End Game
Gail R. Delaney

The Phoenix Rebellion Book IV

Triskelion Publishing
www.triskelionpublishing.net

Triskelion Publishing 15327 W. Becker Lane Surprise, AZ 85379

Copyright © 2006 Gail R. Delaney

ISBN 1-60186-000-5

Publisher’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

Dedication

To– All the poor souls who had to listen to me ramble on for hours about Nick and Caitlin, Jace and Lilly, Victor and Beverly and Michael and Jacqueline as if they were real people. And especially those who understood. I’m not crazy, I’m an author.

To– Craig, who has always believed in me. You’re always the first to say "I’m so proud of you."

For Everything There is a Season

For everything there is a season,
and a time for every matter under Heaven.
A time to be born; and a time to die.
A time to plant; and a time to pluck up what is planted.
A time to kill; and a time to heal.
A time to break down; and a time to build up.
A time to weep; and a time to laugh.
A time to mourn; and a time to dance.
A time to throw away stones; and a time to gather stones together.
A time to embrace; and a time to refrain from embracing.
A time to seek; and a time to lose.
A time to keep; and a time to throw away.
A time to tear; and a time to sew.
A time to keep silent; and a time to speak.
A time to love; and a time to hate.
A time for war; and a time for peace.

~From the Book of Ecclesiastes
Chapter 3, Verses 1-8

"Out of ashes, humanity will rise again"

Prologue

Earth Time: Tuesday, November 5, 2052 
Capital City of Callabria
Planet Aretu
Far side of the Galaxy

Nick stood near the pristine white wall of the hanger bay, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet set apart, studying the Aretu scout ship that hovered effortlessly fifteen feet above the deck.

The ship was magnificent. Sleek and smooth, its mirror surface helped it blend into its surroundings, even here in the bay. No sound emanated from its cool-fusion engines, and only the slightest sway of its massive body indicated it wasn’t firmly anchored to the floor. The size of a football field, it would carry Nick and two dozen other Aretu and Umani soldiers for the three-month journey back to Earth. He had been assured that the Armada ships traveled much faster, so even though they left Aretu weeks after the scout ships, they would reach Earth not long after Nick.

The trip would be faster, but he didn’t have the patience it took to sit around waiting for everything to be ready. He needed to move. Needed to feel like he was closer to home. There would be no cryogenic sleep this time. Nick wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or not. On one hand, he could sleep through most of the trip like he did when he was a kid and his parents drove cross country on vacation.

It didn’t matter — sleep or no sleep — slow or fast — he was going home.

"The scout ship doesn’t depart for another three hours, Nicholas. Are you in such a hurry to leave Aretu?"

Nick twisted at the waist and looked back to Queen Bryony the Fourteenth where she stood several feet away. He had seen her several times since leaving Raxo for Aretu, where the ships were prepared for the journey. She never wore the garish and jeweled gowns like the one she had worn that first time he saw her except when she attended an official event. Otherwise, she wore simple gowns of cream or yellow that hid more than accentuated her feminine form. Today it was a pale yellow that deepened the gold of her hair and turned her skin to alabaster. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, and in many ways reminded him of Caitlin with her height and the color of her hair. But as beautiful as she was, she didn’t squeeze the air from his lungs with a gentle fist the way Caitlin did.

"Not so much leaving Aretu as going home, Your Highness."

She moved forward to stand beside him, turning her attention to the scout ship. "Isn’t it beautiful?"

"Yes, ma’am. I’m hoping I can convince the captain to let me behind the wheel during one of the jumps. I’d love to know how this baby handles a wormhole."

"No manual navigation is required during flight," she said softly, her voice distant as she studied the craft. He had learned early on that Queen Bryony had a great appreciation for flying machines. "The ship will do it all."

"Too bad."

She turned to look up at him. "You mentioned that you had to manually negotiate the wormholes while seeking us. We have not done so in many generations, but I imagine it requires great skill."

Nick shrugged. "Comes natural, I guess."

"That is the gift of your Areth blood."

He snapped his attention to her. "What do you mean?" Nick still had a hard time absorbing the reality that the human race wasn’t a product of its own evolution, but a new race created from the combined ancestors of Areth, Umani and ancient Human.

"The ability to reach past the confines of your mind."

"You mean like psychic? I’m not psychic."

"Perhaps not to that extreme, but I knew the moment I met you that you held some touch of the gift. Don’t you feel it?"

Nick shrugged. "I felt something. There’s this woman I know — Beverly — and she’s empathic. I always feel like the hair on the back of my neck stands on end when she’s around."

"You see?" she said, as if that explained it all.

He didn’t answer, looking back to the ship. Areth and Umani moved beneath it, scanning and checking the systems before their departure. His skin itched to leave. He packed his meager bag the day before, and now waited for take off. It couldn’t come soon enough.

"Beverly..."

"Hmmm?" he hummed, turning when she spoke.

"Is Beverly the one you are so anxious to return to?"

Nick grinned, running his thumb across his lower lip. "Am I that obvious?" "Perhaps only to one interested."

"No," he said, shaking his head in answer to her question. "Her name is Caitlin.

"She’s my..." Nick struggled to find the right way to explain. Hell, language barrier or not he wasn’t sure what label he could slap on Caitlin that would be right. That would fit. He pulled from his chest pocket the photograph that never left him. In the months of flight, and weeks after arriving on Raxo, the edges had curled and a crease angled across one corner. Nick held it out to her and she took it with a gentle reverence, cradling the photo in her palm. He cleared his throat, squinting as he looked from Queen Bryony to the photo. "When I get back, I’m going to marry her."

"She’s beautiful."

Nick wondered where along the way he had turned into a sack of love-sick mush, but smiled at the pleasant warmth that spread through him when Queen Bryony complimented the woman he loved. "Yeah."

"Is this your child?"

It sounded off to hear Michael referred to as a child. In the photo, he stood as tall as Nick, the same grin on their faces. He was far from a kid, yet, Nick almost felt like a new father. "Michael."

She raised her head and looked into his face. "Michael is not a child you share with Caitlin." It wasn’t a question, but a statement of the obvious.

Nick shook his head, rubbing his lips together before answering. "No."

She stared at him expectantly for a few moments, but Nick offered no further explanation. The truth was bad enough without rehashing it. It didn’t matter now. Michael was with him... or would be as soon as he got home. And Caitlin would be his wife. Eventually, Queen Bryony looked away and handed the photo back to him.

"We will return you to them as quickly as possible, Nicholas."

"Soon isn’t nearly soon enough, Your Highness."

Chapter One

Friday, February 14, 2053 19:37
Along the Charles River
Ruins of Boston, Massachusetts 
Former United States of America

Jackie’s lungs burned almost as painfully as her legs, but she kept running. Behind her, echoing through the charred and crumbled remains of what had once been the Back Bay, were the steady footfalls of her pursuers. The cold air bit at her exposed skin, but there hadn’t been time to grab anything to keep her warm against the winter wind.

She was lucky to be free.

And if the Sorracchi bastards behind her had anything to say about it, she wouldn’t be for much longer.

Her boots slipped on the slick, wet pavement and she fell to her knees, biting back the grunt of pain that lodged in her throat. Hearing the running steps at the other end of the street, Jackie rolled and squeezed her body against a cold steel doorway to pause and catch her breath. With any luck they’d keep going.

The door gave way behind her and she stumbled into the pitch black cavern of the building’s interior. The air was only slightly less cold here, lacking the wet heaviness and bitter wind outside. The hinges creaked as the door swung closed again and she winced, knowing even that slight sound would draw the attention of the Sorracchi soldiers.

Wasting no time, Jackie ran into the darkness as quickly as she dared with her hands extended in front of her to keep her from running head on into a wall. That’s all she needed, a broken nose on top of everything else.

Her hands hit brick and she moved along the wall, fumbling for a door or exit to let her move on before she was discovered.

The sizzling sound of a pulse charge rifle echoed through the air, accompanied by the crack of the steel door behind her flying across the open space to crash against a far wall. "Damn it," she mumbled, moving faster.

Her hand slipped from the damp brick to a wooden door and she quickly found the knob, closing her eyes briefly in silent hope that it wasn’t locked. The knob gave and she slipped through into the stairwell beyond. Dim moonlight bathed the narrow tower through the gaping hole two stories up that had once been the roof. She was thankful for the light and grabbed the icy railing to ascend the steps.

But the time she hit the second landing, she was sure her stomach was going to turn inside out and her legs were going to liquefy out from beneath her. She had run at least ten or twelve blocks before reaching the riverfront, the guards not far behind the whole time. After two days of ‘interrogation’ — a fact that just plain pissed her off because she had let herself get caught in the first place — her body screamed for her to stop. She hadn’t eaten in days, hadn’t had water in hours. Right now, licking the sooty black moisture off the walls seemed just as viable an option as anything else.

She hit the second landing and hunched forward, her hands braced on her knees, gasping for air. Muscles twitched with painful spasms and she sucked air through a throat lined with sandpaper and cotton.

The door below crashed open and she groaned, her movement forward more a controlled fall than an actual step. "You have got to be kidding me," she cursed, yanking open the door in front of her.

A cold gust of wind slapped her in the face as she stepped onto the open surface that had once been an enclosed building. Half the walls were gone, blown away months before in the initial attacks. The burnt remains of three desks sat along one wall, a frozen and decaying corpse hunched over one.

Jackie ignored the macabre scene, having learned months before that it did no good to dwell. She had mourned for men and women she never knew every time she stumbled on their remains, but eventually there were just too many to mourn.

She was alive, and she intended to keep it that way.

"Go up! Go up!"

The echoed voices of her pursuers followed her and Jackie pushed forward through the deep snow that covered the surface. She was stuck, trapped, unless she found a place to hide. One look at the path she harrowed through the foot deep snow would lead them right to her.

"No way in hell you’re going down this way, Anderson," she ordered herself, ignoring the wet and cold as it quickly saturated her pants. Her toes were numb and the aching chill had already hit her bones. She reached the far side of the surface and looked over the edge, hoping for the reprieve of a fire escape.

And found none.

She slapped her hand on the iced surface, tingling needles of pain shooting up her arm. "Damn!"

She felt the crackle in the air and the hot surge of a pulse blast slice through her arm before she heard the discharge boom. Jackie spun around, pressing her hand against the bleeding wound ripped in her upper arm.

"Stay where you are!" the Sorracchi bastard shouted as he ran towards her, pulse rifle leveled on her.

"I don’t think so."

Death would be better than being a prisoner of the Sorracchi. She had seen what they did to Jace Quinn, the way they had sucked away his humanity and his soul until all that remained was a broken shell. She couldn’t do that. Couldn’t let it happen.

Bracing her hand on the broken wall, Jackie set her boots in the snow and stood on the edge, looking down to the dock and the water two stories below. Her choices sucked: either the ungiving ground or the icy water.

Another blast whizzed by her and she flailed her arms to keep her balance. "Don’t move!"

Jackie twisted to look back at the single Sorracchi, his buddies somewhere else in the building. Raising her hand to her temple, she saluted.

"See you in hell."

With one final demand of her aching body, Jackie pushed off. The rush of air filled her ears and she swallowed the scream that threatened to rip its way from her throat. At the last second, she knew where she would hit, and sucked in one final deep breath before the icy waters of the Charles River enveloped her and dragged her down.

*****

Sunday, February 16, 2053 02:49 
Phoenix Tennessee Complex 
Colorado Base relocation site
Smokey Mountains, Tennessee 
Former United States of America

CJ rolled onto her back, blinking her eyes in the semi-darkness of her bedroom, trying to determine what noise had woken her. Moonlight streamed in through her open curtains, glistening off the fallen snow outside with a soft gray haze, and she wondered if it wasn’t just the wind whistling around the loose windows of the cottage.

She closed her eyes and snuggled into the multiple layers of blankets again, hoping to drift back to sleep. Moments later, her eyes snapped open and she knew what had woken her. Throwing back the blankets, she slipped on the long flannel shirt she kept at the end of the bed and padded into the hall in her stocking feet. The mountain cottages had thin walls and rattling windows, built decades before as a summer resort. They weren’t built for inhabitance during the coldest months of the Tennessee Mountain winters, and a definite chill hung in the air. Not freezing, but far from toasty. The wood stove downstairs needed re-stoking.

A soft glow spilled into the hallway from the bedroom at the end of the hall, and CJ walked to it, her hands tucked beneath her arms. She peaked through the open door, her breath catching in her throat.

Michael paced the center of the room, wearing only a pair of pants so she knew the chill in the air had to nip at his skin, with a bundle of blankets curled against his shoulder. His cheek rested against the small form, his eyes closed as he gently bounced her and sang softly beneath his breath. CJ couldn’t hear the words, but knew Michael’s repertoire was short, and assumed it was probably either Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star or a hymn he had learned from Jace or Lilly Quinn.

Soft mewling sounds came from the blankets, and every once in awhile CJ caught sight of a small fist escaping the warm confines so tiny fingers could curl against Michael’s shoulder.

"Is she fussy?" CJ asked in a whisper.

Michael turned enough to look at CJ over Nicole’s bundled head. "She doesn’t want to sleep."

CJ smiled and leaned her shoulder against the jamb. "Do you want me to walk with her awhile so you can get some rest?"

"I’m fine."

She drew a slow breath, her heart aching at Michael’s driving need to prove himself with Nicole. A part of her understood, but she wished she could help him believe he could have help and still be everything he wanted and needed to be to her. In time, she knew he would. Everything came in time.

CJ walked into the room and stood behind him, laying her hands on his back so he stopped moving for a moment. Nicole cooed and sighed, raising her head enough that two large blue eyes looked at CJ over the edge of Michael’s shoulder. CJ smiled, unable to deny the warm glow that spread through her whenever she looked into the infant’s angelic face.

"Have you tried laying her down with you?" she offered.

"That was my next option."

"Come on. I’ll help you get her settled, and then I’ll go put some more wood in the stove. Maybe get some chill out of the air."

"I can do that."

CJ turned from walking out of the room, and looked at Michael with a wry grin. "Will you stop? You can’t do it all. You take care of Nicole, I’ll take care of the stove."

She followed Michael into his bedroom, and held the baby as he lay down in the bed, settling himself on his side with his arm stretched along the mattress. When he was comfortable, CJ leaned forward and nestled Nicole into the warm shelter her father’s body created for her. Michael pulled the blanket up to cover them both, careful not to cover Nicole too much.

As he let his head rest on the pillow, he looked at CJ. "Thank you."

She nodded and went to the door, pausing to look back. "Michael?"

He raised his head. "Yes?"

"I’m proud of you."

She barely saw his slight nod in the semi-darkness of the room and left the door open as she went downstairs to stoke the fire. The flames quickly licked at the dry wood as she stacked it inside, and she knew the cottage would be much warmer soon. She sat down in the rocking chair near the stove while she waited to make sure the flame was at a strong burn, almost lulling herself to sleep again with the slow creak of the old wood.

The last few weeks had been a learning experience for both she and Michael. Being the youngest of her siblings, she had no experience with babies beyond occasionally taking care of Jamie for Lilly and Jace. But babysitting for a few hours was nothing compared to having Nicole in the house all the time.

Michael amazed her. The first twenty-five years of his life had been void of affection or anything tender, and yet he managed to open his heart and his life to this child he had no responsibility or biological ties to. From the moment he decided he wanted to care for her, she had been nothing less than his daughter.

CJ had been reluctant at first when Michael told her of his intentions. Barely a year had passed since he had been a prisoner of the Sorracchi. He had never laid eyes on a child before then, and now he wanted to raise one? It had seemed daunting and overwhelming, but Michael had been insistent in his silent, still way. In the end, CJ had been unable to offer any viable argument.

She smiled as she rocked in the chair, staring at the slow glow growing in the belly of the stove. They were quite the family. CJ saw Michael as her son, when she was barely five years older. He saw her as a mother because he had known nothing else but Kathleen’s rage and pain. The way Kathleen abused him was so far removed from a maternal act, CJ couldn’t comprehend that the vile creature they knew of could have possibly created the gentle soul that was Michael Tanner. And now, he was a father to a child he had only emotional ties to because he felt the need to protect the helpless little girl when she had nothing else left. Did that make her Nicole’s grandmother?

CJ snorted a quiet chuckle.

Not even thirty-one years old and she was a grandmother. Not many women ever managed that.

When she knew the fire would burn long and warm, she climbed the stairs again. Before going to her own room at the end of the hall, CJ paused at Michael’s open doorway. The only sounds she heard were the deep breathing of both Michael and Nicole. CJ crept carefully across the floor to the foot of the bed.

Michael’s large hand — so like his father’s — rested on Nicole’s blankets, his head tipped toward her half off the pillow. Her small, chubby face was turned to him, her lips apart as she slept.

Tears blurred CJ’s vision and she quickly retreated from the room before she woke them. Her heart ached, expanding in her chest until it was hard to breathe. Making it to her own bedroom, she slipped into bed with Nick’s flannel shirt still wrapped around her body.

Chapter Two

"We lost the Kaliningrad base."

Lilly whispered a soft prayer under her breath and Michael rubbed his fingertips across his forehead. General Castleton sat behind his desk, his head down, deep lines furrowing his strained brow. In the last three months, the Sorracchi attacks had stepped up ten-fold all over the globe. They systematically emptied cities, taking some of the human population and killing the rest; or leaving them to live in squalor and depravation in the hollowed remains of their cities.

Beverly’s hand motions caught his attention and Michael looked to the red-headed woman as she spoke.

"Is there any chance of survivors we can relocate?"

"Long range terranian radar indicates the city is little more than a hole in the ground and the enemy hasn’t cleared the area yet. We believe they’ve figured out we move in to clean up the mess, and are sticking around long enough to make sure it does no good. It’s the middle of winter, and cold as hell. If there’s anyone left, they won’t last long without shelter."

Michael swallowed, his throat thick at the thought of the lives lost. The reports seemed endless, and they were all thankful when a day passed and they didn’t receive any reports of another city lost or another mass killing. The Sorracchi, even though the majority of the world still knew them as Areth, were relentless. They culled the population like cattle farmers, taking people who met their requirements. What became of the rest they didn’t care.

Victor detailed what he believed they sought, but their needs went beyond just the desired physical traits. They wanted purity. They wanted humans who had been filtered and altered and documented as the absolute example of human perfection as created by their four-decade experiment. Michael wondered how long their charade would have gone on if Jacob hadn’t left Colorado and made the President listen. If the President hadn’t announced to the World the extent of their deceit, would they have continued for generations until Humanity either achieved the final result they sought, or stood up and said ‘No more’?

A knock interrupted the solemn meeting, and Captain Eddie Hampton opened the door at the General’s call. "Sir, we just received a transmission I thought you should know about."

The General sighed and Michael’s shoulders tensed. The last good news they received in the last six months had been the rescue of Jace Quinn, other than that, transmissions usually meant death and loss.

"What is it?"

"Sir, we have a small shuttle hover approaching the base from the town side of the Mountain."

"The town is inhabited," Michael stated, sitting up straighter.

"Yes, sir. The pilot of the shuttle called ahead on our low-range frequency. She stated she has one of our people in the ship requiring medical attention. She relayed all the proper codes and passwords, sir."

"Did she give her name or the name of the passenger?"

"She identified herself as Sonora only, sir."

The General squinted. "Just Sonora?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you suppose it’s her?" Beverly signed.

"I haven’t seen hide nor tail of her in, hell, five years?" General Castleton said with a shake of his head. A smile deepened the wrinkles bracketing his mouth. "Allow her to approach, Captain. Take her and her passenger directly to the infirmary. Do you need to go, Michael?"

Michael shook his head. "No, sir. Lilly is there."

"Well, I’m not sure we can do much more good here, anyway. The world is dying, we’re low on supplies, same crap different day."

In silent agreement that the meeting was over, Michael and Beverly stood. With a nod to the General, Michael opened the door for Beverly to leave the room ahead of him. As he pulled the door shut, he saw the General rest his elbows on the desk and hold his head in his hand. Beverly was several feet down the hall before he caught up with her, touching her elbow to draw her attention.

She looked up at him, a tight and restrained smile bowing her lips. Deep sadness shadowed her eyes; the same shadows he had seen in Victor’s eyes for the last several weeks. Beverly cloaked it well, but not enough for Michael not to see.

"Walk with me," he said simply.

She nodded and they entered the main room of Command Hall, full with at least three dozen of the base compliment as it neared the mid-day meal. Michael took Beverly’s coat from the peg near the main door and held it for her to slip on. He hadn’t worn one, enjoying the bite of the cold on his cheeks for the short walk from the infirmary to the main building. Offering his arm, she slipped her hand into the bend of his elbow and they stepped outside.

The sun was bright, shimmering off the layer of ice and snow that covered everything. The branches of the trees tipped toward the ground, laden with the thick crust and the sky was a pale blue.

"Who is Sonora?" he asked as they started up the incline to the infirmary.

She slid her arm further through his so her hands were in front of her to sign. "Sonora isn’t actually part of Phoenix, but she has been an aid and a help to us for a long time. She is a bit of a free spirit, flittering about wherever she’s needed. She studied ancient healing methods and spirituality. I guess she’s a bit like the hippies of a hundred years ago."

"She sounds interesting."

Beverly smiled, and this time he saw some of the old spark. "Interesting is an understatement. I bet you and she could have many long, interesting conversations. She might be able to teach you a whole new approach to medicine."

"Perhaps."

He wanted to say something about Victor, but held the words. Michael was confident that the two of them would find their ways back to each other, when time passed and wounds healed. He knew very little about relationships, especially the intimate relationship Victor and Beverly shared, but he knew what he had seen in their faces when they were together. He knew the peace Beverly brought Victor, and how lost they looked without each other. The only way things would be right would be for them to find that peace in each other again.

"I wonder who she might have brought. We haven’t known her whereabouts in months, well before the initial attacks."

They reached the infirmary and Michael held open the door for her. Before he could pull the door closed, Lilly burst into the main room from the hall. "Michael, I need you!"

He bolted down the hall after her, nearly bowling over a petite woman with blue crystals braided into her brown hair. She stepped back, flatting her shoulders against the wall as he gripped the doorjamb of the first exam room and used it to propel him into the room as a barely muffled scream reached him. For half a second, his heart dropped into his gut.

Jacqueline was on the exam table, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge. Lacerations — old ones — crossed her bare arms and her clothes were dirty and torn. A white bandage with a dark red stain wrapped around her arm, indicating a more recent wound but one at least a few days old. Her neck arched off the pillow, her body shaking as she clenched her teeth, hissing sharply.

"Oh, God, Doc... please!" she shouted.

Michael moved to Jacqueline’s side, hunching over her to hold her face in his hands. Her eyes were closed, her skin glistening with a fine sheet of perspiration. The tension in her body was enough to snap her in two.

"Jacqueline," he said softly but firmly. "Jacqueline, look at me."

Her eyes snapped open, her eyes immediately on him. Unshed tears made them glisten and she sucked in another sharp breath. A tight groan forced its way through her teeth.

"I’m giving her a massive dose of Morphezine, Benzapriline and a fast acting NSAID," Lilly said softly as she loaded the infusion syringe in her hand.

"Jacqueline," he said again, not looking away even to acknowledge Lilly’s words. "Jacqueline, hear me. You need to let the medication help you."

A choked gasp vibrated in her throat as she rapidly sucked in air, her eyes still locked hard on him. A drop of moisture escaped the corner of her eye and Michael brushed it away with his fingers.

"Just look at me."

Her hand snapped free from the edge of the bed nearest him and she curled her fingers into his shirtsleeve. The grip was hard and desperate, but he didn’t look away from her eyes. He continued to stroke back her matted hair, running his thumb over her cheeks. His own pulse pounded viciously at his temples. Michael wanted to know what they had done to her, where she had been, and how she had escaped, but none of the questions were as important as helping her.

The click and hiss of the infusion syringe reached him over the pounding in his ears and Jacqueline’s sharp breathing.

"Deep breaths. Let it work."

Her eyes fluttered and her gaze shifted to the ceiling past him.

"No, Jacqueline," he said, repeating her name again to keep her with him. "Look at me. Look at me."

She pressed her trembling lips together, another tear rolling free. "M-Michael," she whispered.

"I’m right here."

Jacqueline released a deep, shuddered breath and he felt the tension rush out of her like water dumped from a bucket. The grip on his sleeve loosened and her lips parted, her eyelids sliding heavily over her dark eyes.

"The Morphezine is taking hold," Lilly said just outside his peripheral.

He stroked her hair, staring into her face. She blinked slowly, struggling to open her eyes again.

"I’ll be here when you wake up," he said softly.

When her eyes closed, they didn’t open again. Michael waited a few minutes, watching her carefully as Lilly worked around him to take a full bio-scan and determine the full extent of her injuries. He let his gaze shift over what he could see without pulling back. Deep purple bruises marbled her rich skin, her entire right shoulder a mottled patch of color. Cuts of varying depth and severity marred her flesh, but they didn’t appear to be administered by any tool. They were too jagged and random and some of them were visible through tears in her clothing.

"She’s got the beginning of one hell of an infection brewing," Lilly said softly, keeping her voice low as she read the data on her handheld. "Probably from the arm laceration. I’ll give her a dose of concentrated antibiotics as soon as we get her cleaned up. Contusions and abrasions practically from head to toe."

"What happened to her?" he forced through the fist clenched around his throat.

"I haven’t gotten the story yet. But I do know the pain stemmed from several severely strained muscles along her spine." He heard the twitter of the scanner as Lilly switched it on again. "Her back is lit up like a thermal board at a nuclear power plant."

He turned when she held out the scanner, looking at the heat imaging on the screen. From just below Jacqueline’s shoulder blades to her hips, her back muscles were white, indicating the heat and pain they pulsed through her. Michael squinting, understanding why she had been so distressed. To anyone else, her reaction to the pain would have seemed in control, but Michael knew her enough to know the pain had to be tearing her apart to let herself show so much.

"Nothing life threatening..." he asked, turning his attention back to Jacqueline.

Her breathing was deep and steady now, and her head rolled into his touch as she slipped into a drug-induced sleep.

"No. There’s the infection, but we’re catching it soon enough."

"How much Morphezine did you give her?"

She gave him the dosage and he calculated in his head that Jacqueline would sleep for at least a few hours before it wore off. Their supply of any medication was limited and dwindling, and the super dose had cost them. But with the level of pain she had coming in, they would also have to keep administering the drugs to keep it in check. Otherwise, it would take over again. At least, until he could help some other way.

"I’m going to go talk to Sonora."

"Who’s Sonora?"

"The woman who brought her to us." Michael finally raised his head and looked at Lilly. "Could you and Amanda—"

"Yeah," she said with a smile.

Reluctantly, Michael stepped back from the bed, letting his hand linger on her shoulder before heading for the door. He glanced back once as Lilly retrieved a basin and worked on cleaning the wounds and abrasions. He stepped back into the hall and walked with heavy feet towards the main entrance, finding the brunette he had rushed past before standing several feet away, her thumbnail between her teeth as she chewed nervously. She sat on the couch near the black wood stove, and stood quickly when he stepped into the room.

"Sonora?"

She nodded, the string of crystal beads in her hair tinkling together, and stared at him with wide eyes the color of liquid amber. Dusky pink color stained her cheeks from the winter wind, a sharp contrast to the almost transparent paleness of her skin.

"How is she?"

"We’re determining that now."

"You’re Michael." She said it without the slightest inflection of a question. 

He nodded. "Can you tell me anything?"

"You’re as cute as she said," she said quietly before continuing. "I wish I could. All I can tell you is that I fished her out of the Charles River two days ago. She was beaten up pretty bad, from the fall and whatever else... and it took me hours just to get her warm enough that she could talk. She told me to bring her here. At first, when she said Castleton’s command, I headed for Colorado. I didn’t know y’all had relocated, although I guess it’s no surprise."

Michael shifted through the spattering of geography he had learned years before when he had still been allowed the privilege of books. "Charles River... in Boston?"

"What’s left of it, yeah."

He glanced back over his shoulder to the hall leading back to the exam room. Jacqueline was lucky hypothermia hadn’t claimed her. But a fall through ice would explain many of the abrasions. Not all of them, but some.

"She couldn’t tell you anything."

She shook her head, the beads tinkling again. "It’s been hard for her to talk. She sent me here, and once I knew where I was going I didn’t ask any more questions. She did tell me about you, and that she wanted to see you. She got pretty delirious at times. I tried to help her, but my medicine requires acceptance and focus... neither of which I think she has, right now."

Michael glanced at his watch and pushed his hands into his pockets. Nicole would be awake soon, and for the first time since bringing the little girl into his life, he felt torn. He wanted to go back into the room and sit by Jacqueline until she woke. Thankfully, he had some time.

"Hey," Sonora said, bringing his focus back. "Do you mind if I say something?"

"Of course not."

"Your aura is troubled, big time. I can sense the concern for Jackie like a buffer all the way around you, but it’s way more than that. Honey, you’re going to eat yourself up from the inside out."

He squinted, listening to her, but had no idea how to respond. Before he could formulate an answer, he heard footsteps in the hall and turned to see Lilly. Michael stepped to the side so she could stand with him and Sonora. She crossed her arms, her expression tense.

"What is it?"

"Just about all the injuries I’ve found are easily treatable... the bruising... the cuts." Michael heard the implication as loudly as if she said it. He dipped his chin, silently urging her to continue. "There’s something you need to see."

He followed her back down the hall to the room as Amanda pulled a blanket over Jacqueline’s still form. They had removed her dirty, torn clothing and washed away most of the dirt and grim that had clung to her skin. Bandaging covered the worst abrasions and topical cream glistened on the others that were still exposed. She was still asleep, her head turned away on the pillow.

Michael stayed silent as Lilly pulled the blanket back again to below Jacqueline’s waist, edging the hem of her clean nightshirt out of the way. He reached for the pair of glasses in the pocket of his tee shirt and slipped them on, leaning over to see what Lilly wanted to show him. His throat tightened and he swallowed, dipping his chin as he drew a slow breath.

One small but very fresh crisscross incision marked her lower, right abdomen just above her pelvic bone. It had been healed with a Stratum Basale Stimulator, he recognized the slight ‘new’ pink sheen of the marks, which meant the surgery had been performed and the notches treated before her escape.

Michael slowly removed his glasses, resting the heels of his hands on the edge of the bed beside Jacqueline. He stared hard at Lilly for several moments, reining in the rage that bubbled beneath his skin.

"Tell me."

Lilly shook her head. "It’s gone. Her entire right ovary is gone."

Chapter Three

Space slipped by, a blue-black haze through the wormhole the Wurdvoller Fliiger traveled. Distant stars blurred into long streaks of white as the scout ship sailed past, half-speed and fast forward at the same time. Nick stood at the forward observation window, his arms crossed, watching the lights stretch and distort in their flight.

It was beautiful.

The wormholes he flew had been smaller, more compact, just enough to accommodate the sleek design and shape of his glider. But this wormhole... it was massive, and nearly transparent, allowing the distortion of space beyond to slip through the silken curtain. He wondered what the wormhole looked like from the outside, and quickly dismissed the thought. From outside the anomaly would appear to be little more than a blip on the radar, there then gone. Maybe, if you looked just at the right place at the right time, you might catch the ripple distortion as it passed.

He closed his eyes and focused on the feel of the ship around him. The hull barely vibrated with the force of the engines, but as he pushed out with his mind, he felt it. The energy danced over his skin, bubbled in his blood, and he pushed further.

To feel the power of the wormhole.

He imagined putting his fingers into the cold silk sliding past the sides of the ship, touching the shimmering surface. Beautiful strength. One false move, one spike in power fluctuations, and the wormhole could crash, taking the ship with it.

The doors behind him opened, and he opened his eyes to glance back and see Annora enter. She smiled, dipping her chin in greeting.

"I seek your company for the next meal," she said, moving across the room toward him. "I visited your resting quarters, but found you absent. Several times since leaving Aretu, I have found you in this place and was not wrong in assuming I would find you here again."

"It’s as close as I get to sitting in the cockpit." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked to space again. "When I fly, the wormhole is everywhere. If I don’t see it, I’m not quite convinced we’re moving."

"You are anxious to be home again," she said, her voice missing the lilt of a question. Nick twisted slightly to look back at her. "Yeah. I know this thing flies a hell of a lot faster than my glider did, but right now I feel like we’re crawling."

She joined him at the window, her hands linked in front of her. "It will not be long now. Two days, as you measure time."

Nick nodded, focusing on the stars.

"How long has it been on Earth since you left seeking us?"

"By the time we get home, one year, two months and sixteen days."

"This is a long time?"

Nick looked to her, and drew a deep breath. With the language barriers, Annora had been one of the few Umani he had been able to speak with at any length. The compliment of the scout ships consisted of both Areth — which was still a fact he had a hard time wrapping his brain around — and Umani. His ship, the Wurdvoller Fliiger, consisted of mostly Umani, only a handful of which spoke Altenglischt. So, his conversations were limited mostly to Annora and his occasional transmission with Queen Bryony who traveled in the Excalibur.

"I guess it depends on your perspective."

She looked at him with her pale eyes, one feature that set her apart from many of her kin with their intensely dark eyes, and tilted her head. "Perspective?"

Nick laid his had out, as if in offering. "It’s how you look at. How it effects you. If I were home, a year might not feel like that long. But I’m here, and the people I care about are there... so it feels like a long time."

She nodded, and he knew she understood. "Do you think the time has passed as slowly for your lover and your son?"

Nick suppressed his amused laugh. One thing about the slight variations in their languages, and the sometimes ‘off’ interpretations, Annora often didn’t pull any punches. He had yet to put a label on Caitlin — he loved her, he needed her — but he hadn’t had enough time to get much further than that.

"I like to think so... I mean, I don’t want them—" What word could he use here she would understand? Hurting? Moping? Pining away? For now, he just bypassed it. "I hope they care for me as much as I do them."

"Caitlin and Michael will be very happy to see you, of that I have no doubt."

"I hope so." He took hold of her arm and set his other hand against the window. "We’re going to drop out of the wormhole."

A second later, the silver shimmering tunnel snapped clear and the Wurdvoller Fliiger dropped out of wormhole flight with a gentle jerk. The stars outside were once again static points in space, and the subtle hum of the ship lowered as the engines regenerated for the next jump. Where it had taken him nine months to reach the Umani galaxy, they were flying the same distance in less than a month in the advanced craft, but they still needed to pause every once in awhile to allow the engines to rest for such a long flight. To their right, Excalibur dropped into proximity-hover.

"It won’t be long before we are on our way again," Annora said. "I can feel how anxious you are."

Nick nodded, staring out into the blackness. "I’m just ready to get home."

*****

Jackie felt the touch on her cheek just as the heavy tendrils of forced sleep let her conscious mind go. The touch was gentle, familiar and she hummed softly as she forced her eyes open. Michael sat on the edge of her bed, his brown eyes studying her. She took half a second to glance around and acknowledged that she wasn’t in the same room they had brought her to first. This was more like a bedroom, the bed she laid in wider and softer than an exam table.

"Hey, handsome," she mumbled past chalky, dry lips. She ran her tongue over them, but the inside of her mouth was like cotton and it did no good.

Michael retrieved a cup from the table beside the bed, turning the straw to face her as he held it to her lips. Jackie sighed in pleasure as the cold water washed away the sticky paste in her mouth and cooled her parched throat. The rush of cold spread out from her chest into her limbs. When she pulled back, Michael set the cup on the table, his gaze only shifting away from her long enough to put it down.

Her eyelids were heavy and her thoughts not quite clear. Rolling her eyes, Jackie pulled her arm free of the blankets and ran her hand over her forehead. "I don’t know what the hell was in that cocktail you shot me up with, but damn. I don’t feel a thing."

He smiled, just the slightest touch of a curve to his lips, but enough to pop twin dimples on each side of his mouth. His thumb skimmed over the fresh bandage on her arm, and she felt the warmth of his hands through the fabric. His fingers curled around her upper arm, supporting it gently. "That’s good."

Jackie attempted a laugh, but she couldn’t seem to gather enough energy to get that far. It came out more like a muffled chuckle. A slight twinge shot up her back and she winced, sucking in a breath. Michael laid his hand on her stomach, and even through the thickness of the blanket covering her, she felt the weight of his touch.

"Describe the pain." Deep furrows dug into his brow, his eyes shifting over her. "Nothing compared to what it was," she said, releasing her breath.

"Tell me. It will help me."

His voice was so strained, so heavy, she couldn’t argue. Jackie shifted experimentally, trying to get more comfortable without re-awakening the monster in her back. The pang didn’t take her breath away, she braced herself for it soon enough. "Tight," she answered, wishing the synapses in her brain would fire with more zing. "The pain is duller, but still there."

"What was it before?"

She snatched her breath, barely managing to swallow the groan when he slid his hand beneath the blankets... and beneath her shirt over her side. He slipped his hand between her back and the mattress, leaning slightly over her. His expression was schooled as he obviously focused on what he felt and not the reaction it had on her.

"Burning," she managed to say without her voice skipping, a fact that amazed her with the fuzzy mush in her head. "Searing." He pulled back the blanket, both his large hands now spanning her sides as he carefully worked his fingers into her muscles. "Really, really bad. Michael, you’re killing me here..."

His hands stilled and he looked up. "Does it hurt?"

Jackie drew in a long breath. "Hurt? No. Nope. Not at all."

His thumb skimmed over her stomach and she closed her eyes. Weren’t those drugs supposed to numb her sensations? Kill feeling? Her skin was alive, tingling and begging for more. Maybe it was because she hadn’t seen him in months... maybe it was because a man hadn’t touched her oh, so very long... maybe... God, maybe it was because he had the most amazing hands!

Someone knocked at the door and Jackie huffed as Michael stood, her exposed stomach suddenly feeling cold and bare.

"Come in," he called, taking the moment to pull her blanket over her again.

His eyebrows pulled together, fine lines branching from the corners of his eyes, making him look like he worked on the hardest math problem known to man. When the door opened, the sound of a crying baby carried from down the hall. Michael’s attention snapped to middle-aged woman who opened the door. Jackie didn’t recognize her and figured she had to be a recent transplant from another defunct base. Phoenix bases all over the continent were being disbursed as the Sorracchi death machines got closer. Any base near a major metropolitan area was a target, discovery inevitable.

"What’s wrong?" he snapped.

"Oh, you know her, Michael. When she wakes up, she doesn’t want anyone but you," she said with a smile that hovered close to a smirk, glancing to Jackie. "And she makes sure we all know it."

Michael squeezed her hand, the puzzled look still on his face. "I’ll be back."

As he left, the woman came in to stand at the foot of Jackie’s bed. For the first time since opening her eyes, she really focused on the room other than the cursory glance to orientate herself. She thought she remembered it, and realized it was the room she and Michael had been in when she figured out the telekinesis thing. It hadn’t had a bed in it before, but it was the same room. Sunlight streamed in from the windows directly over her, and the aroma of burning wood and coffee drifted on the air, canceling out the tinge of antiseptic she associated with hospitals and infirmaries. Kinda nice...

"Are you hungry?" the nurse asked. "I can get you something."

In answer, Jackie’s stomach growled and knotted. Where was that distraction a few minutes ago when Michael had his hands on... she closed her eyes, a heated flash warming her at the thought. "Um, yeah... I haven’t eaten in ... how long have I been here?"

"Just today. But the woman that brought you said you were with her for two days." 

"Felt like a hell of a lot longer than that. You’re new on base?"

She nodded, crossing her arms to rest them on the high, polished wood footboard. "Been here about a month or so. Not exactly the fanciest base I’ve been on, but it’s out of the Areth — or, Sorracchi, whatever — line of sight so that works for me. I’m Carmen."

"Jackie..." The crying quieted down the hall, and Jackie’s cheeks heated when she realized she had been staring at the open door. "Was that Doc Quinn’s baby I heard?" 

"No, that was Nicole."

"Nicole?"

"Michael’s daughter."

