Broken Vision (17 page)

She rolled off the bed and sauntered into the bathing chamber. Her outward composure
didn't reveal even a scrap of the self-consciousness that was screaming at her to run, run, run from
the sharp gaze that dissected everything. He had seen and touched every microsent of bare flesh
anyway. But last night was done with. Today was a new day. Today she had to build the barriers
back stronger than before.

There was no doubt in her mind what he intended for the day. They would attempt to tear
the habitat on Pallas Four apart to locate the children. She was more convinced than ever that
Morgon had them. But had he been able to transport them to a safe haven yet?

She didn't dawdle with the tasks of bathing and dressing. There was no point to it. The
great room was empty when she entered. She could hear Alerik's voice in the adjacent room. It
sounded frustrated, angry but she couldn't distinguish the words. Without compunction, she headed
to the partially open doorway from which the sounds issued.

Part way across the room, her attention was caught first by the table arranged for a meal,
and then by the selection of food itself.

Blood of Cor! The man had ordered the meal associated with a couple's first sexual
relations. It was archaic, barbaric. His obsession with the ancient traditions was...disturbing. So
why were her feet stuck to the floor, and her bones felt as if they were dissolving in a heated rush of
warmth?

"It's just food," Alerik said in her ear. "To be savored and enjoyed. Although we do have to
speed this up a little, unfortunately." He placed a hand at the small of her back and urged her
forward.

He seated her on the padded bench and settled himself beside her, hip to hip, shoulder to
shoulder. The intimacy was exactly what she had been determined to avoid. As he began to serve
food onto the single platter, she was shocked to realize she was succumbing to his purpose.

It's not worth the effort,
she justified desperately to herself.
There are bigger
battles.
And so she obediently opened her mouth when he offered her a succulent slice of
geriam fruit, and obediently followed tradition to reciprocate.

They ate in silence for the most part, with only an occasional exchange of words. Maegan
realized, at one point, how easy it would be to just give in, succumb to the siren call of a normal
marriage partnership, a normal life. But what was normal? And how long would "normal" last
when children were being taught to hate and destroy?

Alerik was attentive and focused on the moment. He was the lover from the night before,
husband of a new wife, seemingly in no hurry, despite his words. Yet every now and then she
glimpsed something in his eyes. He was worried.

The leisurely pace changed as soon as they left the table. He hustled her out of the habitat
and onto a waiting hoverbot, which whisked them to the transporter dock.

Ten men and women, including Commander Foster, Brown-hair and Black-hair, waited for
them beside the Grogon governor's official vessel. All were armed.

"Expecting a war?" she said, as Alerik took her arm and marched her past them without
even a chance for greeting and introduction.

He snorted. "With you in the middle of things, it's hard to know what to expect. Consider
them your nursemaids for the day."

Sliek! Maegan fingered the tracking bracelet as she dropped into the center seat to which
Alerik directed her. Eleven trained warriors settled in around her. Certain they were headed for
Pallas Four, she had begun formulating a plan to get to Makiee, and it had just become a whole lot
harder. She had to neutralize the bracelet. That was the first priority. As long as she was being
monitored, she couldn't be effective.

The second priority was to establish the whereabouts of the children. With any luck,
Morgon had left a message. She didn't know when she had become convinced beyond a doubt that
he had them. She just knew he did.

Next to her, as the transporter took to the skies, Alerik and Commander Foster discussed
the third shift patrols. Nothing eventful there, as far as she could tell. She tried to focus on her
Makiee strategy, but Alerik's deep voice kept distracting her.

When she closed her eyes, it was even worse. Then the images began--vivid, fresh
memories of what he'd done to her, where he'd touched her the night before, and her own
uncontrolled, uninhibited reactions. She was certain she'd screamed at one point. Remaining still in
her seat took an enormous effort, when her body wanted to squirm, jump, run, anything but be
inactive. She only hoped the heat burning in her cheeks wasn't noticeable.

Alerik shifted against her. His hand came down on her thigh just above her knee, a hot
brand of possession. Nerve endings throughout her body sizzled. He was turned slightly away from
her, still deep in conversation, and probably didn't even realize what he'd done.

