Roark (Women Of Earth Book 1) (13 page)

“Or someone told them it was. Any ideas?”

“One of your favorite five. They don’t like your style, First.”

“If you find evidence, then that closes the book on resignations. There will be none. I’ll want every last one of them brought up before the Generals’ Court, and I want their heads.”

“I’m on it, First.”

It was dark by the time Roark was finally free to return to his quarters. He chose to walk, and hoped the exercise and cool night air would help to cool his temper as well as his body. He didn’t want to bring his foul mood home to Mira.

Just the thought of her there, waiting for him, made the energy of fury coursing through his body change and move in another direction. His mind turned from dissecting the disasters of the day to full round breasts and honeyed hair. He wanted to see her smile, hear her laugh, and hold her close. When everything else was turning into a shit storm, he needed to know that this one thing was going right.

The why of it baffled him. He wanted her, certainly, but that wasn’t unusual. He’d wanted females before. Women were like the flowers his mother displayed in strategic places throughout the house. You were attracted by their beauty, stopped for a few moments to enjoy their fragrance and sweetness, and then moved on. In a few days the arrangement would change. The new one would be just as alluring as the last. In the end, though, they were all the same. The blossoms would wilt after a few days. Their petals would fall if handled too roughly. Their attraction was transient.

Mira was different. If she was a flower, she was one forged of xoralinium. Like that nanometal alloy used for the skin of the huge starships, she was soft and pliable yet, he suspected, strong enough to withstand almost anything the galaxy could throw at her. Roark laughed aloud at the thought of how Mira would react to his comparison. Would she have another chat with that god of hers about being compared to a sheet of nanometal? He laughed again. The answer would be found in her eyes.

Those grey eyes of hers held the same transparency as the thinly rolled xoralinium, too. There were secrets there she didn’t want to share. In an unconscious gesture, she lowered her lids and turned her head slightly to the left each time she felt the need to shield the truth. That he understood. It would take time and trust to reveal the secrets she held. But there were no secrets in those eyes when they made love. She tried to hide it, to shutter her eyes as she came, but he’d insisted she look at him and she obeyed.

Her channel gripped him as the wave washed over her and those eyes captured him and drew him down into their depths. In that moment of supreme vulnerability, he saw something he’d never seen in a woman’s eyes before and he wanted to see it again and again and again.

He wanted to see it now. He needed to see it now.

Roark called out her name as he entered his quarters. He thought nothing of the place being bathed in darkness, sure that she would be waiting for him in his bed and he would have the pleasure of awakening her with his kisses. He kicked off his boots and left a trail of clothing in his wake as he moved for the bedroom and the woman who held so much promise in her eyes.

Mira wasn’t there, nor was there any sign that she’d ever been there. The bed was made. The floor was cleared of any shoes and clothing that had been cast aside. The bathroom, where she’d showed him the pleasures that could be had in the water shower, was dry and sparkling clean. The clean towels were stacked neatly on the counter by the sink.

Roark let loose with a string of curses that would have made Mohawk blanch as he retraced his steps to the kitchen, gathering his discarded clothing as he went. The anger he tried to temper for her sake flared up again.

He grabbed the com link from the table, pressed the button, and was issuing orders before he had it reattached to his shoulder. He threw open the door and had to grab the jamb to keep from trampling Ahnyis as she fell back from the door.

Mason caught her before she could fall.

“Whatever it is, it will have to wait,” Roark told them once she was righted. He turned his back on them and strode away.

“But it’s important, Roark,” Ahnyis called after him. “Mason and I have been...”

Roark raised an open fingered hand over his head. “I don’t want to know what you and Mason have been doing. If you tell me I’ll have to kill him.”

“It’s not that,” she giggled, hurrying after him. “It’s about Mira. We have to talk to her. You have to talk to her.”

“Oh, when I find her, I’ll be doing a lot more than talking and I won’t be needing any help from you or your Dr. Mason when I do.”

“But Roark...”

The ground trembled beneath their feet as an explosion rocked the town a few miles away. A geyser of fire and smoke rose into the sky. A skitt came to a stop just ahead of them when the explosion occurred. Roark almost threw the poor driver into the passenger seat before he took over the controls. He didn’t object when Ahnyis and Mason climbed into the back.

