Angel And The Flying Warhorses
By
Jacki Bentley
(c) Copyright February 2006, Jacki Bentley
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, (c) Copyright February 2006
Published by new Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
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.
My thanks to my editors at New Concepts, Andrea and Jeri, and to the talented cover artist, Jenny.
Thank you to all my struggling writer friends, don’t give up. Special thanks to Becky Barker, Amber Green, Tony Leland, Janet Lynnford, Robin D. Owens, Kim Terry and Sherry of RWA’s Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal group.
Special acknowledgement to Stephen Hawking’s book, A Brief History of Time. Any mistakes are my own.
Chapter One
Olandian medical ship
Dandrovia moon
434 years after the colonization of Olandia
Angeni Traek looked out the Sanctuary’s porthole window into the night and waited. She’d heard a man’s shout of frustration and pain. Telepathically.
Her head still ached with the sound echoes.
“Missing the children, Prime Healer?”
Angeni jumped, startled by the voice from behind her.
She turned to see Sidra, the medical ship’s new-tech, humanoid office robot. Sidra referred to her work with genetically injured children.
“Always,” she said. Why trouble Sidra with the whole truth, that she’d heard a wounded man’s shout. That she knew he was on his way to them now.
“I’m sure the little ones are in good hands on Olandia.” Sidra took pride in knowing the details of the staff’s lives.
“Yes, they’re fine. Fine. I check in by holovid often.”
“Excellent.”
“A world without children has little hope for the future,” Angeni mused.
Sidra’s gaze followed hers outward. “Dandrovia moon was chosen for its convenient nexus in Alliance space. An efficient port for Sanctuary. Not it’s hope for the future.”
“True,” Angeni agreed. The temporary home to their hospital ship was stark, a landscape of rocks and little more.
“The duration of your volunteering on the Sanctuary nears an end. You will be free to return home.”
“Yes.”
“You must rest now.”
Angeni shook her head slowly. “No. A rescue shuttle just flew into port.” Deep under the moon’s surface, were tracks for launching and landing hyperspeed ships. Dandrovia’s beacons lit the entries cut in the rocks just enough that she could see the shuttle.
Sidra’s eyes flashed alarm. “You are positive?”
“The markings were clear--”
“Your replacement should be here. You are much too tired for more work tonight. I will find....” Sidra rushed down the corridor, her movements quick and agitated. Angeni turned to watch her leave.
Alert sirens blared. Just as Angeni expected. And dreaded. She closed her eyes a moment. Determined, she faced the entrance squarely, her white robes floated about her legs as she turned.
The doors swooshed open. A medical robot with angular features, older technology than Sidra, stepped through the door. No attempt at human looks had been made with him. He moved with an awkward and lumbering gait. An integrated medical stretcher cantilevered behind him.
Isak, a young technician, rode a platform at the rear. Lights indicated the machine worked to stabilize an unconscious patient.
The man she’d heard.
“This one’s bad, Prime Healer Angeni, real bad,” Isak said, his expression tense and pained. “Won’t make it.” He lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes darkened by sadness. “He’s Alliance Guard.”
She glanced sharply to Isak, then back to the patient. She checked the prone man’s vitals, recalibrating the robot just to be sure. Her fingers flew over the control pad. Fatigue was forgotten as adrenaline flooded her bloodstream. The wounded man’s dark hair was matted, his handsome face abraded and cut.
“Alliance Guard? How--”
“A special operations team chasing smugglers in the swamps of Gandos tonight.”
The Sanctuary did not treat many of the Guard. More often their opposition.
“We owe the Guard a great debt,” she whispered.
“Sure do,” Isak said with great admiration. He automatically adjusted the angle of the gurney. “Guard slips in and out most anywhere unnoticed. Keep the bad guys under control.”
“Yes.”
“He’s too still and pale,” Isak said.
“Internal bleeding. What time did this happen?” But she knew. She’d looked at her chronometer when she’d first heard this man’s shout.
Isak gave her the approximate time. Right. She calculated how much time she had to find the bleeding and stop it. She must hurry.
“Almost didn’t find him. The swamp mud would’ve sucked him down soon. Then even this pretty chunk of deplex here couldn’t have dragged him out.” The tech gave a flat-handed pat to the machine.
“Did he fall?” she asked.
“Judging from the position of his one-man floater--crashed to bits against a rock ledge above him, I’d say--yes.”
“Can we raise the tourniquet pressure?” She could well imagine the damage the newest illegal weapons the smugglers used could cause, even without a direct hit. “The damage must be reversed.”
“Sure.”
“Quick. I’ll do the chest. You the legs.”
The tech rushed to do as she asked. She watched his actions and duplicated them. Usually best to leave the machines to the tech, but she could not afford the courtesy today.
Her patient was large size with proud bearing. She touched his arm, feeling for his pulse. Against all odds, at the pressure of her hand, his eyes flashed open. He jerked, pulling against the restraints holding him to the gurney. He twisted his hand from her grasp and grabbed her forearm. The heat of his touch flowed through her.
Who … are you?
Angeni gasped at the words, not spoken in the conventional way. The broken sentence in a rumbling masculine voice lingered in her mind. The same voice she heard earlier. She glanced over to the tech to be sure. Busy at his task, Isak showed no sign of hearing anything.
The man on the gurney looked down to where he held her arm in his tight grasp. Her hands trembled.
Pretty as an angel. Golden hair and amber eyes.
The power of his penetrating masculine gaze shocked her. Slowly, his thick-lashed, dark blue eyes closed once again. His hand dropped from her arm.
She tried for an answering telepathic message. She struggled to find a pathway to reach his thoughts again.
Hang on for me. “Hang on,” she whispered aloud.
May the Founder’s Saints help her, she’d only communicated this way with animals. His brain waves … infrasonic waves or whatever she received, were jagged, more complex and threadier than any she’d ever experienced. No doubt the axons carrying the brain impulses from neuron to neuron were stretched by the trauma of concussion, garbling the messages yet making them more intense.
You spoke in my head, Angel. His words held a measure of natural disbelief.
Never mind that now.
Dying.