Her head snapped back so fast, a jolt of thumping pain seized her back, but Jackie just huffed through it, staring at Carmen. "Michael’s daughter?"

Carmen smiled conspiratorially. "Yeah. One thing about these small bases, the gossip is always so much juicier."

Jackie stared at the woman, trying to process what she said. She knew her brain was fuzzy, but was it that fuzzy. She barely registered Carmen asking if she wanted to hear the whole scoop, and nodded in answer before she could convince herself that maybe she didn’t want to know.

*****

The hydraulic release valve for the hovercraft’s engine coolant system refused to budge. Victor shifted on his back to move further under the ship, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. The interior of the barn where the hovers were kept had no central heating system and they had to rely on spot heaters, but beneath the hover the air was hot and thick as the air exchange units continued to run while he did his work.

This was all he had.

In the four months since John Smith’s arrival on the base — and the newest revelation that the Areth weren’t Areth at all, but the Sorracchi — Victor had slowly worked through what he could of his shattered and incomplete memories. Every detail he remembered now, he immediately related to either Michael or General Castleton. Most of it still didn’t make sense, and each new piece came at a price.

The worst price had been Beverly. She was gone, unable to trust him. And he didn’t blame her.

But he missed her. So much it hurt.

He yanked the wrench away from the valve and whacked it, clenching his teeth when the anger surged through his chest. Anger was the most dangerous of emotions, he had learned. His Demon jumped at any opportunity to seize control, and when his restraint was at its weakest was when the power inside attacked.

Victor closed his eyes, letting his arms drop to the hay-covered floor. He huffed several rapid breaths, willing his anger to dissipate. With a smile, he thought about one of the science fiction books Michael had loaned him. What he wouldn’t do for one of the all-purpose sonic screwdrivers mentioned in the story.

"Victor?" called Doctor Patricia Byrne from somewhere past the edge of the hover. "Victor, are you here?"

"I’m here," he shouted, his own voice echoing back from the rubber and metal undercarriage. "I’ll be right out."

Tossing the wrench into the pile of tools beside him with a loud clatter, Victor shimmied his way out from under the ship, rolling to his feet as soon as he was clear. He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped off his hands, using the rag to slap away the straw and dust clinging to him.

"Can I help you, Doctor?"

Doctor Byrne was a petite woman who barely hit the center of Victor’s chest, with deep red hair that clung to her head in small curls. Freckles smattered her cheeks and the bridge of her nose so she looked barely out of her adolescence even though he knew she was. Since leaving Colorado, she had worked hard to bring the base to operational status. She was a genius with a soldering torch and a computer motherboard.

"I need your arms."

Victor grinned. "Excuse me?"

Color rushed her cheeks and she flipped a curl behind her ears. "I mean, I need something moved."

He shoved the rag back in his pocket. "Lead the way."

Doctor Byrne led him to the back storage room of the barn where any excess equipment they managed to acquire was stacked from floor to ceiling, draped with tarps and blankets to protect them. Fifteen minutes later, he had found and moved the crate she needed, leaving her alone as she muttered over the electronics inside. She looked like a child with a new toy, literally.

As he rounded the front end of the hover, he stopped short. Beverly stood at the front of the cavernous building beside John Smith, the true Areth that had returned with Michael from Chicago months before. It felt like an eternity. They talked with Captain Romano, Beverly’s hands moving gracefully through the air in front of her while it appeared John offered the translation.

Victor bit down and looked away, setting his hand on the front of the hover. His chest tightened and he swallowed hard, sucking breath through his clenched teeth. For the rest of his life, he would live with the guilt of what he — and his race — had done. No punishment in the world could be worse than knowing he had hurt her, and knowing he had lost her. He had no right to love her, but he did. He had no right to ask her forgiveness... and he wouldn’t.

Facing the torture of seeing her, a price he paid every day he was here, Victor glanced toward the door. His gut clenched. Her beautiful gaze held on him, her lips parted slightly, watching him. He couldn’t look away, not for all the absolution in the world.

John said something to her and she turned away, nodding abruptly, but her gaze slid back to Victor again. He thought about walking away, just to the other side of the craft where he wouldn’t feel her stare like a caress and didn’t remember every moment they had spent together. Victor was fooling himself, he knew. Not seeing her didn’t wash the memories away, if anything, her absence fueled them.

He crouched down, gathering the tools on the floor. The sound of graceful footsteps on the dusty wood surface forced him to look up. When she neared him, leaving John and the Captain at the door, Victor stood again.

The slow burn of battle curled at the base of his skull, alerting him that his Demon watched for an opening, a moment it could snap out in attack. But he had learned the warning signs in the months since his acknowledgment of the darkness inside. Right now, he held all the power and it would take much more before he would give in.

"Hello, Victor," Beverly signed, her hands moving in small and intimate motions in the space before her breasts.

"Hello, Cus–-" He stopped himself short of using the endearment he had whispered to her so many times before. Working his dirty rag between his hands, he forced himself to meet her gaze. "It’s cold in the barn. You shouldn’t be out here."

"I needed some information from Captain Romano."

"There are others who can do that for you." His eyes shifted instinctively to John Smith where he still stood near the door.

"I miss you, Victor."

His eyes darted from her hands to her face. Victor took a step closer to her, dropping his voice to a whisper so at least his part of the conversation didn’t drift back to the observers. His relationship with Beverly had already been scrutinized enough by the base staff and commentary had run rampant when it ended. He wasn’t deaf to the rumors, even if no one dared speak any of them directly to Beverly Surimoto, Second in Command.

"Any response I could offer would be painfully inadequate." This was the closest he had been to her since the day she walked away from him, and the strain she kept hidden was as obvious to him as the red-gold color of her hair. "I miss you, my beautiful Beverly."

She drew a shuddered breath, her hands trembling when she raised them again. He wanted to take them between his, to kiss her fingers, but he clutched the rag in his hands instead.

"I receive every report for every new fact you’re able to give us. Does this mean your memories are clearer?"

"They come in fragments. I’m sure some of what you read makes no sense. How can it when it makes no sense to me?"

"Is there some way I can help?"

He shook his head, offering a small smile. "No, my love."

Her lips tipped in a small, fleeting smile. His heart froze in his chest when she reached out and curled her delicate fingers around his wrist, squeezing lightly before pulling away. Without another word, she turned and walked back to John. Victor watched her go, his chest aching and his lungs burning. When they disappeared out the two-story swinging doors, he folded his arms on the hood of the hover and lowered his head. He didn’t feel the pain as his own nails dug into his palms.

Chapter Four

"How do you know a woman is aroused?"

CJ choked on the coffee in her mouth, grabbing a napkin to keep it from dribbling on her shirt. Michael handed her another, and she nodded in thanks, still trying to compose herself. In the past year, he’d hit her with half a dozen questions that surprised her, but this one... this one took the blue ribbon.

"I’m sorry."

She raised her hand, shaking her head. "It’s okay."

He sat beside her at the small table in the corner of their humble and backward kitchen, Nicole in his lap babbling softly as she played with the edge of her blanket. The aroma of fresh coffee and toast mingled with burning wood from the stove in the next room. Every once in awhile, especially at moments like this, CJ wondered just how it all happened. She sat at a table eating breakfast with the grown son of her missing lover, who held in his arms a baby that wasn’t his, asking her about the birds and the bees.

CJ finally cleared her throat, setting her elbow on the table to rest her chin in her hand. "I have to admit, this wasn’t a conversation I thought we’d be having."

"Should I not have asked?"

"You can ask me anything. You know that. I just thought... well, you told me you were intimate with Renae."

His eyebrows pulled together, the same concerned, shadowed expression she had seen so many times crossing his face. "I was a child."

CJ managed to forget much of the time the darkness that shadowed the first twenty-five years of Michael’s life. It was moments like this, when he was forced to ask the questions no man his age should have to ask, and to reveal his vulnerability to the things he just simply didn’t know, that she was forced to remember. She knew very little about the woman Renae, except that Michael had cared for her and because of that, Kathleen had taken her away. Ultimately, killing her. Although he had no exact point of reference for his age before leaving New Mexico, she figured he couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old. Far too young to love and lose like that.

She drew a long breath through her nose and reached for Nicole. Michael gave her up and CJ held the little girl against her shoulder. Bright blue eyes stared into her face, her little mouth open as she continued her never-ending string of gurgles and raspberries. CJ smiled, kissing the soft fuzz of hair on the little girl’s head.

"Okay..." She trailed off. "Unfortunately, this isn’t a question that has any single answer. It’s not an A plus B equals C type of thing."

Michael hunched forward over the table, picking up his coffee mug by the rim with his long fingers, swirling the bottom on a ring of light brown liquid. He kept his gaze down, but CJ saw the strain around his eyes and mouth, the same tense lines marring his young face that she had seen on his father’s more times than she could count. Michael had been tied up in knots for months, worse than in the weeks following his liberation. He worried so much about being a good father, about the people he took care of, whether he knew enough or could do enough... he wanted to be everything, do everything, live everything but he couldn’t. No one could.

It had to be hard to cram twenty-five years of living into a single moment.

"I’m going to go out on a huge limb here and guess this is about Jackie Anderson?" His lack of an answer was the only answer she needed. She had lived with him for over a year, and knew how to read every word and every silence. CJ wondered how long it would take Jackie to learn.

His brown eyes slid to her, held for several moments, then went back to staring into his half-empty cup. CJ reached her hand across the table and covered his, squeezing gently until he looked up again. "She would be a very, very lucky woman to have you in her life, Michael."

"No," he said, his voice flat and his expression serious. "I’d be the lucky one." 

CJ smiled. "Then it must be love."

His features pinched and he pulled his hand free. She felt the instant tension and withdrawal that wrapped around him.

He sat back in his chair, slumping down. With a muffled groan, he scrubbed his face with his hands then pushed his fingers through his hair. He stood and took Nicole from her arms, heading for the kitchen door.

"Michael," she called after him.

He stopped and looked back, his cheek resting against Nicole’s hair.

"If you love her, if you think you love her, don’t—" Her own words choked her and she blinked against the tears that burned her eyes. "Don’t waste your life."

He nodded, just the slightest tip of his chin, and left her alone.

*****

"This isn’t a good idea, Jackie. As your physician, I’m telling you to get back in bed."

Jackie slid a quick glance at Doc Quinn before gingerly shifting her weight to put her feet on the floor. Her back tightened, and hot tendrils of pain lashed out from her spine. She grit her teeth, her fingers curling of their own free will into the edge of the mattress.

"No offense, Doc, but I gotta get out of here."

"Why? Jackie, if you exert yourself too much right now you’re just exposing yourself to more pain than necessary and possible permanent damage."

That made Jackie pause and she let her weight settle back onto the bed. She released a tense breath and looked up at the Doc, who hovered nearby with her arms crossed and a putout look on her face.

"How bad can it be? It’s just a strained back, right? From the fall?"

"If you don’t let those muscles heal, you’ll never regain full mobility." Lilly arched an eyebrow. "That means you’re out of the field. Permanently."

"Damn," Jackie cursed under her breath. "Okay, fine. How long until I’m back to normal?"

"Are you in a hurry to get out of Tennessee?" Lilly asked. "I would have bet money you liked the idea of sticking around."

"Guess you would have lost. Just tell me what I need to do and how long I need to do it to get me out of this bed and off this mountain."

Doc Quinn took three steps backwards to snag a nearby chair, dragging it across the floor to sit beside the bed. "First thing... lay back down."

Jackie groaned loud and long, swinging her legs back onto the bed to lie back on the pile of pillows. The new position shot several pangs across her back, but as she settled, the discomfort eased. She crossed her arms behind her head so she could see the Doc better.

"Okay, laying down as ordered, ma’am."

The other woman grinned, her shoulders bouncing in a silent chuckle. "Don’t worry. Bed rest isn’t the long-term treatment. In fact, we’ll be asking you to get on your feet more and more in the next few days. Get you walking, moving. No exercise or heavy work of any kind, but normal activity will do you good. We’ll keep treating it with the anti-inflammatories and heat. But we need to keep on it and make sure you don’t try too much too soon, otherwise, you’re going to have trouble for the rest of your life."

"Sounds fun."

"Hey, I’m not the one who made you jump into a frozen river. Don’t blame me." 

Jackie laughed. "Yeah, well, my options were limited."

"So, what had you running out of here?"

She cleared her throat and glanced toward the ceiling to keep from looking Doc Quinn straight in the eye. "Oh, you know me. I don’t like to be in on place for long. Especially like this."

"I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind sticking around this time..." Her voice trailed off, a slight hitch to her lips the hint of a smile.

Jackie tamped down the swell of hurt that churned in her chest. She hadn’t let anyone get to her in a long, long time. Not since her father died. How and when Michael Tanner had managed to do it, she didn’t know, but now she was paying the consequences for letting it happen. She’d be damned if she was going to turn into some catty female who pined over the man she couldn’t have, especially since he was apparently not worth the time.

"You thought wrong," she managed to say in an impressively even tone.

*****

Nick couldn’t sit still, every ounce of energy in his body screaming to pace and fidget as if somehow that would propel the Wurdvoller Fliiger faster through space.

Soon... so soon...

He tried to sit, but within seconds his hand tapped a sharp staccato on his thigh and his Iheel matched the rhythm. With a groan, he rolled to his feet and crossed the observation deck in several long strides, taking two seconds pause at the forward window before turning on his heels to repeat the path.

The door opened, and Annora entered with Macon and Varick, two Umani officers sent with Chancellor Durin to represent Raxo, the Council of Seven and the Umani people to their lost ancestors. They had changed from the long robe-type clothes they usually wore to more utilitarian pants and tunics, the tall men in dark brown and Annora in a cream color. But Nick didn’t fail to notice the weapons strapped to their hips.

Course, he didn’t blame them. He had no idea what the hell they were walking into. World War Three could have broken out while was he gone for all he knew... or, it could be just as he left it.

"We approach your solar system, Nicholas," Annora said, crossing to him. "The Captain expects to be within orbit of Earth in fifteen of your minutes."

"You guys are positive the Sorracchi aren’t going to pick this ship up on their scanners?" Macon smiled, a cocky grin that immediately made Nick think of Jace Quinn. He nodded his head. "You forget, Colonel. We won the war."

Nick chuckled. Macon and Varick had mastered Altenglischt during the trip from their side of the galaxy, and Macon had developed a sharp sense of humor. Or, maybe he always had it, but without the joke being lost in translation, Nick thought him to be a funny guy.

"If we depart for the Embarkation Room now, we will reach it as we descend into orbit," Annora said, motioning toward the door.

"That’s the matter transporter thing, right?"

"Yes."

Nick tried not to wince, but figured he didn’t do a very good job when Annora stopped and stared at him. "Is there something that troubles you?"

"Nah, nothing more than half a dozen bad Star Trek plots."

She tilted her head, the confusion obvious in her expression. Nick waved his hand, half closing his eyes with a chuckle. Even after months with the Umani, he couldn’t help himself from slipping in an Earth reference or two that never failed to soar completely over their heads.

"It would take way too long to explain."

They walked two-by-two, Nick and Annora leading, down the hall to the elevator that took them to the lower deck of the Wurdvoller Fliiger and the Embarkation Room. A uniformed officer waited for them, standing behind the control panel. As the door slid closed behind them, the small communicator pinned near Annora’s shoulder twittered.

The deep voice of the captain came over the communicator, but Nick didn’t even try to pay attention. He didn’t get what they were saying when they stood right in front of him, let alone over radio waves — or whatever wave they used. Give him speed to fuel ratios to calculate, and space/distance ratios to run and he’d run the figures in his head no problem... but learn another language? Forget it. Learning Areth — or, what Queen Bryony had confirmed was Sorracch — had taken him two years, and he only did that out of necessity. A phrase or two here and there, common questions, that he could do. Conversations were pointless.

"We have slowed to quarter speed and have just passed your moon. We are tracking the positions of the three Sorracchi war ships, and have no indication they are aware of our arrival. The captain has located the facility you spoke of based on the coordinates you provided, and informed me we will take up a static orbit over the location within minutes."

Nick nodded, trying to control the pounding anticipation in his chest. He couldn’t pace, and resorted to tapping his fingers on the console beside him, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Annora’s communication badge twittered again, and she tilted her head toward it as she listened. Nick watched her face, and his anticipation turned to immediate dread when her eyes shifted to him.

"What..."

"Our deep scans indicate no activity within the facility, Nicholas. No energy output. No electromagnetic readings. No biologicals."

"We have shields..." As soon as he started to say it, he knew the justification was pointless. If the Umani could hide two ships the size of the Wurdvoller Fliiger from the Sorracchi, they could see through any shields cloaking the Mountain. "You’re sure?"

Annora walked around to the working side of the console and entered some commands. She motioned for him to join her, and the scan results for the base appeared on the monitor in front of them.

The mountain was dead.

For two seconds, Nick’s heart stopped in his chest.

"I still need to go down there."

Annora nodded. "Where is the best point of entry?" she asked as she displayed a three-dimensional schematic of all twenty-some-odd levels of the barren base. Nick tapped Command in the core of the base. That was as good a place as any. She looked to the silent officer who stood ready to work the controls, and instructed him of their final destination.

"Do you have flashlights?"

"Flash. Lights?"

Nick tapped the back of one hand into the palm of the other. "Yeah, artificial light sources. It’s going to be damn dark in there."

Varick nodded his understanding and moved to the far wall. As he reached it, a panel slid open, revealing a sundry of equipment including weaponry. He removed four flat, circular devices with straps along the back and handed one to each of them when he returned. "On your hand," he said, holding his hand up palm out to show Nick how to hold the ‘flashlight’.

Nick slipped the strap over his hand. "Got it."

"We’re ready, Nicholas."

Nick reluctantly followed Annora, Macon and Varick onto the glowing base of the dematerialization pad. He had gone through these a few times on Raxo and Aretu, but the thing still gave him the willies. He took his position beside Annora, with Macon and Varick behind them, as the clear shield encased the base and the control officer on the other side nodded his readiness.

A low buzz whispered in Nick’s ears and the world took on a silver haze as heat flushed over his skin from head to toe. He closed his eyes against the momentary wave of nausea, and only opened them again when the heat was replaced by biting cold, like every nerve of his body was encased in ice. Instead of the Embarkation Room aboard the scout ship, Central Command shimmered in the haze. He blinked, waiting for the flashing lights to stop and the final inward tug he felt in his chest when the process was complete. He tried not to remind himself it was his molecules re-knitting themselves, but he couldn’t help it. A shudder ran up his spine.

Then he looked around. In the shadows, all he saw were the outlines of abandoned equipment and the glow of auxiliary lights from machinery left to run on battery power. Nick held up his hand, and the light came on, reacting to his mental command. He was getting pretty good at that. As the beam shifted over the mangled and destroyed piles of computers and furniture, Nick’s chest squeezed.

The Sorracchi had destroyed the place.

Black soot marred the walls and the tinge of smoke and burned wires still hung in the confined air. The holo-vid table, where he had sat more times than he could count, was split down the center and lay on the floor in two pieces. Overturned chairs sat at the base of the walls. He could almost feel the rage still heavy in the air. Nick turned a slow circle, his light dueling with the lights of the other three as they all examined the carnage.

"This was our center of command," he explained, finding it hard to force the words from his throat.

"I see no—" Annora paused, meeting Nick’s gaze in the contrasting light of the handheld torches. She tried to smile, and he saw the sympathy obvious in her expression. "I see no deceased, Nicholas. Perhaps those you care for were able to depart before the destruction occurred?"

Nick nodded. The thought had already occurred to him, but the heavy disappointment of not finding Michael and Caitlin choked out the positive possibilities. "I need to look around. If there was time, they would have let me know... somehow..."

He was already to the door and heading down the hall to the nearest stairwell. His light bounced along the floor as he ran, three others following behind as their footsteps echoed in the darkness. The initial comfort provided by the lack of bodies quickly disappeared when the black, crumpled shape of a soldier filled the beam of their lights. He was human, the uniform he wore giving away his identity. Nick swallowed hard and kept going.

The stairwell door hung from its hinges, bent in half, the black burn of a pulse charge blast in the center. Nick kicked it open the rest of the way and bounded down the stairs two at a time. Two floors down, the door was closed and locked, and Nick cursed loudly as he yanked hard on the handle.

"Macon," he shouted over his shoulder as the three Umani joined him. "Your weapon."

"Step back," Macon demanded as he pulled his energy weapon from his hip, taking aim at the lock. A blue flash of light distorted the air, blasting a hole straight through the three-inch steel.

Nick pulled the sleeve of his borrowed tunic down over the palm of his hand and pulled it open. The hot metal burned his fingers, but he didn’t have time to care. With the door cracked enough to slip his foot through, he kicked it wide for the others to follow. By the time he reached the door he sought, his lungs burned from running in the musty, carnage-reeking, oxygen-weak air. His lungs had grown accustomed to the oxygen-rich air of Aretu, and going to this extreme made his chest burn.

He didn’t pause at the apartment door, slamming his shoulder into it to burst into the quarters beyond. Nick stumbled across the floor, almost tripping over a stool tipped over near the doorway. Macon, Varick and Annora joined him as he braced his hand against the dust-coated counter beside him and tried to catch his breath.

"What is this place?" Annora asked.

"This was where I lived," Nick said, sucking in stale, thick air. "With Caitlin and my son. If there was a way to tell me where they went, they would have left it here."

Annora touched his arm as she passed by him, walking into the room. "What should we seek?"

He shook his head. "It won’t be obvious. Just give me a second." He turned into the counter and leaned on his elbows, swallowing against the cotton in his throat. His gaze skimmed over the thick layer of dust covering everything, telling him they had been gone a long time.

A broken mug lay shattered on the counter, and beside it a faded, wilted flower. The leaves had long since turned brown and fallen away from the stem to curl on the metal counter. With the ache in his lungs eased, Nick stood and looked around trying to orientate himself.

The furniture had been tipped over, the cushions ripped off, the desk in the corner smashed. Nick stepped over a broken section of the desk through the open doorway to the bedroom he had shared with Caitlin. The bed was nothing but the scorched remains left behind by a pulse charge blast, the air rancid with the smell. Nick walked around the room, looking inside the open drawers, finding nothing.

As he stepped around to Caitlin’s side of the bed, something crunched beneath his foot and he lifted his boot, shining his light to the floor. The powdered remains of another dried flower lay ground into the rug.

Nick left the bedroom and crossed the living space to Michael’s room, finding the room in a similar condition, the bed torn apart and scorched. But one thing immediately caught Nick’s attention; the dried remains of a sunflower on the floor near Michael’s bedside table.

"The Farm."

"Nicholas?" Annora asked behind him.

"Come on."

Nick wondered briefly how they were doing in the poor air, but they managed to stay with him as he ran through the complex again. His chest hurt and his heart pounded furiously by the time he reached the giant hydraulic doors of the hydroponics chamber. His temples pulsed, and his vision blurred with dark spots, but he couldn’t stop now. Soon enough, once he had a clue — an idea — he’d leave. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees.

"You are not well. The air here is ill," Annora said behind him, touching his shoulder. "We need to depart this place."

Nick looked at her, and saw the deep flush in her cheeks and rapid rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to breathe. He laid his hand on her arm, filling his lungs one last time before standing tall again.

"Soon. Guys, I’m going to need your help."

With the help of the two big men, they managed to work their fingertips into the seal of the door and with a loud, combined groan they pulled the hydraulic doors apart. The rancid stench of rotting vegetation flooded the hall, hitting Nick like a slap in the face and he turned away.

"Holy crap," he mumbled, burying his face in the curve of his elbow.

"Zat is eken!" Varick said from behind his hand.

"No kidding," Nick agreed, his voice muffled against his sleeve. "Stay here. I know where I’m going."

He took a deep breath of the only slightly less offensive hall air and slid through the narrow space between the heavy doors. Jogging down the pebble path, he tried to ignore the desolation surrounding him. The once green and lush chamber was black with rot and foul with the stench of death. It burned his eyes and nostrils even though he held his breath. He reached the marble bench where he and Caitlin had sat what seemed like a lifetime ago, and dropped to his knees on the brown, crisp grass.

Nick searched the area, running his hands over and around the cold stone. A surge of excitement hit his chest when his fingertips found a piece of paper wedged in the underside of the seat, and he carefully slid it free of its hiding place. He unfolded the crisp pages enough to read his name at the top, confirming it was what he needed, and sprinted to the door.

Once in the hall again, he filled his lungs and held the note to his chest. "Let’s go."

Annora tapped her communicator, and seconds later the familiar heat of dematerialization danced over his skin.

Chapter Five

The landscape outside glistened with snow and ice, the afternoon sun so brilliant it made Michael squint. A light layer of snow had fallen during the night, leaving everything with a clean, fresh... renewed... shine.

The rectangle of sunlight he stood in warmed him through his flannel shirt, sinking deep to his bones. He loved the warmth. It was so different from the smothering, dry heat of New Mexico that scratched at his throat and left his skin raw. A whisper of winter draft slipped through the ancient window frame, a sharp contrast to the warm patch he stood in.

He glanced sideways to Jacqueline’s bed. She had been asleep since before he came in, and instead of slipping back out of the room, he had decided to stay. Ineffectively, he tried to convince himself that he was staying out of concern for her well-being. As her physician. Deep down, he knew it was — as his father would say — crap.

She challenged him. She confused him. She pushed him.

And every time he thought of her, a warmth spread through his chest and a lightness invaded his limbs. Despite the pleasant euphoria, doubt curled in the back of his mind like sooty smoke. Jacqueline knew only the barest details of who he was and where he had spawned from... what evil bore him. Logically, he knew that he held no actual genetic link to the monster Kathleen. Her sadistic mind was just the Sorracchi parasite that invaded the body of some human woman long ago. They were two entities sharing one body, and it was the body that contributed to half his DNA, not the mind.

Logic didn’t chase away the demons.

There was logic and there was reality. Yes, he felt something for Jacqueline he felt for no other person. But, did he have any right to this? He knew little of relationships, even less of love — that kind of love — what could he give her?

He wanted to give her everything, and that simple thought terrified him.

If you love her, if you think you love her... don’t waste your life.

He stared down at her, swallowing. Her black hair fanned across her shoulders and the pillow. One arm rested on her pillow, the wrist turned out, near her cheek. She was beautiful. Michael had always thought Caitlin beautiful, from the first time he saw her in the halls of the New Mexico facility. And Lilly. But they were a different kind of beautiful to him, and his breath didn’t catch in his chest when he saw them.

Jacqueline stirred, her head rolling slowly on the pillow to face away from him. Michael watched silently as she drew a long, deep breath, releasing it with the same steady focus. She laid the back of her hand against her forehead, her eyes closed and he waited to see if she would slip back into sleep. Moments later, she opened them again and pushed her arms beneath the blanket to try to shift her weight.

He stepped away from the window and her head snapped around to glare up at him. "Jeez, Michael. You scared the crap out of me."

"I apologize," he said, crouching beside the bed to move his arm behind her shoulders. She slid him a sharp glance but allowed him to help her find a more comfortable position. "How do you feel?"

"Like crap," she mumbled, letting her head fall back on the pillow. "Like someone has poured cement in my veins."

He stayed in his crouched position, resting his hand on the bed. "Are you in any pain?" 

"No." Her voice was tight, strained and short. "Just off."

"I am going to increase your heat therapy. And I want to begin a massage routine—" "Who? You?"

Something about the way she snapped off the question made Michael pause, and he studied her expression before answering. Deep furrows marred her forehead and she looked at him through squinted eyes, her lips not quite a frown but hovering on the edge of becoming one. She worked her jaw, rolling her gaze toward the ceiling when he didn’t answer immediately.

"You’re angry with me."

"Why the hell would I be angry with you?" The higher pitch of her voice told him again what her words hadn’t, and he tried to imagine what he had done.

When his father first took him from New Mexico, and brought him to Colorado to live, he had worried about everything he did and said, every question he asked, that he might inadvertently anger someone. For twenty-five years, the wrong action or word meant pain and punishment. He had eventually learned that he faced no punishments here, and he would anger people — but, right now, he didn’t know why.

Michael stood and walked to the foot of the bed, pushing his hands into his pockets. Jacqueline avoided his eyes, turning her head to the right. After several moments of silence stretched out, she huffed and rolled her head on the pillow to glare at him down the length of the bed.

"That silent treatment is damn annoying."

He opened his mouth, pausing, sorting his thoughts. "I don’t understand what is different."

Jacqueline huffed a choked laugh and draped her arm across her eyes. "What’s different? A hell of a lot of things are different, Michael." She dropped the arm away, meeting his gaze.

"You’ve been away a long time—"

"And don’t I know it? I guess this is what happens when you’re out of the loop." 

"What is this?"

She shook her head and looked away. Michael slid a hand from his pocket and curled his fingers around the wooden footboard. He fought the urge to turn and walk out, to clear his head and piece together the puzzle. But he remembered Caitlin’s words about his ‘escapism’, as she had called it, being extremely frustrating to those who only wanted to understand.

He ran the side of his thumb over the smooth wood, deciding to change the topic. He needed to tell her what they found, that the Sorracchi had taken something from her. Michael didn’t know if she was aware, or how she would react. Drawing a deep breath, he raised his head and met her stern gaze.

"I have something to tell you."

"No need to," she tacked on quickly. "I know about Nicole."

Michael blinked, thrown off by the sharp turn in topic. "I’m sorry," he said, swallowing. "I wanted to tell you."

"It’s a small base. Word travels fast." She sat up slowly, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed. Michael felt the jerk in his chest to help her, but held back, sensing she didn’t want or need his help as much as he needed to give it. When she sat upright, she gripped the edge of the mattress, her back slightly hunched. "I guess the politically correct thing to say is ‘congratulations’ and ‘I’m happy for you’, right?"

*****

She had sworn to herself that she wasn’t going to be the catty female who pined away over the man she couldn’t have. Jackie Anderson had never been that woman, and she wasn’t about to turn into one now.

No matter how much her heart ached.

She leaned forward, slowly moving to her feet. From the corner of her eye, she saw the shift in his stance, but he stopped short of stepping toward her. With a sharp expulsion of air, Jackie pushed herself to her feet. Ripples of tension shifted across her back, but no blinding pain. It hurt, yes... but she wasn’t ready to admit it. Not yet. Not to him. She couldn’t take an exam from Michael, even as annoyed as she was with him and herself. Another day or two, and her defenses would be strong again.

She swallowed and turned to face him, hiding behind her best poker face. "So, tell me about your daughter."

"She’s beautiful," he said without hesitation, smiling. "You can see her soon. Caitlin has her, but they’ll be here late."

Jacqueline swallowed and nodded, but kept her expression emotionless. "You two have the cottage at the top of the hill, right?’ Small talk... she could do small talk...

Michael didn’t answer; just stood at the end of the bed and watched her, studied her, his eyes shifting only slightly as his gaze shifted over her face, flicking down for the briefest of seconds to her lips before coming back to her eyes. Jacqueline clenched her hands in her lap and tried to convince herself he wasn’t looking at her the way he always had. He couldn’t be. He shouldn’t be.

Then again, according to Carmen, that quiet look of his was a damn powerful weapon against the unwitting female.

"Nicole," she said, clearing her throat. "That’s a pretty name. Did you name her after your father?"

He nodded, still silent.

"I never met your father, but I’ve heard a lot about him. He’s a hero."

A small smile ticked the corner of his lips. "Caitlin thinks he will — how did she put it —get a kick out of having a girl named after him."

"CJ knew your father?"

Michael nodded, the other corner of his mouth tipping up into a slow, sexy grin and she wondered what she said to make him look at her that way. "Yes. They knew each other for a long time."

Jacqueline set her hands at her waist and walked slowly, gingerly to the window. The landscape outside was brilliant, but just the sight of the snow made her cold to her bones. The memory of ice-cold water crashing over her head — sucking the air from her lungs — flashed through her. Shards of ice cutting her skin. The twist of her body when it impacted with the hard surface, only to crash through. She swallowed hard and forced herself to focus on the conversation.

Of the two choices, this conversation with Michael seemed like the easiest to deal with. Black memories would be there tomorrow, and the day after.

"You and Caitlin must be very happy," she managed to say.

With the same small smile on his lips, he walked around the end of the bed toward her. Joining her, he looked out the window before he answered. "Both Caitlin and I are happy with Nicole in our lives."

"Good," she said, the word strangled and lost somewhere before it left her lips. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Good. I really am glad for you, Michael, even if I didn’t sound it before."

"Jacqueline..." he said, the same rough weight to his voice, as he reached across the space between them. His warm palm skimmed across the back of her hand as he wrapped his fingers around hers, and she sucked in a breath to tamp down the shiver that threatened to dance up her spine. "Caitlin isn’t my lover. She’s my mother."

Her heart pounded in her chest several times before the words sank in, and she blinked rapidly, staring at him. "Excuse me?" Momentarily thrown, Jacqueline shook off the intense physical reaction to his simple act of taking her hand. "What the hell did you mean by that?"

"Caitlin and I share a home. She is helping me raise Nicole, but she has never been or will she ever be my lover."

"She’s your mother... Michael, that’s not possible. CJ and I are almost the same age... she can’t... and besides, you told me your mother was... what are you smiling at?" she demanded, crossing her arms.

"I apologize, Jacqueline," he said, obviously attempting to restrain his grin. "When I realized what you assumed, I should have told you."

"That still doesn’t explain... she can’t be your mother. She isn’t or what you told me before was a lie."

"It wasn’t a lie. Caitlin and I have a different truth."

"A different truth... what the hell does that mean?"

Michael looked over his shoulder at a soft knock at the door. After he called out a ‘come in’, CJ entered the room, carrying Nicole in her arms. CJ took her hand temporary from Nicole’s back to wave as she walked towards them. When Jacqueline looked back to Michael, his smile had eased into a softer expression, his eyes sparkling with a deep-set joy.

"If I’ve learned anything in the last year, Jacqueline... I’ve learned biology often has very little to do with being a parent."

CJ reached them, greeting Jacqueline with a smile as she handed the baby off to Michael. The baby’s face lit up when she saw her father, and something tugged at the center of Jacqueline’s chest. She stepped back, observing the two together as CJ relayed to Michael all the events of the morning; who Nicole had visited with, when she had eaten last, how long she had napped. They still looked like a happy little family to her.

"You’re his mother?" she blurted out, realizing far too late the question was out of her mouth.

CJ paused mid-sentence and looked up, an expression of surprise on her face. She looked from Jacqueline to Michael, who remained silent and rubbed his cheek against the soft down on Nicole’s head.

CJ cleared her throat and rubbed her hands together. "Did you tell her that?" 

"Shouldn’t I have?"

"No, but..." She looked at Jackie and smiled. "Yeah, I guess you could say I’m his mother. In a non-conventional way."

"And just how is that?"

"Did I... did I come at a bad time?" she asked, motioning between Michael and Jacqueline. "Because I could go..."

"Please..." Jacqueline said slowly. "I don’t intend to be rude, but, I’m confused as hell and I don’t like being confused."

Michael looked to CJ and nodded. She smiled at both of them, and without a word, turned and walked back out of the room. With a hitch of his chin, Michael motioned for Jackie to go back to the bed. Squinting as she tried to process his off-handed revelation, Jackie shuffled back to the bed and sat at the head, a pillow behind her back to cushion her spine against the wood.

Michael sat facing her, his bent knee resting on the blanket. He took a moment to settle the squirming, chattering baby into the curve of his leg.

"You know who my biological mother is," he said after several moments of silence. "I’ve only told you the surface. The rest... the deep truth..." His voice faded and fell away.

Jacqueline saw a dark shadow pass over his expression, the intensity of his emotion at that moment visible. He kept his gaze cast down, focusing on the infant supported in the valley of his thighs. When he looked up, he had regained his control and his features were once again calm and composed.

"In the simplest terms, Nick Tanner is my father and Caitlin Montgomery is my mother."

"You going to expand on that someday?"

He nodded, his lower lip curling in as he ran the tip of his tongue over it. "Yes," he said. "Someday."

She ran her hand over her hair, looking down at the baby. "Okay, so, I heard—" Jackie cleared her throat, feeling the rush of heat in her cheeks for listening to rumors. She’d struck out once, and pretty much figured she’d be going two-for-two. "I heard Amber was Nicole’s mother... and you’re her father."

"Amber was her mother. She died in childbirth."

Jacqueline squinted at Michael, a niggling feeling prickling at the back of her neck and she rolled forward until she knelt in the center of the bed, so close her knees brushed Michael’s leg. She looked down at Nicole, at her big blue eyes and reddish-tinted hair, and then into Michael’s face. He met her gaze, and Jacqueline’s breath caught.

"You’re not her father," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Biology has very little to do with being a parent," he repeated.

Jacqueline sat back and shook her head. "Michael Tanner, you never cease to completely blow me away."

Chapter Six

"Why did you pick the name John Smith?"

Beverly did her best to keep her eyes on the Areth soldier as they walked, while still paying attention to the icy ground beneath her feet. An inch of snow had fallen during the night, leaving the trees frosted with white and the walking interesting. He gripped her elbow as they walked his other hand tucked behind his back.

"I didn’t." He smiled, the lines around his mouth angling away at the subdued grin. "It’s my name."

"Really?" she signed. "It just seems so..." She tipped her hand back and forth indecisively.

"Human? Is that so surprising?"

"I suppose part of me still has a hard time accepting that we’re all joined somehow. It seems very... cosmic."

He tipped his head and laughed, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing in his lean neck. That was John Smith, angles and lines and lanky limbs. He was tall, at least six feet, but the cut of his frame and the lanky way he moved his body made him seem taller. When he moved, she thought of Victor. Sinewy strength hidden behind a tightly-bound mass of muscle.

"I come from a long line of John Smiths. I’m technically the..." He looked skyward, his head ticking back and forth in small movements as he seemed to silently count. "The thirty-fourth John Smith in my family."

Beverly smiled, shaking her head. "That’s quite a legacy."

"Well, John Smith the seventeenth was a bit of an embarrassment, but other than that..."

They reached the porch for Command Hall and he slid his hand to her back as she maneuvered the iced steps. John was wonderfully sweet, and his subtle humor and even more subtle smiles always managed to lift her heart and make her forget sometimes, even if only briefly. But she felt nothing from his touch other than the warmth and comfort of contact. And the subtle hum.

In her life, she had encountered perhaps two-dozen people who woke up something deeper in the back of her mind when they touched. Sometimes, it was a hum — subtle and low. Sometimes, it was a flash of cold heat that set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. She had felt it with Nick Tanner, and even Jace Quinn to a small degree. Victor had been, by far, the most pronounced but she believed that stemmed from the deeper connection they had from the beginning.

She blinked and looked down, pretending to watch her step carefully. Thoughts of Victor made her heart ache for missing him, and she wondered sometimes what he had done that was so terribly wrong.

They stepped inside the common room, and the heat from the fireplace flushed her cheeks. Beverly quickly shrugged out of her heavy coat, leaving it hanging by the door. A couple dozen of the base personnel mulled around in the room. This was a place of relaxation, where they could eat or read or talk with friends. This rudimentary base didn’t have the kinds of recreational facilities their Colorado base had, but no one seemed to mind. Here, they could forget about the horrors around the world. At least for a little while.

A gust from the doorway as a group of people left tugged at her hair, pulling loose curls across her eyes. She wrapped the curl around her finger and flipped it behind her ear, catching John watching her. Beverly arched an eyebrow and tilted her head.

"Sometimes, you remind me a great deal of someone."

"Who?"

He smiled, but there was a melancholy touch to it. Like Michael, John hid things behind his eyes that Beverly doubted he would ever reveal. It had to be hard for him, being the only of his race on an entire planet with no way home in the foreseeable future. His arrival had renewed everyone’s hope that Nick Tanner’s journey might not be impossible, and they all hung on to the hope that he would return. Still, he was a man without a home — a people — until then.

If ever.

