[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]The day before arrival at Pella'agre Laura came on the bridge. He smelled her before he saw her, which effectively broke the reverie induced by his gazing out at the stars.
“Hi... how you doing? ...your head still hurt...?” he asked.
“A little bit,” she admitted and sidled up next to him. Ryan pulled out a chair for her. She smiled sadly and sat down next to him. Clearing her throat, she said, “I want to ask your forgiveness,” touching his arm gently with apparent concern.
“Forgiveness...?” This surprised him. She had nursed him through some very difficult times. It wasn't her fault he was being held. She was as much of a victim as he was. “For what...?”
“For being a part of the ruse... I knew what the Sky Fathers were doing. I knew they were using me to attract you into the dream world, where the Sky Mother mated with you. I should have told you... especially after I began... we...” she trailed off, looked down into her lap.
If a brick had hit him in the face it couldn't have hurt more. He assumed he had been having erotic fantasies about her in his drug-induced sleep. But instead she had been knowingly used as bait for the evil Baeliwiks to experiment with him sexually. “You knew what was happening?” he asked aghast.
At his tone she looked quickly into his eyes, read the disgust there. “I did,” she admitted, sighed and looked away. “I was told that my village would be destroyed if I didn't comply... was assured that it was quite harmless to you... and everyone else that was involved... that the Sky Fathers needed this in order to be made whole again.”
“I see...” Just his luck! Here he was thinking he was starting to regain the old feelings he had lost with Shell's death, thought he had a chance for love again. Now it looked like some kind of bizarre hoax. He snorted angrily and turned on her. “So, let me get this right... every time I dreamed of us together it was that...” he gulped down the rising bile, “that Dalq'chette...?” he spat out the name like he was spitting out the bile. A shiver ran across his spine; he suddenly was in dire need a shower.
She nodded, melancholia falling across her face like a black veil, tears streaming unabated. “It was wrong, and I knew it... but... I was weak... and I'm... sorry... I beg your forgiveness.”
He sighed, shook his head. He honestly wished to God he didn't know; it had been much nicer when he assumed he was just having wet dreams about her. He stared back out at the stars. How did this change his feelings for her? He wasn't sure, needed time to digest it all. After awhile—him not speaking, refusing to look at her—she simply left...
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Three weeks and some odd days later, Ryan was called before the order-master of Urtyre.
Master Liu tells me that you are an outstanding apprentice. Your handling of the crisis on Hei'a 12 has certainly borne out this opinion. This was no Dalcachene. He was of a race unfamiliar to Ryan; shortabout five twobroad with dark, mahogany-colored skin; close-set eyes, bright but of indeterminate hue (alternately hazel or pale green depending on the lighting); thick black hair cut short in what Ryan would have called military fashion. There was no gray in it but the lines around his eyes betrayed his wizened years.
Thank you, Order-master Emoce'i. I grieve for the loss of my master.
As does the entire order, I assure you. He stared at the Terran, unblinking, an apparent attempt to appraise the quality of his character. Ryan met his gaze in like manner. Finally satisfied the order-master smiled and continued. Master Liu insists that you be allowed your freedom and that you be granted title to Saar'floe. I have granted his wishes with a single caveat.
Sir?
You will fly on the wing of Master Liu until I am satisfied that you are ready to accept the title of master. Until that point in time I bestow upon you the rank and title of Journeyman Starflyer of the Exeonassi, which has never before been done for anyone with less than two years experience as an apprentice. Do not make me regret this decision.
Thank you. I will not, sir. He saluted (a strange flourish that he had had to practice at some length before Quang to get right), and excused himself. Not bad, Ryan old boy, not bad... One step closer to absolute freedom! His brow wrinkled as he walked down the long corridor outside the audience chamber toward the exit. He wondered how flying on the wing of the mad ninja would go. He shrugged, only time would tell.
They had made the trip to Pella'agre and returned the captives without incident, but parting with Laura had been difficultmuch more so than anticipated. Though still in turmoil over the bitter revelation he had been forced to swallow concerning her, there were still some very deep feelings there. It was obvious by the tears shed at his parting that they were reciprocated. He had hugged her warmly and whispered his forgiveness into her ear, but then left without another word. A substantial volume of water needed to flow under that bridgetime to figure that situation out later.
