Contact (30 page)

Jordan sagged against his chest. Her crew and passengers were being forced by fate to spend the rest of their lives in the wild and woolly far reaches of the galaxy, possibly as a human barricade against a new Talagar Empire, people whose lifestyle made the marauding Huns look like nuns. But in Kào’s strong arms, she felt snug, protected. The sensation reassured her, as his presence always did.

His lips found the side of her throat. “I love when you do that,” she whispered with a shudder. He gathered her closer, nibbling her ear, his hand cupping her breast. He captured its tip between his fingers, kneading gently. “And that, too. . . .”

Desire stretched in a taut hot string from her breast to the inner places that were still tender from lovemaking. And he was ready to repeat the act a third time. Quick recharges were one benefit of having a younger lover, she supposed, although she had a feeling it was more than physical craving that drove him to initiate sex. His news of the relocation was worrisome, and he wanted to distract them both.

But the world outside the doors of the holo-viewing room had different ideas. Kào’s wrist comm beeped, and they jumped apart. “Kào here,” he said and turned away from her to take the call. It was a private message. Those always came over the wrist-viewers in text format.

It occurred to her that Trist hadn’t interrupted a single time during their long night together. That was a first. Up until now, it seemed that the woman had done everything she could to keep them from growing closer, only to practically throw them together last night. Jordan’s thoughts swerved to Ben. He’d left with Trist. And his eyes had been plastered to her half-exposed rear end. With the anxiousness of a protective mom, Jordan hoped to heaven that Ben was sleeping peacefully and alone in his own bed.

Kào closed the screen. “I must go. I’ve been summoned to the bridge.”

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“No. My father wishes my presence.”

They hastily dressed and tidied the area on which they’d lain. Kào’s mood seemed to darken considerably the closer they got to New Earth.

Outside the still-closed hatch, they stopped, turning to each other. The passion they’d shared served as a powerful connection, drawing them closer despite many unanswered questions. She glanced around to see if anyone was looking, then rested her hand on his bicep. His skin was hot under the soft blue fabric. Awareness tingled between them. “Good luck with your father,” she said.

“This morning I think I will need it.” His smile made her heart twist. “However, I won’t let it concern me. For now, all I want to do is enjoy you.”

“I won’t argue,” she said on a breath. For now, it was all she wanted to do, as well. She’d never lived this intensely, this recklessly. But she’d learned hard lessons about the fragility of life, about loss. She knew how quickly life could be taken away. “Live in the moment. That’s what we have to do. People think they’re going to live forever. They don’t.”

“No, they don’t. More than ever before, I see that.” He cast his dark and sorrowful gaze around the deserted corridor
before placing a tender kiss on her lips. His fingers curled around her jaw and into her hair, bringing the heat of desire. His expression warmed fractionally, as if he’d felt what she had. “Later I will return for you,” he said, his deep voice husky with sexual promise.

Arms hanging limply at her sides, she watched him go. Every cell in her body cried out for her to run after him, to hold him prisoner in her bed all day, to kiss, to talk, to share food, to dream next to him. Feeling as if half of her were missing, she opened the hatch leading into New Earth and walked inside. She wasn’t sure if it was a miracle or a curse, but her body had come back to life on the very night her old life died.

Showered and changed, Kào met his father in the private meeting room off the bridge. No one sat at the glowing table, only Moray, his face softly shadowed. “Sit, Kào,” he said without taking his attention from his handheld computer.

Kào slid a buoyant chair under himself and eased into it. The seat bobbed gently. The drowse-inducing rocking motion reminded him that he hadn’t slept last night. Ah, what he wouldn’t do for a long nap . . . with Jordan asleep next to him. The thought of her warm body held protectively in his arms brought a stirring to his loins. Tonight, he thought. He’d bring her to his quarters. There, privacy would be guaranteed. No one would know if she stayed with him all night.

Moray began reading from his handheld, jarring Kào from his trance. “Had Earth survived, it certainly would have gained scientific notice, as all humans, even red-eyed
Talagarian bastards”—his father raised a sardonic brow—“are progeny of the Original Ones, who seeded the galaxy eons ago with their DNA.”