Just hang on to your life a little longer. Please. So we can help you. She continued to struggle to communicate, I sense your strength. You must tell me where you’re hurt. You can do it. She made an effort to pour strength and energy to him along the psychic pathway. She’d heard legends of primitive practitioners who used telepathy to heal and to ease pain. To her surprise, she felt a drain. Her mind was on fire now. She rubbed her painful temples.
Can’t. Don’t know how. He tried to smile.
She smoothed the man’s forehead, brushing back the long black hair, being careful to avoid his cuts. You must.
The tech was observing her behavior with a wary look.
With the return of her touch, the guard’s pulse grew steadier on the monitor. Good. She felt the urge to pat the ugly machine herself as Isak had done seconds ago. In all ways, the machine was better at this work than a fallible healer, especially one with too little sleep. Time. Time was their enemy.
However, many things the robot could not do. Angeni’s stomach grew tight as she felt uncertainty and doubt swamp her, the like of which she had not felt since the early days of medical training.
“Do your job, Prime Healer,” she said aloud, clasping her own hand at his wrist to stop its tremor.
“The guardsman’s good as gone, ma’am,” the tech said. “Even my robot buddy here can’t save him now. Look at the vitals drop. Blasted shame, terrible waste. Nuisance smugglers.”
Angeni shook her head again. “No,” she growled. Hang on, Guardsman. Can you hear me? You cannot die. No. By the Founders’ God above us ... I won’t allow it. “I won’t allow it,” she whispered.
“Yes, ma’am,” the tech answered, his puzzlement showing on his face.
As if at her words, the guard’s vital signs improved. Angeni stiffened her posture. She could keep talking to him in this fashion if needed. Anything to keep him alive.
She leaned close. “I will not let you go.”
My heart. He answered her question at last. Something damn big is leaking, Angel.
Angeni exhaled a sigh of great relief. He’d just made her job easier, possible even. Thank you. You’ve helped more than you can know.
This man would not see real angels tonight, if she could prevent it.
Chapter Two
Four hours later, Angeni completed the last fine sutures. All sources of the guardsman’s bleeding had been dealt with. She placed both hands on the gurney and leaned in for momentary support, then dropped her head.
Her replacement, Healer Froton Warrick, a man of more brag than healing skills stared at her from across the robotic table.
“I must admit you gave this man a chance at life, Angeni,” he said with grudging stiffness.
She cringed at his use of her first name in such a familiar way.
Warrick patted his fine blonde hair into place.
“I must say, I was impressed when you went right for his heart,” he went on, not at all bothered that she had not spoken. “This barbarian’s extreme fitness masked the leak. Most physicians would not have suspected. If any of us have the true mystical powers of a primitive healer, it might be you.”
“Thank you, Healer Warrick.” She knew he was not sincere in his rare praise.
She took the controls of the gurney robot once again.
“Call a tech,” Warrick said in disgust, his hand stilling her arm, the pressure of his fingers hurt. She jerked away and kept going.
“You waste your time,” he called after her.
As she came through the doors, Isak, who had apparently waited by Sidra’s desk, turned and started toward her. “How is he, Healer? How’s our guard?” He looked down to the patient. “They’re saying you saved him.”
“He’s stable for now, Isak.” She grinned at him tiredly. “I thank you for the help of your gurney bot. You keep this machine in superior order.” She swayed a bit.
“Let me help you, ma’am. I’ll settle him in his room.”
“Yes, thank you. I’ll go with you.”
He raised a brow, then nodded.
Sidra joined them, striding along behind, fussing. “You must rest, Prime Healer. You are pale and weak.”
“Thank you for your concern. Could you have a sleeping cot brought to his room for me?”
The bot stopped and shook her head. “Highly irregular.”
“Yes, it is indeed, but you can do it, correct?” Angeni tried for her best bossy tone and stare.
Sidra inclined her head formally, looking oddly wounded that her sound advice was ignored. “Healer Warrick will complain.”
“Let him.”
“Isak, we’ll take him to the room with the atrium windows and garden.”
Sidra stopped again. “Oh, but that room is reserved for influential people, Alliance chancellors, dignitaries,” she said.
“An Alliance guardsman is influential enough to keep us all alive,” Angeni snapped.
“Of course he is, Prime Healer. Of course. As you say.” Sidra agreed, humoring her no doubt.
In the large room, she and Isak shifted their patient to the bed with a lifting help from the bot. The hospital bed was much larger, but matched Isak’s robot in many ways. The footboard was an integrated life-support monitor. The bed foam would keep his circulation at peak. The next twenty-four hours would be long ones for the guardsman. Providing the illusion of a garden, a holo display was accented with a smattering of real plants and flowers.
* * * *
A few hours later, sleeping lightly on the cot, Angeni was awakened by the guardsman’s restless motion. In spite of his restraints, he systematically tried to free himself of his tubes and leads.
“Stop. You must not do that.” He persisted. Desperate, she tried a mental communication. No. You cannot do that. You will harm yourself. “You will undo all my hard work,” she whispered. At her words, he relaxed and fell back to sleep.
After the third repetition of the restlessness and her reassurance, she simply moved from her cot and lay down beside him and held him close. He must stay quiet. The fragile equipment would not withstand his relentless assaults. She’d never experienced a patient so determined to escape.
“Your first time in a hospital, hmmm?” she whispered before falling asleep again. She thought she heard, ever so faint in her mind. Angel.
***
Two days later, Angeni stood by the guardsman’s hospital bed as he slept. The monitor lights were steady and normal now. The restraints at his arms were more comfortable than the ones on the gurney. He tested them all the same.
You must be still.
The man tolerated his pain well. Her heart twisted and she smiled. He did not even moan in his sleep. He merely tried to evade the restraints and medical equipment with persistent determination.
Even now, he flexed his arms. And his legs were often moving, even in sleep. She stepped closer and covered his hand with her own. Just as on the first night and every time since, her presence and mental communications soothed him when pain meds did not.
She took his large hand in hers. I’m here with you, Garek. Captain Sahnjun. Sleep. She knew his name now. She’d read it from the identification information on a records device.
He seemed to go quiet and breathe easier, listening.
Not even his Alliance team had been in to see him. The rumor was they were still fighting desperately in the swamps.
Her heart told their telepathic connection meant something earth shaking. Her practical nature urged sensible caution.