The political situation was another matter. Apparently the complex where he and Master Erzo'acteru had been held was being visited by the leader of the rebellion against the legitimate government of Dalca'odge. Quang thought it strangely coincidental that it was at that very point in time that the devastating assault had occurred, that the shields were mysteriously down (for he had not been responsible for that, he assured Ryan). Machinations were at work behind the scenes there. He was sure of it, was determined to uncover the details.
The Baeliwik faction leader did not survive the attack, but several of his lieutenants did. They were all up for trial. No-one doubted they would be swiftly convicted, summarily executed. Ryan evinced amazement that the federation had no qualms in capital punishment, as it was a continuing source of hot debate back home. Quang was amused.
You Americans... you think what you determine to be immoral makes it so. Morality is as much a factor of culture as it is some absolute law of God. The reference to God made Ryan's ears perk up.
Are you... a Christian, Quang? He had heard that South Korea had the strongest, most prolific population of Christians in Asia, but it had never occurred to him that Quang might be one of them.
I am, he admitted. But all contingencies are not covered by the bible. For instance, no mention of the existence of other starfaring races is mentioned, nor of the other two species of sentients: the Daakrere, the Massamertes. ...neither is it denied. This was true, Ryan had to admit. Hearing the tough marine pontificate on matters of morality and religion however made him sit up and take notice. There was much more to this fierce warrior than met the eye. Ryan filed the incident away for future reference.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]It appeared that he would be on extended leave while his wing commander was recuperating from his injuries. Ryan had just left the bedside of the doughty ROK marine whose spirits were high, his stubborn optimism writing checks his body couldn't cash unfortunately. The physicians, however, assured Ryan that the imbecilic invalid still had several weeks of painful rehab before he would be released—even if they had to strap him down at night to keep him there! Good enough! That would give Ryan a chance to sample some more of the excellent entertainment available on Urtyre, the finest spaceport in the known galaxy! He mused on that a moment; once a sailor always a sailor!
He had quite a few credits to do it with, too. The federation bounty on the three wanted fugitives he had fished out of the ruins on Hei'a 12 had fetched quite a tidy sum. Quang had insisted that he take it all, said if it hadn't been for Ryan making his forced march on the trail of the itinerant marine not only would they not have captured the three surviving Dalcachenes but Quang himself would have most likely died a horrible death. He would hear nothing of making a split of it so Ryan capitulated, and came out quite well in the bargain. He certainly had plenty of money with which to enjoy Urtyre.
Charlie had mentioned a sector of the artificial world that they had not gotten to, were actually planning on visiting the day they had been called away to tend to an irate Asian buddy of theirs. It was the Earth Sector. It seems that Urtyre had a small but thriving population of Terrans who had made it their labor of love to transform a small piece of the place into a plausible semblance of home sweet home. Ryan found that incredible but knew better than to doubt it. If Charlie said it, he took it for gospel.
Ryan's first view of the Earth Sector proved Charlie to be accurate as ever. He got out of the air taxi and stepped into Paris! ...or what was certainly an authentic Gallic facsimile, the street lined with bistro's and open-air cafes. Two blocks down he took a left and found himself in Rome, replete with street wine vendors offering Lambrusco to passers-by... He pressed on, enjoying the atmosphere; it was like a whirlwind tour of the world.
Finally he noticed his throat was dry, decided to stop and slake his thirst at the next opportunity. He had just left Greece behind him and up ahead there was another country. He played a little game of: Can you guess the next national flavor? Russia... India... Japan... he flitted through the possibilities. He was wrong. The first establishment he came to had the words Rick's Cafe Americain scrawled across its white-washed stucco facade. Oh course! Play it again Sam! He loved that old movie... Ryan rushed into the small cafe and found it lived up to its namesake admirably, even down to the pianist playing the appropriate ditties. Just remember this... a kiss is just a kiss... Yep, this was just the place to relax and lose himself for awhile. How incredibly appropriate, for Urtyre was certainly his Casablanca!
