Broken Vision (13 page)

As he strode down the corridor to Maegan's cell, his thoughts roiled around how he was
going to get her out of this mess. There were several solutions. None were legal. All would be at
the expense of his own career and everything he had worked a lifetime to achieve.

And that, he knew, was what had Sharm so concerned.

* * * *

When the door to her cell slid open to admit the all too imposing bulk of Alerik Mariltar,
Maegan was sitting up, still groggy from what she had just figured out was a drug-induced
sleep.

"You drugged me," she accused. Her voice cracked and broke. Not the smartest way to
start off a dialog with the man who had her in the worst situation possible. Her head was pounding
and she dropped it into her hands, seeking relief while she tried to gather her thoughts.

"You drugged me," he countered, "with far more nefarious purpose. And it was a highly
controlled substance, whose use is permitted by and licensed to only a few select groups. Which
leads to the question of how you have access to it. Tell me, Maegan, where is Morgon Trion these
days?"

"Don't know," she mumbled, relieved she could answer something with complete honesty.
She lifted her head, aware that her hair hung loose and tangled and heavy around her face. She
made a half-hearted effort to smooth it and push it back. Alerik was dressed in dark blue and tan,
perfectly groomed. Did he ever have a hair out of place? She desperately needed a drink and she
was starving. Her stomach reinforced the realization with a loud rumble.

It was too much to hope the man who stood, stern-faced, legs braced apart, in front of her,
hadn't heard. His eyebrows arched. He glanced at the untouched tray of food and shook his
head.

"Resistance at every turn," he murmured, apparently to himself.

"Tell me you won't send the children back to Taragon, and I'll do whatever you want," she
snapped without thought.

And of course he wouldn't let that one go. His piercing sapphire gaze pinned her like a
bugbat caught in a laser stunblast. There was no softness in it.

"A sweeping concession with interesting possibilities." He moved toward the food. "I only
wish I could believe it." He picked up a bowl, studied its contents and set it down. "I have another
proposal." He took the plate of flatbread and approached her. "You eat, and answer some
questions."

"And?"

He shrugged and offered her the bread. "And what? There's no and."

She surged to her feet, unable to bear the disadvantage of his towering height. She found it
only marginally better. The man was too slieking big.

"Why would I answer questions without any assurances about the children?"

There was no emotion in his sapphire eyes. Nothing. They stared back at her with a
coolness that caused, for the first time, a major twinge of concern about her own fate. There was no
trace of the man who had studied her nudity with such a hungry intensity in the bathing chamber, or
of the man who had fed his newly bonded life partner with all the apparent tenderness of a
lover.

He was a stranger with the power to destroy her.

"Because your silence won't help their cause or yours. Eat," he commanded her. "And then
we'll talk."

The bread tempted her, but she turned her head aside. It was somehow important not to
give in on this small point. She didn't trust him, couldn't trust him. His motivation in taking her as
his life partner was as impenetrable as the brilliant blue-green fog that rose every morning from the
valley floor outside her habitat. The Mariltar culture took marriage very seriously. Life partnerships
were rarely dissolved. It was unheard of in the ruling families.

She heard a whisper, a rustle of clothing, the soft thud of his boots. A few steps away. A
few steps back. An object scraped along the floor. Then a large, warm hand clasped hers and gave it
a hard tug. She sat, startled, with an ungraceful thump on the sleeping platform. He positioned
himself on the cell's single chair across from her, holding the tray of food on his lap with one
hand.

"Together," he said with uncompromising firmness, "we'll share a meal." He tore the bread
and brought a small piece to her lips and, suddenly, his sapphire eyes glowed with comforting
warmth.

The change was so dramatic that she opened her mouth automatically and found herself
chewing on the soft bread.

He picked up a flask of liquid. Even when she reached to guide it to her mouth, he didn't
let it go, but tugged it gently back after she'd taken only a few sips that didn't come close to
quenching her thirst and took a few sips himself.

