Clone Wars: Armageddon
by Kaitlyn O'Connor
New Concepts Publishing
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Copyright ©2006 by Kaitlyn O'Connor
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Clone Wars: Armageddon
by Kaitlyn O'Connor
Clone Wars:
ARMAGEDDON
By
Kaitlyn O'Connor
© copyright February 2006, Kaitlyn O'Connor
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright February 2006
ISBN 1-58608-819-x
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places
are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with
fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely
coincidence.
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Clone Wars: Armageddon
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Chapter One
"Give us the names of the others."
Lena Silverstone managed to pry her eyelids up a fraction
of an inch. It didn't help much. The room she found herself in
was dim and completely unfamiliar. Shadows moved about it,
but she wasn't certain whether the shadows were people or
just shadows. Frowning in concentration as she tried to focus
her blurring vision, she turned the demand over in her mind,
trying to figure out what he was talking about, where she
was, and why she was in this unfamiliar place.
Someone grabbed her by her hair, jerking her head back
until the base of her skull cracked against something hard
and metallic—the back of the seat she was strapped to, her
mind supplied. She winced as the blow and the tugging at her
scalp sent pain through her nerve endings.
"Names! Give us some names!" the command came again.
Her thoughts were disjointed but finally a fact emerged.
She'd been drugged. It wasn't just her vision that was out of
focus. Her mind wandered drunkenly from one thing to
another. Her tongue and lips felt swollen and numb. "Uders?"
she finally managed to emit the sounds though they were
slurred, as if she'd had one shot too many of hard liquor.
"The underground."
The words were terse, almost violent. Despite the drug,
her heart gave a little leap of fear. "Doan know," she
muttered after several aborted attempts, too confused to
figure out what they were talking about.
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The man holding her hair slammed her head into the chair
back again and released his grip abruptly. The pain that
hadn't even subsided exploded into harder, pulsating waves.
When the man released her, Lena's head fell forward. It felt
too heavy for her neck to support it.
"What do you think?"
"I think we gave her too much," responded another voice.
The new voice penetrated Lena's half stupor. She rolled
her head to one side and struggled to focus her vision and her
attention, knowing instinctively that the conversation was of
utmost importance to her.
"Or maybe not enough? She's a stubborn bitch."
"Don't be stupid. If we kill her now we won't get anything
out of her. Look at her. She hardly knows where she is."
"Maybe she really doesn't know anything?" the first man
said slowly.
"Get your mind off your dick."
"What?"
There was a mixture of amusement and anger in the single
word question that captured Lena's attention. Dimly, she
realized there was an underlying threat in the direction the
conversation had taken. She just wasn't entirely sure of what
that was.
"We've only just started questioning her. Until we get what
we can from her, or know for sure that she doesn't have
anything to give us, they won't be handing her over to you."
"I could break her," the first man offered.
A shiver traveled through Lena then and she suddenly
knew what he was talking about with crystal clarity, partly
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because she'd finally managed to get a good enough look at
the man to see his expression. He had the look of a thug—
close set eyes, a hardness about his features that said he
knew all about cruelty and he enjoyed it. He was dark, hairy,
and built like a gorilla. The other man was lean, more of an
academic type. She figured he must be there to make sure
the interrogation didn't go too far.
There was a light in the ceiling above the chair she was
strapped to. It acted like a spotlight, throwing a ring of light
around her and leaving the perimeter of the room in dimness,
but she could see that the room was little more than a cubicle
and the walls, floor and ceiling were made of materials to
deaden sound.
That realization sent another shiver through her.
"Just take her back to her cell for now. Next time I'll give
her a smaller dose."
The gorilla man was angry when he unstrapped her
restraints. He slapped her hard enough it rattled her teeth.
"Wake up, little bird. Time to go back to your cage."
Lena struggled to get up before he slapped her again. He
didn't wait for her to manage it, however. Grabbing one arm,
he dragged her out of the chair. Her legs felt like limp
noodles. She couldn't seem to lock her knees or manage even
a wobbling step. Ignoring her difficulties, he dragged her
when she sprawled on the floor. The icy cold steel tiles sent a
jolt through her, reviving her slightly. When he paused at the
door, she struggled to get to her feet. The man shifted his
grip, wrapping one hard arm around her chest, just beneath
her breasts. She managed a half a dozen steps before he
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began dragging her again down an impossibly long, wavering
corridor than seemed to undulate like rolling breakers.
Doors opened off the vein sporadically, but all of them
were closed and Lena was in no condition in any case to
figure out what the rooms might be for. They paused again at
a set of double doors when they reached the end of the
corridor. Seconds later, the doors slid silently open, revealing
another cubicle very little smaller than the one they'd just
left. Dragging her inside, the man released her, allowing her
to slump to the floor, and punched a glowing button. The
doors slid shut and the sensation of rapid movement that
followed made Lena's head swim even worse.
Settling with a sharp jolt, the doors opened again. This
time the man hauled her to her feet and slung her over his
shoulder. She thought for several moments she might be ill
as her head swam sickeningly. She fought the nausea, partly
because she wasn't certain she could stop if she got started
and partly because she figured he would react violently to
having her puke down his back.
She gave up on trying to see anything, squeezing her eyes
closed to help battle the dizziness. Around her, she heard
whispers—the voices of both men and women—but she could
only catch a word here and there and the whispers told her
nothing more than the fact that there were other people
nearby. She opened her eyes when the man halted at last
and managed to get a quick glimpse of the area around her
as she was set on her feet. The next moment, she was
shoved through a narrow door. The door slammed closed and
she found herself in yet another tiny cubicle. This one
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contained two bunks stacked one on top of the other. The
woman sprawled on the bottom bunk eyed her with hostility.
Her attitude was plainly territorial, and Lena looked up at the
top bunk a little hopelessly.
It took some maneuvering but she finally managed to hoist
herself up onto the bunk and collapsed. Her head was still
swimming. She closed her eyes, gripping the hard mattress
on either side of her. After a while, the nausea eased off. The
disorientation from the drug didn't abate appreciably. She
found herself struggling to make sense of her disjointed
thoughts, going back over and over to the questions that had
been bellowed at her and the argument between the two
men.
The men had been wearing uniforms of some sort, she
finally realized.
She was in an institution of some kind. Mental hospital?
Prison?
The drugs seemed to indicate a mental hospital, but
everything else that she could recall seemed to contradict
that. Why would they interrogate a mental patient?
For that matter, why would they interrogate a prisoner?
Presumably, one did not end up in prison until one had been
tried and convicted for a crime.
The word crime prompted a sickening flood of memories.
She was in prison.
She'd been sentenced to life—for killing herself.
* * * *
Three months earlier
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The tube shuttle jolted to a halt and doors all along its
length slid open. Every passenger in the car Lena occupied
tensed, as if fearful that someone would leap on, or that they
might be grabbed and shoved out. Lena was the only
passenger in the car who got to her feet and moved to the
door, stepping through moments before the doors slid shut
once more and the shuttle shot from the platform towards its
next destination.
She ignored the stares of the other passengers who looked
her over speculatively as she got off. She knew what sorts of
things were running through their minds. Station 157 opened
to the worst part of Grand City, an area devastated by the
hundred years storms and inhabited by the poorest of the
poor; derelicts, druggies, thieves, and murderers. Ground
zero for the worst of the famine riots thirty years earlier, this
part of Grand City looked like what it was, a war zone, and
although she was always careful to dress in her most worn
clothing when she went to visit Morris, she knew from the
way the denizens of the area studied her that she still stuck
out like a cotton bowl in a mound of pig shit.
The commuters were wondering what business she could
possibly have that would take her into such an area.
It wasn't business that had brought her though.
Focusing her attention on the cracked pavement as much
because she wanted to avoid tripping over any of the debris
that littered the ground as because she knew it was best not
to see anything going on around her, Lena headed toward the
stone stairs that led up from the tube system to ground level.
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She'd tried for years to convince Morris to leave this area
of the city, but he was a stubborn old coot. No amount of
reasoning, begging, or threatening would move him so much
as a hair.
He'd been born here, in the days, so he claimed, when it
was a respectable part of the city. She found it hard to
believe the area had ever been reputable, and yet she
couldn't deny that there were some signs to support Morris'
claim. The shuttle tube had been built to run through here,
and the area had its own terminal. There were also signs that
the broken shells of buildings that still stood had once been
handsome structures. Care and craftsmanship had gone in to
their construction and she supposed that wouldn't have been
the case if the area had always been mean.
A knot of young caucs were loitering across the street from
the tube entrance when she emerged. In her own area of the
city she wouldn't even have noticed. Here, things were very
different and it went well beyond the poverty and crime of the
area.
It was a cauc enclave and rumor had it that the place was
as rife with rebels as it was other lawbreakers.
She tried not to think about that. In a way, it was actually
kind of sad to see them huddled in miserable knots of
humanity, trying to find common ground for some sort of
unity. They were a lot like the gangs that had formed in the
way back, she supposed, desperate to find a place where they
felt like they fit in—desperate enough they were willing to do
pretty much anything to get that particular kind of high—rob,
deal, kill.
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Like the spokes of a wheel, this entire area of the city was
sectioned off in territories. The caucs held the hub. The tino
enclave lay several blocks to the east, the indy to the west
and the negs to the south. They were bloods. Anybody that
could claim, and prove, to be at least 45 percent pure racial
lineage could belong to the elite. Between the spokes were
the breeds, those who belonged to two or more of the groups
through breeding, but actually belonged to none since no one
else would accept them.
There were only three things they all had in common:
poverty, misery, and rebellion.
Morris was a rebel—not in the sense that he was active in
opposing the government and breaking the law, but in his
views. She was fairly certain, though, that in the way back,
when he had been young, strong, and virile, he had been a
force to be reckoned with.
She didn't know why she loved the ornery old coot! He was
the most argumentative person she knew.
He was also a blood and a purist and very outspoken about
it. She couldn't count the number of times he'd lectured her
about the beauty and sanctity of the purity of the races, how
important it was to hold on to the things they had left that set
them apart, those special traits that made them unique from
one another.
He was going to give her hell when he noticed what she'd
done with her hair.
Lena sighed, flicking a nervous glance around her to make
certain no one was paying her too much attention as she
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turned from the tube entrance and began to walk briskly
along the broken, uneven sidewalk toward Morris' place.
She was such a chicken! She hadn't been to see Morris in
months, not since she'd decided to go to the lab and have her
hair done.
It wasn't like the decision was pure impulse. She'd thought
it over long and hard before she'd finally decided that it was
ridiculous to cling to hair that was giving her pure hell only
because it was a unique racial trait when she could have it
genetically altered to something more manageable. It was all
very well to stick to nature if nature had provided well for
one, but she'd hated the way her hair broke so badly every
time she tried to grow it long and she'd hated the way it
crimped up every time she washed it.
Besides, anybody could tell just from looking at her that
there'd been more than one cauc in her family woodpile!
She'd been born with blue eyes, for god's sake! She hadn't
had those done at the lab. For that matter, her brother Nigel
had blue eyes, which meant a thick cauc genetic link and
made her doubt Morris knew what he was talking about when
he insisted she and Nigel were bloods. No one but Morris
seemed to think they were pure negs anyway!
It occurred to her as she reached the corner that she was
thinking up arguments to try to pacify Morris and she knew
that just wasn't going to happen.
Maybe he wouldn't notice, she thought hopefully? She
hadn't changed the color, just slightly altered the texture and
strand strength.
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She discovered that she'd been so deep in thought that
she'd reached the building where Morris lived with no memory
of even walking the two blocks from the station. A jolt of
uneasiness went through her.
This was not the sort of place to walk around in a
distracted fog!
When she glanced around, she discovered that the cauc
youths she'd noticed when she'd left the terminal had
followed her. A knot of fear formed in her throat.
They saw it—or smelled her fear like animals of prey
smelled it in their victims. One, a tall, painfully skinny boy
with stringy blond hair, stepped from the sidewalk.
Giving up her pretense of unconcern, Lena shot through
the door of the building and raced across the lobby to the
rickety stairs. She could hear shouts behind her as she
reached the stairs and headed up them at an incautious clip.
By the time she reached the second landing, she heard the
pounding of a half a dozen feet against the hard floor of the
lobby, racing toward the stairs.
Thankfully, Morris was only three levels up. Reaching the
door to the stairwell, she yanked it open and dashed down
the hall, praying she wouldn't discover that Morris was out.
Her heart was pounding in her ears and her breath rushing
in and out of her chest painfully when she began to hammer
frantically at Morris' door. Just as the door to the stairwell
opened, Morris' door was yanked open, a hand fisted around
her forearm and she was jerked inside. Gasping for breath,
frightened witless, Lena had already thrown herself into the
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man's arms before she realized the hard chest beneath her
cheek didn't belong to Morris.
Heady sensations washed over her. His scent was clean
and as appealingly manly as the hardness of the chest she
burrowed against and the strength of the arms that tightened
around her. To her surprise, the arms tightened more when
she realized her mistake and struggled to push herself away
from him.
The face she looked up into was as purely cauc as Morris'
own, but far younger and a great deal more handsome.
His expression, however, was grim, his blue eyes stormy
with both desire and something else she couldn't quite
interpret.
Dragging her gaze from his, she spotted Morris, who'd
pushed himself from his easy chair and was standing tensely
in the center of his living room.
"Morris?"
"Lena! What in the world are you doing here, baby girl?"
Almost reluctantly, the arms around her loosened and the
stranger stepped away.
"We'll continue our discussion later," the stranger said, his
deep voice sending shivers of awareness through Lena. She
glanced up at him again even as he turned away, pulled the
door open and went out, closing the door firmly behind him.
A wave of disappointment went through her at his abrupt
departure. The temptation arose to jerk the door open and
peer out at him, to see if he was as gorgeous as she'd
imagined, but she killed the impulse forming. For one thing,
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she could hear the pack of cauc youths thundering along the
hall.
For another—well, if he'd been even nearly as interested in
her as she was him, he wouldn't have taken off like his coat
tails were on fire.
"Who was that?" she asked instead of answering Morris'
question.
He frowned, but finally shook his head. Turning, he
shuffled toward his favorite chair and settled in it heavily.
"Just a neighbor. Bolt the door. I expect he'll give those
ruffians what for and send them on their way, but there's no
sense in borrowing trouble."
Since she was already in the act of doing just that, Lena
finished securing the multitude of locks on his door and
followed him into the living room. When she'd leaned down to
kiss his weathered cheek and hugged him, she sat on the
lumpy couch across from him. "I haven't seen you in months.
I missed you, you old goat," she said as she settled, her voice
chiding. "That's not much of a greeting."
The look in his eyes was almost vague, but at her
comment he seemed to shake off whatever thoughts were
distracting him. "Thought I'd finally drilled some sense into
you. You're going to get hurt if you keep traipsing down here.
This is no place for you."
Lena frowned. "It's no place for you, either. Why won't you
move in with me? I got a bigger apartment just so I'd have
an extra room."
He smiled at that, but grimly. "Because I've no business on
the other side, and you know that, too. The gov would be
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down on both of us so fast it would make your head swim,
baby girl."
"I'm not a baby anymore," Lena muttered. She'd been so
confident when she'd gotten the two bedroom apartment that
she could talk Morris into coming to live with her! She'd been
certain she could appeal to his intense protectiveness toward
her. In this instance, unfortunately, it was his concern for her
safety that had convinced him she would be better off with his
absence than his presence.
Morris peered at her, his old eyes suddenly keen. "What've
you done to your hair?"
Lena grimaced. "Come on, Morris, don't start that again."
"Start what?" he growled. "You've been down to that
damned clinic, haven't you, baby girl? Didn't I tell you to stay
away from that place? God knows what kind of experiments
the gov is carrying on there, but you can be damned sure it
ain't something you want to be a part of!"
Sighing inwardly, Lena sought patience. "Nigel is a tech
there. You know that. And they keep his nose to the grind
stone. About the only time I get to see my big brother is
when I go. And it isn't a gov facility. You know that, too."
He shook his head. "Lena, child, you're a beautiful girl, a
credit to your race. Why the hell would you let them take
some of that away from you?"
Lena could feel a guilty blush climbing into her cheeks, but
irritation surfaced. She released a huff of anger. "I'm a breed,
Morris. I'm not a blood. I'm not any more pure than anybody
else on the other side. Anyway, it was just cosmetic. I got
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tired of spending half my day trying to get my damned hair to
do what I wanted it to."
He snorted, but shook his head. "Everything is too easy
these days. That isn't a good thing. Hard as the old days
were, struggle gave folks strength. The whole human race is
going to go down the tubes if they let the gov take all their
strength and treat them like infants."
She ought to have known the moment he noticed her hair
he was going to go off on one of his gov conspiracy rants. "If
you'd come to the other side of the city with me sometime
you'd see everybody works hard. We're not being pampered
to death."
Of course she supposed she didn't have a lot of room to
talk. She was a gov employee, a historian, and it wasn't the
sort of job that made one break a sweat. She wasn't even a
field tech. All she did all day was work on restoring the
artifacts that were found, analyzing them, and recording her
impressions.
Oddly enough, it was Morris—a cauc and died in the wool
purist—who'd inspired her choice of profession, not the
parents she could barely remember. He'd raised her and
Nigel, though, and taught them pride in their heritage and
she'd thought the best way to demonstrate that pride was to
preserve the history of their race. It helped that she was
actually fascinated by her people's roots. Theirs was a long,
long history of struggle. In the end, they'd pretty much been
absorbed in the melting pot like all of the other races, but
their unique genetic traits were as strong as the cauc's at the
other end of the spectrum. In spite of generations of cross
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breeding, many of their special traits remained preserved in
the gene pool.
Another wave of guilt went through her when she realized
she'd been more interested in pleasing Morris in her choice of
profession than because of any real sense of heritage. And
the worst of it was, he hadn't been particularly pleased—not
when he discovered she would be employed by the gov he
hated with a passion.
Morris snorted, but to her surprise dismissed it after that
short spurt of disapproval. "I wish you hadn't, but it's done
now and you're stuck with it. If I catch you going down to
that place again, though, I'll tan your backside for you! You
might think you're too grown up for it, but you're still my
baby girl!"
Lena was torn between amusement, love, and indignation
at the threat. "Just to see Nigel sometimes. I promise."
To her surprise and alarm, his face crumpled. "Not even
for that, Lena. Promise me you'll stay away from that place. I
know you think my hate has turned my mind, but there's
something going on there."
In a general way, Lena tended to turn a deaf ear to all of
Morris' talk about conspiracy, but there was real fear in his
eyes that sent a current through her. Anger followed it. "That
guy that was here—he's a rebel, isn't he?"
Morris turned so pale Lena was alarmed. She jumped to
her feet and rushed to him. "Morris?"
With an effort, he seemed to recover himself, but she was
more alarmed than reassured when he pulled her down on his
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lap and cuddled her just as he had when she was a small
child. "There are rumors."
She was way too old to behave like a little girl, and Morris
was too old now for her to be planting her weight in his lap,
but he'd scared her when he turned so white. She'd been
certain it was his heart. Instead of struggling up, she settled
against him, nestling her head against his shoulder. "There
are always rumors," she murmured soothingly. "I'm a
historian, remember? I may not have been around until after
the hundred years of storms and the famine riots, but I've
read all of the documentation. It was nature that caused the
famine. The gov did all that was humanly possible."
Morris made a rude noise. "Sure they did. It was for our
own protection that they rounded everybody up into camps. I
taught you to think for yourself, baby girl, not to just believe
whatever crap the gov decides to feed the public."
"I do think for myself. Everybody was responsible for the
imbalance of nature that caused the hundred years of storms.
Maybe the gov had a hand in it because they were more
focused on the economy than the environment and didn't
protect us like they should have, but they didn't make the
storms. And it was the storms that made it impossible to
produce enough food to feed people."
"The gov was responsible," Morris said irritably. "They
taught people to behave like children and let them make all of
the decisions for them—and they made the wrong decisions!
Those poor decisions were directly responsible for the
imbalance that caused the storms. And they didn't stop there.
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When the people were starving and fighting for survival, they
turned our armies against us."
"I know. You're right," Lena said quietly. "But that was a
long time ago. Most of it happened even before your time.
Things have changed."
Morris stroked her back soothingly as he had when she
was a child. "They have at that, but not for the better."
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Chapter Two
Three weeks later
"You're starting to scare the shit out of me, Morris," Lena
muttered, chaffing her palms along her upper arms as she
paced his tiny living room and stared out of the grimy window
at the streets below.
"Language, Lena Marie!" Morris growled.
A mixture of guilt, amusement, and irritation flooded Lena.
She turned away from the window to study him. "I learned it
from you! Quit trying to distract me. Are you in to
something?" she asked, returning to the couch and sitting
down to face him.
Morris frowned, studying the worn patches of rug beneath
his feet. "When did you get to be the adult around here? You
think I'm so old you can boss me around like a child?"
This time only guilt and irritation surfaced. She couldn't tell
if he was up to something or if it was just the same old
Morris, still predicting the end of the world by gov conspiracy.
It didn't matter what happened, or who was responsible, or
even if anyone was responsible. Morris always picked every
event apart and discovered the gov's hand in it.
She couldn't decide why she felt like this time it was
different.
She hadn't been able to sleep easy since she'd visited him
last. Morris had always been protective. Ever since the day
he'd found her and her brother, mostly starved, and hiding in
an alley because they were too scared to come out and even
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look for food, he'd been fiercely protective of them, especially
her, either because she was the youngest, or because of his
old fashioned views on 'weak' females.
There'd been something unnerving about the way he'd
behaved the last time she'd come to visit him though,
something she couldn't figure out, but also couldn't put out of
her mind.
Ok, so she also couldn't get that blond god out of her mind
either and maybe, somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd
more than half hoped she'd run into him again.
Morris wouldn't be happy about her interest in him,
though, and she didn't quite dare bring him up.
It occurred to her that she had the perfect excuse for
bringing the stranger up, though. "That guy that was here
when I came last time—is he trying to get you mixed up in
something?"
Morris gave her a wide eyed stare of innocence and then
frowned, as if he was struggling to recall an elusive memory.
"What guy?"
Lena gave him a look. "The one that manhandled me at
the door. I'm not buying this, Morris."
Morris gave up the attempt to pretend his memory was
faulty. "Seemed to me you was doing a bit of wallowing there.
What's your interest in my neighbor?" he asked sharply.
Lena felt a blush rising in her cheeks in spite of all she
could do. "Nothing as long as he isn't trying to get you in
trouble," she lied.
"Liar. I saw the way the two of you looked each other
over. I may be old, but I ain't senile and I ain't blind. Don't
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even be thinking about it. The guy's cauc, as pure as can be
found in this day and time. You promised me you'd give me
some beautiful neg grandbabies to dandle on my knee—you
and Nigel both. The young shouldn't have the ability to breed.
They're too thoughtless. Got nothing on their mind but hot
blood when they ought to be considering what they're passing
down to their offspring."
Full fledged embarrassment swept through Lena. Even her
eyeballs felt hot. "Morris! I never said I wanted to—uh—I'm
not lusting over him, for god's sake! I don't even know him!"
Morris snorted. "It's a chemical bonfire, baby girl. It ain't
got nothing to do with knowing somebody!"
Lena came to her feet and began to pace the room in
agitation. Finally, finding herself in front of the couch again,
she plopped down on it. It took an effort to paste a smile on
her full lips. "Good try. If you're not up to something, why
won't you come stay with me? I promise not to bother you.
You'll have your own room to yourself and I'm at work most
of the time, so you'd have the apartment to yourself except in
the evenings. You're getting skinny. You need somebody to
cook for you."
Morris laughed with real humor. "You got somebody in
mind? Cause the last I noticed cooking wasn't one of your
special talents, baby girl."
Lena gave him a look. "I happen to think I'm pretty good.
You taught me to cook!"
"Exactly!" he shot back at her. "So if my own cooking is
making me skinny, yours ain't going to help!"
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Lena sighed, but when she'd glanced at her time piece, she
got to her feet. "I have to go. But I'll give you fair warning
I'm not giving up on this. I'm going to keep on pestering you
till you give in."
Morris pushed himself from his chair, pulled the antiquated
gun he carried around with him for protection from under the
chair and shoved it into his pants pocket. "I'll walk you to the
terminal. You'd make me happier if you'd quit coming here at
all. You're too pretty to walk alone around here."
Lena didn't argue with him. They both knew it wasn't safe.
If she looked like the south end of a north bound mule it
would still be dangerous. "When you come to live with me I
won't have any reason to come here," she pointed out as they
headed out of the apartment and paused in the hallway for
Morris to secure all of his locks.
Morris sent her a piercing glance. "I love you, too, Lena
Marie. When I get too old and ornery to take care of myself, I
might let you drag me home with you like a stray."
They met up with the blond stranger when they reached
the second landing. Lena's heart executed a peculiar little flip
flop when she saw him mounting the stairs toward them. Her
blood began to sing in her ears and disjointed thoughts
collided in her head. Should she just smile politely and nod?
What if he stopped Morris to talk? Could she say anything at
all without making herself look like a complete idiot?
She was still scrambling for something clever to say when
he looked up. Heat flashed through her and then cold, and
then heat again as his deep blue eyes locked with hers. A
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wave of dizziness followed. It was almost like hitting an
invisible wall, stunning, completely disorienting.
His gaze flickered over her assessingly as they came
abreast and then he glanced at Morris.
The two men nodded and moved past each other as if
they'd never met.
Lena was still in a state of shock when Morris shoved her
into the car of the shuttle and the doors closed behind her.
* * * *
One month later
Morris was smiling when he opened the door. Lena felt her
jaw go slack as her gaze traveled over the neatly slicked back
hair, his clean shaven face, and down the neatly tucked tunic
he was wearing, to his shined shoes. "Baby girl! Come in!
Come on in. Don't just stand in the hall."
Like a sleepwalker, Lena allowed him to lead her into the
apartment. The sense of disorientation increased as she
wandered into the living room and stood in the middle of the
floor, staring around at it as if she'd never seen the place
before while Morris secured the locks on the door.
It was spotless. The smell dominating the area was of
cleanser, not the musty smell of dust and clutter, and the
combined odors of cooked food from many meals.
"I've been giving a lot of thought to your invitation to
come live with you and it finally occurred to me that that was
the only way I could get you to stop risking your neck coming
here."
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Lena turned and stared at Morris blankly. It looked like
Morris. The man even sounded like Morris, at least his voice
did. Nothing coming out of his mouth sounded like her Morris,
though.
As stunned as she was, Lena noticed a flicker of something
in his eyes that set warning bells to clamoring in her head.
She forced a smile. "I knew you'd come around," she
managed to say, though her voice didn't sound like her own,
sounded distant to her ears. She licked suddenly dry lips.
"You're serious? You're going to come with me?"
He grinned, gesturing toward the packed suitcase sitting
on the floor by the bedroom door.
A hard wave of nausea washed over Lena. For several
moments she thought she was going to throw up, or burst
into tears. Moisture flooded her eyes. "I'm so happy," she
murmured when he gave her a questioning look. "This is—this
is so great! It'll be like old times."
She wished she hadn't thrown that last comment in for
good measure. It brought the urge to burst into tears so close
it squeezed the breath from her lungs. Numbly, she watched
as he hefted the suitcase and turned to look at her
expectantly. "You're ready?" she asked blankly.
He looked around. "Nothing of any importance around
here. I've got my best clothes packed, and grooming
supplies."
"What about the gun?"
Something flickered in his eyes, but he merely chuckled.
"That old thing hasn't worked in years. I tossed it."
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Nodding, Lena led the way out again. She had no idea
what she said on the way to the shuttle terminal. Thankfully,
the car was crowded when she and Morris climbed on. She fell
silent, grateful for a respite, staring absently at the other
passengers, at the blurred view beyond the windows that was
little more than streaks of lights and the concrete walls of the
tube until they surfaced beyond old city and shot skyward
toward the skyline segment of the tube that traversed the
newer areas of Grand City.
Morris, she discovered, was babbling about seeing the
sights.
She smiled in what she thought was all of the appropriate
places. A coldness had begun to creep over her that she
couldn't shake. Surreptitiously, she kept glancing at Morris—
his hands, his build, his weathered face—his clothing, his neat
hair.
Morris had never been slovenly. He was very particular
about good hygiene and he bathed and groomed with
regularity. Beyond that, though, he wasn't a primper and he
tended to be very careless in his appearance. He bathed. He
raked the tangles from his hair every morning, brushed his
teeth, shaved—thereafter, he didn't give his appearance a
thought. He wore whatever was clean, no matter how it
clashed with other articles of clothing or how threadbare or
ragged it might be. Once he'd combed his hair, he didn't
touch it, which meant it was all over the place within hours of
rising, and he didn't cut it until it began to be a nuisance—
most often sawing it off himself with haphazard results.
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Lena wanted, badly, to think that Morris had gone to so
much trouble to groom himself so that he'd be a credit to her.
She didn't believe it for one moment, though, simply
because she knew it would never occur to Morris that he
wasn't.
Wild thoughts kept tumbling through her mind.
He hadn't made one comment about the gov—not one, not
even when they'd passed the building on the way to the
terminal that had anti-gov sentiments painted all over it.
As the shuttle halted at her stop and she got up from her
seat like a robot and followed the line of people getting off,
something Morris had told her months ago popped into her
head.
He'd said rumors had begun to circulate that the gov was
replacing people with their clones, clones that had been
carefully programmed to conform to gov policies.
She'd actually laughed when he'd told her that because it
was just so ridiculous even to consider such a thing. In the
first place, cloning humans was illegal. It had always been
illegal, and it was unnecessary anyway for growing
replacement organs. If anyone needed a replacement, they
could grow the organ. They didn't need to invest the time and
money into growing a whole person, and the economy was
still in horrible shape. Even after years and years of
struggling, things were only just returning to normal. No way
could the gov afford that kind of project. A private company,
maybe, but not the gov, which had gone bankrupt during the
famine riots and still hadn't recovered.
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And why would a private company want to do such a
thing? Or feel the need for such a thing?
It would take years and years of research—illegal research
that they would've had to keep secret all that time and there
was no profit in it that she could see.
Besides, clones couldn't be an exact replica of a person.
People were too complex. Their personalities were developed
and shaped by their life experiences. Sure, she supposed with
enough research they might be able to copy a person, and
they could use the same accelerating techniques they used to
produce mature organs to develop them before the person
they were copying died of old age, but they'd still just be an
imitation. The moment they began talking and interacting
with others, people who knew them well would know it wasn't
the person it was supposed to be.
She glanced at Morris again as they threaded their way
slowly toward the people tubes.
He was old. Even she had no idea how old he was, but he
remembered the famine riots. He even remembered the last
of the great storms.
It was ridiculous. The thoughts tumbling through her mind
were just plain crazy.
Why did she feel like weeping then? Why did she feel like
somebody had just ripped her heart out of her chest?
Because she knew they'd done something to him. All these
years she'd ignored his ramblings, certain that he was just
paranoid, but he wasn't the Morris that had been a father to
her and her brother. They'd—somebody had—been fucking
with his mind.
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Or maybe she was just being paranoid? He was old. Maybe
he'd had some sort of seizure?
Could something like that alter his personality?
She smiled at him again when they got into the lift tube
and she'd pressed the 45th level. "How long since you had a
check up?" she asked tentatively.
He frowned at her. "Why would you ask me a thing like
that?" he demanded tersely.
Lena almost felt better. That sounded a lot more like the
Morris she knew and loved.
Some of the shock was wearing off, but she didn't feel a
whole lot better. "You don't eat right and you're no spring
chicken. I'm worried about you. I'd feel a lot better if you'd go
in for a check up."
He shrugged. "I'll think about it."
The urge to burst into tears assailed her again, stinging
her nose and eyes. That wasn't like Morris at all.
She managed a tremulous smile. "We're going to have
such fun together. It'll be like old times."
It wouldn't, though. She had a horrible feeling everything
that was important to her was already lost and she would
never get it back.
 * * * *
One week later
Nigel glanced absently toward the tiny glass window in the
door of the procedure room, stared at Lena without
recognition for a moment and finally acknowledged her. She
mouthed 'meet me for lunch?' motioning with her hands in
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the direction of the sidewalk café where they sometimes met
to share a meal.
Another blank stare greeted that, but finally he nodded,
mouthed something back at her and held up ten fingers.
Twice.
Lena bit her lip but finally nodded. He was with a client.
She'd just have to be patient.
Mentally reciting the mantra she'd been repeating to
herself for a week now—'act normal'—she headed back the
way she'd just come. She would've liked to have waited for
Nigel outside the procedure room, because she knew how
absentminded he could get when he was working. He was
always totally focused on his job and probably wouldn't even
think to stop and eat at all if not for the chime prompters.
She hoped he didn't forget he'd promised to meet her for
lunch, but she was afraid to stay because no matter how
many times she repeated the mantra in her head she felt—
knew she had a tenuous grip on calmness at best. If she
stayed, she was going to embarrass her big brother in front of
his co-workers at the very least.
At worst....
Well, she didn't know how anything could possibly be
worse than they were already.
Either she'd lost her mind, or Morris wasn't Morris
anymore.
That didn't even make sense to her, but she could not
convince herself, no matter how hard she tried, that the man
currently staying in her spare bedroom was the same man
that had cared for her and Nigel throughout their childhood.
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She also couldn't convince herself that whatever it was that
was wrong with him was something natural, the results of
some sort of medical problem.
Either someone had been screwing with his mind very
deliberately, or....
The other possibility was just plain unthinkable. And
impossible.
He'd managed to deftly evade every attempt she'd made
to get him near a clinic. That was very like Morris who hated
doctors and distrusted anyone in any kind of authority so that
in itself wasn't the part that bothered her. It was the way he
went about it that bothered her. He didn't argue. He evaded.
Morris loved to argue.
She felt as if she was in mourning for a loved one. Almost
from the time she'd encountered the complete stranger that
was wearing Morris' face she'd felt as if a vice was tightening
around her chest cutting off her air. She hardly knew where
she was half the time, or what she was doing. The focus of
her entire world seemed to have zeroed in on the deep and
painful sense of loss she couldn't shake and she was barely
aware of anything beyond that narrow scope of pain.
When she left the Quasar Corp. building, she stepped off
the walk and threaded her way through the clutter of
commuters on the south bound people mover. A number of
people glared at her for cutting across instead of taking the
upper level mover that was heading west, but except for
begging pardon and trying harder to avoid collisions, she
ignored them.
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She was concentrating hard on containing the emotions
roiling inside of her, but impatience was eating at her tenuous
hold.
When she finally reached the walk on the other side, she
glanced around at the tables of the café. Spying one tucked
into a reasonably private alcove created by a potted plant and
a low stone wall, she headed for it. Movement caught her eye
before she was halfway across the courtyard and she glanced
instinctively toward it.