“Love is truest, when known at first sight,” she whispered, quoting the scholar Venforin, who lived over one hundred years after the loss of Olandia’s ship. She smiled at her whimsy, settling into the chair across from him to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Reassured he was well, Angeni began to go over her files.
“Get some rest, Healer.” The masculine voice pulled her attention from the records. She raised her eyes to the man in the bed across from her. Heavens, he’d turned his head and was staring at her. His alert blue-eyed gaze was a powerful thing to see, like the blue ice on the Snow Mountains of Clarine.
“Every time I’ve awakened, you’ve been here. Do you not sleep?” He paused and frowned thoughtfully. “Or, was I dreaming?”
She dropped her eyes and fussed with the work in her lap, embarrassed to be found out. “No, you weren’t dreaming, Captain. I did not realize you were awake during the past two days.”
“Garek, call me Garek. I was awake at times. Barely. In and out. Many details are less than clear.”
“How do you feel?”
“Sore as hell,” he answered, his gaze still fiercely watching her.
She smiled. “I’m sure you understate the matter.”
“I do,” he admitted with a flashing grin of white, even teeth. He sucked in a breath as if the movement of the smile was too much. He kicked the sheet off his leg in frustration, then groaned in pain.
Stubborn-headed male. A handsome leg it was, all muscled and sprinkled nicely with masculine hair. She looked away.
“You must be still.”
“I figured that out.”
Tears of joy gathered behind her eyes at the knowledge he was well enough to speak to her at last. More--she was overjoyed his words made good sense, no memory loss. There were no lingering problems from his head injury.
“Did you sing to me, Angel?” he asked softly, his eyes piercing her.
Her cheeks flushed. “Um … yes, well, a little....”
“Beautiful. Haunting. Brought to mind pastures and water, soothing places.” He looked embarrassed to have revealed as much.
She touched her throat with a fluttering hand. “Yes, well … good then.” She brought her hands to her lap and clasped them together. The Aldorian healing chants her mother taught her were not a part of the normal repertoire for an Olandian scientist and physician. If he mentioned this to the staff, it might lead to uncomfortable questions.
“What is your real name?” he asked.
“Angeni,” she answered automatically.
He chuckled. Then winced in pain.
“If I am not mistaken, Angeni means angel in some language. So, your parents sensed your true nature as I did, hmmm, Angel?”
She just stared for a moment, helpless, fascinated. “Yes. The original language of the name is lost in history, but not the meaning. Celestial, guardian being.” It suddenly struck her that she missed hearing his thoughts today. Would he bring up the subject of their mental communication? Would he even remember it?
His voice sounded every bit the same as the telepathic communication they’d shared. She would have recognized it anywhere. She’d known she could not have imagined such a wonderfully masculine attribute. She should not be so surprised its timbre caressed her body when he laughed. Or, that it matched the one in her mind so perfectly, but she was surprised and overjoyed.
“Where are you from, Captain?” She made a desperate effort to return her mind to a professional footing. His steely gaze caught hers and held as a pause lengthened. She wondered if he’d answer her.
“Clothoes planet. One of the ancients, an ocean planet.”
He’d pronounced it Klotoes.
“A natural planet then?”
He smiled a weak and lop-sided grin. “All too natural at times, I’m afraid, Healer. Far different from your sterile and climate-controlled Olandia. Ceremonies on horseback. Feudal domains. Cave-dwellings. Ancient swords, leather leggings. The primitive works.”
Her pride smarted some at the designation of Olandia as sterile, but it was the truth. “Clothoes has a glorious history, I’m sure. I shall try to remember from my school days. Clothoes is matriarchal in political structure, is it not?”
He lifted his head. “Right, women rule Clothoes. Being a woman, the women ruling the world part would interest you.” He smiled with the words.
“A fascinating adaptive development to be sure,” she said. “The women hold all official positions?”
“Not all. Most.” He grinned before continuing, “Men control the dirty jobs like security and sanitation.”
“That seems unfair.”
He inclined his head in agreement with her statement. “Clothoes is far from modern.”
“Clothoes is wealthy because of the frugal nature of her women.” He dropped his head to the wedge-shaped, adjustable pillow. “Saints, I’m tired.”
“Yes, the effort of speaking has tired you. It’s enough to start. We’ll get you up and around tomorrow. You will be fine now.” Relief flooded her and she smiled.
Like it when you smile, he communicated as he closed his eyes.
Chapter Three
A few days later, Garek rested in the atrium. He ached from a grueling physical therapy session just completed.
A tech walked in, a man with the build of youth.
“How are you, Captain?” he asked.
“Good, thanks.” No need to trouble the man with a list of his aches and pains.
“Name’s Isak.” The other man offered his hand. He took it. The younger man’s handshake was firm and confident.
“I brought you in, sir. Just wanted to check on you. First time I’ve been back to Dandrovia in days.”
“Good to meet you, Isak. The staff told me about you. Said no one else could have dragged me out of there. Said the improvements you’ve made to your gurney bot played a big part. You’re a legend here.”
“They exaggerate.” The kid looked down at his shoes.
Garek laughed harshly. “I was there, remember?”
“Indeed, you were, sir.” Isak laughed with him and folded his hands behind his back in a formal stance. “I sure thought you were gone, Captain. Still can’t say how Prime Healer Traek managed to bring you back to the living. Good thing her replacement was late and she was still on duty that night.” He grinned sheepishly. “It was like she was waiting for you.”
Garek pondered that. Could the paranormal link they shared cause her to anticipate his dire need? Not much would surprise him now.
“I’m sure you saw the condition of my floater?” he asked, changing the subject. He didn’t want to think about his unusual connection to the healer right now.
“Not much left of it, sir.”
“Not surprising. Blasted it out from under me with a Zoni laser.”
The tech gasped. “New tech. That explains a lot. Damn wonder you’re alive, sir.”
“Yes.”
“They say the healer still watches out for you.”
Garek grimaced. He suspected the kid had half a crush on Angeni, judging from the light in his eyes. “Nags me to rest. Then she nags me to keep moving with the same single-mindedness of a Blemian turtle headed for the sea.”
Isak laughed. “I suppose she does.” He looked around him. “Never been in this atrium before. It’s nice. Makes a person feel alive.
“Yes.”
“The healer insisted we settle you in the room off the atrium.”
“Against the rules for just anyone?”