Something compelled her to look up. Seated across from them, Sharm Foster had his head
tilted, listening to Alerik, but his knowing amber gaze was fixed on her. The heat in her cheeks
erupted into a blaze. Five days ago, even yesterday, she would have pulled away from Alerik's
hand. Now, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she lifted her chin at the commander's silent
perusal and, after a nan, he gave an almost imperceptible nod and returned his full attention to
Alerik.

The topic had shifted to Pallas Seven. She listened with half an ear. She didn't like the
counselor there, and had avoided contact with him as much as possible. Nothing eventful had
happened there lately either. No more bodies. No more unauthorized vessel arrivals. The patrols
had done their job, it seemed.

She leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes again in an effort to
concentrate. It wasn't a long trip. She didn't have much time to plan. Deep male voices rose and fell
around her. There came a lull in the conversation.

"I hope you're going to give me time to meet with my leadership team at Janas
Corporation," she said, her eyes still closed. "Companies don't run themselves." And she had sadly
neglected hers lately. Luckily, she had a team who could and did step up in her absences without
hesitation. The Mariltar contingent didn't need to know that.

A heartbeat of silence stretched into two. She desperately wanted to open her eyes to see
the body language of the two men.

Alerik's hand tightened on her knee. "Rest assured," he responded smoothly. "Janas is an
important part of our planned activities for today."

She was instantly mistrustful of the way he said it. Her eyes flew open. The faint
amusement on Commander Foster's face was in contrast to Alerik's unyielding expression. It made
her uncertain and nervous.

"Do they know we're coming? We have a new product to launch. It's critical for us. Timing
is crucial. We can't waste time on trivial issues."

The launch wasn't imminent, but they didn't need to know that either. Nor was she
concerned about the sensitive technology. The law would protect it. What concerned her was that
certain of her staff and other irregularities might not hold up to a question posed in the right way or
tougher scrutiny.

"Trivial? Nothing about our plans for the day is trivial. We intend to find answers to some
very vexing questions." Alerik lifted his hand from her knee only to place an arm around her
shoulder and draw her closer to him. "So if you would care to save us some time and enlighten us
now on a few points, we may not have to interfere with your...Janas schedule."

His arm was heavy around her shoulders, offering a comfort and protectiveness she
desperately wanted to accept. It would be so easy to give in, to reveal the answers they so badly
wanted. But the answers were secrets that were not hers to divulge.

She struggled to remind herself that behind that blue, warm, compassionate gaze, lurked
the ruthlessness of a Mariltar heir, trained as a warrior, trained as a politician, trained as a leader.
He was bound by oath into the service of the Coalition of Nine Nations, which was blind to the
flaws of its own post-war Vision. She had given him partial answers. They hadn't made a
difference.

Nothing would make a difference except absolute proof.

And that, she realized, as an icy cold reached out to her body's extremities, was where the
real truth lay.

* * * *

The Taragon priests were here, on Pallas Four.

Where exactly, his security team had yet to determine.

Alerik gripped Maegan's arm and escorted her through the transporter door into the
concourse. His gut was clenched in a hard knot of rebellion. He didn't want her here. Everything in
him clamored to get her back to Pallas Five where he could keep her safe.

Except he wasn't so sure of that either.

Six children had vanished from his custody. He had failed to keep them safe.

Outside the concourse, the fragrant, heated air of Pallas Four failed, for the first time, to
sooth his senses. There was danger here. His gut was rarely wrong.

He rapidly reviewed the plans he and Sharm had devised earlier that morning, after
learning the Taragon vessel had abruptly departed for Pallas Four. To their knowledge, the vessel's
occupants had stayed on board and had never set foot on Pallas Five. Yet here on Pallas Four, their
vessel, three berths down the dock from the governor's transporter, was deserted. A scan had shown
no sentients on board.

"Eyes left," Sharm murmured at his shoulder.

Alerik turned his head and stopped in his tracks transfixed. Followed by a small retinue, a
mountain of a woman bore down on them. The speed at which she moved was alarming and
potentially hazardous to the Mariltar contingent. His team appeared to think so as well, and rapidly
moved into position around Maegan and him.