The small hovercraft wasn’t meant to fly, but Roark didn’t wait for the guards to open the gate at his command. He pulled back on the control stick and the skitt’s nose rose in the air. Ahnyis screeched, Mason roared in protest, and the soldier covered his helmeted head with his arms. The vehicle skimmed over the fence, bounced once as it hit the road on the other side, and sped off toward the town.

“Where are the sirens? Where are the silver eagles?” Mason shouted.

Another boom sounded in the distance followed by another fountain of flame.

“This isn’t a raid,” Roark shouted back. “Those are the warning towers going down. Those explosions came from inside.”

“Then what are those?” Anyis screeched and Roark didn’t have to look where she was pointing over his shoulders. He couldn’t miss the Hahnshin fighters dropping down from the clouds.

He hit the comlink on his shoulder. “Harm. Report.”

“We’re scrambled and in the air, First. They came out of nowhere.”

“We need troops in the town. Possible rebellion. I’m headed there now and will assess. You’ve got the controls, Prime. Out.”

The first streaks of destruction were falling from the Hahnshin fighters. Glints of silver soared past them as the Godan fighters soared overhead. Roark pressed the skitt to travel faster than it was ever meant to go. Mira lived right around the corner from where the first tower went down.

Chapter 15

The ticking of the old wind up alarm was too loud in the quiet room.

“Where do you think they could be?” Wynne asked.

Tales of Mira’s screwed up love life could no longer keep her sister’s eyes from the clock. The children were already late. Wynne was worried and Mira was kicking herself for not being there to warn them to stay close by.

Her argument with Roark wasn’t really a big deal and his end of it was loaded with a few backhanded compliments and one helluva kiss. She might have stayed if he hadn’t mentioned her safety. He didn’t strike her as the type of guy who would worry about nothing, so his worry became hers, and hers was for her family.

It was past lunch by the time she got there, and the children were already gone. She called and scoured the neighborhood for them, but they were nowhere to be found. This wasn’t unusual. What was left of their small corner of the city proper was their playground and they wandered where they chose. They knew the rules and if one of them broke one, another one was sure to tell.

“They’ll be home for supper. They always are,” she assured her sister. “We’ll give them another twenty minutes and if they’re not back by then, I’ll go take another look around.”

Wynne gave the soup another stir and stared at the clock.

“He didn’t understand what a shower was for,” Mira told her mostly to keep Wynne’s mind off the clock. She laughed when her sister fell for it and wrinkled her nose. “No, he doesn’t smell bad. I told you. They use those sanitizer thingies and believe me, they clean everything.” She emphasized the last word. “I ought to know, I used it often enough last night. The whole unit is only a couple of feet square. Roark thought it was funny when I told him I now knew what those poor sardines felt like in the tin. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to stand beneath running water. So wasteful, don’t you know.” She giggled and winked. “I showed him the advantages of doing it the old fashioned way.”

She’d already given her sister enough descriptions of the night before to have Wynne squirming in her seat, but now that Mira had her attention, she decided on more serious talk.

“He expected me to stay.”

“Then why didn’t you? It sounds like you were enjoying yourself and I didn’t really expect you back until tonight or maybe tomorrow,” Wynne joked, but her smile faded when she saw her sister’s serious look. “What happened?”

“Whatever those battle plans of his were, they went to shit. First Commander Roark was not happy.”

Mira thought she’d seen him angry with Captain Suto, but that was nothing compared to the rage he displayed when Harm’s reports from the front lines became worse as the morning wore on.

“He didn’t take it out on you, did he?” Wynne asked worriedly.

There was anger in Roark’s eyes when he turned away from the screen that appeared to rise up out of thin air. They were still angry when he kissed her and told her to wait, but she’d been angry, too.

“I’m not that girl anymore, remember? Do you really think I’d give you all the details about the hottest night in my life and then end it with he hit me?”

“Anthony
never hit you, either.”

Her sister’s blunt statement was like a slap, though Mira knew Wynne didn’t mean it that way.

Anthony Tomaselli
was like a leech permanently attached to her skin and sucking the life right out of her. He not only made her doubt her own ability to judge men, he made Wynne doubt that ability, too. Now the little bloodsucker had his fangs in her brother’s neck as well.