“Yes sir, a few rules were bent to put you in here.”
“I wondered how I earned such a prime spot.”
“The healer says Olandia makes a good trade with the Alliance, med services for protection. She appreciates your value as a Guardsman.”
Garek nodded, not sure he wanted the woman’s gratitude.
“What do you know of the Alliance’s progress on Gandos, Isak?”
“They’re nearing completion of the mission, I hear. Making legends of themselves, fighting back a triad of Aldorian warlords.”
“Aldorian?” Garek sat up straighter in his chair. He pictured the ship he’d gotten a glimpse of that night, an artist’s rendering of three white horses, in hitch, on the side. An old mother earth symbol, for a Triad alliance. His head injury must have wiped it from his memory until now.
“Right.”
“Too far from their usual territory. Aldorian involvement explains why smugglers would have expensive laser weapons.”
“Not normal smugglers. I guess the Alliance knows better now. The Aldorians fight among themselves these days. For women and resources, like wild dogs for scraps. Old blood-alliances are broken, new ones forming. This Triad is a new link. They say the young Reihl Samaras is one of the three.”
“I’ve heard of him.”
At that moment, Sidra bustled in, fussing and posturing at Garek’s being disturbed. Garek noticed the robot was strangely pretty. Something did not ring right to his Alliance guard instincts. She bent to set down a tray and he saw it. A pulse beat at her neck.
“You will not disturb the Captain, Isak,” she ordered, her tone stern.
Garek shook his head. The bot, the woman, rather, meant well. Hard to keep it in mind at times like this. “Isak’s just keeping me company. No harm done.” Why a human would hide as a bot was a mystery, but it would not be the first time he’d heard of the deception. He would have the Alliance investigators look into her history.
“You still need your rest.”
Angeni came through the atrium’s arch, her robes floating with her graceful steps. “She’s right, Captain. Don’t overdo it, Isak. It’s so good to see you.”
Garek thought the healer looked especially lovely today, different from the polished look of Sidra. To him, she was more sexual and earthy. Just to his taste.
She carried herself with an elegance that could not be taught. The flowing white robes with gold braid added to the effect.
Sunlight bounced and played in her golden hair. A flyer’s hell, he was thinking like a poet. He loved to watch her as the day progressed. First a few tendrils of her hair would escape, then they became curling coils by shift’s end. She hardly noticed as she caught them behind her ears.
He must guard his thoughts. Her gift for telepathy could reveal to her the fact that he saw her as more than his healer.
“Prime Healer. Good to see you too.” Isak nodded in deference.
“Our patient is well, is he not?” she asked.
“It’s amazing he made it at all, ma’am. Amazing,” Isak agreed, smiling broadly. “You’re a talented healer, I admit.”
As Isak and Angeni chatted, and Sidra fussed about tidying the atrium of dropped leaves, Garek thought about what Isak said of the Triad. One Aldorian warlord was vicious but three in an alliance could be deadly. The presence of an Alliance officer on the Sanctuary would be a lure to any warlord trying to earn a respected kill. It was time for him to move on. He would not jeopardize the healer’s life. Or anyone else’s.
* * * *
The next morning, Garek hurriedly gathered his few possessions. Sidra paced the room, berating him for leaving too soon.
He sighed in frustration. “Robot wouldn’t need a chrono.”
That got her attention. She stared at him for a moment, expression blank, then she looked to the timepiece she had on her wrist, carefully hidden with her sleeve.
He went on, “There’s usually a display behind a bot’s eye.”
“That could prove most handy.”
He watched her. “Why do you hide?”
She shrugged. “Aldorian males are too plentiful,” she said, not bothering to lie.
He nodded his understanding. “In order to outnumber their enemy, they’ve selected for male births for years. Finally realizing women are thin on the ground, hmmm?”
“I have no wish to be a warbride.”
“Isak tells me Aldorians fight each other--near here. Led by the prince, Reihl Samaras.”
Her hand went to her throat. All pretence of mechanical movements gone now. Her eyes turned fierce. “You were fighting Aldorians and not smugglers?”
“Yes, apparently. Didn’t get a good look at them.”
“Samaras is here for me,” she whispered.
“Or me.”
“Yes. He … they will come for both of us. You’re right; you must go quickly. And I shall leave right away. The hospital will be safer without us here.”
“I hear Healer Traek goes back to Olandia soon. Go with her. You can hide safely there. Guard her.”
“I wouldn’t endanger her?”
“Even Aldorians respect Olandia Colony. Most of the time. You’ll both be safer there.”
The buzzer at his door interrupted.
“It would be for the best,” she agreed.
“Enter,” he said in answer to the polite knock at the door.
Angeni threw open the door and strode in. “This is madness--,” she said. “You are not ready to leave.”
“Good morning, Prime Healer. I will leave you to speak to your patient,” Sidra said.
Angeni gasped through her teeth. Garek was in a full-dress Alliance uniform. Heavens, he was a handsome man with his dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes. And strong, broad shoulders and muscled hips and legs. His facial features were most compelling of all.
She forced her wayward concentration away from the man. “Sidra what is the matter?” Angeni asked. “You look troubled. Is there an emergency?”
“No. I’m trying to talk the captain out of leaving. That’s all. I will leave you to speak to him.”
When the door closed behind Sidra, Angeni said, “I always forget she’s a machine.”
“She’s very life-like,” he agreed.
“She seems agitated.”
“You’re very insightful, Healer. All is not as it seems with Sidra.”
She inclined her head. “I will keep that in mind.”
“Good.”
“As to you, you mustn’t leave here. It’s only one week after surgery and you’re up and around, walking much better than should be expected but....”
He nodded.
“The Guard officials have shown an uncommon interest in your condition. There have been many queries in recent days.”
“I regret I’ve caused you extra work,” he said.
“I did not mean that. Besides, there have been few other patients in the past days, and none with battle injuries. Whatever you and your team did in that swamp has lightened the workload of the Sanctuary considerably.”
He glanced at her. “Good to hear it.”
“You are determined to go today?”
Her strong attraction to him had yet to diminish as she’d hoped it would. If anything, it had deepened. Her crazy heart hurt that he could leave her.
His only response to her question now was finally a brief nod of acknowledgement.