The effects of the sleep drug had all but dissipated, but something far more dangerous was
impacting her ability to think clearly. The one sane corner of her mind screamed weakly at her to
resist this intimacy, even as the rest of her unbelievably succumbed to the seduction of sapphire
eyes and the memory of their mating meal.

She accepted a bite of sourtaln fruit.

You're incarcerated!
shrieked her shrinking sanity.

She watched him lick and then bite into the same juice-filled piece.

He put you here,
moaned the last vestiges of her resistance.

She allowed him to raise the flask to her mouth again. His eyes never left hers as he took
another swallow himself.

He has the children,
her conscience cried.

The voices in her head died as food and drink slowly disappeared and not a word was said
between them. As Alerik swallowed the last bite of showton noodle, he finally broke eye contact as
he set the tray on the floor. Released from his mesmerizing gaze for a nanonan, Maegan struggled
once again to gather her thoughts from the hazy recesses of her mind.

"Maegan," Alerik said softly, as he raised his head. "Where is Morgon Trion?"

His eyes were hard. All traces of the caring life partner had vanished. It was all a
façade anyway, but she fought to hide her shock. How could he change so quickly?

"I don't know," she said again, and closed her eyes to center herself, to push aside an
unwanted and curious sadness, and welcome back the anger and determination she would need to
carry her through the interrogation to come. This cold warrior she could deal with. It was the other
man, the one who behaved like a lover, who confused her and drained her will power.

"When was the last time you had contact with him?"

Yesterday? Was Morgon's recent presence in the hidden habitat considered contact?

A lifetime ago, before the change in governorship, before she had become a wife?

She shook her head. "I don't remember."

He leaned forward, as if he weren't close enough and already inside her personal space.
"All right. Who formed the relay network? How long have you been involved? How many children
have you transported?"

The scent of tiug leaf wafted faintly in the air between them. He paused. His lips tightened
as she remained silent.

"You'll either talk willingly, Maegan, or we'll extract the information using nectine.
Morgon isn't the only one with access to exotic drugs. I can't help you unless you give me
information."

"You can't help me at all," she burst out. "I've broken post-war Treaty covenants. I've
illegally transported children, abducted them from their kind. There's nothing you can do to help
me."

A muscle jumped in his cheek. His eyes darkened. "Tell me why, Maegan."

She knew how this worked, of course, knew that anything she said could and would be
used to judge and convict her. She had known the consequences when she had signed on. Had been
well warned. But her conscience hadn't allowed her to act any differently. The entire galaxy might
turn blind, deaf and dumb to the prospect of a child army because they didn't want to believe that a
war fought across generations hadn't taught them the most important lessons of all.

Besides, powerful leaders denied the possibility, and those in power had to be trusted
implicitly.

But Maegan had seen the proof. Morgon Trion had recruited his rebellious,
academy-trained niece to his cause even before her arrival in the Grogon Belt.

And had warned her. Warned her that her status as daughter to a high-ranking Mariltar
official would not protect her if she were caught. Now she wondered with cynical amusement what
he would say about her status as wife to an heir of the Mariltar nation. It certainly hadn't stopped
her from being incarcerated. By her own husband.

"You won't believe me," she said and dropped her gaze to her hands. It was easier than
having to look into those eyes that drilled into her very soul. "The Council didn't believe
Morgon."

It was the reason for Morgon's self-imposed exile to the Grogon Asteroid Belt, where he
had felt he could attempt some solution on his own.

"I'm not the Council," Alerik said.

His voice sounded softer. Sagar's crystals, she wanted to look at his face, but was afraid
that if his eyes matched the quality of his voice, she'd reveal more than she should and be lost.

"Try me."

She curled her fingers into her palms, tempted for a nanonan to lie, but what would be the
use? He would know and they would employ nectine to obtain the truth. She wondered why they
hadn't just used it to begin with.

"The Taragon high priests," she spat out before she could think it through any further, "are
building their armies again. They're using children. Again."

In the silence that followed, she heard the pounding of her blood through her body, heard
her breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps as she waited for...what, she didn't know.