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Rick's Cafe Americainbecame Ryan's base of operations during his leave. He came to know the owner, a man from London, and most of the regulars, although these were an extreme minority compared to the transient tourists. (He began to amuse himself with the notion after awhile that he did not fall into this latter group.)
One day, about two weeks after he had begun haunting the place, a new face appeared amongst the regulars. He was not Terran but of a race Ryan knew well enough. He was Mollocan. These people reminded Ryan of pygmies more than anything else. They were bluish-black in pigmentation with thick curly hair that always began too far back on their heads, as if the entire race needed to join The Hair Club for Men. (He searched his memory, realized he had yet to see a female of their race.) This little fellow, about the size of a Dalcachene, seemed to have eyes for only Ryan. From day one he sat across the room alone staring at him. Every time Ryan would look his way, there he was, glossy black eyes locked on him. He had no idea what the guy had in mind but it was really starting to become an irritant by the third night.
“You appear to be staring at me, sir.” Ryan stated bluntly after walking purposefully over to the man. “May I ask why?”
“Yes I am interested in talking to you... if you are Ryan Manniks?”
Ryan was taken aback for a second then replied, “I suspect you know I am... why else would you be here...?”
“You are correct. Please... sit with me. I will buy you a drink.” He motioned to an empty chair excitedly.
“Alright, but you should know, I am strictly AC,” he announced as he slid out the chair and plopped down.
“AC...?”
“Yes... I, uh... only like girls...”
“Ah...” and the little man began to titter hysterically, quite amused with the sudden turn in the conversation apparently. Ryan patiently waited for him to regain his composure, never cracking a smile, waving to several people who were streaming in...
“If not that then why the interest in me?”
“You are with Master Liu, are you not?”
“That's right.” Ryan suddenly was at attention. This guy had done his homework.
“You should know that the assault on Hei'a 12 was orchestrated.”
“By someone other than the Szearfetti, I assume you mean... otherwise this would be no great revelation.”
“By the Federation Navy.”
Ryan must have looked his shock, for the little man grinned and nodded adamantly. “But why would they do something like that?” Ryan finally quipped.
“They had to quell the rebellion on Dalca'odge quickly... before it could gain momentum,” he whispered tersely.
“Why not just make an overt strike themselves... using their own fleet... why the deception...?”
“Because the Dalcachenes would not stand for it. The Baeliwiks are quite popular there. It was only by political pressure from the others on the federation council that the Baeliwiks were ousted in the first place. Many on Dalca'odge consider the cause of the Baeliwiks to be a righteous one. They consider the Baeliwiks benefactors of their race.”
Ryan thought back on those tiny, child-like people he had lived amongst while at home with Charlie. It was hard to picture them as brutal, uncaring enough to actually back what the Baeliwiks were up to.
“I have a name,” the Mollocan continued quickly, “the operative responsible for paying off the Szearfetti to make the strike. Do you want it?”
Ryan looked at him sideways, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Who are you working for?”
The little black man smiled, showing badly gapped front teeth. “But that is unimportant... Do you want the name?”
Ryan thought for only a second. Quang would certainly want the name. “Yeah, I guess I do,” he admitted.
“She is a Jeraiseanne. Strikingly beautiful, which she uses like a weapon to accomplish her missions, I'm told. Her name is Ma'areol. You can find her at the Galaxy Club. She dances there. It's her cover.” With that he quickly paid the bill and left, leaving Ryan with a suddenly strange taste in his mouth. He and Charlie had walked into a trap once before based on information given to them by an informant. It had spelled his boss' ultimate doom. Was this another trap? Best to see Quang about this before he did anything else.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Blood cries for blood. Ryan waltzed into the dimmed lighting of the Galaxy Club. The blaring music—an eerie fluting tune with several unidentifiable instruments playing in the background—vibrated the very air with its beat. Up on the circular stage was a tall, golden-skinned goddess, dressed to accentuate her already ample assets, her incredible corona of red hair veritably ablaze in the stage lighting. Blood cries for blood.
Ryan found an empty air-chair, ordered a drink and leaned back to watch the show. Alien, four-legged birds were now sweeping the stage airspace in flocks. He didn't know if they were real or hologram images but they fairly lit up the air with splashes of color, swirls of motion. Below this surreal panoply, the lady sensuously gyrated, her sleek scantily clad body undulating enticingly to the beat.