He recognized Mistress Gloriana, of course, but vid screen images in no way prepared him
for the reality. She was garbed in what appeared to be skin tight, brilliant orange, studded, body
armor. Everything, with the exception of her skin, was orange from her helmeted head down to her
combat boots.

On his right, Drakal muttered to Sharm, "Watch it. She likes to hug."

Just when it seemed the entire Mariltar team was in jeopardy of being bowled over,
Mistress Gloriana came to an abrupt halt.

Alerik blinked. If he hadn't seen it for himself, he would have found it hard to believe. One
nan, she was moving like a bracon, the next she simply wasn't. She didn't seem to notice that two of
her retinue, unable to stop as quickly, bounced off her enormous backside.

"Governor," she cooed, "so kind of you to notify us of your official visit." Her narrowed
gaze swept over his obviously armed team. The only notice she'd had was a courtesy
communication as they'd approached the landing dock.

"Maegan!"

One nan he had a grip on Maegan's arm, the next his wife was pulled away from him and
had all but disappeared into the enthusiastic embrace of the counselor of Pallas Four. She emerged
from it disheveled and flushed, her hair in danger of escaping its customary sleek arrangement.

"More sleep," Mistress Gloriana pronounced, as she thrust Maegan back at Alerik. "And
more real food." She clicked her tongue and shook her body. Her focus settled on Alerik. "You're
not trying hard enough."

"Governor," she forged on, before he could respond, "as much as I appreciate your
attention and presence in our humble city again, this situation disturbs me greatly."

Beside him, Maegan stiffened. "I regret any concern we've caused you, Mistress," he said.
"May I have a private word?"

The enormous body went still. Her gaze rested thoughtfully on Drakal, who carried a
blaster across his back, before it shifted to Maegan. What she saw in his wife's face, he didn't know,
but when her attention returned to him, her expression was several degrees cooler.

"If you wish." But she made no move to accommodate him. Instead, her eyes flickered at
Maegan again, then narrowed, and her fleshy features took on a sly expression. "I do not want
Pallas Four to become a battleground, Governor. There are Taragon priests hunting through my city
and now a small force of armed Mariltar warriors here, I assume, to hunt them. What is it the
priests seek, may I ask?"

Maegan tried to wrench herself from his grasp, but this time he had a tighter grip. He didn't
have to look at her to know she was angry. It had been a tactical mistake to keep the knowledge of
the priests' whereabouts from her. He just hadn't been ready to divulge it. There was no longer a
need for a private word with the Pallas Four counselor.

"Children, Mistress," he ground out. "Six of them. Taragon children. Rest assured this is
Coalition business. You wouldn't happen to know where Morgon Trion is, would you?" It was a
question he was asking too often lately.

"Aaahh." Mistress Gloriana expelled her breath in a long, noisy gust. She seemed to have
figured something out. If anything, her expression grew craftier. She wasn't about to share.

"Morgon is a shadow, a kiss of air, a caress of sun." She closed her eyes and stroked her
hands slowly down her sides. "A blade of justice."

Her eyes flew open. "The priests hunt in the city core. They terrorize tourists and residents
alike with their presence alone. Remove them, Governor. Without bloodshed. There are no Taragon
children here."

She inclined her head and pivoted neatly. Her minions scattered. With the same
breathtaking speed at which she had arrived, she forged across the wide courtyard and vanished
down one of the many arched corridors.

"Blood of Cor!" As if released from a temporary paralysis, Sharm's rare curse brought the
team to life. Maegan renewed her struggles to be free of his grip.

"What just happened here?" Alerik demanded of Sharm. He jerked on Maegan's arm. "Stop
it."

Sharm rolled his shoulders. "My opinion? Morgon Trion's a god. The Taragon children
don't exist. And Pallas Four has an unhealthy number of residents willing to perjure themselves and
commit treason against the Coalition." His gaze flicked to Maegan, and the corners of his mouth
twitched, which didn't improve Alerik's mood at all.