"Those are rumors, Maegan. Unsubstantiated, outrageous rumors. The Treaty eviscerated
the power of the high priests. They have no authority outside of their temples. The elders of
Taragon lead the nation. I think-- I know they would have informed the Council if they had
concerns."

The flicker of hope, if it had even been that, died a swift, certain death. What had she
expected? That she would achieve instant acceptance when Morgon hadn't? She dared to raise her
face again and uttered a harsh laugh.

"Then what are those six children you have in custody? More unsubstantiated
rumors?"

His eyes darkened. "Everyone knows Taragon children are separated early from their
parents for schooling. Council members have toured those schools. They are what they appear to
be. There's no army building going on. The penalty is a most powerful deterrent."

"How naÏve can you be? Of course those were the legitimate schools. Of course
there's no army building going on there. Do you know that Taragon is a society of throw-away
children?"

Rage and panic threatened to overwhelm her. Where was Morgon? She couldn't do this on
her own. Even to her, it sounded far-fetched--that an entire society could be so corrupt--and she had
dealt with the proof.

"Tell me this. Did anyone ask where the third, fourth and fifth born children are schooled?
Every child in those schools is a first or second born. They're the lucky ones, allowed to return to
their families. Don't tell me that the Taragon elders have no knowledge of any of this."

"Then what happens to the other children?"

"How do you think we get them?" Rage vanished with unexpected suddenness, and into its
place crept a tired sadness. At least he was listening. At least it was on record. "We don't enter
Taragon airspace. We intercept their vessels well after they leave the Taragon planetary system on
their way to planetoids across The Divide."

Alerik gave a brief shake of his head. "Border patrols would have reported any unusual
activity. There's been nothing."

"I don't know how they avoid the patrols, but they do. Morgon's been across The Divide.
He's seen what's happening on those planetoids."

"Why hasn't he reported it?"

"He said he did." Maegan glanced at his face and looked quickly away. His expression was
too intense with an emotion she couldn't decipher. "He took his report before a Council
subcommittee. The Taragon elders denied everything, of course. Morgon was labeled a
troublemaker and ordered to stay away from the seventh sector."

"That event should be on record then."

"Maybe."

"Are you suggesting the Council is illegally concealing information that by Treaty
covenant should be visible to the public?"

Maegan rubbed her itchy, dry eyes. The drug had left her groggy. "I'm suggesting that a
society that doesn't want to be integrated cannot be integrated. I'm suggesting the Council sees what
it wants to see. I'm suggesting the Vision is failing."

Margaine Confluence:/Third Rising
Pallas Five

"Anything?" Alerik gladly surrendered the minutia of daily government in favor of
listening to Sharm Foster's report. Sharm, his hands sunk deep in his pockets, strolled closer and
contemplated his commander, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"The record of Morgon's meeting with the Council is there."

"And?"

"And a report of a voyage across The Divide." Sharm paused again.

"And?" Alerik prompted, making no attempt to mute the sharp impatience in his
voice.

"And...nothing. That was it. It was a bland, uneventful log."

"Hardly worth the Council's time."

"Shouldn't have made it past the security review."

Alerik leaned back in his chair. Too many questions. Too many discrepancies. Things just
weren't connecting. "Know what I think?"

Sharm nodded. "We need to find Morgon Trion."

"Maegan maintains she has no knowledge of his whereabouts."

"Do you believe her?"

Alerik pushed himself to his feet. "I don't know what to believe with her anymore."

Sharm muttered something under this breath that Alerik didn't catch. It didn't sound
complimentary.

"What does your gut tell you?"

"My gut?" His gaze switched to the vid panel that gave him a view of Maegan's cell. She
slept, this time a sleep of pure exhaustion, unenhanced by drugs. One slender hand was tucked
beneath her cheek. A length of silk-gold hair fell into the vee of the tunic that bared her throat.
She'd been asleep for several hours and he'd derived some slight comfort from that.