"My Queen," he said, touching her arm as they walked toward a nearby table. "Queen Bryony the Fourteenth of Aretu."

"Your people certainly like to reuse names." She nudged his side with her elbow, teasing him gently.

This time, his smile held a spark. "Never give up a good thing."

As gentle as a lover’s caress, Beverly felt the touch of Victor’s presence. It smoothed over her skin and bubbled in her blood. Even after months of no physical contact with him, her body knew him. She turned her head, glancing toward the massive inglenook that took up half the center wall. Huge fieldstones and mortar formed the hearth, with a three-foot deep ledge where people often sat to bask in the ambient heat of the fire.

Victor stood to the side of the open fire pit, one foot set on the ledge and one arm draped across the thick, wooden mantle that ran the length of the stone. He held a mug in the other hand, but didn’t drink from it. His dark eyes were on her, watching her from across the span of the room.

He had felt her just as she felt him. That was who they were.

She watched, holding her breath, as his gaze dropped away and he stared for a moment into his cup before swallowing whatever was left. He set the mug on the ledge and lowered his foot to the floor. Only then did he raise his head again and meet her gaze. Beverly drew a sharp breath into her burning lungs. Her heart pounded in her chest and slow heat rolled through her from the intensity in his eyes.

Pushing his hands into his pockets, he lowered his head and turned, leaving the common room through one of the back entry doors. Beverly blinked, swallowing hard. John’s touch at her elbow yanked her back to the moment. She turned her head to look at him, noting the deep lines of concern across his brow and the downturn of his lips.

She shook her head, her hands trembling slightly when she raised them to sign. "Please don’t say anything."

He nodded, conceding reluctantly. Silas, the boy John took as his son, ran across the room to meet them. His smile was a bright flash of white against the dark, rich color of his skin as he tugged at John’s sleeve for attention. John smiled down at the boy, resting his hand on Silas’s shoulder.

"Go to the table. We’re coming."

Silas ran off again, a bundle of energy and enthusiasm. He had come out of his shell since their arrival in Tennessee. John had told her that Silas had watched his mother die, and hadn’t spoken a word for days afterwards, refusing to leave John’s side. Although John barely knew Cloe Cook, he couldn’t turn away her young son when he had nothing. And now, much like Michael and Nicole, they were a family. There was no doubt how John loved the boy, she saw it in his eyes.

Pushing aside the ache in her chest, she walked with John to the table where Silas waited.

*****

Michael opened the door to Jacqueline’s room, and paused with his hand wrapped around the knob. Jacqueline stood at one of the windows, her arms crossed over her abdomen and her face turned to the waning afternoon sunlight. Darkness came early, casting a silver-gray shadow over the snowy landscape.

He had gone to put Nicole down for her nap with every intention of returning as soon as possible to Jacqueline. But, a mechanic had come in with a cut on his hand and then he helped Lilly treat another minor injury. Nearly two hours had gone by before he finally found himself free, and by then Nicole had woken again. Caitlin offered to take her home, and he willingly complied. He didn’t like the tired shadows under Caitlin’s eyes, and an afternoon at the cottage away from the grind of the infirmary would do her good. If he could, he intended to convince her to take the next day off. Just to rest.

Jacqueline glanced over her shoulder, and smiled when she saw him. Even across the room, he saw the strain around her eyes and the mask she wore to hide her discomfort. Michael shut the door and crossed the room.

"Your back hurts," he stated, giving her no room for argument or denial.

"Some. Nothing I can’t deal with. You’ve been gone awhile. I figured I pissed you off again."

"Again?"

"I’ve been known to put my foot in my mouth a few times with you."

He couldn’t help his smirk at the imagery. "I had to take care of some things." 

"Nicole?"

"Caitlin took her home." He stepped behind Jacqueline and laid his hand on her lower back, hearing her soft gasp. He tried to feel the muscles through the bulky material, but it was difficult. "I should apply some heat to your back."

"No," she said quickly. "Much more heat, and my flesh is going to fall off the bone like a slow-cooked roast. It’ll be fine once I work the kinks out. Jeez, give a girl some warning!"

Michael slid his hands beneath her sweater, laying his palms on her skin. He felt the heat radiating from her body and the tight twist to her muscles, Stepping closer, he slid his hands over her back and pressed his thumbs along her spine.

Jacqueline’s arms came up and she braced her palms on each side of the window, her head tipped back. Black hair slid across her shoulders, the scent of her shampoo mingling in the air. Michael closed his eyes and tried to focus on the feel of her body, of the places that needed his attention, and not the nearness that muddled his senses.

Her ribs expanded beneath his hands and he worked his thumbs in small circles, pushing firmly but only hard enough to massage and not bruise or hurt. Jacqueline hummed. "Does this help?" he asked.

"It’s doing something, that’s for sure." Her voice was rough, purring from a spot deep in her throat.

"Turn around." 

Jacqueline turned within the circle of his hands, his palms skimming her stomach as she faced him. "Put your arms around my neck and lean into me."

"I don’t think that’s a good idea." Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright as she looked at him.

"Trust me."

She did as he said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, letting him support her weight. He slowly but firmly massaged the muscles along her spine, pulling her into him. Michael closed his eyes when she groaned softly, her breath warming his neck. He circled his fingers further up her back, feeling the ridges of her ribs beneath his touch and the pearly strand of her spine. Her back was bare, no undergarments to hinder his touch, and he tried to ignore the heat emanating from every point of contact between his body and hers.

He stopped the deep massage, letting his hands slide over her skin with a gentle touch. His palms explored her back and shoulders and down her trim sides to the waist of her pants that hung low on her hips. Her fingers slipped into his hair.

"Michael, am I alone here?" Her voice was rough and whispered near his ear. 

He scowled, pulling back to study her face. "I’m here."

Her hands shifting across the back of his neck and shoulders to rest above his elbows. He let his palms slide naturally to her back again, splaying over her warm skin. A voice in the back of his mind told him he should take his hands away. To touch her, skin-to-skin, as her caregiver was acceptable. But, at this moment, he felt as far from her doctor as he could be.

"Trust me, there is no doubt in my mind just how here you are. What I mean is...am I alone with just how nuts it makes me to have you this close? Touching me?"

Michael swallowed, watching the small dimple that threatened to appear in her cheek each time her lips curled up in a smile. He compulsively tightened his hold on her, pulling her closer, and her eyelids slid heavily over her eyes.

"No," he finally managed to say through the desert in his throat.

"Are you planning on doing anything about it any time soon?"

He slid his hand along her spine, the hem of her sweater slipping up her stomach. Her muscles slowly rolled beneath his touch. She sighed, her head tipping back slightly and Michael watched, mesmerized. The arch of her neck was beautiful, and the flash of desire to press his mouth to her skin surprised and shook him. His blood hummed just beneath the surface of his skin, and the layers of clothing he wore in defense against the drafts and chill in the old building now smothered him.

Without making the conscious decision to do it, Michael leaned closer to her, speaking close to her cheek. "What do you want me to do?"

Her breath skimmed his skin and her lips parted, dark eyes watching him. "That’s a loaded question."

"Tell me."

"Kissing me might be a good start."

Michael pulled one hand free from its warm place beneath her sweater to lay his palm against her cheek. His lungs burned and he carefully schooled each breath, his heart pounding hard, rushing blood hot and thick through his veins. He touched her lower lip with the pad of his thumb, and she parted them, her warm, trembling breath warming his skin. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the glistening smoothness on the inside of her lip and the tip of her tongue as it moistened her skin, brushing his thumb.

The need to follow her tongue and taste her crashed into him, and he lowered his mouth to hers. Their lips brushed along each other, open and slick, and her soft moan whispered between them. Michael hovered over her, matching her movements as she tipped her chin, letting their breath mingle together. He still needed to taste her, to know the feel of her wet lips. Slowly, he slid his tongue against her lips, her teeth and finally her own tongue, and pure energy vibrated through him.

He pushed his fingers into her hair, the silken threads weaving around his hand, as he tilted her head and let the power of the jolt reverberate from head to toe. Her hands curled into his shirt and he pulled her harder against him, the need to be careful a persistent whisper in the back of his mind. The slow, learning kiss catapulted into a devouring need.

Only when the demand for oxygen overpowered the fury did Michael break the contact, pulling deep breaths of air into his burning lungs as he rested his forehead against hers. A small tremor shifted through her and he pulled her closer, once again sliding both hands beneath the sweater to touch her skin.

Her skin.

Silk and satin and heat.

Michael swallowed his groan.

"Damn," Jacqueline finally said, breaking the sound of their rasped and out-of-sync breathing. "Where did you learn to kiss like that?"

Michael shook his head, letting his forehead roll against hers. He couldn’t form a thought, let alone an answer, and pulled her closer. He wanted to kiss her again, wanted it as much as he wanted to live, but didn’t trust himself to do it. His body screamed for more. Screamed too loud and too hard to be ignored.

He pulled her closer and pressed his face into the fragrant curve of her throat.

*****

"Hey, Darlin’. I’ve been looking for you."

Lilly held her finger to her lips, carefully pulling closed the door to Jackie’s room. She tiptoed down the hall to Jace, grinning until her cheeks hurt. He tried to see past her, but she pushed her hands against his chest and urged him away from the room.

"What’s the big secret?"

Lilly giggled, squeezing her husband’s hand as she led him down the hall. "They’re kissing," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Who?"

"Michael and Jackie."

"No way!"

"Shhhhhh!" she hissed through pursed lips, dragging him further down the hall. "They might hear us."

"What, and find out you were spying on them?"

"I wasn’t spying." Jace cocked an eyebrow at her. "I wasn’t! I was just going to check on her. I can’t help what I happened to almost stumble in on."

Jace laughed and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her against his chest. She linked her hands behind his back and leaned into him, loving the feel of his strength beneath her hands. After losing him for so long, she reveled in every opportunity to be close. Heat flashed over her skin as she remembered the twenty minutes they spent in the supply room that morning.

He laid his large, warm hands against the sides of her head and leaned in for a long, deep kiss that turned her insides to liquid heat. Just as she felt the shift in the touch, the moment when the simple kiss could turn into another supply room visit, he pulled back, running his tongue over his lower lip as if tasting her there.

"Can’t go there, Darlin’."

Lilly huffed. "Are you on your way out?"

"In two and two, yep. They’re waiting for me at the barn."

"Promise me you’ll be careful." Even though it was just a quick scouting mission, Lilly’s insides twisted with panic.

Jace kissed the end of her nose. "I promise. I’ll be back in two days at the most. We’re not planning anything fancy."

"It’s the things you don’t plan on that worry me."

He kissed her again and stepped out of her embrace. As he stepped away, his hand slid down her arm to squeeze her fingers one last time. "I love you. Kiss Jamie for me." 

"I will. Be safe."

He smiled, and walked the rest of the way down the hall. Lilly watched with her heart in her throat, her hands clutched in front of her. She heard a door behind her and turned to see Michael walking toward her, his hands pushed into his pockets and a look on his face she could only describe as giddy with a hint of holy crap. His gaze connected with hers, and Lilly tried to suppress her smirk by pulling her lip through her teeth.

"Hi," she said, choking on her giggle.

A flash of color took over his entire face, and she knew he knew she knew. "Not a word," he mumbled, brushing past her.

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

Chapter Seven

Nicky

I can only pray that somehow by the grace of God you are reading this letter. Because if you are, you did what you promised and never gave up.

Please know that as I write this we are fighting our way out of the Mountain. But we are still fighting... still alive. Both of us.

It has been so lonely without you. I miss you beside me each night. Michael missed you on his thirty-sixth birthday. We thought of you.

You’ve done the hard part. You’ve traveled across the galaxy and back again. You’ve come home. Now, find us, Nicky. Find us.

I love you. We love you.

I know you’ll find us. And when we’re both eighty, we’ll look back and know it was all worth the pain.

Nick sat on the edge of the berth in his quarters aboard the Wurdvoller Fliiger, hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees and Caitlin’s note held in his fingers. He read the words again and again, letting his eyes linger on her soft sloping penmanship, trying to see in it whatever it was she knew he would.

Because there had to be something there.

Now, find us, Nicky. Find us.

Where are you...?

Nick closed his eyes and tapped his forehead with the edge of the letter. Frustrated, he launched off his bed and crossed the compact travel quarters to the window that faced down to Earth. Through the swirls of white clouds, Nick made out the coastline of the African continent and the Indian Ocean. He raised his arm and rested it on the thick window, lifting the note again to read the words.

Thirty-six... eighty...

They meant something... they were the key.

He stared at the familiar planet. So close to home... yet so damn far away. He wouldn’t be home until he saw her, held her, held his son. A lead ball had lodged itself in the center of his chest since he first read the letter. When she wrote it, they were alive... but they weren’t free. They hadn’t made it out of the Mountain yet.

Decayed remains littered nearly every level, heaviest around the shuttle bay. Even though he was terrified at what he might find, Nick had returned to the macabre halls to walk amongst the fallen. He prayed with every black body he found. They had been forced to wear environmental suits when they returned to allow them to breathe and move for any length of time in the dark, deserted halls.

So far, he had been lucky.

"Oh, darling..." he said to the empty room. "What does it mean?"

Thirty-six... eighty... thirty-six... eighty...

"Thirty-six," he said aloud, staring through the glass to the continent below. Prickles of awareness skittered up the back of his neck and he shifted back. "Eighty. Thirty-six! Eighty!"

He spun on the balls of his feet and slid between the space of his quarters doors before they had a chance to open completely. Nick jogged down the winding hall, brushing past several startled Areth and Umani. He mumbled quick apologies he knew most of them wouldn’t understand and finally reached the nearest elevator.

Nick slapped his hand against the glowing, half-globe that served as the call button and braced his hands against either side of the silver frame. "Come on... come on... come on...."

His blood nearly bubbled with excitement, his heart hammering viciously in his chest. Caitlin... beautiful, clever, wonderful Caitlin... she led him home. Well, if he was right she led him close enough that he could do the rest.

The doors swished open and he hopped the doorway, garnering wide-eyed stares from the two tall Umani shipmates already in the cube. Nick glanced toward the ceiling, shuffling through his head for the word he needed.

"Damn... ah, I need the bridge," he said to one of the men beside him, getting only an odd stare in return. Ninety-five percent of the scout ship’s crew still didn’t know how to deal with Nick’s odd human behaviors. "Bridge. The Bridge. You know..." He simulated the ship flying through space with a flat hand, even adding a rattling engine sound, then an invisible steering wheel in his hands. "Bridge."

The Umani to his left said something in his native tongue, and it immediately clicked in Nick’s excitement-rattled head. "Yes!" He repeated the command, and the elevator shifted into motion again.

He swore they must have orbited the planet twice before the doors opened.

Annora was on the bridge when he stepped off the elevator, and both she and Captain Diedrick looked up when he arrived. He practically jumped free of the elevator and braced his hands on the upper-level railing, swinging over it to land squarely a few feet down.

"Is something wrong, Nicholas?" Annora asked, staring at him with the same wide eyes as everyone else.

He shook his head, unable to help the grin on his face. "Pull up the navigational charts we transferred from my glider. Please," he added.

"Of course."

She moved to a free console and sat down. Nick paced restlessly behind the chair, tapping his fingers against his hips as she accessed the data he had brought with him months before.

"What do you seek?"

"Global coordinates," he said, draping his arm across the back of her chair to lean forward. He was pretty damn sure he knew where the numbers would lead, but he wanted to make sure before he said anything more. "I have some numbers I need you to enter and determine the location."

She nodded, and finished bringing up the information. Nick tapped his fingers on the back of the chair, willing the super-fast computer system to access the data faster.

"I’m prepared."

With a quick huff, Nick looked at the note again. "Latitude equals 36 degrees. Longitude equals 80 degrees."

Annora’s fingers tapped as he spoke, and the three-dimensional globe on her monitor spun with each new point of direction until finally a small red square flashed on the North American continent. Nick leaned in, his heart pounding, the urge to dance around the bridge almost uncontainable. He tapped the monitor.

"Here. Here is where I need to be. Smokey Mountains, Tennessee."

"This is a large area, Nicholas."

He nodded. "I know. Can we do some kind of general sweep for life signs or something when we get there? They’ll be clustered together, most likely away from any local town. Somewhere isolated."

After relaying the coordinates to the navigational officer, she entered a new set of commands into her console and the read-out shifted. The topography of the continent below them appeared. Nick felt the shift of the ship as they left their static orbit, and the image on the console shifted with them. Clusters of flashing red dots hovered in various areas of the giant African continent, but as they moved, he leaned forward to study the pattern.

"That doesn’t look right."

Annora’s eyes shifted to him. "The information we have gathered from orbit has troubled me, and I intended to inquire with you."

Nick pointed to various spots on the passing landscape that indicated deep concave pits. In most areas, no flashing red indicators flashed... none at all.

No life.

His stomach clenched and his chest hurt. "Damn."

"We have found similar readings on every major land mass."

"Show me a globe."

She responded immediately, and the three-dimensional image shifted to a slowly rotating sphere, each continent outlined against the massive oceans surrounding it. Nick pointed toward the Northern American continent.

"Show me details for this continent. Show me where you found these craters."

The sphere zoomed in and Nick had to close his eyes. Black crevices scarred the North American continent, like bullet wounds in sheet metal. New York. Chicago. Seattle. Los Angeles. Orlando. Houston. Gone.

All gone.

The voice of the navigational officer forced Nick to open his eyes again, a bitter tang burning the back of his throat. What had happened? What had the Sorracchi done? How many were dead? A dozen questions collided in his head, making his temples throb.

"We are in orbit over the general coordinates you provided, Nicholas."

Clearing his throat, he focused on her console. "I need topography and life signs." Before the request was out of his mouth, the image shifted. He scanned the image, calculating probabilities and strategies in his head. Nick reached past Annora’s shoulder and pointed to a very small cluster of flashing red lights, like tiny heartbeats.

"Here. This is where they are, I’d bet my life on it."

Annora looked up at him, the smallest hint of a smile touching her lips. "When you are ready, Nicholas."

*****

"You know you have to actually look at the paper to do the work, right?"

Michael raised his head, looking up from the stack of base medical inventory he had been blankly studying for the last thirty minutes, and glanced over the top of his glasses at Victor. He smiled and slid the glasses off, setting them upside down on the stack. With a tired groan, he rubbed his face with his palms.

"Sit down, my friend. Give me an excuse for my distraction."

"Are you sure? You look busy."

He was busy, but he was also distracted. Michael couldn’t focus... a strange sensation niggling in the back of his mind that wouldn’t let him see the reports. They just blurred in front of his eyes, meaningless. He spent most of the night pacing the floor and staring out into the moonlit night. Ironically, Nicole had slept soundly, barely waking at all. More than once, when the frustration of exhaustion clashed with the need to go somewhere or do something — the‘where’ and ‘what’ he didn’t know — he almost wished his daughter would wake up just so he had the company.

"I am always busy," he said with a smile. "Sit. It’s been too long since we talked."

Victor stepped over the bench seat on the other side of the table and sat. Michael noted the dark stains of grease and oil that had embedded themselves into the creases of his now-calloused hands, and the two-day growth of dark hair that shadowed his jaw line. Since the day the ultimate truth about their invaders was revealed, and Victor’s deception — whether intentional or not — came to light, he had become a different man. Instead of saving his hands for lab work and delicate medical procedures, the way he had been trained since the dawn of his existence, he now worked as a mechanic, handyman, or whatever else he could do. If it pushed him physically, mentally, he did it.

He was a different man.

Beyond the physical, the darkness that hovered like a veil over his eyes was a testament to who he had become. It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Somehow, Michael didn’t believe that for Victor. He had never contemplated or wished for love, and when he found it with Beverly, it had turned his existence upside down. Now, Michael imagined he no longer knew who he was without her.

"You are distracted," Victor said. "For you not to answer when I ask about Nicole, your mind must be far away from here."

Michael blinked and focused on Victor again. "I’m sorry. She is wonderful." Habitually, he glanced down to the basket that sat on the bench beside him. Nicole was awake, toying with the satin edge of her blanket, tugging at it in an attempt to get it inside her mouth.

Victor ran his fingers across his chin, his whiskers scratching beneath his skin. "I heard that Jackie Anderson is back on base. I’m surprised she isn’t here with you. Could this be the reason for your distraction?"

Michael rubbed his hand across the back of his neck beneath his collar and the scruffy ends of his hair. Something nudged at the edge of his mind, tickling, making his skin crawl and itch. It was like knowing something was about to happen, but not knowing what. Like reading that suspenseful scene in a book — knowing that in the next paragraph or the next page something wonderful or terrifying would happen — wanting to get to it, but not quite knowing what you’d find.

"She’s joining me shortly," Michael mumbled, realizing he hadn’t answered Victor. He tried to pull his focus back in, to the moment, but his senses skittered away like smoke. "Jacqueline can truly be distracting, but..."

Victor squinted, watching Michael. "What is it?"

"I don’t know."

Despite the manner they had come to know each other, and the environment their friendship grew in, Michael found it easiest to speak to Victor over anyone else. Even Caitlin. He knew that if he tried to explain this to her, she would frown and deep lines would cross her forehead. She worried about him, and he didn’t like to make her worry. It was why he hadn’t told her about the telekinesis when it first manifested. Why he didn’t tell her he still had headaches that nearly put him on his knees and blackened his vision.

"Tell me."

Michael did his best to explain the urgent pull, the need to seek out whatever haunted him, and the frustration at not having any idea what it was. Victor listened silently until he was done.

"Has this happened to you before?"

He shook his head. "Not that I..." He trailed off, his mind reaching back to another time and definitely another place. Michael’s hands curled into the edge of the basket, his heart suddenly pounding hard and vicious in his chest.

"When, Michael?"

He snapped his gaze to Victor, unsure to trust the memory. He had thought it was just because Alexander was in pain... had thought it was his need to help.

Alexander’s cries echoed through the cell block, each bellow a punch in the center of Michael’s chest. He paced his small space, hands planted at his waist, bare feet slapping on the cold linoleum. Why didn’t they help him?

Another pain-filled cry reverberated against his walls, and Michael braced his hands against the frame of his door, leaning into his arms with his head bowed. Frustration gnawed at his insides, knotting his muscles and heating his blood. Damn bastards!

"Michael!"

Michael shook his head to clear the haze, realizing he was on his feet, staring across the common room toward the door. He didn’t remember standing. Victor slowly rose to his feet, his eyes trained on Michael. His chest burned and he sucked in a sharp breath, filling his lungs again. The nudge was a shove now, making his skin crawl. Several heads had turned in the common room, and he felt their curious stares on him. A hand touched his arm, and he instinctively knew it was Jacqueline, the heat of her touch spreading through him to collide with the itch. He was acutely aware of her, where she stood, how close.

"Hey, handsome," she said softly beside him. "Something wrong?"

The pounding in his ears nearly drowned her out. He squinted, staring toward the door leading outside to the white landscape, and angled his head in her direction to try to hear her through the beat.

Keeping his eyes on the door, Michael drew his leg up and over the bench, moving free. Without looking down or towards Victor, he spoke, "Vic, watch my daughter."

He had Jacqueline’s hand in his, but didn’t remember taking it. Only that it was warm and there, and it was something to hang on to as he walked toward the door. She asked him again what was wrong — or, he thought she did — he couldn’t be sure. Michael turned the doorknob and stepped outside, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the bright sun’s glare off the ice. Wind whipped down from the trees, stinging his cheeks and pulling his hair away from his forehead. Jacqueline’s insistent tug on his hand made him turn.

"I’m not saying I don’t want to go for a walk on a blustery February afternoon, but do you mind telling me where we're going? And could I get a coat?"

Michael stared at her, no longer able to form words, as his heartbeat thudded in his ears. He swallowed, licked his lips, and tried to reply but nothing would come. Jacqueline raised her hand and laid her palm against his cheek.

"You’re freakin’ me out, Michael. Just a little..."

A physical tug pulled at the center of his chest, as real and tactile as someone wrapping their fists around his shirt. Michael turned on the balls of his feet and stared off past the barn... past the shed at the edge of the compound... to the edge of the trees.

Three figures walked side by side. Although he didn’t know who they were, the two men walking on the outside were Phoenix guards. They wore the same dark green jackets, weapons strapped to their thighs. Not drawn. They weren’t escorting the third man, they walked with him.

Michael released Jacqueline’s hand and stepped down from the porch, his sneakers crunching on the crusty ground. By the time his second shoe left the step, he was running. Running hard and fast.

Chapter Eight

The impact on his body forced all air from Nick’s lungs, pushing a hard groan from his throat. He wrapped his arms around his son, gasping for air as he held on with all his strength. His lungs burned, not just from the adjustment to the thinner Earth air, but the intense, smothering, choking lump that clogged his throat and wouldn’t let him breathe.

Not yet.

Nick pulled back, taking Michael’s face in his hands, trying to focus through the tears he could no more stop than he could stop his heart. It was him... Nick’s brain still couldn’t quite wrap around the idea. His son, the man/boy he had left behind oh-so-long-ago, was right there. Right in front of him.

His hair was longer, and he had gained weight. It looked good on him. He wasn’t the thin, sallow boy Nick had brought out of New Mexico. Not by half. Nick felt like he had stepped into another life, a parallel universe... or some other bizarre twist in space. In less than a minute, he saw more changes in his son that he could name.

Michael had grown, and Nick had missed it.

Not anymore.

"Michael—" was all he could force from his throat, pushing his son’s long hair back when the wind caught it. "Damn."

He embraced him again, pulling him rough and hard against him, curling his fists into the back of Michael’s shirt.

"Michael?"

The feminine voice pulled Nick out of the moment, letting him catch his breath and rein in some level of control. Michael pulled back from him, keeping his arm hooked around Nick’s back. They were almost exactly the same height, standing shoulder to shoulder. Michael motioned to the woman who stood near-by, and Nick noticed for the first time the small crowd that had formed, pulling in together as they walked closer.

"Jacqueline, this is my father."

A beautiful young woman, with long black hair that shifted off her shoulder with the wind and skin the color of light coffee, crossed the space to them. Her dark eyes shifted from Michael to him, and back to Michael. When she came close enough, Michael immediately reached for her hand and Nick felt a small surge of pride that his son seemed to have hooked such a beautiful woman.

"Damn... the future is bright," Jacqueline said with a cocky grin.

Nick laughed and ruffled Michael’s hair.

The crowd parted to allow General Castleton to approach, and Nick reluctantly released his grip on Michael to extend his hand to the white-haired man. The General took his hand, but immediately yanked him into a backslapping hug.

"When Captain Hampton here called ahead and said he was escorting Colonel Nick Tanner into the compound I nearly—well, let’s just leave it that I was damn happy."

Nick glanced back at the first two Phoenix personnel he had found after being dropped in the middle of the woods on the outskirts of the base. They were shocked as hell, and once he’d managed to convince them he really was who he said, they’d finally lowered their pulse pistols. He was thankful Lieutenant Trowley knew him from Colorado, otherwise, he figured he’d be escorted in at gun point.

"I took them by surprise, sir."

"It’s damn good to see you, Colonel."

"Good to be seen, sir."

"Let’s get inside. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here and we’ve got a hell of a lot of ground to cover." He looked past Nick to the trees he had come from, then his eyes shifted upward to the sky. "I’m assuming you brought some friends with you?"

"Yes, sir. There are two scout ships hovering in orbit, undetectable by any Sorracchi radar, waiting to hear from me again. I asked for some time. Oh, um..." he paused, realizing what he had said. "I guess I’ve got some things to explain."

The General stepped beside Nick, leading him toward the largest building on the rustic compound. Several familiar faces in the crowd called out greetings, slapping his back as they walked.

"We’re already aware that the Areth aren’t Areth at all, but the Sorracchi. We’ve worked some other things out in the last year or so, but I’m sure as hell interested in what you’ve got to say, Colonel. You must have some interesting stories to tell."

"What about here? What the hell happened?"

The General’s features tightened, and the remorse was as plain on his face as the lines around his eyes. "Things went bad, Nick. Real bad."

"I saw the Mountain. Scared the crap out of me."

Castleton shook his head, his gaze distant and his mouth twisting like he’d bitten into something disgusting. "That’s not the worst of it."

Nick slowed his step, stopping short of the long porch in front of the main building. "I saw the global scans. They’ve taken over." It wasn’t a question. How could it be?

Castleton nodded. "The lid got blown off their lies and they took it out on the human race. Killed thousands, took just as many right out of their homes. We don’t know exactly what has been done to the ones taken, but based on other things we know, we’ve got a damn good idea."

A battle waged in Nick’s chest. He wanted to know what the Sorracchi had done, wanted to assure the General and everyone else that the Areth and Umani had their backs. But, there was something he wanted more.

Nick scanned the crowd with no joy when he didn’t see the blonde woman he sought. He looked forward and recognized Victor, the Areth-Now-Sorracchi doctor he had taken out of New Mexico with Michael, standing on the porch watching their approach. He held in his arms a bundle of pink blankets, and Nick couldn’t help the curious jerk of his eyebrows.

Things certainly had changed...

Last time he had seen Victor, he was in a coma. Before that, he had teetered on the edge of near-insanity and death. Nick figured it’d take a week to catch up for the last fifteen months.

But first things first...

Michael pushed through the crowd, skipping the steps with one long stride to join Victor on the porch. Nick watched, more interested in catching the finer changes in his son than anything anyone had to say to him right now. With a grin, Michael pushed his hair back from his face and took the baby from Victor. He cradled the baby like a pro, like a man who knew exactly what he was doing...

Holy Crap!

Nick took the steps onto the porch, walking away from the General and his questions. Michael looked up, a smile tugging at one corner of his lips. Nick had to blink, shaking his head slightly to focus on what the General was saying.

"I’ll call the base leaders in for a meeting and we’ll cover all the specifics."

Nick stopped in front of Michael, barely hearing the General anymore. "Actually, sir, do you think we could..." He turned to look at Castleton again. "You think I could get back to you on that? I need to take care of a few things. Just a couple hours."

An understanding smile crossed his face and he nodded, slapping his hand on Nick’s shoulder. Much of the crowd followed Castleton through the door into the large building, leaving Nick alone with Michael, Jacqueline and the baby in his arms. Michael shifted the bundle into the bend of his elbow and pulled back her blanket. She was awake, wide blue eyes staring at him. A soft fuzz of blonde hair stuck out from her head. Nick squinted and looked up, focusing on Jacqueline who stood beside Michael, looking over his arm into the baby’s face.

Something didn’t add up.

"Things have changed." Michael’s words alone carried weight and substance, but the spark in his eyes was enough to convince Nick it was all good.

His heart expanded in his chest with such ferocity, he thought it would suffocate him. "Ya think?" he managed to say. "Who is this?"

"This is Nicole."

He swallowed hard, raising his hand — that right now seemed huge and clumsy beside her delicate cheek — and touched the baby’s face. She smiled and turned into his touch. "Nicole, huh?"

"I’m going inside," Jacqueline said softly, laying her hand on Michael’s arm. "Find me, ‘kay? It’s great to meet you, Colonel."

"Nick," he corrected quickly.

Jacqueline smiled and winked. She was a rocket, it didn’t take a genius to figure that much out.

"Don’t sit at the tables," Michael said, snatching her hand before she could step away. "You’ll put strain on your back."

She squeezed his fingers. "Sure thing, doc."

Michael watching her retreat over his shoulder until she went through the door. It also didn’t take a genius to figure out the look in his son’s eyes... he was a stricken man. Hard and deep.

But, something told him that Jacqueline wasn’t Nicole’s mother. Which just opened up another whole can of worms.

"The story is a long one, and one that I will tell later," Michael said. He had to see the question in Nick’s eyes.

"Damn straight," Nick said with a thick voice. "Just answer one question. She’s your daughter?"

"And your granddaughter, yes."

"Holy crap."

Michael smiled and tucked the blanket around her again. "A long story, but a good one." He turned and pointed up the path that led away from the main compound cluster. "Follow this trail into the trees. It will curve to the right, and as you top the curve, there is a yellow house on your right." He dropped his arm to shift Nicole. "She’s there."

Nick smiled, nodding, because there was nothing else he could do. He laid his hand on Michael’s shoulder and squeezed, then jumped clear of the porch and jogged up the path.

*****

CJ tucked her legs closer to her body and adjusted the blanket that covered her lap. The pillows behind her back cushioned her spine against the metal frame of her bed, and she shifted into them to find a comfortable spot. The sunlight streaming through the open curtains was warm and soothing, and she wondered just how long she’d last in the direct stream before she unintentionally drifted to sleep.

Her intention was to take an afternoon off. Things were quiet in the infirmary, and no other projects demanded her time and focus. She couldn’t remember the last time she had done nothing. So, a cup of tea sat on the bedside table and a good book lay open in her lap. Reading for pleasure was almost a foreign concept. The only things she had read in the last three or four years were medical journals, articles, textbooks and the occasional strategic work up.

With a smile and a sigh, she flipped the pages of the book and convinced herself she would enjoy her afternoon off, even if it killed her.

The sound of the front door slapping shut downstairs pulled her away from her reading, and she raised her head. Dog’s excited yaps carried through the house, the skitter of his toenails on the wooden floor loud enough that she could hear.

"I thought you were going to be doing inventory all day," she shouted.

Michael didn’t answer, and it occurred to her that Nicole might be asleep and he didn’t want to shout back. CJ shifted again, raising her knees with her stocking feet on the mattress so she could lean the book against her blanket-covered thighs. She heard the familiar creak of the third step as Michael ascended the stairs.

"I don’t know how you manage to find such good books," she said, talking loud enough that her voice carried without shouting. She kept her eyes on the pages. "I’m halfway through chapter one and it’s great."

He still didn’t answer, so she kept talking. Once Nicole was down, she figured he’d come in. "Lilly told me Jackie’s back is healing well. She might still need to continue the heat therapy, though. Oh, and I put Nicole’s clean laundry in on her dressing table."

His firm footfall hit the top of the stairs, and she turned her page. She quickly found herself engrossed again in the story, reaching out blindly to find her cup of tea. She sipped at it, setting it back again. The house was silent, and she could almost picture Michael in the next room, putting Nicole down in her crib. He often stayed by her bedside for several minutes after she fell asleep, just to make sure she was really gone and just to watch her.

He was a good father. The kind of father she knew in her heart Nick would have been had he been given the chance.

The thought of Nick made her smile, but sat heavy in her chest at the same time. It was almost bittersweet.

She heard one of the hallway floorboards squeak. Their cottage was full of squeaks, creaks and whistles. But she didn’t mind. Made the house real, not some pre-fabricated structure of concrete and steal.

"Is that wind as freezing as it sounds?" she asked, tipping her head up but not quite managing to pull her eyes from the text.

"Cold as space."

Icy heat flashed over her entire body in one breath-shattering second. Her head snapped up and she stared across the room, unable to do anything else. Even draw in air. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, but she couldn’t move.

The light from the front hall window shined behind him, casting him in silhouette. The height, the size, the build... he could be Michael. Could be...

Could she believe? Could he be real? Or had she fallen asleep in the sunlight and simply didn’t know it?

He stepped into the room and free of the light. In a blink, his face came into focus. Silver hair, with just the hint of the brown it had once been. Chiseled jaw. Just the slightest lines bracketing his mouth and fanning from the corners of his eyes. Deep, brown eyes she could fall into.

"Caitlin."

She finally sucked a sharp, burning breath into her lungs. Her vision blurred, clouded behind a veil of tears. Her name... no one ever said her name the way he did. Like he cherished the sound. CJ unfolded her legs and slid them off the edge of the bed, unable to look away from him.

Dear God, please don’t let this be a dream. Please!

She was afraid to stand. Afraid her legs would give out beneath her. CJ swallowed, her throat cotton balls and sand. "N-Nicky?"

Then she was in his arms. His strong, hard, real and warm arms and he held her so close and so tight, her feet left the floor. It didn’t matter. She was already flying. CJ heard her own cries, heard her own voice saying his name again and again. Her feet touched the floor and she pulled back, only enough to run her hands over his chest and shoulders, confirming with her touch what her mind couldn’t quite accept. But his hands at her waist felt real. She shook her head, sliding her fingers up to lay against the warmth of his bare neck.

"You’re real. You’re here."

Nick laid his hands against her cheeks and her eyes fluttered closed, a shuddered breath shaking her to her core. His thumbs stroked her cheeks, sliding over the slick skin left by her tears. She couldn’t — didn’t dare — open her eyes. His breath warmed her cheeks, his fingers brushing her skin.

If this was a dream, she hoped it was the dreams of the dead. She couldn’t stand waking up from this.

"I’m here, baby." His voice wrapped around her and set her on fire like old-fashioned gasoline on a bonfire.

CJ moaned when his lips touched hers, the ability to hold it in gone. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, shoving her fingers into the silver silk of his hair, hanging on for dear life. A low, rumbling sound rolled from Nick’s chest, caught in the space between their lips as he tilted her head, kissing her deeper than she thought possible.

Nick’s hands slid down her body, his touch leaving a fiery trail. He bent at the knees and gripped the back of her thighs, lifting her off the ground until her legs wrapped around him. Her insides were heated honey, flowing out into her limbs. When Nick laid her on the bed, his familiar weight pressing her into the mattress, in that moment she knew he was real.

No fantasy...no midnight dream that woke her to a trembling body and a dull ache in her core... compared to his touch. His hips shifted, grinding against her, and she thought she would fly apart. His lips moved to her throat, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of her sweater. His touch was a branding iron on her skin.

She barely heard his muffled "No" spoken into the curve of her shoulder before he jerked back, his weight leaving her. CJ sucked in air, desperate to fill her burning lungs. "Nicky?"

As he slid off the bed, he took her hands and pulled her with him until she sat on the edge and he was on one knee on the floor, his hands still skimming over her. The touch was reassuring, as if he needed to believe she was there as much as she needed the same.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, her breath hitched and rapid. She touched his hair, stroking down the side of his face.

He captured her wrist, and turned his lips into her palm. "Marry me."

The room developed a slight pink haze, and her pulse pounded violently at her temples. CJ swallowed hard, forcing herself to take deeper, slower breaths. Nick watched her intensely, and she understood in a flash of realization just where Michael inherited his studying stare from. She laid her other hand on his shoulder, still needing physical confirmation he was there. Otherwise, she was talking to a mirage and needed commitment.

She shook her head. "Why do you even ask? You know what I’ll say."

"Say it."

CJ smiled, finally managing to bring some semblance of stability to her breathing. "Yes. Any time, anywhere."

Nick stood up so fast, her vision spun when she tilted her head to keep him in her sights. He took her hands, bringing her to her feet. CJ stumbled, her entire world tilting off its axis, as she tried to follow him out of the room.

"Where are we going?"

Nick stopped, bringing her against his side as he leaned over and touched her mouth with another kiss that turned her to molten heat. "To get married. Phoenix has to have a preacher around here, right? If not, I’m pretty damn sure the General has the authority—"

CJ stopped short at the top of the stairs before he could pull her down behind him. "What?"

He turned back to her, looking up from the step he stood on. For the first time since he stepped into her bedroom and turned her life upside down in the best possible way, he seemed to take a moment. Nick joined her again on the landing, taking her hands in his to stand chest to chest, looking down at her with heavy eyes.

"Caitlin, I’ve spent the last fifteen months thinking of nothing but coming home to you and Michael. I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to waste a second."

Tears filled her eyes again, and she blinked against them, smiling through them. She slipped her hands free to touch his cheeks, gently urging him to bend to her, pressing a long, simple kiss to his lips.

Chapter Nine

Nick’s plans for a quick wedding — the quicker the better to get him back in bed with Caitlin — went up in flames like an O2 burner on full thrust as soon as they found Lilly Quinn. First, she squealed. Then she hugged them, followed by another squeal when Caitlin told her their plans.

And then... she kicked him out.

Apparently, it didn’t matter that he’d been gone over a year, or that he spent that time counting the days, hours and minutes until he got back to Caitlin... he was insane to think he could "just sweep in and expect a woman to get married on the spot".