It was a woman and she was headed for the same table.
Gritting her teeth, Lena made a dash for the table and
plopped down in one of the chairs.
"Hey! I was going to sit here!"
Feeling abruptly territorial, Lena turned and glared at the
woman. "So was I and I did. I was here first."
"Because you ran," the woman said sharply.
"And?" Lena growled challengingly. It was stupid and she
knew it. There were several other tables available. It wasn't
as if she'd grabbed the only one.
And she knew the other woman had actually been closer
than she was and had every reason to feel as if she'd had first
dibs.
She didn't care. As irrational as she knew it was, as
dangerous as it was to argue publicly where they could easily
attract the unwelcome attention of the home guard, she
almost welcomed the opportunity to strike out at someone for
all the pain and confusion that had been dogging her all
week.
"What's going on here?"
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Both Lena and the stranger turned at the sound of Nigel's
voice. Lena discovered when she glanced at him that his gaze
was on the woman. His expression was hard to decipher, but
somehow she had the feeling that he wasn't feeling the same
sense of abuse as she was. There was something in his eyes
as he looked the woman over that made her feel like
squirming uncomfortably in her seat.
The woman, after staring at him for a long, long moment,
dragged her gaze from his, glared at Lena and finally whirled
on her heel and stalked away.
Instead of closing the distance between himself and the
table where Lena sat, Nigel remained rooted to the spot,
watching the woman until she'd threaded her way between
the tables and finally disappeared down the side walk.
"What was that all about?" the two of them asked almost
in unison when Nigel finally shook off his stupor and settled in
the chair across from his sister.
"Do you know her?" Lena demanded, redirecting the
question.
Nigel frowned, but his gaze was pensive as he studied his
little sister. "I don't think that comes under the heading of
your business," he finally growled.
"You do know her then? She's a mongrel. Cauc for sure,
maybe some indy or tino thrown in to muddy the gene pool."
Nigel's face darkened. "I didn't realize you were such a
snob."
And a hypocrite. She'd been lusting over that cauc she'd
seen in Morris' apartment right up until Morris had turned her
world upside down and put him from her mind. She sat back
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at the snub. She hadn't come to pick a fight with Nigel, or
nose into his business. She'd come ... she wasn't sure why
she'd come. For reassurance maybe?
Nigel seemed to realize they'd gotten off to a bad start
about the same time Lena did. "Sorry!" they both said, almost
in unison again.
They'd done that most of their lives. She supposed it came
from being so close. It was almost like telepathy the way
their minds seemed almost to flow in sync.
"Something's wrong," Nigel said abruptly, sitting forward in
his chair as if he'd just noticed the strain in Lena's face.
The server bot appeared almost before he got the words
out. Lena shook her head and glanced at the menu scrolling
across the screen set in the bot's chest. "I'll have a salad—no
cheese on that. A chicken breast. A glass of.... "She felt the
abrupt urge to get something to numb the pain a little but
quashed the impulse. "Purified water," she finished. The bot
scanned her retina, recited her credit balance and swiveled
toward Nigel.
When Nigel had ordered and the bot rotated on its base
and headed toward the kitch, he reached across the table and
folded his large hand over hers. "What is it, baby girl?"
Lena's chin wobbled in spite of all she could do at the pet
name both Nigel and Morris had called her most of her life.
Tears filled her eyes. Struggling to regain control, Lena looked
away from the concern in her brother's eyes. The world
wavered and finally righted itself as she firmly tamped her
wayward emotions.
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The woman she'd vanquished, she saw, had returned and
settled at a table on the opposite side of the café, but still
within view of her and Nigel. She glanced casually in their
direction as Lena watched.
Except it didn't seem casual at all to Lena.
That certainty brought Lena's feet firmly into reality. They
were in public. And if she was even close to right about
Morris, it was dangerous to behave as if anything at all was
wrong.
She returned her attention to Nigel. "You'll think I'm nuts."
He uttered a humorless laugh at her attempt to lighten the
mood. "There's nothing new about that. What crazy theory
have you come up with now on the origins of the races?"
Lena shook her head. "This isn't about work. It's about
Morris."
Several emotions flickered across Nigel's face, alarm
prominent among them. "He's still refusing to come live you?"
Lena shook her head. "That's just it. He isn't. He moved in
with me without a whimper of protest when I went to see him
a few days ago."
Nigel removed his hand and sat back as the bot returned
and set their food out on the table before them. When the
server had departed again, Nigel placed his napkin in his lap
and picked up his fork. He was frowning thoughtfully, though,
and Lena could see he thought that Morris' behavior was as
strange as she did.
"Maybe he finally realized he was getting to the point
where he really needed someone to look after him," he said
slowly.
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Lena swallowed against a knot in her throat and went
through the motions as Nigel had, pretending an interest in
her meal she didn't feel. "I was in a state of shock, though."
Resisting the urge to glance toward the vid she knew was
trained to observe all of the diners, she tried to formulate
something to say that would sound innocuous to those who
listened but would get her anxieties across to Nigel. "He
seems ... happy. He spends all day wandering around East
end sightseeing."
Nigel's brows rose, but she saw alarm flicker in his eyes
again. He managed a shrug. "He hasn't visited this side of
Grand City in years. It's changed a lot."
Lena forced a smile. "Yes. When I get home in the
evenings, he always gives me an account of the
improvements he's seen. It's good to see him out and about
instead of huddled in front of the vid, watching the news all
day. And he's so cheerful and upbeat about absolutely
everything that it keeps my spirits high." It was hard to keep
the note of hysteria out of her voice when she made that
announcement.
Nigel stiffened. For a moment his dark skin turned a sickly,
pasty shade, and she knew he'd caught the alarm she felt.
"I'd thought about taking him to the clinic, but he always
makes excuses and I finally realized he's just a ... new man. I
guess he just missed the two of us and that was why he
always seemed so dispirited when I went to see him before."
She could see Nigel was struggling with the hints she'd
passed to him. Focusing on her meal, she allowed him to sort
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it out in his mind. "I should stop by for a visit," Nigel said
finally. "I haven't been to see either one of you in weeks."
Lena beamed at him. Relief flooded her, making her feel
weak as the tension vanished. "That would be such fun!
Tonight? I could stop by the market and pick up something
special for dinner."
Nigel glanced at his watch. "Sure. I have to work late. I've
got five more clients to see today, but I'll come as soon as
I'm off and we can catch up."
Lena couldn't help but notice that she'd completely
demolished Nigel's appetite. She could see he was struggling
to maintain a pretense of interest in his food. Guilt flooded
her when she realized her own appetite had exerted itself now
that she'd shouldered her anxiety off onto him.
She wished she could've just explained everything plainly.
Nigel might have been able to dismiss her qualms without
growing so alarmed himself, but there was no discussing
anything private in public if one wanted to keep it private.
She'd never found that particularly disturbing before. The
gov had vids everywhere to monitor its citizens and prevent
crime. It was for their own safety, and it was a comfort to
know that, unlike the old days, crime was now almost non-
existent and one could walk most anywhere, at any time of
the day or night, without concern for their safety.
Not that anyone except the home guard was allowed on
the streets after curfew.
She supposed she shouldn't worry about being overheard
now. It wasn't as if there was anything criminal in anything
she might have said.
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Yet she had felt real fear about voicing her thoughts and
concerns aloud.
Maybe the problem was her, not Morris? Maybe she was
just growing paranoid?
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Chapter Three
Lena felt almost lighthearted as she looked over the
displays in the market for something really special to prepare
for dinner. After debating with herself for a good ten minutes,
she finally decided to splurge and buy a real roast. The
vegameat was almost as good, but she hadn't had real meat
in at least a month and she doubted Nigel had. Luck was with
her. She managed to get the last one available. Ignoring the
twinge of guilt that caused her, she collected the sides she
had decided to nuke with it from the bin below the display,
tucked it all into her tote and headed out of the market again.
When she reached the shuttle terminal, she discovered
she'd dallied until she'd caught the homeward rush. The
platform was packed almost shoulder to shoulder. After
checking her time piece several times, she resolutely ignored
the minutes ticking off. The shuttle would arrive when it
arrived. There was nothing she could do about it unless she
opted to walk and that would delay her even more.
Patience, she chastised herself. She would still have a
good hour to prepare the meal before Nigel could possibly get
to her place.
Trying to ignore her rising tension and the unpleasant
situation of standing in such a closely packed formation that
she could feel the body heat of the people around her, smell
their combined breaths and the odors that clung to their skin,
Lena tipped her head back and glanced toward the opening
where the shuttle would appear when it arrived. As she did
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so, her gaze locked with that of a man who'd just stepped up
on something to look out over the crowd.
It was the cauc, the one she'd seen in Morris' place. Even
as a heated wave of attraction washed over her, though, it
filtered into her mind that he was wearing the uniform of a
home guardsman. Pleasure was instantly replaced with alarm
as he stepped down from whatever it was he'd been standing
on and she could see the crowd ripple as he pushed his way
through.
He was headed in her direction!
Full fledged fear sent a cold wave crashing over her.
Her panicked mind refused even to sort the conflicting
information rushing through her mind. Acting purely on
instinct, Lena began inching her way through the crowd in the
opposite direction, trying to keep from looking as panic
stricken as she felt and raising an alarm.
The shuttle arrived as she neared the edge of the crowd on
the platform and before she could prevent it, she was swept
with up in the wave of humanity that surged toward the
opening doors and into a car. Unable to think clearly at all,
Lena continued struggling against the tide. She'd almost
reached the doors to get off again when they slammed shut,
trapping her inside.
As the car shot from the platform, she caught a glimpse of
the cauc—still standing on the platform, searching for her
face among those who remained to wait for the next shuttle.
Weak with relief, Lena glanced around at the car and finally
found enough room on a seat to wedge her butt into.
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As reaction set in, her rioting thoughts calmed somewhat
and she wondered what had possessed her to react as if she
was guilty of something. She hadn't done anything. Why had
she felt so fearful the very moment she realized he was
wearing the uniform of the home guard?
Because she was paranoid, she chided herself.
It was probably nothing more than that he'd recognized
her and wanted to talk to her about Morris for some reason.
Maybe he'd wondered what had happened to Morris?
He had been looking for someone, though. He'd stepped
up on something to give him a better vantage to view the
crowd.
That didn't necessarily mean he'd been looking for her.
But if he'd been looking for someone else, why had he
abandoned his search and headed toward her?
It occurred to her abruptly that she didn't know he had
even targeted her. He had seemed to be looking straight at
her, but that didn't mean he had been. She cast her mind
back, trying to recall if she'd noticed anyone else who
appeared to be attempting to evade him, but discovered that
was useless. She'd been too mindless with panic to think at
all, and certainly too frightened to notice anyone else.
As she emerged from the shuttle at her stop it finally
dawned on her why she'd been afraid the moment she'd seen
his uniform. Morris had claimed him as a neighbor and the
only reason a home guardsman would've been living in old
town was because he'd been planted there to ferret out
rebels.
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That thought instantly sent her into panic mode again and
it was all she could do to pretend even a modicum of
nonchalance as she headed out of the terminal and turned
toward her apartment. As she focused on restraining the urge
to run for all she was worth toward the only safe harbor that
came to mind, she felt the watchful eye of the vids she
passed beneath boring into her like lasers.
She'd already reached her apartment building and stepped
into the lift tube before it dawned on her that her apartment
was the last destination she should have in mind if she really
thought they were after her. They could be waiting for her
when she got there.
But what about Morris? And what about Nigel?
They could be blindsided if the home guard really was bent
on arresting her for something.
There was no stopping the damned lift, though. She'd
already punched in her level like a bot before her mind had
even begun to make sense of her situation.
She wasn't certain it was making sense even now. The
sensation of being herded like prey had totally demolished her
reasoning ability. She could do little more than allow her
instincts to guide her—and her main instinct was to run for
cover.
The corridor was empty when she reached her level.
Goosebumps immediately erupted and chased up her spine.
Trying to ignore the alarm that sent through her, Lena's
hand tightened on her tote as she strode briskly down the
corridor toward her door, her ears pricked for any sound that
seemed out of place.
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The apartment was empty. She knew that the moment she
stepped inside and whirled to bolt the door behind her.
"Morris?"
She wasn't terribly reassured when she didn't get a
response. Striding through the apartment, she dropped the
grocery tote on the counter in the kitch and then, after
looking around for something she could use to defend herself,
searched the apartment with her wooden meat mallet. It
wasn't much of a weapon. The thing probably didn't weigh
more than a few ounces. At worst, swinging it as hard as she
could probably wouldn't cause more damage than a bad
bruise, but she had nothing else that looked even vaguely
threatening. On the rare occasions that she actually had real
meat, she used the laser slicer. The closest thing she had to a
knife was her butter knives and she would've had to saw
somebody's head off with one of them. The forks were
probably more lethal.
She was somewhat relieved when she'd reassured herself
that she really was alone in the apartment. If, as she'd
thought, the home guard was after her for some reason, they
would've been waiting for her—probably outside the building,
certainly inside the apartment.
Those thoughts brought her little comfort though.
Ignoring the food she'd abandoned on the counter of her
kitch, she began pacing the living area, trying to make sense
of her fears. Was she over reacting? Was the only threat in
her mind?
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She blushed when it occurred to her to wonder if the guy
had merely recognized her and decided to further their
acquaintance.
That was just wishful thinking, she realized almost at once.
They hadn't even been introduced, for god's sake! She
seriously doubted he remembered that very brief meeting.
Besides, there was no doubt that he had been looking for
someone. It wasn't paranoid to assume it was her he'd been
after all the time when he'd come straight toward her. He
wouldn't have simply abandoned an order to locate someone
to flirt with her.
Why had he been alone, though? If he'd been sent to find
her, or anyone, wouldn't there have been at least one other
guard with him?
Becoming weary from her pacing and her wrecked
emotions, Lena finally paused near the window and glanced at
her timepiece. "Shit! Brainless idiot!" she muttered as it
abruptly dawned on her that she should have tried to head
Nigel off. If there really was trouble and it wasn't all in her
mind, he would be heading into it right now when they should
both be headed in the other direction.
He would've left work by now, she realized. She should've
just waited at the terminal. Deciding that was probably her
best bet—just in case—she glanced around, wondering if she
should worry about taking anything with her.
She'd left the food out, she remembered abruptly. As
tempted as she was to simply abandon it, she had a deep
seated antipathy for wastefulness, especially with something
so expensive and hard to get as real meat. Sighing, she
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rushed into the kitch, grabbed the tote, and tossed the entire
bag inside the refrigeration unit without worrying about
unpacking it and sorting it.
As she closed the door again, she heard the distinctive
sound of the front door lock being deactivated. Torn between
alarm that it might be the home guard and hope that it was
Morris returning, she dashed into the hallway and skidded to
a halt.
The woman who stepped through the door and closed it
firmly behind her had a laser pistol leveled at her.
When she finally managed to drag her gaze from the
muzzle of the pistol, a shockwave washed over her.
The woman staring back at her wasn't just of the same
general build, color, weight, and age as she was. It was her.
* * * *
Shock sent Lena's mind instantly spiraling beyond any
ability to reason. Nothing but disjointed words flashed in her
mind, impossible to connect into a coherent thought. Pure
instinct spurred her to flee. Since the woman was blocking
the only exit, Lena leapt backwards into the kitchen and
beyond her view little more than a split second before an
angry red beam seared a hole through the wall directly
behind the position Lena had occupied an instant before.
Racing around the kitch in a mindless panic, Lena grabbed
up and discarded a half a dozen items in a primal need to find
something, anything, to defend herself with. Turning up
nothing even vaguely lethal, she whirled and hurled the bowl
she held in her hand as she heard the scrape of a foot on the
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tile at the door of the kitch, diving toward her evil twin at
almost the same moment.
Luck was with her. The woman jerked a hand up
instinctively to shield herself from the flying object. Lena's
dive clipped one leg as she sailed through the doorway,
knocking the woman off balance. Even as the satisfying thud
of meat smacking solidly into tile reached her ears, Lena
crumpled against the opposite wall of the hallway.
She barely registered the collision that would've been
painful if adrenaline wasn't pumping through her body like
wildfire. Scrambling to her feet, she slapped her palm against
the emergency button set into the wall. A hole appeared in
the wall a fraction of an inch from her hand. Lena stared at it
a split second and fled away from the fire, into her living
room, once more cornering herself with no avenue of escape.
Her nemesis, instead of chasing her, planted herself firmly
in the doorway between the hall and the living area, leaving
Lena with no option other than to race back and forth at one
end of the room, trying to dodge the blasts and hoping
against hope that the home guard she'd summoned would
arrive before the woman managed to get in a clean shot.
Almost on the thought a beam raked along her arm,
turning the fabric of her sleeve and the outer layers of flesh it
touched into ash. She screamed, scooping one of her prized
possessions, an ancient stone African fertility god, from its
display shelf as she dashed past and hurling it in the general
direction of her assailant. A meaty thud, a scream, and the
sound of a metallic object striking the floor rewarded her
effort. Without registering much more in her mind than the
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errant thought that she'd managed to knock the pistol from
the woman's hand, Lena charged her attacker, slamming into
her hard enough to carry both of them into the wall.
Her fingers curled into the tunic the woman was wearing
as she felt herself falling. They hit the floor in the hall in a
tangle of arms and legs, and fury born of sheer terror sent
Lena into a mindless rage of clawing, pummeling, screaming,
and biting. She was vaguely aware of receiving almost as
many blows as she meted out, but shock cocooned her from
feeling any pain.
It also shielded her from rational thought. The woman
broke free before Lena realized she was trying to reach the
weapon she'd dropped. Releasing a sound that was part
scream and part animal growl with a mixture of anger and
fear, Lean launched herself at the woman again before she
could completely break free, struggling to grab the pistol first.
Neither of them managed to do anything more than knock the
weapon further from their reach.
Giving up the effort after a moment, Lean managed to
lever herself on top of her assailant, grabbed a handful of hair
on either side of the duplicate's head and used the leverage
to pound the woman's skull against the floor. The woman
screamed, clawing at Lena's hands and digging raw, bloody
trenches across the backs. Gritting her teeth, Lena pounded
harder.
Abruptly, the wiggling form beneath Lena managed to get
a knee between the two of them, lifting Lena away and
overbalancing her. She fell sideways, losing her grip on one
handful of hair. The woman clubbed her on the side of her
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head with a balled fist. Pain exploded in Lena's head and she
lost her grip completely, pitching into the floor with the
second handhold.
Disoriented, Lena pushed herself up and launched herself
forward as the woman made a dive for the gun again, but
moments too late. Her doppelganger's fingers closed around
the butt of the weapon. A desperate tussle ensued. Lena
managed to grab the arm holding the pistol, but she could not
reach the pistol itself. The gun discharged as they struggled,
shattering glass, furniture, ceiling tiles, and wallboard as each
fought for dominance in a battle where they were evenly
matched in strength, weight, and life or death desperation.
Lena's focus on the gun hand cost her. Seeing she couldn't
break Lena's grip on her arm, the woman began pummeling
her again with her fist and finally jerked her knees up,
managing to drive a knee into Lena's side hard enough it
knocked the breath out of her. It also pitched Lena face first
into the arm she was gripping, however. As she fell forward,
her weight drove the woman's elbow into the hard floor,
paralyzing it from elbow to wrist. The woman lost her grip.
Even as Lena crashed, the pistol went skittering across the
floor once more.
Both women scrambled to their feet and surged toward the
gun again. Realizing the pistol had slid under her couch, Lena
changed tactics abruptly. Trying to prevent the woman from
reaching the pistol instead of beating her to it, Lena rammed
her shoulder into her. The blow knocked both women off
balance. As the woman staggered back a step, Lena fell
against the woman and slid towards the floor. Coming down
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on her knees painfully, she grabbed at the woman, clawing
along the woman's clothing but failing to grasp a hold.
Shoving herself to her feet again as the woman lurched
toward the couch, Lena sprang toward her. The impact, when
she struck, carried both them over the back. They rolled, with
first Lena on top and then the other woman. Beneath them,
Lena heard the crunch of broken glass, felt sharp needles of
pain. The woman screamed, bucking Lena off and then
slamming her shoulder into Lena as they struggled to their
feet again. Lena staggered back a couple of steps, caught her
balance, and charged again.
The second charge took both women through the shattered
window of the living area. Shock and horror sucked the air
out of Lena's lungs as the realization hit her that they'd gone
through. The woman's buttocks hit the hip high iron railing of
the faux balcony and both women teetered, clawing at each
other as each tried to regain their balance. The woman
screamed as her own weight tore her grip loose and the
flipped over the railing.
Lena found herself staring round eyed at the face of the
woman dangling by one arm from her balcony and the insect
sized city streets far below. Abruptly, a large hand seized her,
yanking her back into the apartment like a rag doll and
releasing her so that she slammed into the floor and skidded.
"Help me! Please! For god's sake pull me in!" the woman
cried in Lena's voice, sending a shiver down Lena's spine.
A dark, hulking mass stepped through the window, stared
down at the woman hanging from the railing dispassionately
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for a split second and then, to Lena's stunned disbelief, he
planted the sole of his boot on her fingers and bore down.
The sickening crunch of shattering bones sounded loud and
horrible in Lena's ears, but not nearly as terrible as the
woman's high pitched cry as she lost her grip. She screamed
as she fell, the sound seemingly endless and filled with
absolute terror as it faded into the distance.
The man glanced at Lena where she lay on the floor as he
touched a button on the shoulder of his uniform. "Done," he
growled. "We're in, but this place is a fucking mess. You'll
need a repair crew in here asap."
"You killed her," Lena muttered in disbelief. "You murdered
her."
The man blinked in surprise. Striding toward her abruptly,
he caught her throat, lifted her by her neck, and used his
thick fingers to peel her eyelids back. "Fuck!"
He shook her furiously and dropped her to the floor.
"We've got a problem," he growled into his radio. "The clone
just went off the balcony."
Stepping across her, the home guardsman leaned down,
caught the torn front of Lena's tunic and slugged her in the
face with his fist. Pain exploded in her face and head and
blackness descended abruptly.
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Chapter Four
Lena roused with the jolt that seemed to travel throughout
her body. The sense of falling ceased and she struggled to
open her eyes. A gray stone wall was all that greeted her
gaze when she finally managed to focus her eyes. She stared
at it without recognition, uncomprehendingly. Slowly, it was
borne in upon her that it was real. The nightmare wasn't a
nightmare, but memories.
The drug still flowed through her veins, however, and she
found she could not rouse herself to full alertness. Her head
swam as she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling
and for a moment, fear invaded her that she would keep
moving until she hit the floor. Gripping the edges of the thin
mattress she laid on, she closed her eyes until the room
stopped spinning.
She was in prison. As difficult as it was to sort reality from
dreams, she knew abruptly that she'd lived the nightmare not
just imagined it.
Why the drugs, though? She was no threat to them now, if
she ever had been.
Per the new, harsher laws enacted during the food riots,
there'd been no trial, no chance to tell her side of the story,
to tell anyone that she hadn't killed someone. She'd done
nothing but defend herself. The guardsman had committed
the murder.
He'd thought it was her.
A cold shiver went through her.
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He knew he'd made a mistake and killed her replacement.
So why was she still alive?
Her mind seemed to wander for an endless time wrestling
with that question. Finally, an answer seemed to present
itself.
They hadn't managed to pry the information they were
looking for from Morris before they'd killed him and replaced
him. They thought she knew something.
She was still alive because of that, but she wouldn't be
once they figured out she didn't have a clue of what was
going on.
 * * * *
No doubt the windowless cell in which Lena found herself
would've made it impossible to gauge the passage of time
even without the drugs that kept her off balance, but with
them, she was most certainly lost, drifting in and out of
consciousness.
Time passed. The sudden, sharp intrusion of metal
scraping against metal roused her. She pushed herself up on
her elbows just as two trays skidded across the stone floor,
shoved through a narrow opening at the base of the wall. A
hand appeared briefly, leaving behind two tumblers filled with
liquid.
Lena's throat closed with thirst. She could almost smell the
water. Even as she rolled off the bunk, however, the woman
in the bed below hers hit the floor and scurried toward the
trays.
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Lena narrowly missed landing on top of the woman. In the
next moment, she was sorry she hadn't flattened the bitch for
as she struggled to her feet the woman grabbed the food off
of both trays and began stuffing it into her mouth as fast as
she could. Uttering a feral scream, Lena dove toward the
tumblers.
Alerted, Lena's cellmate whirled to meet her.
The struggle was brief. Lena was too incapacitated by the
drugs in her system to put up much of a fight. She hit the
floor, but rolled over almost at once, scrambling frantically to
reach one of the tumblers, both of which were now rolling
around on the floor.
Her questing fingers snagged one, and for a moment a
sense of hope filled her. She discovered when she got it to
her mouth, though, that little more than a few drops
remained. The cooling drops didn't do much more than
dampen her mouth.
With a growl, the woman slapped at the cup in Lena's
hands, driving the edge into her tender lip and splitting it.
Blood filled her mouth. Pain completely disoriented her for
a handful of seconds. It was all the woman needed as an
advantage. Grabbing Lena by the hair, she dragged her
across the cell and slammed her into the wall several times.
Apparently satisfied when she saw Lena was unable to do
more than slap at her, she released her after a moment and
scrambled toward the food strewn around the floor.
Lena stared at the woman dully for a moment and finally
pushed herself upright.
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Except for the puddle on the floor that her cellmate was
sitting in, the water was gone. Lena studied the gleaming
liquid for a moment, struggling with the urge to charge the
woman again and collect what she could off the floor. Finally,
she merely turned to the bunk and, after several failed
attempts, managed to climb onto the mattress again.
When she'd settled, she rolled onto her side and put her
back to the woman before she thought better of it. Realizing,
dimly, that the woman might attack her again, she switched
sides so that she could watch her cellmate.
Nausea and anger swept through her as she watched the
woman gobble the food, stuffing it into her mouth until her
cheeks bulged like a chipmunk. "I hope you choke on it, you
bitch!" she muttered.
The words were scarcely out of her mouth when the
woman coughed. Her body undulated, as if she was trying to
disgorge what she'd just swallowed. Half chewed food fell
from her mouth and splattered the puddle of water.
Convulsing, the woman tipped over on the floor and drew her
knees up, curling into a tight ball. As Lena watched with a
mixture of satisfaction and horror, foam formed around the
woman's mouth, oozed between her lips and puddled beside
her cheek on the floor. After jerking and twitching for several
moments, she went still.
It took many moments for it to sink into Lena that the
woman wasn't moving because she was dead. The minute it
did, bile rose in her throat. Briefly, she waged a battle with
her stomach.
She lost.
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When the spasms passed, she collapsed wearily on her
bunk, but the tiny cell wreaked and the awful smell nearly
made her throw up again. Grabbing her pillow, she covered
her face, breathing through the fabric. Slowly, the urge to
puke passed, but she wasn't certain whether she merely
became accustomed to the smell, or if the air circulating
through the cell had finally whisked most of the odor away.
She suspected the former.
After her stomach ceased to revolt, she began to wonder
what, if anything, she was to do about the body on the floor.
Would they think she'd done it?
Guilt teased at her. No amount of trying to reason it away
helped. Even though she knew very well she couldn't have
wished the woman's death upon her, she couldn't dismiss the
comment she'd made just before the woman choked any
more than she could forget the sentiment that inspired it.
Despite everything, the drug eventually took the upper
hand again and she drowsed. A metal scraping much like
she'd heard before woke her.
"Fuck! You crazy bitch!"
The accusation in the voice jolted through Lena and she
pushed herself up on the bunk just as the door to the cell
opened. "I din' touch'er," Lena gasped, her voice still slurred
from the drug. "She choked."
The guard's eyes were condemning. After a moment, he
knelt, grasped one of the woman's feet and dragged the body
out, slamming the door again. Lena had just begun to breathe
a sigh of relief when the door opened once more. Two dark
figures seemed almost to fly toward her in the dimness.
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Something stabbed into her hip and almost immediately
dizziness and blackness swallowed her up.
At first Lena thought the movement she sensed wasn't
actual movement but the effects of the drug in her system.
She finally realized, though, that blood pounded against her
temples. She roused enough to lift her head. She was
hanging face down across a wide back. When the blackness
parted a little, she saw floor and, just a little to one side, a
wall sprouted from the floor.
She was in the hallway again. She realized almost instantly
that they were taking her back to the interrogation room.
Fear battled the drug, but the drug had too hard a grip on her
to allow apprehension to take dominance.
The man stopped and the sensation of falling washed over
her. Instinctively, Lena began flailing her arms and legs in an
attempt to catch herself. The guard, either under the
impression that she was trying to fight him, or simply
annoyed by her attempt to catch her balance, let go of her,
leaning down to punch her a few times when she hit the floor
in an ignominious heap.
The blows barely registered except to disorient her further.
She continued to flail around as she was dragged up,
deposited in a chair, and strapped down.
"Feel more like chatting with us today?"
A day had passed?
How many days had she been here, she wondered?
Her mind wandered along that path for a time, trying to
put together enough information to give her some idea of the
time she'd been incarcerated. A sharp slap on one cheek that
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made her head fly sideways and her neck crack emphasized
the question the man repeated. "Give us names."
Names? Lena thought blankly. "Wha...?"
A hand grabbed her jaw bruisingly and a face swam into
her view. "Don't play stupid with me!" he growled, spattering
her face with flecks of spittle. "Your father was right in the
middle of the rebellion."
"Fauder?" Lena repeated blankly. She could barely even
remember her father. It had almost seemed to her that she
and Nigel had been alone forever—scrounging for food,
sleeping in trashcans—until Morris had found them and took
them home.
"Frank Morris," he growled, obviously frustrated.
Grief descended upon her as suddenly and devastatingly
as if it was a thing of substance rather than pure emotion.
Her face crumpled. "Morris. Wa'you do t'him?"
He slapped her again. It seemed to rattle her brains in her
skull, but when her ears stopped ringing her mind felt a little
clearer.
"Keep that up, you idiot, and you're going to break her
neck. Then we won't get anything out of her! She's drugged.
All you have to do is keep asking her. Eventually, she'll tell us
what we need to know."
"This fucking drug you've concocted is useless," the heavy
set man snarled. "Pain and fear work best, and she doesn't
feel either when she's flying on this stuff. We've tried it your
way, doc. Now we'll try it my way a while."
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Fear flickered through Lena. He was wrong. She could feel
it. Her mind simply refused to focus for more than a moment
at a time.
Confusion filled her when he began removing the straps
that he'd secured her with only moments before.
It seemed it had only been moments. Maybe he had
finished the session and was taking her back to the cell?
She didn't believe that. He'd said 'pain and fear', she
remembered suddenly. She began to struggle when he
released her wrists and ankles, slapping at his hands
ineffectually.
Unfortunately, the fight was over before it had barely
begun. He slapped her back, stunning her, more because
she'd dared to try to fight, she suspected, than because she'd
actually managed to cause him any pain. Grabbing her by one
arm, he hauled her out of the seat and, when she could only
manage a few wobbling steps, began to drag her.
They left the cell and headed down the hallway she
remembered and hope surged through her that he was taking
her back to her own cell. Instead, she discovered when the
tube lift jolted to a stop and they stepped off, that she was on
another level of the prison entirely. She wasn't certain how
she knew, but she realized after a moment that her ears were
popping and she couldn't remember noticing that sensation
before that told her they'd climbed very high, very rapidly.
She began struggling against the guard's grip. "Where you
tak' me?" she asked in a slurred voice.
He laughed. The sound scared her like nothing else he'd
done before. "I'm gonna introduce you to some ... real playful
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fellas. They're gonna be your playmates for a while. Until you
decide you're ready to talk."
Even as chaotic as her mind was, Lena sensed the threat
on a primal level. She put on brakes, digging her heels into
the slick floor. He continued to drag her as if he wasn't even
aware of her attempts to struggle against him. Her heels
made squawking noises as her feet skidded along the metal
tiles, but she couldn't tell any difference other than that.
Looking around for a possibility of escape, Lena discovered
the real difference between this floor and the others she'd
seen. There were only two enormous holding pens instead of
individual cells. Dark shadows clustered in both—many dark
shadows.
"No!"
He ignored that.
"I'll talk," she babbled.
He stopped and looked down at her for several moments.
Finally, a grin split his face. "After this, if you're able. I'm
overdue for some entertainment."
Lena began clawing at his hand. When that failed to
produce the desired results, she sank her teeth into his flesh.
He slapped her, twice. Ignoring the ringing in her ears, she
clenched her jaws tighter. Finally, he merely grabbed her
nose, squeezing off her air. She struggled, twisting her head.
Dark spots began swarming around her, the cloud growing
until she could no longer stand it. She released her grip on
him, sucking in a mouthful of air.
Grabbing a fistful of hair, he hauled her upward until he
could wrap one meaty arm around her middle.
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"Back away from the door!" he barked as he stopped at
the cell door.
No one moved for several moments, but when he released
his hold on her hair and pulled an electrified rod from his belt
loop, the men in the cell began backing slowly away until they
were packed near the back of the room.
"You're not seriously planning on going through with this?"
The doctor demanded abruptly.
"Pain and fear, doc. The best lessons include both, don't
they bitch?"
Stunned and disoriented for several moments, Lena began
struggling again at that, beating her heels against the man's
shins, trying to reach back to grab his hair or claw at his face.
A buzzer sounded and the door slid open. Before Lena could
do more than scream 'No!' she felt herself flying through the
air as he pitched her inside. Pain seemed to shoot through
her from every direction as she hit the floor and skidded.
For several moments after she'd stopped, it almost
seemed as if everyone was holding their breath.
"What's the matter? You guys forgot what a female smells
like?"
Someone uttered a roar that sounded more animal than
human. The hairs on the back of Lena's neck stood up even
as she began scrambling toward the door. Someone kneed
her. A body fell on top of her, crushing the breath from her
lungs. It took Lena several moments to figure out that one
huge man stood over her, pulverizing the other men that
surged toward them.
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She didn't have much of a view of him from the floor, but
she didn't need one to know she didn't want to wait around
until he'd fought the others off of her. Wrenching free of the
legs clamped on either side of her waist, she scrambled on all
fours toward the door again.
The guard stuck his foot through the bars as she reached
it, planting the sole of his boot on top of her head and giving
her a shove backwards.
"You're in luck, sweetheart," the guard shouted over the
racket of animalistic snarls and growls and the thud of fists,
his voice threaded with avid amusement. "Black Stew don't
wanna share you."
"Are you out of your mind? You idiot! They're going to tear
her apart," the doctor growled. "I'm sounding the alarm."
With a growl of rage, the guard took a running step,
caught the doctor by his lab coat and lifted him clear of the
floor. "If you ain't got the stomach for it, go!" he snarled.