Kào propped his elbows on the conference table and leaned forward. “Those are my words.” His
exact
words. It was a text version of the holo-message he’d sent to the Alliance Academy of Science on Sofu in a long-shot effort separate from the official missive he’d directed to Alliance Headquarters. Kào’s goal was to ensure that the Alliance understood the significance of finding Earth, and that his father received full credit for the discovery. Gaining the support of the scientific community would help tremendously in achieving those goals.

But unlike his formal communication with Headquarters, Kào had routed this private appeal through a doctor he’d met but a few times, the only medic who’d examined him inside and out after his release from prison who had treated him as a fellow professional despite having every reason not to. And now here was Moray, reading what he’d assumed was a personal and unofficial request.

“Where did you find this, sir?” Kào asked. “Surely not from the Academy. I’d have thought it would have been tossed out with the trash weeks ago.”

Moray held up one finger, silencing him. Kào’s mouth twisted in a resigned smirk. He felt nine years old again.

“How a world like Earth became separated from the rest is a great mystery,” Moray read. “If Earth exists, then it follows that other lost worlds do, too. It is my wish that this possibility will spawn a new era of exploration, and a galaxy of thanks for Commodore-elite Ilya Moray, a selfless hero, a true visionary, and”—Moray lowered the hand-held—“my father.” The commodore’s eyes were moist. “Thank you, Kào.”

“I said nothing more than the truth.” The men regarded each other silently. “I haven’t heard anything from Headquarters.
I hope it means they’re giving the matter proper consideration.”

Moray spread his meaty hands on the table. The excitement in his gray eyes was unmistakable. “We’ve done it, my boy. Never did I think it would happen this quickly. We’re on our way. Before you know it, we’ll have you installed in the Grand Forum.” He gazed somewhere far off. “Perhaps a senate seat. It’s well within your abilities, you know.” He brought his attention back to Kào in sharp focus. “We’ve always known that. Soon they will see your potential, too. Ah, yes, this is but the start.”

“What is, Father? I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

“Your war records, of course! They’ve agreed to review them. Headquarters has. You’ll be vindicated; your name will be cleared, just as I told you. Wait and see.”

“My records are to be reviewed?” Kào shook his head. “My correspondence with the Academy led to this?”

“Yes, son. Your efforts on my behalf spurred Sofu to reopen the case. Just as you’d hoped.”

“My hope was to clear
your
name, not mine. My actions brought about the biggest defeat of the war—”

“Lies, Kào! All of it.” The crimson tinting Moray’s neck rose to his jowls and cheeks. “I’ve forwarded them the additional information I’ve gathered over the years. It will clarify what we already know, that you made your decision that day based on the best intelligence available to you. You were doing your duty as a loyal Alliance soldier. No more,” he growled, “and
no less
. You were made a scapegoat.”

Kào stared at his scarred hands. If what Moray told him was true—and he had no reason to believe otherwise—there was a real possibility that his record could be wiped clear of all blame for the mistaken attack, because he’d acted on faulty intelligence. As for the information he had let loose in the prison camp, there was no proof; and all the other suspects were dead.

Kào drew a deep breath. This turn of events he would never have imagined. This was more than all he’d ever wanted: the chance to clear his father’s name. But the victory was a hollow one. Jordan would leave for the relocation port with her people, and he’d be obligated to remain on the
Savior
. An open and active investigation would take an unknown period of time. There would be data requested, interviews, and likely a holo-appearance before a military tribunal.

Moray watched him, clearly awaiting a response of some kind. With conviction he didn’t feel, Kào said, “This is good news, good news indeed.”

“It certainly is.” His father’s eyes narrowed. “You look tired, Kào.”

“I am, sir.”
Of being more a puppet than the master of my destiny; of not being the man Jordan needs me to be
. And he was tired of his overwhelming sense of debt to his father, which blinded him to what choices were the right ones.

Kào thanked the heavens that Moray didn’t know that his relationship with Jordan had turned intimate. He needed breathing room in which to give the entire dilemma the deliberation it required. Pricking his father’s misplaced protective instincts would only make matters worse.