According to Lilly Quinn.

He smirked, despite the irony of it all, and walked down the hill to the huge building that seemed to take up half the compound and served as the hub of activity. Several servicemen and women, the faces of which he recognized even though he couldn’t place names, stopped him to shake his hand and welcome him home. He drew in a long breath, enjoying the cold bite of winter air as it filled his lungs.

Fresh air. Earth air. Thin air.

He coughed and cleared his throat. Okay, so no heavy breathing quite yet.

Nick stepped onto the porch that ran the length of the long building and opened the door. The central hall was huge, with an open, vaulted ceiling paneled with wide wooden planks and anchored with thick, rough beams. A massive fireplace took up one wall, with fieldstone and mortar spreading upward to the chimney that disappeared through the ceiling. The air was heavy with the aroma of pine and hickory and freshly brewed coffee.

A tinge of homesickness, true homesickness for his cabin in Parson’s Point, hit him. He hadn’t thought of the lake or the cabin in months, since before he left Earth for parts unknown. Well, except for the moments he talked about it with Michael. And the night he left the deed with Caitlin.

"Welcome home, Colonel," said a young, freckle-faced captain who crossed the room to shake Nick’s hand.

"Thanks. Can you tell me where to find the General?"

"Yes, sir. Take the hall on your left. The General is most likely in his office. First door on your left."

Nick nodded and patted the soldier’s arm, moving past to cross the room. General Robert Castleton sure knew how to pick a new base. He was curious about what actually happened in Colorado, and how long they’d been at this site, but the overall choice of location was brilliant. What a way to forget the rest of the world!

He found the hallway the captain had pointed out and stopped at the first door, rapping his knuckles on the jamb.

"Enter!"

Nick caught the end of the conversation the General had with someone through the stationary systems communication array as he opened the door. "...he’s going to want to be here."

"Understood, General" came back through the computer-based speakers.

Beverly Surimoto was on her feet the moment he opened the door, and threw her arms around him with a small squeak. He hugged her so close, her feet left the floor before he set her down again. Even though it had been less than half an hour since he set foot on Tennessee soil, Nick enjoyed the expanding rush of pride in his chest when he looked at Michael across the room. The baby was gone now, and no Jacqueline in sight.

He really needed to hear that story.

Beverly pulled back and turned to Michael, almost frantically waving at him to join them. The only other person in the room was a man Nick didn’t know. He looked about Nick’s age, late forties, with light brown hair, angular features and pale blue eyes. They kind of reminded him of Annora’s eyes. With his arms crossed and the sole of one foot resting against the wall, he watched silently.

Beverly moved her hands in small, elegant motions and for the first time, Nick noticed the ‘talking broach’ was absent from her shoulder.

"She says she’s so happy to see you she can’t find the words," Michael said with a smile as Beverly shrugged. She laid her hand on Nick’s arm and squeezed gently, holding her other hand to her chest with tears glistening in her eyes.

Nick tapped his finger behind his ear, roughly where he knew her voice synthesizer implant thing had been. "What happened?"

A strange, strained expression passed over her features and she shook her head, her hands dancing again in the space in front of her.

"One of the least interesting stories you’ll hear in the next few days," Michael interpreted. "We want to know all about you."

"Well, if I get my way, I’ll be a married man by sundown."

Beverly sucked in a sharp breath and hugged him again, barely moving in time for his son to do the same. Nick patted his hands against Michael’s back, gripping his shoulder when he pulled away.

"She has missed you."

"I missed her. And you. Damn, Michael..." Nick’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat before he could continue. "I can’t get over what I’m seeing. You’re... damn."

"Michael is one of my most valuable people, Nick," the General said, drawing Nick’s attention.

"Doesn’t surprise me," he said, smiling with pride. He looked to Michael again. "If I’m getting hitched, I need a Best Man."

Michael squinted, and for a brief second, Nick saw the inquisitive, tentative young man he had first brought out of New Mexico. "What is a Best Man?"

"You stand with me when I marry Caitlin. My witness. There’s no one else I’d rather have with me." Michael nodded and Nick cupped his hand behind Michael’s head, grinning. "Excellent."

"I take it you’ve got some time to kill?" the General asked, the lines around his mouth and eyes deepening with his grin.

"Lilly informed me she’d let me know when it was time." He extended his hand to the unknown man. "Nick Tanner."

He stepped away from the wall, taking Nick’s hand in a firm grip. "Trust me, Colonel," he said with a clipped, rounded accent that reminded Nick of his trip to Edinburgh as a teenager. "A man can’t spend more than a day here without hearing your name. It’s an honor."

At first, the humming nudge Nick felt when he took the man’s hand didn’t surprise him. He’d gotten used to the mental nudge after weeks and months with Earth’s new allies. Nick squinted, looking down at their clasped hands.

"Nick, meet John Smith. Until your return, the only actual Areth on Earth."

He eyed the man up, understanding his reaction. Queen Bryony had told him that ninety-seven percent of all Areth had some form of enhanced mental capacity. Humans called it telepathy, empathy, intuition, telekinesis... and the Areth had their own definitions for each. In some Areth, the gifts were strong, and not as strong in others. But to not have some touch of it was the minority in their society.

Nick was somehow sensitive to the presence of the capacity, which explained why his hairs always stood on end when he touched Beverly. Queen Bryony claimed he had the gift himself, at some level he hadn’t yet figured out, and it was what gave him the ability to navigate wormholes seemingly on instinct.

He wasn’t sure he bought it quite yet.

But since modern humans were descendents in part from Areth, somehow, it all connected.

"You’re the scout."

"Yes."

Before Nick could say more, the small Umani-issued long range communicator in his pocket buzzed insistently. He held up a hand, one finger extended, and fished out the black, oval device, flipping it in his palm to face the right way. At least, he thought it was the right way.

"I’m here," he said near the smooth surface.

"I apologize for intruding on your homecoming, Nicholas, but we have been monitoring global activity and have discovered some troubling events on the opposite side of your planet." 

"What is it, Annora?"

"Several smaller crafts have dispatched from one of the Sorracchi base ships, and we have determined they are heavily armed. We followed their flight path to the largest body of land opposite to your location. Nicholas, they continue to destroy areas of high population much like the ruins we’ve already discovered."

General Castleton sank into his chair, weathered hands holding his head. Nick swallowed. He knew the Wurdvoller Fliiger and Excalibur were not equipped for battle, not on the scale to fight three Sorracchi war ships and whatever other arsenal the Sorracchi hid. They were here to observe and garner information. Nothing could be done against the Sorracchi until the combined Areth-Umani armada arrived.

"Send me the coordinates."

A small screen illuminated on the device, and Nick clenched his jaw as he read the coordinates. His flight geography was rusty, but just like he figured Caitlin’s latitude and longitude fell somewhere in the vicinity of the Smokey Mountains, he placed these coordinates close to Bhutan or Bangladesh. He relayed the information to everyone in the room and felt the heavy tension settle in the air.

Unfortunately, he figured this type of news wasn’t new.

"Nicholas, Her Highness wishes to join you and express her sorrow for the souls lost in this atrocity."

He caught the slight straightening of John Smith’s spine at the mention of Queen Bryony. Nick looked to the General, who had once again reined in his control.

"Feel up to a visit, General?"

*****

"Papa, are we really going to meet aliens? They’re coming here to see us?"

John looked down at his son and reached for Silas’s hand. "You a’right with that? 

Silas nodded and smiled. "They’re good aliens, right?"

"Absolutely."

Silas smiled wider. John rubbed his hand on the boy’s coarse curls.

John stood beside Nick Tanner in the center of the common room, waiting for the arrival of the Areth and Umani contingent. His anticipation at seeing some of his own people again danced beneath his skin like the alcohol his hosts called champagne. Like Nick, he had been away from home for a very long time, and until today, he had never quite believed he had a chance of seeing his planet again.

The day the Sorracchi turned on Earth and wiped out thousands of Humans in their faceless, merciless show of power, he had fought beside men and women who didn’t know his true face. He had held Cloe Cook in his arms when she died, and swore to her he would care for the son she left behind.

He looked down at the boy he now considered his own child.

"Do you know what a queen is?"

Silas nodded.

"Do you understand that a queen is a very important person?" Another nod. "And that you must be on your best behavior?"

"Yes, Papa."

He rested his hand on the back of Silas’s neck, and drew a slow breath to steady the effervescent impatience threatening to make him slap his hands together and bounce on the balls of his feet.

The air electrified, making his scalp tingle and the hair on his arms stand on end. A low humming sound whispered from the far corners of the room, pulling into the space in front of them, and the silver-blue light of materialization swirled to solid form. Before the shadows of their visiting figures took shape, John recognized the stately frame of his Queen. He dropped to one knee, his head bowed, in respect.

Silas, following suit, matching his father’s stance. John glanced sideways at him and winked. The proud grin he received in return filled him with the same pride he had felt from the moment Silas called him ‘Papa’, it was right and true.

The air snapped and the hum ceased. A whisper of awe moved through the small group of humans waiting their arrival.

"Your Highness," John heard Nick say. "Chancellor Durin. Welcome to the Tennessee Mountains base for Phoenix."

"Thank you, Nicholas." Her soft, elegant voice spread warmth across the back of his neck. He heard her small gasp of surprise. "John?"

He looked up and met her eyes, rising to his feet again. Her pale cheeks were flushed bright, her eyes shining. She clutched the front of her billowing skirt and rushed to meet him, and John folded her in his embrace.

"Oh, John!" she cried, "John, I thought I would never see you again."

"Not gettin’ rid of this daft ole face so easy." He squeezed her closer, forgetting for a moment the others in the room. When he let her go, tears streaked her cheeks and he brushed them away. "You look beautiful."

Bryony smiled and smoothed her hands over her cream silk dress, regaining her composure just as he had seen her do a hundred times before. She took his hand and reached out for the hand of Nick Tanner. "Nicholas, you have surprised me as well as eased a small portion of the weight around my heart." She looked to John. "You have returned my precious John to me."

Nick Tanner’s eyebrow arched. "Glad I could help?"

She released Nick to hold John’s hand in both of hers. "Your brother is well and misses you. He will be ecstatic to know you have been safe."

"Did he come with you?"

A sadness passed over her delicate features and she attempted a smile, but John knew her too well to be fooled. "We decided it was far too great a risk for both the Queen and the Prince Regent to leave Aretu. He remained behind to attend all Matters of State and to care for Aubrianna."

Despite his joy at seeing his Queen and wife to his younger brother, his desire to see the rest of his family was almost as great. Aubrianna was the heir to the Aretu throne and the most beautiful child John had ever known.

Nick clapped his hands together, rubbing them vigorously, drawing everyone’s attention. "Okay, then. Some quick introductions. Your Highness, Chancellor, this is General Robert Castleton. He is our Man in Charge here on the base." He motioned around the circle of men and women John had come to know well in the last few months. "Beverly Surimoto, she’s Second in Command. And this is my son, Michael."

Bryony smiled, the whisper of sadness hidden again behind her eyes. She stepped forward to take Michael’s hands in her own, and bowed before him to lay his knuckles against her forehead in the greatest sign of honor a member of the Royal Family could bestow on another. Straightening again, she drew a breath.

"I feel as though I know you, Michael. Your father has spoken of you, and in my absence from my Prince and my daughter, I found his affectionate words comforting."

"Thank you." Michael looked confused and uncomfortable, and if John had learned anything about the man, it was that he didn’t like any attention on himself, even when it was well deserved.

"General, this is Queen Bryony the Fourteenth, Ruler of the Areth. And, Chancellor Durin, Member of the Council of Seven and Sovereign of Castaneda on Raxo, Home of the Umani." He continued on to introduce Annora of the Umani and the others who accompanied them.

"It’s an honor to meet all of you. We have to admit, last year we didn’t know what we were sending the Colonel into. We’re pleased as punch to know it was friendly territory," General Castleton said, shaking the hand of Chancellor Durin.

John saw the shadow of recognition touch Bryony’s expression as she turned her attention to Beverly. Bryony came from a long line of gifted rulers, their mental capabilities exceeding most of the Areth people. While Beverly’s empathy was a constant, gentle caress whenever John was near her, he knew the awareness would be much greater for the Queen. Her intuition was the strongest he had ever seen, and her perception as sharp as any other sense.

"You have a unique gift," she said, tilting her head as she moved past John to approach Beverly. Bryony held her hand to her breast, drawing a deep breath. "Oh, how terrible for you. You’ve shut yourself away, afraid to touch, afraid to feel. It’s overwhelming."

Beverly’s eyes widened and her gaze darted from Bryony to John. Beverly’s delicate hands signed her confusion.

"The Queen feels your gift as much as you feel emotions," John explained. "Beverly does not hear, and she speaks with her hands."

"It’s beautiful."

"We’ve got some time," Nick said. "General, I say we grab some coffee — maybe cookies if you’ve got any. Damn, that sounds good — and do some exchanging of information before the wedding."

"Wedding?" Bryony stepped toward Nick. "Nicholas, did you do as you said?"

He nodded and grinned, rocking on his heels. "Sure did. Surprised the hell out of me when she said yes."

"Oh, that is wonderful. I am so anxious to meet—" Her words were cut off by her own gasp for air and her body swayed. John caught her, his heart jumping at the rush of panic and adrenaline in his blood.

Nick moved with him, supporting her from the other side. "What’s wrong?"

"General!" shouted an armed serviceman from the other side of the room as he ran from the hall. "We’ve got a problem with the prisoner. He’s gone crazy."

"Who the hell is the prisoner?" Nick demanded, making sure with a glance that John had the Queen before stepping clear.

The General frowned. "Damian Ali."

"Why the hell is he a prisoner?"

"Because he’s not Damian anymore," John offered. "He’s Sorracchi."

*****

"It was because of Damian that we first learned they take the body as hosts," Michael explained as he walked beside Nick, following Captain Sims, Damian’s guard.

"How the hell did it happen?"

"We don’t know how, but we do know when. It was after Victor woke from his coma but before the attacks began. Nearly a year ago. It was the Sorracchi in Damian that brought them down on the Mountain."

"Holy crap."

Michael nodded. "When we realized, with Victor’s help, that Damian had been taken we had to imprison him the best we could." They reached a door off what appeared to be an
industrial size kitchen, and the Captain opened the door. The sound of screaming echoed up the stairwell from below. "This was Victor’s cell when we first came here because it was assumed he had betrayed us. It wasn’t him. It was Damian, or the Sorracchi within."

"Areth filth!"

The voice — the timbre and tone — was Damian Ali, but the string of obscenities and threats that he shouted was nothing Nick ever would have imagined the loyal Captain saying, even under the worst circumstances. He glanced behind him, to where Queen Bryony stood with Beverly. Both women looked pale, and he saw a tremble move through Beverly. She couldn’t hear the Sorracchi’s words, but Nick wondered how much of his rage and hate she felt.

"Stay here."

"I want to face him," Bryony said immediately. "I want to see the new face of the Sorracchi."

"I don’t think that’s a good idea."

She straightened her spine and raised her chin. "Perhaps not, Nicholas. But, I am not accustomed to being ordered about."

Before he could argue, she lifted the hem of her gown and started down the stairs, brushing between him and Michael as if they weren’t there. With regal determination, she descended the stairs and they joined her at the bottom.

She stepped into the only circle of light in the cellar, cast by a single fixture overhead. From the darkness of the cell, an unearthly scream echoed off the concrete and stone walls. A dirty and feral form that might have once been recognized as Damian lunged from the depths of the cell to slam his body into the steel rod cage that kept him confined. His arms reached for her through the spaces, fists flexing in a feeble attempt to grab hold.

Queen Bryony didn’t move, didn’t flinch, not even when he spit on the ground at her feet.

"Areth bitch," Damian hissed. "You’re too late to save these useless, pathetic wastes. We will take what we want and wipe them from the universe, foul abominations. Inbred creatures, nothing more than repugnant mutations. You’ve come to watch them die."

She tilted her head, her eyes distant. The Queen parted her lips, shaking her head, as if denying some truth no one had spoken. She took one step closer, bringing her almost within his reach. Nick started to move, but her hand shot up, stopping him.

"He’s still here."

The body of Damian screamed, shaking the cage that held him.

"Who?" Michael asked. "Damian?"

Bryony nodded. "Yes. Deep down, buried and smothered. But he’s still there." She sucked in a sharp breath, tears suddenly welling in her eyes. "He’s so frightened. So angry because he knows what his hands have done, what his lips have said, but he can’t stop it. He fights, but he can’t win."

"Shit..." Nick mumbled, raking his hand over his hair.

Bryony stared into the wild, white-rimmed eyes of the Sorracchi. "I’m so sorry," she whispered. "I’m so very sorry."

She turned sharply on her heels, facing the group that had followed her into the darkness. "This will not continue."

Chapter Ten

"Your dad looks ready to jump out of his skin." Jackie shifted Nicole in her lap, hoping she didn’t look as clumsy and nervous as she felt holding the little girl.

Michael crouched beside her chair, his hand resting on Jackie’s knee ready to support Nicole if the need arose. "He’s waited a very long time for this."

Just about every person on base either stood or sat in the common room of Command Hall, packed in like sardines. Children sat in small groups on the floor while the adults sat in chairs, on tables and across the width of the deep fireplace ledge. Nick Tanner had been home less than six hours, and in that time, he’d introduced the members of Base Command to the Umani Race and the Queen of the Areth, massive amounts of information had changed hands, and Lilly had thrown together a quickie wedding ceremony.

Now, Michael’s father stood at the end of the room, bouncing on the balls of his feet, as he waited for CJ to arrive. He didn’t look nervous, just... anxious. Ready. He could almost hear him mumbling let’s get this show on the road.

"Did I mention how happy I am for you that your dad is home?"

Michael smiled and squeezed her hand, his other resting heavy and warm on her knee. After their kiss the day before — a kiss that had totally blown her away like nothing she had ever, ever experience — she found herself almost painfully aware of his every touch. Her body hummed, and she wondered just how bad she’d scare him if she told him what he did to her.

He was still more mystery than man to her.

She watched Michael watch his father. Since Nick Tanner blew into camp a few hours before, Michael’s eyes had held a spark she hadn’t seen and his lips hovered on the edge of a perpetual smile. Someday, she’d know all his secrets and all his stories, but she didn’t need to know them all to know that Nick Tanner’s return meant more to Michael than anything in his life.

Except maybe for Nicole.

She tried to stifle the deep sigh that shuddered through her as she wondered just where she might fit in as part of the grander scheme of things. The actual fact that she worried about it shocked the hell out of her.

"I know we’re waiting for CJ, but what else are we waiting for?"

Michael grinned, angling his body just a little closer. "A surprise for my father." 

"What?"

"You’ll see."

Jackie shifted her attention to other people in the room, habitually patting and rubbing Nicole’s back through her blanket. At the front of the room was the most bizarre, freak-me-out ensemble of people she had ever seen. She’d just gotten used to the whole idea that the ‘Areth’ weren’t Areth, but some other race called the Sorracchi who took over humans like parasites. Now, here was a whole bunch of the real thing.

Seated in the middle of the party of honored guests was a stunning woman with pale skin, blonde hair plaited down her back nearly to her waist, and startling green eyes. She wore an elegant cream gown that looked like silken milk flowing over her long limbs and thin frame. A silver chain draped across her forehead in a delicate swoop, decorated with precious stones of different colors and hues. She was Queen Bryony the Fourteenth, Absolute Ruler of the Areth race, and she was absolutely beautiful. Jackie had seen her enter the room with her contingent, and she seemed to flow more than walk.

The man, if she was allowed to refer to them as men — did men apply to just humans or males, no matter the race? — to the Queen’s left was another story entirely. Michael had told her the man was Chancellor Durin, one of the seven rulers of Raxo, the home planet of the Umani. He was huge, not in build but in height. Probably close to seven feet tall. He looked like someone had taken a normal man and stretched him, thinning his limbs and body like Gumby. He was almost... elegant. Pure white hair flowed straight down his back from a hairline set back from the larger-than-normal slope of his prominent forehead. His skin was dark, with a more bronze hue than Jackie’s own. His eyes were dark, almost black, the iris nearly blocking out any of the white around it.

He looked at her once, and it freaked her out. Just a little. Like looking into the eyes of an impressionist painting, or something. Not quite real.

Around the two leaders sat individuals of both races, mostly male except for one Umani woman. Her eyes were a startlingly pale blue, a sharp contrast to the dark skin and hair. John Smith, the Areth soldier Michael had found in Chicago months before, sat on the opposite side of the Queen from Chancellor Durin. He and the Queen carried on a lengthy conversation, both with wide, familiar smiles.

Nicole yanking on a fistful of her hair managed to pull her attention back from watching them. Michael laughed, and leaned over her to detangle her black hair from Nicole’s grip, but not before the little girl managed to get it partially in her mouth. He pushed her hair behind her ear with his fingertips, his hand coming down to rest on her shoulder, and Jackie’s heartbeat jumped. No man, ever, had sent her body into erotic overdrive as fast and as furious as Michael’s simplest touch did. It was unnerving, but she wasn’t complaining.

Jackie met his gaze over the top of Nicole’s head, and the intense gaze he held her in caught her breath in her chest. "What?" she managed to ask.

His eyes shifted down, falling on her lips, before flicking back up to meet her gaze. "I want to kiss you."

Heat flashed through her, and she did her best to keep her eyes from fluttering like a love-struck schoolgirl. "So, what’s stopping you?"

"Michael."

Jackie barely held in her groan when Michael turned away, moving to his feet to answer his father. A cold, needy flash shifted over her skin, and she tingled in places she hadn’t thought about in a long, long time. She shifted Nicole against her chest so the little girl could raise her head, her tiny fingers fascinated with the soft knit of Jackie’s sweater.

"Ever heard of spontaneous combustion, Nicki?" she asked, bouncing the little girl in an effort to keep her mind off her physical state.

*****

Nick leaned toward his son, whispering in the space between them. "What’s the hang up?"

Michael patted his arm. "Soon." 

"Easy for you to say."

Michael smiled, and Nick enjoyed the nudge of pride. His son really was a different man. Nick couldn’t remember seeing him smile, not genuinely, before he left on his galactic trek. Michael had been too raw, too hesitant, to open up even that much. Now... Nick was meeting his son for the first time all over again.

"Hey, I heard you’re a doctor."

Michael shook his head. "Not in title. I doubt I’ll ever be a licensed doctor."

"Don’t knock it, Michael. Paper or not, I’ve heard some of the things you’ve done. You’ve saved lives. That’s good enough for me." He set his hand on Michael’s shoulder, squeezing gently. "I’m proud of you."

Michael’s eyes shifted past Nick to look behind him half a second before someone spoke.

"I heard you’re looking for a preacher."

Nick spun around so fast, he nearly dragged Michael with him. Then he just stopped... and stared... because there was nothing else he could do. With a cocky grin as wide as Texas, Jace Quinn took the last couple of steps to reach him.

"What’s the matter, old man? Never seen a ghost before?"

Nick’s lungs remembered to breathe and reality kicked him in the ass. He shook his head, releasing his grip on Michael’s shoulder. "Jace Quinn, you son of a—"

Jace’s rough, back-smacking hug cut off his curse. Nick jerked back, laughing because that was the only other response he could manage. "How the hell? What the hell happened?"

"Long story short; I survived, I was held prisoner, and Jackie Anderson over there dragged my ass home a few months ago." He jerked his chin past Michael and Nick.

Nick glanced quickly. "Jackie? Your Jacqueline?" he asked Michael.

His son grinned. "Yes. My Jacqueline."

"Not wasting any time, I see," Jace said. "Married before sundown your first day here." 

Nick shook his head. "Damn straight. I’m not wasting another damn minute." 

*****

"This is going to be an interesting ceremony," Jace began, clearing his throat. "My father had a firm belief that, should Earth Force not work out for me, I had an occupation to fall back on. The family business, I guess you could say."

A low, community chuckle rolled through the room, but Nick barely heard it. His focus was on Caitlin, and nothing else mattered. She wore a yellow sweater with a wide neck that let it slide off her right shoulder, baring her skin to him just enough to drive him insane. It wasn’t a white wedding gown, and this wasn’t a beautiful cathedral, but she was more beautiful than any bride... ever. Her blonde hair swept back from her face, and somehow Lilly Quinn had managed to find some tiny white flowers to weave through it.

Her hair was longer than when he left, reminding him of the way she wore it when he first met her, skimming across her shoulders in golden waves.

Had it really taken ten years to get here?

"Nick."

He held her hands in his, and a little voice in the back of his head told him he was probably staring like a fool, but he couldn’t make himself care enough to look away. She smiled, and his heart jumpstarted.

"Nick."

Jace’s firmer voice pulled him out of his daze. "Sorry." He cleared his throat. "Ah, what day is it? What’s the date?"

Jace and Caitlin exchanged quick glances, and Jace smirked. "Twenty-first of February, 2053."

Nick laughed, and took Caitlin’s face in his hands, kissing her long and deep. For about five-seconds, he forgot about everyone else and just kissed her until Michael nudged his arm, clearing his throat.

"I think you’re supposed to do that at the end."

Nick nodded, but a tight fist closed around his throat, preventing him from saying anything. Caitlin’s eyes shined as she looked at him, and he knew she understood. He didn’t have to explain. The irony and perfect serendipity couldn’t have been better planned if he tried. Ten years ago, February 21, 2043, he had met an impossibly young and beautiful doctor at a military awards ceremony; Doctor CJ Montgomery. Ten years ago that day. It had taken them a decade.

"Can I continue now?" Jace asked, his voice lacking any real reprimand.

"Yeah, and hurry it up," Nick managed to say, but doubted anyone other than Caitlin and Michael heard him.

He couldn’t bring himself to step back from her, or take his hands from her face. In the darkness and frozen cold of space, he had relived the feel of her skin and the warmth of her breath. The feel of her kiss and her body against him. Liquid heat rolled through him, shuddering in the center of his soul, and he hoped he could make it through the ceremony without embarrassing himself.

"I’m going on memory here," Jace started again. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the presence of God, our honored guests and this assembly to witness the joining together of Nicholas Michael Tanner and Caitlin June Montgomery.

"Nick is probably going to kill me later for not using the abridged version, but I’m the son of a preacher, so, I’m going to take this opportunity to say a few words." Jace cleared his throat, pausing before he continued. And he was right; Nick was going to kill him later.

"We’ve been through hell and back in the last couple of years. Sometimes, it feels like a lot longer. But, despite that, the human race hasn’t given up living. We’ve continued to do all the things that count. We’ve become parents, we’ve fallen in love, and... we’re getting married. In First Corinthians, it says Love does not come to an end. I think we’re all testament to that."

Jace clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly. "Okay, moving on. Nick and Caitlin, do you both come freely into this marriage? Will you love and honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your life?"

They both answered, Nick stroking his thumb across Caitlin’s lips as she smiled. He was going insane. No two ways about it.

"Do you, Nicholas Michael Tanner and Caitlin June Montgomery, take each other as your lawfully wedded spouse? To join your lives as one from now until the end of your days? Through whatever hardships and joys lay ahead? To provide strength and comfort for each other, and seek that comfort only in each other? To be faithful and true, and to protect the heart of your loved one above all else? If this be your solemn pledge and oath, do so confirm it by speaking ‘I do’."

"I do," they said in unison.

Jace leaned forward, speaking softly so only they could hear. "Do we have rings?" 

"No," Nick said softly, keeping his gaze on Caitlin. "I’m sorry."

She smiled, genuine and pure, and raised her fingertips to his cheek. "You’re what I need, not a ring."

"Okay, then," Jace declared, stepping back again. "You have declared your consent and intention in the presence of God and all present. By the power invested in me by the First United Church of the Twenty-First Century, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Now, you may kiss the bride."

Nick was kissing her before Jace got to the ‘pronounce’ part, and didn’t stop until his chest burned from lack of oxygen. The thundering clap of over a hundred people replaced the pounding in his ears. Jace shouted something about introducing Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Tanner, but he already had her hand and beat it for the back door.

*****

Michael watched his father bolt from Command Hall, pulling Caitlin behind him, and smiled. This morning, he and Caitlin had shared a pot of coffee and a pan of dehydrated eggs before he left with Nicole. Just like every other morning for nearly a year, with the addition of Nicole being the only difference.

He couldn’t have imagined this day if he tried.

Lilly had managed to throw together a community meal to follow the wedding, even though his father and Caitlin apparently didn’t intend to stay, and the assembly of base personnel started a slow migration to the adjoining room for the feast. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jacqueline shift in her chair as she tried to stand with Nicole in her arms. He quickly crossed to her and took Nicole, and offered his hand to pull her to her feet, bringing her body flush with his.

"Thank you. I feel like an old woman," she said, catching her breath. "I’m not used to this whole invalid routine."

"You’ll be better soon. I promise."

Jacqueline raised her chin and looked into his face, a small smile ticking the corner of her lips. Just enough to pop the twin dimples in her cheeks before it slipped away again. "Will I get a lot of hands on therapy, Doctor?"

She laid her hand on his chest and Michael pulled her to him with the arm not holding Nicole. Energy and heat flashed through him and he wondered if she understood, really understood, what she did to him. He drew a slow, disciplined breath through his nose but it only succeeded in filling his head with her scent. Michael still didn’t know what to say or do with Jacqueline. He knew there was half a dozen things he could say in response, from the least innocuous to the most stimulating, but no words came. Instead, he slid his hand up her back and pulled her closer until he could feel the beat of her heart against his ribcage.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked, tipping her lips toward his when she spoke.

"I can’t think." He swallowed against the dry cotton in his throat.

Her smile spread slowly and she leaned into him, her hand sliding up his chest. For the first time since the day Michael brought her home, he wished Nicole wasn’t in his arms. Her other hand laid hot and tempting along the back of his neck, her lips hovering within a whisper of his own.

"That’s a good thing, Michael," she said softly, her breath a caress on his cheek. "How about that kiss you mentioned earlier?"

Before he could answer, she pulled him in the fraction of an inch needed to bring their open lips together, and he curled his fist into the back of her sweater at the instant rush that shot straight to his gut. He didn’t know how to do anything but give in fully, and his skin hummed with the groan that purred through her mouth when he slipped his tongue past her lips. Her fingers twined in his hair and she rose on her toes, her body sliding against his.

Michael forced himself to stop, pulling back to stare at her slick lips and flushed cheeks. Nicole’s head bounced on his shoulder as she tried to squirm free of her blankets and he had to release Jacqueline to shift her in his arms. Jacqueline laid her hand against the side of her throat, blowing out a breath through pursed lips, licking them.

"I don’t know how many more of those I can take, handsome."

All he could do was nod, a smile on his lips.

Chapter Eleven

The bedroom door closed with a resounding thud and before CJ could turn around, Nick’s lips pressed into the curve of her shoulder and his tongue scorched a line on her skin. She gasped, leaning back into him as her body lit up in flames in one consuming flash.

His hands... his large, strong, beautiful hands... slipped beneath the hem of her sweater. His touch was hot, urgent, and it matched the rolling need like hot honey filling her limbs and making her throb. CJ raised her arm over her head, draping it behind her to lace her fingers into his short hair. The position arched her back against his abdomen and he took full advantage, squeezing her breasts beneath his palm.

"Nicky," she whispered hoarsely.

His hand splayed on her stomach, yanking her hard against his hips as he ground them into her backside, the hard evidence of his need pressing into the small of her back through his jeans. His fingers edged beneath the elastic waistband of the simple skirt Lilly had managed to find and pushed the band low on her hips. She cried out, unable to deny the searing reaction to his touch when he slid his fingers between her thighs and into the source of her throbbing heat.

The hungry sounds he made against the back of her neck had her hips undulating into his touch. Long, capable fingers pushed into her, stroking until she thought she would fly apart. An overwhelming need to feel his skin, the heat of his body against hers, overtook her and she pulled away, turning in his arms to face him. With trembling hands, she worked open the buttons of his shirt and they both tugged away at the clothes that separated them.

Nick pushed his fingers into her hair, crushing her lips with an open-mouth kiss that devoured her and threatened to ignite her in flames. His tongue thrust into her mouth and she moaned around it, opening herself to every stroke. Stumbling over the pile of clothes they left on the floor, they moved together to the bed. After two steps, Nick bent at the knee and hooked his hands behind her thighs, lifting her off the floor.

CJ gasped, hanging on with all her limbs as she felt the hot head of his erection jut against her thighs. His fingertips dug into her backside and she begged for him to finish the act, make it real, and make her believe.

"Hang on, baby." His voice was thick and gravelly as he spoke against the inside curve of her breast before sucking her nipple into his mouth.

She cried out again, her body screaming at the edge of shattering apart and he hadn’t entered her yet. Nick set his knee on the mattress and they fell back onto the bed. His mouth immediately burned a trail down her stomach as his fingers urged her to open herself completely to him. CJ’s back arched off the bed, a fine sheen of sweat covering her body, and she curled her fingers into the quilt to keep herself from perforating his skin. His tongue found her clitoris, and he sucked with just enough pressure to shoot spikes of pleasure through her.

CJ trembled, her breath coming in short, raspy bursts. Her world hazed, her body flashing heat from the top of her head to the ends of her toes. She barely controlled her scream as his mouth played havoc with her until she trembled beneath him.

"Nicky, please," she managed to whisper, to beg. "I need you inside me. Now, before I fly apart."

She was so close, so close, but the need to feel his weight on her, to feel his body joined with her was smothering. Nick moved back up her body, his thighs nudging her legs to wrap around him as he drew her pebble-hard nipple into his mouth. His hands caressed her thighs, gripped her hips and squeezed her waist.

CJ wrapped her arms around his shoulders, urging him to kiss her again. She tasted herself on his tongue, and opened to the musky heat. His erection nudged her thigh and she arched against him, desperate for completion.

"Caitlin," he whispered against her mouth.

CJ opened her eyes, meeting his dark gaze, and cried out when he slid inside her with one deep, consuming thrust. Nick’s eyes closed and he pressed his face into the curve of her shoulder, his body shaking beneath her touch. He stopped moving, pushed as deep as he could into her heat. The only sound was the raspy mingling of their rapid breaths. His teeth abraded her skin as he whispered her name again. So slowly, he slid from her and for a flash she felt the loss until he pushed into her again.

He moved with excruciating care, as if each thrust and stroke was so intense — so overpowering — anything more would be unbearable. Every sense, every nerve in her body fired in overdrive. Every part of her body coiled and tightened, begging, waiting for release.

Each slow withdrawal and forced thrust drove her closer and closer to the brink. CJ hung on, digging her nails into his shoulders as his lips burned her skin. A cold heat flashed over her skin and she felt her orgasm build to critical.

"Nicholas!"

He moved faster, harder, driving her to the point of insanity when reality shattered and CJ threw her head back with one long, splintering cry. Her body clenched, pulling from Nick every moment of pleasure she could.

His pace slowed, deepened, until one final thrust ripped a groan from his throat and his fingers curled into her shoulders. CJ draped her trembling arms across his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him. His slick hair clung to her cheek as she turned into him, kissing his temple, fighting to keep her eyes open against the physical exhaustion that followed the elation.

"You’re real," she whispered, her voice rough and raspy.

*****

Michael sat on the floor of the common room, with his back braced against one of the couches near the hearth. The fire had dwindled to a low crackle with only small flames licking at the logs wedged behind the grate. The room was nearly empty now, and it was nearly midnight. Only a few late-night stragglers remained either playing cards or reading in far corners of the room.

He sat with his legs extended and his arms crossed over his chest, staring into the dancing fire. Nicole’s basket sat on the floor beside him, and she was sound asleep. She had been for hours, and normally he would have taken her home long ago, but tonight he purposefully stayed away. His father and Caitlin needed some time, and while he couldn’t stay away the whole night, he would give them as much as he could.

"I brought you a coffee. Looked like you planned on pulling a late night."

Michael looked up and smiled, reaching for the cup Jacqueline held out. He raised his knee and rested his arm on it to support the cup. "I’m giving them time," he answered, sipping the steaming liquid, wincing at the taste. "Did you bring extra sugar?"

"I put two in there."

"I like four."

She arched an eyebrow. "I’ll remember that."

Michael set the cup beside him, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sit with me?"

Jacqueline stepped into the space between his legs, and when he realized her intent, he shifted to give her room to sit. His thighs bracketed her hips and she settled her back against his chest, the top of her head level with his cheek. Michael tilted his head to rest his chin against her temple, trying to adjust to the unfamiliar proximity.

"Let me know if this bothers your back."

"I’ll just ask for a massage if it does."

It had taken him months to feel comfortable with any physical contact, even from Caitlin, but in the course of two days Jacqueline had propelled him into unfamiliar territory. She didn’t shy from him, never had. But this was more than he knew how to handle.

He reacted, or at least his body did. But as always, the questions hovered in the back of his mind whether he was doing the right thing. There was no longer the threat of retribution, but he worried all the same.

"You’re quiet," she said, her hand sliding up and down his thigh in a gentle, unassuming touch. "Something on your mind?"

"Many things."

"Anything you want to share?" He shook his head, the action brushing his cheek against her hair. It was thick and silky, shining a deep blue-black in the firelight. Setting the cup on the floor, Michael wrapped his arms around her body. She laid her arms over his, shifting closer. "Okay, we can just sit here if you want."

They sat quiet for a long time. Michael focused on the sound of the crackling fire and the steady rise and fall of her ribcage within the circle of his arms. Her fingers traced random patterns on the back of his hands, and with a smile, he realized that for once he didn’t feel the clashing emotions of panic and enjoyment at the intimacy of her touch.

Perhaps, he could be normal after all.

"I want you to know about me," he said before he realized the thought had formed in his mind.

She turned her head against his chest so she could see him, and when he looked down their faces were almost close enough to touch. He smiled. Yes, this was a good thing. 

"Okay."

"I don’t know how to explain it all."

"Well, let’s cover what I know," she said with a smile, and leaned up to kiss his jaw. Warmth spread from the point of contact. "I know the woman who gave birth to you is Sorracchi, which really just amounts to the brain of an alien in a human body. I know you grew up in what equated to little more than a prison." Her eyes shifted down to look at his chest. "I know that whatever happened to you there left you scarred physically, but I figure it went a hell of a lot deeper than that. And, I know there’s a lot going on in your head than you don’t let anyone know."

"Perhaps you know more than I realized."

"Oh! And you’re Obi Wan Kenobi," she declared with a laugh, holding her arm out to teeter her flat palm back and forth. "You can use The Force."

For the first time, ever, Michael let himself laugh at the mention of his growing ability. She laughed with him, but they both silenced quickly when a shuddered breath came from the basket. Jacqueline laid her hand against his cheek, and with the slightest touch urged him to kiss her.

He welcomed the rush, the heat. When they broke, Jacqueline stared at him, the smallest smile on her lips. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh."

"I’m getting better at it."

Jacqueline’s features sobered and she sat up to twist in the space between his legs so she could look into his face, her back now supported by his bent knee. "What happened to you?" The weight of her voice carried the true depth of her question. What really happened?

"My life was taken away."

Something tangible and heavy shifted through his chest, and Michael realized it was the first time he had tried to put into words the hell he had lived through. Even now, so much of it was a blur to him, shadows and flashes of repetitive days outside the pain.

Clearing his throat, Michael took Jacqueline’s hand and focused on the soft stroke of his thumb across her knuckles. "I’ve never spoken of this in detail, not even with Caitlin. She knows it was terrible, but I can’t stand the look in her eyes when she hears."

"It’s only because she loves you."

Michael raised his head and met her gaze, swallowing. "I know. Are you sure you want to hear?"

She nodded, licking her lips.

He focused again on their joined hands and remembered back to the first time, after leaving New Mexico, that someone had touched him. Just the simple act of touching him because he was there and they wanted a connection. He had been terrified. The fear was raw and hot in his throat. He had taken the leap of faith and followed the man he instinctively knew as his father from the mouth of hell, and found himself among strangers who called themselves friends. In the deep levels of the Colorado base, Caitlin had sat beside him while Lilly examined his ravaged and thin body. Caitlin had laid her hand on his shoulder, just a simple touch.

