Warrior (10 page)

So much so, it didn't even occur to her to protest his assumption. “No.” Reluctantly, she dropped her arms from around his waist. “I suppose not.”

Jess followed as he led the way out of the closet and down the corridor. “We can cut through the gym,” he told her, taking her elbow in one big, warm hand and guiding her through another door. “There's a lift just through . . .”

“Die, you bastard!” a voice howled.

Jess yelped a startled little scream. Galar jerked away from her and whirled, putting himself between her and the room beyond. She braced a hand against his broad back as steel rang on steel, voices snarling threats and insults.

Sounded like a knife fight.

Warily, Jessica craned her neck to see around the width of Galar's shoulders. They stood just inside a sprawling room, its ceiling soaring so high it put her in mind of a high school basketball court. Unlike the gym, though, the walls were gleaming white, except for one that appeared to be a solid sheet of glass. The Blue Ridge rolled beyond it, going dark with shades of indigo night.

Another howl of fury. A woman flew through the air in a superhuman bound, knives flashing in both hands. Lips peeled back from her teeth, she shot straight at a huge red-haired man who waited for her with a lunatic grin on his face and blades in either hand. He wore what looked like bright green bicycle pants and nothing else. Sweat streamed from the brawny bronzed torso that gleamed in the overhead light as if oiled.

The woman landed like an Olympic-caliber gymnast, solidly, without so much as a forward bobble. She instantly pounced into a lunge, her knife flashing toward her opponent's throat as she yowled that blood-chilling challenge again. He backflipped, bounding off the floor as if it were a trampoline. Undeterred, the woman charged after him. He hit the ground and whirled to circle with her, their knives clashing in metallic, ringing scrapes as they snarled insults at each other.

Forgetting her fear, Jessica moved around Galar to get a better look. Their speed was inhuman, a blurring exchange of blows she could barely follow. The whole fight looked more like something out of some special effects-laden martial arts flick than anything she'd ever seen in real life. Every time they leaped into one of those stunning bounces or improbable spins, Jess wanted to search for wires.

Nobody can jump like that.
Her jaw dropped shamelessly open at one fifteen-foot bound.
It's just not possible.

She was still gaping when the redhead leaped through the air toward the woman, his foot scything into a kick. His target ducked—and he kept going.

Straight at Jess.

Oh, shit . . .
There was no time to duck, no time to . . .

Broad shoulders suddenly blocked her view. Jessica stumbled back as Galar snatched the redhead out of the air as easily as a man catching a football. He didn't even rock back on his heels.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, staring at the two big men in blank astonishment. The redhead had to be six-foot-eight, as solidly muscled as an offensive lineman. Easily three hundred pounds of muscle. Yet Galar had caught him as if he weighed nothing at all.

Now he thrust the redhead back on his feet. “What the Seven Hells do you think you're doing? You could have killed her, you idiot!”

“Sorry, Master Enforcer.” The redhead looked mortified as he backed away from Galar's incandescent rage. “We just got a little carried away.”

“Sorry isn't good enough,” Galar snarled, poking a forefinger into his target's brawny chest. “Whether you're in combat or only combat practice, you maintain awareness at all times of
everything
around you. That's why you've got a battle comp. Use it!”

“It won't happen again, Master Enforcer.” The man looked shamefaced. His female opponent hurried over, her expression just as apologetic.

Damn,
Jessica realized belatedly.
It was only some kind of practice session.
She'd thought they were fighting to the death.

“I am sorry,” the redhead told her. “I didn't notice you standing there.”

“You should have,” Galar said in that same icy tone. He turned his attention to the woman. “And so should you.”

“You're right, of course,” the woman said, entwining her fingers with the redhead's. Like the two men, she was tall, but more leanly elegant than massive. She was also breath-takingly beautiful, with a bone structure a fashion model would envy, set off by huge violet eyes. She wore her black hair braided and gathered into a tight coil. A sleeveless one-piece tank suit emphasized the beauty of her body while again reminding Jessica of a gymnast. It was snug and cut high on the leg, the fabric thin and dark blue, with a red rectangle down the left side from breast to hip. She'd tucked those terrifying knives back into a pair of thigh sheaths.

