medic said, two fingers pressed to Deja’s carotid, timing her pulse.
“Geary,” Geoff yelled, looking around for their chief tech specialist.
“Right here, boss. Already on it.”
Geoff startled, aware now that Geary was crouched by the machine, examining its innards. The lieutenant blinked then gazed back at Deja, whose eyes moved behind closed eyelids. REM sleep. She was dreaming. Of what, he wondered?
Feeling helpless as a newborn, Geoff fought a sharp urge to smash something. Instead, he stripped off his gloves and sandwiched Deja’s uninjured hand with his own, squeezing as though the pressure would keep her memories intact. Char was rigging Deja with an oxygen mask when he realized that someone else was trying—no, begging—to get his attention.
“Sir! My brother, please.”
He knew that voice. Geoff swung a frigid glare toward the manacled prisoner. His unit’s junior medic, Dobbs, was tending to the activist’s brother, who stretched unmoving on the floor. Geoff breathed deep, speaking in a low voice colored with rage. “What would you have me do? Let a criminal suffer a while longer or let an innocent woman lose who knows how much of her memory? All because you loathed your father for something he never did?”
Famous dropped her eyes. “I’m…sorry. This was my idea, though. He wanted to let her go. Please, I can stop the wipe if you’ll let me. Just take care of Whitley. He is not doing so well.”
“Look at me,” Geoff barked. She did, and he saw the defeat and fear in her eyes.
“First, what’s the code to unlock this pharm collar?”
“The iDose?” Without a pause, Geena reeled off the code phrase. Char looked to Geoff, awaiting permission. He nodded and she entered the code into the remote.
The iDose clicked open. Geoff nudged the medic’s hand out of the way, seizing the collar. Which he dropped, smashed with a booted foot, then slagged with his blaster. That sure felt good.
“Fine,” he told Geena. “Get over here. But you had better work fast,” he cautioned, ice shards still coating his words. “Sooz, watch the boy. Yates and Takeshi, stay at the prisoner’s sides at all times.”
Trusting his crew to do as ordered, Geoff looked back at Deja. How much time did they have? How many memories were being burned from her brilliant mind while he watched? The pulse in her wrist raced. Her face felt too hot, feverish, when he brushed his fingers over her cheek. His own face was cold, the skin tight from the tears he’d shed moments before. Hope and fear, pride and anger kept new tears at bay. Just barely. Without her he wouldn’t even be alive today. Without her, he might never feel alive again.
“Char, go help stabilize the brother,” Geoff said. Char couldn’t do much else for Deja anyway. And, well, the injured young man had helped subdue his sister. “Dobbs, come take over for Char.” Refocusing, he listened as the prisoner told Geary what to do. Moments later, the machine chimed, and Geoff held his breath.
The laser probes stopped doing whatever they were doing and withdrew. The lights on the halo blinked blue instead of red. The lieutenant fixed a sharp glare on Famous. “Is the machine off?”
“Yes. It’s powered down.”
Geary nodded in agreement.
“Th—good,” he said gruffly, correcting himself. He’d almost thanked the crazy chef. He turned to his junior medic. “How is she, Dobbs? Should we wake her? Or let her sleep? Is the med bus in route?”
Geoff waited, stock still, as the backup doc did a quick evaluation, including blood pressure.
“Sir, her vitals look good. Pupils still reactive. Don’t think we want her waking up, though. Not after that.” The man carefully removed the halo.
“Okay, give her a mild sedative?” Geoff asked.
“Yessir. Also, the bus should be here—ah, there it is.” Dobbs touched a comm node in his ear and issued some instructions to the incoming vehicle. Then the medic stretched out a hand to remove the sensors stuck all over Deja, including under her clothes. But Geoff stopped him, a flare of possessiveness catching him off guard. “Uh, I’ll do that.” Forcing his fingers not to linger over her soft skin, he removed the sensors against her chest first and then those on her face and neck.
“Lt. Col. Thorne?” It was Famous Foodie again.
“Silence. You have the right to remain silent,” he snapped, skewering Geena with an icy stare. “I suggest you exercise your right because, otherwise, I’ll have you gagged.”
The chef frowned a bit yet quieted down as the med bus approached.