"But just so's you know, if you open your mouth, or touch
that fucking alarm, it'll be the last thing you do."
"Let go of me, you animal," the doctor said in a strangled
voice.
The guard shrugged, allowed the doctor to slide to the
floor, and then planted his fist in the middle of the man's face
so hard the doctor's skull ricocheted off the bars behind him.
Blood spurted from his nose and lips. His eyes rolled back into
his head and he slumped slowly toward the floor.
Someone grabbed Lena by her hair. She locked her arms
around the bars and held on for all she was worth, squeezing
her eyes closed against the pain shooting across her scalp.
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"I owe this bitch one," a new, vaguely familiar voice
ground out behind her. "Let her go. She's mine!"
A loud, meaty thud emphasized the demand. The hand
that was tangled in her hair was wrenched free, yanking
strands from her scalp. Something heavy fell across Lena's
back—an arm or leg, she was certain, because if that huge
brute had landed on top of her he would've crushed her like a
bug.
Ignoring the pain and the scuffle going on just above and
behind her, Lena gripped the bars and struggled up again.
"Let me out!" she babbled. "I'll talk. I swear...."
The last word left her as an unintelligible grunt when
someone grabbed her around the waist from behind and lifted
her from the floor, forcing the air from her lungs in a loud
woof. Instinctively, her fingers tightened on the bars, but she
lost her grip after the second hard yank.
Darkness closed in around Lena as the man holding her
dragged her, kicking and screaming, toward the back of the
huge room. The world spun. Flickering, indecipherable images
flashed past her vision as he shifted her abruptly and tossed
her away from him.
The scream she'd drawn breath to utter came out as a
grunt as she landed. She cringed, expecting an explosion of
pain, but realized almost at the same moment that she'd
landed on something relatively soft.
A bunk.
She dragged in another breath to scream, but held it as he
sprawled on top of her. Gritting her teeth, she slapped and
grabbed at his arms as he tore at her clothing. Chilling air
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licked across her bare skin, pebbling it. The man caught her
wrists, forcing them to the mattress on either side of her
head. "Be still, little fool!" he growled next to her ear. "I'm
trying to save your neck."
She didn't believe it, not for one moment, but there was
something about his voice that tickled at her memory.
Unclenching her eyes, she peered at the man as he levered
himself above her. Even with the shadows cloaking him, the
little light that penetrated so far gleamed off of the gold in his
long hair. As her eyes focused, recognition slowly sank into
her.
It was the man she'd seen with Morris, the same one she'd
glimpsed, or thought she'd glimpsed several times in the city
since.
She'd been right. He was a rebel.
"Lena! It's me, Dax. We've got to make this look good, so
scream!" he said low near her ear, his voice ragged, his
breathing harsh.
Lena's eyes widened to saucers as she felt something long
and hard glide along her cleft. She needed no further
encouragement to scream like a banshee, but there was more
anger in it than fear. The bastard had lulled her, offered
protection, and he had every intention of raping her!
The loud smacking of an open palm on flesh jerked her
eyes open again. Expecting to feel pain, Lena cut off mid-
scream, staring at the man in confusion.
He'd slapped his arm!
He'd missed?
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He began shaking her. "Stop fighting it, bitch!" he growled
in a loud voice.
He'd missed the 'spot', too, Lena discovered, her confusion
deepening when he began thrusting and heaving over her, his
cock plowing a wide furrow along her cleft and sending keen
shards of indescribable pleasure through her.
What the hell?
She'd been shoving frantically against him, but the fight
had gone out of her. The moment she'd recognized him some
totally different emotion flooded her. He was bloodied from
the fight, grimy from the cell—he looked like hell. He looked
twice as delicious with all that manly grit and sweat according
to the heat meter in her body which erupted into an inferno.
He settled his upper body weight against her, flattening
her breasts. "Scream! I'm raping you!"
She managed a guttural groan, partly because he was
squeezing the breath from her chest and partly because the
stroking along her nether lips was rapidly generating a lot of
heat that wasn't friction. Her sex clenched. She tried to ignore
the rising awareness of pleasurable sensation, but the drug
worked against her as much as her own body.
His mouth covered her ear. The heat and moisture sent a
stab of full fledged desire through her. "Help me escape, and
I'll take you with me," he murmured when he ceased driving
her crazy with his mouth and tongue.
She registered the harshly whispered words. Her brain
refused to decipher them, however.
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"Sounds to me like you're enjoying it way too much!" a
voice yelled abruptly. "I think I'll have to give you to Black
Stew after all."
It was the guard. Galvanized, Lena ceased groaning and
began struggling to scream instead, arching and wiggling
beneath the man who had called himself Dax as if she was
fighting to thrust him off. Bucking was a mistake.
She managed to curl her hips upward at the same moment
he thrust. The head of his cock grazed the mouth of her sex,
generating pain for both of them if his sharp hiss was any
indication.
Or maybe not.
"Keep that up and I'll finish this the way I'd like to," he
muttered.
Lena was surprised at how tempting it was to pretend
mindless incomprehension. She stopped abruptly, but she
couldn't resist the urge to shift against him until his thrusts
were rubbing against her clit maddeningly. Breakers of
delicious sensation rolled through her, making it nearly
impossible to focus on uttering 'frightened, pained' cries.
The desire to feel him inside of her grew as he teased her
clit. She could feel tension coiling inside of her until she could
hardly draw breath to utter any sound at all.
Abruptly, he began to shake. He ground his teeth together,
began thrusting faster.
Lena almost felt like crying when she felt his cock jerking
and his seed spilling along her cleft.
He was still gasping hoarsely, supporting himself on one
arm, when he began searching the bedding beside Lena's
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head. Grasping something, he shoved it into the next of her
tunic, tucking it beneath one breast. "It's in the food."
She didn't get the chance to ask him what he was talking
about. She hardly heard the comment that accompanied his
stranger behavior, for a loud, metallic clicking noise filled the
area almost before he'd finished coming. Twisting her head,
Lena saw metal sheets rising from the floor like closing teeth.
Still confused by the drugs in her system, fear coursed
through her, not understanding. As the metal sheets locked
into place, however, she realized the room had shrunk.
The man dabbed at her face with one finger and then
stroked the finger along her thighs. "For good measure."
That comment was as cryptic as the previous one.
"Fun's over," the guard growled, one hand curling around
Dax's shoulder. With a snarl, Dax swung a backhanded blow
at the guard. Lena screamed as a jolt went through Dax and
entered her where his body still touched hers. Grinning down
at Dax's convulsing form, the guard grabbed her arm, hauled
her from the bunk, and dragged her from the room.
It wasn't until the guard had shoved her into her own cell
that Lena had the chance to try to put together what had just
happened. Wilting to the floor, she stared at her bloodied
thighs uncomprehendingly for several moments. Blood? He
hadn't penetrated her. How could there be blood?
She realized after a few minutes that he'd dabbed at the
cuts on her face.
He'd transferred the blood—for good measure.
Still thoroughly rattled and bewildered, it was a while
before Lena remembered the man calling himself Dax had
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shoved something inside her tunic. Shoving her hand into the
neck of the blouse, she curled her fingers around the strange,
small object and pulled it out to study it.
"Bread?" she murmured, more baffled than enlightened.
It's in the food.
Realizing after a while that she'd begun to ache and throb
all over, most particularly her face, Lena struggled to her
feet, and looked around the cell. The tiny room contained
nothing but a double bunk and a toilet. After staring down at
the revolting bowl of the toilet for several moments, she gave
up the search for cool water to sooth her throbbing face and
moved to the bunk.
Her cellmate was gone, dead and disposed of like garbage.
The idea of lying on the woman's bunk made her feel ill,
though, and finally she climbed up and settled on the top
bunk.
It's in the food.
He'd given her a small chunk of bread.
She dozed off still trying to make sense of everything that
had happened. When she woke later, her head had ceased to
swim and the pain she'd felt earlier had dulled. Once she'd
shaken off the dregs of sleep, though, she realized she was
hungry—and more clear headed than she could remember
being in a very long time.
After staring at the squashed piece of bread in her hand
for several moments, she lifted it to her mouth and took a
bite, remembering her cellmate had beaten her to the food
the last time it was brought and eaten both her own portion
and Lena's.
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And her cellmate was dead.
She sat up abruptly as it dawned on her that that was why
her cellmate was dead. She hadn't choked on the food. She'd
overdosed on the drug injected into the food. Fear and anger
surged through her at that thought. She was lucid, probably
for the first time since she'd been thrown in prison and that
meant she had nothing to shield her mind from the horror.
She didn't particularly welcome full consciousness. As
disturbing as she'd found it to feel as if she was swimming
through some strange nightmare, it beat the hell out of
knowing it was completely real!
What the hell was she supposed to do now? They would
come for her again. She had no confidence that she could
fake being drugged out of her mind and beyond that, she was
going to feel every blow keenly without something to dull her
senses.
Some fucking favor he'd done her!
Tamping her fear and anger with an effort, she tried to
think why he'd done it. He must have had a reason.
Why had he acted like he knew her? He'd seemed to think
she knew him, too. Why?
He thought Morris had told her. That was why he'd
expected her to recognize his name.
Was that why he'd protected her? Faked the rape to
convince the guard that she was getting what he'd thrown her
in the cell for—a lesson of what she could expect if she failed
to cooperate.
Her thighs were still sticky with semen. Blood had been
smeared through it and that, too, had dried. With revulsion,
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she studied her thighs, wishing she had some way to clean
herself off.
She wasn't touching the water in the bottom of the toilet
bowl. It made her flesh creep just thinking of all the germs
and bacteria swimming in it, as if they were, even now,
climbing out and crawling across the room to reach her.
She was going to lose her mind if she had to stay in this
horrible, filthy place very long.
That thought touched off a dim memory. She'd still been
too drugged when it was happening to grasp much, but she
finally remembered he'd said he would take her with him if
she helped him to escape.
Maybe her memory was faulty? Because that just didn't
make sense to her. If she escaped, why would she need him
to help her?
Her face where the guard had hit her wasn't the only thing
throbbing. Her head was pounding as if someone were
hammering on it. Massaging her head with both hands, she
struggled to piece together errant bits of memory into
something that made sense to her.
She'd been questioned, daily, or almost daily, since she'd
been incarcerated. Unless her mind was completely unreliable
she thought she remembered enough details to separate one
session from another into a half a dozen.
Which meant she'd only been in this hellhole for about a
week?
She was not going to survive much of this!
Pushing that thought from her mind quickly, she tried to
focus on what she'd been searching for before and
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remembered that each time the man interrogated her, he had
become more furious and frustrated until he'd begun
threatening ... something. She hadn't been certain at the time
what he was threatening to do to her that he hadn't already
tried until she'd seen where he was taking her. She hadn't
been completely clear on what was about to happen even
then. It had been more of an instinctual fear of being shoved
into a cell full of men than a clear idea of the guard's
intentions that had made her fight him.
So, the guard had taken her to the cell with all the men,
expecting to enjoy some entertainment while they beat and
raped her half to death. The huge cauc monster with stringy
black hair that the guard had referred to as Black Stew had
charged her like a randy bull, beating off the other men, but
Dax had seen a possibility that she might help him get out of
his cell.
That was it!
He wasn't expecting her to escape and get to him and free
him. He'd thought there was a chance the guard would bring
her back for another 'lesson' and he'd hoped, if he could get
her off the drugs, she'd have enough wit about her to create
a distraction.
She considered that for a while and finally decided that
must be it, but he was out of his fucking mind!
He was cute, and he was sexy, but he wasn't that damned
cute and sexy!
How was she supposed to create a diversion? And,
supposing she thought of something, how was she supposed
to keep from getting dead in the attempt?
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For that matter, supposing they managed to get out of the
cell, this facility was a monster. They'd never get out of it
alive.
Maybe dead was better, but she wasn't ready to accept
that.
She was still mulling the memories over, carefully avoiding
the particulars about what Dax had done and focusing on
what he'd said, when a sound suddenly jolted through her
abstraction. Pushing herself up on the bunk, she saw a tray
being shoved through the narrow space at the bottom on the
wall next to the door.
Her throat closed instantly with thirst. She'd been trying to
ignore the effects of dehydration on her mouth and throat for
hours—days, it seemed. When the hatch closed again, she
eased off the bunk and headed toward the tray.
It's in the food!
She stared at the bowl of disgusting brown muck and the
bread for several moments and finally reached for the tumbler
of water. After sniffing it suspiciously, she took a small sip.
The tiny droplets of water on her tongue only increased
her need to desperation, but she could detect nothing but
water. After taking a couple of sips, she set the tumbler down
with deliberation and waited to see if she felt any strange
sensations creeping through her. Finally, deciding the water
was safe if only because it would've been nearly impossible to
lace it with anything that couldn't be detected, she allowed
herself a few more sips.
The water was tepid and she longed for something cold,
but at least it was wet. As the worst of her thirst passed, the
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temptation grew to use a little of the water to sooth her face
and bathe her thighs. She didn't know when she'd get
anything else to drink, though.
Finally, she carefully gathered the little bit of condensation
that had formed on the outside of the vessel and patted her
face gingerly. Blood had crusted beneath her cut lip and the
little bit of moisture wasn't enough to remove it.
She gave up after a few moments, knowing it was stupid
to squander water her body desperately needed on the
dubious comfort she would get from dabbing at the blood and
dirt that smeared her bare skin.
The filth of the place was torture enough for anyone with a
fastidious nature. There'd been a time, in the dark past, when
she and Nigel had lived on the streets, that she hadn't given a
thought to the filth she lived in. She could barely remember
that time, though, mostly because she had tried hard to
purge it completely from her memory after they had gone to
live with Morris.
Dismissing it with an effort, she stared at the food on the
tray, trying to ignore the gnawing hunger in her belly—trying
to dismiss the temptation to welcome the limited awareness
the drugs in it would give her.
She didn't really want to have her wits about her, did she?
Did she really want to experience the full measure of just how
horrible this place was?
She killed the urge to appease her hunger and embrace
oblivion. She had to get out, she realized. Serving life wasn't
an option and the prospect of enduring this sort of hell for
years was almost worse than the possibility of being killed
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outright.
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Chapter Five
Lena was caught off guard and unprepared when they
came for her again. The only thing that saved her from giving
herself away at once was the fact that she was awakened
abruptly from a deep sleep. Disoriented and uncoordinated
from sleep, she was dragged from her bunk and hustled down
the corridor to the tube lift before she was alert enough to
realize luck had saved her so far, not her wit.
The surge of fear driven adrenaline that pumped through
her with enlightenment made it nearly impossible to maintain
the pose of a drug induced stupor. She struggled with it,
fighting to maintain her breathing, to make herself remain
limp instead of trying to catch herself. She was certain,
nevertheless, that her pose would be noticed any moment for
the poor acting it was.
Apparently the guard was distracted by his own thoughts,
though, because he didn't seem to notice anything different
about her.
She slumped in the chair when he shoved her into it,
focusing her mind on keeping her arms and legs limp as he
strapped her in.
That was harder than anything prior to that point, because
she'd still been groggy and uncoordinated when he'd been
dragging her along the corridor. Fear again aided her when he
began the questioning, because her mind was so chaotic with
it she could only stare at him blankly when he jerked her
head back to look at her.
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"Give us names!"
She grappled with the demand, trying to put it together
with other things he'd asked. Somehow, he, or rather the
people he worked for, were under the impression that she
was deep in the rebellion. "Morris?" she finally managed
hesitantly, partly because she knew he was beyond their
reach now and partly because she didn't know of anyone else
who even might be a rebel. She didn't think that Morris was,
or had been. She'd never believed it was more than talk. He
was willing and his mind still alert, but physically, rebellion
was beyond him anymore.
The interrogator's response was a slap that slung her head
sideways and nearly made her blackout. "We know about
Morris!" he growled. "Who are the others? Who met with
him?"
Dimly, through the blinding pain, an image of Dax
emerged.
She couldn't be any more certain about him than she was
about Morris, though. Furthermore, they had him. From what
she'd seen of his face, they'd invested a good bit of time
interrogating him, too, so she couldn't imagine telling them
his name would do her any good.
Besides, she felt ill at the thought.
"Don' know names," she managed to say finally.
He grabbed her by her hair, jerking her head back and
smashing the back of her skull into the chair back. "But you'd
recognize them?"
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Lena swallowed with an effort, feeling her stomach heave
as she tasted blood in her mouth. "Only know M-morris," she
stammered.
"Lying rebel bitch!" the man growled, pelting her with a
barrage of blows that made the room dim and, thankfully, the
lights go out.
A deluge of icy water brought her around. For several
moments, she spluttered and gasped, trying to free her air
passages of water to suck in a breath of air.
"Where do they meet?"
Pain was pretty much all Lena was aware of anymore. The
question hardly registered in her mind. He repeated it,
emphasizing the question with another slap that nearly made
her blackout again.
"They?"
"The rebels. Where do they meet?"
He was going to beat her death, she realized dimly, if she
didn't give him something, but it was a battle to jog anything
useful from her mind. "Underground," she managed finally.
He grabbed her tunic, shaking her and the chair. "We know
it's the underground! Where do they meet?"
"'Neath subway."
He stopped shaking her abruptly. "Under the subway?"
Lena wasn't sure of why or even how she'd come up with
that, but an errant memory had surfaced of a system of
access tunnels leading off the main vein. "Old town," she
added.
"When? When do they meet?"
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"Random," Lena muttered the first thing that came to
mind.
"You'll have to do better than that."
Again, she babbled the first thing that came to mind. "Last
Friday of the month."
"Tonight?" His voice was threaded with excitement now.
Fuck! But how was she supposed to have known that it
was Friday? Realizing there was nothing she could do now to
name a time that might have worked better for her, she
nodded.
"If you're lying to me, bitch, you'll regret it, I promise
you."
She already regretted it, but she'd been beyond bearing
anymore. She'd felt like she had to tell him something to get
some respite.
Once he'd pitched her back into her cell and left her, she
had hours to deeply regret that she'd been in no shape to
think anything through. The underground she'd spoken of
might well have worked in her favor if she hadn't
inadvertently left herself such a small window of respite. As
the worst of the pain subsided, she knew why it had popped
into her head.
People lived there—dangerous demented people. She and
Nigel had been there when they were children, looking for a
safe place to sleep out of the cold. They'd very quickly
discovered that it was no safe harbor. The people who dwelt
there were more animal than human, and extremely
territorial. They were fortunate the denizens had been
satisfied with just chasing them off.
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Even so, it made her feel ill that she'd probably just signed
their death warrant. Whoever it was that wanted the rebels so
badly would almost certainly send an army of home
guardsmen down to cleanse the area. Trying not to think of
the bloody battle she'd instigated, Lena focused on the forlorn
hope that they would be so busy fighting they wouldn't
discover they were fighting tunnel people, not rebels.
Retribution wasn't nearly as long in coming as she'd
hoped. An hour, perhaps two, dragged slowly past and her
aches and pains had only begun to dull to a low roar when
her cell door slammed open again. "You lying cunt! You made
me look completely incompetent!" the guard yelled, grabbing
her and dragging her off the bunk.
She was too busy trying to get her feet under her as he
jerked her around and dragged her along the corridor to think
up a response that might mitigate his fury. "They weren't
there?" she finally babbled as he hauled her into the tube lift.
Venting his frustration in an animalistic growl, he punched
her in the face. She almost lost consciousness. She might
have except that the pain was too intense to allow her that
respite. As the moments seemed to stretch out before her,
she began to realize that he wasn't taking her to the
interrogation room.
He'd promised her she would regret it if she lied.
Was he taking her to Dax, she wondered, feeling a faint
twinge of hope?
Dax had promised he'd get her out if she'd help him.
Struggling to push the pain to the back of her mind, Lena
tried to formulate a plan, some plan—anything. Panic
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threatened to overwhelm her when jogging her mind
produced nothing helpful, but she barely remembered the trip
to the cell before. She couldn't remember any details with any
clarity.
She was still completely unprepared when she reached the
moment of truth and the door of the lift slid open.
She was supposed to be drugged, and frightened.
Stumbling around wasn't something she had to feign. She
was dizzy and nauseated from the pain and she could barely
see. Weakly, she flailed her arms—she discovered she didn't
really have to fake that either. Abruptly, she realized that the
only real strength she had was her dead weight. With a
conscious effort, she went perfectly limp. The grip he had on
her arm wasn't enough to keep her up. She sprawled in the
floor, wrenching free of his hand. Still without any real clue of
how she was supposed to divert the man, she lurched forward
the moment she'd settled, trying to crawl away. Grabbing her
by the back of her shirt, the guard thwarted her feeble
attempt to escape, wrestled with her briefly and then hefted
her from the floor and slung her over his shoulder.
The blow of landing on that hard shoulder was enough to
knock the wind out of her. She didn't have to fake that either.
As she was struggling to catch her breath, however, she saw
the rod strapped to his belt loop and, abruptly, everything fell
into place.
There was one minor, insurmountable problem. She didn't
know how to work the thing and it seemed certain she
wouldn't have more than a few seconds to figure it out. He
would feel it when she jerked it free.
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She also didn't know how to work the door of the cell.
One thing at a time, she told herself.
She allowed her arm to dangle just above the handle of
the thing.
He reached back to grab it as they reached the cell.
She hadn't thought about the fact that he'd used it before
to make the men move back before he opened the door.
Shit!
Realizing it was now or never, Lena grabbed it first,
yanking it from the holder. As she'd feared, he knew it
immediately. He swung her around in a dizzying circle, trying
to grasp it and finally dumped her onto the floor. Her elbow
slammed into the hard metal, almost jarring the thing from
her fingers.
"The trigger's on the handle!" someone—she thought
Dax—yelled from inside the cell.
Even as she depressed the button, the guard grabbed the
business end of the stick. He let out a jagged cry as electric
volts shot through him. He began to flop around on the floor
like a fish out of water. He'd firmly gripped the thing, and
Lena found she couldn't pry it from his hand and was in
imminent danger of losing her hold on it.
"Ease off the button. He can't let go."
She did, and then fought a round with her stomach, which
was threatening to revolt in earnest at the smell wafting off
the man. A hand reached through the bars, settling on her
shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin. "It's me,
Dax."
She stared at him blankly.
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"Open the door. I can show you the way out."
She barely heard him. By now every man in both cells was
yelling at the top of their lungs for release. Pushing herself up
with an effort, she looked around, dazed, for any sign of a
button that would release the gate.
"The control is on his belt," Dax bellowed at her.
Still too shocked to work independently of the voice
guiding her, Lena looked down at the man and promptly
threw up. His whole body was smoking and the smell of
burned hair and burned skin was too much.
When she finally managed to stop gagging, she found the
control Dax had told her about and tugged at it.
The belt, she discovered, was looped through it on the
back. She had to unfasten his belt to slip it off. Dimly aware
that Dax was still trying to bellow instructions at her, she
ignored him because it took every ounce of focus to figure out
how to remove the thing.
When she'd finally gotten it loose, she turned around and
looked for Dax. Dozens of arms were thrust through the bars,
though, grabbing at the thing she held in her hand. She
curled into a ball, holding the thing to her chest protectively.
"The key code! Key in the code!"
"I don't know the code," she yelled at him.
"Give it to me!"
She tried, but the men around him were also jostling to
get their hands on the control and she wasn't about to give it
to them. Dax meant safety. Dax meant help. She had no idea
whether the other men would help her, stampede over her, or
decide to drag her in and rape her as they'd tried before.
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She still had the taser, though, she realized. Gripping it
firmly, she swung at the men trying to reach through the bars
and grab her. When they leapt back, she shoved the control
into Dax's hands. Like a wave, the men surged forward again.
Again she swung at them. "Hurry!"
Gritting his teeth, Dax pressed the buttons, trying one
combination after another. Lena had just begun to think it
was hopeless when the door abruptly opened.
Dax wasn't the first one out. The moment the door
opened, the men inside charged, bottlenecking the small
opening. Black Stew waded through them, pitching several
through and knocking others to either side of him.
The stampede of men out of the cell galvanized Lena into
moving faster than she would've thought she could. She leapt
to one side, plastering herself against the bars. The din,
already enough to rattle her eardrums, grew nearly deafening
as the men penned in the cell across the way began yelling
and cussing and demanding, or begging, to be released as
well. Dax, exiting at last, tossed the control toward the
waiting hands. The men instantly fell upon one another like a
pack of dogs, snarling and struggling to get their hands on
the control unit.
The men who were already free had split up and were
racing toward either end of the corridor. Dax halted next to
her. "Are you alright?"
"Compared to what?" Lena gasped, unable to keep the
indignation from her voice.
For just a moment, she thought she saw a glint of humor
in his eyes. It vanished so quickly she wasn't certain, though.
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"We're not out of the woods yet. You think you can make
it?"
She didn't know if she could or not but she damn well
meant to try. Either way, she wasn't about to voice any
doubts. She thought it more likely his concern was that she
would slow him down than empathy for her state. She
nodded.
"Good girl!"
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Lena glanced up and
down the corridor worriedly. "Which way?"
"Up," he responded without hesitation, heading toward the
group piled around the lift tube.
There were only a half a dozen or so men waiting now,
Lena saw as Dax led her a little further along the corridor.
The men in the cell on the opposite side of the corridor hadn't
managed to get out. Either they'd broken the control fighting
over it, or they hadn't figured out the release code yet. One
group waiting near the lift had already piled on and
disappeared. The men who'd charged off in the opposite
direction had also vanished from sight.
"Quiet!" Dax bellowed, his voice so commanding that all of
the men within the sound of his voice instantly fell silent.
Faintly, far in the distance, Lena heard a popping sound.
"What's that?" she whispered.
"Gunfire! Those idiots must have headed for the ground
floor. Either they'll lock down the lifts or the car will be full of
guards when it comes back and they'll be crawling all over
us," he muttered, glancing around at the ceiling as if he could
see through the panels above them.
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A wave of nausea went through Lena. She should've
known it was stupid to think they could get out!
After a moment, Dax turned away from the lift and trotted
down the corridor a short piece, staring up at the ventilation
shaft. Without a word, he climbed the bars and began
yanking and tugging at the cover. Dust and debris began to
rain down in the corridor. Finally, he managed to break the
cover free on one end. He turned then and held out a hand
for Lena. "In here."
Ignoring the hand he offered, Lena handed him the taser
she still held, scrambled up the bars, and leaned out to grip
the edge of the shaft. He 'helped' her as she began hoisting
herself into the shaft by planting one hand in the middle of
her ass and giving her a shove. As scared as she was, that
hand did more than give her a boost by lifting some of the
weight off her arms. It sent a jolt of adrenaline through her
that gave her the strength to pull herself up.
She heard the scramble of feet as the prisoners waiting
near the lift charged back to jockey for position to go next.
The sizzle of the taser sent the smell of burning hair into the
shaft behind her. A moment later, Dax appeared in the
opening and clambered in behind her. "Move!" he
commanded. "They'll be on us any minute."
The prisoners? The guards? Both? "Which way?"
"Up!"
She didn't argue, but going up sounded as insane as going
down to meet the guards waiting for them below. Without
another word, she crawled down the shaft as fast as she
could, pausing only when she reached the first intersection
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opening above her head. She stood up, then, wondering how
the hell she was supposed to climb the thing.
"Use the seams to get a finger grip and brace yourself
across the opening," Dax said, almost as if he'd read her
mind.
The seams? Good god!
Do or die, she reminded herself, digging her fingers into
the seam just above her head and lifting one foot to brace it
against the side of the vent shaft. She was sweating so
profusely with effort by the time she reached the next
intersection her hands and feet kept slipping. Shaking like a
leaf, she parked her rump on the ledge of another
intersecting shaft and struggled to catch her breath. "How far
are we from the top?" she gasped out in a breathless whisper.
Dax didn't even look up. "Three levels."
"More?" Lena asked in dismay.
"You want to go back?"
Gritting her teeth, Lena wiped her hands on what was left
of her tunic and felt around for another seam. Her heart leapt
into her throat as her foot slipped along the slick inside of the
shaft the moment she tried her weight against it. Dax caught
her foot before she slammed it into his face, forcing her leg
upward until she could plant it firmly against the shaft wall
again.
Fear rode her all the way up, as she slipped over and over,
clawing at the seams that were little more than bumps until
her fingers began to bleed, adding to her difficulties. When
she'd made it to the next intersection, she tore a strip off the
bottom of the tunic and wrapped it around her fingertips,
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tying it. The little spots of blood seeping through the thin
fabric seemed to give her a little more traction. When she
paused at the next intersection, she tore off two more and
wrapped the strips around her toes.
She wasn't going to make it, she thought glumly, even
while she continued to go through the motions. She was
going to make a misstep somewhere and slam into Dax and
take them both down.
It became a litany pounding in her skull as she struggled
on and on, ignoring the shaking in her muscles at the fear
and strain. She was ready to admit defeat by the time she'd
finally reached another intersection. "I don't think I can do
much more of this." In fact none.
"We're there."
Lena blinked, her head popping up automatically as she
glanced toward the top of the shaft. She couldn't see
anything but more shaft and then a blockage of some kind.
"We are?" she asked doubtfully.
"Wait here."
Lena moved further back into the horizontal shaft as Dax
climbed past her. She watched him until he reached the end.
Bracing himself carefully, he began kicking at the piece
blocking the top of the shaft. She'd just begun to think he
couldn't get the leverage he needed to knock the thing loose
when it fell to one side and a gust of air whipped past her,
freezing the sweat on her skin. Before she could blink, Dax
was over the side and out of her sight.
"Dax?" she called in a quaky, frightened voice.
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He leaned over the opening, holding a hand down. "Come
on, baby girl."
Lena's chin wobbled. Abruptly, all she could think of was
that she wanted Morris. He'd always made everything alright.
She needed Morris and he was gone. He was never going to
be there for her again.
"Just a little further. Come on."
Swallowing with an effort, Lena scrubbed a hand across
her eyes to dry the tears that had puddled in them and
moved shakily to enter the shaft again. Her heart seemed to
stand still in her chest as she looked down.
"Don't look down! Look at me!"
Too late! She didn't think she could've made it this far if
Dax hadn't been behind her all the way, blocking her view of
the miles of shaft below her, giving her the reassurance that
he was there to catch her.
Never mind that she hadn't actually believed he would,
that she'd been afraid the whole time that if she fell she was
going to take both of them down.
She needed the illusion of safety he'd given her.
"Lena! Get your ass up here!" Dax bellowed abruptly.
Stiffening her spine, still quaking like a leaf, Lena moved
into the shaft and began struggling upward again. A jolt went
through her when she felt a hand brush one shoulder. He
caught her arm as she slipped, heaving upward. She
managed to grip one side of the top edge. Her feet sought
traction, slipped and she pedaled upward. Relief so potent it
made her absolutely limp went through her when she tumbled
to the roof in Dax's arms.
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She didn't really have a chance to enjoy the sense of
security, though. He pushed her off almost at once and got to
his feet. More slowly, wondering what they were going to do
now, Lena gathered herself into a ball and looked around to
see what he was doing.
Without hesitation, he loped across the roof to what looked
like a water tower, or perhaps some sort of electrical
maintenance box. After feeling around the thing for a handful
of moments, he pulled a small object from it. Glancing
upward, he went still, as if waiting.
Lena looked up too. She could see nothing but blackness,
the slightly paler black of clouds against the night sky and
winking stars.
As she watched, however, one star seemed to detach itself
from the others and shoot downward.
"Make it quick!" Dax muttered, drawing her attention.
It took more of an effort to push herself to her feet than
she'd thought it would, Lena discovered as she gathered
herself and tried to stand. She managed to get to her knees,
wobbled for a moment and then, dragging in a deep breath,
stood. Even with her legs braced apart, she almost fell down
again when she looked up at the bright spec of light shooting
toward them.
Staggering, catching her balance with an effort, she
glanced at Dax questioningly.
"We've got company," he growled warningly. "Quit fucking
around and get down here!"
Lena felt her jaw go slack. Who was he talking to, she
wondered blankly? The warning 'company' hit her right
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between the eyes just then, however, and she whirled to look
around the roof for the threat as Dax charged across the roof
toward a boxy looking protrusion.
He'd barely reached it when a door opened in one side,
disgorging guards. Four men carrying automatics charged
past him without seeing him, heading straight for her. She
didn't wait to see anything else. Letting out a shriek, she
whirled and ran.
"Get down!"
Lena reacted instantly to Dax's bellowed command,
slamming into the roof top and plastering herself against it
even as the scream of laser blasts filled the air above her
head. Cringing, without any place to run to even if she was
near enough to reach any kind of shelter, she covered her
head with her hands. Around her, she heard yells, the sizzle
of the taser, laser blasts, and then above that, drowning out
all of the other noises, the shrill whine of an engine. Heat
seared her, blown away from her almost before it touched her
by a hard blast of air.
Pulling her hands from her head when the sounds of battle
diminished, Lena turned her head first one way and then the
other to see what was happening. Hovering just above the
roof ledge was an enormous deep space craft. A dozen men
had spilled from the gang way extending from it and were
running across the roof. The four guards she'd seen, like her,
were plastered face down on the roof, their arms above their
heads.
Dax knelt beside her and hauled her to her feet. "That's
our ride."
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Stunned, Lena got up with an effort and allowed him to
lead her across the roof toward the waiting craft.
"Bring them," Dax yelled above the roar of the ship's
engines. At once the soldiers prodded the guards to get on
their feet, herding them toward the gangplank with the tips of
their guns.
"Hustle it!" Dax barked as everyone began pouring on
board again, his hand tightening around Lena's arm as he
pulled her to one side to allow them to pass.
Still stunned and bewildered by the turn of events, Lena
stood docilely beside him, trying to figure out how it was that
a ship had been waiting for them. The troops filed in,
disappearing down a narrow gang way and through an air
lock. The whir of the gang plank being retracted caught
Lena's attention, and she turned, watching as it disappeared
into a crevice, like a tongue into a mouth, and the outer door
closed.
"The prisoners have been secured, Captain Morris," said a
male voice.
Lena's head snapped around so quickly a bone in her neck
cracked. A shockwave washed over her as she stared at Dax
in wide eyed disbelief. "Morris?"
He turned to look down at her. His blue eyes were as cold
as ice. "Good. Take this ... abomination down to Mel. When
she's patched it up, secure it in the brig. We'll see what
information we can get out of it."
Abomination? It?
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One shock after another rolled over Lena, making it
impossible to do anything but gape at Dax. She didn't even
try to resist when someone seized her arm and led her away.
* * * *
An unaccustomed sense of doubt plagued Dax as he
watched the guards escort Lena below. The problem was that
reason and instinct were in conflict where she was concerned.
Statistically speaking, they'd discovered that the gov had a 1-
0 batting average when it came to replacing people with their
cloned copies, which made it highly unlikely that Lena had
escaped the fate planned for her.