Anthony didn’t like the word no, and his favorite saying was ‘Don’t get mad. Get even.’ Mira wondered how much his current attachment to David was based on his need for petty revenge against her.

“It wasn’t like that,” she told Wynne. “Not exactly. At least not until he said, ‘I command it. So it shall be’, she intoned in a deep and mocking parody of Roark, “and I told him what he could do with his command. He didn’t mean spend another night, Wynne. He expected that after one night, I’d move in permanently.” Mira sighed and shook her head. “I can’t do it.”

“Can’t or are afraid to, Mira?”

“Quit saying that. I’m not afraid.”

Her denial didn’t make it true. First Commander Roark had done something to her when he picked her up from the mud. She may have touched his heart, but he had taken hers and he’d done it so easily, it terrified her.

She’d almost fallen for that kind of magnetism once before and the only thing that saved her was she hadn’t really been in love with Anthony Tomaselli. She’d been young and infatuated. He hadn’t held her heart.

If she stayed with Roark, he would consume her. She’d be giving him the power to rip the heart from her chest and crush her last hope and only dream.

“I can’t,” she repeated and it sounded more like a plea.

Wynne reached across the table and squeezed her sister’s hand. “Tell me why you can’t.”

The easy answer to that came up the stairs, sounding more like cattle than children. The sound of their whispered arguments echoed off the walls of the empty stairwell and hall. As usual, the twins were first into the apartment.

“I get to tell this time.”

“You got to tell last time and besides, you always screw it up.” Royal gave his twin a shove. “Dorrie said wait.”

“Did you see that?” Rashonda complained. She shoved him back. “Boys aren’t supposed to shove girls.”

“You’re not a girl. You’re my sister.”

“She’s still a girl, Royal, and boys don’t shove girls, even sister’s,” Mira scolded, though she did it with a laugh. Her eyes moved to Rashonda. “And girls don’t shove boys, even if your brother shoved first.”

Both children grinned, one sheepishly, the other triumphant. Their shining faces were a deep, rich brown that reminded Mira of the highly polished table in her grandmother’s dining room, the one Nona always promised would be hers someday. It was the only thing the two shared in common. At 11 years old, Royal was already as tall as Mira. His face matched his body; long and lean with a long, narrow nose and a wide, thin mouth. Rashonda was his opposite, shorter and rounder in face and body. Her wide set eyes sparkled with mischief. She complained constantly about her twin, but they often found her sleeping on the floor by his cot, holding his dangling hand for comfort.

If Royal and Rashonda were dark walnut, Dorrie was maple with her pale pink skin, reddish brown hair and lashes. She, too, was tall and thin with an athlete’s body that would turn her into a beauty in a few years’ time.

“My story,” she said as she tossed a plastic bag onto the table. “I found them.”

Royal looked over his shoulder to where Matias was coming through the door with eight year old Bitsy on his back. “Yeah, but it was Matty who climbed through... Ow!” He rubbed his shoulder and started to protest. “Mira just said...”

“That was a punch, not a shove,” Rashonda cut him off, giving him a so-there look.

Wynne untied the knot of the plastic bag and looked inside. “Socks,” she exclaimed excitedly. “It looks like there’s a dozen pairs in here. Where did you get them?”

Most clothing could still be traded for, but socks and underwear were scarce.

“Well,” Dorrie drew the word out and Mira knew the tale would be an involved one. All the long ones began with that word. “We found some apples. They were pretty beat up, but we picked up the best of them and took them to Clooney’s and traded for some flour. Then we took some more of the apples and took them to Mrs. Donovan...” Dorrie was an encyclopedia of who needed what and who had something to trade. The girl had a head for business and knew exactly how much each trade was worth.

By the time everyone else added their piece, Mira counted at least five trades between the apples and the socks. There was only one question left and while she asked it in general, she kept her eyes on Bitsy who hadn’t yet learned to keep her mouth shut.

“Where did the apples come from?”

With hero worship in her eyes, the little girl answered. “Matty found a way into that little apartment building over on Eighth Street. I was playing Queen of the Mountain and he was supposed to come and save me from the dragon, but I slipped and some of the bricks fell.” She pulled up the sleeves of her sweatshirt to expose her skinned elbows. “He rescued me.”

“And?” Mira prompted, this time to Matias.