His peripheral vision suddenly awakened him from his reverie; he noticed a large stone (stage-right), apparently levitating in mid-air, now rotating slowing in toward the stage. Two larger birds separated themselves from the flock and swooped down to lift the dancer bodily up onto the asteroid. And she never missed a beat! Atop the rock now, which began to slowly orbit the periphery of the crowded clubhouse, she flew into a wilder choreograph as the music tempo escalated, mounting toward its crescendo. She wowed the audience with a spectacular series of intrepid leaps, bounding gracefully from one rocky ledge to the next, balancing on the sheer precipice of death! Never did she balk, never did she stumble, never did she miss a beat... It was amazing! The closest thing Ryan had ever seen was a show back in Paris at the Moulon Rouge; the thought took him back several decades, a young college kid on summer break. But, good as that was, this was several million miles beyond it in quality. Blood cries for blood.
He called over the bartender, got a refill and asked about the star of the show.
“Isn't she the total game?!” the young Strett quipped, excitedly. He was—like all his race—broad of face with eyes placed impossibly far apart and a large nose thrusting out from between them. His bristly hair, white as snow, and his beady eyes made him look like nothing if not a human buzzard. His ice-colored beard, tipped with silver jewelry topped off the bizarre visage, striking a stark contrast to his charcoal gray flesh. And his wicked grin lent credence to the alarming notion that he just might be some sort of cosmic pirate. Blood cries for blood.
“Yeah,” Ryan admitted, “the total game!” Blood cries for blood. Blood cries for blood. He couldn't get that damn voice to shut down. It had been zipping around in his head ever since he had come back from talking with Quang. He closed his eyes for a moment and the conversation automatically replayed itself across the screen of his brain.
“You must get close to this woman,” Quang had stated, speaking of Ma'areol, of course.
“Why? ...and just how do you propose I do that anyway?”
“Use your head, squid.” Ryan narrowed his eyes at the denigration.
“Okay, so I manage to get close to her... to what purpose?”
“Because blood cries for blood.”
“Well what the hell does that mean?”
“Back in my old outfit that was our motto, our creed... If the enemy kills one of yours, that man's blood cries for blood. None of his brothers-in-arms will rest until he is avenged.” There was death in his eyes as he stated this, dead-pan, without feeling. It sent a silent shiver down the other man's spine. Quang must've noticed. He smirked wickedly and added. “Welcome to the real world; we play for keeps.” Blood cries for blood.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Ryan was turning out to be a better James Bond than he would've expected. Of course, he was falling dramatically in love-lust with the woman who was the mark of his espionage, but who didn't feel that way about her?! He was sure every male member of every show fell hard! And he had been there to observe it—at every show she had performed at in the past two weeks. Due to this die-hard dedication he soon began to receive VIP fan invites to after-event, backstage parties. At these the lady-of-honor would put in a brief appearance, kiss cheeks, join in a toast or two and promptly leave...
Ryan reported the progress back to Quang.
“Good, good, but you must find a way to stand out with her... figure out how to get her attention,” he suggested, grinning. “Who knows...? You may get in her pants if you try hard enough.”
Ryan glared at the obscene man, shook his head in disgust. Not only did he want to kill the lady but he wanted to deceive her emotionally, to abuse her physically first. “I thought you said you were a Christian?” he spat out venomously.
“So I am.”
“How do you reconcile your faith with murder... deception?”
Quang smirked and shook his head. “I do not have to explain myself to you, my faith is quite private, quite secure. One day if you and I become friends on that level I may answer your question, as long as it is not laced with the heavy poison of sarcasm... Suffice it to know that God is square with me, and I am square with Him.”
Ryan shook his head in disgust. He had lived around religious hypocrites all his life. Why was he surprised to find one here?