On a gut level, everything in him was telling him she was
the Lena, the one and only.
Tamping the vague sense of uneasiness plaguing him, he
strode briskly along the gangway and climbed the tube to the
bridge.
"Captain on deck!" an enthusiastic recruit announced the
moment he appeared through the opening, clicking his heels
smartly and saluting.
Discipline was necessary to form an army that was worth
it's salt, but Dax wasn't particularly enthused about the rigid
ceremony of the traditional army, partly because it made him
uncomfortable since he wasn't regular army, and partly
because it reminded him too much of the people he'd come to
despise.
Nevertheless, he returned the salute.
"Captain! It's good to have you back in one piece—sir!"
Rodriguez said as he spied Dax.
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"It's good to be back in one piece," Dax responded
somewhat dryly.
Rodriguez grinned, relaxing when he saw that Dax didn't
mean to stand on ceremony, but shook his head. "We'd
begun to worry you wouldn't be able to pull it off."
Dax glanced at his pilot speculatively a moment before he
turned his attention to the map the navigator had pulled up.
"How much did you lose?" he asked, his voice tinged with
amusement.
Rodriguez chuckled. "Naw, man! I won! I told them you'd
have her out by the end of the week."
Dax nodded, but his amusement vanished as he focused
on the screen. "Plot an evasive course to this point."
The navigator glanced at him sharply. "She's carrying?"
"We have to assume she is. Either that was the most
incompetent sons-of-bitches ever brought together in one
place, or we've been set up."
* * * *
Lena was scarcely aware of the sights and sounds of
moving along a narrow corridor and through one air lock after
another, climbing down a tube, traversing yet another
corridor. Throughout most of it, her mind was pure chaos.
It wasn't until she'd been shoved down on a gurney and
strapped to it that she even began to emerge from the shock
and by then it was too late. A woman approached her,
stabbed a needle into her arm and almost at once she began
to drift away.
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Light was flicked into her eyes. Someone grabbed her
eyelid, turned it inside out.
"This isn't the clone," a woman's voice said sharply.
'Abomination' suddenly made sense, but Lena didn't have
the chance to muddle through why it made sense or what
difference it might make to her. Her sight dimmed and the
sounds around her dulled and finally flickered out.
"She's out," Mel muttered. "Let's get her cleaned up. She's
such a mess, poor thing, I can't tell where she's hurt. Wait!
The Captain said to scan her first for a locator."
A tech moved a scanner into position and keyed in the
command. Slowly, so slowly it was hard to detect the
movement of the thing, the machine began its trek down her
body. Mel moved to the screen, frowning. "Her vitals look a
little shaky. I'm seeing borderline malnutrition and
dehydration. Tom! Get a needle in her and start a drip. Let's
see if we can't get her plumped up a bit."
When she saw him swipe her arm and insert the needle,
she returned her attention to the scan read out. "Somebody
beat the hell out of her, and more than once from the looks of
it. Looks like she's got fractures everywhere. We'd better take
care of those first—assuming we don't find anything internal
that takes priority—bath next and then we'll have a look at
the cuts and see if any of them need sealing."
They would've missed the locator if it had been left to the
human eye to catch. The scanner paused, however, when it
reached her chest, setting off an alarm as it pinpointed what
looked like little more than a black speck near her spine.
Drawing the scanner back, they released the restraints and
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rolled her over. Using a micro-viewer, Mel removed the tiny
sensor carefully and used a laser to close the wound.
Dropping the locator into a metal receptacle, she left her
assistants to turn Lena over again and moved to the com.
"We got one, Captain."
"Make sure it's only one, and not just a decoy."
"Sneaky bastards. We'll start another scan."
The scanner had located five more by the time it reached
her feet. Mel was already starting to feel fatigued and she
hadn't even gotten to patching yet. Dropping the last locator
in with the others, she glanced up and saw Dax on the other
side of the viewing window. "I think that's got it. Tom, get the
laser out and start on those fractures—not her face, though.
I'll take care of that when I get back."
Scooping the locators into one hand, she headed out of the
surgery. "Six all together. They knew we'd come after her,"
Mel said grimly, opening her palm.
Dax barely glanced at her. "I thought it was too easy."
A faint smile curled her lips. "You thought that was easy?"
she murmured, but then frowned. "She isn't the clone."
That comment caught his full attention. He glanced at her
sharply. "You're sure?"
Mel sighed. "Almost a hundred percent. All the others had
a code in the eyelid. Unless they decided it was too risky....
My money's on her being the real deal, though. She's got
fractures from head to toe. They beat the hell out of her,
repeatedly, and I just can't imagine they'd risk that much
'realism' if they wanted to make a plant. I don't know how
she even managed to climb out of that fucking hell hole."
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A speculative frown drew Dax's brows together. "You don't
think that points to the likelihood that she's a clone? You
think she bested the one they sent for her, managed to live
through their interrogation tactics, and climbed that shaft and
she's human?"
Mel shrugged. "People can do amazing things given the
right incentive."
Dax's lips tightened. "And yet all my father, or her brother,
could talk about was how fragile she was," he pointed out.
Mel turned to study the young woman through the viewing
window. "Morris loved her. Her brother loves her. Men are
inclined to think women are weak anyway. Maybe she's got a
lot more strength than they give her credit for."
"And maybe she's a fucking clone."
Anger surged through Mel. "Suit yourself, but I don't buy
it." Catching his hand, she slapped the locators into his palm.
"You didn't say what you wanted me to do with these."
He closed his hand around the tiny bits of electronics.
"I need to check you out, too. Looks to me like your face
stopped a few fists."
"Later. Right now I'm going to get rid of the stench of
prison."
Irritation washed over Mel as she watched him go, but
after a moment she dismissed it. Maybe he was right. She
didn't think he was, but she supposed she was inclined to
hope for the best. It was hard to accept that they—whoever
they were—could simply replace people at will and nothing
could be done to stop the bastards.
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"Is there a point to this?" Tom muttered without sparing
more than a glance in Mel's direction as she returned.
Anger washed over her. "Give me the damn laser!" she
snapped. When he'd handed it to her, she glared at him.
"Yes, there's a point. Until and unless we find out otherwise,
this is a human being and she needs care."
Tom stepped back. "She was riddled with the things. You
think they planted them on her without her knowledge? Even
if she's human, and not a clone, she's on the wrong side if
you ask me."
"I didn't ask you!" Mel snapped, uncertain of why she felt
so protective of Lena but unwilling to examine it. "Look at the
drug readouts and if you still haven't figured out how they
managed to get the implants into her without her knowledge,
go take a fucking refresher course on medicine, ok?"
Tom glared back at her, but after a moment he merely
moved out of her way, studying the read outs while Mel
finished mending the multitude of tiny fractures she located.
The bastards had been using her for a punching bag, Mel
thought angrily. Whatever Dax thought about it, and she
knew the clones were stronger and healed better than 'real'
humans, she still didn't think they would've gone so far to
convince them Lena was authentic. The clones cost money,
big money, and regardless of how miraculous their research
was, it would have to take a lot of time to generate that much
tissue—right down to every little hair follicle.
When she'd finished, every muscle in her body was aching,
but she felt euphoric. Lena's face was going to look as good
as new once the minor cuts healed. After running another
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scan to make certain she hadn't missed anything, she moved
away from the gurney, watching critically as Tom and her
other assistant, Risa, cleaned the young woman up. When
they'd finished, she moved up once more and examined each
cut carefully, using the laser to seal the worst of them.
She wasn't nearly as happy once she was done, though,
and she remembered Dax had ordered that Lena be taken
and secured in the brig. They were holding four guardsmen in
the cell already. She wouldn't have bet her next meal that
they'd leave Lena in peace to heal.
Shrugging, she stalked to the com unit and summoned a
couple of troopers. "Take her to the captain's quarters."
The two men exchanged a glance. "We were told we were
supposed to take her to the brig," one finally responded.
Mel waved that away. "I just talked to Captain Morris."
Shrugging, the men moved to each end of the gurney and
guided it out of the surgery.
Mel had mixed feelings as she watched them leave. She
dismissed her qualms. If Dax wanted to send her down to the
brig, he could tell them. She wasn't about to, not when she'd
just spent the last two hours patching her up.
Dax hadn't returned. She wasn't surprised. She'd known
even when she suggested he let her check him out that
nothing short of a gun to his back was going to get him into
her infirmary.
Dismissing Tom and Risa, she removed her steriles as she
moved to the com unit.
"Captain Morris?"
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She leaned against the wall while she waited for a
response. She was just wondering if he meant to ignore her
when his voice broke the silence. "Yes?"
"I'm done. You want a report now? Or can it wait?"
"I'll be right down."
Shrugging, Mel found a stool and plopped down on it, her
thoughts veering off abruptly to Lena's brother. Nigel wasn't
going to take it well if he found out they'd rescued Lena's
clone instead of his sister, Lena.
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Chapter Six
"What's the verdict?"
Mel shrugged tiredly. "Which one?"
"How is she?" Dax asked irritably.
"Like I said, beat all to hell. I've mended everything,
though. She isn't going to feel wonderful for a while, but
there won't be any lasting damage—not physically, anyway.
Otherwise, it's a little more tricky. That sort of experience
isn't something people put behind them easily, especially
when they've managed to make it to adulthood without
seeing too much of the ugly."
Dax frowned. "Lena's seen the ugly."
Mel studied him for several moments but finally, instead of
reminding him that he'd already made up his mind the real
Lena, the one who'd had those experiences, was gone, she
merely shrugged. "From what I heard, she wasn't much more
than a baby. I doubt she remembers too much about that. I
meant since your father took her in. Anyway, she'll get over
it. The drugs—it's going to take a little while to get all that
nasty out of her, but I'm going to keep her out for a while to
give her plenty of time to heal up. She'll sleep most of the
withdrawal off. She won't be really lucid for at least thirty six
hours."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Make it forty eight. We're headed
for Antaria to lose the trackers. Once we've pulled that off—if
it goes smoothly—I can focus on questioning her."
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A twinge of guilt flickered through Mel, but she dismissed
the temptation to confess that she hadn't sent Lena to the
brig. She was out and would be for a while. Even if it turned
out that Dax was right about her, it wasn't like she was going
to be in any condition to try anything. "Are you going to let
me check you out?"
Dax arched a brow at her. "You are always so anxious to
get my clothes off, doc."
Mel chuckled. "You got me. I just can't resist using that
tight little ass of yours for a pin cushion."
Dax's smile flat lined. "I think I'll pass."
"Don't be such a baby! Jeez! Your face looks like
somebody was using it for a punching bag and you're worried
about a needle?"
Uttering a long suffering sigh, Dax caught the front of his
uniform and gave it a tug, unsealing the opening from neck to
groin. When he'd shrugged out of the top, he peeled the one
piece suit down his legs and dropped it to the floor. Giving
him an irritated glance as he climbed up onto the examination
table, Mel snatched the uniform from the floor and dropped it
onto the stool she'd vacated.
He was a gorgeous specimen of manhood, top to bottom,
but he could be a real pain in the ass!
It dawned of her abruptly why she'd felt so badly for Lena.
It wasn't just that she could tell the poor girl had already
been through hell. It was the fact that she'd managed to get
on Dax's bad side and that was a really unpleasant place to
be.
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The scan revealed bruising—a lot of it—and several
cracked bones in his right hand. When she'd mended the
damaged bone with the laser, she shoved the scanner out of
the way and told him to get dressed.
"No needles today?" he asked as he bent down to step into
the uniform again.
Mel checked his ass out. "It's oh so tempting, but I
couldn't find an excuse. You must be made out of titanium."
His lips curled wryly as he sealed the front of his suit
again. "I felt every one of those damned bruises."
"Want something for pain?"
He shook his head. "All I need right now is a few hours
sleep."
Mel sent him a startled look, but he'd already stepped out
of the med lab before she recovered enough from the jolt of
that announcement to consider saying anything. After a
moment's thought, she decided against trying to head him
off.
Retreating to her quarters, Mel grabbed her toiletries and
headed for the shower. She'd just lifted her foot to step into
the chem bath when she heard the captain's voice over the
com unit. "Mel!"
Jumping all over as if he'd sneaked up behind her, she
whirled to stare at the com unit for a moment and finally
leapt to answer it as he bellowed into the speaker again.
"Sir?"
"Where did I tell you to put the prisoner?"
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Mel grimaced, glad the ship was too bare bones to have a
vid com unit. "I wasn't told to treat the prisoners, sir," she
hedged.
"Lena!"
"Uh ... I thought we were rescuing her. Is she a prisoner?"
"Are you anxious to check out the brig, doc? Because I can
arrange it."
"No, sir. I'll send someone down to remove the prisoner
from your quarters right away, sir."
There was a noticeable pause before he responded. "I'll
handle it."
Mel slumped weakly when he said nothing else.
"You'd be wise to spend a little less time worrying about
what Nigel might think and a little more worrying about me,"
Dax retorted finally. "I don't know if he will thank you for
putting her in my bed, but I do."
Mel's eyes widened at that subtle threat, but although she
was tempted to ignore the order to leave well enough alone
she didn't dare meddle any further in the captain's business.
Dax leaned against the bulkhead beside the com unit for
several moments and finally turned to study the woman
sleeping in his bunk thoughtfully. He was dead tired, and he'd
been looking forward to sleeping on something that wasn't
crawling with bacteria from dozens of other occupants.
He was in no mood to deal with this kind of problem at the
moment. The last thing he needed was to climb into bed with
a piece of ass he wanted but didn't dare touch.
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He found that the longer he stared at her, though, the
more reluctant he was to summon the guards to remove her
to a holding cell.
His irritation finally waned.
Crossing the cabin, he placed a knee on the bunk, scooped
Lena up and deposited her against the edge of the bed
nearest the bulkhead. As small as she was, and as wide as
the bunk ordinarily seemed, it still looked too crowded for
comfort—his comfort—but he shrugged the thought off after a
moment, slipped beneath the cover and settled beside her,
rolling away from her.
It took less than five minutes to answer the question of
whether or not he was too exhausted to have to worry about
arousal being a problem. Just knowing she was in the bed
behind him was enough to make him acutely aware of her,
but he began to think he could smell her delicate scent
weaving through the faint odor of decon-cleanser on his own
skin and hers. He began to think he could feel her warmth
radiating into his back, hear the soft sigh of her slow, even
breaths. All of it together brought up a mental picture he'd
been trying real damned hard to get out of his head.
The mental image of that animalistic coupling between
them in his cell shouldn't have been something to arouse him.
It should have made him sick to his stomach, but the
unavoidable truth was that he was a sick son-of-a-bitch
because it made him hard as rock every time he remembered
it.
 He had reacted instinctively to the threat to Lena when
she'd been thrown into his cell to be raped to death. It hadn't
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been planned. It hadn't even been part of the plan, but his
instincts were rarely wrong, and he hadn't had time to
question it anyway. The guard had ordered up a rape for his
entertainment and he provided it.
Nothing else would have appeased the bastard. He knew
that.
But he also knew that, even without penetration, even
though he'd done everything he could to try to make it as
easy on Lena as he could, drugs or no drugs, desperate
situation or not, he'd probably scared the living hell out of
Lena and thoroughly traumatized her.
The wonder of it was that she'd trusted him enough to help
him out of the cell after that so that they could make the
escape.
Except it wasn't a wonder to him. The incident sure as hell
wasn't something he was proud of or wanted to talk about,
which was why he hadn't mentioned it to anyone and still had
no intention of doing so. He was relieved he'd managed to
give it enough realism by coming to convince the guard, but
at the same time uneasy that he had managed it under those
circumstances.
The main thing that bothered him about it now, though,
the thing that had been plaguing him from the moment she
managed to help him get out of that cell, was that Mel was
right about how tenderly brought up and protected Lena had
been. Between his father and her brother, she'd been
shielded most of her life from the ugly things people did to
each other.
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Lena, the real Lena, he felt certain, would have been
terrified of him after that. She wouldn't have trusted him
enough to let him out of that cell. She sure as hell wouldn't
have followed him blindly when he'd told her they were
climbing up to the roof.
The only reason he could think of any of the time that
would account for it was that she wasn't Lena at all.
He supposed he should have told Mel. She was a woman
and a doctor. She would know better than anyone else he
could think of what the likelihood was that Lena's reaction
had been normal—or at least normal under the
circumstances.
To his way of thinking it was the most solid proof they had
that they'd pulled Lena's clone out of that fucking prison.
Maybe her brother would know—and maybe not.
From what he'd been able to tell, Lena had spotted his
father's counterfeit right off. He'd trailed her to warn her,
uncertain of just how much Morris had told her about him and
about the movement and how much danger she presented to
the conspirators, because her own danger was directly
proportionate to just how threatened they felt by her.
She didn't have a poker face, that was for damned sure.
Every time she'd glanced at Morris she'd given away every
thought and emotion that was going through her.
He deeply regretted the fact that he hadn't managed to
pull her out before they got to her. But she'd managed to
elude him at the station and he hadn't expected them to
move on her so quickly, hadn't thought they would've had
time to clone her.
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They were getting better at their acceleration techniques.
There was no doubt about that. It wasn't taking them months
anymore. Nigel had only pulled her DNA a matter of weeks
before the switch.
Of course Nigel hadn't known, then, that he was collecting
for them. Right up until Nigel had turned his sister's code over
to the bastards, he'd suspected Nigel was working for them,
and well aware of it.
There was no doubt in his mind that Nigel had been an
unwilling participant. He'd flown into such a rage when he
discovered he'd turned Lena's DNA over to them for
replication that they'd had a hell of time holding him back
long enough to convince him that he could do more to bring
them down by playing stupid a while longer.
He would've given a lot to know just what had transpired
when Lena got back to her apartment the day he'd gone to
pick her up, but the security tapes had already been fixed by
the time he'd managed to break into the system.
Frustration gripped him. They were going lose if they didn't
get better at this, because they were trailing dangerously
behind.
Beginning to feel cramped from the tension in his body,
and from lying on his side so long, Dax rolled onto his back to
stare up at the overhead in the darkness.
He wasn't certain whether the movement had aroused
Lena from her deep sleep, or if she was merely seeking
warmth, but she moved closer, throwing one arm and one leg
over him.
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The curling thatch of hair on her mound tickled his hip and
the arousal that had only just begun to abate from before
rolled over him like chain ball lightning until his cock was so
engorged it was trying to erect a tent.
"Hell," he muttered, grinding his teeth as her knee nudged
his testicles and they drew up in a hard knot against his belly
in reaction.
"Bad word," she muttered, the words only slightly slurred
by sleep.
Startled, Dax glanced at her sharply, wondering if she was
feigning sleep after all. Mel had said she'd given her
something to knock her out, though.
Grasping her chin, he pushed her face up to study it
suspiciously. It was dim in the room, but his eyes had
adjusted to the darkness and he saw nothing to indicate she
was awake and only pretending to be asleep.
He decided to test her to find out. He sure as hell wasn't
going to be able to sleep in the same bed with her if there
was even a chance she wasn't asleep.
Lifting her palm from his chest, he moved her arm down
and cupped her hand around his erection, watching her face.
She didn't so much as flinch. She did, however, curl her
fingers around it tightly enough he thought for several
moments he was going to pass out.
He'd expected, if she was awake, that she'd either try to
slap the shit out of him, if it was Lena, or play coy and try to
pretend she wasn't aware of fondling him if she was the
decoy.
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Instead, she'd merely gripped it as if she thought she was
supposed to hold on to it.
"Bad idea," he muttered, trying gingerly to uncurl her
fingers.
They tightened instead of relaxing, sending a sensation
through his belly that was not unlike being punched in the gut
and he let out a grunt of sharply expelled breath.
"Mine," she murmured.
He didn't like to argue about it, especially when she had
him in a stranglehold. After a few panicked moments, he
decided to try to focus on taming the beast. It wasn't easy all
things considered, but after a moment he felt the blood ease
from his member.
Unfortunately, the moment it began to go limp, she
decided she'd dropped what ever it was she thought she'd
had hold of. He knew this because she began to shake it.
"Broke."
"It will be if you don't stop," he ground out.
"S'not broke?"
"Just give it to me," he hissed.
To his immense relief, she let go of him.
Grasping her hand, he moved it to his chest again, holding
her palm over his frantically pounding heart until she relaxed
and went limp.
He lay perfectly still for a while, struggling with his private
demons, which had taken that really inappropriate time to
prompt him with temptations he knew he had no business
considering.
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She was putty in his hands at the moment, though,
completely compliant—almost completely—and it took all he
could do to shrug off the temptation to take advantage of her
and assuage his needs knowing she would probably yield
without argument.
It might have been easier if he had not been thinking
about their coupling in the cell only moments before. It
certainly didn't help that, except for that, he hadn't touched a
woman in nearly two months.
When he finally managed to get his mind off of fucking her
brains out, it dawned on him that he had stumbled on what
might be the only opportunity, short of torturing her, of
getting reliable information from her. He lay pondering that
for a while, trying to think of questions he could ask that
would give him answers. Somehow, he doubted she could
handle any question that was too complicated at the moment.
As far as any of them had been able to determine, the
conspirators hadn't figured out how to record real memories
and implant them in the clones. They usually managed to put
together and implant a pretty impressive background
package—which meant they had access to the entire security
net which missed damned little—so even though they didn't
actually remember the incidents because they hadn't been
there, they did know about a lot of the same events the real
person knew.
"Do you remember meeting me?" he asked finally.
She nodded.
"Where did we meet?"
Her face crumpled. "Morrisplace."
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Dax frowned thoughtfully, but realized after a moment that
that still didn't tell him anything. He'd been in the apartment
to scan for surveillance cams and 'spike' them. They'd learned
very quickly that simply deactivating them didn't do much
good. The very next time they went to a place they had to do
another search and destroy. If they left them, though,
planting a false feed, they could be pretty sure the goons
wouldn't be back to check on them.
The problem was, the cams might have caught his visit.
He'd been as careful as he could about spiking them, and
thought he'd made sure he had erased everything directly
before the tampering, but he couldn't be a hundred percent
certain that they didn't know that was the time and place he'd
first encountered her. And even the real Lena wouldn't know
that he'd known about her for years.
The real Lena would know what hadn't happened, though.
"You were happy to see me. It had been years, after all."
Her brow wrinkled in confusion.
"I was glad to see you, too. That's why I kissed you."
She looked even more confused. "Didn't," she said finally.
"You kissed me back."
She moved restlessly, as if wrestling to extract that from
her memory. "Did? Doan 'member."
Dax frowned in irritation. That didn't tell him a damned
thing, and unfortunately he couldn't tell if she was being
deliberately evasive or if he'd just confused her because she
did remember the incident but couldn't remember something
that hadn't happened.
"Fucked. Din kiss me."
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Dax stiffened. Catching her jaw and tipping her face up for
his inspection, he studied it searchingly. "When?" he asked
sharply.
"While ago."
"Where?"
"Bed," she responded reasonably.
He was tempted to shake her. She might be thinking about
the time in the cell, and she might not be. It was just as
possible that she was faking the whole damned 'asleep' thing
and thought something had happened at Morris'.
The line of questioning wasn't doing him any good
otherwise either. Pushing her onto her back, he rolled up onto
one elbow to stare down at her for several moments. She lay
sprawled as she landed, bonelessly, showing no sign at all
that he could see of tension. Finally, he settled his chest
against her, pinning her to the bed with his body and tried to
focus on relaxing enough himself to sleep.
* * * *
"Captain Morris?"
The voice jerked Dax rudely from sleep, yanking his head
upwards as if someone had grabbed him by the hair and lifted
it.
 "We'll be docking at Antaria in about twenty minutes."
Dax stared down in bemusement at the breast he'd been
using for a pillow for several moments and finally rolled off
the bunk and strode to the com. "I'll be up in a minute."
Struggling to shake off the dregs of sleep, he looked
around for the uniform he'd discarded and finally spied it
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hanging from the corner of the mirror mounted above his
shaving basin. Recalling, vaguely, that he'd wadded it into a
ball and tossed it at the wall when he'd discovered his bed
was occupied, he retrieved the jumpsuit and pulled it on,
studying Lena as he pressed the front seal together.
She'd rolled over onto her belly when he got up, exposing
a long shapely back and heart shaped buttocks that tempted
him to explore the cleavage with his face.
Shaking the thought, he grabbed the edge of the cover
and tossed it over her before leaving the cabin.
The smell of coffee led him to the galley. Grabbing a
steaming mug full, he downed a mouthful before he was clear
headed enough to think better of it, scalding the inside of his
mouth, his esophagus, and his stomach. The burn more than
the caffeine jolted him into alertness, and he headed out
again. When he reached the bridge, he could see the busy
space port in the forward viewing screen. They'd already been
caught by the tractor beam and were gliding in for hookup.
He settled a hand on the docking pilot's shoulder. "Stay
put. We won't be here long. When you check in with the dock
master, tell him we're headed to Andromeda to pick up a load
of ore."
Stepping to the com unit, he touched the pad. "Marx,
Johnson, Gracia, and Vang—meet me at the main airlock—
NOW!"
Vang and Johnson were the last to arrive, and they looked
like he felt, glassy eyed from too little sleep, their hair
standing on end, and their uniforms fastened crookedly. He
glared at them. After staring at him stupidly for several
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moments, both men looked down at themselves and began
trying to tidy their appearance. "Each of you are to take one
of these locators, find a ship ready to leave that has a deep
space destination, and make sure you get the thing on board
without getting caught—and move your ass. If we stay put
too long, they'll be all over us."
Saluting, they held out their hands for the locators, tucked
them in their chest pockets and hustled out the airlock the
moment the door opened. Dropping the last two in his own
pocket, Dax followed them. Walking briskly along the docking
arm until he reached the main dock, he scanned the vessels
lined up on either side. He'd just decided to try his hand at a
freighter near the center when he spied Johnson talking to
one of the crew members.
Changing course abruptly, he continued down the main
concourse until he reached the furthest end and took a right
along a secondary docking arm. He was in luck. He found a
deep space rescue vessel that was loading supplies. Hailing
one of the dock workers, he told the man he wanted to make
sure the meds he'd sent over had reached the dock safely,
gave him a fake name, and set him off to look. Wandering
casually among the crates while he was waiting, he removed
one of the locators and dropped it into the open crate the
man had been trying to secure when he arrived.
The dock worker looked worried when he came back. "I
didn't find it. You sure it was supposed to be going out on the
Mabel?"
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Feigning surprise, Dax stared at the man a moment and
then cranked to get a look at the vessel. "Hell! Wrong ship!
Sorry."
The man glared at him irritably, but kept his thoughts to
himself.
Satisfied, Dax turned and strode purposefully away. The
man would no doubt remember him if questioned, but that
hardly mattered. Vids were everywhere. One could hardly
take a leak without being examined thoroughly. He was just
hoping the trackers wouldn't stop to question anyone at this
point or examine the surveillance vids.
When he reached the main concourse again, he considered
what to do with the last of the locaters. Five ships would be
leaving port with Lena on board—six if he planted the last
one. Were they more likely to follow the six carrying her,
figuring she must be on one of them? Or more likely to ignore
the six, figuring they were all decoys?
Deciding to see just how clever they were, and how many
were trailing them, he returned to the ship with the last
locator and headed for the bridge. "Set a course for
Andromeda," he told the navigator as he settled into his
chair.
"Yes, sir!"
His pilot, Rodriguez turned to look at him questioningly.
Dax returned the look in silence for several moments.
"After we pass the seventh buoy, change course and head for
the dead system and settle the ship into orbit around the
sixth planet. We'll wait there for a few hours and see if we've
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got company. If nobody shows, we can head back to main
base."
Rodriguez frowned. "They'll pick us up right away if we
deviate from the flight path we charted."
"They won't. Trust me. They won't know until we don't
pass the eighth on schedule that we took a detour. That will
give us a good three days lead on them. We'll be home before
they notice we're missing."
"The seventh buoy?"
Dax nodded. "It's currently inoperable. I'm going to my
cabin. Call me immediately if you pick up anything we need to
worry about."
Once he'd entered his cabin, Dax simply stood over the
bed for several moments, wondering if it was even worth the
effort of trying to get some sleep. It was only the reflection
that he wasn't likely to fare any better, for other reasons, in
the crew quarters.
More than a little tempted to roust Mel out of her quarters
and take her bed, he considered that option for a few
moments and finally discarded it. No body, including him,
wanted a med working on them that dead on her feet.
What he needed was pain killer—some of the stuff doc had
given Lena would do the trick.
The only problem with that was that he couldn't afford to
take anything that might make it hard to get his head straight
if he only managed to get a few hours sleep.
A whole lot of Lena would work even better, but that
wasn't an option, be she ever so comfortably ensconced in his
bed.
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Muttering a curse under his breath, he finally decided on
option number three—a stiff drink. One wasn't likely to impair
his judgment, but it would relax him.
Settling in his desk chair, he poured himself a couple of
fingers of whiskey, chilled it in the freeze unit and sipped it
slowly, allowing his mind to drift where it would as long as it
didn't drift in Lena's direction.
He'd spent a lot of years resenting Lena and her brother
Nigel for 'usurping' his place with his father. It was
unreasonable, of course, and he'd been old enough to know
better, but that sort of thing rarely touched on logic.
He couldn't recall that he'd ever really gotten along his
father. About the only thing he remembered with a lot of
clarity about his childhood was that his father was hardly ever
around—too busy saving the world to spend much time with
his family. And pretty much all of his memories from when
he'd been a youth were about fighting, mostly his father.
He'd been nearly thirteen when he'd decided to take off
and find his mother. The old man had always sworn the feds
had gotten her, but he'd never believed that. He figured she'd
just gotten tired of him and his father and left. One day, she'd
just left him a note that she had gone to look for food and
never came back, and he'd figured, because that was what he
really wanted to do, that she'd just kept going.
By the time he'd turned twelve, he had outgrown his father
in size and decided he'd outgrown needing somebody to tell
him what to do, too. His father had been training him as a
rebel pretty much as far back as he could remember. Mostly it
was just talk at first, but it wasn't long before he began
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showing him how to make war, how to fight, how to kill
quickly and quietly, always teaching him the art of warfare.
His mother had hated that. He supposed, in the back of his
mind, he'd thought that was probably the main reason she'd
left, because her husband was a conspiracy fanatic and her
son was a budding killer.
As it turned out, he wasn't as ready to take off as he'd
thought. The first time he decided to take his old man on,
Morris had beat the hell out of him in about two seconds flat.
The second time, he'd had time to add weight and muscle
to his height and he'd put Morris down.
And then he'd left.
And it turned out that Morris was right. The gov had gotten
his mother, rounded her up in the middle of a food riot,
hauled her off to one of their camps, and kept her there until
she died.
He'd cried like a baby when he had finally tracked her
down and only found a grave that didn't even have a name
marker on it—just a fucking number.
He hadn't gone back, though. He'd hated Morris then
almost as much as he hated the gov, and for the same
reason.
He'd spent a lot of time trying to decide the best way to
pay them both back for his mother and finally ended up
focusing on the gov. They were the real villains, after all. It
was because of them that his father hadn't been around to
protect his mother.
He'd been seventeen the first time he'd gone back, the
first time he'd set eyes on little Lena. She'd been just about
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as big as a minute, spindly arms and legs and not much to
her besides huge blue eyes.
She'd hidden behind Nigel and stared up at him like he
was the boogie man until his father had gathered his 'baby
girl' up and cuddled her protectively.
And she'd still peered at him over his father's shoulder, her
eyes as round as saucers.
He'd been torn, because he could see why his father
wanted to protect her and her brother, because neither one of
them had been much more than breath and britches, and at
the same time he resented the fact that his father, who'd
never treated him like a child in his life, had found the
nurturing side of fatherhood with two children that weren't
even his.
Maybe Morris had needed them as badly as they needed
him. By that time he no longer had the family he'd been
fighting the great battle for. He was still in the game, thick in
the middle of it, but he didn't participate in actual operations
any more, and he didn't do undercover, and he didn't handle
any of the leg work. He was too old, he claimed, to be any
good anymore. He'd gotten slow and become a liability to his
fellows in arms. He was a coordinator, nothing more.
That job kept him in the know, but it also kept him on the
sidelines so that he could devote himself to raising Lena and
Nigel.
Dax, his father had made it pretty damned clear, had also
become a liability. He was already a wanted man, pretty high
up on the gov's hit list, and Morris didn't want to take any
chances that Dax might lead a hit squad to his door.
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It had rankled. He couldn't help but resent that his father
favored Lena and Nigel above him, but he also couldn't help
but see Morris' point. He was grown. He was used to taking
care of himself. Lena and Nigel were still just kids and they
needed somebody to look out for them.
She'd grown into those eyes since the last time he'd seen
her, but they were as wide and innocent and vulnerable now
as they'd been when she was little more than a baby.
The body that went with those baby blues was another
matter all together.
Setting his empty glass down on the desk, he got up,
shrugged out of his uniform and sprawled face down on the
bed bedside her before his body had a chance to catch up
with the direction his mind had taken.
His last thought before he dropped off was that he hoped
to hell he'd managed to save Morris' baby girl, because if it
turned out the woman he'd rescued was a forgery, he didn't
think he could handle the termination.
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Chapter Seven
Truly bizarre dreams haunted Lena's sleep. Some of them
were distinctly unpleasant dreams about Morris, or a man
that looked like Morris but wasn't. Some of the dreams were
scary, because she kept trying to climb this thing that seemed
to go on forever and she knew if she fell she would just keep
right on falling.
She dreamed even scarier dreams than that, though,
where she was running from something in the dark,
something she knew was evil, terrible, even though she didn't
really know what it was, but she couldn't run because
suddenly something was holding her down. Sometimes the
things that scared her hardly even seemed like a dream at all,
because there was nothingness and then a man would leap
out at her from darkness, just burst into her mind like a jack-
in-the-box popping out of a box.
Pleasant dreams mingled with the unpleasant, though. She
would feel a man's weight, hear his harsh breath as he drove
into her body, feel heat and need surging through her blood—
and then everything would stop, leaving feeling horribly let
down and disappointed.
A woman kept appearing in the dreams, too, a complete
stranger who always bullied her, dragging her up from her
bed and sending her to relieve herself, or making her eat or
drink and then stabbing her with something sharp and smiling
at her and talking to her as if she was a child. "Good girl!"
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Lena wasn't certain what had wakened her, but she awoke
with a clearness of mind that seemed almost as strange as
the dreams that began to dissipate from her mind as soon as
she opened her eyes. Oddly enough, even though she felt
completely alert, nothing looked the least bit familiar to her
as she stared up at the ceiling for several moments and
finally rolled over to look around at the room she found
herself in. Maybe she wasn't as awake as she thought she
was?
