Broken Vision (10 page)

And then they were through the door and onto the gallery. It was pleasantly warm on the
wide deck--hot when the sun touched the skin of her face and hand. The sweet aroma of wild
millick, a profusely flowering vine, was strong here, the scent borne on warm air currents from the
valley below. Chatter from the resident colony of squems competed with the melodious coo of a
transerpent.

He turned her toward a corner of the gallery where heavy shade offered coolness. She saw
with dismay a table laden with food. Her stomach cramped. She couldn't eat. Not this close to a
mission.

But he ignored her murmured objection and seated her on the padded bench. And instead
of taking the opposite bench, he sat down next to her, so close his thigh brushed against hers.

"I'm a touch famished," he announced. "The meal was prepared to be served at mid-day
but, for the most part, the foodsavers should have kept the flavors intact. Why don't we start with
the lexfruit?"

She didn't bother to reply. Whatever she might have said wouldn't have made a bit
difference. This side of him was totally fascinating. He was completely focused on the food. "A
touch famished" didn't begin to describe his demeanor, and a memory of their first meeting on
Pallas Four nudged her. She hadn't paid much attention at the time, but his intent behavior then was
similar to now.

Alerik Mariltar had a weakness!

He snapped open a dish and used miniature tongs to lift out two long vermillion strips
covered in a syrup, which he laid on a single serving plate.

Shock sizzled through her. Mariltar custom prescribed that a newly bonded couple take
their first meal together from one platter. Of course a Mariltar heir would observe such an
important tradition. The shackles that had been placed on her, in a ceremony she didn't remember,
tightened even further.

He efficiently sliced the fruit strips into small pieces with his eating implement. Then he
scooped up a morsel and offered it to her.

"Open," he commanded.

What could she do? Knock his hand away? Leap over the gallery railing? Refuse to eat like
a rebellious child?

His sapphire gaze compelled her. She opened her mouth. Flavor exploded on her tongue as
her taste buds so long denied leapt to attention from the sweet stickiness. Her eyes almost rolled
back in her head.

He fed himself a bite, then offered the next to her. And so it went on, this almost silent,
intimate offering of food. Every time, she told herself she wouldn't--couldn't--accept another bite.
Every time the temptation to experience a new taste, a new texture made her yield to him.

This was wrong, wrong, wrong, her head chanted, but the refrain never pushed past the
thick blanket of delicious sensation that kept her body relaxed and pliant on the bench next to his.
His entire side now melded to her from shoulder to knee, an anchor in a storm of pleasure that she
could not allow herself to reveal.

"Enough?" he finally asked and laid down his implement.

Her stomach agreed but all the nerve endings that tingled with fiery anticipation every time
he approached her mouth with some new offering shrieked "no".

He opened up yet another canister and withdrew a bottle of Mariltar blue ale.

"None for you," he said, squelching her anticipation with a reminder of her illness and its
consequences. "But I do have this." He pulled out an unfamiliar tube filled with a sparkling silver
liquid. "Soron ambrosia." Dimples appeared in his chin. "Non-alcoholic."

He poured the liquids into two small goblets and offered her the ambrosia. "Good
health."

"Same." She said the word softly, as an unfamiliar shyness stole her confidence and
introduced a sudden awkwardness. What was she doing? She had let him feed her as if they were
lovers. He was familiar but she barely knew the man. She forced her mind back to her most
immediate problem of getting him out of the habitat for as long as it took to make a run to Morgon's
hideout.

He had turned his head and was watching the antics of two furry little squems on the
gallery railing. The six-limbed creatures, which had disproportionately large claws on their two
middle paws, were bold to come this close, drawn by the scent of food, no doubt. She knew they
would come no closer. One squealed and tumbled over the side to catch itself on the branch of a
grangran tree. The other, unwilling to stay without company, leapt after it.

Then suddenly the sapphire gaze was boring into her, far too close. His thigh pressed
firmly against hers.

"Tell me." His voice was a husky purr. "How were you able to disarm my security system
so easily? I don't believe we teach classes in that discipline at the academy."