The reinforced, double-decker vehicle lumbered to a halt beyond the gaping hole in the wall. MEDICAL TRANSPORT said the sign on its roof and side. Teams were unloading two rolling gurneys as Geoff bent down to whisper in Deja’s ear. “Deja, I’m here. I love you. I’ve got you. Just rest. You’ll be okay.” Heavens, she had better be okay. Cold anxiety swirled inside him, but he refused to let it win.
“Excellent work, everyone,” he said hoarsely, looking at each of his team members in turn. “Dobbs and Geary, with me and Deja. Char, Yates, and Sooz, guard the wounded male on the med bus with me. The rest of you, stay guarding the female perp. The prison transport should be here soon. Lethal action,” he added.
“And you,” he told Geena darkly, “you are going to behave yourself. Try to escape and my crew will drop you.”
One gurney team reached Deja’s bedside as he finished issuing orders. Geoff helped them hoist her onto the gurney and then clasped her hand again, trotting alongside as the paramedics rushed her to the bus. The other team brought the injured man right behind.
Geoff prayed all the way to the med facility, holding the oddsbreaker’s hand in his big paws.
Shifting in the chair by Deja’s bed, Geoff rubbed the back of his neck. Then he reached up to touch his blackened eye. Stars above, she has crazy good reflexes, even when she’s half asleep. He hoped the swing Deja had taken at him was indeed a reflex, driven by confusion and drowsiness. But, when it came down to it, he deserved the shiner. Geoff should never have gotten the Coalition involved. He should’ve protected her better. He should’ve done a lot of things. All things considered, he’d told the nurses to leave him be. The black eye would heal when it healed.
Geoff mapped the shape of her face with his eyes. Already, her olive-brown skin looked brighter than it had since she’d been admitted two days ago. Finally, he sat back. The doctors had said she should awaken soon. But they hadn’t been able to tell him much of anything about her memory. “Tests look good. Brain waves are strong” was just about all they would commit to, gravgummit. The brain was so…tricky. Mysterious.
He let his thoughts drift to when he first met Deja, the perfect stranger who had saved his life. Yet would he be a stranger to her again when she awoke after the aborted memory wipe? He knew they could build a life together, a wonderful life. If, that is, Deja still knew who he was. If she could forgive him. If she still cared for him.
Chef Bastian Boyar sat in a chair on the other side of the table from Geoff in a brightly lit interrogation room. The dark-blue Vinadroan looked…worried. His brow was creased and he kept fiddling with an earring in one ear. But was Boyar worried about his own fate or Deja’s or both? Geoff had already interrogated Chef Gaskón, who had come forward and readily admitted his part in the plot. Apparently, the “pork-eschewing” Orinkk had once dined on a deceased uncle in secret, and Geena had found out and used that damning information against the porcine chef.
“So, Chef Boyar,” Geoff began. “why do you think you are here?”
“That is correct, chef. You have been entirely too obsessed with the now-convalescing judge, not to mention your competitor. And, no, EvaLynn Dubois is not her real name. But her true name is not for you to know at this point.” Geoff narrowed his eyes. He was one of many to interrogate the culinary star, but he would hopefully be the last. “Did you play any part in the plot to assassinate Inciardi or capture Dubois?”
“No to both,” said Bastian, clasping his hands in front of himself. “I never tried to harm either of them. But how is EvaLynn or whatever her name is? Was she hurt?”
“Yes, she was…injured in more ways than one,” Geoff said haltingly. He hated admitting this. But he felt that the other man deserved to know at least that much.
“Will she recover?”
“No one knows at this point,” Geoff said. “Now, I need you to tell me everything you have on Inciardi. First, I will tell you something that might change your perception of him. The judge is a double agent, working as a confidential informant for the Coalition. He has been feeding information on dangerous culinary criminals to the Coalition for years—even as far back as your involvement in the Ultimate Chef of the Galaxy Contest five years ago.”
“He what?” Boyar exclaimed. “So the man was only pretending to be dirty?” The alien’s deep-blue eyes opened wider.
“Precisely. Do you still have doubts as to Inciardi’s actions in the past or present?”
“I…do not know,” answered Bastian, shifting positions in his chair.
“OK. Give me the ‘evidence’ you have on him, and I will be able to confirm or deny whether he acted on behalf of the Coalition or not.”
“Sure, I will tell you everything that I know.” And then the Vinadroan began to detail what he knew about the judge’s past. “And that is all the information I have, truly,” Bastian finished. “I swear on my mother’s table.”