A faint sound caught her attention and she went still,
closing her eyes.
When she opened them again, she discovered that she was
looking straight at a naked man that was looking straight at
her. She'd surprised him. He'd frozen in the act of drying the
water off that was running in tiny rivulets down his chest and
legs.
He didn't look the least bit perturbed to discover she was
watching him, just surprised to find her awake.
She frowned faintly. "Where am I?"
He studied her intently for a moment. Finally, frowning, he
focused on drying himself. "You don't remember?"
She might remember if he wasn't distracting her with that
damned towel, she thought a little irritably. When she
managed to drag her gaze from his thoroughly—she was
certain—dried genitalia, it was to discover that he'd slanted a
glance at her through half closed eyes, his brows drawn
together over the bridge of his nose. She blinked as
recognition hit her almost as forcefully as a physical blow. "I
know you. I remember."
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The frown vanished. His dark brows rose upward, but
something flickered in his eyes that looked more like concern
than irritation or relief. "Somehow, the way you say it doesn't
comfort me. What do you remember?"
Lena sat up abruptly. "I met you at Morris'. You came
there one time."
He studied her, still with that puzzled, concerned look,
slowly balling the towel he held into a tight ball and then
tossing it carelessly across the room. "You don't remember
anything after that?"
Lena blinked at him, stunned by the question. "Of course I
do!" She thought it over, wondering why he had asked such a
strange question. Abruptly, she realized she had been so
surprised by the sudden memory that she hadn't been very
clear about what she remembered. "When I was a little girl."
When he said nothing, she studied him carefully,
wondering if she'd been wrong after all. "You've changed.
Your hair was longer then, lighter than it is now. You seemed
so tall."
"You remember all that?"
She nodded.
"Just like that? I come out of the shower naked and
suddenly your memory is jogged?"
She frowned at the sarcasm, watching him as he crossed
the cabin and opened a panel in one wall. Pulling a uniform
from it, he stepped into the legs, tugged the suit up his hips.
He left the upper half of the uniform dangling from his hips,
but Lena found him slightly less unnerving half dressed than
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completely naked. When he turned again, he was adjusting
his package.
Lena looked down at her hands, discovering in the process
that she was as naked as he had been a moment before.
Grasping the sheet, she pulled it up self-consciously and
tucked the edges beneath her arms, blushing when she
caught his wry glance.
Why was she naked? In his bed? And why did she not
remember getting there?
If they'd done what she thought they might have done,
she was going to be really pissed off. Because she didn't
remember a damned thing!
Without a word, he stepped to the bunk, picked up a
jumpsuit similar to the one he was wearing off the foot and
dropped it in her lap. Lena stared at it a moment and finally
shrugged mentally because there hardly seemed any point to
worrying about her nakedness when it was obvious she'd
been sleeping naked in his bed since she'd come onboard.
Moving to the edge, she pushed a foot into first one and then
the other of the legs of the jumpsuit, working the snugly
clinging fabric upwards.
"It was the way you looked at me," she said, struggling to
sort through the flash of memories that began to flood into
her mind.
"Then? Or just now?" he murmured, his gaze moving over
her as she stood up to tug the jumpsuit over her hips and
then thrust her arms into the sleeves.
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When she glanced up at the question, she saw he'd moved
to a small basin supported by a pedestal and filled one palm
with a foaming substance from one of the taps.
Fascinated, she watched as he covered the lower half of
his face with the foam, wiped the excess from his hands, and
reached for a hair removal appliance. Working with both
hands to hold his skin taut, he began raking the remover
slowly over his face.
Thoroughly mesmerized by the process, Lena's mind just
seemed to shut down. It wasn't until she caught his gaze on
her from his reflection in the mirror that she realized she'd
completely lost the thread of the conversation.
She couldn't pick it up again either, couldn't remember
what she'd been talking about before.
Frowning, she looked down at the suit she'd pulled on and
studied the closure that went all the way from the neck to her
groin absently, trying to figure out how to work it. She didn't
realize he'd moved toward her until he pushed her hands
from the closure and pulled the edges together himself.
An electric current seemed to sizzle through her at the
light brush of his hands as he worked his way up the closure.
Her belly spasmed.
She looked up at his face, wondering if he'd noticed the
effect he was having on her. "You're Morris' son, aren't you?"
she said, suddenly remembering when they'd come onboard
the ship the soldiers had called him Captain Morris and
wondering why it hadn't occurred to her before when she
could see now the strong resemblance between father and
son.
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Instead of answering, he uttered a nonspecific grunt. A
distressingly uncomfortable sensation washed over her. She'd
been fantasizing about Dax since the first time she'd set eyes
on him—or at least the first time she remembered seeing
him. Before that—the very first time, when she'd been
nothing but a kid, she'd thought he was the most beautiful
man she'd ever seen. She could still remember how
awestruck she'd been. Had he been thinking of her all that
time as a younger sister? "I guess ... that sort of means
you're my brother?"
His head came up abruptly. Gripping her upper arms, he
yanked her up on her tiptoes and covered her surprised
mouth with his own. Lena's heart slammed against her chest
wall so hard she almost blacked out from the painful
concussion. Heat scoured her as he thrust his tongue into her
mouth and explored the exquisitely sensitive inner surfaces of
her mouth and tongue with a thoroughness that made it
impossible for her even to remember to try to breathe. His
taste and scent mingled with her own like a potent liquor,
flooding through her veins like liquid fire and draining away
every ounce of strength and willpower until she was
intoxicated, dizzy, lethargic and her entire body began to
tremble with weakness and need.
He released her almost as abruptly as he'd seized her and
she wilted weakly to the bed. "Not even sort of."
Too stunned even to gather her wits about her, Lena
merely stared at him as he moved to the wall and punched it
almost viciously. The door of another locker popped open.
Pulling a pair of boots from it, he crossed the room, plopped
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down on the chair behind a desk and shoved his feet into
them.
When he stood up again, he caught the upper half of his
uniform and dragged it upward, shoving his arms into the
sleeves. "Just a suggestion," he murmured when he paused
at the door. "Find another place to sleep. The next time I find
you in my bed, naked or otherwise, I may do something we'll
both regret."
A shudder went through her when the door closed behind
him, breaking the spell at last—sort of. She still felt rather as
if she'd been blindsided. Lifting a hand, she touched her
swollen lips gingerly with the tips of her fingers, tasting him
as she licked the dry surface. It was enough to send another
wave of need through her. Swallowing convulsively, she
dropped her hand to her lap again.
Was he laboring under some strange misconception that
she wouldn't welcome anything he wanted to do to her, she
wondered?
That thought brought her crashing back to reality.
What was she thinking? She didn't know anything about
him—except that the man was dangerous. Images flashed in
her mind of the fight in the cell when the guard had thrown
her in with him and the other men. The one the guard had
called Black Stew was a mountain of a man, taller and
broader even than Dax, and Dax was a monster—every bit of
six foot three or four and as solidly muscular as a tank—and
Dax had beat the man into the floor as if he'd been no more
than a ninety pound weakling after Black Stew had mopped
the floor with the others.
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Men didn't just naturally know how to fight like that. It
took practice. If that wasn't evidence enough, Dax's body was
a road map of violence. There were scars on his legs and
arms, his back, his chest, even several small scars on his
face; a long thin one on one cheek and two tiny, barely
noticeable one on his upper lip and chin.
Unbidden, the memory of Dax heaving and thrusting over
her washed through her mind. Another shudder went through
her, but she didn't even try to lie to herself. Maybe, if she
hadn't been too drugged up to hardly know where she was,
that incident would have scared her out of her wits, disgusted
her. She wasn't certain of it, though, because the moment
she had finally realized it was Dax the entire complexion of
the situation had changed, radically. Some part of her had
relished it. Some part of her had felt nothing but frustration
that the circumstances prevented him from doing more than
he had.
Her belly clenched almost painfully at the memory of his
flesh gliding along her cleft, her body instantly recalling the
pleasure that had heated her core.
Covering her face with her hands as if she could block out
the memory, she got up abruptly.
Morris hadn't wanted her anywhere around his son—hadn't
wanted Dax near her. She remembered that from that time,
so long ago she didn't know why or how she still remembered
it—except maybe because she had been terribly confused,
disappointed, and scared. Dax couldn't have been much more
than a kid himself then, but to her eyes he was a man, and
she'd never seen anything quite like him. He'd seemed almost
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god-like to her, a warrior god, a wondrously beautiful
creature that was almost as scary as he was fascinating.
But then he and Morris had had a terrible fight. She
couldn't remember anything specific about the argument,
only that Morris had told Dax he wasn't welcome, that he
wasn't to come anymore and Dax—Dax had been hurt, and
furious because he was hurt. She remembered that,
remembered seeing it in his eyes and wanting to cry for him.
He'd changed, and it wasn't just that he was older,
brawnier. There was no longer any sign at all of that
vulnerability that had been in his eyes then.
He was a rebel. There was no longer any doubt about that,
and he'd brought her into the middle of the conflict.
She didn't want to be here. She wasn't a rebel. She didn't
want to be one. She wanted the life back that she'd had
before, but there was no way in hell she was ever going to
get it back now.
Maybe there never had been. Most likely there never had
been, because she'd seen something she should never have
seen, the proof that the rumors weren't just rumors. That
didn't mean she was ready to throw in her lot with the rebels,
though. She didn't want any part of fighting a war that there
was no hope of winning.
Dax had made it pretty clear he was going to consider her
lingering in his cabin as an open invitation. She took that to
mean that she was free to leave, and she still felt really
uneasy when she left the cabin. After standing just outside in
the corridor for several minutes, looking around, she followed
the corridor. The first door to her right opened into a large
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room with bunks stacked two tiers high and with little more
than two feet between them on either side or at the foot
where the narrow space formed a walkway.
There were maybe a half a dozen men sprawled on the
bunks. Several of them glanced her way and looked her over
with interest. Embarrassed to be caught gawking at them,
she moved on.
On the left side of the corridor there seemed to be smaller
versions of the captain's cabin. Most of the doors were closed
and she didn't want to open them, but she caught a glimpse
of one through a partially open door.
When she reached the end, she found a ladder leading up
through a tube to another level. After hesitating for several
moments, she climbed up it until she reached the next level.
The smell of food wafted to her and her stomach growled
painfully. Deciding to see if she could find something to eat,
she stepped off the ladder and into the corridor, following the
aroma.
This level seemed to be a collection of storage rooms, a
gym, what looked like it must be a recreation room, and a
large dining hall, or mess, and kitchen.
There were people grouped around some of the tables.
Apparently, the crew worked and slept in shifts.
Lena stepped into the doorway uncertainly.
A woman that looked vaguely familiar looked up, spied her
and immediately got to her feet. "I'm Mel—or Doc," she said,
smiling as she extended her hand.
Lena felt herself relaxing fractionally. "I'm Lena."
Mel's smile widened. "I know. Nigel's sister."
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Lena sent her a startled look. "You know Nigel?"
"Come on. You look like you could use something to eat,"
she said, tugging at the hand she held to urge Lena inside
before she released it. "Not really," she answered the
question once she'd pointed out to Lena where to get a tray
and utensils. "I've met him though."
Lena swallowed a little thickly. "My brother was supposed
to meet me at my apartment the night the home guard
picked me up. I don't know what happened to him."
Mel sent her a look of sympathy. "He's all right."
Relief flooded Lena. "You're sure? They didn't get him, too?
You wouldn't ... just say that, would you?"
Mel grimaced. "I might. But it just happens to be true."
She thought it over. "At least, he was alright the last I knew.
You'll see him soon. I promise."
Still not completely convinced, Lena nevertheless relaxed
enough to return her attention to the food spread along the
buffet.
She was starving. By the time she'd gotten to the end she
discovered she'd put a little of everything on her tray. It
looked like enough food to feed a small army. She stared at it
with a mixture of embarrassment and dismay.
Mel chuckled. "You do have an appetite!"
"I think I got more than I need," Lena responded with a
grimace. "I didn't realize I'd put so much on the tray."
"Don't worry about it. Come on. Sit with us and I'll
introduce you around."
They were a rough looking bunch. If Lena had seen them
anywhere else she would have turned around and walked the
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other way, or crossed the street. She discovered they were all
very pleasant and polite, however.
It was still one of the most uncomfortable meals she'd ever
sat through, mostly because her arrival seemed to have
deprived everyone of any ideas for conversation even though
they didn't seem to be having a problem before her arrival.
She had always been pretty reserved around people she
didn't know well and couldn't come up with any ideas that
might get a conversation of some kind going.
All in all, she was glad when she'd eaten all she could
swallow, which wasn't nearly as much as she'd taken out on
the plate, or even nearly as much as she might have been
able to eat if she hadn't felt that she'd created a strain in the
atmosphere.
"Done already?" Mel asked, her voice tinged with
disapproval.
"I can put it up for later," Lena said uncomfortably. Food
wasn't wasted. She doubted even the wealthy wasted food,
because it was still pretty damned hard to come by, and it
occurred to her that she'd either given them the impression
that she was criminally wasteful, or, almost as bad, greedy,
grabbing more than she could eat to make sure she got her
share even if it deprived others of getting theirs.
"I'll show you where to store it," Mel volunteered. "You're
just not used to eating what you used to after being out so
long, and then the time in the jail. I'm sure you didn't get fed
much in there."
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Lena smiled at Mel gratefully. "I guess that's it. I was just
so hungry I didn't realize I'd gotten so much. This will
probably hold me for three or four meals."
She couldn't tell that the soldiers' opinions toward her had
improved that much, but at least none of them glared at her
when she got up and followed Mel into the kitch/galley to
wrap the food and store it.
"You'll be better off eating small amounts at first anyway.
Feel like walking down to the med lab with me so I can check
you out?"
She didn't, but she could see Mel wasn't actually asking.
She was just trying to be polite about it. She nodded,
following Mel from the mess hall and up another level.
"They think I'm a clone, don't they?" Lena asked as she
stripped and climbed onto the examination table.
Mel frowned over the chart she was studying on her
screen. "What makes you think that?"
"I don't remember things very clearly about what
happened when we got on the ship, but I know Dax thinks
I'm a clone," she said, staring at the ceiling. "I'm not," she
added as Mel moved to the head of the examination table and
set up the scanner.
"I'm convinced," Mel retorted a little absently.
Lena studied the woman's face. "You aren't."
Without responding, Mel moved to the computer again and
set the scan cycle. "Actually, I am more inclined to think
you're Lena. I didn't see anything to convince me you
weren't. But I did see a lot to convince me you were." She
was silent for several moments, studying the read out as the
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scan began. "You have to understand that, around here,
people are pretty jumpy about it. We've seen it—enough
times to find it really scary—and mostly we'd rather err on
the side of caution."
A sense of hopelessness invaded Lena and a touch of
anger along with it. How was she supposed to prove she was
the real Lena? She knew she was. She remembered things
from her childhood and the clones didn't have a childhood,
couldn't.
The thought reminded her of her conversation with Dax.
Why hadn't he accepted, when she'd told him about her
memory, that she was who she claimed to be?
It was because Dax didn't believe, she realized, that
everyone else doubted her. They respected him. She knew
that from just the little she'd seen him with his crew.
"I remember my childhood," she said tentatively. "A clone
wouldn't have had one."
Mel sent her a sympathetic look. "They didn't, but they
don't know that."
Lena sent her a startled glance. "How can they not know?
They can't—give these creatures memories. They certainly
wouldn't be able to give them the memories of the person
they were cloning."
Mel looked uncomfortable. "The human mind is so
programmable it's downright scary," she said finally. "It's
done all day, every day, without people even being aware of
it."
Lena smiled with a mixture of disbelief and sadness. "That
sounds like something Morris would've said."
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"But you didn't believe it?"
Lena shrugged. "I guess I could see he was right in a way.
I just never believed it was ... like a conspiracy against
people."
"Most of that isn't a secret conspiracy. It never was. It's
right out in the open. People just don't see it. It's the
determination of different factions to control people, not a
covert operation designed to take over the world. In old days,
before half the population of the planet died and most of the
food supplies were destroyed, everybody with money and
power was fighting over the little people. All day long they
were subjected to vids, sound waves, signs—buy this, buy
that, you need this. Even the pharmaceutical and medical
professions were in on the free-for-all to gobble up the
biggest share of the money. Headache? Take this, or this, or
this. Stomach ache? Sleepless? Need to stay awake? And on
and on until probably three quarters of the population were
obsessing about their health, or stoned out of their minds
because they were told hundreds of times a day that it was all
right to take any drug for any problem, because the drugs
were going to cure it. And the medical profession invented a
catchy phrase—preventive medicine—to get their share of the
money. Convincing people that they had to dash to the
hospital or doctor's office all the time, whether there was
anything wrong with them or not."
Lena stared at her frowningly. "That isn't programming.
It's marketing. It's good for the economy."
"Some of it is. Some of it isn't. Any time people are
convinced to buy something they don't need, don't really
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want, can't use, shouldn't have, or just to spend money they
can't afford to spend, it isn't good for them and it isn't good
for the economy. The government just didn't try to control it
like they did everything else because as long as people were
spending like maniacs the economy was 'healthy'."
"So you're saying influence is programming?"
"Isn't it?"
Lena frowned. She didn't agree with the doctor, but she
decided not to argue about it. "I still don't see what this has
to do with clones."
"Nothing and everything. The same principles I was just
talking about can be applied to programming people, and
have been for centuries. The technique was first developed
during the twentieth century—one of the world wars.
Basically, if you're told something enough times you believe
it."
"So—you're saying they tell the clones about their
childhood?"
"As far as we've been able to discover, yes."
Lena frowned. "They couldn't know everything."
"They don't have to. Every day, every where you go,
throughout your entire life, you're being watched and
recorded. All they have to do is track down the records, and
they have the basics to program with. You graduated here, at
this time, these people were with you, etc. They feed all of
the information they've gathered on a specific subject to the
clone while the brain is developing, project images they
collect into the mind. By the time the thing comes out of the
cooker, it thinks it actually experienced all of those things.
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They're memories. And, yes, it's got glitches, but nobody's
memory is perfect either so most of the time people just think
'faulty memory'."
It was scary how believable that sounded, how possible.
There were things that had happened when she was a child,
incidents, that she'd heard about over and over until even she
wasn't sure whether she remembered the incident, or just
remembered being told about it.
She knew she was Lena, not a clone. She wasn't so certain
anymore, though, if things had happened differently that she
would have known.
"Morris was different. I mean, his personality was all
wrong. I knew the moment I saw him it wasn't really Morris."
"That's because they didn't know enough about Morris.
He'd spent most of his life underground, off the grid. And the
things that happen to people change them. It affects their
personality, so if they don't experience them, they turn out
differently. I don't think they really intended to clone Morris.
He wouldn't go near a clinic, and I can't figure out how they
could've gotten his DNA to develop the clone. I think they
took him in to question him and.... "She broke off when she
saw the look on Lena's face. "Sorry."
Lena shook her head, fighting back the urge to burst into
tears. "I think it would've been easier to take if I hadn't had
to look at that thing that looked like him, and sounded like
him, but wasn't. And the worst of it was that I wasn't there
when he needed me. I didn't get to tell him bye. One day, he
was just gone."
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Mel said nothing, focusing on fiddling with the scanner,
which had completed its cycle, to give Lena time to get her
emotions under control.
"I know," she finally said quietly. "It's like that for all of us.
That's why most of us are here, because someone we loved
was replaced."
Lena lifted her head, staring at Mel as that slowly sank into
her mind. "Why would they do that? What could they possibly
have to gain replacing people that were just ... ordinary
people? Politicians, I could understand. Maybe even
executives of powerful corporations, but just plain ordinary
citizens who have no power?"
"Truthfully? I don't know. But I'm guessing, control. They
need the ordinary people. The whole country rests on the
shoulders of the ordinary people. They provide the labor that
makes the money, and they spend money to support the
economy. You weren't around during the food riots or the
riots that came before that. I wasn't either, for that matter.
But when the gov lost control of the people, they lost the
whole country. Everything went down the tubes.
"I think they are replacing politicians—and anybody else in
key positions of power, but they're also replacing anybody
that presents any kind of threat at all. Even if the only
influence they have is on the people around them. All they
have to do is make a little wave, and whoever is behind this
makes them disappear.
"But they can't just eliminate them. People would be in an
uproar over that, and besides, there's the labor problem.
They need laborers."
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Lena stared at the woman, realizing it made a terrible kind
of sense and hating the fact that it did. "It was because I
noticed Morris and they were afraid I'd start digging?"
"Probably."
"But—who's doing it?"
"If we knew that, we'd know how to stop it."
Lena frowned. "Morris always thought it was the gov. I
can't see it. In the long term, it wouldn't make a lot of
difference to the president. He won't be in office much longer
anyway." She thought that over for several moments. "You
think he's planning on making himself a ... dictator?"
"It's possible. It's also possible he doesn't even know
about it."
Realizing the examination was over, Lena sat up,
massaging her temples absently. When Mel started to move
away, she caught her arm. "I know who I am. I know I'm not
a clone."
She could tell from the way Mel was looking at her that Mel
didn't believe she would know.
"The thing is," Mel said finally. "The clones are usually
stronger and heal faster than their counterpart and the thing
that's bothering everybody is that you managed to overpower
yours. Statistically, the odds are against the real Lena having
survived. We all know that. Dax knows that. That's why he
doesn't believe you are really you even though I think he
wants to."
Lena stared at her in frustration. "I didn't overpower her.
It wasn't me that killed her. It was the home guard."
Mel's brows rose. "What did happen?"
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Feeling more hopeful when Mel seemed open to at least
listening to her side of the situation, she very carefully related
every detail about that night that she could remember. She
was disappointed by Mel's reaction. She looked thoughtful,
but not completely convinced.
It took an effort to contain her anger and frustration. She
could see Mel suspected that she'd made up the entire story
to cover her butt, and she supposed she couldn't really blame
her for not taking the word of a complete stranger, but how
was she supposed to clear up the misconception if no one
would even listen to her?
"Dax didn't believe me either," she said dully.
"He's afraid to. We all are."
"Why did he even bother to help me escape?" she said
irritably.
"To stop Nigel from going in after you."
Lena glanced at her sharply, horror flooding her at the idea
of Nigel trying anything that crazy. It warmed her that her big
brother wanted to take care of her, but he was a tech, for
god's sake. He wasn't a soldier. How could he even have
considered doing something like that? It wasn't just hard to
imagine. It was impossible. "Oh god!" She covered her mouth
with her hand.
Still shaken by the idea of Nigel risking his life to do the
things that Dax had done, Lena climbed off of the table,
discarded the towel sized 'sheet' she'd covered herself with
and picked up the uniform, slipping her feet into it. She'd
already pushed her arms into the sleeves before it dawned on
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her that Dax had no more reason to care about Nigel than he
did her.
When she'd first realized that Dax was Morris' son, she
supposed, in the back of her mind, at least, she'd thought the
reason he'd rescued her was because of his affection for his
father, because he'd realized Morris would have tried if he'd
been able to. If that wasn't the case, though, then it couldn't
be the reason he'd decided to help Nigel either.
"Why? And why Dax?"
Mel sent her a questioning look.
"He doesn't care anything about Nigel or me. Why would
he risk his life to help either one of us? And why do it himself?
Why not just send someone?"
Mel glanced away uncomfortably. "Because there's a
chance Nigel can help us track the data," she said finally. "He
wouldn't agree to try it unless we got you out."
Lena was too stunned at first to feel anything at all, but
fury washed over her when she realized that they'd used her
to get her brother to risk his life for their damned cause. Nigel
was no rebel. He was an academic. They were going to get
him killed!
As much as she wanted to tell Mel there was no way in hell
she was going to just stand by and let Nigel do what they
wanted without making a hell of a push to talk him out of it,
she realized now was not the time to address that—and Mel
wasn't the one she needed to talk to about it anyway. Mel
wasn't charge.
Maybe Dax wasn't either, but he made a better target.
"Why Dax? Why not send someone else in after me?"
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"Because he never sends someone else to do a job he
wouldn't do himself. Maybe because he felt like he owed it to
Morris. I don't know. I'm not sure he knows, either, but I do
know no one was expecting to see you on that roof and it's
the first time since I've known the captain that he failed to do
what he went in to do."
Lena frowned at her questioningly.
"He went in to terminate you. It's what we do. It's all we
can do, because we don't know who's behind this or how else
to try to stop it. We terminate the clones we locate."
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Chapter Eight
A coldness washed over Lena even before her mind fully
grasped what Mel had just told her. It took many moments
more for Lena to really assimilate the information.
She was living a nightmare! How could it be that she'd
spent her entire life doing everything she was supposed to,
never doing anything she wasn't supposed to, and then wake
up one day to find out that everybody wanted to kill her?
"I guess that explains why nobody wanted to get to know
me," she murmured through lips that felt strangely stiff.
Mel's face creased in distress. "I shouldn't have told you. I
could go to the brig for it, but I believe you, and you need to
know your life's on the line here. This is a deadly serious
game we're playing, and we play for keeps. If you can think
of a way to prove your identity beyond the shadow of a
doubt, you need to do it before it's too late.
"Captain Morris must have seen something that gave him
pause, because if he'd been certain you were the clone he
would have taken you out."
Lena just stared at the woman, trying to master the
wobble in her chin. "How? I saw the way you looked at me
when I told you what happened. You say you're on my side,
but you didn't believe it. I told Dax about something I
remembered from when I was little, and he didn't believe
that—because you all have that all figured out. If she was my
clone, then we were identical. How the hell am I supposed to
prove I'm Lena?
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"What could I say? What could I do? What could possibly
be different between me and a duplicate that would prove it,
and who would believe it anyway? It seems to me that
everyone here has already decided."
When Mel said nothing more, just stared at her
sympathetically, Lena whirled and fled the med lab. She was
halfway down the corridor to the tube before she realized she
had no idea where she was going, no destination in mind, no
where to go even to be alone and think. She couldn't escape.
She was on a ship, in space, and she had no place on board
that was her space. She found herself in the deserted gym
with no memory of even heading for it and simply stared at
the huge room for several moments before she skittered into
a dim corner, and curled into a tight ball, tucking her chin
against her knees and covering her ears with her hands.
She hadn't done it since she was a child, but when she'd
been very young making herself 'invisible' had made her feel
safer. She didn't give much thought to the fact that her fear
had driven her to such a mindless, useless attempt to protect
herself by reverting to her childhood habit of finding a dark
corner to hide in. She couldn't think at all for many moments.
The act itself seemed to bring back a flood of memories
she'd tucked away long ago and refused to think of since, but
then it had been years since she'd felt so completely
vulnerable, so lost, so alone. The last time she'd felt even
close to the way she felt now she had been barely four.
She couldn't remember her mother. She had spent years
trying really hard to dredge up even a tiny little flicker of an
image of her mother and found she couldn't. All she knew
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about her mother was what Nigel had told her. She'd gotten
sick when Lena was two or maybe three and died because
there was no medicine to help her get better.
Even Nigel wasn't certain of when or anything beyond the
fact that she'd been sick because he'd been so young himself.
She'd been four when their father was killed. She
remembered that—not how old she'd been—his death. She
had tried just as hard not to remember that day as she'd
worked to remember something about her mother. But she'd
never been able to successfully erase that horror from her
mind.
Her father had brought them to the city, hoping to find her
mother's sister so that there would be somebody to look after
them while he went off to try to find work. They hadn't found
her, but they had found a place to stay, briefly, until the
people that claimed it was theirs came. They claimed the food
their father had found was theirs, too, and they'd killed him
because he'd taken it to feed himself and her and Nigel.
He'd tried to reason with them at first, offered to find food
to replace what he'd taken, and then tried to fight them when
they'd ignored every attempt to placate them and attacked.
She'd been paralyzed by the sight, unable to do anything but
watch, wanting to run to her father to try to help. She had
tried. She'd finally managed to shake off the paralyzing fear
and run toward them, beating at them with her fists until
she'd been struck by a flying arm, or leg, or body and
knocked flat, trampled by the heaving mass of bodies rather
than intentionally struck. Her father had seen, though, and
he'd yelled at Nigel to take her and run, to hide.
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He'd said he would find them. It was the last thing he'd
said to them, that he'd find them.
They had run. She could still remember how hard she'd
run, how scared she was. Even when Nigel had found a place
for them to hide that was too small for a grown person to get
into, she'd been terrified, too scared even to cry. Her and
Nigel had curled up tightly together and stayed that way all
night and the next day, because their father hadn't come for
them like he'd promised, they had gone back to look for their
father. They'd found him lying in a pool of blood, battered
almost beyond recognition, and naked because they'd taken
every thing he had, right down to his shoes.
For a while, they'd tried to make him get up again. When
he wouldn't, they hadn't known what to do. They'd stayed for
a while, waiting, hoping, but after a time they'd been driven
by hunger and thirst to try to find something to eat,
something to quench their thirst.
Morris had found them after that. It had always seemed to
her that it was a very long time after that. That there had
only been her and Nigel for weeks, maybe months, but she
knew that had to have been only because they were both
scared to death, hungry, and lost, and too young to have any
real conception of time. It seemed doubtful, now, that it could
have been much more than a few days or they'd have starved
because Nigel had been barely six and had no more idea of
how to find food than she did.
She could remember, almost as if it had only been
yesterday, looking up to find the big man squatted down in
front of the pipe where she and Nigel had hidden. At first,
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she'd been afraid of him, too. There'd been something about
his eyes, thought, the way he looked at her and Nigel, that
had made her feel safer than she could remember feeling
since their daddy had died.
Abruptly, she knew why. She'd seen the same pain, the
same empathy in eyes just like his—her mother's eyes.
Her chin wobbled at the realization. Tears stung her eyes.
All this time, and she'd never really known why she had
trusted Morris enough to go to him when he'd called to her.
She wondered if Nigel had ever realized that, or maybe it
hadn't been that at all for him. Maybe he'd gone simply
because he was cold, hungry, and tired, and Morris was the
only adult who had even seemed to notice them, certainly the
only one who'd told them he was going to take them home
and take care of them.
Those thoughts dried Lena's tears. Nigel would know her!
Even if they tried to convince him that she was only a clone,
she remembered things that only she and Nigel could possibly
know! Morris had never even known the full story, because
they hadn't wanted to talk about it, and he hadn't pushed
once he'd asked about their parents and they had told them
that both of them were sleeping.
The spark of hope died almost as quickly as it had ignited.
She might not live long enough to see Nigel. What if they
decided it would be better if Nigel just thought she'd died in
prison?
That thought resurrected the memory of the prison, but
also another memory. Dax had told them to put her in the
brig when they'd first boarded the ship. She didn't know why
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she hadn't been locked up, but it suddenly seemed like a
better place to be than roaming a ship full of people who
wanted her dead.
It couldn't possibly be any worse than where she'd been
and she'd endured that for weeks. Surely, where ever they
were going, it wouldn't be a very long trip? And she would be
safer if everyone was locked away from her.
Surging to her feet, she wiped the lingering moisture from
her eyes and hurried from the gym.
The brig would be in the bowels of the ship, she knew.
Heading for the tube again, she climbed down the ladder
to the lowest level. It was dark, for there were only a few dim
lights along the narrow corridor that ran between the clutter
of equipment and machinery on that level, but she could see
an area that was more brightly lit at the opposite end.
There was only one guard on duty. When he saw her
approaching him along the corridor, he virtually leapt from
the chair he'd been sitting in. "This area is off limits, ma'am."
Lena stared at him in dismay. "But ... I'm supposed to be
here. The captain said I was to be put in the brig after Mel
took care of my injuries," Lena said, feeling stupid for
demanding to be locked up, and fearful at the same time that
he would refuse now that she'd convinced herself she would
be safe, that no one would feel threatened enough to feel like
she had to be terminated, even if they still thought she was a
clone, as long as she was locked away.
He gaped at her as if she'd lost her mind. "Nobody told
me," he responded suspiciously. "And why would you be
down without an escort?"
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"Just put me in a cell, and then you can call and ask the
captain about it."
"They're full, ma'am," he said with the same mixture of
indignation and surprise as a desk clerk would of someone
demanding a room when there weren't any available.
She hadn't thought of that. "Well, can't you put some of
them together?"
Again she received the, 'this woman's crazy' look. "I'm the
only one on duty right now. We don't move prisoners unless
there are three men down here."
"But ... I need to be here!" she exclaimed in distress,
feeling all of the fear she'd managed to fight down crowding
back into her like water over a burst dam.
* * * *
"You think it'll work?"
Dax sent the security chief, who was hovering over his
shoulder, a narrow eyed glare and the man stepped back
uncomfortably. Returning his attention to the quad-screen, he
saw that Mel had just looked up at the vid. Mouthing the word
'asshole,' she turned away.
Dax's lips thinned, but he ignored her insubordination,
switching from vid to vid, tracking Lena as she raced from the
med lab. He frown drew his brows tightly together over the
bridge of his nose when she stopped at the gym and went in.
Taken totally by surprise, he watched in confusion as she
scurried into a dim corner and crouched into a tight ball,
covering her ears with her hands.
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For many moments, he simply stared at her, too stunned
to figure out what she was doing. Abruptly, an errant memory
surfaced. It might not have if she hadn't mentioned the
incident to him earlier, but in any case, he did remember
even though it was the only time he'd been around her when
she was little, the only time he'd tried to go home after he'd
left.
He and his father had gotten into an argument about the
waifs his father had brought into his home. It hadn't taken
much for the argument to escalate into bellowed accusations
and recriminations about his mother, because he'd always
blamed his father for his mother's death and, to him, it had
only seemed to add insult to injury that his father had pretty
much ignored his own family and then taken in someone
else's.
When they'd finally exhausted every curse they could fling
at each other, his father had looked around, discovered Lena
and Nigel had vanished, and promptly gone into a panic.
They'd found Nigel quickly enough, hiding under his bed, but
they'd turned the apartment upside down twice before he'd
finally discovered Lena in the back of a closet behind a stack
of boxes in a space so small he wouldn't have thought she
could squeeze into it. She'd been curled into a tight little ball,
her tiny hands over her ears to shut out the angry bellows of
him and his father and he'd felt so shamed by his behavior
and the things he'd said, it was that that had kept him away
more than anything his father had said.
"What's she doing?"
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"Hiding," Dax said grimly, just like she had when she was
a baby—like Lena had. No clone would have 'remembered' the
things she did, the things that had driven Lena to try to
protect herself in the only way she knew how whenever she
felt threatened.
"Not very well," the security chief said, chuckling.
He took a step back at the look of rage in Dax's eyes when
he surged to his feet. "Is there something about terrorizing
people that you find amusing, soldier?" he growled. "No sir."
"Good, because I don't keep sick fucks around me. We do
what we have to do. Nobody enjoys it."