“Perhaps today I will exchange my workout for a nap,” Kào said lightly and pushed himself to his feet. “Is their anything else you require of me?”

“No. Go rest. You well deserve it.”

Kào returned the man’s warm smile and trudged to the exit.

“Oh. One more thing, Kào.”

He turned around. The man dug something out of his chest pocket. It was a two-dimensional image of a pretty little girl with blond hair and eyes of blue. Kào couldn’t name what swept through him upon spying the familiar reproduction of Jordan’s beloved daughter, but if one were
to take outrage and defeat and mix them together, it’d be pretty blasted close to what he felt gazing at the picture of Jordan’s child in Moray’s hand.

By the Seeders! Had he and Jordan been so distracted that they’d left this behind? Apparently so.

“This was found in the viewing room,” the commodore said and placed it on the table.

“It belongs to one of the refugees.” His back straight, his shoulders squared, Kào returned to the table and collected the image. “Thank you.”

The picture burned a hole in his hand as he strode to the hatch. The image of Jordan’s child had led to an encounter so moving and so life-affirming that the presence of the photo in this environment and under these circumstances conspired to sour that experience. But he steeled himself against the temptation to give in, to let something so valued be stolen from him. As a man with a dearth of beloved memories, he wasn’t apt to part easily with what few he’d gained.

Something made him stop in the hatchway. A sixth sense. Gut instinct. He didn’t know what to call it, but the impulse had often served him well. “By the way, sir,” he said, turning around. “Who found this?”

Moray made a show of gathering his handheld and other items. “Trist did.”

“Trist,” Kào repeated flatly.
Trist!
Blast it all. What goal had she in mind, taking the picture to Moray and not directly to him?

“Yes. Trist,” Moray replied, as casual as could be. Kào couldn’t fathom his father not pondering the implications behind the appearance of the picture in the viewing room shortly after dawn. He must know now that Kào had brought Jordan there, though not, he hoped, that they’d ended up making love on the viewing room floor.

“Trist knew that I’d called you to the bridge, Kào. I suppose
she thought to save time by giving the image to me to pass along instead of returning it in person. She’s been rather busy of late with her duties.”

“Yes, she certainly has.” Busier than Moray knew, what with escorting refugees to the ship’s bar.

The two incidents were related, Kào decided: Trist giving the picture to his father and her involvement with the refugees last night. But Kào couldn’t discern the connection. It was like trying to string together two matching beads with a too-short cord. Fortunately for him and perhaps not for Trist, he enjoyed puzzles. His mind was already working on solutions as he gave his father a curt nod, backed up two steps, and left the room.

“Carte blanche,” Jordan repeated to Dillon’s surprise as she peered over his shoulder, watching him probe deeper into the
Savior
’s computer. “Trist said we can poke around the computer and she won’t say a thing.”

“A green light,” he said, his fingers tapping atop the keyboard. “Look. The files that were protected aren’t anymore.” Periodically he’d stop and study something. Then he’d be off again. “What do we owe her for the privilege?” he wondered aloud as he typed.

“I asked that, too. She’ll want an eye for an eye, apparently.” She pulled over a pair of ottoman-type chairs that Dillon had grounded for her by disabling the buoyancy. But to be at the same height as someone sitting on a floating chair, she’d have to stack them. She lifted the second and balanced it on the first. Atop the double chair, she scooted backward until she felt secure on the cushion. A momentary twinge between her legs reminded her of what she’d been doing most of the night before.

Ah, Kào
. She missed him already. Their time together would be too short. They should be spending every last moment together, but they had responsibilities, both of
them. She worked at keeping her feelings for Kào, or anything that might hint at her extracurricular activities with him, from appearing in her face.

Dillon watched her with some skepticism. “Piling the chairs one atop the other.” He shook his head. “I thought that’s why I fixed them for you, because you didn’t care for the height.”

“Height I don’t mind exactly. It’s a perceived lack of control that I can’t stand. I’m a pilot, remember?”