She must face the fact that he did not reciprocate the deep attachment she felt for him. In the past few days, he’d treated her with respectful distance and cool eyes. She admired his courage and work ethic in facing his first painful walk about the hospital.
Now she waited for him to speak. He lifted his head from the task of collecting his meager belongings, the clothing the Alliance Guard had sent him. He turned, pinned her with his deep blue eyes.
“I would stop you if I could,” Angeni spoke, with too much truth.
“Ma’am?” he asked, soft and firm with a bit of a growl in the words.
Heavens, she could hate it when he spoke so formally. She looked down to her toes, unable to hold his bold, questioning stare. Then she stuck her chin out and tried again, with more success. Angeni searched his eyes, and then waved a hand in search of reason. Her body was alive with her need of him. Most distracting and unprofessional. Even painful.
“Healer--”
“Captain--”
They spoke at once.
“Perhaps you do not realize how severe your injuries were?”
“I--”
She looked at his records device, which she held in her hand. “You may feel fine now. But you will need months to recover, I assure you. At least another week under the care we can provide here.” She could call security and see to it they made him go back to bed. Even as the thought formed, she knew she could not do that to his male pride.
“I’ve invested too much in you. Too much … work,” she said briskly.
She forced herself to go on, “In surgery, I repaired both of your kidneys, patched up your stomach in too many small spots to count. So much trauma.” She sought calmness, hoping to make him see reason. “All the while fighting time and blood loss.” She’d called on every healing technique she knew. Even the ancient Aldorian prayer chants her mother had taught her, so many years ago, that she barely remembered them. And to her surprise the chants had assisted her. Somehow.
“So Isak, and everyone else, tells me,” he agreed. “I was in the by-blast of a Zoni laser, I realize I would not be alive if not for your excellent skills as a physician of the Olandian Prime Order.”
She stared, wondering what happened to the man who had talked to her in soft whispers as she’d sat in the chair by his bed.
She spoke past a lump forming in her throat, “Your injuries could pull free of the nanotube stitching matrix and bleed with too much movement.”
His expression was grim as he sought her eyes with his. “Healer, I appreciate all you’ve done for me. Please thank your staff.”
“You could thank them yourself,” she snapped.
His eyes sought hers. “I regret I do not have the time to thank them all.”
“I have not completed the adjustment on your knee joint. It takes time to tweak,” she continued, not waiting for a response, trying again to make him see the logic of the issue. That’s what a good healer should do. Not scream in frustration, or stamp her foot in disgust. She brushed back her hair. Garek was not listening to her. Angry and at the edge of desperation, for the first time in days, she tried for a telepathic message. You must not leave.
“I’ll get the adjustments done later.”
“Your injury will cause you chronic pain if you don’t.”
“Look, Healer, I don’t mean to appear ungrateful for all you’ve done for me,” he said. He reached out a hand to her, but dropped it back to his side abruptly. “I’m aware you saved my life.”
She closed her eyes, relishing that he had called her by her name. “In some cultures a life saved is a life owned,” she whispered. Heavens, she had not meant to say that.
He stared at her, hard. His eyes burned into hers. “Would you want to own a man? In some worlds men are owned by their women.”
Her face flushed. “Yes, well … no. I mean, no, I would not own a man.” She was unable to hold his stare.
Garek exhaled, gathering his jagged thoughts. His heart pounded so hard in this woman’s presence, that he had no blood in his brain. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. By the Fire in space, it was there again. The feeling of being pulled into her orbit.
Her lovely face haunted him.
Her feminine scent drew him.
The force between them sparked and crackled each time they were together. Every day it grew stronger. He imagined he could see it, worse, feel it like a living, gossamer flame against his most sensitive skin.
Somehow he knew the shape of her body, as if he’d reached out and touched her, pulling her to him and holding her close in the night. At the thought of it, his hands shook and his heart thudded in an alarming rhythm.
From the first moment, he’d felt this woman’s essence in his gut, curling around his insides, making a home.
Her words, flashing through his head, from the moment he’d encountered her as he was dying, added to his unease and searing awareness of her as a woman. He had no time to try to understand it all. Not with Aldorian warlords hovering nearby.
Hell, she was right; he hurt all over from his wounds. He wanted nothing more than to fall back into the bed. But he had to leave this place, this woman. Now, or he sensed he never would.
Besides the danger he could bring down upon her if he stayed one more day, he suspected he could never return to the fiancée his clan expected and needed him to wed if he stayed another day. He winced.
“What is it? You’re in pain?” she asked.
He shook his head and gritted his teeth. “Nothing.”
She paced before him, restless and watchful. Angry with him. He couldn’t get her scent from his mind. Control. He fought for control. He was not fool enough to think another healer could’ve saved him. He suspected she was as much mystical healer as physician.
“You must allow me to assist you back to the bed.” She stepped closer. “Now.” She took his arm and the fire of her touch caused an instant masculine reaction.
He clenched his fists. His rights were tied to his home world and his people. A reluctant fiancée waited for him there.
Garek drew in a deep breath. He reached out to stroke the woman’s puzzled face. She closed her lovely eyes and leaned into his palm. That small movement stopped his breathing. He stroked the shell of her dainty ear. Amazingly soft. She moaned softly. He spread his hand at the back of her head and drew her closer.
Eyes on her lips.
She took another step to him.
A good sign.
He touched her lips with his. Just a taste, he promised himself.
She threw her arms around him and kissed him back. He grinned against her lips. She had more enthusiasm than skill. He liked that. She was much too busy for regular lovers, no doubt. Slow heat engulfed him and shot straight to the center of his desire.
She pressed to him and he enfolded her tighter against the length of him. Then inched her toward the bed, sinking down with her still in his embrace.
“You will hurt yourself.” Her startled eyes told him she was beginning to think too much.
“Worth it.”
He rolled her under him and kissed her again, long and deep, exploring the welcome of her lips. Her fingers played in his hair, inciting him to more.
Her warm hands moved inside his shirt, fast and urgent. He gasped. She’d dealt with his buttons, pushing aside the fabric. His breathing sped and his control was in great danger of slipping away. “Geni,” he whispered hoarsely. She moaned and arched her neck. He couldn’t resist the invitation, kissing her there.
He was awed by the perfect fit of their bodies, by the melting sensation in his bones.