Matias Ruiz was the newest member of their family. Wynne had searched for him for three days after Dorrie saw him picking through garbage for food. Bitsy took to him immediately. His story was the same as the others, though because of his age when they found him, he remembered more of the details.

Like so many of the men, his father and uncle had left for the war leaving his grandmother, mother, and three children behind. His grandmother and siblings were killed early on when the raids were coming day and night. He and his mother made their way alone until the night his mother disappeared.

That was almost a year ago and since that time Matias had become their oak, sturdy, straight, and brown. His smoky lashed eyes didn’t flinch away from Mira’s question.

“More brick fell when I carried her down. I saw the hole open up so I went back and climbed through. If I waited, someone else would have found it and the apples would be theirs. I’m not a little boy.” He straightened his shoulders and nodded the way a man would nod.

“None of us are little,” Dorrie added with a touch of defiance, “except Tidbits here.”

Bitsy bristled at the nickname. “But I been here the longest, so technically,” she stumbled over the word, “I’m the oldest.”

Wynne had found Bitsy, too, wandering through the streets in only her diaper not long after the war began. After a failed search for her parents, Wynne named her Bitsy, because the toddler was such an itsy-bitsy thing. She assigned her the age of two because that was the child’s answer to any question they asked. She was the only one of their little troop who had no memory of the time before the war.

Wynne spoke before Mira could raise an objection to Dorrie’s declaration. “You’re right, Dorrie, and thank you, Matty. Cold weather’s coming and we need those socks.”

Looks passed, grins formed, and Dorrie said, “We’ve got more.”

They dragged their treasures in from the hall; two plastic plates, two D cell batteries, a small bag of sugar, a larger one of flour, and a plastic grocery sack filled with half rotted apples.

Rashonda beamed at their haul. “If we cut out the bad parts there should be enough to make a pie or something.”

That wasn’t all. Matias carried in a large tin, the kind holiday popcorn used to come in. He held it in place while Royal pried off the lid, exposing the sealed plastic bags inside.

“The guy who lived there must have been drying fruit when he got hit.”

Guy? Mira caught the boy’s eye. Matias understood her silent question, but he sealed his lips and gave his head a slight shake. In refusing to answer, he told Mira exactly what she feared. It was another reason she didn’t like the children going into bombed out buildings. Matias had found human remains inside.

“And then the helmet heads came and we had to hide,” Bitsy added. “I was so scared I cried, but Matty held his hand over my mouth and told me to shush.”

All thoughts of socks, apples, and dead men died.

“What were they doing?” Mira asked, hoping against hope the soldiers were only marching through town, making their presence known. They weren’t.

“Looking for kids,” Dorrie answered and looked disgusted when the two adults in the room blanched. “Don’t go freakin’ on us. We were okay. We knew what to do and we did it, except for Tidbits. And if she cries again,” Dorrie gave Bitsy her own version of dagger eyes, “she’s going to get something to cry about.”

Bitsy sidled over to Wynne who wrapped a consoling arm around the child and admonished Dorrie with one word, her given name. “Dorothy.”

“Don’t Dorothy me,” Dorrie said in defiance of the hated name. “She’s old enough to know better and her crying could have got Matty caught.”

“And they were already looking for him anyway,” Rashonda added.

Dorrie rolled her eyes and Royal gave his twin a shove. “I told you you’d screw it up.”

“Stop!” Mira called out before another argument began. “What do you mean they were looking for Matty?”

“One of them said my name,” he confessed. “We were close enough to hear them talking, but it was hard, you know, because of the faceplates. One of them said Dorrie’s name, too, and one of them laughed and said something I couldn’t hear and then the third guy punched him. It must have hurt because the guy dropped the f-bomb.”

Royal nodded. “We all heard that one.”

Now that everyone else was talking, Rashonda jumped back in. “Even Mr. Tomaselli heard it. He told them to watch their mouths. He’s the one who made them leave. He must have known we were there, too, because he yelled at us to tell Mira she needed to think about who could do her the most good.”

“Which side her bread is buttered on,” Royal corrected. At Rashonda’s elbow jab to the ribs, he added defensively, “That’s what he said.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“And then?” Wynne prompted sharply. If anything, her face was whiter than before. “Did he say anything else? Did you answer him?”