"What's eating him?" the man muttered when Dax had
disappeared through the access tube.
"You're lucky he didn't stomp the shit out of you and throw
your broken, bleeding carcass in the brig," Rodriguez retorted
when the man turned to look at him.
"What did I say?"
Rodriguez shook his head at the man. "You are stupid,
man. Either he's right and you are a sick fuck, or you just
haven't had the pleasure of watching somebody you care
about replaced by a stinking clone."
* * * *
She'd vanished by the time Dax reached the gym. After
glaring at the empty room for several moments, Dax moved
to the com. "Cline, where is she?"
"She's in the hold, Captain."
"Fuck!" Dax growled. Striding from the room, he sprinted
down the corridor toward the aft tube, hooked the heels of his
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boots on the vertical bars and slid down the three levels to
the hold.
She was arguing with the guard when he landed. Shaking
his hands to cool the friction burn, he headed toward the bow
where the brig was located.
She whirled to face him when she heard his boots clicking
along the metal tiles of the corridor. For several moments,
she merely stared at him, as if she was trying to gather her
wits.
"You bastard!" Lena snarled when she saw that it was Dax
who'd come up behind her and the soldier, her fear and
frustration instantly transformed into rage. Launching herself
at him, she swung at him with her fists, landing blows at wild
random, mostly on his hard arms and shoulders. "Why didn't
you just leave me there? You're as bad as they are!"
It only fed the flames of her fury that he made no attempt
to evade her or to block the punches she slung at him. It only
made her more determined to hurt him.
"Damn you!" she screamed at him hysterically when she'd
beat at him until her fists and arms were bruised all over and
she could hardly lift them to swing at him.
He caught her wrists. "Finished?" he snarled at her through
gritted teeth, giving her a hard shake.
"No!" she screamed back at him, fighting the sudden
wobble in her chin. "I'll kill you if anything happens to Nigel
because of you! Why did you drag him into this, damn you?"
"You dragged him into this," he said tightly.
The statement was as effective as a slap, knocking the
hysteria out of her like a stunning physical blow. She stared
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up at him in dawning horror as the image flickered through
her mind of her and Nigel at the diner and her trying to hint
of her fears about Morris.
"Or, if you need somebody else to blame besides yourself,
blame Morris. But don't blame me, lady. I came into this on
the tail end."
"You want me to lock her up, captain?"
Dax's head swiveled toward the guard. "No!" he snarled.
Grabbing Lena by one arm, he shoved her back down the
corridor toward the access tube. Halting when they reached
the tube, he jerked her around to face him, grasped her jaw
and lowered his own face until they were almost nose to
nose. "I owed you that. I know you're scared, and I'm used to
pain, but that doesn't mean I like it. Don't ever try that with
me again, especially not in front of one of my men.
Understood?"
Lena gaped at him in sudden fear, realizing she must have
been completely out of her mind to attack him. She'd never
done anything like that in her life before, and deciding to pick
a huge brute like Dax for her first victim was not the act of
someone with a sound mind. Numbly, she nodded at him.
"I'm sorry," she said weakly.
Releasing her abruptly, he pushed her toward the ladder.
"Climb."
Swallowing with an effort, Lena grasped a rung and began
to climb. "Where are we going?" she asked worriedly when
they'd passed two levels and he'd said nothing more.
Instead of answering her, he glared at her when she
glanced back at him.
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When they reached the level of the crew quarters, he told
her to give off. Feeling extremely uneasy, she did, waiting
until he'd climbed off and grasped her arm. She made no
attempt to resist as he led her along the corridor, until she
saw the destination he had in mind. She hung back then, for
all the good it did. He simply yanked her forward and
continued as if he was completely unaware that she was
trying to resist.
If he hadn't still looked as black as a thundercloud, she
might have been able to find enough of her spine to complain.
As it was, her tongue felt as if it was glued to the roof of her
mouth.
When he'd opened the door to his cabin and shoved her in,
she stumbled toward the bunk, tried to catch her balance and
finally sprawled across it on her side, staring up at him wide
eyed.
He stared back at her for several moments and finally
looked away. "Damn it to hell, Lena. Don't look at me like
that!" he growled, moving away finally and throwing himself
down in the chair behind his desk.
After searching the drawers, he pulled out a tumbler and a
bottle and poured himself a drink.
Lena sat up slowly, licking her dry lips to moisten them.
"You said...."
He sent her a narrow eyed look.
"I'm not ... I'm not ... I won't..." she stammered.
His lips thinned. He transferred his gaze from her to the
brown liquid in his glass, studied it a moment, and downed
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the liquid in one swallow. "I think I might be able to contain
myself," he retorted dryly.
Embarrassment flushed Lena's face and throat with heat.
She didn't know whether to be relieved or not that he'd
remembered the 'threat.' On the one hand, she was almost
surprised that he did, and that she hadn't had to say anything
more to remind him that he'd told her he would consider it as
an invitation if he found her in his bed again.
On the other, his snide rejection stung.
Of course she had threatened to kill him, and she had tried
to beat him down.
Obviously, he hadn't considered that a turn on, or a come
on, she thought wryly.
Despite her uneasiness about his temper, she found she
felt immensely more secure in Dax's cabin than she thought
anybody with any sense should have.
She wasn't all together certain she would have objected all
that strenuously if he had taken it as an invitation. In fact,
she was fairly certain objecting would have been the last
thing on her mind.
It was a good thing she'd managed to thoroughly piss him
off, because she was a complete moron. "You want me to
stay here?" she asked, proving to herself and Dax that, yes,
she was an idiot.
He sent her a look. "Not especially," he growled.
There was nothing quite like a warm welcome, Lena
reflected miserably, but at least she didn't have to worry
about anybody else trying to kill her. Just Dax.
"Nigel will know me," she said abruptly.
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He said nothing, merely staring at her speculatively.
"I knew right off when they ... when they.... "She broke
off, struggling against the sudden urge to burst into tears.
"They killed him, didn't they? There's no chance that they just
imprisoned him?"
His face hardened. "None."
She wanted to cry. She hadn't really had the chance to let
go of her grief over losing Morris. She'd been too scared at
first to let on she knew it wasn't the real Morris, and too busy
since the attack trying to stay alive. She saw that Dax wasn't
just angry. The knowledge hurt him, too, and it didn't seem
right to inflict her own sorrow on him when he was struggling
so hard to contain his. She'd loved Morris like a father, but he
had been Dax's father. That had to wound him deeply, maybe
more so because he'd seen so little of him in years and there
had been a tremendous barrier between them that they
couldn't seem to bridge.
"I'm so sorry," she said shakily.
He sent her a surprised look and then frowned, pouring
himself a second drink. "About what?"
Right up until he asked, she hadn't realized that she had
so much she should apologize for. Guilt swamped her. "About
... everything. About Morris, about hitting you, about blaming
you when it was all my fault."
He sent her a searching glance and finally shrugged. "Like
I said, I figured I had it coming."
She saw with a touch of relief that he merely sipped the
second drink. "It wasn't really your fault, you know."
She tried not to look too hopeful.
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He scrubbed his hand over his chin tiredly. "Mostly, you
were just caught up in the middle of things completely out of
your control. Nigel would've been dragged in even if you
hadn't gone to him for help. They would've still gone after
you, and he would still have felt the need to try to help you."
Lena thought that over. She knew that much was true, but
she also knew that she'd set the entire thing in motion by
deciding to try to talk Morris into coming to live with her. "I
led them to him, didn't I?"
He shrugged. Leaning back in the chair, he lifted his long
legs one at the time and stretched them out on the desk top,
crossing them. "Maybe."
Lena got off of the bed, looked around for some place else
to sit and finally sat down on the edge of the bunk again. "I'm
pretty sure I did. He said something was going on at the clinic
where Nigel worked, and I went to see him not long after I'd
been."
Dax's gaze flickered over her. After a moment, he drained
his glass, set it down carefully on the desk top, and got up.
As she watched, he rounded the desk and moved toward her.
Her ass came up off of the bunk as he neared her. He sent
her a wry glance as he dropped down on the edge of the
bunk, tugging his boots off.
Lena put a little more distance between them, eyeing him
uneasily.
"They were already on to Morris," he murmured, lying back
against the pillows and draping an arm across his eyes.
"That's why I was there the day you came. He'd sent for me,
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because he didn't trust anybody else with what he had to
say."
Stunned by his revelation, Lena moved back to the bunk to
stare down at him and finally perched on the edge. "They
were? You mean ... I didn't lead them to him? It wasn't my
fault?"
He sat up so suddenly Lena merely gaped at him, too
surprised to consider what the purposeful gleam in his eyes
might mean. She gasped as he caught her and rolled,
pressing her to the mattress and pinning her down with his
weight.
A faint smile curled his lips as he gazed down at her
startled expression. "Don't look so hopeful," he murmured,
snuggling his head next to hers on the pillow. "I'm dead on
my feet. I wouldn't be of any use to you if I tried anything."
It took many moments for indignation to usurp her
stunned surprise. By the time it did, Dax was breathing the
heavy, even breaths of sleep.
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Chapter Nine
After her second attempt to wiggle out from under Dax
failed, Lena decided to leave well enough alone. The first time
she tried, his hand merely tightened on her arm. The second
time, he lifted his head and very causally threw one leg
across her lower body, grinding his pelvis into her hip and
proving beyond a shadow of doubt that, regardless of what
he'd claimed to the contrary, there were parts of him that
were very much alive.
She subsided, staring at the ceiling for a while, trying not
to think about the warmth of his body against hers, and
especially trying not to think about the very different kind of
warmth that began to hum through her.
He didn't trust her. That fact seemed unavoidable, that, as
tired as he was, knowing he had to sleep, he figured the best
way to do so was to make sure he didn't have to concern
himself about where she was or what she was doing. She
didn't delude herself into thinking it was anything else, even if
his body said differently.
Sighing, she tried to angle her head enough to look down
at him.
There was an angry red welt on his neck that would
probably be a bruise before long.
She'd done that. Remorse filled her. She didn't know what
had come over her to fly at him like that. She'd never thought
she was a violent person. She would never have believed she
was capable of such a thing.
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She'd been scared, and she'd felt threatened, but neither
of those emotions were an excuse for behaving like a
complete savage. It had been different when the clone had
attacked her, mostly because the clone had attacked. She
hadn't been doing anything but trying to defend herself.
She had attacked Dax, though. He hadn't done anything to
her to warrant the attack.
Feeling his fingers grow lax on her wrist, she pulled free
and lifted her hand to gently stroke the spot.
"I'll live," he murmured.
Lena glanced at him sharply, discovering his eyes were
open a slit. She wondered how long he'd been watching her.
"Go to sleep."
Lena sighed. "I'm not very comfortable."
"You're a real pain the ass, baby girl," he growled, lifting
away from her and pushing at her shoulder until she rolled
onto her side facing the bulkhead.
She felt a lot more comfortable, for all of five seconds, but
he merely scooted up behind her, threw one arm and leg
across her and snuggled his groin against her ass.
She rather thought she'd been more comfortable with that
beast of his against her hip. Having it nudging the cleft of her
ass was a lot harder to ignore.
So was having his heated breath drifting over her neck and
ear.
She wiggled, trying to get a little more comfortable.
The effect was immediate.
His cock grew hard as rock. Angling her head around, she
slanted a suspicious glance at his face and didn't know
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whether to be relieved or irritated to see his face was
completely relaxed.
Settling again, she laid perfectly still, waiting for her body,
and his, to cool, and somewhere in the rounds drifted off to
sleep.
 * * * *
"Hungry?"
Lena stretched, allowing her eyes to drift open at the
question.
Dax was studying her from across the cabin, one hip
propped on his desk. His hair was tousled as if he'd just
gotten up himself and his eyes looked nearly as tired as they
had when he'd lain down.
Still more than a little disoriented, Lena pushed herself
upright. "I'd like to bathe."
He jerked his head in the direction of the door to his
private bath. "You'll have to put on the same uniform,
though, unless you want to borrow one of mine."
She could imagine how well that would fit. He was at least
a foot taller than she was. "This is fine," she murmured,
wondering how long she was going to have to live in it. It
seemed doubtful she would be seeing any of her own clothes
anymore and clothes, like everything else, were hard to come
by.
The bath didn't have a lock. As unsurprising as that was
given the fact that it was Dax's private bath, attached to his
cabin, it was still disconcerting. Shrugging it off after a
moment, she struggled with the self sealing closure that ran
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down the front of the suit and shimmied out of it. It wasn't
easy because the room was tiny and the shower took up
almost half of it. She might have been inclined to climb into
the shower to undress except for two circumstances. It was
no bigger than the area outside the shower, in fact smaller,
and it was made entirely of crystal clear acrylic, which meant
it offered no more privacy.
After placing the suit carefully on a hook behind the door,
she stepped into the shower, studied the control a moment
and finally pressed the decon button. Foaming,
decontaminating lather immediately began to spray from a
nozzle overhead. The first glob hit her right on top of the
head, punctuating the fact that the shower had either been
adjusted for Dax, or built to begin with for a tall man. Arching
her back and holding her hands out palm up, she caught the
stream, scrubbing it over her neck and breasts and belly with
her hands and then filled her palms again with the lather and
leaned down to lather her feet and legs and genitals. She'd
just straightened when she happened to glance toward the
door.
Dax was standing in the opening, one shoulder propped
negligently against the frame, watching her with unabashed
interest.
Lena jumped all over, throwing lather into her face.
His lip curled up at one corner. "When you're done, we'll
go down to the mess."
Lena glared at him indignantly.
He arched a brow at her.
She presented him with her back.
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"This view's good too," he murmured, laughter threading
his voice.
"I'm not used to having men in my bath," she said testily.
"Good."
When she glanced back, she saw he hadn't moved so
much as a hair.
She thought about telling him to go away, but she doubted
he would. He had to know she was uncomfortable with being
watched, and that hadn't fazed him.
And he had certainly not come in only for the purpose of
telling her they would go to eat when she was done. He'd
already asked if she was hungry.
Deciding to simply ignore him, she finished lathering
herself and switched to the rinse. The fine mist that began to
spray her from every direction caught her in the face, too.
Covering her face, she found that the only way she could
avoid the spray was to turn toward the door—where Dax still
stood, watching.
She tried to ignore him anyway, lifting her arms and legs
to make sure she'd rinsed the lather off thoroughly before she
shut the rinse off and touched the dry button. The warm air
that immediately enveloped her made goose flesh rise on her
skin, but it dried most of the water up.
Dax tossed a small towel at her as she stepped out of the
shower. She caught it by reflex, glancing up at him as she
did. There was no amusement in his eyes now. They were
stormy, glittering with some emotion that her body sensed
and reacted to. Pushing away from the door frame, he stared
at her a moment and finally turned and left.
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Feeling weak-kneed, Lena dried the residual dampness
from her skin and blotted as much water from her hair as she
could before she grabbed the uniform and tugged it on. Dax
was sprawled in the chair at his desk when she returned to
the main room of the cabin, a glass in one hand.
She glanced at the glass disapprovingly and then, without
saying anything, moved to the lav and looked around
hopefully for a comb or brush.
"In the cabinet next to my shaver," Dax offered, his voice
sounding husky. From the fire water, Lena wondered, or
something else?
Her hair was still damp when she'd finished combing it, but
she merely blotted the wet ends again and left it to dry
naturally. It was one of the things she liked about her new
hair, that all she had to do was comb it and allow it to dry.
But it hadn't been worth what she'd paid for it, she
thought as an avalanche of guilt washed over her, wondering
if what Dax had said was true, or if he'd only said it to keep
her from feeling so guilty that that one act of vanity had cost
them all so much.
Dax was studying her pensively when she returned the
comb and turned to him at last.
Without a word, he downed the last of the liquid in the
glass, set it down, and stood up.
Lena found that her body was still buzzing with ambiguous
sensations as she moved along the corridor slightly in front of
Dax. He'd settled his hand along her waist, resting on the top
of her hip, as if to guide her, which was nonsense of course
since the corridor was straight and he must know she'd
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already been to the mess hall before. She couldn't decide if it
was possessive in nature, or a precaution because she was
still an unknown entity, or maybe even protectiveness, but
she found it raised the level of awareness in her until she felt
almost breathless. When they reached the tube, he gestured
for her to precede him.
She heard voices coming from the mess hall long before
they arrived and the sound instantly redirected her tension
from awareness of a sexual nature to anxiety. Slowing, she
threw a glance at Dax's face. His grip on her tightened
fractionally, urging her forward, but she abruptly felt a
protectiveness in his touch and his nearness and some of her
uneasiness abated.
The mess hall, she discovered to her dismay, was full. If
Dax hadn't been directly behind her and had a firm grip on
her she would've retreated immediately, particularly since
conversations all over the room died the moment she was
noticed in the doorway. They picked up again almost
immediately as Dax pushed her gently but firmly into the
room and guided her toward the buffet. "I already got a tray
earlier," she murmured when he took a tray and handed it to
her.
"You can get it later."
She didn't want to argue about it, not when she felt like
everybody was listening. Shrugging mentally, she took the
tray, but she was very careful this time only to take a little
food. She was hungry, but unnerved by being around so
many strangers. She would have been anyway, feeling as she
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did that all of them watched her, but it made it particularly
bad knowing what she did now.
A man of obvious tino heritage hailed them as they left the
buffet and Dax guided her toward that table, pulling out a
chair for her before he set his tray down.
"What's the word?" Dax asked without preamble as he
settled in the chair beside her.
The man glanced at Lena. "One."
Dax's brows rose. "Only one?"
"It was a trawler."
A smile of satisfaction curled Dax's lips. "Good. They took
the bait." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled something out
and dropped it on the table in front of them. It pinged
metallically as it landed.
The tino man stared at it as if it was a snake.
After glancing from one man to the other, Lena peered at
the tiny fleck of metal. "What is it?"
"The last of the locators."
"You brought one with us?" the man asked in a strangled
voice.
Dax shrugged. "They planted six on her. The only thing
they could deduce from sending them off in six different
directions was either that we'd killed her and cut her up, or
we'd removed the locators and sent those off in six different
directions—in which case, I thought it might work better to be
one of the 'diversions.'
"Take it, attach it to a torpedo, and launch it toward the
sun of this system when we leave. When you get back to the
bridge, you can set a course for home base. Keep a sharp eye
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out, though. Once they've eliminated the ships not carrying,
they'll figure out pretty quickly which one of the diversions is
us."
"That was in me?" Lena asked, stunned by the entire
conversation.
Dax slanted a glance at her. Almost casually, he leaned
back in his chair and draped an arm over the back of her
chair. "One of six. Obviously, they were pretty certain we'd
come in after you."
Lena met his gaze. "I didn't know they'd done this," she
said faintly.
His lips curled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I
know."
Lena looked down at her plate, wondering if she could
manage to choke down enough food not to look like she was
a nervous wreck. It wasn't enough everybody on the damn
ship thought she might be a clone? Now she might also be a
spy? Or a clone who was a spy?
She didn't know what to make of his behavior, which
seemed to be a vast contradiction. Obviously, he still
distrusted her, but he was behaving in a way that would
surely convince everyone that saw them together that he'd
accepted her, more than accepted that she was the real Lena.
His manner had seemed protective as they'd made their way
to the mess hall, but almost from the moment they'd stepped
into the doorway she'd sensed a subtle change in him from
the protective to the possessive. She just wasn't sure whether
it was deliberate on his part, or a subconscious reaction to the
way the men in the room were all studying her, either
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blatantly or furtively, but she didn't think she was imagining
it.
 Dax leaned down until his lips were next to her ear. The
gesture, Lena was sure, must look almost like that of a lover
to anyone who saw it. "Eat."
A shiver traveled through her as the warmth of his breath
caressed the sensitive flesh, but she picked up her fork and
went through the motions, finding after a few mouthfuls that
it was easier. "What do you think would've given them the
idea that anyone would consider me important enough to try
to get me out?"
Dax shrugged. "You were important to Nigel ... and
Morris."
Lena's head came around so fast a bone popped. Cold
washed through her. "You think they know about Nigel
offering to help in return for getting me out?"
A look of irritation flickered across his features. "Nigel's
safe. I'm fairly certain it was the connection to Morris, not
Nigel, that interested them most."
Lena set her fork down. "Not if he keeps his end of the
bargain, he isn't."
His lips thinned. "They made the connection between you,
Nigel, and Morris before any of this went down. If I was
guessing, it would be that they just hoped they could use you
to bait their trap. They knew about Morris. They may have
suspected that Nigel was the source they were looking for and
you were the go between, but I doubt it. They took the
informant out that had contacted Morris before he could
deliver the goods."
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Lena frowned. "They kept interrogating me about the
rebels. They thought I knew something. They were asking for
names and meeting places."
Dax flicked a glance at the man across from him. "They
interrogate everybody, just in case they know something," he
said slowly. "The fact that they questioned you isn't
necessarily significant."
Lena frowned, trying to recall anything about those
sessions that might give her a clue. "Maybe. There were two
of them. One was like a med tech. He gave me the injections
and it seemed he was only there for that, and to observe. He
said if I knew anything, I'd have to tell them because of what
he'd given me."
"What did you tell them?" the tino man asked.
Lena glanced at him when he spoke. "Nothing. I didn't
know anything." She frowned, wondering whether to mention
what she had told them or not. Finally, she decided against it.
"Morris never told me anything. I didn't even know he was
actually involved in the rebel movement. I thought it was just
... talk."
"What did Morris talk about?"
Lena shrugged. "He was always talking about gov
conspiracy. I knew he hated them, and with good reason. But
I thought that was all it was. I mean, it just didn't make
sense to me. The Prez doesn't have that kind of power
anymore, not since just before the downfall, the one back in
the early part of the century that abused his office so badly
and ruined the economy and the environment that they
changed the laws to keep anyone from holding that much
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power again. Even the congress, because they were either
ineffectual against him, or a part of his agenda, doesn't have
that much power anymore. Of course, he never talked to me
about the cloning, not until toward the last, but the only way
anyone in the gov could benefit would be if they could remain
in power, and they can't. The Prez can't. The congress can't,
because they can't serve more than two consecutive terms
either anymore. It's not like it was in the way back when a lot
of them ended up serving in congress for life, getting elected
over and over. If it was, then it might make sense."
She frowned, thinking about it for several moments. "I
suppose," she added slowly, "it could be like a hereditary
agenda, programs hidden beneath other programs until most
of them don't even know it's there, but if that's the case,
there'd be no stopping it short of overthrowing the entire gov
and starting from scratch because there wouldn't be one
target, or even a handful. It would be policy that would have
to be attacked and changed, not people."
Dax and the tino man exchanged a speaking glance. "So,
that's your theory?" Dax asked.
Lena looked at him in surprise. "I don't have a theory. I
don't have a clue. I thought all this was just rumors—the
cloning. I didn't even realize the rebels were as organized as
this," she said, gesturing toward the room at large. "The
gov's broke. How could they afford a project like this?"
Dax's lips twisted in disgust. "The gov isn't broke. That's a
rumor. They're not too broke to live well while the common
man suffers, not too broke to keep a standing army to keep
everybody in line, just too damned broke to provide any of
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the services they're paid for and too busy looking the other
way while the wealthy in this country turn the citizens into
slave labor for themselves and the gov. There's no life, liberty
and the pursuit of happiness for any of the people anymore,
just the pursuit of survival. And no justice when the home
guard is judge, jury, and executioner."
"The head of one of the mega corps, you think?" Lena
asked tentatively.
Dax shrugged. "It's beginning to look like the only way to
stop this, the only way to be sure, is to take them all out and
let God sort them."
 * * * *
Lena encountered a dilemma she'd never expected to have
to deal with—how to behave as an innocent around people
who obviously thought she wasn't. It seemed to her that
there was nothing she could do that would change the way
they looked at her. If she was friendly, they were suspicious.
If she avoided them, she was behaving suspiciously. If she
did neither, but merely lingered in the areas where they spent
their time off duty, then she was probably just hanging
around in hopes that she would overhear something.
No one said anything, but they didn't have to. It was the
way they looked at her, the way conversations died whenever
she approached and then picked up again in an entirely
different vein.
With no way of knowing how long she might have to
remain with them, she made an effort to try to behave as if
she was comfortable around the ship's crew, as if she felt like
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one of them. It wouldn't have been easy if she hadn't felt that
every move she made and every word out of her mouth was
being monitored and judged. She was a historian. She spent
most of her time alone with books and artifacts. She had
never learned how to be sociable, which hadn't mattered
before because her work didn't require it and she was
satisfied with being a loner.
Mel was the only member of the entire crew who seemed
to actually try to make friends, but Lena wanted nothing to do
with her after the things she'd told her that day in the med
lab. Maybe Mel honestly had been trying to be helpful, but
she'd only succeeded in making it impossible for Lena to set
aside her paranoia.
To make matters worse, Dax was increasingly irritable,
even though she tried to be as unobtrusive as possible,
knowing it couldn't be easy sharing space he was accustomed
to having to himself. He spent more and more time on the
bridge, and less in his cabin all the time.
She might have been relieved that he spent so little time
around her since it was becoming harder and harder for her
to ignore the fact that Dax was dangerous to her in more
ways than she could count. Because there was no getting
around the fact that she had passed well beyond merely being
attracted to him. She'd begun to feel like a she-cat in heat
any time he was in her vicinity, so jittery, so keenly sensitive
and on edge that it grated on her nerves, tempting her
almost beyond bearing even though she knew becoming
intimate with him would be disastrous for her.
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Beyond her tenuous position among the rebels, he was a
dangerous man, period. Tenderness of any kind seemed to be
beyond his understanding, which was small wonder
considering the life he had lived and continued to live.
Unfortunately, it was that arid desert that she sensed inside
of him that drew her just as surely as it unnerved her,
touching off a growing need in her to try to give him what he
had never had, or at least could barely remember.
She was inclined to think that desire was almost like
having a death wish because not only was she not at all
certain that he would welcome it, but she knew in her bones
that she would not be able to hold anything back and she
would suffer for it because he was what he was and it was too
late to change that. He was a rebel and he would be until he
died, or terminated his enemy. Nothing, and no one, was
going to turn him from the path he'd chosen.
What made the entire situation untenable, though, was
that she needed to feel like she had at least one ally and Dax
was the only one onboard that she trusted enough even to
feel a modicum of security.
When the tension between them began to seem more and
more explosive instead of less so, she couldn't help but
wonder and worry that something she'd said had triggered
alarms in his head that he might have been hasty in trusting
her even enough to allow her to roam the ship at will and to
give her the umbrella of his protection. And she was as torn
by the fear that he'd decide to withdraw his protection as she
was concerned that any overtures she might think to make
toward him would either be flatly, and embarrassingly,
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rejected or looked upon with the same suspicion as every
thing else she did, that he would think she was trying to
seduce him for some evil agenda.
Trying to talk her way into acceptance hadn't gotten her
anywhere. She'd done her best to allay both Dax and Mel's
suspicions and couldn't see that she'd made any appreciable
headway even with the two people who seemed most inclined
to believe her.
It seemed to her, in fact, that the harder she tried, the
less they believed.
With no idea of what else she could do, she finally decided
that the only thing she could do was to try her best to be
invisible. Once she was with Nigel, it wouldn't matter what
they thought. Nigel would know her. If Nigel was determined
to see his part in this through, then she would try to help him
and then they could find somewhere to go where they would
be safe both from the rebels and whoever was behind the
conspiracy to replace thinking human beings with workers
that were more like drones.
It would've helped her feelings immensely if she'd just
known how long she would have to deal with the situation,
but she was afraid even to ask that much. When she'd finally
nerved herself to ask Mel where they were going and been
told 'home base', which she'd known already, she had been
so focused on learning some time frame that she'd pressed
her for just where home base was located. She didn't need to
be physic to see that the question had set off alarms. Mel had
looked at her as if she'd just grown two heads and informed
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her that only a handful of people knew the exact location and
she wasn't one of them.
Retribution wasn't long in coming. She'd barely scurried
back to her cave when Dax had arrived. One look at his face
was enough to assure her that Mel had lost no time trotting to
him to tell him Lena was trying to wheedle top secret
information out of her.
"You have some need to know the location of the base?"
he growled after staring at her for several moments as if he
was contemplating tearing her head off.
Unnerved as she was by the barely leashed violence she
sensed in him, Lena's anger surged to the forefront. "I don't
care where the damned base is!" she shouted at him. "I want
my brother and I want to get out of here and away from you.
All of you!"
His lips tightened. "If it bothers you that much to share the
cabin with me, you can move to the barracks. I'm sure as hell
not going to complain about it. I might get some damned
sleep!"
The threat struck home, sending Lena's anger into a
tailspin. "It wouldn't bother me if you didn't go around like ...
an old bear all the time! And I do not keep you from
sleeping!"
"Like hell you don't!"
"Fine!" she snapped, realizing she'd painted herself into a
corner and only had two options, neither of which was really
palatable. She could find some place else to sleep, or she
could try to calm the savage beast. She was just mad enough
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to be stupid, though, and too hard headed for her own good.
"I'll sleep somewhere else."
"Good!" Dax snarled. Moving to the bed, he plopped down
on the edge and began working his boots off.
After glancing at him doubtfully for several moments, Lena
finally turned to leave. Unfortunately, she didn't have a clue
of where she was going. She sure as hell wasn't going
anywhere near the barracks.
She was already halfway down the corridor between Dax's
cabin and the access tube when she heard him behind her.
One look at his face was enough to shoot a rush of adrenaline
through her and set her feet in motion. He caught her while
she was still trying to decide whether to race up, or down, the
ladder. Hooking an arm around her waist, he yanked her off
the ladder. Instead of setting her on her feet, though, he
turned and strode back to his cabin.
She wouldn't have minded being 'made' to do what she
wanted to do anyway, except that he was in a mood she
didn't quite trust. "Put me down!" she demanded, trying to
pry his arm lose.
She couldn't, and he ignored her demand until they'd
stepped into his cabin again. When he finally released her,
she whirled and headed for the door again.
He caught her again just as she reached for the release to
open it, whirling her around and shoving her against the
panel with a palm planted just beneath her breasts. "Baby
girl, you are trying my patience."
"You don't have any patience! At all!"
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He ground his teeth. "I know you don't have a clue of
what's going on here," he growled. "But these people here
know their lives are on the line. And it's really stupid to make
them nervous about your loyalties by asking questions like
the one you asked while ago."
"I'm not stupid!" she spat at him, struggling with the
wobble in her chin. "I know they're just as afraid of me as I
am them. I'm just ... tired of being scared all the time. I want
Nigel. He'll know me!"
Dax stared at her a long moment, his expression haunted.
"I know you, baby girl."
She sniffed, trying to blink back the tears that began
pooling in her eyes. "Then why do you act like you hate me?
Why don't you trust me?"
He lifted his hand to her chin, stroking his thumb lightly
over her lower lip. "I don't trust anybody, baby girl. That's
why I'm still alive."
She squeezed her eyes closed, twisting her face away from
his hand. "I don't see how you could possibly think I would be
any sort of threat to you."
"Then you're not as smart as I thought you were," he said
dryly. He caught her cheeks between both of his hands,
pressing his forehead against hers. "I don't hate you. I'm
trying to protect you."
She looked at him in surprise. "From what?"
His lips tightened. "From me."
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Chapter Ten
Lena gaped at him in confusion. "I don't understand."
"No?" he growled, dropping his hands from her cheeks and
lifting his head.
Lena couldn't prevent the blush that heated her cheeks.
His gaze flickered over her face. Abruptly, he caught her
arms and dragged her up against him. His mouth was hard,
hot, almost savage as he caught her lips beneath his and
breached the sensitive barrier where her lips met with the
possessive thrust of his tongue. A tidal wave of need broke
over her instantly, swamping her senses, sucking her down
into a dizzying whirlpool of mindless need. She made a sound
in her throat of want as his taste and scent enveloped her
with a breathless rush of excitement, inebriated her until her
mind was a swirling morass of confusion. Her strength
abandoned her, sucked away by the hot friction of his tongue
as he raked it along hers in restless possession, by the heat
and hardness of his body as she leaned weakly against him
for support.
He broke the kiss almost as abruptly, pressing his forehead
against hers for a moment, his breathing ragged as he
struggled for control.
With an effort, she lifted her lids to stare at him when he
released her and stepped back, swaying weakly until she
managed to lock her knees to keep from melting to the floor.
There was wariness in his expression, and something else
that took her many moments to understand. "You think I'm
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afraid of you," she said in surprise and then frowned, trying
to think what she'd done to give him that impression.
Abruptly, she remembered that time when he'd been forced
to enact a rape to keep her from actually being raped and she
knew that had to be it. She hadn't been terrified then, but not
of him.
He slid a glance her. "Aren't you?"
She was, but not afraid that he'd deliberately hurt her, she
realized.
His lips curled wryly. "That's what I thought."
She frowned when he scrubbed his hands over his face
tiredly, realizing that he'd managed to regain control when
moments before he'd been within a hair's breadth of
completely losing it. She should leave well enough alone, she
knew, but she found she couldn't. She lifted a hand and
placed it lightly on his chest. "I'm not."
He fisted one hand around her wrist. "Leave it alone, baby
girl."
The warning growl of his voice almost tipped the scales in
the other direction, but she was beyond caution. Lifting her
free hand, she placed it on his chest, slipping it upward as
she came up on her tiptoes and tipped her head back,
offering her lips to him, offering her everything to him. He
glared at her warningly. Refusing to back down, she brushed
her lips lightly along his throat, just above his collarbone. "I'm
not Morris' baby girl anymore," she murmured.
Settling one hand in the middle of her back, he cupped the
other over the back of her head, digging his fingers into her
hair and tugging her head back. "I did warn you," he
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muttered hoarsely, covering her mouth with a violent
possessiveness that sent Lena's heart skittering into over
time. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, locking her
knees as her world seemed to spin off kilter in a dizzying rush
that was, impossible as it seemed, more debilitating than the
one she'd experienced before. Her own sense of urgency, fed
by the hunger of his possession, goaded her to kiss him in
return, to move closer, to feel his body against hers. She
traced her tongue along his, suckled it.
Uttering a groan from deep in his chest, he withdrew his
mouth from hers abruptly and dragged open mouthed kisses
over her throat to her ear. Her knees buckled as he teased
the sensitive shell with his mouth and tongue. He caught her,
his hand slipping from the middle of her back to cup one
buttock and pull her snugly against his erection. Her flesh, all
over her body, seemed to tighten, prickling with keen sensory
perception so that the faintest of contact between them sent
fresh waves of delight and awareness through her to gather
at her core.
"You're going to hate me for this," he muttered against her
throat.
"No."
"I'm going to hate me for this," he said harshly, brushing
his face along her neck and throat and following with nibbling
kisses.