He leaned back to look at her.
She opened her eyes. “Don’t go.”
“I have a fiancée awaiting my return,” he whispered, hollowly.
She said nothing. Her eyes asked questions he could not allow himself to answer. She seemed shocked, shaking her head in denial now.
“My body burns for yours, but I have no time to explore this heated sexual attraction between us,” he rasped, forcing his voice to steady, making the attraction seem less important than it really was to him.
She went stiff, lifting her stubborn chin proudly. “I have not asked you to.”
He could not prevent a grin. Not in words, he thought, but her yielding body language had spoken for her, telling him exactly what she wanted. The woman had a fierce, natural look. All golden hair, loose about her shoulders, ruffled from his hands--more lioness than heavenly spirit right now. Large, sparkling, amber eyes dared him to leave her so soon after they had found each other. The glossy, porcelain white of her skin fascinated him.
“Will your home world fall if you do not return to marry her?” she asked, sitting up on the bed.
“My world could fall back to the anarchy of civil wars among the clans if the laws are not observed, yes,” he said.
He got up off the bed, taking her with him, ignoring the pain from the action. She pulled away and blocked his exit.
He stepped to her and took hold of her upper arms. So soft. He smoothed over her skin just a light-second, then he lifted her. The surprise in her eyes almost made him laugh. Against his better judgment, and his will, he brought her close again and held her, absorbing her feminine warmth and the dizzying scent of her.
With a whimper, she melted into him. As if made to be just there.
He hugged her close a light-second, then made himself set her aside. Out of his path.
She looked away as if she would hide her face from him.
Garek forced himself to ignore the strange lurch of his heart. This woman almost brought him to his knees before her.
She turned back to face him. “You are important to your people then?”
“I am the oldest grandson of the Jona of my clan--the ruling official. She needs a female child to replace her.”
“I see.” He read hurt in her eyes. He felt empty disappointment himself.
His last few paces to the door seemed measured in soul-rending years. Best to leave her behind while he still could.
There were no real flames between them when they touched, Garek understood physics well. This was hormones or pheromones, a sexual need stronger than anything he’d ever experienced. The pull of her had a logical biochemical explanation.
By the hardest effort, he strode through the door. As it was closing between them, he smiled and tried to send her a mind message, insane as it was to do so. But he could not resist.
Goodbye, Angel.
On the other side of the closed door, Angeni gasped.
Chapter Four
One year later
Angeni stood by the window of the conference room. Several stories below, a security guard strode with military straightness, reminding her of her captain. Over a year had passed, and yet she thought of Garek at odd times. With hope he would return to her, at first. But now with the sad fondness of an enjoyed dream. Her heart still raced a bit at the memory of their kisses the last day. The feel of his embrace. Her mind still searched for him in order to continue the telepathic connection. But there was only silence now. He’d left her. Perhaps it had all been an illusion--or, more accurately--a delusion.
Love could not run a person down in that fashion. Like an avalanche.
He would be matebonded to the fiancée by now, perhaps the father of the little girl his family needed.
The sound of a small gong brought Angeni’s thoughts to the present. “By authority of the Founding Families, I call you to attention.”
Prime Healer Reva Notah, walked into the room. Reva was the Chair of the Olandian Council, a distinguished scientist, and a respected member of the Alliance Science Commission. Silence fell as Healer Notah stepped to her place at the head of the table and began to speak. Angeni took her seat with the others.
All stood in respect, then returned to their seats around a white granite formal conference table. The chairs automatically adjusted to height needs, male or female, short or tall.
“Fellow Council members, we meet today to discuss further the topic of introducing the Alliance human genetic base into our population.”
“Councilman Froton Warrick stood. “Who gives the ASC the right to interfere in the affairs of Olandia Colony?” Anger laced his tone. The watchful expression in his eyes made a person think of evil.
Angeni did not respect the man. Never had. Serving with him on Dandrovia outpost had reinforced her negative opinion.
“Yes, I also would like the answer to this question,” Councilman Gornan Fitzmahue added with some hesitation, rubbing his thin mustache in nervous movements.
A man of low self-esteem, Fitzmahue was easily led by Warrick’s stronger, more domineering, personality. Angeni empathized with his need to fit in. He was a hard worker, not altogether unredeemable.
Reva held up a hand. “Gentlemen.” She looked exasperated. “You expressed yourselves at our last meeting quite well.” She gestured toward the window. “Change is troubling. Try to understand the sincere concern of the Alliance.”
“Such concern,” spat Warrick.
“The fact is our isolated population has reached a dangerous genetic bottleneck,” Reva said.
Warrick remained standing. “The Alliance would have our young people mated with randomly mixed offworlders.”
“And receive our healing skills in the bargain,” Councilman Fitzmahue added. He looked to Warrick for guidance and not Reva.
Warrick nodded and went on, “We could lose our women to Vandor colony, Clothoes planet, even our worst enemy, Aldor, may insist on participating. There, our young healers could be reduced to preternatural practices, herbal medicines, acupuncture, or the Founder’s Saints prevent it, healing chants. Aldor’s complaints led the Alliance to decree all doctors be referred to as healers. In concession to their primitive beliefs.
“You know Aldor left the Alliance years ago,” Reva said.
“This may bring them back.”
She tapped a gavel for order. “We are all Earthan by our roots.”
“An old argument. Little proof of that.”
“Little proof the Aldorians arose out of their second moon, as they believe, either,” Angeni interjected.
“Ahem.” Reva suppressed a smile at her comment, but her eyes twinkled. “At any rate, the ASC has modified its original proposal to accommodate the resistance it met in our society among our young people. There will only be a small, control trial at first. No one will be coerced into participating. The ASC will call it The Cultural Exchange.”
“Bah, euphemism,” came from Warrick.
“Yes. Perhaps,” she allowed. “We ask for volunteers.” Reva paused for discussion from the floor.
She went on when there were none, “The participants will be females, in view of our colony’s relative abundance of women.” The chairwoman spoke in a firm, brisk voice.
Angeni bit her lower lip, struggling to suppress a smile. This was a serious matter, but Warrick’s thwarted expression struck her as humorous. He flopped to his seat, angry.