“We
are
sorry,” the woman told Jess earnestly. “It's a good thing that Master Enforcer Arvid has such quick reflexes. ”

“How did you
do
that?” Jess asked in wonder. “Can everybody in the twenty-third century leap tall buildings in a single bound?”

“Nope.” Smiling faintly, the woman gestured at her big redheaded companion. “We're cyborgs.”

Jessica's EDI spat out a definition that made her frown in puzzlement. “Humans with mechanical arms and legs?”

“Mechanical as in gears and pulleys?” The redhead snorted. “Hardly. The technology is a lot more advanced than that.”

“Good to know.” Jess turned toward Galar. “So you're a cyborg too?”

He shook his head. “Genetically engineered. But I have sensors and a computer implant.”

“Ooookaay. Sensors. A computer implant.” She contemplated the steadily shrinking size of computers in her own time and decided she could believe it.

The woman stepped forward and offered her hand. “Enforcer Dona Astryr.” She nodded at the redhead. “Senior Enforcer Ivar Terje.”

“Jessica Kelly.” She clasped hands with the two agents. “People still shake hands?”

“No.” Dona smiled. “But you do.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.”

Galar took her elbow in one big hand. “Let's go.” Bad temper still growled in his voice. “I need to meet with the Chief Enforcer and tell him about the Xeran and Holt.”

Ivar looked at him, interested. “What's this about the Xeran?”

Galar gave him a glower. “You don't need to know.”

Ivar blinked as Jessica lifted a brow at Galar's brusque tone. Galar ignored her stare, tugging her away from the two agents.

“What brought that on?” she demanded.

“I didn't save your ass so one of my own men could break every bone in your body out of carelessness,” he gritted.

And how much of all that anger is sheer sexual frustration?
Jess wondered. That kiss had been pretty damned steamy, after all. She considered teasing him about it, but a glance at his rigid back made her carefully close her mouth again.

Better not.

6

Dona Astryr watched the Master Enforcer lead the
primitive away, his steps so long and angry, Jessica almost had to run to keep up. She sighed. “I don't think I've ever seen him that pissed off. But I guess we had it coming.”

“We?” Ivar shook his head, his expression chagrined. “Don't you mean me? It was my screwup. I could have killed her. Or at least hurt her badly.”

It
had
been uncharacteristically clumsy of him. Ivar normally demonstrated an almost superhuman awareness in combat; he rarely put a foot wrong. But he was also competitive as hell, and sometimes his need to win drove him to take too many chances.

Knowing he'd probably browbeat himself about his mistake, Dona gave his beefy shoulder a pat. “Luckily, the primitive's not hurt. And we'll both be a lot more careful the next time.”

“I'll try.” Ivar's lids lowered as he gave her a molten stare. One corner of his handsome mouth kicked up in a wicked little smile. “But you can be very distracting.”

Her heart gave an eager thump as he drew her into his arms. As always, his kisses seared her right to the soles of her boots. Dona sighed wordlessly into his mouth and twined her arms around his powerful neck.

Even as Ivar worked Dona's mouth with skillful hunger, he considered the implications of his little experiment. He hadn't really expected it to work; he'd assumed Galar would block him before he could do any interesting damage. Even if he'd gotten lucky, at most he'd have broken one or two of the little bitch's bones. Regen would have taken care of that in short order, though the reaction of all concerned would have been entertaining.

As it was, he'd scared the hell out of Galar and the primitive without arousing anyone's suspicions, a neat and thoroughly enjoyable trick.

Besides, the Master Enforcer's reaction had been interesting, to say the least. He'd gotten quite a bit angrier than Ivar had expected. The Ice Lord generally didn't seem to give a damn about much of anything. Yet he'd been thoroughly pissed off at the primitive's close call.