The light brush of his engorged flesh against her mound
only tormented her with unfulfilled promise. She lifted upward
on her toes, slipping her arms around his neck to steady
herself and arch against him. Uttering a pained grunt, he
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released his grip on her buttock and bent her back over one
arm. Grasping the front of her uniform, he gave it a
wrenching tug that separated the front from neck to groin
with a sound ominously like ripping fabric.
It barely registered in her mind beyond the fact that she
couldn't touch his skin. She made a grab for the front opening
of his suit as he tugged the back of her uniform down,
trapping her arms in the fabric when it reached her elbows.
Frustration flickered through her briefly. It vanished the
moment his mouth closed over one distended nipple. The jolt
of pleasure that went through her made her belly clench
almost painfully with need and turned her knees to water.
He caught her as she began to wilt toward the floor, lifting
her and striding toward the bunk. Even as she landed solidly
in the middle and began trying to wiggle out of the snug
fitting cloth, he came down over her, covering her mouth in
another heated kiss that forced everything from her mind but
savoring the heat and urgency of his kiss. Somehow, she
managed to wrest her arms free, curling them around him as
he moved from her mouth to her breasts, scouring her with
the heat that flashed through her with the teasing suction of
his mouth.
She began to thrash feverishly beneath his assault,
gasping for breath. "Dax!" she gasped a little desperately.
He lifted his mouth from her breast, shifted upward to suck
a love bite on her throat and then to brush a light kiss across
her lips. "Easy, baby."
Squeezing her eyes closed, she dug her nails into his
shoulders. "Please, Dax. Please."
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He sat up, sat back on his heels. Grasping her suit, he
peeled it from her hips, and then disentangled it from her
legs, propping one foot on either side of his hips so that her
thighs were splayed, the lips of her sex parting, exposing the
more tender petals of flesh beneath.
She slit her eyes to look at him as she felt him shift,
watching as he yanked the front of his suit open and peeled it
off his arms and shoulders, pushing it down his hips until his
cock sprang free. She swallowed as she studied him, feeling
her body tighten all over in anticipation, reaching for him as
he leaned down.
Instead of moving over her, he slipped his hands beneath
her hips and lifted them, burying his face against her cleft.
Her breath left her as if it had been punched from her lungs.
Her body clenched as he dragged his tongue slowly along her
cleft and teased her clit until she felt like a mindless, writhing
bundle of raw, exposed nerve endings. She sucked in a
desperate breath, shuddering, jerking against the intensity of
the sensations that pounded through her as he alternately
sucked and teased the acutely sensitive nub. "Oh god!" she
gasped out shakily, her voice skating the edge of a scream as
she felt her body begin to quake, convulsing in hard
shudders.
He moved over her, burrowing his face against her neck as
he thrust his cock into her quaking passage. She gasped
sharply, wrapping her arms tightly around him as she dug her
heels into the mattress and lifted to meet him. Her body
resisted, clinging, still convulsing with aftershocks of release
around his hard flesh. She was nearly weeping by the time
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he'd claimed her fully, certain he'd wrung every ounce of
pleasure from her body that she could bear.
Her body responded regardless to his thrusting caresses,
gathering itself once more toward culmination. He sucked on
her neck and shoulder as the moisture of her body eased his
passage at last and he set a desperate rhythm to find his own
release. Her body crested, reached the limits of endurance
and ruptured with ecstasy. He shuddered as her passage
began to quake around his flesh, uttered a hoarse growl and
plunged raggedly as his big body began to shake with
uncontrollable tremors, pumping his seed into her.
They wilted in the heated aftermath, melding together
limply, gasping for breath.
 * * * *
For the first time that he could remember, Dax gave up
the relaxation of slumber with reluctance, drifting lazily in and
out of awareness for some time before he finally recalled that
he had duties to perform and opened his eyes.
Lena lay curled up against him, her cheek and one arm
resting on his chest. After staring at her sleeping face blearily
for several moments, he dropped his head on the pillow once
more, closing his eyes against the memories flooding into his
mind. They teased him anyway, refusing to be banished. The
urge to roll her onto her back and wake her to his possession
was so strong his gut tightened almost nauseatingly.
As badly as he wanted to, he couldn't afford to indulge
himself anymore than he already had.
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He shouldn't have touched her at all. It had been hard
enough trying to keep his hands to himself before, when he'd
only spent three quarters of his time brooding about fucking
her six ways from Sunday. Knowing what it felt like sure as
hell wasn't going to make it any easier on him.
He might have asked himself what he'd been thinking
except that he knew the answer. He hadn't been thinking.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he rubbed the bristle on
his chin, realizing he must have slept a hell of a long time to
produce that much beard and finally eased out from under
Lena and got up.
He'd abandoned his post in the middle of his shift and he
hadn't gone back. There was no way in hell that that was
going to slip by unnoticed, especially since he'd left the bridge
in a thundering rage and everyone knew what his destination
was. "Shit!" he growled, heading for the facilities.
She had rolled onto her back when he came out again. The
sheet was tangled across her hips, but he glimpsed a tuft of
the dark, curling thatch of her mound. He stared at it for
several moments, feeling his mouth go dry, before his gaze
seemed to travel up her body of its own accord, skimming her
flat belly and rounded breasts and settling finally on her face.
She looked almost painfully young in her sleep, fragile,
innocent, and at the same time pure temptress.
If Morris had still been alive, he would've cut his heart out
for touching Lena.
No doubt Nigel would be willing to take Morris' place and
do the honors.
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Disgusted with himself, he moved to the lav and shaved
quickly, then pulled a fresh uniform from his locker and
dragged it on. She stirred as he shoved his feet into his boots
and he froze, half hoping she would wake up and half
dreading that she would.
She didn't, merely rolled onto her belly, and he relaxed
again.
Moving to the door, he paused, staring at her for several
moments and finally left, mentally kicking himself all the way
to the bridge.
Rodriguez made the mistake of grinning at him when he
flung himself down in his chair. "You got something on your
mind, Rodriguez?" he snarled.
Rodriguez's eyes widened. "No, Sir!"
"What's our status?"
"Twenty four hours. The communications officer tried to
hail base, but there was no response."
Dax frowned, feeling his gut tighten uncomfortably. "They
must have a black out. Give it six and hail them again. Any
sign of stalkers?"
"That's a negative, Captain."
Nodding, Dax retreated into his own thoughts. It wasn't
really that unusual for base to go silent. In fact, they didn't
respond almost as often as they did. The idea was not to be
predictable, because there was always a chance the enemy
might get hold of the frequency and try to hail them so that
they could triangulate the beacon.
His gut was telling him it was a bad sign though.
Unfortunately, not only was there not a damned thing he
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could do about it, right or wrong, but he wasn't even sure he
could trust his instincts at the moment.
They sure as hell hadn't kicked in when he needed them or
he would've left the fucking cabin before he succumbed to
idiocy.
Sighing heavily, he propped his elbow on the armrest and
dropped his chin onto his balled fist, staring balefully at the
blackness of the viewing screen. He should have worked off
his frustrations on one of the female crew members, he
thought irritably. There were at least two that wouldn't have
minded scratching his itch, and if he'd taken care of the
problem, it wouldn't have gotten to be a huge problem.
He might have been able to exert a little more control.
Doubtful, he decided.
It she'd just kept running instead of deciding to stop they
would've both been better off.
Now he had a hell of a fucking mess on his hands.
He had no business with Lena, at all, for any reason. She
didn't belong in his world, couldn't have fit in if she'd tried,
and it wasn't hard to see she didn't want to try.
And he sure as hell didn't fit into her world.
Not that he thought there was any likelihood that she
would consider such a thing even if he would.
She was probably in the shower now scrubbing herself raw
and trying to erase him from her body and mind.
He didn't know why she'd let him—probably that soft heart
of hers—but she was bound to regret it as soon as she'd had
time to think it over.
Twenty four hours and she'd be off his hands.
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Twenty four hours and he'd probably never set eyes on her
again, not in this life time anyway because, sure as hell, the
minute her feet touched down she was going to be off like a
cat shot in the ass.
That would be a relief. A real fucking relief. It was just a
god damned shame he hadn't had enough brains to keep his
dick in his pants in the meantime, because it was going to be
hell trying to put her out of his mind.
* * * *
The bed was cold when Lena finally cracked a wary eye
and glanced around the room. Without a great deal of
surprise, she saw that Dax was gone. Stretching, she lay
frowning at the ceiling for a while, wondering what had
possessed her to provoke Dax when she'd seen he was
struggling against his needs. She shouldn't have pushed it.
She should have left well enough alone. He didn't need her.
He didn't need anyone and it had been stupid and sappy of
her to think that it was her he needed when all he'd really
needed was to get laid.
She didn't blame him for something that had been her own
decision, regardless of what he'd seemed to think at the time,
and she certainly didn't hate him. It had been every bit as
wonderful as she'd known it would be and she was going to
try to look upon the experience in a positive light.
She'd wanted him. He'd wanted her. They'd had wild,
fabulous sex, and that was that.
It wasn't going to develop into something more
meaningful, not for him anyway. She knew that. She'd known
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that all along, and she'd also known that she was too
susceptible to becoming emotionally entangled with him to
risk it without also risking terrible emotional pain. If she
suffered the consequences she had no one to blame but
herself, but she thought she was going to be all right. They
couldn't be very far from home, now, she knew. How deeply
could she fall in so short a space of time?
* * * *
Lena discovered for the first time since she'd boarded the
ship that she was bored. That was her first indication that her
outlook had changed radically. The second was when she
realized she kept checking the time and wondering when Dax
would go to the mess hall.
She hadn't willingly left the dubious security she'd felt
being in Dax's cabin since she'd been with the rebels. It
disturbed her to realize that she wanted to leave it because
she wanted to be with Dax and she knew she wouldn't be
allowed to go up to the bridge. She didn't find it particularly
comforting to realize that nothing had changed, really, except
that Dax had said he knew her. One vote of confidence out of
an entire crew, especially coming from a man like Dax,
shouldn't have been enough to give her the sense of security
she felt now. Of course, he was the captain, and she knew his
crew would obey him, but she also thought she knew Dax
pretty well. If it served his purposes, he would lie, and do it
very well.
He might only have told her he believed her and knew she
was who she claimed to be because it had suited him to do so
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at the time, maybe for no other reason than to knock a hole
in her defenses so that he could get a piece of ass.
She didn't think that was the reason. She thought he'd told
her the truth, but she didn't know. It could just as easily be
another mind fuck to see how she would react, because she'd
figured out that that was what that conversation with Mel had
been about.
She knew why they'd done it. She knew Mel had probably
only been following orders from Dax, but she hadn't forgiven
either one of them for scaring her out of her wits.
She blamed Mel most, even though she knew it was
unreasonable and that she should've been blaming Dax.
And that worried her. Wanting to be with him plus wanting
to forgive him for anything and everything equaled stupid
female falls for totally inappropriate male, because he was
dark, dangerous, wounded, sexy as hell, and she'd been
itching to mount his rod since the first moment she'd laid
eyes on him.
Morris would have had a brain seizure if he'd ever heard
anything like that come out of her mouth, let alone
discovered she thought that way. He certainly would have had
a stroke if he'd had any clue that she'd thrown 'lady' Lena to
the wind the moment she'd gotten the chance to get into
Dax's bed.
And Dax was a cauc. Morris had expected her to respect
her heritage and find some nice, wholesome, well educated
neg who was a gentleman to settle with and make babies.
If Dax had been a neg, Morris would've been furious about
her taking up with him, because he wasn't a gentleman, he
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was probably self-educated at best, and he was never going
to hold an upper class job or live in an upper class
neighborhood.
Dax wasn't going to be hanging around long enough to
produce any breeds, though, and Morris wouldn't be around
to see it. He wasn't going to be around to enjoy any of the
grandchildren he'd always talked about, but she didn't doubt
for one moment that Morris had loved her without
reservation. He might have been disappointed in her if she'd
chosen to marry outside her race and produce breeds, or
even if she'd decided she was in love with a man that wasn't
upper class, but he would still have loved her and them.
As long as it wasn't Dax.
She had known Morris well enough to know that he must
have loved his son deeply and been proud of him, but he'd
never spoken about Dax to either her or Nigel, and he
wouldn't allow Dax anywhere around them. That couldn't
have been because he was worried about anything happening
between her and Dax because she wasn't old enough for that
sort of problem to cross his mind. The only reason that she
could think of was because he'd made up his mind that he
was going to keep her and Nigel away from the sordid side of
life that was the only thing Dax knew.
Except for worrying about pleasing or displeasing Morris,
on a personal level, she didn't care. She never had cared in
spite of the fact that Morris had tried his best to instill a class
snobbery upon her and Nigel, sent them to the best schools,
made sure they got the education they needed to find
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positions that would place them in the upper class economy
and social hierarchy.
And she hadn't cared because Morris, bless him, didn't fit
into that society. She supposed he'd never figured that out,
never realized that if he'd succeeded she would have been
ashamed of him and her beginnings.
She'd assumed a façade that would please Morris She had
walked, talked and behaved like a lady because he was
determined she was going to be one, but, deep down, she
was still Morris' baby girl. She was shy, but she wasn't
particularly squeamish about the more sordid side of life
because as carefully as Morris had tried to shield her, there
probably hadn't been a whole lot that she'd missed about the
world she'd grown up in.
Drugs or no drugs, if she'd been a 'real' lady, she should
have been revolted about the incident in the jail cell—maybe
not at the time because she hadn't had her wits about her,
but certainly afterward. She'd had plenty of time since to
piece it all together and feel shame if she was going to feel
any, or horror. If she hadn't been drugged, she probably
would have been terrified at the violence. She knew she
would've been humiliated past bearing to be mounted in full
view of so many men, as if she was no more than an animal,
but she hadn't really been aware of that at the time and she
supposed that was why it still didn't particularly bother her.
Not that she supposed it really mattered how she felt
about it or that Morris wouldn't have liked it if he'd discovered
she was mooning over Dax.
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And it didn't really matter how she felt about it, because
she knew Dax lived by the law of the jungle, survival of the
fittest, not the laws of societal man. He wasn't going to feel
any sort of obligation to make things right because he'd taken
what he wanted—which she didn't mind because she would've
hated that. But sex probably didn't mean any more to him
that relieving bodily need and he also wasn't very likely to
think he just couldn't live without her only because it had
been good.
For that matter, she didn't know if it had been particularly
good for him. She'd been too busy enjoying it herself to think
much about pleasing him.
That anxiety occupied her mind for a while, but she
discovered trying to recall wasn't very helpful. Details were
hazy and mostly centered on how she'd felt about everything.
Besides, dwelling on it very quickly had her nearly as on
edge and needy as she had been before she'd been
thoroughly pleasured by the man.
Deciding when she saw that it was meal time that it would
be better to brave meeting up with Dax in public view than to
stay in his cabin and dwell on her mostly unpleasant
thoughts, Lena left the cabin and went to the mess hall. There
were a number of people gathered there, some already
settled, others still selecting their food, but she didn't see Dax
among them. Disappointed, and finding that she wasn't
nearly as comfortable about joining the crew as she'd thought
she would be, she was tempted to turn around and leave
again. Unfortunately, she knew she'd been noticed and she
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didn't want them to think that she'd only come to look for
Dax.
Her paranoia had kicked in, and she was instantly certain
that they'd know that food was the last thing on her mind.
They'd probably spend the rest of the day ribbing Dax
about his conquest with the mousy wall flower.
Stiffening her spine, she entered the mess hall after only a
brief and, she hoped, largely unnoticed check at the door.
She wasn't certain of where to sit once she'd filled the tray,
but finally she spied the tino man she and Dax had sat with
before.
He didn't flag her over, but there were two empty seats at
the long table and she decided to take the corner seat that
she'd taken before.
She had only managed to swallow a couple of bites of food
when a sort of tension seemed to ripple through the room.
Glancing up, she saw that Dax had just stepped through the
doorway. Their gazes collided. Without thought, she smiled at
him tentatively. He stopped as if he'd hit a brick wall. For
several panicked moments Lena thought he was going to
reverse engines and leave again.
Her cheeks flamed.
Hastily, she averted her gaze to her tray, trying not to look
as horrendously uncomfortable as she felt. There was no way
to look unconcerned. She knew that, and she could just
imagine what sort of thoughts were running through the
minds of everyone that had noticed that byplay.
She was so focused on trying to pretend to be unaware of
Dax that she jerked all over when his tray landed on the table
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next to her, spilling the water she'd just picked up to drink all
down the front of her suit.
Setting the glass down again quickly, she grabbed her
napkin and dabbed at the water before it could soak through.
When she looked up from drying the puddle that had formed
at her crotch to see if Dax had noticed, she looked him right
in the eye ... sort of. His gaze was actually on the dark spot
on her crotch.
As if he wasn't even aware that he'd been sitting perfectly
still, staring at her crotch for long enough that everyone
sitting at the table had noticed, he finally glanced at his tray
and picked up his fork.
"Hungry today, eh, Captain?"
The tino's teasing grin flat lined when Dax looked up and
glared at him.
The remark drew Lena's attention to his tray, though, and
her eyes widened.
Dax slid a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Dark
color started at his neck and moved slowly upward until it
disappeared beneath his hair line.
The blush caught Lena completely by surprise, shattering
her defenses. When he flicked a gaze at her, she smiled at
him tentatively as she had before.
He scowled, rubbing his chest absently as he looked away
again.
Rebuffed, again, Lena struggled to focus on finishing her
meal so that she could leave without giving the appearance of
flight. It might have been sawdust for all she noticed anything
about the flavor.
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There was nothing quite like being relieved of all doubts,
she thought morosely, wondering why she'd allowed herself
even a tiny sliver of hope that something had changed in their
relationship. She should have known by the way he'd sneaked
out and left her asleep that he was trying to avoid any sort of
confrontation.
It was a good thing she'd gone though, she decided after a
few moments, forced him to publicly snub her, because now
she knew beyond any doubt where she stood with him and
she could put the whole thing behind her as experience.
"I guess you didn't manage to hail base camp?" the tino
asked after several moments.
Dax glanced at him. "Still nothing. You can give it another
couple of hours and try again. Next time, though, instead of
trying a hail, just send the 'package retrieved' code. If they're
listening, but can't broadcast, they'll know it's us and that the
mission was a success."
It didn't take Lena more than a split second to figure out
that cryptic remark. She was a package, Lena thought
indignantly?
Finishing her meal, she got up abruptly and left the table,
disposing of her tray, utensils, and her glass.
She was so hurt and angry that she didn't realize the tread
she was vaguely aware of behind her was Dax until she'd
stepped into the cabin.
The door slid half closed and then popped open again,
jerking her out of her abstraction. Dax caught her even as
she whirled to face him.
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Chapter Eleven
Caught completely off guard, Lena didn't even have time
to throw up defenses before she felt the pressure of Dax's
hard, demanding mouth over hers, felt the possessive thrust
of his tongue as he breached the barrier of her lips and
claimed her with his touch and taste. Heat and dizziness
washed through her instantly, draining her of strength, will,
or even the thought of protest.
She was barely even aware that he'd caught her tightly
with one arm around her shoulders until she heard the sound
of her suit being wrenched open and felt the brush of his
other hand along her skin, and coolness as he parted the
fabric.
"Never smile at me like that again—in public. I almost had
a heart seizure right then and there," he growled when he
lifted his mouth from hers, shoving his hands beneath the
fabric of her suit and peeling it from her body even as he
explored her throat and the upper slope of her breasts.
The comment touched off a flicker of doubt, but Lena
discovered she was already too far gone to be capable of
anything approaching normal thought processes. It was all
she could do to hold herself upright as he moved down her
body, exploring her bare skin with his mouth and hands as he
dragged the suit down to her ankles. When she lifted her foot
to free it from the fabric, he caught her thigh, draped it over
his shoulder and burrowed his face against her mound.
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Her knees wobbled and gave out as his tongue delved her
cleft.
He caught her, lowering her to the floor instead of rising
and carrying her to the bunk. Dragging the suit from her
other foot, he hooked both of her legs over his shoulders,
lifted her hips clear of the floor and fastened his mouth
hungrily over her mound. Lena gasped, jerked, shuddering at
the ferocity of his assault that sent her spiraling so rapidly
toward culmination that she couldn't catch her breath. Her
body seized as it caught her, began to quake and convulse
almost painfully as he continued to lick and suckle her clit
with ravenous need.
Unable to evade the maddening tease of his tongue, Lena
felt her climax jolting endlessly, until she began to think she
would die if he didn't stop. "Dax!" she cried out when she felt
like she was on the verge of passing out.
She thought for several moments that he was too intent
even to have heard her. Finally, he lowered her hips until they
were resting on his bent knees, dragged her legs from his
shoulders and planted her feet on the floor, and then grabbed
her arms and jerked her upwards. She slumped weakly
against him, her arms draped around his neck to keep from
falling, but too limp to be of much use to her.
Lifting her hips with both hands, he spread her cleft with
his fingers and pressed the head of his cock into the mouth of
her sex, bearing down on her hips slowly but relentlessly until
she was gasping. When he'd sunk his cock inside of her to the
root, he bore down on her more tightly, grinding his groin
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against her nether lips as if he felt the need to go deeper still,
until his cock head was butting her womb almost painfully.
She groaned, dropping her cheek against the top of his
head as he held her there for many moments, his arms
wrapped tightly around her. Her neck felt too weak even to
hold her head up. Abruptly, he released her, grabbed her hips
and began to lift her and press her down again until he was
slamming into her. Tremors began to run through his arms,
his entire body. As suddenly as he'd begun pounding into her,
he stilled, uttered a choked groan and wrapped his arms
tightly, almost crushingly, around her again, his body shaking
so violently with tremors that they swayed precariously.
Heaving a shuttering sigh, he loosened his grip on her and
finally leaned down, supporting them with one arm and
easing her to the floor with the other. When she'd settled to
the floor like a puddle of melted wax, the arm he'd been using
to brace both of them gave way and he slumped onto his side
and then rolled onto his back, gasping for breath.
Mellow in the aftermath, Lena nevertheless began to feel
as if she'd just been run over by a tank as the cold hardness
of the floor began to sink in—stunned, wondering if she was
going to feel pain in a few moments, wondering what had just
happened.
Finally, with an obvious effort, Dax got off the floor,
reached down and lifted her up and carried her to the bed.
Settling her on the mattress, he leaned over her, kissed the
tip of each breast briefly, and then her lips before he
straightened. She stared up at him in bemusement. Slowly, it
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sank into her mind that she was splayed naked and spread
eagle to his gaze ... and he hadn't even taken off his clothes.
After staring at her for several moments, he moved to the
lav, washed his genitals and stuffed them back into his suit,
closing the seam. He frowned when he'd finished adjusting
himself. After looking around a little absently, he grabbed the
towel he'd discarded by the lav earlier and dabbed at the
crotch of his suit.
Lena sat up abruptly as he headed toward the door,
bracing herself on her elbows.
"You are not going out like that!"
He stopped, turned to look at her in surprise. "It's not
noticeable."
"Like hell it isn't!"
He frowned, but after a moment his lips twitched.
"Language, baby girl!"
Lena felt her jaw go slack for about two seconds and then
rage kicked in. "You are not my father!" she snarled, looking
around for something to throw at him and coming up with
nothing more substantial than the pillow.
He caught it. His good humor had vanished though. Anger
simmered in his eyes. "If you're pissed off because of what
just happened, then you need to think before you wave that
tight little ass of yours in my face, because I want it and if
you offer it I'm damned well going to take it."
Lena gasped in outrage, feeling her face flame at his
crudity, remembering abruptly that he'd lifted her up to
devour her as if she'd been a sandwich and wondering
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indignantly if that was what he was referring to. "I did not
wave it in your face!"
"Exactly what did you think I was going to think when you
gave me that come hither smile back in the fucking mess?"
"I was just trying to be friendly," Lena snapped angrily,
more because she realized instantly that he hadn't made the
mistake, or misinterpreted anything. She had very
purposefully gone down to the mess hall at a time when she'd
thought she was likely to meet up with him.
And she had smiled at him, which was enough to give any
man the same impression that Dax had gotten, because if
she'd been pissed off about it, she wouldn't have smiled at
him. She would've given him a drop dead glare.
Balling the pillow up, he shot it back at her like a cannon
ball. Instinctively, she ducked. The sound of parting fabric
was the only warning she got before she felt her wrists
seized. He bore her down onto her back, pinning her with his
weight, manacling her wrists to the bed on either side of her
head.
His expression was implacable when she blew her hair out
of her face and peered up at him in stunned surprise, his eyes
were narrowed and tumultuous with emotion. "I am not your
friend," he said through clenched teeth. "And I'm damned
sure not your brother or your father—I'm not that damned
much older than you. Maybe I'm a dumb fuck, but when a
woman I've just fucked senseless gives me a smile instead of
a drop dead look, I figure that means she didn't mind it."
She hadn't realized what that ominous ripping sound was
until she felt the head of his cock nudge her cleft, press the
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fleshy folds apart and then move down unerringly toward the
mouth of her sex. She wasn't hot, wasn't even warm, but it
didn't matter, because her sex was still thoroughly lubricated.
With little difficulty, he wedged the head of his cock into her
and drove deeper. She gasped, instinctively tensing. She
heard his teeth grinding together as he withdrew slightly and
drove into her again even as she recovered her wits and
began squirming against his hold.
Ignoring her attempts to free herself, he bore down
inexorably until she was panting for breath, could feel his
pelvis grinding into the tender flesh of her cleft. A mixture of
pain, fear, and panic went through her as he stopped,
gasping harshly, his own face twisted as if he was in pain.
Abruptly, an image flashed through her mind, of Dax
above her as he was now, his face contorted with remorse,
his teeth gritted. Scream damn it. This is supposed to be a
rape.
The fear and panic vanished as abruptly as it had
descended upon her.
This wasn't about anger, and it wasn't about power. It was
about protecting her. He was trying to drive her away, she
realized, trying to make her believe he was a heartless
monster so that she'd keep her distance.
Because he thought she would get hurt? Or because he
was afraid he would?
He released her wrists the moment she ceased to struggle.
His head dropped forward. Lifting her hands, Lena cupped his
face in her hands. When he glanced up at her warily, she
slipped her hands around his neck and tugged, lifting up to
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meet him when he resisted and brushing her lips lightly
across his. He released a harsh breath that he'd been holding.
Settling against her, he buried his face in the pillow beside
her head.
She wrapped her arms tightly around him, holding him for
several moments and finally began to stoke his back
soothingly, arching her neck to kiss his shoulder, the side of
his neck. She hesitated when she reached his ear and finally
teased it with the tip of her tongue, rocking her hips against
his.
A shudder rippled through him. Turning his face to hers, he
moved his lips over hers in gentle exploration, his touch more
apologetic than coaxing.
She sensed when he tensed that he would withdraw. She
wasn't about to allow it. Slipping her hands down his back,
she cupped his buttocks, arching up to meet him.
He lifted his head, studied her for a long moment and then
dipped his head to kiss her, this time deeply, with growing
need and hunger. She kissed him back, sucking on his tongue
until he began move faster and the warmth inside of her
blossomed into a conflagration. Her body began to convulse
with release the moment she felt him tense as his own climax
caught him.
They lay perfectly still for many minutes afterward. Finally,
Dax stirred, lifting slightly away from her. "Lena...."
She felt her throat clog with emotion. Lifting her hand she
touched a finger to his lips. "It's all right. I know."
She didn't, actually. She just knew she didn't want to hear
what he was going to say. She didn't need or want an
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apology, if that was what he'd had on his mind, and if he'd
intended to tell her that there was nothing between them,
and never would be, then she also didn't want to hear that.
She knew she couldn't stay with him, and he wouldn't stay
with her. As soon as he'd handed her over to Nigel, he would
leave again on some other mission to save the world.
He frowned. After a moment, he moved off of her without
another word. She rolled onto her side when he'd gotten off
the bed, closing her eyes firmly. She didn't open them again
until she knew he'd left the room.
It was amazing, she thought glumly, how protective a
person's mind could be, dulling pain, hiding the truth,
refusing to see things that were too awful to see. Only that
morning she had been assuring herself that she was coming
out of this unscathed. She'd had a narrow miss, but she
wasn't going to be hurt, because she'd just scratched her itch
like Dax had. And there was no danger, really, of becoming
emotionally wrapped up in him, because she would be home
within a matter of days and it just wasn't possible to fall for
anybody that quickly.
It was though, because she'd just hit the ground after the
long fall. She was pretty sure he'd sliced her right down to
the quick the day he'd pulverized the men trying to rape her
and told her he'd come to rescue her from that nightmarish
place. She was hurting already and she hadn't had to say
goodbye yet.
 * * * *
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Surprise flickered through Nigel when he looked up and
saw Dax striding toward him. Knowing the vids were on both
of them, though, he tamped the sensation of finding himself
off kilter and merely jerked his head in invitation as if he'd
been waiting for him.
"How've you been?" Dax said, smiling in a friendly way and
extending his hand.
Again a flicker of something not quite right went through
Nigel. He returned the smile and the handshake mechanically,
deciding finally that Dax was putting on an act for the vids. "I
didn't expect you. How's Lena?"
Something flickered in Dax's eyes. He hadn't expected the
question, Nigel realized, and for a moment he thought he'd
really screwed up. He was not good at this cloak and dagger
shit! "Never mind. Tell me later."
Dax shrugged when he'd settled in the chair across the
table from Nigel. "She's taken care of."
Nigel frowned into his coffee mug as the server bot rolled
over. By the time Dax had ordered a full breakfast and the
bot had left again, Nigel had himself well under control. "I
guess it'll be me and you, then?"
"Yeah."
Nigel chewed his lower lip, glancing around at the other
patrons at the sidewalk café. Finally, he picked his cup up,
drained the last of the coffee and stood up. "Seven, at the
rear service door."
"We need to meet at the base."
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Nigel looked at Dax in surprise. After a moment, his
expression cleared. "Afterwards, you mean? I thought that
was the plan?"
Dax nodded. "That's what I meant."
A cold sweat had begun to form on Nigel's brow before he
reached the entrance to Quasar Corp. The meeting he'd just
had wasn't just unexpected. It had been downright strange.
His instincts were screaming at him to turn around and head
in the other direction as fast as he could go without drawing
attention to himself, but like a bot, he kept moving, going
through the motions of his daily startup. He relaxed
fractionally when he made it through the security check
without incident.
Maybe he was just imagining things?
It was halfway through the morning when everything that
had been tumbling around in Nigel's mind since the morning
meeting abruptly clicked together into a solid picture.
The man in the café hadn't been Dax.
They were on to them. Cold fear washed through him
again, tying his guts in knots. It took all he could do to focus
on the procedure he was trying to perform, but it helped that
he had been on the job so long that most of what he did was
more by rote than thought. When his heart settled into a
more normal rhythm and the panic receded, he began trying
to think exactly what his situation was and what would be the
safest move to make.
That part wasn't any easier than gaining control of his
initial fear.
Dax had been cloned.
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Cloned and replaced? Before or after he'd gotten Lena,
Nigel wondered?
Was she safe? Was she dead?
He focused on those questions for a while, trying to decide
what meeting up with Dax's clone must mean besides the fact
that he was fucked.
They had to think there was no chance that anyone could
meet up with Dax and his clone, so Dax was either out of the
picture all together, or they knew, or thought they knew, that
he was a long way from the city.
Or this whole business was making them sloppy?
When the time for his lunch break rolled around Nigel still
had no idea of what do to, so he did what he usually did. He
left his lab and headed down to the company lunch room,
expecting any moment to be confronted by security and
escorted out of sight so that they could make him disappear
permanently.
Instead, he arrived without incident. He was feeling
vaguely ill with nerves, though, and it took a concentrated
effort to behave as if nothing was any different from any
other day. He decided after lunch, when he was on the way
back to his lab, that he must have carried it off. He couldn't
remember anybody looking at him strangely, or commenting
that his behavior seemed off.
His case of acute paranoia didn't wane though.
He rarely took his afternoon break. Today, he deviated
from the norm, because it had finally dawned on him that it
wasn't just paranoia. He really was in deep shit, and he had
to let the people at base camp know it.
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He couldn't send the signal from inside Quasar Corp.
Leaving the building, he crossed to the café and ordered a
coffee to go. While he waited, he moved to the edge of the
café, propped against one of the pillars that supported the
overhead canopy and flipped his watch face back. Tapping the
code in, he hung up, tapped in again, waited for a count of
ten, and then repeated the code the third time.
Captured—Evacuate.
There was no response to that code—none designated as
far as he knew—and he had no clue whether they'd gotten it
or not, or if he'd even remembered the code correctly. Hell,
he didn't even know if they would pay it any attention coming
from him.
He'd done what he could to warn them though.
* * * *
The clone was waiting for him when Nigel opened the rear
service door. Nigel had had all day to come to terms with his
situation, however. He'd walked into a trap. He wasn't certain
of exactly how they planned to spring it, but he had a fair
notion that what they wanted was for him to lead the clone
back to home base. Obviously, they'd tried everything else
they could think of to discover its location and they'd decided
to use the breach in their security to get what they wanted,
or finally figured out a way to use it to their advantage.
That meant he was going to be alive at least long enough
to lead the clone to the base.
He still hadn't decided whether or not the clone's
appearance meant that Dax and Lena were dead, but he
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couldn't see that he had a lot of options at this point. He was
going to do his best to see the thing through and hope that
he lived long enough to avenge them if the bastards had
gotten to them.
Neither man spoke as they moved quickly through the
service area of the building and finally reached the main
entrance level. They took the tube from there, passing twenty
levels of labs and halting at last on the lowest floor of the
administration offices.
The informant had been an accountant.
Mentally, Nigel shook his head at the thought. Who would
ever have thought it would be an accountant—more of a
bookkeeper actually because the man hadn't even been upper
rung—that would save the world?
The door to the general office was locked. Nigel glanced at
the clone.
"You don't have the key code?"
"I've forgotten it," Nigel lied. "I'm a med tech. I'm not
used to this cloak and dagger shit."
The pseudo Dax's lips thinned irritably, but he stepped
forward and, without hesitation, keyed the code in.
Nigel swallowed a little convulsively.
The clone had definitely been in touch with them if he had
the code. The question was, had he been ordered to help? Or
hinder?
He didn't bother to look up at the vid trained on the door.
He knew it wasn't disabled, as it was supposed to have been.
The minute they were inside, the clone led the way
through the rabbit warren of cubicles, heading unerringly
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toward the cubicle that had once belonged to Gerald Smith
and now belonged to his clone.
Nigel began to go through the desk immediately, searching
every article he came across for a crack or crevice the man
might have used to hide the film. He was only half way down
the first wall when the clone straightened abruptly. "I think
I've found it."
Nigel whirled in surprise, extending his hand for the film.
"Let me see it."