Lulled by the food and warmth and oddly sensual experience into a pleasant, drifting state
of relaxation, the question caught her off guard. She choked on a sip of ambrosia and went into a
coughing fit.

"Whoa." Alerik patted her back. He pulled a square of fabric from his pocket and handed it
to her. As she mopped her eyes, his other hand began to rub her back in circles.

She propped her elbows on the table, buried her face in the soft fabric and allowed the
soothing motion to distract her.

Alerik tapped her nape. "You're not going to avoid my question, are you? At this rate, I'm
going to have to start keeping a list."

For some reason, that struck her as funny. It might have been the exaggerated note of
plaintiveness in his voice. It might have been the vision of his scowling discontent as he
contemplated a scrolling vid screen of multiple questions with missing answers. A snicker erupted
from her before she could suppress it.

Beside her, Alerik grunted. Now his hand rubbed vertically up and down her back.
Prickling tentacles of bliss crept from where he touched her to every extremity.

"On the other hand, I can just extract the answers with drugs."

He sounded half-serious.

"That's illegal," she mumbled into her hands.

"Not if you're the governor of the Grogon Asteroid Belt. We governors have the ability to
employ certain little known emergency powers as we see fit."

Maegan gave in to the mesmerizing pleasure of his touch. She laid her forehead on her
arms on the table. "Obtaining information from your bonded mate could hardly qualify as an
emergency."

"You'd be surprised what could be made to qualify as an emergency."

His hand moved to the tight muscles of her neck and she shuddered as the bones in her
limbs dissolved. "Someone taught me," she offered him as a reward.

"That, believe it or not, I figured out for myself. Who?"

"Classified," she muttered.

He sighed. "And we were doing so well. Would you prefer the needle or gun?"

She snickered again. "What time dimension are you living in? And are you really the
governor or are you just delusional?"

"Well, now," he said softly. "I am whatever you want me to be."

His hand, firm on her nape, forced her head up until she looked directly at him. The
expression in his eyes as he first studied her face, then focused on her lips, was unmistakable, and a
complete contradiction to her conviction that he found her unattractive. Her mouth went dry and
her full stomach sprang to life with a dozen little bedring creatures.

"Who taught you, Maegan?" he murmured.

Later, when she had worked up a fury at herself for giving in so easily, she blamed it on
the certainty that he had hypnotized her with that liquid sapphire gaze. His warm breath touched,
stroked, caressed her lips. They parted. She couldn't help herself. Willpower seemed to have been
sucked into the oblivion of a collapsing nebula.

"M...Makiee," she whispered.

"Ah." The caress of his breath was flavored with the intoxicating scent of Mariltar ale.
"Tell Makiee," he said, his lips a finger's width from hers, "to expect a visit."

Margaine Confluence:/Fourth Rising
Pallas Four

Blazing super-fried starpits! Maegan shoved her hand against the ID pad in Morgon's
hidden habitat. A whole section of the wall panel slid aside soundlessly. What had she expected?
That he would kiss her? And then what would she have done?

She stomped into the narrow vault. Bright lumens automatically flickered on with her
entrance. A kiss from her bonded mate was to be avoided at all costs. So what had he slieking done
to her that she would just sit there, incapable of twitching a muscle, and gaze helplessly into the
devious depths of his beautiful eyes as he prepared to deliver it?

Except he hadn't.

She stalked farther into the vault, past Morgon's impressive--and illegal--collection of
weapons collected from across the Crestar System, past the prototypes he had created himself.

Not that she wasn't relieved that Alerik hadn't kissed her. It just reinforced that he found
her too skinny and unattractive. So why had he slieking bonded with her?

She stopped suddenly and spun on her heel. Pormiam's breath, where had that come from?
She'd seen images, but had never seen a real one. She was positive the stun blaster hadn't been there
the last time she had been in the vault.

The lumen halos shone on the dull metal and deadly disrupters of the massive blaster,
which hung between a Mogton pike and a Bogasill bortax. It was Soron in origin, an ancient assault
weapon, intended to be carried by two men, and designed to vaporize any barrier and painfully
annihilate anyone unlucky enough to be caught in its sound waves without protection.