People didn’t understand what a touch could mean.

"Before I was taken out of New Mexico, time and age had no relevance. I don’t know how old I was the first time I prayed for death, but I was young. It was the same time I fully understood that my torturer was also my mother."

Her hand tightened on his.

"It was also the first time Victor saved my life."

"Is that why you defended him?"

"Yes. I owe him my life as much as I owe Jace Quinn or my father. He’s a good friend." 

"How young were you?"

"When it all began? Too young to remember."

"She tortured you? Even as a child?"

He nodded. "It was experimentation. Or, most of the time. If I made her angry, it was worse. Retaliation. Punishment. I lived through the same torture Jace did, but I was different. She didn’t have anyone to hold over me. There was no one I loved." The words choked him, because they hadn’t always been true. "I had nothing to lose. And it was all I had ever known."

Jacqueline studied him, her eyes shifting slightly. "No," she said softly. "There was someone."

"Once, yes. But, Kathleen took her. After that...I never again gave her the opportunity to hurt someone because of me."

The conversation ended there when Nicole woke with a resounding wail, her tiny arms immediately flailing. Jackie shifted enough that Michael could lift his daughter from the basket. She immediately quieted when her head touched his shoulder, but he knew it wouldn’t last.

"I have to take her home," he said reluctantly.

Jacqueline moved slowly to her feet, and he note the stiffness she still appeared to have in her movement, and the slight wince around her eyes as she straightened. She took the baby from him so he could stand, and by the time he took her back she was crying. He knew Nicole would want nothing to do with the basket, and decided to leave it where it was until the next day.

With Nicole in his arms, he leaned forward and kissed Jacqueline goodnight. Even the brief touch of her lips lit a fire in him. She still stood by the couch when he reached the door, and he glanced back one last time before stepping into the cold night.

*****

Nick’s sleep was restless, despite the heavy satiation that lingered in his limbs and his fatigue from the strain of adjusting again to the thinner Earth atmosphere. He was used to the constant, even if low, hum of an engine. First, it had been the O2 engines of his glider lulling him while he rejuvenated his body between jumps. Then the floating capital city of Castaneda on Raxo and the wormhole engines of the scout ships.

At one time, the silence of a country night was the only lullaby he needed. He knew he’d get there again, but not tonight.

He rolled onto his side to face his wife. His wife. Holy crap. He’d done it. He’d made it home, but that wasn’t the biggest miracle. The biggest miracle was that she still wanted him, still waited for him. Her blonde hair curled around her cheeks in gorgeous disarray, and Nick reached out to brush it away. If possible, she was more beautiful now than when he’d left. Maybe it was time, maybe distance, maybe need... but she took his breath away.

Nick realized with a grin that he’d never actually asked her if there was anyone else, if she wanted to be with him. He’d just stormed in, taken her in his arms, and asked her to be his wife. Well, if there was anyone else... that was just too damn bad. He was never, ever letting her go again. He’d screwed up once, and he’d be damned if he’d let this chance slip through his fists.

The sound of the cottage door closing downstairs brought Nick’s head off the pillow. He slipped from the bed, glancing at Caitlin to make sure he hadn’t woken her, and pulled on the jeans he’d left on the floor. Nick opened the bedroom door, and heard Dog’s soft whimpering at the bottom of the stairs, along with a whimpering of a different kind. Stepping into the hall to close the door behind him, Nick stood at the top of the stairs with his hands braced on the railing as he watched his son ascend the steps.

"Is this where I ask you where you’ve been half the night?"

Michael looked up, smiling as he bounced the fussing baby against his shoulder. "I’m sorry I woke you." He reached the landing and tilted his head toward the nursery, inviting Nick to follow.

"You didn’t."

Somewhere in the back of his head, Nick thought that things should be more awkward between him and his son. They’d spent all of two weeks together in Michael’s life, and that had been so long ago. Despite that, he felt no hesitation from his son. He wasn’t the same man. As much as Nick loved the boy he had found, he was glad to see Michael had found a place for himself without Nick.

He stood near the door, his arms crossed over his chest, as he watched Michael attend to his daughter. With confident hands, Michael unwrapped her from the pink blanket, changing her into a fresh diaper and a new set of clothing. Anxious to get a better look at his granddaughter, even though the idea of it completely blew him away, Nick stepped closer.

"Nicole, huh?"

Michael smiled over his shoulder. "Caitlin said you would like it."

Nick ran his thumb over his chin, clearing his throat. "So, do I get the whole story now? I’ve heard reports on global attacks, pilots coming back from the dead, Areth who aren’t Areth, starving humans and devastated cities. Give me something good."

Michael finished wrapping the baby in a fresh blanket, lifting her from the dressing table. "You aren’t tired?"

"I’d rather hear your story."

His son smiled, and once again, Nick saw a different man. "I just spent the last half hour explaining the first twenty-five years of my life, I guess I can tell you about the last fifteen months. I have to feed her before she goes back to sleep. Will you hold her until I come back?"

Nick winced, rubbing his hands together. "I don’t have much experience at it."

Michael didn’t offer an argument, just held her out and forced her into Nick’s arms. He pointed to a rocking chair in the corner of the room, and was out the door before Nick could sit down. This was the hardest part of reality for Nick. He was a father, had always thought of himself as one even when he believed Michael was dead, but he’d never held his son in his arms. Never fed him. Never watched him sleep.

Maybe he could make up for the last twenty-odd years with this little girl.

She was beautiful. Dark blue eyes seemed darker in the low light, and the fine down covering on her head was definitely blonde. Perfect little lips pursed between full cheeks. She stared up at him, and he swore she was trying to figure out just who he was. He didn’t know what kind of vision kids had at her age, or what age she was, but he figured if she could see him, she might be wondering what happened to her daddy.

He smirked, shifting her in his arms. Nick felt big and clumsy, and overbearing holding such a tiny thing as Nicole. Something warm and pleasant grew in his chest, pushing against his heart until it ached. He swallowed, finding his voice.

"Hi, Nicole. I’m your grandpa."

Chapter Twelve

Beverly woke from her sleep with a sharp jolt that stole her breath and flashed cold sweat over her skin. She sat up, panting for breath, and pushed back the blankets that smothered her. Stumbling forward on shaking legs, she moved from the bed to the window. Her room was one of the few in Command Hall, amounting to little more than a place to sleep and a desk to work at if she wanted, but the view was breathtaking. Half the mountainside was visible from her bedroom, and this morning it glistened with a light dusting of fresh snow.

She laid her palm against the cold pane of glass, her other hand pressed to her chest as she fought to calm the raging panic that twisted and pounded behind her ribs. Her skin crawled, itched, and her mind screamed Go! Go! Go!

But where?

Taking only long enough to tie a scarf around her head to tame her curly hair and dress quickly, she stepped out her door and barely managed not to run to the common room at the end of the hall. The unease bubbled in her veins and tingled along the back of her neck.

Nothing seemed unusual. A few people sat at tables finishing the last of their breakfast. Most of the furniture was still out of place from the wedding ceremony the night before. If something were wrong, if something had happened, she would have seen evidence of it.

Hot tears burned her eyes and she blinked them away, not understanding their source or the bitter panic in her throat. She sprinted across the room to the door and yanked it open, the cold air outside biting her cheeks. Beverly was half way up the hill before she realized someone ran behind her, and stopped short when he grabbed her elbow. She spun around, the cold air making it hard to breathe, and faced John. Their breath curled white in the space between them.

"Beverly, what’s wrong?"

She shook her head, the tears on her cheeks freezing, making her skin tight. Unable to explain, she grabbed a fistful of his sweater and dragged him with her up the hill to the infirmary. His arm came behind her, keeping her from falling. Beverly burst through the infirmary door, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. John moved past her and she saw him shout down the hall.

Part of her had hoped that she’d reach the medical building and find the source of her need, some finite thing that she could see and touch that would release the panic. But there was nothing, not yet.

Michael burst into the room, obviously running down the hall to answer John’s call. He came to her, gripping her arms to look her in the eye, his own features twisted in concern. "Beverly, what is it?" she read on his lips.

She shook her head, finally able to make her trembling hands work enough to sign. "I don’t know. I woke up and... " She fumbled, waving her hands in frustration. "Something is wrong. I don’t know. I don’t know!" She shook her head, tapping her forehead hard.

"Nothing is wrong. Everyone is..." His words trailed off, his lips parted. Her breath caught, and through the rush of his touch she felt his realization the same moment it slammed into her. "Victor."

She jerked and gasped, pushing his hands away to run to the door again. Her feet slipped on the icy porch and she landed on her hands, but before either man could help her, she skittered forward and found her feet before hitting the ground. Her palms burned, but she didn’t care.

Victor’s cottage, the cottage they had shared for such a brief period of time, was the next building ascending the hill but as she ran, it felt a mile away. They reached the front door together, and Michael pounded the side of his fist on the frame, the vibration shifting through her feet where she stood.

A wave of vertigo hit her and her hands flailed for something solid to keep her on her feet. John wrapped her in his arms, keeping her standing, as black dots danced in her vision. Michael knocked again, but she couldn’t wait any more. She struggled free of John and pushed Michael until he moved.

Her lungs burned like all oxygen had been sucked from the house, and something invisible pushed her to the floor. She used her hands to pull herself up the stairs to the second floor, her vision blurred by the tears that flowed down her cheeks.

She was afraid of what she would find, but more afraid not to see. The bedroom door was closed, and when she tried to knob, it refused to turn. Beverly didn’t need to ask; as soon as she looked at him, Michael braced his body and slammed his shoulder into the wooden barrier.

The bedroom was a disaster. Splintered and shattered furniture littered the floor, and a cold gust of wind chilled her skin again from the broken front window. The blankets had been ripped from the bed, and the metal footboard tilted at a strange angle to the floor. Michael jumped over the broken chair blocking the doorway and ran around the foot of the bed.

Beverly saw it in his face the moment he saw Victor, and her heart seized. Shrugging off John’s protective hold, she stumbled through the debris to join Michael, who now knelt out of view on the other side of the bed. She felt the cry rip from her throat when she reached him.

Victor’s twisted body was bloody and bruised, bare from the waist up. A small pool of congealed blood circled his head, thick and almost black. His arms extended over his head, tied to the leg of the bed with a nylon strap that had cut into his flesh, leaving long trails of blood down his arms from his wrists.

Dear God, who would do this to him?

She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over his bruised body. Michael’s fingers worked to release the ropes, and she felt the departure of running feet vibrating through the floor. John had gone for help. Finally, she forced herself to lay her hands on his chest.

His skin was cold, and she choked on her own breath. Beverly grabbed Michael’s sleeve, tugging hard until he looked at her. His expression was dark, his lips pressed together in a white-rimmed line.

"He’s alive," he said, his lips so tight she could barely read the words. "But he may not be for long."

A sob ripped through her throat from her soul and she folded over him, laying her cheek on his chest. Only when she stilled her own breathing until her lungs burned, did she feel the subtle expansion of his ribs and the weak rhythm of his heart. She fought when two hands touched her arms and tried to pull her back, but let John help her stand when her logical mind told her to let Michael do what he needed to do.

She stood in the corner of the room as Lilly and Michael did what they had to before carrying him from the room in a makeshift stretcher. Only when they disappeared from the room did she feel the smothering weight ease enough to relieve the pain in her chest. Beverly sank to her knees, John moving with her. And when she was ready to stand again, he helped her to her feet.

*****

"What the hell happened?"

Michael didn’t answer the General, his focus on grasping the final threads of Victor’s life and hanging on. If he tried to talk, if he took his attention away, he knew his raging anger would overpower all else.

And Victor couldn’t afford his inattention.

He heard John tell General Castleton, but only afforded a brief second of attention. Victor’s heartbeat was dangerously low, and his higher brain function readings had Michael concerned. Scans showed swelling of the brain and blood loss approaching dangerous levels, which didn’t surprise him from the amount of blood in the room. He hadn’t found any deep wounds other than the one on his skull and the penetration wounds around his wrist where the nylon thongs had cut into Victor’s skin.

Bruises covered his body, but other than cracked ribs there were no broken bones. His life hung on by a thread.

Lilly stood on the other side of the exam bed, the hiss of her infusion syringe the only sound between them. They worked in silence as the others in the room tried to sort everything out. Their presence grated on Michael’s nerves.

"Michael, these readings—"

"Is he going to live?" the General asked, cutting Lilly off mid-sentence.

Michael snapped a quick glare at the group gathered by the door, focusing again on Lilly. "What do they say?"

"I’ve seen this before with him. You wouldn’t remember because—"

"I want to know who the hell did this. I don’t give a crap about what he did or didn’t do, it is not the job of anyone on this base to hand out judgment," General Castleton snapped out, to whom Michael didn’t know.

"Actually, sir, I’m not sure someone did."

John’s argument snapped Michael’s restraint and he slammed the instrument in his hand down on the bedside table. Conversation stopped short.

"Everyone get out."

"Please," Amanda said from the doorway, choosing the perfect time to return with the supplies they needed. "Everyone. Wait down the hall until we’re done."

Michael clenched his jaw as the General and John left the room, but as Beverly turned to leave with one last, terrified glance at Victor’s beaten body, he raised his hand to draw her attention. Her glistening eyes shifted to him as a shudder moved through her body.

"Stay."

She signed a shaky Thank you and stepped to the side so she was out of the way. Michael changed the bandage he had set behind Victor’s head and turned his attention again to Lilly. Her expression was as tight and tense as his felt, and she held bioscan reader out to him.

"His brain waves are wrong. Higher functions are almost non-existent, but look..."

He took the reader, scrolling through the erratic spikes along his Thalamus and Hypothalamus. "This happened before. The first time he slipped into the coma."

Lilly nodded. "I wasn’t sure you remembered. It was before you began studying." 

"It’s happened again."

"I think so. Michael, that coma almost killed him last time and he was in a stronger physical state than he is now. I don’t know if—"

"He’ll make it." He refused to meet her eyes, not wanting to see the doubt in them. As he had told Jacqueline the night before, he owed Victor his life. He wasn’t going to let his friend go.

"Not if he doesn’t get a blood transfusion."

Michael closed his eyes and bowed his head, clenching his teeth until pain shot down his neck. Rage simmered beneath the surface of his skin, burning like acid in his blood. He swallowed and fought the image of finding the bastard who did this and abusing them until his own hands bled. Lilly touched his arm, and for the first time in months, he pulled back from the contact.

"What blood type?" he ground out.

She changed the screen image on her handheld, reading the information. "AB positive."

"Do we have any?" He knew the answer, but had to ask the question.

"No. Our plasma bank is almost empty. We have two liters of universal."

"It’s not enough."

"I know."

Michael swallowed hard and glanced to Beverly. She watched with wide eyes, her hand resting at the base of her throat as if keeping her heart from leaping free. He understood how she felt.

"Put him on fluids. I’ll figure something out."

"Michael—"

"I’ll check the medical records of every person on this base if I have to."

He looked into the battered and sallow face of his friend, and swallowed again. Laying his hand against Victor’s forehead, wincing at the clammy coolness caused by blood loss, he walked away with wooden legs to where Beverly stood. She tipped her head up when he grew close, heavy tears rolled unabated down her cheeks.

"We’re doing what we can."

A violent shudder shook her small frame and he laid his hand on her arm. Michael felt his own tears burn his eyes, but he willed them not to fall.

"He needs a blood transfusion, and his blood type is rare."

"What can we do?" Her hands shook through the signs.

"Find a donor. I’m going to check the base records. Until then, we’re attempting to stabilize him." Michael glanced back to Victor, then back to Beverly. "Stay with him. Let him know you’re here. Beverly, he needs a reason."

She nodded and immediately brushed past him. Michael watched as she laid her hands on him, gingerly caressing the bandages around his wrists with her fingertips and stroking his forehead, tears falling from her chin. He yanked the exam room door open and pain shot through his shoulder. Ignoring the burn, he strode down the short hall to Lilly’s office where they kept the base compliment’s records.

The knot in his gut twisted painfully and he hunched forward, the edge of the desk digging into the heels of his hands. Michael couldn’t remember a time when rage had slammed into him as viciously at when he saw Victor on the floor, bloody and bruised. And the simmering roll of fury hadn’t let him go. A ceramic mug on the desk, half-full of cold coffee, flew off the desk across the room. It hit the wall and shattered, denting the plaster as dark liquid stained the broken surface.

Michael spun around and sat back on the desk edge, pressing his hands into his eyes until spots danced in the darkness. His chest hurt and his temples throbbed with the familiar pain that overtook him whenever his telekinesis lashed out uncontained. When his emotions ran high, the force of his mind lashing out was unpredictable and he always paid later for his lack of control. The pain in his shoulder, where he had used his body to slam through Victor’s door, burned with increasing intensity, but he ignored it. Other things, more important things, had to be dealt with and he needed control.

A ball of acid sat in his gut and he remembered Sonora’s words before she left. Michael, you’re going to eat yourself up from the inside out.

"Michael."

He dropped his hands, his eyes stinging. "You don’t want to be near me right now, Jacqueline."

She stared at him, crossing her arms as she stepped into the room. "I think maybe I do."

He turned his back on her, biting down until he thought his teeth would crack. "Please," was all he could manage. Michael pulled it all in, pushing the rage and the terror down as deep as he could, down into the darkest part of his soul. Down to where he kept the memories. On the edge of his awareness, he heard the metal cabinet in the corner of the room rattle and bang against the wall. Swallowing hard, he pulled in — tighter and tighter — until his spine felt like the string of a bow. The shaking stopped.

"You can rattle cabinets and throw coffee all you want. I’m not leaving you alone."

A painful spasm jerked through his body and he curled his hands into fists.

Her hands on his back snapped the last visage of control he had and he turned hard into her. Michael wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her as close as he dared without breaking her in two, burying his face into the curve of her shoulder as one deep, ripping cry tore its way from his throat. Her fingers laced into his hair and she held on while the waves of grief drowned him.

He didn’t remember dropping to the floor, only that he was on his knees, unable to stand the weight of his own body any longer. She moved with him, never letting go, never letting him fall alone. Michael sat on the hard floor, his back against the desk, and closed his eyes.

Jacqueline knelt beside him, her long fingers pushing his hair back from his face. He felt spent and wasted. "I’m sorry," he forced through his raw throat.

"For what?"

"I don’t... I don’t lose control like that."

"Hell, we all do once in awhile. Especially when someone you care about is hurt." She scooted closer, her knees resting against his thigh. "I think I really understand now how much he means to you."

Michael closed his eyes, only forcing the tears down his cheeks.

"What can you do?"

He rolled his head against the desk. "He needs blood."

"That’s a problem, I take it."

"He’s AB positive."

"And we don’t have any..."

Michael opened his eyes, and turned his head to look at her, clearing his throat. The worst of the storm had passed and he could think again. "Not enough."

Jacqueline smiled and squeezed his hand. "Problem solved."

"How?"

She held out her arm and pushed her sleeve up past her elbow. On the inside of her arm, so small it was barely visible, and so inconspicuous he had never noticed it before, was a tattoo of two letters: UD.

"A few years ago, I lost a friend of mine because he got hurt pretty bad and the docs taking care of him couldn’t get him the right blood type. I found out after the fact that I could have helped him if I’d known. So, I got this. Just in case."

"You’ll do this?"

She shrugged. "Why wouldn’t I?"

The familiar anger rolled through his gut again, but he refused to let it take control. "Someone did this probably because of who he is."

"And that’s precisely why I’ll help. Because of who he is." She laid her hand against his cheek and smiled. "He’s someone important. To you."

Chapter Thirteen

"I can’t get over him," Nick said in a hushed voice as he walked beside CJ through the quiet infirmary hall. "A doctor. I mean, I remember Lilly said before I left that his IQ was really high... but a doctor in less than a year? Where the hell did he get that?"

CJ smiled, slipping her hand into the bend of her husband’s arm. She smiled at the thought. "He was assisting Lilly with basic injuries within a couple months. It’s natural for him, helping people. He even delivered Jamie."

"No shit," Nick said with a proud chuckle.

"I’m glad the two of you had a chance to catch up the other night. Before..." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting him guide her.

The last two days had been a whirlwind; between the arrival of the Umani and Areth, the beginnings of talks and contacting other Phoenix bases globally to inform them of the change of events, then Victor’s attack, and Michael’s headlong jump into saving his life — by any means possible. He hadn’t been home or slept in his own bed in two days. The only fortunate part, she supposed, was that Nick took to ‘grandfatherhood’ like a professional. He and Nicole were best buddies.

"He seems stronger, more confident. A different person."

"That’s a smoke screen," CJ said, opening her eyes again. "I still see that scared, unsure kid who wakes up with nightmares and wants desperately to find his place in the grand scheme of things. But yeah, he’s better."

"What can I do?"

She looked up at him, smiling before she laid her cheek on his arm. "Being here is going to do so much for him. And..." She pulled her lower lip through her teeth. 

"And what?"

"There’s more about Michael you need to know. I’m not sure I should be the one to tell you, but I’m about ninety-nine percent sure he’s not going to bring it up. And he’s not going to ask you if it’s okay." CJ stopped and they turned to face each other. Even in the dim light of the hall, she saw the curious concern in his expression. "It’s got to be okay with you. I don’t want to think about what it’ll do to him if it’s not."

Nick laid his hands on her arms, running his hands from shoulder to elbow. "What is it? Can’t be that bad."

"That’s just it. It’s not bad. But, to Michael, it is."

"Geez, Caitlin. Just tell me."

"Michael is..." There really was no way to tell Nick, other than just tell him. "Do you remember his headaches?"

"Yeah."

"They were a... precursor... for something more. A few months after we brought him home, he started displaying abilities. Enhanced abilities." Nick just stared, waiting for her to on with it. CJ huffed a breath. "Michael is telekinetic."

"Like... he moves stuff with his brain?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"No shit!"

Caitlin laughed. "You know, that’s exactly what I told him you’d say."

A door down the hall opened, and Jackie Anderson stepped out of the room Victor rested in. She looked tired, and CJ questioned the wisdom of her donating the blood Victor needed so soon. She had only been in Tennessee a matter of days, and had arrived with her own injuries. Jackie looked up as they neared her, smiling.

"Shouldn’t you two be off doing what people do after they get hitched?" she said with a wink.

Nick slipped his arm around CJ’s shoulder, pulling her against his side. "Don’t tempt me, Jacqueline."

"We came to check on Michael. Is he with Victor?"

"Nah. We kicked him out a couple hours ago. Told him to get some rest. Nicole okay? He’ll want to know when he wakes up."

CJ smiled. If she had been asked to pick the perfect match for Michael, she probably wouldn’t have even considered Jacqueline Anderson. But, by what she had seen, they brought the best out in each other. Jackie made Michael act, forced him to go further and do more than he might be comfortable with, but that was a good thing. And Michael grounded Jackie.

"She’s fine. Misses Daddy," CJ said. "But she’s fine with us until he comes home."

"Yeah, Grandma and Grandpa are on the case," Nick teased, squeezing her shoulder.

Jackie stared at them, a distant smile on her face. She flipped her black hair behind her shoulders and slipped her hands into her back pockets, looking down before she looked at them again. CJ got the definite impression Jackie had something to say, and it had to be the first time she’d ever seen Jackie at a loss for words. Maybe Michael rubbed off on her in ways CJ never figured.

"Michael and I’ve been talking," she finally said. "He’s told me things. I don’t think it’s everything, but I’ve got a pretty clear image of the crap he’s gone through. Helps me get it, you know? Helps me get him. Although, I don’t really get it because I don’t get how he can be so..." Her last words danced on a nervous laugh, and she blinked her eyes rapidly. "I just... I wanted you guys to know that I know, and..." Jackie shifted her stance, pushing her elbows back. "He’s a good man."

"Yeah, he is." CJ looked up at Nick, smiling. "Like his dad."

*****

Just outside the gravitational pull of the planet, skimming the surface of the atmosphere, hovered three of the greatest war ships ever build by the Empire of the Sorracchi. For forty years, they hid their weapon arrays and machinations of war from the simple minds of the humans on the planet below. It had been so easy to deceive them, to hide the truth.

Imbeciles.

They deserved their fate, total obliteration from the universe. The original humans, the genetic beginning of it all, shouldn’t have survived. And they wouldn’t have if nature had taken its course, uninterrupted. Untouched. The bleeding heart Umani and Areth had interfered with their superior minded ways and holy conviction, and a new race had been born.

In the end, their meddling had worked to Sorracchi advantage. The amalgamation of Human, Umani and Areth had created the potential for biological vessels perfect for the continuation of the Sorracchi race.

And it was all happening soon... so very, very soon.

Kathleen stared down on the planet. They currently orbited somewhere over the southern polar cap. If she felt like admitting it, the planet itself was beautiful. Clean water after three decades of pollution depletion and atmospheric purification, clean air for the same reason. If the Humans hadn’t smartened up, they might have kept this planet for their own.

They still might. Their weapons destroyed matter, but left no harmful fallout. When all human life was gone, except perhaps for those they would keep as stock, the Earth would be theirs.

She walked to the monitor on the wall. The strangely shaped buttons and levers had been designed to accommodate their previous forms, but their clunkiness was irrelevant. Such was the beauty of opposable thumbs. Kathleen scanned her files and opened two, commanding the monitor to play them side-by-side. On the left was the video play of her fondest memory; one of her most satisfying sessions with Michael. She missed the rush of adrenaline that tainted her tongue and hummed in her blood when she heard his screams.

Her breath hitched and her body grew hot as she watched the image. He had been young, perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age, impossibly young in comparison to the lives she had lived. But his youth left him vulnerable, weak. So easy to manipulate. So easy to hurt.

She watched herself walk slowly around the steel table he was strapped to, his arms spread away from his body and his legs pulled so far apart she had dislocated one of his hips that day. Naked and trembling, his body stood as testament to the extent of her experiments. Kathleen often did her work on other humans, other children, but none brought her the deep down satisfaction she felt when she left Michael whimpering and near-death.

Before the time of the human bodies, when they still inhabited their natural forms, one of her superiors had told her he was in awe of her blood thirst. He wished more Sorracchi reveled in their work the way she did. Michael brought out the best in her.

She touched the screen, watching herself fill his body with DNA-stripping power. He wasn’t the man he was intended to be, not if nature had been given its way. She had seen to it. But, he was still a threat to their ongoing existence. They couldn’t strip him clean, couldn’t remove the core of his strength, of his power, of his gift.

Just a few more years, and she knew she could have wiped him clean. There may not have been anything left but the shell, but... that would be the least of her concerns. He left her too soon.

Her eyes slid to the other side of the monitor screen. The video from Chicago — or, what was left of it — gave her hope. At first, it had enraged her; that he dared walk free. Mocking her. But that only lasted for a short period, and then her anger turned into determination.

She would find him if she had to destroy every last city left on Earth. Then... her pleasure would begin again.

*****

Jackie stood in the open doorway of the empty infirmary room where Michael slept. After two days of fighting for Victor’s life, Michael’s battle with his own body had forced him to rest. Now, he sprawled on the bed that seemed too small for his tall frame, arms and legs laid out flat, his head slipped off the side of the pillow.

She finally accepted the fact that she enjoyed the slow, rolling heat that took over whenever she was around him. It hadn’t been easy. Admitting that kind of connection meant she had to admit she wanted more. And that was something she had never done before. She wasn’t exactly a love‘em and leave‘em type, but she wasn’t exactly a Betty Cleaver or June Crocker type, either.

Which left her to wonder... what was the point?

The point was she liked it.

Jackie stepped into the dark room and closed the door behind her, blocking out the light from the hall. She waited the few seconds her eyes needed to adjust, slipping her shoes off to walk across the room in stocking feet. When she reached the bed, she eased herself down beside him, lying on her side with her cheek pillowed on his upper arm and her back against his side.

With a low groan of pleasure, she realized this was what her strained back had subconsciously sought; the heat of another body and the support only that body could give. She closed her eyes and let her head fill with the smell of his clothes, his soap and him.

Michael drew in a long, slow breath, a low sound rumbling through his chest. Jackie smiled when he shifted behind her and his opposite arm draped across her waist as his chest pressed into her back. His hand splayed across her lower stomach and he pulled her against him. Liquid heat rolled through her.

"Jacqueline," he whispered against her shoulder. There was no questioning tone, no wondering whether it was her, just the even confirmation in his voice that he knew who he held in his arms and it was okay.

"Go back to sleep," she said softly.

He settled into the bed again, his breath warm on the back of her neck, the tip of his nose nuzzling her hair. Jackie let the heavy tendrils of sleep pull at her, letting herself slip away held in his arms. Then his hand shifted and his fingertips slipped beneath the hem of her sweater, brushing her stomach. Before she could school her reaction, she sucked in a sharp breath. His palm pressed hot and flat against her, and she involuntarily shifted her hips against his, eliciting a low moan from him that danced over her neck and made her skin tingle.

Jackie turned onto her back, and as she faced him, he pushed himself up on his elbow, looking down at her. His other hand lingered beneath her sweater, the touch scorching her skin. She could just see the shine of his eyes in the darkness, but that was enough to make her body tingle and throb. No man had ever looked at her the way Michael did. Men had looked at her with lust in their eyes, but not Michael. It was the same with the way he said her name. No one called her Jacqueline but him, and when he said it, her name had weight and substance and no one could ever say it the same way ever again.

Jackie swallowed, trying to ignore the growing heat and insistent ache in her lower body. "You should sleep." Even as the words came out of her mouth, she reached for him, sliding her hand around his throat, her fingertips lacing in his hair.

Michael brushed his fingers against her temple. Stroking her skin along her hairline, his eyes shifted to watch the progress of his fingers. He shifted the hand that still rested on her stomach, sliding further beneath her sweater, drawing the hem up her body to expose her skin. Her breath caught, coming in short, raspy bursts. Effervescent sensation burst in her, and she shifted beneath his touch.

"You’re beautiful." His voice was heavy and wrapped around her, warming her until her clothes felt smothering and cumbersome.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she managed to say on a breath.

His gaze shifted down her body, and she felt it as heavy and real as his hand on her ribs. Jackie laid still, fighting for each ragged breath, as he tentatively and gently explored her body in the most erotic, insane touches she’d ever experienced. His fingertips brushed the skin over her ribs, his knuckles skimming the underside of her breast, but he retreated and she groaned.

Jackie arched her back off the bed, her fingers curling into his sleeve. Michael’s attention shifted to her face, his eyes shifting as he studied her. "Are you trying to drive me crazy, Michael?"

He just shook his head, little more than a slight jerk. Jackie almost laughed — almost —and would have if her body wasn’t about to fly apart. Crave wasn’t a strong enough word. Need didn’t work either.

She sat up, ignoring the momentary pinch in her back, and yanked her sweater over her head, tossing it toward the end of the bed, lying back down where she had been.

"Subtle enough for you?" she asked before taking his head in her hands and pulling him down for a kiss that shot spikes of arousal straight through her.

His groan against her lips spurred her forward, and she held on tight until he shifted his weight over her, pressing her into the mattress, making her senses swim as his tongue dove into her mouth. Michael’s hand folded around her side, pulling her against him, and she tried to fill her lungs with air.

She shoved her hands into the open front of his flannel shirt, pushing the sleeves down his arms, only finding more aggravation at the tee shirt he wore underneath the long sleeve shirt. She didn’t wear a bra, the least he could do was not wear layers.

His sleeves hung up around his wrists, and after two frustrated jerks to remove his hands, she heart the distinct rip of fabric and the shirt was gone. Michael pressed his open mouth against her shoulder and his hand finally — finally — covered her breast.

"Ooooohhhgud."

Desperation took over any other thought that might have lingered in her head. Jackie wrapped her arms around his body and pulled hard at his thin shirt, freeing it from the waistband of his jeans. She sighed in pleasure when she could finally get her hands beneath his cloths and on his scorching skin. Rolling to the side just enough to free the shirt where it bunched between them, Michael grabbed the collar behind his neck and pulled the garment over his head.

They both paused, eyes locked on each other, as they fought to breathe with some steady rhythm. Jackie raised her hand, surprised at how much it trembled with the need that hummed beneath her skin like a pulse weapon set to overload. She touched her fingertip to one of the many scars, both old and relatively new, that tattooed his torso. Michael watched her touch, then covered her hand with his own, holding it against his chest. He raised his chin and met her gaze.

Jackie nodded, and smiled. That was enough.

He lowered his head and kissed the upper slope of her breast, a shuddered breath moving through him. Jackie laced her fingers into his hair, panting as his mouth danced on her skin. When his tongue flicked across her nipple, she had to bite back the cry as lightning speared from her nipple to her core.

No one had ever taken such care with her, no one had ever touched and caressed her like she was precious and rare, and that was how Michael made her feel. He stroked her skin and kissed her with his tongue and his mouth, tasting her, studying her reaction to each touch. When his long, wonderful fingers slipped inside the waist of her jeans, and released the top snap, Jackie curled her hands into the bedding beneath her and arched her hips to meet his touch.

"Jacqueline." His voice was black velvet on steel and her eyes fluttered open to look into his face. His eyes were impossibly dark, looking down at her, his lips slick from his kisses.

"If you stop now, Michael, I’m going to hurt you. I swear to God."

One corner of his mouth tilted in a quick smile. Jackie watched with complete attention as he slid off the bed to stand beside it, and with his gaze locked on her, he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, sliding his shoes off his feet at the same time. He hooked his thumbs inside the waist at each hip, and paused. Jackie rolled to her knees, kneeling on the bed to face him. Both naked from the waist up, her breasts brushed his bare chest and the heat emanating from his body left her flushed and aching. She ran her hands over his chest, feeling the small imperfections that marred his skin.

Holding his gaze as long as she could, Jackie leaned in, pressed a kiss to his breastbone, and moved her hands down his trim sides to his jeans. Holding her lips to his skin, she pushed the clothing down, letting her palms scrape against his hips and thighs. The pants hit the floor with a soft thump, and the hard evidence that he wanted this as much as she did brushed against her stomach, searing silk.

His hands moved up her arm, slid over her shoulders and pushed into her hair to tip her head up to him.

"Kiss me, Michael."

He slanted his open lips over hers, drawing in a sharp breath through his nose as she opened to him and gave back as much as he gave her. Their tongues connected and danced together, fanning the flame. She wasn’t sure which one of them finished undoing her jeans, but when she laid back on the bed, he tugged them free. His hands never broke contact with her skin, brushing along her thighs, caressing the inside of her knees, and tracing her calves to her ankles as he removed the last barrier between them.

Michael knelt on the bed, the mattress giving slightly beneath his weight, and his lips branded her skin as he moved his mouth back up her body, following the same path his hands had moments before.

Everything throbbed, pulsed, hummed for him. His fingertips pressed into her hips as his body settled in the space between her thighs. Jackie held on to his shoulders, urging him to move up her body and kiss her lips again. His kisses were a drug and she couldn’t get enough.

"Forgive me if I don’t do this well," he whispered against her mouth, their breath mingling in the space between.

Jackie almost laughed, but kissed him instead. "Even if we stopped right now, this would be the most amazing—but don’t you dare!"

She felt his heart pounding impossibly fast as his weight pressed into her and she wrapped her arms around his body. Ragged, hot breath seared her skin as he tucked his face into the bend of her neck. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

With excruciating slowness, he pressed his erection against her and pushed into her heat. Each fraction of an inch sent shockwaves of icy heat through her and she dug her nails into his shoulder, her chest hurting as she tried to fill the vacuum of her lungs.

Michael hissed sharply, a low rumbling vibrating through him. His body shook and his hands slid beneath her back to curl around her shoulders from underneath. Jackie’s head swam and she shifted her hands down his spine to flex her fingers into his backside, raising her knees to draw him in deeper.

Nothing would be deep enough.

He pulled free and she gasped at the second she thought he would leave her, but he thrust into her again and her cry of pleasure swallowed the gasp. Again and again, he slid from her with painful slowness only to push into her hard and firm. Her body coiled, drew in, twisted tighter and tighter like a spring. Burning cold heat flushed her skin, flashing out from their joining. Each thrust into her body drew a gasp and she pressed her eyes closed.

"Michael!" she cried as her orgasm spiraled out and seized every muscle of her body. He drove himself into her, rocking his hips and she bit down on the hard muscle of his shoulder to keep from screaming.

His body went limp and Jackie wrapped her arms around his shoulders, stroking his sweat-dampened skin and hair as he rested his head on her breast. She stared up at the ceiling, waves of tingling undulating through her.

Michael whispered her name, just her name, but with more cherishing weight than she had heard before. She smiled and ran her nails over his scalp, and realized she was crying.

Chapter Fourteen

The sun was hot on his back, warming his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. He squinted at the sun, the glare off the golden statue of Quetzalcatl, God of All, nearly blinding him. The field of maize he stood in swayed with the wind, brushing his arms as it undulated around him.

He hadn’t been here in a very long time. A lifetime. A dozen lifetimes.

But now, it was different. He hadn’t known it before. He knew now. Before, he had been someone else. Another name. Another past. A stolen past that was impossible to regain.

Now, he was who he was, who he had been for centuries, and he could no longer hide. He didn’t want to hide. He didn’t want to hurt anyone else.

This time, he was here to die.

He walked through the rows of maize toward the giant temple. It didn’t belong here. It belonged in the jungle. But it came here for him. To shorten his journey.

A sinister hiss danced on the wind and a black shadow shifted over the field. He raised his head and looked at the darkening sky. Once, the malicious presence terrified him, had him running further and deeper... but far was never far enough, and deep was never deep enough.

He wasn’t running anymore.

*****

Beverly stirred from sleep, stretching her back as she sat up, her muscles protesting against the awkward position she had slept in. Sitting in a hard chair at Victor’s bedside, she had pillowed her head on her arms and managed to find some rest.

She rolled her head, trying to work the kinks from her neck, and blinked the sleep from her eyes as she glanced at him. Her heart froze in her chest and she immediately moved to her feet to see him closer.

His skin was sallow and ashen, his features flaccid. Beverly touched his cheek and his skin was cold.

Oh, God! No!

*****

The loud crash of the room door slamming open bolted Michael from his sleep. He tried to sit up, but with Jacqueline curled against his side, he couldn’t. He blinked and focused just as Beverly reached the bed.

"What’s wrong?"

Her hands flew frantically, the signs mingled with her urgent pull on his arm. Jacqueline sat up beside him, holding the sheet to her breasts. "Michael?"

"I’ll be right there."

Beverly nodded and ran from the room as Michael tossed back the blankets. He picked up his jeans from the floor and pulled them on, yanking on his shirt. Not bothering with the second shirt, he sat on the edge of the bed and quickly pulled on his shoes. He heard Jacqueline behind him, and by the time he stood, she was already half-dressed.

"What’s wrong?"

"Victor."

*****

CJ stretched and reached out across the bed, finding only cool sheets and the imprint of Nick’s head in the pillow. She yawned and sat up, glancing toward the partially open bedroom door. From the hall, she heard the echo of Nick’s voice carrying from the nursery, and she smiled.

She slid from the warmth of the bed and pulled on a pair of jeans, picking up Nick’s big, flannel shirt from the end of the bed. Slipping her arms into the long sleeves, she smiled as the soft cotton wrapped around her. It smelled of him; clean and masculine. Walking in bare feet across the wooden floor, she left the bedroom and stood in the doorway of the nursery to observe without disturbing.

Nick stood at the dressing table, wearing only a pair of faded jeans. Even his feet were bare. His silver-gray hair was mussed and ruffled, but he didn’t seem to care. He talked in a low, soothing voice to Nicole as he finished bundling her in her softest, pink blanket. Her tiny arms flailed free and she made gurgling giggle sounds as she kicked against the restraint.

"Is that how you’re gonna play this?" he asked, tugging the blanket around her legs again.