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Ryan did not sleep at all that night. The last conversation with Quang kept nagging at him. Ryan believed in God; he and Shell had even been attending church together back in Portland. Even then the blatant hypocrisy that was rampant amongst the church members had been a source of angst with him. He had swallowed it and kept his mouth shut; Shell liked the church, its pastor, most of the people that went there. After her death he had dropped going like a bad habit, supposed he had been quietly blaming the old man upstairs for taking her from him. But the mad ninja was right about one thing. It was important to be square with God, for him to be square with you. And being an active accomplice to murder would certainly put him out of alignment with the Almighty. Well, it wasn't going to happen, irregardless of the cost!
The next morning he went to the order-master to protest the direction in which Quang was taking them, was promptly told to shut up and put up—basically to be a good soldier and follow orders. And the Order comes before all else. He shook his head with disgust, felt like he was being asked to sell his soul. Well, he was sick of it, all of it! And he would not be a party to the murder of an innocent person. (Quang had admitted that his sources reported that the Federation Navy had not known that Charlie and Ryan were being held at the installation they had had destroyed. But he was still insistent on going ahead with the hit.) Well, not with Ryan's help he wasn't!
That night at the after hours party, Ryan made his move. It was not planned, in fact, he didn't really have one of those at all. He was flying by his gut now. He just knew he was not going to allow this murder to take place.
Ma'areol made the toast and then, as usual, made her way around the crowd, smiling and kissing cheeks, saying a kind word here and there. When it came Ryan's turn he leaned in close and whispered: “I know about Hei'a 12—you're in danger—I'm a friend.”
She pulled back quickly and searched his eyes, a parade of emotions marching across her face: shock, fear, confusion and then resolution. She winked ever so slightly, put her beautiful smile back on and then moved on to the next adoring fan.
Ryan downed his drink and got another as she left the room. He was working on his fourth, and a hangover in the morning, when one of her bodyguards came back in and made a beeline for him.
“Will you come with me please?” he asked pleasantly enough, but with something just behind the eyes that said it was not really a request at all. It didn't matter, Ryan was committed to this course of action. He nodded and left with the man.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]It was no great shock to Ryan when they discovered that Master Liu had flown the coop. It would've been more of a shock if he hadn't. Of course the twenty-six plus hours of intensive verbal scrutiny and interrogation the navy had put him through certainly gave the mad ninja ample opportunity to be forewarned. But in the end they accepted his story, that his motives were simple and moralistic, asked if he would testify against his master and issued an order to arrest the suspect. Of course by that time the entire artificial world probability knew about it... Oh well, no skin off his nose. At least the lady had been warned. Of course now he had an enemy for life. The thought made Ryan instinctively glance over his shoulder. He'd be doing that a lot from here on out, he suspected.
“Thank you,” Ma'areol smiled as she hugged him. “You are a good man. I fear you will be ousted from your order for this.”
“I imagine so,” he admitted, “but I could never have been part of an organization that sanctions cold-blooded murder... so... good riddance.”
“Indeed, but if you could have your wishes granted where would you go...?”
It amazed Ryan that he didn't really need to think about it. “Pella'agre.”
She cocked her head to the side at that, batted her eyes slowly and asked, “Does this involve a lady-love?”
“Yes, it does indeed. Although,” he smiled and winked, “for awhile there you almost made me forget about her.”
“Liar,” she stated succinctly, hugged him again—harder this time—and whispered into his ear, “let me work on the details of making your wishes come true.” Then she shocked him by planting a soft, sweet kiss squarely on his lips, turned and walked away. He stood wide-eyed staring at her lovely figure as it receded too rapidly into the distance, the heat of her mouth still warming his. When she was out of sight down the street, he shook himself out of his euphoria and—with more than a little bit of difficulty—did the same: turned and walked away.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Ma'areol must have really taken a liking to him, for she had insisted on being the agent in bringing his wishes to fruition. He felt the same about her, somehow their fates were interwoven. Oh, Ryan had no illusions of grandeur; she was about a dozen light years out of his league. Still... anyone would want her in their life, at whatever level. She was just an incredible lady. And that she was drop-dead gorgeous to boot did nothing to detract from that, not one iota!