"Morgon," she shouted in a fit of frustration into the dead quiet of the underground habitat,
"what are you up to? Why haven't you contacted me?" Her shout was sucked into the thick walls
and only a deafening silence answered her.

"I need you," she whispered, and leaned forward to touch the cold, unforgiving metal of
the death weapon.

Morgon, with his ever-practical outlook on life and deep sense of justice, would help her
make order out of the complete chaos her life had become. More than anyone else, even her
parents, he would champion her. Alerik Mariltar wouldn't stand a chance.

The thought provided a modicum of comfort. She continued on her way to the other mostly
illegal arsenal Morgon kept in his vault. Behavior altering substances. Liquids, powders, sprays and
even a few solid chunks of rare carmonil, which dispersed an airborne residue that induced a deep
sleep for several cycles until the substance completely evaporated.

She didn't need something that strong for Alerik. She just needed to be sure he remained
comatose for the night without a clue that something had aided his sleep.

Mistrani should do it. And there was the small clear pouch bearing the leaves which, when
squeezed, sprayed a mist that didn't actually induce a reaction until touched by heat. Body heat was
enough.

She snatched up the pouch and hurried out of the vault. If Morgon had been here to add to
his collection, maybe he had stayed. Sure enough, there were the tiny signs that only she would
notice--a wrinkle in the sleeping platform cover, a pillow out of position on the couch. She opened
storage cabinets where it became even more obvious. Different clothing, different foodstuffs. It was
quite possible he might have been here for cycles. Quite possible that he was still here.

She turned from the last cabinet. "Morgon?" she yelled, even though instinct told her the
habitat was empty.

She glanced at the pouch in her hand and for an instant was tempted. There were two
others just like it in the vault. But Morgon, canny and ever alert, would never be caught by one of
his own substances, and she couldn't do that to him anyway. If he chose not to be in contact with
her, he must have good reason. She would have to be patient.

She didn't doubt that if he was on Pallas Four, he was probably in the city at that moment,
disguised and unrecognizable, fraternizing with the tourists, possibly even with Mariltar warriors,
some of whom might know him. Yet unbelievable as it was, she had other things to worry about
right then. Morgon would have to wait.

Alerik had been easier to get rid of than she had thought it would be. In fact, she hadn't had
to do anything. After he had pried Makiee's name out of her on the pretext he was about to kiss her,
he had immediately drawn back, his face an expressionless mask, all heat and sensual promise
vanished, and declared he had to go inspect the progress of the governor's office.

She had no idea how long he would be gone, and she had lingered here too much time as it
was. Back aboveground in the main habitat, she headed to deploy the drug on the ID pad at the
front entrance, the first thing Alerik would be forced to touch when he returned. Her personal
comm trilled. The communication's origin was Janas Corporation.

"Yes?" she responded without breaking stride.

"Maegan, I'm having one of those alternate universe kind of days." Makiee sounded quite
cheerful.

"Not now, Makiee. I'm in the middle of something." She reached the entrance panel of the
habitat.

"Can't wait. See, I'm just here in the building doing my job, trying to stay focused and only
being slightly distracted because those ninco's, Shal-el and Bortock, are having a totally lunar day,
and have everyone going a little crazy, when I get this call."

About to open the door, Maegan froze. Sliek! Alerik had gotten to him already. She hadn't
expected it to happen so quickly.

"Maegan? Are you there?" Makiee no longer sounded quite so cheerful. "I've been
summoned... Summoned to Pallas Five, to an inquisition by the governor's council. I haven't done
anything." His voice rose in pitch to rival the siren going off in her head.

"It's all right, Makiee. I'm sorry, I should have told you. I--"

"You knew about this?"

"Yes, I just didn't think it would happen so quickly. They just want to ask a question or two
about your expertise in...something."

"My expertise in what?" Makiee had gone from panicked to belligerent. "This doesn't
sound like a friendly chat. Crying Creds, these are Mariltar warriors. I don't tolerate excruciating
pain well."