Nicole kicked her legs and flailed her arms in unison, freeing her limbs again with a giggle. A sweet warmth welled in CJ’s chest when Nick bend over and nuzzled his nose into his granddaughter’s stomach. A low, pure laugh echoed through the small room and tiny fists curled into his short hair.

Nick straightened, sucked in a quick breath, and did it again. It rendered the same result. A deep belly laugh from Nicole. CJ wiped away the tears from her cheeks, and smiled because for once they were tears of joy.

Maybe... just maybe... everything was going to be okay.

*****

"We’ve located a small clustering of biological readings."

"That’s all? Just biologicals?"

"And an increased level of technology. Out of place for the region."

"Adjust orbit."

*****

"Damn it, Vic! You are not giving up on me!’

Michael pounded his fist into the center of Victor’s chest. Again. Again!

"Tell me what to do," Jacqueline shouted.

"There." He pointed to a glass cabinet in the center of the room. "Bring me one of the infusion syringes on the top shelf."

He pounded Victor’s chest again. His body bounced on the bed, but with no other reaction. "No!"

Jacqueline ran back, the syringe in her hand. Michael took it from her, and pulled the protective sleeve off with his teeth, slamming the infusion end into Victor’s chest, right between two rips for direct impact with his heat.

"You will live, damn it!"

He slapped his palm on Victor’s chest over his heart, closed his eyes, and reached out with his mind.

*****

"Bryony offered to bring all the Phoenix commanders together for a tête-à-tête. With all the world leaders dead, I guess it leaves it up to Phoenix to clean up the mess."

Caitlin arched an eyebrow as she set her coffee cup down. "Bryony? You call the Queen of the entire Aretu race by her first name?"

Nick shifted Nicole in his lap so she faced out, her little spine against his stomach. She reached for his spoon and he gave it to her, despite Caitlin’s slight look of disapproval. He smirked. "You know me. Not much for titles."

"Uh huh."

"Jealous?"

Caitlin shook her head. "Not in the least. After all, I’m the one you married."

Nick kept his gaze down, shaking his pinky in Nicole’s tiny grip. She tilted her head to look up at him, a toothless grin on her face. He chuckled. "Well, she’s already joined to the Prince Regent, so..."

A piece of muffin bounced off his chest.

The communicator Annora gave him twittered on the table. Nick picked it up, winking at Caitlin. "Maybe it’s Bryony."

"Oh, shut up."

Nicole reached for the black oval, her tiny fingers flexing, but Nick kept it beyond her grasp. "Yeah?"

"Nicholas, one of the Sorracchi ships has dispatched multiple crafts and their trajectory indicates they may be en route to your location."

Caitlin’s eyes rounded and she was on her feet, taking Nicole from him. "Crap," he cursed. "Where are you now?"

"We’ve assumed orbit five-hundred miles southwest of your base. The captain is adjusting our flight path. We are unable to engage, Nicholas."

"Yeah. I know."

*****

Victor’s body arched off the bed, a rattling gasp filling his lungs with air. The monitors that had read flat moments before sparked and exploded, shards of electricity flying into the room.

Michael shielded his eyes with one arm, keeping his hand on Victor’s chest. A sucking force pulled the strength from his limbs, making him sway as he tried to maintain the connection.

"He’s alive!" Jacqueline shouted over the snaps and pops of the machines. She leaned over the bed, putting herself into Michael’s line of site. "Michael, he’s alive. Now stop!"

He stumbled back, pain shooting through him when the connection broke. Michael fell hard to the floor, his skin tingling and his vision blurred by multi-colored spots and black voids. Jacqueline ran to him, dropping to her knees beside him as the vertigo took over and he slumped sideways into her arms.

"You okay?"

Michael rolled his eyes, reaching out for something solid to anchor his world. He realized, with a roll of nausea in his gut, that he was on his back facing the ceiling, his upper body supported in Jacqueline’s arms. She looked down at him, fear blatant in her face. He tried to nod, swallowed, and tried to speak but everything was chaos.

Blackness took over.

*****

"Where’s the General?"

Jace looked up from his breakfast, immediately setting his fork down when he saw the look on Nick Tanner’s face. "I haven’t seen him yet."

Nick pointed to a serviceman at the next table. "You. Find Castleton." When the man was slow to rise, Nick shouted. "Now!"

Jace and Lilly stood together and Lilly shifted Jamie in her arms. "What’s wrong?" 

"Sorracchi. They’re coming."

Jace spun on his wife, gripping her arms. "Go to the barn. Get in a hover." 

"What about you?"

"Don’t wait for me. If you need to go, then go."

"No!"

"Darlin’, please." The bone-chilling whine of Sorracchi Death Bringers dropping out of orbit vibrated through the air. "I love you. Just go!"

*****

Beverly’s body trembled violently, her insides twisted into vicious knots. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t steady her heartbeat. The stench of burned wires and frying circuits tingled in her nose and a low cloud of black smoke hovered in the air. She laid her body over Victor’s, tears flowing from her eyes to dampen his shirt, his chest slowly rising beneath her cheek.

Pushing herself up on shaking arms, she looked past the bed to Jacqueline and Michael. His eyes were closed, his skin pale, and she cradled him in her arms. Jacqueline raised her head and met Beverly’s gaze, tears streaking her cheeks. She rocked on her knees, smoothing Michael’s hair from his sweat-glistened forehead.

"I think he’s okay," Beverly read on her lips.

Jacqueline curled her body around Michael, laying her cheek against his hair. Beverly closed her eyes and let her forehead drop to Victor’s chest. Like a whip snapped through thin air, her body jerked and she gasped, gripping the edge of the bed to keep from falling, and looked to the door.

Her heart froze in her chest.

*****

"Hold your fire!"

Jacqueline stared at the three Sorracchi soldiers who towered over her, and wished she could get her hands on a blaster. She’d hold her fire... hold it on their fuckin’ heads. Michael stirred, rolling from her lap to his elbows, his head bowed.

The Sorracchi standing closest to them crossed the space, not even slowing, as he drew back his leg and kicked Michael in the stomach, sending him sprawling into Jacqueline with a grunt.

"You son of a bitch!"

She moved to stand, but held her place when all three blasters leveled on her. The apparent leader stepped over Michael, standing over him, and bent over to grab a fistful of his hair. He was still more unconscious than awake, and Jacqueline bit down hard to keep herself from flying straight at the bastard who held him.

"It’s him."

One of the other Sorracchi clicked the communication device hooked on his ear. He spoke in their guttural, raspy language. Jacqueline schooled her expression so he wouldn’t know she understood. Her stomach twisted and fury churned beneath her skin.

Kathleen.

*****

"We don’t have enough hovers to move everyone," Jace shouted over the ion blasts that tore apart Command Hall, shot by shot. He flipped his back to the overturned table and reloaded, shouting to Nick beside him. "The hovers brought them here, but the contingent has grown since then."

Nick leveled his gun and fired at the attacking forces. The sound of more Death Bringers shook the building, the air getting thick with the ionic back draft. "Damn it!" he shouted, praying to God that Caitlin made it to the hovers with Nicole.

His communicator buzzed, coupled with Queen Bryony’s demanding cry of his name. He fumbled to hold it to his mouth, volleying another round of shots at the oncoming attack. "Can’t you do anything?’ he demanded.

"We are, Nicholas! We’ve begun transporting your personnel to our ships, but we cannot differentiate between humans and the Sorracchi."

"Take them all!" he shouted, the blasts so loud he couldn’t think. "Just take them all! Leave the weapons and take the people!"

His words disappeared in a flash of heat and the devastated lodge disappeared in a silver haze. Disoriented by the unexpected transport, he fell on his ass when the field snapped away and biting cold replaced the heat.

"Wooohoo!" Jace shouted beside him.

*****

Nicole’s screams echoed through the massive chamber, muffled by CJ’s body as she curled around the baby. She raised her head and took in her surroundings, fighting the wave of dizziness that made the floor tilt and the room spin. A dozen or more of them were in the same room, Humans and Sorracchi alike, and not one of them held a weapon.

Three nearby Phoenix soldiers lunged forward to tackle the Sorracchi, their fists knocking the surprised enemy to the ground where they stayed.

"Are you all right, Doctor Montgomery?" one of the men asked, helping her to her feet.

CJ could only nod, still unsure what happened. She had been in the barn, trying to reach a hover, praying to get Nicole to safety. Praying for Nick. For Michael. For them all. The Sorracchi had burst through the door, their pulse charge weapons tearing the ancient building apart, setting the dried wood aflame.

"Doctor?" he asked again.

"T-take her. I’m afraid I’ll drop her," she mumbled, and the soldier obliged, despite the look of panic in his eyes. "Where are we?"

"Don’t know, ma’am."

*****

"Annora!"

The tall Umani woman spun around at Nick’s call, a smile of relief changing her entire expression. "Oh, thank the Creators, Nicholas!"

"Where is Caitlin? Michael?"

She shook her head. "We are attempting to sort the new occupants of our crafts. I cannot say for sure. We have filled both the Wurdvoller Fliiger and Excalibur to capacity, but they are both Sorracchi and your people."

"I need to find them."

Annora nodded, turning her attention to the control display in front of her.

"This is amazing," Jace mumbled beside him. He tipped his head back, taking in the arc and spectacular architecture of the Wurdvoller Fliiger’s bridge. His attention snapped back. "Did we bring everyone on board?"

"Yes," Annora nodded, occupied with the information circulating on her console. "Brace yourself—"

"We’re engaging wormhole flight," Nick finished, sensing the surge of the silent engines half a second before the observation window lit up with the flash of wormhole creation.

In two seconds, they were hundreds of light years from Earth.

"I’ve located the man who inhabited your infirmary. He is with our physicians. There were others with him."

"Michael?"

"I know not. Only that there were humans with him." She smiled, turning to the two men. "However, I have located two women, both in the company of young ones. The guards have confirmed them to be Caitlin..." She turned to Jace. "And Lilly Quinn."

Jace released a long, shaking breath as his hand clamped down on Nick’s shoulder. "Hallelujah!"

*****

"Nicky!"

CJ ran across the open room, despite her shaking legs, and threw herself into Nick’s arms, her breath leaving her lungs in a deep groan as he held her close.

"I thought I’d lost you all over again," he whispered against her throat as he held her close.

She nodded into his shoulder, incapable of saying anything more. He eased her feet to the floor again, but she still hung on. Terror sat in the back of her throat, burning her tongue. The Umani who could speak English assured them they were safe, and on the Umani scout ship, but until she saw Nick, she couldn’t trust their safety.

He pulled back, holding her face in his hands. "Where’s Nicole?"

She pointed behind her with a trembling hand. "She’s fine. The transport terrified her, but she’s okay now."

Nick pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Get her. Victor is in the sick bay."

She nodded, understanding. Where Victor was, so would Michael be.

*****

Jackie sat in the corner of the alien infirmary, her knees pulled to her chest despite the throbbing pain it pulled across her spine. The room was a buzz of activity as the giant aliens with coffee skin and bulbous foreheads attended to the injured brought to them, Human and Sorracchi alike.

They had already taken care of Victor, and Beverly sat beside him in the far corner of the room. What his prognosis was, Jackie had no way of knowing. The lyrical, almost poetic language of the Umani was beyond anything she could understand. She just watched.

And waited.

The nearest door to her opened with a whoosh, and her peripheral vision registered Nick and Caitlin. His tall frame, so like Michael’s, sent a surge of relief through her, but only for the briefest moment until... until she remembered.

"Jacqueline." Nick knelt beside her, his dark brown eyes studying him. She couldn’t meet his gaze. It hurt too much. "Jacqueline..."

"He’s gone," she choked out.

He gripped her shoulders, shaking her with a sharp jerk until she consented to look at him. A ripping gasp tore through her.

"He’s gone," she shouted louder. "They took him. K-Kathleen..." she choked out. Caitlin’s scream tore through the infirmary.

Chapter Fifteen

Jace scanned the walls around the indention into the hallway wall that one of the Areth shipmates pointed out to be Nick and Caitlin’s door, looking for a button or a knob or anything that he could use to get their attention. Seeing nothing, he tentatively raised his hand and knocked on the silver metal.

Moments later, the door slid open, revealing a haggard looking Nick Tanner. With his hand braced against the inside frame, he looked ready to fall over. He tilted his head, indicating Jace should step inside.

Nick sank into one of the two chairs in the small but serviceable main room, his eyes shifting toward the closed door that connected to the bedroom. The quarters were a carbon copy of the ones given to Jace and Lilly, except they were flip flopped.

"How’s she doing?" Jace asked, taking the other seat.

Nick scrubbed his face with his hands. "She finally fell asleep about half an hour ago. This is tearing her apart."

"And it’s not you?"

Nick looked to Jace, holding his gaze for several moments before shifting his eyes down. He leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, and bowed his head. He wore his weariness like a cloak, and Jace understood it was more than just physical exhaustion. Nick sucked in a hard breath, covering his eyes with his hand. His shoulders shook with barely restrained sobs and Jace crouched beside his mentor and friend, laying a comforting hand on Nick’s shoulder.

"There’s no way in hell we’re not getting him back."

Nick raised his head, his eyes red and his face twisted in torment. "I’m going to kill her," he ground out, his lips pulled tight across his teeth.

There was no doubt in Jace’s mind that Nick meant it. He draped his arm across Nick’s shoulders and squeezed, providing what little comfort he could. What could he say? There was nothing. They all knew the torture and cruelty Michael had lived through at the hands of his ‘mother’. Jace had seen the permanent reminders left behind, and Lilly had told him about the ones he didn’t see.

Minutes passed, and Nick seemed to regain his control. He sat back and Jace returned to his chair. "What do we do now?" Jace asked.

Nick shook his head. "The Sorracchi have to know something is up. That someone pulled us out of there. They’re going to be looking, and if they look hard enough, they’d find us if we returned to orbit."

"When will the armada arrive?

Nick closed his eyes. "Could be to two weeks. They left Aretu after we did, but the big ships travel a hell of a lot faster than the scouts. The Captain sent a deep space message back along our travel path to Raxo. Hopefully, the ships will intercept it and punch the hell out of their subspace engines to get here faster."

"So, we’re stuck sitting out here in space?"

Nick pushed out of his chair, striding across the room to the observation window that stretched the width of the room. Space was black and endless outside, stars of varying intensity and size sitting stationary as they maintained position. The wormhole had closed when they reached their destination and the fact that they’d traveled nearly three hundred light years in minutes blew Jace away.

Jace watched Nick’s tense stance and his reflection in the glass as he stared into space. His face was resolute, his jaw set. Slowly, Jace moved out of his chair.

"You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking."

"I can’t just sit here," Nick shouted, spinning back to face Jace. "She has my son! I can’t just—" He bit off his words, his lips twisting over his teeth as he clenched his fists in the air. 

"You go in there, you get dead, and who’ll be left to get him?"

"You."

Jace shook his head. "I can’t let you do it, Nick. And besides that," He closed the space between them, dropping his voice as he leaned in to speak. "Do you really want to do that to CJ again? Do you think she’ll forgive you?"

"If I don’t bring him home, it won’t matter."

Jace closed his eyes, laying a heavy hand on Nick’s shoulder. He huffed a long breath before trying again. "I swear to you, Nick, we’ll get him back. But, we have a hell of a lot better chance if we do this together, not with you going off half-cocked."

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose and dropped his head forward. The tension in his body was palpable. After a few minutes, Nick nodded his head, and Jace knew that was the only concession he’d get. He cleared his throat, hating to bring up the next point.

"You need to go down to the hanger. Talk to everyone."

"Right now?"

"They need to know."

Nick nodded. "Give me a minute."

He stepped away and went to the bedroom door, the barrier sliding open when he approached. Jace saw a glimpse of the bed in the dark interior, and CJ’s still form. He turned his back, giving them what privacy he could.

"Baby, I need to go to the hanger."

Jace heard the rustle of the bedding, and when CJ spoke her voice was muffled. "How long will you be?"

"Not long. I love you."

Moments later, Jace heard the door whistle shut again and turned to see Nick standing with his hand braced against the wall. He swallowed hard before looking at Jace. "Let’s do this."

*****

Until they could return to Earth, the compliment of the Tennessee base split between the Wurdvoller Fliiger and Excalibur. But for this, all one-hundred-forty-seven Phoenix personnel came about the Wurdvoller Fliiger and assembled in the massive docking bay.

The individual flight crafts had been moved to clear the center area, facing the air lock that looked out onto open space. At the end of the bay stood seven cylindrical boxes, draped in the Earth Force flag. Someone had given the Umani a photograph of the flag, and they had managed to produce the symbols of honor in just a few hours. Six of the coffins sat horizontally, three on each side, with the seventh vertical between them. That flag was trimmed in golden fringe and a different flag stood upright from the center; an old flag with red and white stripes and white stars against a blue square. The flag of the United States of America, a nation that no longer existed.

Nick stared at the coffins, tamping down the rage that boiled in his chest. There would be time for fury later — and oh, there would be fury — but right now, the time was for respect and honor.

"Everyone is here."

He glanced to Jace and nodded, clearing his throat in one final effort to find control. Turning to face the assembly, his chest seized painfully and he clenched his fists at his side. His gaze shifted to Beverly, who stood to the side with John Smith and Queen Bryony. She looked up, met his eyes, and dipped her chin. Nick waited for her to join him, and as she stepped to his side, the low hum of conversation died away.

Nick cleared his throat, speaking loud so his voice carried through the cavernous bay. "There’s no good way to start this, and I suck at these things. But, the men and women who died today deserve our respect."

Beverly glanced toward John Smith before raising her hands. John spoke her words, his voice hiding the tremble Nick saw in her hands.

"Every soul we lost today breaks our hearts, but they must also resolve our stand. They all fought and died for the freedom of us all, and I refuse to let them die in vain. We have a new alliance, new partners in the fight, and together we will take back our home."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued, but only Nick, John and Jace saw them. Her expression was sorrowful, but strong, and Nick gave her kudos for her resiliency and courage. He barely managed it himself.

"Would everyone please bow their heads as we honor the fallen," John recited for her. En masse, the congregation that was the core of Phoenix bowed their heads. Looking out across them, Nick spoke the names.

"Captain Henry Ellington, Major Yao Ip Yan, Captain Elizabeth Barclay, First Lieutenant James Masterson, Lieutenant Enrique Martinez, Civilian in Service Cameron Nichols." He paused, drawing a deep breath as he squared his shoulders. "And Major General Robert Castleton."

Despite his best efforts, Nick’s voice cracked. He swallowed and stared forward as silence settled heavy and smothering over the crowd.

As eyes slowly turned upward again, Jace stepped forward, his hands folded in front of him. "I’m not a practicing preacher — about as far from it as anyone I’ve ever known —but I’ve been called on lately to act as one. For the happy and the sad. I know very little will bring peace right now.

"In the Third Chapter of Ecclesiastes, it says For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under Heaven; a time to be born and a time to die. A time to kill; and a time to heal. A time to break down; and a time to build up. A time to weep; and a time to laugh. A time to mourn; and a time to dance. A time for love; and a time for hate. A time for war; and a time peace."

"Now is a time for war," Nick boomed. "We mourn and we weep, but then we kick ass."

In one resounding act of singularity, the one-hundred-forty-plus gathering clapped their hands, filling the bay with the echoes of their sentiment.

*****

Nick stood guard as Phoenix servicemen rolled the seven coffins from the hanger bay and carefully stowed in a cryogenic chamber until their return to Earth. He and Beverly made the decision not to give the lost men and women a space funeral, but to take them home and bury them on Earth. No matter how long it took to get them there.

The only coffin left was the General’s, and Beverly stood beside it with her hand resting on the United Earth flag. Nick stood on the other side, and laid his hand over hers. She raised her chin, her green eyes resolute despite the red weariness that rimmed them. Her skin was paler than usual and she looked so tired, it scared him. Beverly attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite work.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

He had only recently learned of her broken relationship with Victor, and while he couldn’t quite wrap his head around her being involved with a Sorracchi, he couldn’t deny the deep-set grief that wrapped around her. Annora had told Nick that Victor barely hung on to life. They were doing all they could, and were near the end of their knowledge.

Then she lost the General.

There had been a bond between the two of them that surpassed the roles of leadership. Nick didn’t need to have it explained, he had always known it was there. They all felt the loss of General Castleton, some deeper than others, but he figured Beverly felt it deepest of all.

She sighed and shrugged, offering a weak tip of her lips.

"I’m going to learn that sign language you do," he said, squeezing her hand. "I don’t like not knowing what you need to say."

She slipped her hand free of his and removed from her pocket a small, flat device. Pushing a button, it unfolded to reveal a screen the size of a notepad and a small keyboard. Beverly typed into it and held it out for him to read. He held it at arms length, cursing his age.

"I get by with this," he read aloud. "I’m fine. We all have to be." He handed it back to her. "Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck."

She did smile that time and cleared the screen, typing again. When she handed it back, tears glistened in her eyes again. "I’m so sorry about..." he started to read, then stopped, his own voice faltering over the words. "Michael." Nick nodded his head, pressing his lips together. "They’ll be the sorry ones."

No further explanation was necessary. Two servicemen approached, their expressions grim, and they silently indicated they needed to take the General’s body away. Nick nodded, stepping back. Beverly let her hand trail along the flag as they rolled the coffin toward the storage hall. She took a deep breath and typed again. This time, Nick read to himself.

You’re the ranking military officer now.

"You were Second in Command," he pointed out.

She nodded, typing again. Yes, but I am not military. I don’t have the same training. Robert and I balanced each other. We led well because we could approach situations with two mindsets. We need that, now more than ever.

Nick drew a long breath, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. "I can’t say no. I’ll do whatever it takes to kick their ass off the planet. For good. I can’t guarantee my objectivity. Not when it comes to my family."

She laid her hand on his arm before answering. Can any of us guarantee objectivity when it comes to the ones we love?

"No," he answered truthfully. He glanced toward the door, a deep-set tug pulling at his chest. "I need to go check on Caitlin. She’s... this hit her hard."

Beverly laid her hand on his chest, over his heart, and her covered it with his own. She carefully moved her lips so he could understand her words. Not you? Nick leaned over and kissed her cheek before leaving. The walk through the halls was a familiar one, his feet automatically leading him to the suite he shared with Caitlin and Nicole. It was the same quarters he had used on his trip home.

He stood in the hallway, his hand resting on the door for several moments before he went inside. Nick needed those few brief moments to suck in the pain, tie it up and stuff it away. The door slid open at his command and he stepped into the dark room beyond.

Jackie slept in one of the chairs, her knees pulled to her chest and her head resting at what had to be an uncomfortable angle. Nick slid his arms behind her shoulders and beneath her knees, lifting her from the chair. She moaned softly, but didn’t wake.

The receiving room was small with little furniture; a table, two chairs and an oblong bench with thick cushions that looked kind of like a couch. He eased her onto the lounge, her eyes never opening.

Exhaustion of the soul was the worst kind of fatigue. It killed everything.

Nick found a blanket and draped it over Jackie. Tomorrow, he intended to find out where her quarters were. Tonight, she’d stay here. Maybe even after that. She hurt as much as he and Caitlin. She belonged here. With them.

The bedroom door swished open for him, and he stood in the darkness, listening. Caitlin’s soft breathing filled the room, coupled with another low, whispered breath. Nick shrugged off most of his clothes and slipped into bed. In the dim light, he made out the profile of his wife’s face as she lay on her side, facing him. And beside her, Nicole’s sleeping form. He laid his hand on Nicole’s blanket and closed his eyes.

Chapter Sixteen

She ran her hands over his chest, her gentle, elegant fingers lingering on the scars that stood as constant reminders of Hell. Fingertips ran the length of each, moving from one to the next. Michael almost closed his eyes, but couldn’t stop watching her.

Holding his gaze as long as she could, Jackie leaned in, pressed a kiss to his breastbone, and slid her hands down his sides to his jeans. Holding her lips to his skin, she pushed the clothing down, her palms smooth and hot against his hips and thighs as they slid down. The pants hit the floor with a soft thump, and his erection brushed her skin, the subtle contact firing thousands of nerves throughout his body.

His hands moved up her arm, slid over her shoulders and pushed into her hair to tip her head up to him.

"Kiss me, Michael."

He slanted his open lips over hers, drawing in a sharp breath through his nose as she opened to him and gave back as much as he gave her. Their tongued connected and slid together, fanning the flame. He fumbled to undo her jeans, needing to feel more of her skin and her heat, and when she laid back on the bed, he tugged them free. His hands never broke contact with her skin, sliding along her thighs, caressing the inside of her knees, and tracing her calves to her ankles as he removed the last barrier between them.

Michael knelt on the bed, the mattress giving slightly beneath his weight. He tasted her skin, sliding his mouth back up her body, following the same path his hands had moments before.

Michael jerked away, his arms flailing to find solid ground. The blackness tipped and he landed on his hands and knees, pain shooting through his limbs. The surface beneath him was hard and cold, the air stale. He sat back on his shins, reaching into the darkness for some anchor point, something to help him find his equilibrium.

His knuckles hit the underside of a flat platform and he fumbled to find the top. There was no padding, just another cold, hard surface and he assumed it was what he had fallen from. Using the edge for support, Michael moved off the floor to sit. Squinting into the darkness, he tried to find some point of light.

There was none.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, fighting for a memory.

"You will live, damn it!"

He slapped his palm on Victor’s chest over his heart, closed his eyes, and reached out with his mind.

Victor’s body arched off the bed, a rattling gasp filling his lungs with air. The monitors that had read flat moments before sparked and exploded, shards of electricity flying into the room.

Michael shielded his eyes with one arm, keeping his hand on Victor’s chest. A sucking force pulled the strength from his limbs, making him sway as he tried to maintain the connection.

"He’s alive!" Jacqueline shouted over the snaps and pops of the machines. She leaned over the bed, putting herself into Michael’s line of sight. "Michael, he’s alive. Now stop!"

He stumbled back, pain shooting through him when the connection broke. Michael fell hard to the floor, his skin tingling and his vision blurred by multi-colored spots and black voids. Jacqueline ran to him, dropping to her knees beside him as the vertigo took over and he slumped sideways into her arms.

"You okay?"

Michael rolled his eyes, reaching out for something solid to anchor his world. He realized, with a roll of nausea in his gut, that he was on his back facing the ceiling, his upper body supported in Jacqueline’s arms. She looked down at him, fear blatant in her face. He tried to nod, swallowed, and tried to speak but everything was chaos.

Then blackness and nothing since. Michael leaned forward, fighting a sudden wave of nausea and held his head in his hands. A dull thumping at the base of his skull echoed in his ears.

"You son of a bitch." Jacqueline’s voice whispered like smoke in the wind, there but not.

His stomach flipped and twisted, and he barely had time to shimmy to the end of the bench and lean over before retching. Michael braced his hands on the walls as they met in the corner, his body turning inside it. Leaning into the wall behind him, he ran the side of his hand over his mouth and gasped for air.

There was only one explanation, one terrifying truth. If he wasn’t in Tennessee, then...

A loud clank preceded a shaft of bright light flooding the cramped room, and Michael shielded his eyes. Squinting past his arm, he tried to make out the shadowed figure outlined in the light. Humanoid, that’s all he knew.

"On your feet."

The voice was unfamiliar, but he didn’t need to know who it was. He levered his weight against the edge of the bench and managed to stand, his hand extended behind him to support himself upright. The figure entered the room, followed by another, and each gripped an arm, dragging him forward. His knees buckled, but they didn’t slow down, pulling him along until he managed to get them under him again.

By the second junction of doors, he knew they weren’t on the planet. Which only meant he was on a Sorracchi war ship. His scrambled equilibrium felt every shift of the ship in orbit, his thundering senses heard every fluctuation in the massive engines that kept it in orbit. The air was odorless, tasteless and flat. Recycled.

The walls sloped and curved, making the hallways narrow. Low ceilings, which even the guards needed to duck beneath at certain junction points, told Michael the original Sorracchi form had to be diminutive in comparison to modern humans. The ship was built to accommodate them, not their stolen bodies. Bulbous lights every few feet cast an eerie green hue over everything.

They rode in a compact elevator, and Michael counted the oscillation in sound, ticking off the levels. At least ten. Then the motion twisted his insides and he hovered on the edge of passing out again. Darkness slipped over him, and when he forced his way back to consciousness again, he was in a new room. The walls glowed with light from behind, making him blink.

Then panic, raw and bitter as acid, welled in his throat and he instinctively jerked within the hold of his captors.

This was a laboratory. No... a torture chamber.

Something hard slammed into the back of his skull and the light battled with black holes in his vision. Michael’s legs gave way and he sank to his knees, his arms twisted painfully behind him.

"Put him on his feet."

Cold as dark as death washed over him. Pain rippled through his arms as the two guards pulled him up. He drew in a long, deep breath through his nostrils, clenching his jaw as he raised his chin and met her malicious eyes. There was no way he’d let her see, let her know what it did to him to see her.

He wasn’t the same Michael.

Kathleen arched one thin, dark eyebrow as she crossed to him. "Well, that’s a change. Grown a backbone in the last year, have you?"

Despite the jelly in his knees, Michael straightened his body and stood without the support of the Sorracchi on either side of him. They still held firm to his arms, but he’d be damned if he didn’t face her by his own strength. He said nothing, pressing his lips together as he glared back at the maker of his nightmares.

His mother.

"You know the consequences, don’t you, Michael? For running away? I can’t let that kind of disobedience go unpunished. I had such wonderful plans for you, and you destroyed them."

Michael snapped out with his mind, ready to fight his way off the ship even if he had to jump into free space to do it. Dying in space would be better than this. But as he drew in his strength, searing pain boiled in his spinal cord and his head felt ready to explode. He cried out, sagging in the guards’ hold.

Kathleen made a disapproving noise with her tongue, taking his chin in her cold hand to force his gaze upward. He hissed through the pain, the room hazing in a field of red.

"I spent years trying to purge you of that filthy little trait. Do you really think I’d let it go unchecked?"

She grabbed a fistful of his hair, snapping his head back, but he grit his teeth and stared into her eyes, unwavering.

"We won’t continue where we left off," she said almost lyrically. "No, we’ll need to bump up the schedule."

"Burn in hell," he hissed through his teeth.

She smiled, a malignant smirk that turned her face into a mask of evil delight. "You don’t know hell yet. But first, one question will be answered." Kathleen leaned over him, bringing her face within inches of his own. "How did they do it? How did your little herd of renegades escape? You might not have been there, but I bet you know."

Michael pursed his lips and spit in her face.

Kathleen grimaced, wiping the saliva from her cheek. "Put him on the table," she said in a voice as low as Satan’s own.

*****

Jackie curled into the large, softly cushioned chair she’d dragged across the observation deck to bring it as close to the massive window as she could. It was like staring at a painting. Nothing moved. Everything was still. The only way she knew it was real was the spontaneous flicker of a distant star every few minutes.

She tucked her feet into the seat of the wide chair, enjoying the comfort it gave. She felt like a child sitting on the ‘big people’ furniture, it swallowed her up and cradled her. But the comfort was minimal.

A black hole had opened in her chest, and with every passing hour, she felt more and more of herself sucked into it.

Jackie opened her palm and looked down at the thin-rimmed glasses. Fingerprints smudged the lenses, but she couldn’t seem to put them down. She drew a shaky breath and closed her fingers around them again.

The door behind her swooshed open, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Jackie knew she needed to suck it up and get off her ass — because sitting around here wasn’t bringing him back — but for the first time in her life, she felt useless. Powerless. And she hated it.

"I’ve been looking for you."

In Nick Tanner’s voice, she heard what Michael would sound like in a few years. The same roughness, the same heavy weight, but Nick’s held more gravity. More years. More life. If she closed her eyes, she almost heard Michael.

"I’ve seen the ready room movie."

Nick chuckled. Now, there was a difference she could quantify between father and son. Michael never laughed at her subtle attempts at sarcastic humor. At first, she thought he just didn’t think she was funny. After awhile she realized, especially after she learned more about him that he just didn’t understand.

Michael’s father sat on the edge of the small deck that ran the length of the window, the platform so low it brought his knees level with his chest. He rested his arms on his raised legs, letting his hands dangle in the air. Jackie drew a long, deep breath and held her hand out, revealing the glasses.

"These are Michael’s," she said, keeping her voice low to hide the crack. "I don’t remember picking them up. I think it was when he ran out of the bedroom—" His eyes shifted to hers, but she kept going. "To help Victor. He left them on the bed stand."

"I didn’t know he wore them."

"Just for reading." She kept her hand extended. Nick folded his hand over hers, wrapping her fingers back around the glasses.

"You hang on to them for him."

Her first instinct was to argue, to make him take them, but she drew her hand back. She wanted to keep them. "How is CJ?"

He scrubbed his face with his hands, scratching his gray hair with his fingertips. Jackie almost smiled. The more time she spent around Nick, the more of Michael she saw in him. Or, would it be the other way around? The more of him she saw in Michael? Either way, the result was the same.

"She’s better." Nick shook his head. "I knew what happened to him, but I left too soon to really get it. She’s seen him grow past it and get beyond it. She’s terrified what this will do to him." His gaze darted to Jackie. "He will come home."

She nodded. "I know."

They fell into silence again, and Jackie pushed her hair back from her face with her fingers. She tucked her hands against her stomach, holding the glasses against her shirt. Michael’s shirt. The big, flannel one she’d slipped on in their hurry to help Victor.

"I’m going to kick her ass when I find her," she said beneath her breath, not looking up.

"I knew when I met you that you were a girl after my own heart."

Jackie smiled, and let it feel good. She looked to Michael’s father and rested her chin in her hand. "You were looking for me."

Nick rubbed his hands together, the rough palms making a strangely soothing sound. "Yeah. We’re going to be out here for awhile."

She swallowed hard. "I figured."

"Until then," His gaze shifted to her again. "Caitlin and I want you to stay with us. Not quad-up in the single’s quarters."

Jackie blinked, staring at him for several moments. "You don’t even know me."

"I don’t, no. But, Caitlin does. And," he rubbed his lips together, his eyes slipping away briefly before coming back to her. "And Michael loves you. He’d want you with us."

That was it, the final brush of tenderness that destroyed her defenses. She’d spent the last day putting the wall up, brick by heavy brick. She’d cried when they took Michael, but Nick’s simple offer ripped the sob from her that she’d kept at bay for so long. Jackie covered her face with her hands and hid against her raised knees.

His hand touched her shoulder and Jackie unfolded, throwing her arms around Nick Tanner’s shoulders. He stroked her hair and held on, letting her dump the sorrow that she couldn’t deny any more.

Chapter Seventeen

Beverly snapped from her restless sleep, a silent scream lodged in her throat. She blinked against the lights in her quarters, gripping John’s arms as he knelt one knee into her bed, his hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry," she read on his lips. "I didn’t know how else to wake you up."

She scooted backward to sit up, pushing her hair out of her face. "What’s wrong?"

"You need to come with me. Now." His shoulders shifted as he huffed, his eyebrows arching. "It’s Victor."

Beverly threw back the light blankets and slid from the bed. John handed her the stunning blue dressing gown given to her by Queen Bryony, and she pulled it on over her sleeping dress, knotting the belt at the waist. The sleeves hung inches past her waist and the hem dragged on the floor, pooling around her feet. With his hand on her elbow, John propelled her from the room into the hall.

They had to take a lift to the infirmary deck, and she turned on John as soon as the door closed. "Tell me."

"He’s awake."

Beverly’s heart jumped and he had to press her hand to her breast to keep it from leaping through her ribs. Her eyes flooded and she blinked rapidly to clear her vision. With shaking hands, she asked "When?"

"Just minutes ago. But Beverly, he’s..." He shook his head, and she saw in the strain of his eyes that he didn’t know how to explain.

She touched his arm before pulling back to sign. "I know. It’s all right."

The elevator stopped and Beverly bunched the robe in her hands, squeezing through the doors as soon as they were open enough. She felt him the moment she reached the infirmary door, and the rush to her blood was the most wonderful feeling she had felt in weeks. Months.

Several Umani medical personnel gathered in the back of the infirmary near Victor’s bed, and she pushed past them to reach him. Victor’s hands fisted in the blankets beside him, his head tilted back. His head dug into the pillow, his eyes closed. The air crackled around him, sparking on her skin. She waved her arms, telling everyone to get back away from the bed.

John seemed to understand, and she saw him speak to the attendants. They all moved back, but only a few feet. The bed was taller than their beds on Earth, and Beverly bit down against her frustration at trying to reach him. Finally, giving up on remote attempts, she hiked up her dressing gown and climbed onto the edge of the bed. She felt John’s hands at her waist, helping her, but she didn’t look back. There wasn’t time.

Victor needed her.

Her Victor.

His body shook violently, a glistening sheen of perspiration covering his face and clinging to his infirmary clothing. Beverly’s heart pounded furiously in her chest and her blood bubbled beneath her skin in a heady mixture of excitement, elation and fear. Despite the instant tensing of his body when she touched him, she shifted up his side and leaned over his chest, laying her hands on his damp cheeks.

Victor!

She pushed out with her mind, touching him in the deep places she knew he would hear her, knew he would acknowledge her presence over the chaos and fear that darkened his mind.

Victor, feel me!

He jerked, his body arching off the bed, and she felt the moan rumble through his chest. His mouth opened, then he slumped into the mattress. Beverly shifted closer, stroking his face. A wave shifted over him and he relaxed, his head slumping into her touch, his eyes closed and his lips parted. She caught one of the attendants moving closer from the corner of her eye, but she shot her hand out, telling them to stay away.

She held her breath, waiting and watching. A smile spread her lips when the arm beneath her wrapped around her waist, his hand pressing into the small of her back. Beverly blinked against the tears, but several fell to dot his shirt with dark circles. The severe kindle to the air died, leaving only the residual spark she always felt in his presence, from his touch. He drew a long, deep breath that shifted through his body and his eyes slowly opened.

Victor focused on her, his eyelids slid slow and heavy. She knew the moment he recognized her — truly saw her — and she smiled again, laying her hand on his cheek. He licked his ashen lips.

"Cusbibil."

She nodded, scooting closer to him. His arm tightened around her, but she saw the deep fatigue pulling at his features. "I’m here," she signed as best she could without moving too far away from him.

His eyes started to shift away, but she immediately touched his face, bringing his attention back to her. Only her. Holding her palm to his cheek, she pressed her lips to his and felt the rush of pleasure shift through him and into her. Pleasure. Joy. Relief. And as his lips relaxed and he slipped back into sleep, she felt peace.

Beverly wrapped her arms around him and turned onto her side, pillowing his head against her breast. John walked along the other side of the bed into her line of sight. She raised her hand, smiling.

"He’ll be fine now."

"But will you be?"

She stroked Victor’s damp hair and in sleep, his other arm draped over her waist as he settled against her. Beverly nodded yes and rested her head on the pillow.

*****

"We are sending a constant communication stream in a way distribution array along the coordinates we followed to reach Earth," Annora explained, showing Nick the data read out on her console. "We began the data bursts within a few minutes after reaching this portion of space. Based on the intended departure date for the fleet, and the estimated flight plan, we anticipate they will receive the first communication in seventeen hours."

"Okay." He curled his finger over his lips, hunching forward to read the data. "So, let’s say they get the message and they torque up the engines to full capacity . What kind of time frame are we looking at?"

"They could reach our location within four days."

"And if they don’t."

"Based on original flight plans, they would reach this location in ten days. However, if their departure from Aretu was delayed—"

"Yeah, I get it." He walked away from the console and crossed his arms, staring into space. Same damn stars that were here yesterday. "Let me ask you something."

"Of course, Nicholas."

"You saw what we’re up against. The war ships, their fire power." He turned back to face her. "This fleet..."

She tipped her head and smiled, her pale blue eyes brightening. "I would say that we have more than compensated for any contingencies. While the Sorracchi ships were sufficient in strength to immobilize Earth’s fighting force, they will not succeed as readily against the combined forces of Aretu and Raxo."