The plan was for her to carry Ryan back to Hei'a 12 to retrieve Saar'floe, which was by rights his property—her having been legally bequeathed to him by the Order (before they publicly ousted him). Thankfully he had had the foresight to discover the hiding place where she was secreted before leaving the moon. (Close interrogation of the three Dalcachene prisoners had assisted in that endeavor immeasurably.) So, the plan was to put Ryan back aboard his ship and send him along on his merry way to Pella'agre. He had raised an eyebrow at that, seeing (with his minds-eye) images of fleets of Exeonassi crescents descending on the planet, strafing and decimating the population in retaliation. Ma'areol just smiled, apparently reading the concern on his face.
“I managed to have Pella'agre declared a Contamination-3 Priority,” she said.
“And that means... what... exactly...?”
“The presence of a Federation Naval gunboat in-system with orders for an absolute quarantine, prohibiting the approach of any ship except one...”
Hmmm... Ryan thought, nice to have at least one friend in high places. “How long will the quarantine be in effect?”
“Indefinitely,” she stated demurely then added in a small voice, “as long as the current administration is in power.”
Fan-fricking-tastic! Come a trillion light years from home and everything still hinged on politics! Just his luck! “Grant one last favor?”
“Sure love, whatever you want,” she stated it so sweetly that he almost believed the whatever part of the statement.
“Send word if and when the quarantine is to be lifted?”
“I will... I promise...” she winked and stared back out at the stars, her profile reminding him of a statue of Venus he had seen in Rome a million years ago. Laura was beautiful but Ma'areol was simply da-amn! He sighed and tore his eyes away... three traverses left to Hei'a 12... God get me there quick!
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]They made it to the frozen moon without any mishap and located Saar'floe easily enough, the homing beacon that Ryan had placed there being instrumental to the task. He began running through the systems check to make sure she was still operational. Ma'areol came over the communications system, her voice sounding appropriately like the goddess she was.
“She seems to be lighting off well enough by the radiation signature I'm receiving. Does everything check out on your end?” She was hovering just over the other ship, functioning as over-watch until he got airborne.
“Yep, all looks green and go for lift-off.” Ryan had always wanted to say that, ever since he had heard one of the shuttle astronauts use the terminology on a newscast. Hell, what would one of those guys give for an opportunity to fly this baby? He smiled with self-satisfaction as he gripped the command console of Saar'floe and lifted her gently out of the encrusted snow and ice of Hei'a 12. She came alive, shook off the fetters of frost and sprang into the air.
“Looking good from up here,” Ma'areol acknowledged. “Sweep her around a little, make sure she responds well to your commands.” Ryan did as instructed and felt like he had regrown wings that had been clipped; it was great to be back at her controls again. His smile slipped away as a melancholy blanket suddenly descended on him; he had just realized that Charlie was missing from the crew. The bridge of Saar'floe was the last place he had seen the little guy alive. He sighed. You never know when mourning will set in. He had experienced the same thing with Shell—to a much greater degree, of course.
“Everything checks out,” he said.
“Good, then I am homeward bound. The Kogeera will arrive in the Pella'agrene system within a day or two. She will be the initial warship on-station there. Make contact with her captain.” She paused for a moment and then added. “Have a good life... I hope this Pella'agrene woman appreciates what a fine man she has.”
“You take care of yourself, lady,” he retorted. “Watch your back for mad ninjas.”
“I will.” She didn't know what a ninja was but, by context, could easily extrapolate his meaning. She put her ship around and headed back toward the vortex, back toward Urtyre.
Saar'floe hovered for a moment, watching her departure. Ryan was in no real hurry to leave. He knew that once he pointed his ship's bow away from her, their relationship was truly concluded—or at least diminished to an extreme. He would be finishing off a chapter of his life, starting a fresh one. His mind went to Leurraij'ha, his Laura. His heart started to ache for her, to see her again, to hold her, smell her... He smiled, decided (as his other lady-love faded to a mere point of light in the distant night sky) that it was finally time—time to go to Laura.
As he began to put the ship about he saw a second point of light join the other. And now they were dancing around each other, looking for all the world like two fireflies performing some type of elaborate mating ritual. Ryan watched amazed for a second then shook himself; those were no fireflies—that was a firefight! She was being attacked! He accelerated toward them at maximum speed, praying he would get there in time...