Such intense emotion suggested a weakness Ivar could exploit, given the right opportunity.

And Ivar was very, very good at finding—or making—the right opportunity.

“This time travel
thing confuses me,” Jessica told Galar as they headed down the corridor. She'd decided his still-simmering anger warranted a change in subject. “I know you can't change history, but I don't understand why.” Thoughtfully, Jess added, “Though I guess nobody would risk it if there was a real chance of wiping yourself out of existence.”

“Actually, at one time, we did worry about that. Quite a lot. But we've since discovered that's not the way it works.” Something small and bright red blurred through the air toward them. Galar reached out a hand and snagged it with offhand skill before it could dart past.

“Release!” a tiny voice shrilled. “I do not belong to you!”

“Hush,” Galar told it.

“What is that?” Curious, Jessica craned her head to look down in his hand. The thing was about the size of a baseball, but it was covered in bright crimson fur fine enough to wave in the air currents. Big, bulging cartoon eyes rolled in alarm. It had no visible nose or limbs, but its mouth was wide and pink, reminding her vaguely of Kermit the Frog.

“It's a 'bot—a toy.”

“I'll bite!” the thing squeaked.

“I wouldn't advise it.” To Jessica he added, “The perception of time in the twenty-first century is a little off. You think of it as a river, something that moves and changes. But it's not.”

Jess frowned, considering the implications despite the headache it was starting to give her. “So everything is predestined? ”

“Not predestined. It is what it is.” He held up the toy. “Look, our little friend here exists in three dimensions— width, height, length. He's made up of molecules, atoms, electrons, protons, neutrons, quarks.”

“Right.” Jessica nodded. “We know that even in my century. ”

“But he also has a fourth dimension, extending from the moment he was created in a factory to the moment he breaks and is put into the recycler . . .”

“Yeep!”

“. . . made up of years, hours, minutes, seconds, milliseconds, chronons . . .”

“Chronons?”

“The smallest possible particle of time. Anyway, he's got a temporal structure just as he has a physical shape.”

“But what if I went back in time and stomped on him? Wouldn't that change his structure?”

The toy squeaked, a high-pitched peep of alarm. “I do not like you! Get away from me!”

“You could,” Galar told her, ignoring the 'bot's struggles, “But it would be a waste of time. We know he's still here.” He gestured with the toy. “That tells us you failed to break him. He got away, he was repaired, or someone stopped you. But you can't know what happened unless you actually go back and try it.”

Jessica nibbled a thumbnail. “We could ask him.”

“Yes, but he might lie. Or he might not even know because he didn't see what stopped you. That's the thing about history: you can never know what really happened—absent some kind of recording—unless you go back and experience it for yourself. Which makes it your future, not your past. Time travel means everything effectively takes place
now
.”

She grimaced and rubbed her temples. “I think I'm getting a headache.”

Galar nodded. “I know what you mean. I've been a time traveler for ten years, and sometimes these discussions still give me migraines.”

“Wulf!” the little 'bot shrilled suddenly, jerking so violently, Galar almost lost his grip. “Wulf, save me!”

“Flybot?” The answering voice was so deep, Jessica felt it more in her bones than her ears. She watched as a figure rounded the corridor. He was a couple of inches shorter than she was, yet he was impossibly broad. Not that there was an ounce of fat anywhere on his massive body. And if there had been, she'd have seen it; he wore one of those one-piece dark blue scaled suits that fit him without so much as a wrinkle. His gloved hands were so enormous, he could have palmed her head like a baseball. His booted feet were even larger.

Despite his imposing proportions, he was surprisingly handsome, though in an angular, starkly masculine way. His eyes had an almond shape that suggested Asian heritage, but their color was a pale, pretty turquoise. His hair fell around those massive shoulders, straight and shining as a length of black silk. “Master Enforcer,” the big man rumbled by way of greeting. “Is Flybot bothering you?”