Nick winced. "I think that might have been an insult."

"No. In comparison to the Areth and Umani, Humans are so very young, Nicholas. It is said that our ancestors who came to Earth, loved your planet because you were so very new. You were just beginning your existence within the tapestry of the galaxy."

"Living in caves and grunting."

She smiled and walked to him. Nick tilted his head back to meet her gaze. "No. You were very much a developed race. You had language, religion and social structure. The pilgrims who found you wished to return to a simpler time, a time our people had left behind a long, long time ago."

Nick closed his eyes. His stomach burned and his temples throbbed, the strain of what felt like a lifetime taking its toll on his body. He swallowed hard before looking to Annora again.

"Do you pray, Annora?"

"I have prayed each day since your arrival on Raxo that all things will come to a peaceful end, and that our human cousins will be safe." She stepped closer to him, wrapping her insanely long, elegant fingers around his arm. "And since our abrupt departure from Earth, I have prayed for the safe and speedy return of your son."

Nick nodded, unsure he could trust his voice. He laid his palm against the observation screen, the surface cool to the touch. "I was never one for hard core religion," he finally said. "My mom was Baptist, my dad was the type of man who saw God in everything but a church. I guess I sided more with him. Right now, I’m hoping whatever Higher Power is listening will let that slide."

"We all pray to the same god, Nicholas, just by different names."

*****

"We have had some experience with the Sorracchi method of identity overwriting," explained Doctor Creda of the Areth physician’s contingency. She was a stately woman with rich, red hair that flowed down her back unhindered and green eyes. Lilly had thought, when she first met the Areth doctor that she could as easily have been from Dublin than the other side of the galaxy. "I have spent the last two days examining the Sorracchi you call Victor, and based on my findings and the details of his condition you’ve given me, I would like to propose a possible method of treatment."

Lilly’s eyes rounded and she leaned back in her chair. "Victor told us this was irreversible."

"Perhaps at one time it was, when the Sorracchi first came to your part of the galaxy. And I’m not convinced it’s a matter of inability to reverse the overwrite, as much as a matter of choice. The Sorracchi would not want the process reversed, and thus, they would not develop a means to do so."

Lilly nodded. "Why cure the common cold when you can make millions selling antihistamines." Creda tilted her head with a confused look. "That was the theory on Earth for years. A cure for the common cold was developed and available over fifty years ago, but the companies who made the drugs to treat the symptoms didn’t want the cure used. They stood to lose a lot of money."

"Yes, then I can see how you would compare it to this. But in their case, the Sorracchi developed no contingency at all. If the overwrite didn’t work, the subject simply died in the process."

"Victor had the theory that something went wrong during his last transfer."

"I agree." Creda paused, tapping her fingers on the table between them. "But I don’t think it’s the type of error you’ve assumed, and I suspect it’s not the first time it’s happened." 

"What is it, then?"

"I’d like to clarify some points with Victor, now that he’s awake. Do you think he’ll consent to speak with me?"

"Why wouldn’t he," Lilly asked as both women moved together to the back of the infirmary.

"My experience with the Sorracchi has led me to understand they don’t welcome Areth interference."

Lilly smiled. "Victor isn’t your run of the mill Sorracchi."

As they neared the back area of the Wurdvoller Fliiger’s infirmary, Lilly saw Beverly standing at the side of Victor’s bed, dressed now in her own clothing, holding Victor’s hand. Her smile was bright and genuine, and a small sense of normalcy spread in Lilly’s chest. Beverly belonged by Victor’s side, and their weeks apart had worn on her friend. She was glad to see them together, the way they should be.

Course, she acknowledged to herself that since Jace’s return, she wanted all the people she cared about to feel the same sense of completion she found again with her husband. It was corny, she knew, and poetically romantic, but it was the truth nonetheless.

Beverly looked up as they approached, and smiled. She pointed and Victor slowly rolled his head in the pillow. Dark bruises still mottled his skin, but the Areth physicians had been able to heal the worst of his injuries. Nonetheless, his experience left him drained. His eyes shifted to Creda, and Lilly caught the slight involuntary tensing around his eyes. Beverly immediately laid her hand on his shoulder and he raised his hand to cover hers.

"It’s good to see you among the living again, Victor," Lilly said.

"Thank you, Lilly." Despite the comforting, strengthening hand on his shoulder, Victor’s eyes shifted to Creda.

"This is Creda, she’s the head physician on the ship," Lilly explained. She walked to the side of the bed, keeping her expression calm. "Victor, she would like to ask you some questions."

He nodded his head, the only response he could give. Lilly noticed Beverly lean closer to him. She raised one hand to sign, the other remaining on him. "It fights him," she told Lilly. "Since he woke up, it has pushed for dominance. It knows where we are, and who we are with. Much like when he met John..."

Lilly translated for Creda, who nodded, staring at Victor.

"I don’t wish to make this difficult for you, Victor. You speak as if there is some other entity in existence within you. Is that how it is?"

Victor nodded, and spoke through his teeth when he answered. "Very much so, yes. Terrible things happen when my Demon takes control."

"How many times have you cloned this body?"

Victor’s expression drifted as he seemed to try to remember. "The memories of my past transfers are incomplete. I believe this is my eighth or ninth."

"Have you always had this problem?"

He winced. Shook his head, then seemed to change his mind. "I don’t know."

Creda nodded, turning to Lilly. "Am I to understand you have had direct dealings with Sorracchi? Other than Victor?"

"Yes, when I worked in a hospital."

"Do you believe Victor to be abnormal for a Sorracchi as they have presented themselves to the Earth."

"Absolutely," Lilly answered without hesitation.

"Victor, you told Doctor Quinn that you believed your most recent transfer malfunctioned somehow. That this entity you battle with is the human consciousness vying for dominance."

"It’s the only explanation I have."

"I don’t believe this to be true."

"What else could it be?" Beverly signed.

"The entity is the Sorracchi. With the violent and malicious nature of this other consciousness, and Victor’s desire to keep it suppressed, I believe the reverse has occurred. The transfer was a near-complete failure, and most likely has been in some capacity since your body was initially taken."

"Wouldn’t I have known?"

"I’m working purely on speculation for a portion of this theory, Victor. You’ve said you have little to no memory of your past. I hypothesize that the initial transfer of the Sorracchi consciousness was incomplete, though near complete. It allowed the small glimpse of your humanity to remain behind. Most likely dormant, and quite possibly so for more than one transfer. But with each transfer, the overwrite grew more and more incomplete. The error magnified."

A fine sheen of perspiration clung to Victor’s forehead and his legs shifted restlessly beneath the blankets. Lilly saw Beverly’s concentration increase, and knew the battle grew more difficult for him. She glanced at Creda, who seemed to notice as well.

"How could that happen?" he ground out. "I remember... I remember performing the procedure. I remember watching people die when it failed." His body shook and Beverly leaned closer to him, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

Creda watched, slowly nodding her head. "For that reason," she said, motioning between the two of them. "The very same reason that allows Beverly to soothe the beast. Answer me this, do you sense Beverly when she enters a room? Do you know where she is even if you can’t see her?"

His eyes darted to Beverly for a moment, and a small smile touched her lips. Victor nodded. "Yes."

"Your vibrant connection to Beverly is not a coincidence. And while it is heightened by the obvious affection you hold for each other, it comes from more than that. Victor, did you sense me before I reached the bed?"

"I sense everyone here." He swallowed hard, licking his lips. "Or, the thing does. It’s angry. Wants to lash out. Fight. Kill you all," he said, his lip curling as he said it.

"We have studied the Sorracchi’s cloning and transfer process since we became aware of it. We know for a fact that they have not attempted this practice using Areth hosts because the overwrite is unsuccessful with our race. There is a direct connection between our advanced mental capacities and their inability to complete the transfers. You are empathic, Beverly, and for this reason a personality overwrite would not work. Humans like Nick Tanner and Jace Quinn carry inherent and often latent mental abilities which would preclude them from being used."

Lilly stared at Creda, processing her words. "Jace? How do you know—"

"I knew when I met him. We gravitate to one another, even if one party is unaware. Victor, your human DNA carries this marker. However latent and minor it may be, it is there."

"This is very hard to comprehend." Victor rolled his head against the pillow. "I’ve accepted for so long that I am..." He trailed off.

"Why, tell me, would a human consciousness wish to kill a race it does not know? Why would a human consciousness wish to hurt other humans, as your entity did when it took control?" She shook her head. "It doesn’t, because you, Victor, are the human. You are not Sorracchi. Perhaps, many hundreds of years ago when your body was stolen, the Sorracchi held control. But now, it is the minority and you are the power."

Victor sucked a sharp breath, brilliant tears welling in his eyes. He swallowed, swallowed again, and closed his eyes. A single tear ran across his temple to his hair. When he opened his eyes again, he blinked hard and looked to Beverly. Her face was a mirror of wonder, and a slow smile tipped her lips. Lilly fought the wave of emotion that hit her unexpectedly. She reached out and laid her hand on Victor’s other shoulder, squeezing tightly.

"You said you thought you could help?" she asked, looking to Creda.

"Perhaps. Since we became aware of the Sorracchi practice of stealing physical hosts, we have worked to counteract the process. To successfully purge the human host of the Sorracchi invader." Her expression sobered. "We have met with no success; however, I believe it is because when the overwrite is complete, nothing remains of the original consciousness. This is the first time we have had a human host, in whom the original consciousness is obviously present. Prior to this, the Sorracchi have attempted to use a variety of sentient species with varying success."

"Are you saying you can take this demon from my mind?"

"I’m saying there is a chance. I cannot guarantee success. I can’t even guarantee you will survive. But, of all possible scenarios, yours is by far the one with greatest potential. If ever there was hope, you, Victor, carry it. If the extraction is successful, I believe you will return to a natural human state. You will age normally, feel normal, almost everything will be as if your body has been yours alone."

"What do we do?" he said without pause.

Beverly moved her hand to his cheek and he turned into her. She signed with her free hand, but he stilled it by pulling her palm to his chest.

"No, Cusbibil. I have no choice. No options. This will kill me in the end if I do nothing. At least, now, I might have a chance at freedom."

Beverly raised her chin and looked to Creda. She took her hand from his cheek to sign. "When can we begin?"

"I can be ready within the hour."

She leaned over and pressed a long, watery kiss to Victor’s cheek. With a nod to Creda, Lilly and the Areth doctor turned to leave them alone.

Chapter Eighteen

"Are you ready, Victor?"

He looked up to Doctor Creda, swallowing hard against the bitter taste of adrenaline in the back of his throat. The battle in his mind was fierce, with Beverly’s sweet touch the only thing that allowed him to maintain control. She sat beside him on the bed, firmly gripping his hand in both of hers.

Victor felt her fear. And he wished he could ease it. His relief was eminent, but in the relief came the uncertainty. He might die in the effort of relieving himself his burden. He could survive, and lose that part of him that she loved. Or, he could simply awake a free man. Free of darkness, free of the battle. Free to be human.

"Doctor, I have been ready for this my entire life."

Nick Tanner stood on Victor’s other side, ready to help him find his feet. Once Victor understood what had happened in Tennessee, and what brought them to the Areth ship, he had immediately asked about Michael. Beverly had reluctantly told him, and since then, the tight pressure in his chest made it hard to breathe. He had a different understanding for the hell Kathleen put Michael through, he had picked up the broken pieces too many times to count. He had treated Michael’s wounds and stood vigil until the worst past. The idea that she had him again made Victor ill.

With Beverly on one side, and Nick Tanner on the other, Victor slid from the bed and winced as his legs took his weight. He ached through every part of his body. The broken bones and wounds had healed, but the inner ache remained. No machine could remedy it, only time.

"Are you sure you don’t want us to transport you?" Lilly asked, her expression tight with concern. Ever the doctor...

"No."

He wanted to face his life — or death — on his own feet. After ten or twelve feet, he thanked God the walk wasn’t far. And realized with a grin that it was the first time he’d thanked God for anything. The Sorracchi had no god, no higher power, no greater being than themselves.

His chest seized when they entered the chamber Creda said they would use. A chair sat in the center, with no other equipment. The wide straps at the wrists and ankles broke a cold sweat over his skin and burning memories flashed in his mind.

"We have a forty-two percent success rate, but we assume that if the first generation is suitable, the clones will be suitable as well."

A woman lay naked on the metal table on the other side of the transparent observation window. The thick protective barrier muffled her cries, in one of the many dialects they had come to know, as she fought hard against the energy straps that held her limbs and torso. Terror rounded her eyes, making her appear wild and feral.

His own hand reached for the controls on the panel before him. Her screams were loud enough to reverberate through the window as she arched off the table; blue-white light encasing her entire head from a beam in the ceiling. Moments later, her body went limp, blood running in crimson trails from her eyes, nose and ears.

"Another failure. Bring in the next one."

Beverly’s hand pressed to his chest, and he panted through the nausea that slammed into him. "I’m fine, Cusbibil. Just ghosts of the past."

"I apologize for the barbaric appearance of the chair," Creda explained. "It is as much for your protection as ours."

"No need to apologize," Victor said as he sat on the edge of the seat, pausing to catch his breath. "If this is what I need to do, I willing accept any and all conditions."

Nick helped him slide back into the chair and two Areth attendants worked to buckle the straps at his feet. Before they tightened the wrist straps around his wrists, he asked if he could have a moment.

"Of course."

Victor reached out to Beverly and she quickly crossed the space to him, gripping his hand. He touched her face, and for the first time felt a wave of panic that he might never look into her eyes again. Not as he was, or ever.

She signed with shaking hands "I’m frightened."

"So am I," he said, smiling. "But, I have faith. Have faith with me." She nodded, tears slicking the contact between his hand and her cheek. "Kiss me before you go."

Beverly held his face in her hands and kissed him, her lips tainted with the salt of her tears. Victor closed his eyes, devouring the feel of her mouth; the heat, the taste, the touch. When her body shook too violently to maintain the contact, she pulled back and Victor stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"I love you."

She didn’t try to sign, but mouthed silently, "I love you."

Nick touched her elbow, and led her from the room. Victor kept his eyes on her until she disappeared, then closed them to hold on to the memory. As the final strap was tightened, he felt the familiar burn flow from the base of his skull and he bit his tongue to fight the vile words he knew would come. For the first time, he let the demon come. He gave control.

He wanted Tol’tan Ro Chanek of the Sorracchi to look into the face of death and know Victor brought him to it.

*****

CJ stood beside Beverly, her arms offering support to one of the strongest women she had ever known. But even the strongest heart can only take so much. For once, CJ was thankful Beverly couldn’t hear.

The string of obscenities and vicious threats the spewed from Victor’s mouth — even though they all knew it wasn’t him, but the Demon inside — made CJ cringe. He fought the restrains, slamming his already battered body in a violent attempt to be free, cursing them all.

Creda kept her gaze down, adjusting the machine to Victor’s specific biology. CJ saw the deep effect the Sorracchi within Victor had on her. She was of a highly advanced race, capable of medical treatments and scientific advancements the Human Race had only dreamed of before now. No one could say if they would have touched the stars by now if it hadn’t been for the Sorracchi. Either way, a new road had been paved.

"I’m ready to begin the process," she said, meeting Beverly’s gaze.

Beverly nodded, her hand reaching out blindly for contact. Without urging, those of Phoenix who had come together to hopefully witness a miracle, tightened their stance around Beverly. Lilly took one hand, and Nick took the other. Jace Quinn stood behind her and CJ, his hand on her shoulder.

Creda pressed a button, and a low hum built in the room beyond their view. White light flashed from a cylindrical apparatus descending from the wall above Victor. His demon continued his verbal attacks and his desperate attempts to be free. Then the white light expanded and tightened into a shaft of blue, enveloping Victor’s body.

Beverly tensed and CJ tightened her hold.

With one long, bloodcurdling scream, Victor fell silent.

The machine continued, and Creda watched every read out with careful detail. One screen registered two distinct lines, one red and one green. CJ had already surmised they were specific brain wave readings. Two lines indicated two identities. One line, one consciousness. Slowly, painfully slowly, the red line flattened, dropped below the green, and eventually fell from the screen.

Creda adjusted her settings and the light disappeared in a brief flash.

Victor sat motionless, his head tipped to the side, a fine trail of blood seeping from each nostril. Beverly broke away, her hands frantically signing.

"She wants in," CJ offered.

"Wait a moment, please." Creda spoke softly, reading her data as it scrolled across her monitor. She released a short breath and smiled, looking up. "His vital signs are strong and his brain activity is normal for his physical state."

Beverly signed again, her hands more urgent, and this time CJ didn’t offer a translation. Her desire was absolutely without question. Creda nodded to her attendant, who opened the chamber door. Beverly rushed to Victor’s side, her hands stroking his face and skimming over his chest. She turned back to them, panic twisting her features at the trails of blood and sallow paleness of his skin.

"When will we know for sure?"

"When he wakes up."

*****

Waking up ripped pain through him. Pain like nothing Michael had every experienced, and his experience with pain was extensive. Fire, acid, and arctic cold assaulted every nerve, every cell.

Each breath burned, scraping sand paper and rusted steel wool against the inside of his lungs, and his bones felt like they would snap under the pressure of gravity. Skin crackled, threatening to crumble away from his skeleton if he moved.

Michael swallowed, and the habitual act sent spirals of agony through him. He could be skinned alive and left to die in the New Mexico sun, and he wondered if his pain would be any less.

But today, he didn’t pray for death. He refused to give her the satisfaction. To seek an end was to give her the power. She had no power over him. No longer.

He closed his eyes, letting the blessed darkness wrap around him, and allowed his mind to float on the blissful pane of escape between dreams and reality where only memories existed.

"Go ahead and sit," Nick said, motioning to the chair after he set down their coffees. He pulled out his own chair and sat across from Michael.

Michael watched surreptitiously as Nick cut thin squares of butter and slid them between each pancake, flipping the pancakes around so the bottom one was on top when the butter on the very top began to melt. He mimicked each step, hoping he didn’t look the fool for not knowing how to eat a simple meal. With the butter spread, Nick picked up a small stainless steel decanter and poured thick, brown liquid over the stack until it ran over the edges and spread across the plate to partially coat the bacon strips. When finished, he set the decanter down and slid it across the tabletop toward Michael.

"Syrup is my favorite part," Nick said, grinning.

The sweet smell of the syrup mingled with the bacon and pancakes, only heightening the ache in Michael’s gut and he drained the last drops of syrup over his plate. As he finished, Nick picked up his fork and met Michael’s gaze over the table.

"Enjoy."

They both cut into the pancakes with the sides of their forks, and Michael speared it with the tines. As he shoved the mouthful past his lips, he couldn’t help the groan that escaped his throat. The blend of sweet syrup, rich butter and warm pancake melted on his tongue and slid down his throat with barely any effort, but the effect was intense and beyond anything his imagination could have conjured from reading a book. He cut another piece and ate again. Closing his eyes, he slowly chewed to allow each flavor to dance through his mouth.

Nick chuckled softly. "I can see mealtime with you is going to be interesting."

*****

"I’ve loved you since the day Kathleen told me she was pregnant," Nick said slowly, staring down at the utilitarian gray countertop. He turned his hands over and stared at his palms. "I used to put my hands on her stomach and feel you move. I’d push — just a little — and you’d push back. I loved you before you were ever born."

*****

The landscape was brilliant white, every branch and bush coated in a blanket of pure, glistening snow. Michael had tried to imagine many times what snow would look like, but nothing born of his imagination equaled the splendor of seeing it. It took his breath away.

Large, fat flakes fell straight down, quickly coating the leaves and foliage that covered the grass. The sky was gray with only small patches of blue peeking through the clouds. Michael stepped out, his sneakers crunching on the frozen earth, and he squinted against the brilliance of the sunlight reflecting off the snow cover. He held out his hands, palms up, tipping his face to the sky. A giddy sensation twirled in his chest, and as the flakes fell on his face and cooled his lips, he laughed out loud.

The door closed behind them and Michael jogged further into the white wilderness, Dog running beside him. With the ground covered, it was more difficult to find the path he had taken several days before, but he did and soon stood on the same hill he and Lilly had sat on to stare up at the night sky. The mountain range rolled out away from them, capped and frosted with white, the air thick with falling flakes.

He heard his father’s footsteps behind him, and turned to see, blinking against the flakes stuck to his lashes. "How strange it should be that this beautiful snow, should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go," he said, lifting his arms out. "I read Beautiful Snow when I was a child, and I never understood it. Now, I think I do."

Nick pushed his hands into his pockets, a fine dusting of snow gathering on his shoulders and in his hair. "I figured you’d enjoy this."

*****

"No, I can’t take it."

"Is there a reason you can’t?"

Jacqueline shrugged. "No reason, I guess." Together, they walked to the mess hall door and the nearest elevator. As the doors closed, Jacqueline leaned against the railing with the book held against her torso. "First, your shirt. Now, your book. What’s next, handsome?"

Michael studied her features and silently wondered what heritage gave her such richly toned skin and dark hair. She stared back, her lips tilting in a lop-sided smile.

"What do you need?" Michael finally asked.

Her smile widened, the dimples he had seen in the infirmary appearing again on each side of her lips. "Wow. Did someone teach you that or does it just come naturally?"

"I don’t know what you mean."

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Jacqueline brushed past him, her shoulder shifting the material of his shirt over his chest. "Sure you don’t," she said in a deep, soft voice that surprised Michael with the jolt that shot up his spine.

*****

"This one is from me," she said, handing him the largest package.

Michael took the gift, studying it before he tore at the edges. The book inside, with its bright red cover, was worn and well used, many of the pages dog-eared and marked. Michael set the paper aside and ran his fingers over the gold lettering on the cover; Dorland’s Illustrated Medical Dictionary.

"I used it in medical school," Caitlin explained. "And I’ve taken it with me for every position I’ve ever held. I know it’s beaten up, but I hope—"

"Thank you," he said, gently cutting her off.

CJ smiled. "You’re welcome."

*****

"Lilly," he said, his throat restricting around the words. "Meet your daughter."

Lilly gasped a soft sob as Michael laid the little girl on her chest. Tears rolled down Lilly’s cheeks and she pressed a kiss to the damp hair that curled in dark ringlets around her daughter’s head.

Caitlin sniffed, and Michael glanced to her to see the tears in her eyes.

"She’s beautiful," Lilly said through the small sobs that shook her. "Dear God, she’s beautiful." She looked towards the ceiling. "Jace, she’s beautiful."

"What’s her name?" Caitlin asked, her voice rough enough to draw Michael’s attention. He was glad she asked because he wasn’t sure sound could escape his lips.

"Jamie Elise Quinn." The baby finally quieted, resting her cheek on her mother’s chest as she drew a shaky sigh. "Jace loved the name Jamie."

Michael stroked his fingers over the downy hair that had already begun to dry and curl away from the little girl’s head in a fuzzy halo of dark curls. "Welcome to the world, Jamie."

*****

"Talk to me."

His gaze shifted to her again, and he blinked several times and parted his lips before actually saying a word. "I want to do something. But I don’t know if I can or if I should." He paused again, his eyes moving away from her to look out the window again. "If I have the right to ask."

"What is it?"

He looked at her again. "I want her."

CJ shook her head. "Who?"

"Amber’s baby. I want her. I want—" He stumbled over the words, stopping to clear his throat. "I want to care for her. I want to be her father."

"Wow," CJ managed to say after several moments. "You’ve really thought about this." "I have."

"Taking on a newborn... that’s no small task."

"I know. That’s why I’ll need you." Michael stopped rocking, his hand stilling on the baby’s back. "This decision affects both of us."

CJ looked at the sleeping baby in his arms. She moved away from the window to stand beside him, laying her hand across the little girl’s downy head. A shuddered breath shook her tiny body and her lips moved to suckle on a bottle that wasn’t there.

"You’re sure?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Well, then." I chuckled, wiping away a tear that slid down her cheek. "I guess I just became a grandmother."

*****

"Trust me, there is no doubt in my mind just how here you are. What I mean is..." Jacqueline’s hands rose to his shoulders, her fingertips touched the sides of his neck. "Am I alone with just how nuts it makes me to have you this close? Touching me?"

Michael swallowed, watching the small dimple that threatened to appear in her cheek each time her lips curled up in a smile. He compulsively tightened his hold on her, pulling her closer, and her eyelids slid heavily over her eyes.

"No," he finally managed to say through the desert in his throat.

"Are you planning on doing anything about it any time soon?"

He slid his hand along her spine, the hem of her sweater slipping up her stomach. Her back was bare to the base of her neck, and her muscles slowly rolled beneath his touch. She sighed, her head tipping back slightly and Michael watched, mesmerized. His blood hummed just beneath the surface of his skin, and the layers of clothing he wore in defense against the drafts and chill in the old building now smothered him.

Without making the conscious decision to do it, Michael leaned closer to her, speaking close to her cheek. "What do you want me to do?"

Her breath skimmed his cheek and her lips parted, dark eyes watching him. "That’s a loaded question."

"Tell me."

"Kissing me might be a good start."

*****

"We’ve completed a thorough search of the rebel’s base."

Kathleen didn’t look away from her monitor, staring with morbid fascination at Michael’s prone form. He hadn’t moved in two hours, hadn’t made a sound other than his steady, constant breathing. Not a whimper. Not a cry. Not a moan.

"Madam..."

"And?" she snapped.

"We found no indication of any form of technology that would have allowed their escape. The base was rudimentary at best, with portions completely without an energy source."

"And yet," she hissed through her clenched teeth before raising her head to glare at the Sorracchi messenger boy. "They not only managed to escape, but to take our soldiers with them."

He dropped his eyes, tucking his hands behind his back.

"Barnabas will not accept this pathetic excuse." Her anger was already piqued by Michael’s denial of her wishes. He refused to speak, and worse yet, he refused to beg. "I suggest you return to the surface and find something to satisfy him."

"Yes, Madam."

He left her alone again and she returned her focus to the monitor. Without shifting her gaze, she picked up the four-pronged device on the table. The blood on the tips had congealed and darkened almost black. She held it to her nose and inhaled, closing her eyes as the smell filled her senses. These human bodies had their benefits. Taste. Smell. It was so much greater in these gangly forms.

She tapped the monitor with the prongs. "Resist while you can."

Chapter Nineteen

One entire wall in the room given to Victor was a moving, interact landscape so real Beverly wanted to walk into it. Billowy clouds floated slowly by on a Robin’s Egg Blue sky and vibrant green grass waved in an untouchable breeze. Creda explained that ambient sound matched the scene. It helped space travels to feel less confined on long journeys.

She’d found herself lost in the detail more than once. Transfixed as the clouds rolled and churned, drifting out of sight. Once, she spotted the flutter of a bird in a bush and sat for half an hour as it built its nest, flying away and returning with bits of grass and larkspur. The scene never repeated, never looped.

It was amazing.

Even now, she found herself watching the sway of the grass. It mesmerized her, hypnotized her, and pulled heavily at her eyelids. She shifted in the oversized chair, resting her temple against her knuckles. If she let her mind go, she actually smelled the grass and the earth. Maybe it was her imagination, maybe it was another trick of the wall. Her thoughts drifted to the question Creda had asked her earlier in the day. A question that had since made her pause more than once.

"Have you ever been able to hear?"

She explained the details of her deafness; that she had been born that way. When drilled further, she had told Creda of her experience as a young girl when a device had been installed surgically to allow her to hear. It had failed after a few months, with no explanation. The speech synthesizer had been her form of communication for years, until that, too, failed.

Then... the hardest question of all.

"If you had the chance, would you want to?"

Beverly thought of the few months she had heard the world around her. Most of the sounds were a distant, faded memory. She still remembered the soft sound of her mother’s voice, which was why she chose the same voice for her synthesizer years later. She remembered the rough, deepness of her father’s laugh. The sound of coffee boiling in a pot, and the low hum of the air circulators in The Farm.

Beverly let her gaze drift from the hologram wall to Victor. Given the circumstances, and his excellent biological readings after the procedure, Lilly and CJ concurred with Creda that a private recovery room would be appropriate. He had been asleep for nearly twenty hours now, but Creda assured he needed the rest, nothing more.

She wondered what his voice sounded like. Was it deep and rough like her father’s? Did he speak with an accent? What did he sound like when he said her name? When he called her Cusbibil? What did that name sound like rolling from his tongue?

The need to be near him was suddenly undeniable. How had she been apart from him for so many months? She was a fool. And now, if Creda was right and all this time Victor’s battle had been his human soul fighting to stay whole... the possibility ate at her and made her heart ache. Beverly crossed the room and crawled onto the large bed, tucked her legs beside her to sit beside him still form.

He was on his back, his arms spread away from his body, his head turned on the pillow to face where she had sat. Beverly reached out and touched his forehead with her fingertips. His skin was warm, the bruises nearly gone. Several days’ worth of coarse stubble peppered his jaw, roughening his angular features. He still wore his black hair short, and ruffled in sleep, he reminded her of a child. Beverly smiled.

If he wasn’t ‘Victor’ when he woke up, she didn’t know if she could stand the heartbreak.

She ran her fingers along his cheek, enjoying the roughness of his whiskers. Beverly wondered what fingertips sounded like against the bristly texture. She brushed over the smooth, warm skin of his neck to rest her palm over his heart. The blanket covered him mid-chest and the thin material of his sleep shirt let her feet the steady beat. She closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythm.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Pleasant warmth spread through her at the reassuring cadence, and she smiled. How many nights had she slept with her cheek on his bare chest, just to feel the beat? His chest rose and fell beneath her hand with each breath he took. Life pulsed in him, through him, and through her.

Beverly opened her eyes and caught her breath. Victor’s intensely dark eyes watched her, unblinking and her fingers involuntarily curled against his chest. She wanted to sign, to ask him the ultimate question, but couldn’t bring herself to raise her hands. His hand slid over hers, holding her palm to his chest. Her body tinged as a familiar nudge danced on the edge of her mind. But it was different, very different.

It was calm.

Victor pushed himself up, his eyes still locked with hers. His lips parted, and she dropped her gaze, waiting for whatever he might say. But instead, his other hand hooked beneath her chin, raising her head again so she looked into his eyes.

Her insides shook, fluttered and raced all in the same moment making it hard to breathe or think. Beverly stared into him, seeking answers. Who was he? She didn’t recognize his eyes. Something was different, but she realized the unfamiliarity didn’t frighten her. His hand beneath her chin slid along her jaw to cup her cheek. His eyes drifted down to watch his own thumb run along her lower lip.

Her breath snapped in sharp, rapid bursts and she fought the urge to close her eyes. Her skin was alive. Her blood hummed in her veins. Victor laid his other hand on her cheek, cradling her face in his gentle touch and she could only wait.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he closed the space between them and pressed his closed lips against hers, holding her beneath the touch. She held her breath until her lungs burned, and sucked in air through her nose as his mouth opened and devoured her. Beverly felt the purr ripple up from the back of her throat, and she gripped his arms to hang on in a desperate attempt not to fly away.

In that moment, in that kiss, she knew.

Without a doubt, without question...

The man who kissed her was the man she loved.

He was Victor.

He shifted and was on his knees, easing her back onto the bed. With almost frantic need, his fingers worked at the buttons of the cotton-soft gown. Beverly tried to help, but the chaotic whirlwind of desire trapped her senses and she barely managed to find the hem of his sleep shirt, pushing it up his back. She gasped and closed her eyes when her palms found the glorious heat of his skin.

She’d missed his skin.

Victor supported his weight on one arm and tugged the shirt off over his head, his gaze burning her with its intensity. With it gone, he returned to the buttons and finally pushed the front of the gown open, revealing her breasts. Beverly gasped, throwing her head back into the mattress when his hot mouth covered her nipple.

If she was wrong, if this wasn’t Victor, she wasn’t sure she cared.

Colors swirled in her mind, sparking and mingling like oil pants in a kaleidoscope. Her hands moved of their own accord, knowing what she needed, seeking it out. His mouth branded her throat, her shoulders, her mouth as he kissed her until she couldn’t think. Insistent hands gripped her hips and she gasped as his body settled into the cradle of her thighs.

Victor pushed up on his elbows, his hands still touching her cheeks, stroking her hair as he hovered over her. Her eyes fluttered open, staring up at him as his breath warmed her face. His lips shined with the slick moisture of their kisses, his eyes bright.

"Do you know it’s me?" he asked.

She nodded within his touch, shifting beneath him to bring the humming heat of her need closer to him.

"Do you? Do you know?"

The brief flash of uncertainty interrupted the undulating arousal, and it took several deep breaths before she realized it was his confusion, and not hers she felt. Beverly nodded more vigorously, unwilling to take her hands from him to sign her affirmation. She slid her hands up his arms, reveling in the heat of his skin and the definition of his long, sinewy muscles, holding his face in her hands. Doing the only thing she could, she mouthed his name.

Victor.

Relief relaxed his features, and she sighed at the warm wave as it wiped out the confusion.

"Cusbibil..."

Her heart soared and she combed her fingers into his hair, bringing him to her for a deep, open-mouthed kiss. In the same moment their tongues connected, sliding along each other, he pushed himself into her. Firm. Intent. Breathtaking.

Victor threw his head back, his lips apart and his eyes closed, buried inside her. His hands curled beneath her shoulders, pulling her closer. He rocked his hips and Beverly nearly choked, the wave of emotions and sensations that flooded her. Hers. His. Theirs. Intrinsically intertwined.

His name repeated in her mind, again and again. Victor! Victor! Victor!

His eyes met hers, a fiery need burning behind them. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his body trembled as he made love to her with more intensity and need than they had ever shared. She clung to him, never wanting the swirling ride to end but unsure how long she could withstand the onslaught.

Yes, oh, yes... this was Victor. The man she loved.

Color and light flooded her mind as their shared orgasm rippled through her, and she clung on to him to keep from flying into space.

*****

Jackie ran her thirty-fourth lap around the docking bay — or, was it thirty-fifth? — and focused on the burn in her lungs and the pounding throb in her legs. She needed the pain to focus, to keep her going. One foot in front of the other.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

The alien equivalent to mechanics stopped watching her after she ran past them the fifth or sixth time, going about their business oblivious to the crazy human running herself into the ground.

If she didn’t, she’d hurt something. Or someone.

Four days. They’d left Earth four days ago. Four days that Michael was alone. Four days of God-knows-what.

Sweat ran in her eyes, making them burn. It had to be sweat because she was done crying. What the hell had he done to her? Where was the kickass-first-shoot-later soldier who never landed too long and never looked back? She needed that Jackie.

Nicole had been awake half the night, crying for a father no one could give her. Nick had paced, CJ had sang, and in the end the only way Nicole would sleep was on Jackie’s chest with her sitting up in one of the chairs. She’d woken with a stiff neck, a tightness in her back, and a peacefully slumbering baby in her arms.

With panic surging just under the surface of her skin, Jackie had handed the baby off as soon as possible and ran. Literally. She’d been running since.

Problem was, she had nowhere to run to.

Her legs threatened to liquefy from under her, and her stomach twisted painfully with the threat of being sick if she didn’t stop. She slowed her pace, half stumbling to hunch forward, her hands on her knees. Sucking in deep gulps of super-oxygenated ship air, she barely managed to keep herself from collapsing into a pile of bones and melted muscles.

"Here. Drink this before you dehydrate."

Jackie raised her head enough to see Jace Quinn through the sweaty bits of hair in her eyes. "Thanks," she gasped out taking the container of liquid from him. She couldn’t call it water, even though it was clear and odorless. Lifting the opening to her lips, Jackie swore it tasted like sunshine and wildflowers. It was cold and soothed the parched burning in her throat, spreading out into her limbs.

Draining half the bottle, she wiped the back of her hand across her lips. Her body screamed, and she knew she’d pay in the morning. Hell, she’d probably pay in a few hours. Jackie could almost hear Michael’s voice... You need to be still.

But, Michael wasn’t here.

She put her arm out to catch herself as she sank to the floor, twisting on her backside to support her spine against a bulkhead. With her legs bent, she rested her arms on her raised knees with the bottle dangling from her fingers. Every beat of her heart pounded in her ears, muffling sound, mingling with her ragged breaths.

Jace squatted beside her, watching her. "You gonna make it?"

Jackie nodded. "Sure. Just haven’t done this in awhile."

"You runnin’ to something? Or from it?"

"Does it matter?" she answered quickly. "Not gonna get there either way." She drank again, looking at Jace past the end of the bottle.

"Nick sent me to find you."

"What’s up?"

"Good news. We’ve received word from the armada."

Jackie sat forward. "And?"

"He said he’d fill us in on the bridge. He’s assembling the command staff." 

"Well, that’s not me," she said, pushing her hair out of her face.

Jace straightened, holding his hand out to her to haul her to her feet with a moan. Oh, yeah... she was so going to pay for this.

"I guess you are now."

*****

Victor stared at the long, slender device in his hand, studying it for switches or knobs. Anything that would tell him how it worked. "Did she give you a hint?"

Beverly grinned, the spark in her eyes enough to make Victor’s breath catch. She was beautiful when she was happy, and right now, she seemed to glow. "No," she signed. "She just said it was for your beard."

He stared at it again. "Maybe I should keep the whiskers."

She laid her hand on his cheek, his skin still damp from his shower. Beverly’s gaze shifted over his features, settling on his lips. He leaned forward to kiss her, loving the way she immediately shifted to him, letting him pull her close. Everything was different, even the arousal that surged through him the moment he opened his eyes and saw her beside him on the bed. It was pure, heavy and hot... and unhindered.

No darkness curled around the base of his skull, no cold malice edged at the corners of his consciousness. His blood didn’t boil. His mind didn’t tire under the strain of control. He felt light and grounded in the same heartbeat.

Dropping the alien razor into the basin, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her slight weight, edging her onto the counter. The long, cream-colored gown she wore whispered around her legs and he slid his hand beneath the hem, relishing in the smooth slide of silk over skin.

His mind barely registered the subtle whoosh of the outer door opening as Beverly’s hands slid over his shoulders and raked his hair.

"Victor?"

The obvious surprise in CJ’s voice made him smile against Beverly’s lips before he reluctantly pulled back. "CJ is here," he said, easing her down from the counter.

Linking his fingers through hers, they stepped together into the main room. CJ Montgomery stood by the door, her eyes on the empty bed. Although Creda had been there once, no one else knew he had woken up. Or that he was... him. CJ’s attention snapped to the two of them, and her blue eyes took him in carefully.

"Hello, CJ."

Her gaze shifted from Victor to Beverly, and back. A slow, sincere smile tipped her lips and she cried out, closing the space between them to embrace him. "It worked!" she declared. "Oh, my God, it worked!"

She pulled back, holding his face to stare into his eyes. Victor just stared back, and he felt the slight squeeze of Beverly’s fingers around his. CJ smiled wider.

"It really did work, didn’t it..."

"Yes. The Demon... the Sorracchi... is gone."

"And you’re you, really you. I mean, you were always you, but now..."

Victor nodded. "Yes. And more importantly, my memory is clear. It’s a strange thing, but I have several thousand years worth of memories in my head." A brief flash of grief hit him. Even though he knew it wasn’t he who committed the atrocities Victor remembered with sharp clarity, he couldn’t shake the guilt. Not yet. In time, perhaps. But not yet. He swallowed and tamped it down. There would be time for remorse and reconciliation later. "I remember things about the Sorracchi war ships that may be of use to us."

"Then, you’d better get dressed." She looked past him to Beverly. "I came looking for you. We’ve received communications from the Armada. Nick needs you on the bridge."

*****

"Found her."

Nick looked up from the Umani interface in his hand at the sound of Jace’s voice. He stood just inside the bridge, a sweaty and sticky-looking Jacqueline Anderson beside him. Nick arched an eyebrow.

"Hey, he’s the one who said you wanted me pronto," Jackie said, hitching a thumb toward Jace. "I’d been just as happy stopping off for a shower."

"Just... don’t stand too close."