The clone hesitated for a fraction of a second and then
handed it over.
It was a memo, Nigel saw, frowning.
A memo?
I'll need a replacement part for Mr. S. Mullins.
Nigel read the memo three times before it dawned on him
that S. Mullins must be the name of someone they wanted
replaced. Still more confused than enlightened, he glanced at
the date, and then the origin of the memo. Coldness washed
over him abruptly as the date and name clicked together.
The date was the day after Stephen Mullins was
inaugurated as Prez.
And the origin of the memo was the head of a government
agency.
He handed the memo back to the clone. "You might be
right," he said. "But it doesn't make any sense to me. This
looks like something that just got misdirected. Maybe we
should keep looking?"
The clone looked like he wanted to argue. After a moment,
though, he merely shrugged, tucked the film into his pocket
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and made a pretense of searching. "We need to make this
quick, though. Security's liable to notice the vids are down
any time."
Nigel's mind was working at light speed while he finished
the fruitless search. Unfortunately, his mental calisthenics
were equally fruitless. He had no weapon, and he wasn't
likely to find one between the accounting office and the exit.
Reminding himself that he'd already decided the trap
wouldn't be sprung until he'd shown the clone the way to
home base, and hoping he was right, Nigel focused on trying
to figure out some way of leaving the information for
someone ... just in case he didn't make it.
They finally reached the point Nigel had been dreading.
"Either that's it, or it isn't here."
The clone nodded. "We'll get this back to home base and
let them study it. Maybe they'll be able to crack it. It's e-ink.
Maybe it isn't the message that appears on it now, but the
one that was on it before?"
Nigel tried to look excited about the suggestion. "I hadn't
thought about that."
When they'd exited Quasar Corp, he made his gambit.
"See you back at base."
The clone checked. "I don't see any reason to split up.
We're out. They aren't on to us. Anyway, I thought you were
in a hurry to see Lena. I left her at the base."
He should've known it wasn't going to be that easy. It
didn't take a lot of thought to figure out if he made a break
for it he'd be dead before he'd gone three feet. He had
information the gov had already killed a half a dozen people
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to keep quiet. There was no way they would've planted it
there for him to find unless they'd been ready to make sure
he wasn't going to live to pass it along.
It occurred to him as he merely shrugged and headed
toward the people mover that the whole message might be
bogus, but he decided after a few moments' thought that he
could be reasonably certain it was. They would've known that
it had to be something good or he wouldn't believe it was the
evidence they were looking for. And if he wasn't convinced,
then he wouldn't lead them back to the base.
He wouldn't have risked it himself, but it occurred to him
that the mastermind behind this nightmare had become
increasingly desperate to locate the rebel base. The rebels
must be getting close anyway, because he was starting to get
really sloppy.
He didn't even know Dax all that well and he'd sensed
almost immediately that the dupe wasn't Dax. Lena had
figured out right away that Morris was a dupe, too. Of course
neither man would've been easy to replicate. They'd both
been like ghosts.
He met up with another moment of truth when they
reached the entrance to the tube station. Take the clone on a
wild goose chase and hope something would come to him? Or
head directly for base and hope they had gotten the message
he'd sent earlier and were waiting?
It wasn't much of a contest. He didn't want to risk dying
with the information he had without making a hell of push to
get in the right hands.
 * * * *
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Dax was sitting at his desk, his legs crossed on the top of
it and a glass in his hand when Lena came out of the bath.
She tilted her head, studying him for a moment to gauge his
mood.
His gaze flickered over her slowly and then returned to the
liquid he was idly swirling in his glass.
After a moment, instead of pulling on her suit, she moved
to the bed and got in, pulling the sheet up and tucking it
beneath her arms. "What is it?"
Dax's gaze flickered to her. He shrugged, downing the last
of the liquid in the glass. "I've been playing with the puzzle."
Her brows rose. "The puzzle?" she echoed curiously.
"We've been compiling data for years. With no leads and
hundreds of possible suspects, it's no wonder we've barely
scratched the surface. I decided to go back over it again after
the conversation we had the other day."
Lena frowned, casting around in her mind in search of
what conversation he might be referring to.
"What you said about the gov, and the fact that whoever
was behind this would have to be someone in power who
didn't have to worry about losing it through an election."
"Oh!" She shrugged. "I'm a historian. Mostly we don't
always find specific facts, especially not since the storms
when so much was destroyed. We have to figure out things
by the process of eliminating the most unlikely."
His lips curled faintly in a smile. "And sometimes you can't
see the forest for the trees."
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Lena's brows lifted. "Meaning, things go out of focus when
you get too close?"
"Exactly. So, assuming the culprit really is somebody in
the gov, and not some high powered corp head, eliminating
the people we've already checked out, and all of the people
that have to worry about getting re-elected every four
years—the list is a lot shorter. In fact, really short, but I'm
not sure any of these possibilities even make sense."
Lena hesitated, but finally decided if he didn't trust her
nothing she could say was going to make him trust her less.
"Can I look?"
As if he'd only been waiting for her to ask, he dragged his
legs off of the desk, picked up a sheet of film and moved to
the bed. Sprawling beside her, he handed her the list.
Lena read through the names slowly, pausing to dredge up
what she knew about each of the men and women on the list.
When she'd gotten to the bottom, she went over it again.
"This woman is too young. She was only appointed to that
position maybe five or six years ago. This man, too. He's
been around maybe twice that long, but the conspiracy
predates his arrival on the scene."
Dax looked her over appreciatively. After a moment, he
got up, moved to his desk to collect a laser pen and returned,
deleting the names from the list.
"She's too old," Lena said after a moment.
"She's been around a while, though."
"Yes, but she's too old. She must be nearly eighty. She
couldn't hope to hold the position much longer no matter how
many people she replaced. Besides, neither money nor power
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means a lot to people that know they're facing the end of
their life. She's looking forward to retiring and spending her
last years with her grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, not
controlling the world."
After working over the list for several hours, they had cut
it down by almost half.
Lena frowned at the names that remained. "My money
would be on him, if I was just guessing," she said finally,
tapping her fingernail on the lettering.
Dax looked at the name and chuckled. "Any particular
reason why? Other than the fact that everybody hates them?"
Lena smiled reluctantly. "You're probably right. I was just
thinking, though, that I don't know a thing about him. I didn't
even know his name and I keep up with the people in charge
of the government."
Dax took the list from her hands and dropped it to the
floor beside the bed. "I'll make a note of that," he murmured,
leaning forward to brush his lips across hers. "Baby girl
doesn't know the guy so she doesn't trust him."
She pulled away and he leaned back, eyeing her warily.
Reaching for his suit, she grasped the front and tugged it
open. "I want to feel all of you," she whispered, placing a
light kiss in the center of his chest.
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Chapter Twelve
The certainty that something was bothering Dax grew
upon Lena as they lay curled together in the aftermath of
their lovemaking. She supposed it might be that he had gone
back to worrying over the puzzle, probably was that, at least
in part, but she sensed that there was something else.
She had a feeling she knew what that something else was.
"When do you think we'll reach home base?" she asked
him finally, idly playing with the hair on his chest.
He tensed. "Six hours ... more or less."
Pain squeezed Lena's chest as if a hand had fisted around
her heart. Six hours. It had been a hell of a whirlwind
romance—not that it was actually a romance. They'd been
together a grand total of two weeks, just long enough to
make her feel like dying at the thought that he was going to
walk out of her life just as abruptly as he'd walked into it.
When she'd finally gained control of her wayward
emotions, she turned in his arms, tracing a trail of kisses
along his hard chest to his chin. If she wasn't going to see
him anymore, she was going to make the most of the time
left.
He tucked his chin, aligning his mouth with hers. After
kissing her almost lazily for several moments, he shifted,
pushing her to her back and moving over her.
* * * *
"Captain Morris!"
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Dax disentangled himself from Lena and strode to the com
unit. "Yes."
"We're on final approach, sir."
"I'll be up in a few minutes."
He saw when he turned to look for his uniform that Lena
had sat up in bed. Her hair was tousled, her lips swollen, her
eyes heavy from lack of sleep. He felt like a complete ass for
keeping her up all night, but he'd felt a desperation to make
love to her over and over, as if doing so was going to make it
any easier.
Scrubbing his hand over his jaw, he discovered he needed
a shave—which probably accounted for the redness all over
Lena's neck and chest. Moving to the lav, he shaved quickly.
"Would you like to come up with me?"
Lena looked at him hopefully and he felt his gut clench. He
forced a smile. "Nigel will probably be watching for our
arrival."
Nodding, she climbed from the bed and moved to the lav
as he moved away and grabbed a uniform to put on. He saw
when he glanced up from pulling his boots on that she'd
pulled her borrowed suit on and was trying to get her feet
into the boots. Crossing the room, he tapped her chin to
make her lift her head and aligned the front edges of her suit,
smoothing the seal.
When she'd combed the tangles from her hair, he took the
comb and raked it through his, irritated when he realized it
was halfway down his shoulders and wondering if had been
that long since he'd remembered to get it cut or if it was just
growing faster than he remembered.
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Rodriguez glanced at him questioningly when he saw Lena
was in tow. Dax glanced at the forward viewing screen. As he
did, it went black. "Still no contact?" he asked, pointing Lena
toward a vacant seat before he sprawled in his own.
"We got a blip right after I called you, captain."
Dax frowned. "Return hail?"
"No sir."
Dax glanced at Lena and then looked at Rodriguez again.
"I'm not in the mood for guessing. What was it?"
Rodriguez flushed. "Don't know, sir. S. That's all."
Dax stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment.
Abruptly, his eyes widened and he whirled to look at the
blank screen. "Screen on!"
A flash of light filled the room. A few seconds later the ship
began to shudder.
"My god! We've been hit!" Rodriguez exclaimed staring at
the screen in disbelief. "The base is gone!"
Pushing himself from his seat, Dax moved to stand closer
to the screen, scanning the scene of destruction. "There!" he
growled, pointing to a spec in the distance. "Bogey at ten
o'clock. Take that son-of-a-bitch out!"
"There's another one—at three."
Turning, Dax stared at Lena for a moment and finally
strode towards her. Grabbing her arm, he hauled her out of
the seat she'd only taken moments before. "Go back to my
cabin, now!"
Lena stared at him fearfully. "Why?"
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"Because it's safer, closer to the pods. If the evacuation
alarm sounds, don't hesitate. Go straight down to second
level and get into one of the pods."
He must have seen her reluctance to leave in her
expression. His face hardened. "I need to be here. You don't."
"Captain!"
Lena nodded even as he turned away, not because she
wanted to go, but because she felt much safer near Dax, even
if he thought she'd be safer in the cabin. She didn't want to
distract him, though, not when he needed to focus his entire
attention on the ships attacking the base.
The trip down the tube was scary as hell. The ship
shuddered, bucked, began to weave and sway, nearly
throwing her off the ladder several times. She was shaking
like a leaf by the time she reached the level for the crew
quarters. The ship had begun to shift so violently and
abruptly from side to side, she felt like a drunk trying to make
her way down the corridor, stumbling into first one wall and
then the other. Relieved when she reached the cabin at last,
she looked around for the safest spot and finally moved to the
desk chair. Swiveling it into its upright position, she locked it
down and looked around for a safety harness. Dax had
loosened them, she discovered, and flung them out of his way
for comfort.
The jolting and jouncing grew progressively worse until she
had to clench her teeth together to keep from biting her
tongue. She realized after a few moments that she could hear
air screaming around the ship, explosions in the distance, and
then several close enough that the whole ship quaked.
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Dizziness assailed her as the ship tilted sharply to one side
and then abruptly rolled. She let out a squeak of fright,
squeezing her eyes more tightly shut. Something either
slammed into the ship, or exploded so close by the effect was
nearly the same. The noise was nearly deafening. The ship
did an abrupt freefall that almost made Lena lose what was in
her stomach. The lights went out. Blue and yellow lights
flickered on a few seconds later and alarms all over the ship
began screaming deafeningly. The freefall ended so suddenly
that she thought for several moments that the ship had
slammed into the earth.
She was clawing at the restraints to escape when it
dawned on her that there'd been no evacuation alarm.
Drawing in a shuddering breath, she listened to see if she
could hear running feet, shouting, anything that might tell her
if the ship was going down.
It was still airborne. She knew that from the bouncing jolts
that kept rattling her bones.
The alarms were shut off after a few moments and the
lights came back on.
Hardly daring to breathe, Lena tensed for another hard jolt
that never came. The ship seemed to glide smoothly for
several moments and then she heard more sounds that she
didn't recognize that totally terrified her, whirrs and clicks and
moving metal.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Dax's voice
abruptly bellowed from the com unit. "All hands, suit up!"
Was that the evacuation order?
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He hadn't said evacuate, and besides, that sort of
announcement was usually made by a voice from the
computer. Hearing a bustle of activity, she unfastened the
restraints and rushed to the door.
As it opened, she saw men and women piling out of the
crew quarters, fully armed and armored and racing toward
the tube.
After staring at them for several moments, she finally
realized that Dax was launching a ground assault—or
expecting one.
 * * * *
It wasn't as difficult to find the off loading level as it might
have been. Lena merely waited until the soldiers had moved
out and followed them.
Dax was in the hold.
Since she was fairly certain he wouldn't be at all pleased to
find her down in the hold with the troops, she moved to the
back.
"I don't expect any ground force, but look alive out there.
And keep a sharp eye out for any survivors."
Any? Did that mean he wasn't expecting to find any? Nigel
might be out there, she thought in sudden fear. Dax had said
he might be!
The moment the hatch opened, even before the gang
plank was extended, the troops began pouring out the side of
the ship. Lena followed them, determined to search for Nigel
if there was any possibility that he might have been in the
base when it was hit.
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She'd managed to make it half way down the gang plank
when Dax spotted her.
He caught her around the waist as she leapt from the side
to run.
"Get back on the damned ship!"
"I've got to look for Nigel! He might be hurt!"
"We'll look for Nigel. We're looking for any survivors."
Lena looked up at him in horror. "Any?"
His lips tightened. "Just go back inside and wait. If he's
here, I'll find him."
She was tempted to try to escape him and go anyway, but
it occurred to her that as long as she held him up, he wasn't
looking and if Nigel was hurt minutes counted. Finally, she
nodded. He caught her cheeks in one hand. "Promise me
you'll stay put!"
She looked away. "All right!"
When he released her, she trudged back up the gang
plank, glancing around at the rubble and wondering if there
was any possibility that they were going to find any survivors
at all.
He didn't trust her to keep her word and stay. As she
reached the airlock, he whistled, making a hand motion when
one of the men turned to look at him. The soldier glanced at
her and nodded. Turning, he trotted back to the ship and up
the gang plank behind her.
He caught her arm when he reached the top.
"He didn't say I couldn't stay here and watch!" she
snapped, trying to wrest her arm loose.
He let her go. "Stay back from the door."
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"I'm just looking!"
"You're liable to catch one between the eyes if you stand
there," the guard snapped back at her.
Glaring at the man, she moved behind the edge of the
door and peered out, searching the rubble with her gaze for
any sign of someone that might be trapped beneath it. It was
a waste of time, or more accurately, only something to do to
keep her from feeling so helpless and useless. The soldiers
were making a sweep. If there'd been anyone nearby, they
would already have found them.
Time seemed to drag by, but her anxiety only sharpened
the longer she waited to hear if Nigel was among those who'd
been here when the feds had attacked. The soldier who'd
been sent back to watch her began to fidget. She tried to
ignore him, but his restlessness began to grate on her nerves.
"I've got to take a leak," he announced.
Lena turned to stare at him with a mixture of
embarrassment and outrage. Like she wanted to know that,
she thought indignantly!
"Stay put."
Lena blinked. Finally, she nodded.
Apparently her hesitation was enough to alert him. Instead
of dashing off to find the head, he glared at her, snatched the
lower seam free and dragged the thing out right in front of
her.
Lena's eyes narrowed. Pursing her lips, she looked away.
When she slid a glance at him again, she saw that he'd turned
his back to her and was pissing off to one side of the
gangplank. Without even stopping to consider the possible
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consequences, she burst into a run and slammed into his
back with her palms. He yelped as he went out the door, but
Lena didn't pause to see if he landed on his feet. The moment
she gave him a shove, she whirled and raced down the gang
plank, leaping off when she neared the end and dashing
toward what was left of the building that had once been the
rebel base camp.
A shout behind her to stop alerted her to the fact that he
was giving chase. Instead of stopping, she ran faster. She
didn't dare look back to see if he was closing in on her, fearful
that she'd trip, or that it would slow her down enough to help
him catch her.
The moment she managed to jump behind a wall that
blocked her from his view, she began a frantic search for
some place to hide. A section of one wall had cracked and
folded over, leaving a narrow space at the floor. It looked
impossibly small, but she figured if she could squeeze her ass
into it, that would work in her favor.
Making a scrambling dive for it as she heard a curse not
far behind her, she managed to get the front half of her body
in on her hands and knees, and then flattened out and
slithered snake-like the rest of the way. She froze when she
heard the scrape of a boot and the sound of scattering rumble
nearby, holding her breath, hoping against hope that she'd
crawled in far enough that her feet weren't sticking out the
end.
Her heart was pounding so frantically in her ears that
many moments passed before she realized the sounds were
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moving away from her. When she'd caught her breath, she
began to back slowly out of the narrow, tunnel like space.
She eased up onto her hands and knees and looked around
cautiously when she'd backed completely out. When she saw
no sign of the guard, she got to her feet and looked round.
There was no sign of anyone in any direction and she
wondered if she was even in the building that had housed the
secret base.
There were broken walls, shattered windows, and bits and
pieces of furniture everywhere, but no sign that anyone had
been in this particular area. Climbing out of the hole that had
been created by falling debris, she glanced around again. Far
into the distance, she could see the troops spread out now in
a line.
They'd swept the area for the enemy first, she realized,
and were moving back slowly now in search of survivors.
There was one soldier between the line of soldiers and the
building where she stood, jogging quickly away from her.
No doubt to report that she'd escaped him.
Dismissing them, she began to pick her way carefully
through the rubble, pausing to listen for any faint sound that
might indicate anyone was buried beneath the broken bits of
mortar and stone. "Nigel? It's me, Lena!" she called softly.
She kept calling as she looked, softly at first and then, as
she grew more focused on finding Nigel and less on being
caught by Dax, louder.
She saw no one, no one at all. Instead of feeling comforted
by that, she grew more distressed, moving more quickly,
shoving pieces of wallboard out of her way, flipping others
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over. She'd covered most of what seemed to have been the
main part of the building and began to climb carefully down
into what looked like it might have been a bunker, or possibly
only a basement when she heard something. She stopped
abruptly.
"Nigel?" she called, her voice quavering on a note of fear
as it occurred to her belatedly that it might not be Nigel at all.
"Lena!"
It was little more than a harsh whisper, but Lena whirled
toward the sound.
"Nigel?" she called again, feeling her heart began to
hammer with hopefulness as she looked around.
He emerged from a pile of rubble, so dusty with the
powdered mortar that she didn't recognize him at once. He
was holding a pistol, however, and it was leveled on her. "Say
something so that I know it's really you!"
"Oh, Nigel," she said in dismay. "Don't tell me you don't
know me!"
"What color were mother's eyes?"
She was on the point of telling him she'd finally
remembered when she realized that she had always told him
she couldn't remember their mother. "I was just a baby when
she died. You know I don't remember her!"
He grinned, but even as she started toward him, the smile
froze on his face. He swallowed. "Get out of the way, Lena!"
Realizing his gaze was focused beyond her, Lena turned.
Dax had frozen halfway down the pile of rubble she'd just
climbed through.
"Dax! I found Nigel!"
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"That's not Dax," Nigel said harshly. "It's a fucking clone."
Lena's head whipped around, her eyes widening. "It's not.
I came here with him!"
His lips tightened. "Then who's that?"
When Lena turned to look again, she saw that another Dax
was standing at the edge of the pit, looking down. "Oh my
god!" she whispered, covering her mouth with her hands.
"Come to me, Lena. You're in the line of fire," Nigel ground
out.
Reluctantly, she took a step toward him, wondering how
she was going to prevent him from shooting Dax if she moved
out of the way.
"Don't!"
Startled at Dax's voice, Lena turned to see which man had
spoken.
"He's a clone," the Dax standing nearest her said.
"Just get out of the way, Lena!" the other Dax said
sharply.
Uncertain now of whom to trust, she stood perfectly still,
glancing from one man to the other. Striving for calm, she
examined each of the Dax's, but she couldn't tell any
difference even in their clothing, for both were wearing similar
uniforms and she couldn't recall enough detail about the one
she'd last seen Dax in to know which was which.
She knew Nigel though. Did that mean the one who'd
warned her against him was the clone? Or was it Dax, trying
to protect her in case he was a clone?
Her chin wobbled. "I don't know what to do," she
murmured, unwilling to move in any direction until she was
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certain she wouldn't get Dax killed. She closed her eyes.
"Dax! I love you!"
"I love you, too, Lena."
Lena's eyes popped open. She stared at the man who'd
just spoken as he took a step toward her.
"Move your ass, baby girl!" Dax snarled.
Whirling abruptly, Lena fled toward the man standing atop
the wall. The moment she moved, all three men began to fire.
"Get down!" Dax bellowed as he leapt from the top of the
wall and landed just in front of her.
Lena dove for the floor, closing her eyes as she saw the
broken, uneven bits of stone rushing up to greet her.
Something hot sliced across her arm even as she fell,
seemingly in slow motion, toward the rubble strewn floor. Her
arm gave way as she tried to catch herself with her palms.
Pain seemed to pelt her from every direction at once, her
shoulder, her knees and palms. The worst of it, however, was
pain that exploded in her head as she skidded across the floor
and slammed into something sharp and hard. Blackness
crowded in around her.
Someone grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over. She
heard her name in stereo and opened her eyes with an effort.
Two faces were leaning over her. "I bumped my head," she
murmured, lifting a hand to examine the throbbing area and
finding a knot on her forehead.
"I feel like beating your ass," Dax growled. "Didn't I tell
you to stay in the ship?"
"Try it and I'll knock your head off," Nigel snarled at him.
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"Shut up, Nigel!" Lena murmured, pushing herself upright.
"He's trying to tell me he loves me."
Both men gaped at her, but Dax recovered first, pulling
her to her feet and examining her head and then her arm. "It
doesn't look too bad," he said finally.
"Exactly what is 'bad' in your opinion?" Nigel demanded.
Still wobbly legged, Lena managed to wedge herself
between her brother and Dax. "Actually, I really don't feel at
all well."
She'd barely uttered the last word when Dax scooped her
into his arms and turned to survey the climb. "You can't carry
me and climb up that!" Lena protested.
Apparently Dax agreed. Placing two fingers against his
lower lip, he let out an earsplitting whistle that, within a very
few minutes, had drawn a pack of soldiers to ring the top of
the pit, staring down at them. "Get me a sling to bring her
up!"
She didn't especially like the sound of that, but she knew
Dax could carry her up and she still felt a little dizzy and
disoriented. "Did you kill the clone?" she asked, dropping her
head against his shoulder.
"Nigel did."
Lena looked at her brother in surprise. "How did you know
which one was the clone?"
"It wasn't that difficult, actually," Nigel said dryly. "I knew
the moment Dax started bellowing which was the real
asshole."
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Chapter Thirteen
Lena's head hurt, but it wasn't entirely from the knot she'd
given herself when she dove to try to avoid the laser fire. Dax
and Nigel bristled like two cur dogs every time they looked at
each other.
She had a pretty good feeling she knew why.
Nigel sensed that Dax had done a lot more than just
rescue her, and Dax didn't appreciate Nigel's possessiveness
toward his sister.
"Did you find anyone?" she asked, joining the two men at
the table they'd taken in the rec room of Dax's ship.
Dax shook his head. "Most of the personnel evacked before
the attack."
Lena glanced from Dax to Nigel questioningly.
Nigel shrugged. "I went in to retrieve the data, but I knew
the minute I set eyes on Dax's clone that something wasn't
right. After a while, I realized I'd walked into a trap, but they
weren't after me and they weren't after the data. They
wanted me to lead them back to the base. That's what they
really wanted. As soon as I realized that, I used the code I'd
been given to warn them."
"What data?"
"The memo that everyone's been dying over," Dax
responded, tossing a roll of film onto the table.
Grabbing it up, Lena looked the e-paper over thoroughly
and finally read the message. "My god! This is an order to
replace the Prez!"
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Nigel and Dax exchanged a look. "We should've just gotten
Lena to figure it out for us before."
Lena looked at both of them with a touch of indignation.
"All right. What do you think it means?"
Nigel gave her a sour look. "Exactly what you think it
means."
Mollified, she went back to studying the memo. "You think
this is authentic? I mean, why would they let us get the real
thing?"
"Because it isn't the big boss behind this operation," Dax
said. "It's one of his recruits."
Lena frowned. "Morris?"
Dax's lips thinned. "The informant worked for Quasar Corp.
I don't know how he managed to find his way to Morris, but
he'd run across something that scared the hell out of him.
Fortunately, as scared as he was, his conscience just wouldn't
allow him to destroy it and forget it, so he started asking
some really dangerous questions. When he learned about
Morris' ties to the rebel army, he went to see him. He didn't
particularly trust Morris either, though, and he didn't take the
memo with him when he went, wouldn't even tell Morris what
it was all about—only that it was something that was tied to
the rumors about clones.
"That's why Morris was so upset when he found out you'd
been to Quasar Corp, because the minute the guy contacted
him, Morris contacted me to nose around and see what I
could find out about the informant. And it didn't take long to
find out where he worked."
Lena frowned. "You mean the guy was in on it?"
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Nigel shook his head. "I don't think so. He was just a
bookkeeper. I think the memo got mixed in with some of the
work he was sent to pick up. An accident that ended up
costing him his life—but it probably would've when they
discovered the memo was missing and tracked it back to him
whether he'd done anything or not."
"Why didn't they just retrieve it then?"
"Because the guy had led them to Morris, and it didn't take
them long to connect the dots between Morris and the leader
of the rebels—Dax."
Lena sent Dax a startled glance.
"Claxton, the head of Quasar Corp, probably decided that
it would look a lot better to go to the big boss with the
information that he'd tracked down the headquarters of the
rebels and destroyed it instead of having to tell him that he'd
gotten sloppy and let dangerous information out."
"That still doesn't mean that this memo is the one the guy
found."
"No. There is a way to be sure though," Dax said.
Lena and Nigel both turned to stare at him. "How?"
"We have a pretty good idea of which gov officials have
been replaced. If we can connect any of the known clones
with Quasar Corp and the big boss, then we can be pretty
damned sure we're on the right track. You said yourself that
Cameron Mitchell was probably our guy. And he sure as hell
fits the profile. He doesn't owe his office to elections. His
branch of the gov is more secretive than the CIA, and as
heavily protected as the national treasury. From where I'm
sitting it seems to me that he has more power and more
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money at his disposal than anyone else in the gov ... probably
in the world."
"Yes, but ... I was just guessing. I don't know anything for
sure. We couldn't just kill the man because we think he might
be the one. And he doesn't control the money. He has nothing
to do with where it goes after it's collected."
"Unless he's replaced everybody that might call him to
account. And the memo certainly seems to indicate that."
Nigel stroked his chin thoughtfully. "We'll have to move
fast. The big boss is bound to hear about all of this before
much longer."
"As far as Claxton knows, he wiped out the rebel base—
and the leak. He knows by now that the ships he sent to
attack the base were destroyed, but he doesn't know, yet,
that the base had been evacuated before hand. That'll buy us
some time to hack into the security system at base beta and
see what we can see about the head of the IRS."
* * * *
Lena glanced at her watch as she settled in the chair
across from the receptionist. There were two applicants in
front of her and she couldn't help but worry that he'd decide
on one of them and terminate the interviews, or decide to
wait until after lunch to finish up with interviews. After sitting
for a few minutes, she got up and asked the receptionist
where the ladies room was.
The woman gestured with her pen toward a door down the
corridor. "If he calls you and you aren't here you probably
won't get another chance for an interview."
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Lena didn't try to hide her dismay. "It won't take me but a
few minutes, but I get nervous about interviews."
The woman shrugged.
Moving quickly down the corridor, Lena ducked into the
ladies room. After a quick check to make sure all of the stalls
were empty, she moved to the waste receptacle, pulled the
liner out and bent down to retrieve the pistol at the bottom.
Shoving it into the purse she carried slung over her shoulder,
she replaced the bag and headed out again.
The reception area was empty of other applicants when
Lena returned. "Has he called me yet?"
The woman shook her head. Breathing a sigh of relief,
Lena returned to the seat she'd claimed before. Outwardly,
she felt sure she didn't display any more jitters than might be
expected of someone about to do an interview. Inwardly, she
felt sick to her stomach with nerves.
I can do this, she told herself for the hundredth time.
"Ms. Brinson?"
Lena jumped when it suddenly dawned on her that the
receptionist was speaking to her.
"You can go in now."
Lena's heart seemed to leap right out of her chest and into
her throat. Nodding a little jerkily, she straightened her skirt
and headed toward the door the woman had indicated.
Another woman came out as she reached it. Catching the
door before it closed, Lena went in and stood nervously near
the door.
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The man behind the desk didn't look like a monster, but
then that was the trouble with monsters. They so rarely
looked like what they actually were.
"Have a seat," he said pleasantly.
Lena sat, more because her knees felt as weak as water
than because she wanted to. Lifting a film from his desk, the
man settled to studying her resume as if he had never seen it
before.
Lena focused on trying to breathe easy and steady her
nerves.
He'd just dropped the film to his desk and turned to speak
to her when the alarm Lena had been waiting for went off.
Attention! Attention! This is not a drill. This is not a drill.
There is a bomb in the building. Please proceed to the nearest
exit and leave the building in an orderly fashion as quickly as
possible.
A breathless hush seemed to fall over the entire building.
Lena counted to three and reached into her purse as she rose
from her chair. Almost at the same instant, bedlam cut loose
beyond the walls of Cameron Mitchell's office. The sound of
stampeding feet rose to a deafening roar.
Lena leveled the pistol at Mitchell as he surged out of his
chair.
He stared at it blankly.
"For crimes against humanity," Lena said coldly, pointing
the pistol directly at the man's chest and pulling the trigger.
The blast caught him directly in the heart, stopping it
instantly. His mouth gaped. He clasped his hands to his chest
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and fell back into his chair, staring at Lena as his eyes slowly
glazed.
Feeling ill and faint, Lena stepped up to the desk and
looked at him. "That was for everybody you've murdered you
cold blooded bastard!" Taking aim at his head, she issued the
coupe de grace. "And that was for Morris!" she added,
controlling the wobble in her chin with an effort.
She'd scarcely fired the second shot when the window
behind Mitchell's desk exploded inward, showering the room
with glass. Instinctively, Lena threw her hands up to protect
herself. When she peered between her fingers, she saw Dax
standing over Mitchell, checking for a pulse. When he turned
to look at her, his lips curled into a slow grin. "You are the
most amazing woman, Lena Marie," he murmured, holding his
arm out to her.
Relieved beyond measure to see him, Lena hurried to him,
throwing her arms around his neck.
"Hold tight, baby girl," he murmured as he tightened his
arms around her and moved back toward the window he'd
entered.
Lena closed her eyes as the pulley yanked both of them
through the window, gasping to catch her breath as they
swung back and forth forty stories above the ground.
By the time they were finally hauled through the airlock,
Lena was quaking like a leaf, half frozen from the 'ride'.
Unhooking his harness from the pulley as soon as they
were on the ship, Dax strode to the com unit. "We're in. Kick
it in the ass before they figure out we aren't a rescue unit!"
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Apparently the pilot took the order to heart. The ship's
rockets fired and the ship shot forward so fast Lena and Dax
both nearly ended up in the floor. When he'd steadied the two
of them, he hit the com unit again. "Rodriguez, you smart
ass!"
Uttering something midway between a cough and a
chuckle, Rodriquez responded innocently, "Yes, sir, captain
sir!"
"When you hit the ten mile marker, lay down fire."
Slipping his arm around her waist, Dax walked Lena across
the hanger deck and then guided her up the tube to the
bridge. Rodriguez threw a grin over his shoulder as they
reached the deck. "Top to bottom? Or bottom to top?"
"Top to bottom," Dax responded promptly.
"You heard the man," Rodriguez said into his headset.
"Take it down."
As they watched the vid screen, two missiles shot from
somewhere beneath their view and straight toward the
building they'd just left. Another pair followed closely behind
the first two, and then a half a dozen more, spaced as the
first were. The first two impacted with the top of the building,
demolishing it instantly. The crowd below the building
scattered for cover. The second two hit three floors below,
blasting debris in every direction and the top settled.
"We've got company," Rodriguez announced as the third
and fourth pair impacted with the building.
"Then it's time to go," Dax said. "They sub orbital. Take us
out beyond their range."
He glanced down at Lena. "Are you all right?"
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She couldn't help but smile. "Yes."
Catching her hand, he led her back to the tube. "I think
you should let Mel have a look at you."
She thought it over. "No, really, I'm all right."
He frowned, but he didn't press her any further. Without
another word, he started down the tube. Lena watched him a
moment and climbed after him.
He stepped off when he reached the crew level, slipping an
arm around her waist and walking with her to his cabin.
"Is it over?" Lena wondered out loud, amazed that in the
end, it had been so easy.
Dax glanced at her. "I doubt we're completely out of the
woods yet. We'll have to track down his network and shut it
down."
When they'd reached his cabin, Lena moved into his arms,
wrapping her arms around his waist. He stroked her back
soothingly. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Mmmhmm."
"I shouldn't have let you talk me in to letting you go in
there."
She pulled away to look up at him. "I needed to go.
Besides, you wouldn't have gotten past the front door."
He shrugged, but didn't argue the point. Instead he pulled
her close again. "We could've found an assassin—a trained
assassin."
"I really am going to be ok with this," Lena murmured.
"I'm not nearly as delicate as you and Nigel seem to think."
"Maybe not, baby girl, but killing is something a lot of
people have a problem with, no matter the provocation."
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"Morris is dead because of that man. Hundreds, maybe
thousands more than that. All I feel is relief that he can't do
that to anybody else."
His arms tightened around her. "I'm thinking about
retiring," he said tentatively.
Lena pulled away and looked up at his face. "Seriously?"
"Very seriously."
A smile curled her lips. "Where are we retiring to?"
He stared at her for several moments and finally swallowed
thickly. "You'd go with me?"
"Where ever," she said promptly.
He drew in a ragged breath. "I love you, Lena Marie."
"I know."
He chuckled. "Just I know?"
"I already told you I loved you," she reminded him with a
smile. "And you said, 'move your ass, baby girl!' That's when
I knew you loved me, too."
The End
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