She’d missed the last meeting, participating in an Alliance research conference on the topic of stopping illegal genetic experiments. At the most recent meeting she’d attended, this Cultural Exchange plan had been only in its formative stages.
Warrick so strenuously objected to this plan, because it would end his lobby to reinstate the old practice of polygamy, his solution to the imbalance of males to females on Olandia. She’d noticed he had an eye on her as a second wife, a choice influenced, no doubt, by her father’s position as Chancellor of Olandia Colony.
“The Alliance of Colonies is surprised by the resistance mounted by some of our fellow citizens. There is news of protests at the healing arts schools and research facilities. Violent conflict must be avoided,” Reva said. “We propose that at least one council member participate in The Exchange. We must show leadership. We have only four members eligible. Councilwomen, Cane, Michaels, Stolle, and Collins.” Reva raised her gaze from her notes to her audience.
“Five. We have five unbonded members. I will volunteer,” Angeni said.
She noticed the shocked silence and was somewhat surprised herself as well. Was she so desperate to escape the amorous plans of Healer Warrick?
Chairwoman Notah stared at her. She saw approval blossom on the other woman’s face. “Of course, a perfect solution--”
“No. Out of the question,” Froton Warrick interrupted, coming to his feet. “Chancellor Saxton Traek’s daughter and a physician of the Prime Order cannot participate in this pointless exercise. A waste. If we must succumb, use half-schooled students.” He punctuated his statement by pounding his bony fist against the large table. His face was turning a furious crimson.
“Healer Warrick, you know we do not refer to ourselves as physician any longer.”
“Of course not, it would offend the sensibilities of the savages we must serve,” he replied sarcastically. “No one is fooled. There is nothing mystical about our work, but plain, hard science.”
Reva sighed. “We have heard you before on this, Healer.” She emphasized the word. “Who would be better than the Chancellor’s daughter to garner support for The Commission’s plan?” Reva reasoned. “We owe the Alliance for our security.”
What could Warrick say to refute this? Angeni could see it on his face; he knew he needed to regroup.
She tried to remain calm in the storm of her inner anticipation. The entire council murmured among themselves in excitement. It was true. Volunteering was admirable, the way a Chancellor’s daughter should act. An honorable sacrifice. Only she could see the truth in her own soul. Know the secrets that propelled her actions.
* * * *
“See me, Healer Angeni? I’m steering by myself,” said Ama.
No one knew her exact birth date, but Angeni guessed she neared five. The precious girl, with dark skin and stark white hair, rode with confidence. She steered her black and tan mount, of six-legged bovine species, to the inside of the circle and around a slower rider. The little animal’s six legs paced in perfect harmony of gate.
“Wonderful, Ama!” Angeni said. “You’ve made so much improvement.” The child smiled and puffed out her chest proudly. She loved seeing the joy on their small faces as freedom of movement returned--or, in some cases, was enjoyed for the first time.
Three weeks had passed since the Council meeting, Angeni stood in the center of a small arena with soft sandy footing. Over two hundred years ago, the domed hall over her head served to shelter a passenger concourse and gate area in a network of underground tunnels that provided shelter from Olandia’s hot sun and desert environment. Now the historic site hosted her riding therapy classes.
Music echoed cheerfully in the background in a one-two tempo. It relaxed the children and rated the pace of the animals they rode.
Angeni smiled. Eight riders today. All the product of illegal experiments, the children’s small bodies carried more than one set of genetic codes, like naturally occurring chimera twins.
The riderbeasties varied, three green large dragolizards with large blue, rotating eyes, three large birds, staying close together, the largest flying low, looping up and down and two small bovine, who plodded along slow and easy. They looked like a living carousel.
“They improve,” Sidra said as she stepped in to the circle.
Sidra and Isak left Dandrovia when she had. They helped her with the classes. Isak’s skills with machinery were in great demand on Olandia. He’d quickly earned a nest egg. His financial generosity to her therapy program amazed her.
He’d come to her as she packed to leave the Sanctuary saying Sidra was going to be disengaged and abandoned to save freight costs.
He’d suggested the little bot would be useful to her. Sidra had simply said, “May I help with your little patients?” She’d seemed worried, much more aware of her fate than one expected of a mechanical. Angeni had often remembered Garek’s warning to her about Sidra and realized he’d known Sidra was human. In the year since, Angeni had found no reason not to trust her completely. She was a bit of a loner, but warm and kind.
Some of the beasties had been used in mining industries and were painfully grateful for this new, lighter work. They needed to be special little animals to work with the children--quiet natured and kind. The ones with flying skills had to exercise special manners and control. Only the most skilled riders flew, giving an incentive for the children to progress along the stages steadily.
She knew her assistants would do a wonderful job with the children after she left. Her decision to leave was final. She intended to send for the orphaned children when she settled somewhere. The few with family would happily remain on Olandia.
Manzia, a girl of about six years, recently joined the program and had not been fitted with a prosthetic to replace her missing leg yet, a leg that had been denied her by a failed attempt to control bone length and growth speed. She wasn’t sure what the lawless, greedy fiends had planned her to be, but in the end they’d discarded the child.
“Scary, but fun,” the tiny little girl announced. She rode the second bovine, Dono, miniature in size with long, white wool, which provided handy handholds. The coarse curls squeezed through the child’s small fingers.
“Evan, ride by Manzia, please,” Angeni said. The more advanced student on the flying bird nodded and rode alongside her in case emergency help was needed. The dark-haired boy looked to Angeni for approval of his skills as he guarded the other child. She smiled her appreciation for him.
“How am I doing, Healer Angeni? Can I fly soon?” asked Aslen, another older student astride a two-meter-tall blue-and-green bird with magnificent trailing tail feathers.
“Soon, Aslen, soon. Just a little more work on keeping your legs under your upper body for best balance. Can’t have you topple of backwards.”
The child doubled his effort. The concentration on his sweet face so amusing. “I’ll get it.”
Yes, this little one is close to flying with me, came to Angeni telepathically from the wise, old bird, Zakee. The bird was more articulate with telepathy than she was. No one but the animals--and her lost guardsman--knew she could speak telepathically with them. A secret she kept from her people.
Engrossed in watching the class, Angeni did not notice the approach of Councilman Froton Warrick through the cylindrical corridor connecting to the airlifts.
“Prime Healer, I have looked for you everywhere. I left a message on your holovid asking you to call me.”
“Oh, did you?” She was not above feigning ignorance to avoid him. “What did you want, Healer Warrick?”
He looked toward the children. “You need to spend more time at the hospital, instead of down here in the gloomy underground with these smelly animals and the mutant children.” He dusted at his immaculate pants’ legs as though he were too superior to bear a little of the fine sand.
“We do not call the children mutants. They prefer transgenic or Muscovan transgen.”
“I’ve heard the political rhetoric.”
“It gives them a sense of belonging to each other.”
“Of no interest to me. I’m thinking of the cost of your time … the missed income.”
“Income?”
“You are credited nothing for the therapy work you do with these … er, ah, Muscovans, whereas, one or two extra healing procedures. I’m sure you see my meaning. More important clients bring more prestige.”
“I understand you well.”
Warrick missed the sarcasm in her voice.
“Good. I want you to attend the reception this evening with my wife and me.”
Suddenly, the child, Manzia, squealed in alarm. Angeni’s gaze followed the sound. She had slid to one side. Hanging on, barely. Dono, her furry little bovine mount, came to an immediate halt. Sidra rushed to help the child adjust safely.
Good boy.
Treat? he asked eagerly.
Angeni smiled. He looked toward her, his flat nose wrinkled and wiggled in anticipation. You’ll have your treat. You deserve it.
“Are you listening to me?” Warrick demanded.
Patience. “Yes, of course, Healer.”
He cleared his throat in his annoying, superior way. “I said I want you to attend the reception with Milla and me.”
Warrick knew he was running out of time. And was trying to establish them as a couple. Or triangle, whatever he, she and his long-suffering wife would be.
“I’m committed to The Cultural Exchange. I must decline. ”
“Foolish woman! You will leave these muta … ah … Muscovan children behind?”
“The program is well-established,” she said, calmly. “It will function without me. Sidra and Isak--”
“You assume funding will continue,” he interrupted.
“If you will excuse me, Healer Warrick, I must speak with my team.”
“What of this evening?” He looked down his nose at her.
What a thick skin he had. “No. I will be hosting with my father and DeAndra.”
“We will speak later,” Warrick hissed as he turned and marched away.
Chapter Five
Garek winced as pain from is bad knee nagged at him. “Why not put shuttle ports at entrance level?” he asked. “Too many steps here,” he grumbled.
“Don’t know, sir,” His military escort, a green, young Alliance Guardsman said. Garek had been summoned to the offices of his friend, Coyle Oside.
He should have listened to Angeni and had more work done on his knee. Hell, he missed the woman and longed to hold her again. He’d made his choice and he’d lived with it over the long year.
You must not leave. If she’d added the word, me. He could not have gone.
The old capitol before him was a rare Founders’ structure, dating back four hundred years to the time the Olandian Science Colony first lost contact with Earth. The old capitol’s age-weathered plasticrete walls were sheltered by a modern office tower telescoping a thousand meters into the clouds above.
“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me what this summons is about?”
“No sir, Captain.”
“That’s what I thought.”
They reached the building’s massive entry doors. Each Alliance district was represented by an animal likeness, woven into the door’s steel filigree.
The younger man stepped back and motioned for him to proceed.
Garek stepped up to the double doors, and touched a carefully concealed sensor screen. The sharp-eyed kid tested him. Not everyone knew how to find it. A series of mechanical beeps followed. His facial features appeared on the imbedded holoscreen.
He matched his palm over the image of his previously recorded subcutaneous vein pattern. Flashing lights verified the match.
A cheerful mechanical voice said, “Your security code is recognized. Good morning, Captain Sahnjun.” The massive iron doors swung inward.
“Have a good day, sir.” The kid turned and marched away.
As Garek strode through the hallway, he glanced up at the high ceilings above him, and the statues of the founding fathers and mothers standing in architectural alcoves.
He became aware of curious stares. The leather leggings worn flying a one-man floater, were not normal in the capitol offices.
Hane, Coyle’s Muscovan bodyguard manned the Chancellor’s outer door with watchful stillness. The thin man stood three inches taller than Garek. He looked normal enough--Earthan human--except the unusual gray skin overlapping in denticulate layers. And otherworldly silver eyes. Coyle had saved him from a forced death match fight on Aldor. Hane had been locked in battle with two aggressive Aldorian males, holding his own. But doomed to die without help.
Garek nodded a greeting. The Muscovan nodded back.
Behind his desk, Coyle stood at his approach.
“What’s going on? Why am I here?”
“Good to see you, Garek.” Coyle indicated a floating chair.
“I’ll stand. What’s so urgent you sent security orders to pull me out of retirement?” Garek noticed his friend’s blonde hair had grown past its usual length.
“I know how you’ve felt about your privacy this past year. I wouldn’t risk my hide bringing you here if it were not highest Alliance priority,” Coyle smiled now but it didn’t reach his serious brown eyes.
“High priority?” Garek’s blood chilled and his annoyance faded. Not many missions met that ranking. He sank into the new-high tech chair. “Let’s have it then.”
Coyle twirled his own chair around to look out the window and then swung it back. “What do you know of the science colony on the terraformed planet Olandia?”
“Some. A former volcanic world with good air. Settled by a lost science colony from the blue planet Earth. They built this structure before moving on to Olandia. That’s about it. I’m thinking you’re about to tell me a lot more.”
“Right. The science colony is dedicated to accelerated genetic research. Population isolation, a genetic bottleneck, led them to become fixated on establishing a homogeneous gene pool. Near twins, all of them. Your mission concerns their lack of genetic diversity. It’s great for organ transplants, but too similar for a good birthrate numbers. With their shortage of males, it grows worse.”
Garek gave a curt nod. “I heard rumors the Alliance plans to intervene in some way. Ironic that we’ve learned enough science from Olandia in a few generations of contact to meddle in their business now.”
“True, a certain irony in that.” Coyle steepled his hands.
“They also pass on their ancestors’ scientific gifts on to the offspring. They’re almost all medical professionals and research scientists. A few are Healers of the Prime Order.” The memory of his Olandian healer, in the darkness of night, curling golden hair falling about her face, striking amber eyes daring him to die, challenging him to fight for his own life, filled in his mind.