Jackie laughed and took a drink from the bottle. She found a nearby empty chair and sank into it, swinging it back and forth with the tips of her toes pointed into the ground. Anyone under six feet tall looked like children in the proportioned Umani furniture. Nick looked to the door again when Caitlin and Beverly came in together, followed by Lilly. John Smith came in with Annora, his son Silas with him. Silas looked around the bridge with huge brown eyes, the whites showing all the way around the pupil in his amazement. The last few days had to be one hell of a shock to the kid. He was old enough to understand the difference between Humans and Aliens, Good and Bad.

Annora joined Nick from her station. "We’ve received a second transmission, Nicholas."

"And?"

"They’ve given a new rendezvous time."

Nick looked down at the information, smiling at his ability to actually read the thing. His Umani had gotten better in the last few weeks, at least in written form. A quick surge of excitement hit his chest, shored up by his resolution. Drawing a breath, he stepped down from the raised platform near the forward observation window and jointed the ragtag mix of humans and aliens that had become the driving force behind Phoenix. Yes, there were other bases still functioning — maybe, if the Sorracchi hadn’t destroyed them all in the last four days — but this, right here, was the group that would win it.

It wasn’t conceit or arrogance. It was fact.

"Four days ago, when we stopped in this spot, we sent out a string of messages back along the travel route from Aretu," he said, quickly recapping. "We’ve been sending them non-stop since in hopes of letting them know what happened, and getting their collective asses here faster." He glanced at Annora and gave an apologetic smirk. "Sorry."

She just smiled. It took Annora awhile to get his particular strain of humor, but for the most part either she laughed or let his comments go, no longer asking for explanations. "Today, we got a response. They’ll be here this time tomorrow."

Jace ‘whooped’ and wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulder. The others had their own ways of taking the news. Nick met Caitlin’s eyes and she smiled. In that simple smile he saw everything. Hope. Happiness. Relief.

"Then," he continued. "We hot foot it back to earth and take it back."

From the back of the crowd came a new voice. "I think I can help you with that."

Heads snapped around, except for Caitlin who didn’t seem the least bit surprised. She looked back to Nick again, and winked. Victor stepped forward, looking amazingly composed and well. He crossed to Nick and held out his hand. Nick took it in a firm shake. "Let me tell you about their propulsion system," he began.

Chapter Twenty

"Do you know what today is?"

Michael looked up from rocking Nicole as Caitlin came down the stairs. He had just stoked the fire in the small, black potbelly stove in the corner of their sitting room and the heavy, thick heat saturated the air. The smell of burning pine and dried leaves tickled his nose, but he loved the scent.

Nicole nuzzled her face into his shoulder, her tiny head bouncing as she tried to build up her strength enough to hold her head up. Her check stilled on his shirt, and her eyes slipped closed. Seconds later, they opened again. She fought sleep tonight, not wanting to miss anything.

"Wednesday," he answered.

Caitlin sat in the corner of the couch, her stocking feet tucked beneath her. "Yes, smartie," she said with a grin. "But, it’s something else."

"Hmmm." He pretended ignorance. "It’s not your birthday."

"No."

"It’s not my birthday." He rubbed his hand on Nicole’s back and a sleepy shudder moved through her. She was almost there. Almost asleep. "Was today my day to clean the infirmary? I’m sorry."

Caitlin grinned, threatening to toss a pillow at him, but she stopped when he pointed at Nicole with a ‘hey, I’ve got the baby’ look. She tucked the pillow behind her again. "You do know you inherited your smart ass tendencies from your father."

"Among other things."

"Yes, among other things. Come on. You know."

Michael smiled and nodded. "Yes. December 25th."

Their first Christmas together had been bittersweet. He had only been free a matter of weeks, and his father was gone. Caitlin had done her best to make it a nice day. Christmas was no longer openly celebrated or acknowledged by ninety percent of the world, and Michael only had third hand knowledge of what it was, and what it meant. The Sorracchi, under the guise of friendship, had convinced the world government that such holidays were trivial, foolish and unbecoming a race destined for greatness.

Many things had changed in twelve months, many hadn’t. Nick Tanner was still gone. But, they were alive and they now had Nicole.

"Well, I didn’t have time to go shopping," Caitlin said with a smirk. "But, I did manage to make this. Manage being a lose definition."

She moved off the couch and dug out a bag from beneath. As Michael continued to rock, she produced a crochet afghan, a mottled combination of colors made from remnants of yarn she must have found. The stitch was uneven in places and one end was slightly wider than the other, with some resemblance of a zigzag pattern tying it all together.

"It’s...rough," she began.

"It’s wonderful."

Caitlin draped the blanket over Nicole, tucking it in around her sides. Michael pulled his hand free to lay it on top of the soft knot. He reached out with his free hand and squeezed Caitlin’s. "Thank you."

She leaned over to press a kiss to Nicole’s head, then to Michael’s.

"Merry Christmas."

*****

Kathleen screamed in rage, throwing her latest implementation of pleasure across the lab. It hit the far wall and shattered, falling in whirling chunks on the floor. Residual energy sparked between the bits before it flashed and died.

"Damn you!" she shouted, leaning over Michael’s bloody and battered form. "Tell me! Tell me!"

She grabbed a fistful of his sweat-damp hair and yanked his head around so he looked into her face. His eyes were swollen and half-open, his lips cracked and bleeding. She had severely underestimated his resolve. Michael had always been willful, even if passively so. He treaded carefully, but never cowered. But this Michael... this Michael openly defied her. Cursed her. Spat in her face. And refused to give her what she wanted.

Nicholas Tanner.

There was no doubt in her mind that Nicholas was behind the invasion into the Alliance facility in New Mexico. That he spearheaded the skirmishes and uprisings all over the globe. Oh, maybe not every one of them, but he was involved.

He’d made a fool of her. Made her look bad to Barnabas. And a Sorracchi couldn’t afford to look bad to her supreme ruler. Bad things happened.

She was a fan of bad things, just not when they involved her.

Frame by frame the security tapes that weren’t destroyed in the New Mexico explosions were examined for any hint that would let them find the perpetrators.

They hadn’t led to a location, but they gave Kathleen a face.

Nicholas Tanner.

For twenty-five years, she had looked at the human child she had been forced to produce. The defilement of her body manifested. As he grew older, she saw his father in him more and more each day. Now, he looked like the man she had married... the man she had swallowed her pride for and allowed the degradation of her body.

And the man who sparked humanity in her.

A sin she hated him for to this day.

She had practiced her roll, studied human nature, convinced the thickheaded male to do just as she wished. She’d allowed his hands on her, his penis entry into her pure body, and with the advanced technology of her people, she had forced a pregnancy from a supposedly barren clone form. She’d taken the part to the end, allowing that body to die to hide the truth.

But not before he had made her feel.

Damn him!

"Where is he?" she demanded again, slamming Michael’s head into the uncushioned chair back. "Give me his life for yours!"

Michael’s lips moved, slowly at first, the sound barely a breath. Kathleen froze, holding her breath. Her heart pounded and she leaned closer, anticipation firing her blood that she might finally have what she wanted.

She set her ear near his lips, listening intently.

"Hark, the herald angels sing." His voice cracked, drifting away. "Glory to the newborn king. Peace on Earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled"

Kathleen jerked back, enraged by the taunting smile on his face. His eyes looked through her, to some other time and place.

"Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies..."

She screamed again, and left him strapped to the chair.

*****

"The controls are delicate," Nick explained, speaking into the tiny microphone that curled along his left cheek, tucked close to the corner of his lips.

"What controls?" came Jace’s voice through this helmet.

Nick chuckled. "Everything is controlled by touch and thought."

"Like... telepathically? How the hell are we supposed to fly them?"

"Trust the Force, young Anakin."

Jace’s laughter filtered through the helmet. "Okay. Tell me what to do." There was a pause. "I’m not calling you Obi Wan."

"Deal."

Nick wished the Areth fighters were equipped to carry two people, but since they weren’t, he had to settle for remote instructions. He still resented that he couldn’t fly the sleek, black Umani crafts. They were amazing and beautiful. But the Areth were giants and Nick felt like a kid sitting in the cockpit of his father’s F-15 Eagle the first time he climbed into one.

The Areth fighters weren’t as sexy, but they did the job. They were fast and maneuverable, and loaded with more firepower than a squad of X-Wing fighters.

"Okay, the two bars in front of you are the controls."

"Which is which?"

"Whatever you want them to be."

"You’re not making a lick of sense. You sure you didn’t fry your brain with all that wormhole hopping, old man?"

"Just... put your hands on the bars." He paused, giving Jace time. He glanced sideways through the dome of the ship to the one Jace sat in. From the outside, the glass was opaque, not allowing an enemy to see the pilot. But, from the inside, it was crystal clear. "Now, think ignition."

Two seconds later, the cool-propulsion engines flashed to life.

"Woooohoooooo!" Jace hollered, and Nick flinched, the yell echoing in his head. "Hot damn!"

"Think you can ease that baby out of the bay?"

"Old man, if you can fly this bird, I can fly this bird."

"Cocky goober," Nick mumbled and ignited his own engines. His ship slowly lifted off the floor and he waited until the space lock light switched from red to green, allowing one-way travel. "Keep your nose out of my after burn."

He shot into the black sky. It was time to show Jace just what Top Gun meant.

*****

Jackie had never been a patient person.

When she was a child, she’d beg and harass her mother to know when her father would come home. Which wasn’t often. Paul Anderson was a wanted man by the Sorracchi. Course, back then they had been the Areth. He’d pissed off one too many people, and Barnabas wanted to use his hide as a rug.

She remembered very little of living in Costa Rica, only the sun and the heat and the waiting. Waiting for Daddy to come home.

Then her mother died, and Daddy did come home. He bundled her into his arms and skirted her off. At twelve, she joined her father on the run. She didn’t care. She was with Daddy, and wherever he was, that’s where she wanted to be.

They hoped from Phoenix base to Phoenix base, and eventually, he left her behind more and more while he went off to do whatever he thought he needed to do. She cared for herself on her own by the time she was fifteen. She could disassemble, clean, reassemble and fire — on mark — a pulse pistol at sixteen. At seventeen, she could put men with six inches and fifty pounds on her flat on their backs, with little or no effort. She could hot-jump anything with an engine, and leave dust in her wake. Still, when Daddy came home, her heart jumped and she forgot about the lonely nights crying for him.

When she was eighteen, he came home for good. In a box. They’d finally caught up with him. She didn’t cry at his graveside. She didn’t cry when General Castleton told her what a good man her father was, and how much he’d done for the rebellion. She said thank you when he told her she’d always have a home with Phoenix. She didn’t cry... ever.

Then she met a man with eyes that saw straight into her soul every time he looked at her. A man who never lied to her. A man who gave her anything she needed, without question. A man who trusted her. A man she could trust.

Somewhere along the line, he took her heart and she gave him her soul.

And she cried.

If this was love, the universe could keep it.

Jackie sat on the floor of the suite she shared with Nick and CJ, holding Nicole Tanner to her chest, rocking back and forth, crying until her throat was raw and her tears were dry. Still, the sobs tore through her. Nicole’s own wails mixed with hers and they both cried. Cried for something they couldn’t have. Cried for someone they both missed.

She didn’t hear the door open, her entire body tensing when a gentle hand touched her shoulder. Jackie looked up to CJ, who seemed sometimes to be so much older and wiser than she was, even though Jackie knew they were the same age. Her breath hitched and she tried to breathe, but couldn’t.

CJ knelt beside her, her expression tight with blatant concern. "Dear God, Jackie. What’s wrong?"

"She wants her daddy," she managed to choke out. Jackie continued to rock, nestling Nicole in the bend of her shoulder, her own tears dampening the baby’s hair. Nicole’s tiny fists flailed, gripping and tugging at Jackie’s hair. "She just wants her daddy."

"Okay," CJ said softly. "Let me take her."

Jackie shook her head. "I’m going to kill that bitch," she ground out through clenched teeth. "I swear to God, I’m going to kill her."

CJ looked past Jackie, and she realized Nick had to be in the room as well. CJ tried again to take Nicole, but Jackie couldn’t force herself to let go. She folded her body into her raised knees, holding Nicole in the space between. Rocking on her tailbone, she choked back the terror ripping through her.

Terror that she wouldn’t be on time. That none of them would be on time.

CJ’s hands stroked her back, but she didn’t hear the words she said. With a deep, hiccupped sigh, Nicole’s crying eased away. Jackie continued to rock, her eyes closed and her face buried into the rough-hewn afghan she’d wrapped the baby in.

She felt the warmth of another body behind her, and didn’t fight when two strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Jackie leaned into Nick Tanner, and this time when CJ reached for Nicole, she gave her up. She was too tired to do anything else. But she couldn’t meet CJ’s eyes, couldn’t look over her shoulder to Nick.

This wasn’t her. Never had been. Jacqueline Anderson was strong. She didn’t need anyone. She didn’t cry over anyone. She wasn’t weak. She kicked ass. That’s what she did. "Do you know what he called you?" Nick asked.

Her temple rested against his shoulder, her back to his side. Jackie shook her head, sucking in a deep breath.

"My Jacqueline."

She closed her eyes and swallowed.

"He’s my son, but I know very little about him." The heaviness in his voice was tangible, sitting on her shoulders. "I’ve had less than a month with him. But, Caitlin has told me we’re a lot alike. Stubborn."

She grinned.

"Bull-headed."

She nodded and sniffed.

"Irresistible good looks."

Jackie almost snorted.

"She said something about genius, but I think she was just talking about him."

She heard the smile in his voice and some of the sick tension in her gut eased. She ran her hand across her nose. His arm tightened across the front of her shoulders, hugging her closer, his chin resting on top of her head. They sat on the floor for a long time. Jackie listened as CJ put Nicole down to sleep the rest of the night, feeling guilty that she hadn’t done it herself. She wondered if she’d ever get it. If she should.

"We’re meeting tomorrow morning to prepare for the Armada’s arrival. I want you there. You’ve got practical experience I need." He paused. "And you want to kick their collective asses as much as I do."

"Damn straight." Her strength was back. So was her resolve.

Chapter Twenty-One

"With her original lab destroyed, I’d bet money she retreated to one of the war ships. She had a secondary lab there."

"Do you know which one?" Nick asked.

Victor looked down, wincing in thought. "Two of the ships are larger than the third. They’re the main force. They have the most weaponry and defenses. Most of the death gliders that aren’t on the surface will be on them. The third ship is a scientific ship, and it’s also where Barnabas lives. He refused to stay on the surface, even though most leaders of the world thought he did."

"Scientific. So, that’s more likely where Kathleen is."

"Tosk Rak’blon."

"Excuse me?"

"That’s her true name. The Sorracchi that inhabits the human form."

Nick nodded. "I’m not going to remember that. Let’s just go with The Bitch." Jace snorted a laugh, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

The new command structure for Phoenix, and the assault on the Sorracchi, sat around an oblong table in the Ready Room aboard the Grande Excelsior, the flagship for the combined Areth-Umani fleet. Nick sat at the head, with Beverly to his right and Commander Brone of the Areth fleet on his left. Running along the table beside Beverly were the men and women who stood with Nick and Beverly, deciding the fate of the battle. Jace and Lilly Quinn, Caitlin, Jacqueline and Victor. Various high members of the Areth and Umani military spanned the other side. Most of the military personnel spoke close enough to English that they could communicate without the encumbrance of interpreters.

Nick had hoped one other person might be at the table; Captain Damian Ali. After the successful extraction procedure with Victor, Nick had hoped they could do the same for Damian. Creda had concerns because the overwrite had progressed further with Damian, although it also was not complete. She had performed the process, and now they waited to determine the result. Perhaps, after the Earth was theirs again, Damian could step. For now, his spot remained empty.

"We know that the Sorracchi ships are no match for the armada, so this should be a quick smack down. The goal is to lose as few lives as possible."

"Have we made contact with anyone on the surface?" Jace asked.

"We’ve spoke with a total of fifteen base commanders, and they’re aware of our timetable. Our surface resources are limited, but they’re going to put in the air every glider they can get their hands on. At the appointed time, any base contingent within attack range of a known Sorracchi stronghold will go in, guns blazing. We’ll take down the war ships, and hopefully get full scale surrender."

"Do we really believe it’s going to be that easy?" Caitlin asked.

"War is never that easy. And that’s what we have here, folks. A war."

They spent the next five hours formulating attack plans, and contingencies to the plans, and contingencies for those plans. Everything had to be taken into consideration. Every trick the Sorracchi might pull. Every attack they might throw at the fleet. Having Victor’s latent knowledge proved to be a valuable resource. His Sorracchi had been more a scientist than a military strategist, but he lived on the ships and amongst the workings for hundreds upon hundreds of years. Every piece of information he provided was an asset.

Knowledge is power.

And so are big honkin’ space guns.

"Okay. So, tomorrow morning, when this shindig gets underway, the Earth is going to be on the other side of the sun. We’ll burst in, using the sun’s interference to buy us a few precious moments, and we go in one-hundred-percent offense. Don’t give them a chance to react. We disable the ships, ground the small Death Bringers, and send out our own ships. The Umani and Areth pilots will back up the surface attacks, and make sure nothing else gets in the air."

Everyone nodded their agreement. Nick caught Jackie’s intent gaze on him, waiting. He did his best not to smirk. Yeah, he liked her. Kick-ass-ask-questions-later.

"I’m taking one of the armed transports to the science ship. Jackie and me. Jace, I want you on my six. You pick your squadron. You get me in, and when it’s time, you cover us coming out. Understood?"

"You know it."

Nick caught Lilly’s quick slide of her hand across the table to grip her husband’s hand. He couldn’t fault Lilly her fear. The last time Jace flew into a battle, he didn’t come home. Not when he should have. And not whole.

He didn’t want to think about all the men and women who wouldn’t be coming home from the battle tomorrow. It was a small consolation that they would, at least, die fighting and not because the Sorracchi Death Bringers sucked their life away for no good reason. Nick also knew it was selfish to hope he wouldn’t lose anyone close to him. It seemed like an impossible prayer, but he prayed it all the same.

After hours of planning, they finally decided no more could be done but to do it. "Everyone get a good night’s rest. And as far as I’m concerned, none of us are wearing red shirts tomorrow. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" Jace snapped off a salute.

"Damn straight."

*****

Jackie shifted Nicole in her lap so the baby sat in the valley of her crossed legs, her tiny back supported by Jackie’s stomach. The small enclave she found was deserted, the lights dimmed to simulate late night. But she was too anxious to sleep, she decided that she and Nicole would go for a walk when Nicole woke up.

From the observation window, she saw a good third of the fleet that would storm on Earth in a few hours. It was damn impressive looking. She’d be shaking in her boots if she were a Sorracchi, that’s for sure.

Good. Damn bastards.

"We’re going to bring your daddy home tomorrow, Nicki," she said softly. "I promised you I would." She picked the baby up to look into her bright eyes. Jackie grinned at how wide and aware Nicole was for this time of night. She so wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon. "He’s going to be so happy to see you."

Nicole’s face lit up with a wide, toothless grin and Jackie wondered just how much the little girl understood. She understood she wanted her father, and she understood he wasn’t there. Jackie supposed that was enough.

"You and I need to have a little talk."

At one time, she probably would have thought it crazy to sit in an empty room in and have a conversation with a four-month-old baby. Of course, at one time, she never would have put herself in this position. She laid Nicole down on the floor in front of her on the blanket she had brought alone. Nicole immediately started kicking her legs and pumping her arms in what Jackie called Super Baby Aerobics. Jackie laughed, tugging her sleeping gown down around her feet to keep them warm.

"I’m wondering your opinion on something." Jackie held a small stuff toy that looked kinda like a dog, but she wasn’t sure. Could have been a donkey. "How would you feel about me being... well, around more. Like, maybe permanently? Not that I’m saying I will be. Maybe I won’t. But, I could be and—"

She stopped short and huffed. For God’s sake, she was stuttering like a five-year-old who got caught stealing cookies.

Nicole kicked harder, her feet bouncing off Jackie’s folded legs.

"I don’t get the impression you hate me, which is good." She’d gone this far, might as well keep going. "I’m just not real good at this, you know?"

Nicole wasn’t talking so Jackie looked out the window, watching the subtle shift of the other ships as they adjusted in their proximity to each other. One thing Jackie had never done, that she wished she had, was learn to fly. She always wondered what it felt like to control the raw power necessary to break the atmosphere and surf a wormhole. This was her first trip into space, and even though she has stared into the vast blackness, it hadn’t really sunk in. Not until she saw the alien fleet surrounding the Grande Excelsior.

She was in frickin’ space!

"Holy crap," she muttered, smiling. She looked down at Nicole, whose eyes drifted slowly open and closed. "Is that okay to say around babies?"

Jackie scooted backwards so she could unfold her legs and stand without disturbing Nicole. Folding the blanket around the little girl, she picked her up and laid her against her shoulder. A small shudder moved through the tiny body and her head settled easily beneath Jackie’s chin.

She turned to leave the alcove, then looked back out the window into space. "I’ll see you tomorrow, handsome."

*****

Michael blinked against the bright flash of light that flooded his cell, shielding his eyes behind his arm. It had taken him an hour to shift from lying on the cold floor to sitting up with his back to the wall. If they wanted him to walk, this time they would have to carry him. His body was drained, spent and depleted.

But no guards filled the doorway. Just her. He knew it was her even before his eyes adjusted. The crawl under his skin and the flash of cold at the base of his skull told him so. Michael wondered what she would think of his awareness, whether it would enrage her the way his telekinesis did. She’d blocked that, somehow. More drugs and procedures would just muddle his brain, and he couldn’t afford it.

"I’ve taken you to the edge of your life." Her voice was cold, emotionless, but he felt the rage splinter around her. "I’ve demanded you speak, and you’ve denied me." 

"Did you expect anything else?"

"Your insolence wears thin on my patience. Where is the good son who did as his mother told him?"

"He died. In New Mexico. The day my father found me."

Her sharp hiss pleased him, but he hid his smile. Once, that sound would have filled him with terror. But no more.

Michael refused to give her the power.

Not now. Not ever again.

He wasn’t a whole man. He wasn’t the man he wanted to be. But he was more than the lifeless shell she created.

"What do you want, Mother."

On his tongue, the name was a curse. Caitlin was his mother, and when he spoke of her, a warmth and peace stayed in his chest. This mother... she was the antithesis of mother, and to call her one was an insult.

"I want you to tell me where you’ve been. I want you to tell me where these rebel humans are that took you away from me." She stepped into the room, the light shifting to bring her face into focus. "I want you to tell me where he is."

"It must have made your skin crawl," he said, keeping his voice level. "To let him touch you. To let him love you the way a man loves a woman. He told me..." Michael felt the catch and stopped speaking before she heard it. He swallowed, and pushed down the emotion. "He told me how he touched you when you carried me in your womb. You must have wanted to push him away. Did it make you sick?"

She didn’t answer.

"It must be revolting to wear the skin of a species you despise so much. The face of your enemy. I wondered at first why you would chose to take the name of your enemy race. Why you would steal the husks of their descendents. But I know, and the irony is..." He did smile then, blinking up at her. "Brilliant."

"You walk a dangerous line, Michael. You know what I can do when I’m angry."

"Yes, I do. And, whether it happens today or it happens next week, you will do what you want no matter the reason or the excuse. So, this is what I think." He continued on, unabated. "I think the Sorracchi — Did you know we knew your real name? — The Sorracchi were humiliated when they lost to the Umani and the Areth. You slithered, or crawled or hopped or whatever it is your decaying, mutated bodies did to lick your wounds. You found us. At first, you saw the irony in taking the bodies of a race that looked so much like your enemy. It was a slap in the face, of course, they never knew. But then, things went wrong. And you had to come back. If you’re going to insult the Areth, why not do it using their own name?"

"I always knew you were clever, Michael."

"I get that from my father."

She crossed the room in two long strides, and slapped the back of her hand across his face. Michael’s head snapped, but he didn’t flinch. He slowly turned back and smiled up at her.

"What will we do today? Rewrite my genetic makeup? Rearrange my cells on a molecular level? Strain my body for imperfections? It’s all useless experimentation. None of it works. You know it." Michael braced his hands against the wall and with Herculean effort, pushed himself to his feet. His body swayed, but he used the cold steel wall to keep him upright. His legs screamed under the effort of holding his weight.

He felt the tingle skirt around his skull and the familiar throb in his temples. Whatever neural block she had filled him with was wearing away. If he could keep her angry, keep her unfocused, she might forget long enough... just long enough...

"You’re a failure," he ground out through clenched teeth, bracing himself against the pain. "You’re a failure and you’ve known it since the day I was born."

Michael met her hard, cold, infuriated gaze and thankfully saw nothing of himself there. Even though the woman whose body she stole had died hundreds of years before, he wanted no part of her.

"Tell me where he is, and I will spare your life."

"No, you won’t. You know it. I know it. I’m as good as dead." He leaned forward, his hand still on the wall. "But, so are you."

Her eyes rounded and she whipped around on the balls of her feet, storming from the room. As soon as she was gone from sight, Michael collapsed against the wall and let his body weight pull him down to the floor. Exhaustion seized him almost immediately and he closed his eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Okay, ladies, lets rock and roll. Be in your fighters and ready to burn the second we drop out of the wormhole!" Nick’s voice carried through the Grande Excelsior’s docking bay. He gave his sidearm one last check before slapping it against the strap free holster on his thigh. It wasn’t his Glock 100, but Earth weapons were at a premium and he lost his personal weapon in the Tennessee attack.

Didn’t matter, really. If it blew things up, it worked for him.

Humans, Umani and Areth alike disbursed and headed for their respective ships. Nick’s ship, which looked like a railcar with wings and lots of guns, sat at the ready. Jackie stood by the open ramp door, helmet tucked under her arm, ready to go.

"Nicky."

He turned around to face Caitlin, who stood out of the way with her hands clenched in front of her. Nick immediately strode to her, and without a word, wrapped her in his embrace. He held her, absorbing from her something intangible and nameless, but real and necessary. When he pulled back, he laid his hands on her cheeks and kissed her.

"I’ll see you soon."

She nodded in the hold of his hands. "I hate this. I hate just sitting here. Waiting."

"I know you do. But, this fight is in the air and on the ground, and since you can’t be in either place when it starts—"

"I know. I just hate it."

He kissed her again. "I’ll be back. And I’ll have Michael with me."

"I know you will."

"I love you." With that final promise, he let her go and jogged across the bay, sliding his helmet over his head as he went. "Ready to dance?" he asked when he reached Jackie. She smiled before sliding her helmet on. "I thought you’d never ask."

They took their pilot/co-pilot seats inside the shuttle, even though Jackie would have no control on the craft. All the flying was on him. She got to play with the guns. Lucky girl.

His helmet radio crackled. "Nicholas, we will be dropping from wormhole flight in forty-five seconds."

"Understood, Annora."

"Good luck and Godspeed."

Nick scanned the inside console, tugging his flight gloves into place. "Do me a favor, Jackie."

"Sure thing."

"Don’t do anything stupid to get yourself hurt. I have a feeling Michael would really hate that."

Her chuckle sounded softly in his ear. "You do the same."

Nick held his hand out, palm up. He caught the glimpse of her smile within the clear visor of her helmet. She slapped his gloved hand with her own and they gave each other the universal ‘thumbs up’ sign.

"Here we go," he said, feeling the subtle shift in the space around them. The wormhole disengaged and the Earth loomed in front of the ship, gigantic and blue.

"Holy crap," Jackie mumbled.

"She’s a sight to behold." He gripped the controls and took a quick, fortifying breath. The space lock disengaged and the engines swelled to life. "Time to rock and roll." They shot into space.

*****

"I’m extremely disappointed in the lack of results from your interrogations."

Kathleen bowed her head, the sign of submission grating on her but she dared not do anything but submit. Barnabas stood with his back to her, staring through the small observation window in his chamber to the atmosphere of the Earth below.

"I am sorry. He is strong willed and resistant to my methods."

"I thought you said you could control this human?"

"I could. I can. Given time."

"See to it."

"Of course."

She turned to leave, his silence her dismissal. With a jolt and a shudder, the ship shook violently and she lunged for a nearby wall to stay on her feet. Barnabas’ long, loud curse in their native tongue had her attention snap to the window as soon as she could stand. The Earth below was blocked almost completely by dozens — no, more than a hundred — ships. Her heart jumped into her throat.

"Those are Umani ships."

"And Areth," Barnabas hissed. He slapped his hand against the communications box on the wall. "Emergency Protocol One! Repeat! Emergency Protocol One!"

The ship shook again, and Kathleen stumbled the length of the room to the door.

*****

Jace hugged the atmosphere, loving the rush of vibration as his craft skimmed the invisible surface. Nick’s ship was in his sights, banked on all sides by Jace’s squad. The three Sorracchi war ships loomed in front of them, taking hard and rapid fire from the Grand Excelsior and its fleet.

A rush of adrenaline raced in his blood. Whether it was the fight, or the flight, he didn’t know but he didn’t care. He loved this, could have lived for it before Lilly.

"We’ve got your six, Zeus," he radioed, scanning the sky. "Feel free to pick up your package any time."

"Roger, Anakin. We’ll be back."

"Affirmative. Red Squadron Two, close ranks and offer escort."

The shuttle dodged several volleys of fire, and Jace had to admit to himself that he was still amazed at Nick Tanner’s flying ability. Jace was good. He knew he was good. But Nick was in a league of good all his own. He watched until Nick’s shuttle slipped into the back service dock, where Victor suggested they attempt infiltration, and banked hard to the left when Nick’s burners disappeared.

"Let’s show these punks how to fly!"

*****

Sorracchi pulse blasts reflected off the ion shield of the shuttle, making everything hum and vibrate it the wake. Jackie leveled the onboard weapons and fired, encasing the attacking Sorracchi in balls of blue-white light. They jerked, spasmed and fell to the floor in glowing lumps.

"Very cool."

"Let’s get out of this tin can before more show up," Nick ordered, swinging his chair around to sprint toward the slowly lowering exit ramp. "You got the directions?" 

"Yes, sweetheart," Jackie said with a grin.

Nick glanced back at her and smiled. He pulled off his helmet and tossed it on a nearby seat, and Jackie’s bounced off it with a resounding thud. They took up positions on each side of the open ramp, their backs to the interior walls, weapons raised. Nick slowly edged his head around, taking in the situation. One advancing Sorracchi caught his eye and he fired, dropping the guard to the floor.

With a motion of his hand, he told her to follow. They ran down the ramp and to the nearest access hall. He motioned for Jackie to stand beside him, close to the wall, and silently asked to see the schematics Victor had worked up for them. The Bitch’s onboard lab was up seven decks and forward.

Nick nodded and together they moved on.

*****

"I feel like the little wife who’s been left behind while the big, brawny men go off to fight the war."

"Well, we kind of are," CJ mumbled, shifting Nicole in her lap. She and Lilly Quinn sat side by side staring out the tempered observation window on one of the top decks.

It twisted her gut to watch the fighting, and yet, there was no way she couldn’t. At least, this way, there were no surprises. From this side of the ship, she couldn’t see the scientific vessel Nicky set out for, only the two war ships surrounded by Sorracchi, Umani and Areth fighters. They buzzed around the war ships like angry hornets, red balls of fire and energy bursting in the black sky as their weapons volleyed for hits. An occasional Earth glider slid into the mix, and CJ new the attack from the surface had begun.

"It won’t be long. They don’t have a chance."

Lilly jumped up, stepping over Jamie who played on the floor. She ran to the glass and leaned into it, her palm on the surface.

"What’s wrong?"

Lilly turned back, her face deathly pale. "Look."

In the distance, the multi-color shimmer of a disengaged wormhole blinked out. CJ’s heart jerked in her chest. Dear God! Four more Sorracchi war ships appeared out of oblivion. "Things just got bad," she said softly.

*****

"Heads Up! Heads Up!" Jace shouted into his radio. "Ah, crap. Look alive people, we just got four new guests for dinner. They’re biggies."

His radar went wild. Three un-ids swirled through space straight for his tail burners, and he banked hard left, flip-flopping into a full three-sixty. The three charges met in a glorious explosion that filled the sky with red.

"Damn!" he cursed, tossing his head to get a better view. Red squadron! Red squadron! Keep your eyes on the Colonel. Watch for his departure."

"Understood, sir."

"All fleet, keep your helmets clear and your eyes peeled for any more surprise wormholes. I hate uninvited guests."

With a firm thrust of his engines, Jace rode a slingshot around the Arctic Circle and doubled back for another round of dog fighting — astronaut style.

*****

The ship shook and Michael braced himself against the wall until the shudder passed. He shifted on his hands and knees and made his way to the long bench that protruded from the far wall. Another impact and the ship tilted. Michael’s stomach flipped as he lost the final strains of his equilibrium.

Swallowing hard, he pulled himself onto the bench and used the corner as support to stand. His bare chest and arms brushed against the cold wall and splinters of pain flickered through him, like steel wool on stripped flesh. His limbs shook at the effort of standing upright and maintaining his balance, but a spark of hope grew in his chest and pushed him to keep going.

A tiny strip of glass looked out into space along the ceiling of the cell. Michael squinted, his vision hazed and filled with blind spots. But he saw enough. The sky was full of flashing balls of fire and crafts of designs and sizes he had never seen. Sleek black machines that almost disappeared into the night sky, silver oblong ships that flipped and rolled effortlessly, all performing a beautiful dance amongst the Sorracchi Death Bringers.

The ship pitched and Michael stumbled back, losing his tentative balance as he hit the bench. He swallowed his scream and screwed his eyes closed, panting until the pain was bearable again. Before it eased enough for him to move, the cell door opened with a clank that ripped through his head like an ice pick.

"Bring him!"

Despite the pain, Michael laughed as two Sorracchi guards pulled him to his feet.

*****

Four levels up from the utility bay, Nick and Jackie met with a strong holding of guards and wasted nearly ten minutes exchanging fire. Jackie sent off half a dozen rounds and collapsed around the corner where she and Nick were held up, breathing heavy.

"This is a waste of time!" she shouted over the echo.

"No kidding," he shouted back from the other side of the hall.

"So, what are we going to do about it?"

Nick looked up, scanning the low-hung ceiling. "There," he pointed.

Jackie shook her head. "Air ducts? We can’t do better than air ducts?"

"I’m not going for originality here, Anderson. Unless you have a better idea?" He flinched and ducked as a particularly close hitting pulse blast ripped a hole in the wall near his head.

"Guess not." She stood, keeping herself tucked behind the wall to offer as much protection as she could get. She leveled the muzzle of her gun on the grate and fired. It fell to the floor with a clatter, the metal glowing red.

Nick bolted across the exposed end of the connecting hall, filling the hall with blasts to hold off fire until he reached her. Without ceremony, he bent and gripped her calf, hefting her straight up into the duct. Jackie scurried away from the hatch, doing her best not to gag at the foul funk of ancient space ooze that permeated the stale air within the claustrophobic tunnel. Nick’s hands popped through the opening and he hauled himself up, pulling his feet in as another round of weapons fire echoed up from the hall.

"Which way now?"

Jackie looked left and right. "There," she said, pointing toward a distant pocket of light. 

"Lead on."

*****

"Drop him. I don’t care where."

The guards tossed Michael to the floor and he fought to hide his pain as he swore every bone in his body shattered. Panting through the pain, he pushed himself up on his arms and twisted his legs beneath him to sit. He lifted his head, staring at Kathleen.

"Would you like me to tell you where he is?"

She spun around, her hand already in a fluid arc before impacting with his cheek with a resounding smack. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and he ran his knuckle beneath his lip, catching his own blood on his finger.

Keeping his eyes down, Michael pushed out with his mind, testing the hum he’d felt build again over the last few hours. He focused on a small, unnoticeable item on a table across the room. Michael focused, swallowed against the throb in his temples, but it didn’t move.

Not yet. But so close.

"Kill him."

*****

Nick kicked the grate and it fell into the hallway below with a loud clatter. He nodded to Jackie and she braced her hands on either side of the opening, dropping gracefully to the floor. She glanced up and down the hall and nodded up to him.

"All clear."

He slipped through the hole, his feet hitting the ground almost before his head cleared the edge. The ship was compact and tight, and he had to hunch at several hallway junctures just to pass through. He pulled his sidearm from his thigh holster again, balancing it in his hand.

"We’re completely off the schematics now. Any suggestions."

"Yeah, we split up."

"Ooooh, no. No way in hell."

Jackie looked up at him, her face determined. "Look, I know you’re the head honcho now, but think about it. Doesn’t it make sense?"

"If you—"

"If I get hurt, it’ll be my own damn fault for doing something stupid. If we stay together, our chances of finding him are bad. Really bad. At least splitting up, we have a chance. But hey, you’re the boss."

Nick winced, raking his hair with his fingers. "Fine. You take this hall, I’ll head the other direction. We meet back at the shuttle in twenty minutes."

"Got it." She grinned. "Good luck."

*****

"Did anyone else see that?" Jace shouted into his helmet radio.

A rapid volley of artillery fire erupted from the disruptor cannons protruding from the side of the Sorracchi science vessel. But they didn’t hit any of the Areth, Umani or Earth ship. Half a dozen Sorracchi fighters erupted into flames, the fires sucked into oblivion when the O2 mixers emptied.

"Did they just shoot their own?" someone asked.

"I don’t know. I don’t care. I’ve never been one to—Blue Four! Evasive maneuvers!"

Any thought on what happened and why disappeared as Jace twisted hard into a full five-hundred-forty degree turn and skimmed along the belly of an enemy ship. He’d figure out who to thank later.

*****

The ship shook beneath his feet, nearly pitching Nick forward as he crouched over and ran along the dark hallways. Lights flickered and blinked as whatever power source the ship ran on took another hit. He just hoped the reactor didn’t take a hit and go critical before he could get the three of them off the vessel.

He stood at a junction of three halls, glancing down each to determine which way to go next. Once he and Jackie climbed into the ventilation system, any rough schematics Victor provided went out the window. It was like being picked up in the middle of a tornado and plopped down somewhere else , trying to figure out how to get home.

He turned left, then stopped at the sound of voices echoing from the right hall.

"Connor!" someone shouted. "You’re not going to believe this! A dozen huge war ships, don’t ask me whose, dropped out of a wormhole. I’m talking huge. Hundreds of fighters just... everywhere. They’re kicking the Sorracchi’s asses!"

"I don’t care who is responsible for the attack. When opportunity knocks, you don’t lock the door. Get some men to the artillery bay to help Colewell."

Nick stepped back and slid along the wall toward the voices. He was curious as hell who he heard, because he knew for a fact it wasn’t any members of his team. Maybe another Phoenix team? Whoever they were, they sounded like the good guys.

"What the hell do we do now?"

"We join the fight," the voice of the obvious leader snapped in command.

Nick lowered his weapon to an unthreatening angle, and stepped around the corner.

"They’re Areth ships," he said, and the attention of the half-dozen people standing in the
alcove snapped to him, weapons aimed. He kept talking. "The real Areth. And Umani." 

"Who the hell are you?"

Nick connected the commanding voice with the man who stood in the center. He was relatively tall, maybe six feet with blonde hair cut close to his scalp. Something about his features made Nick look twice, like he was familiar but not quite.

"Colonel Nick Tanner," he answered, and saw a flash in the man’s expression that looked like Nick felt. "We brought the party. You Phoenix?"

The leader stepped forward. "Out of what’s left of Paris."

The ship shuddered. Nick shifted his weight on his feet to ride the wave. "Good. Any help we can get right now is a plus."

He took the hand extended to him, but already felt the itch to keep moving. Time was a commodity.

"Connor Montgomery."

His attention immediately snapped back to the blond man. Their stares locked and in that flash, Nick understood the itch he felt and the recognition in the man’s eyes.

"Well," he said, pumping the man’s hand. "We’re not just brothers in arms, we’re brothers in law."

*****

"You don’t want to kill me yourself?"

"Shut up!"

Another slap made his eye pulse and his cheek burn. He fell sideways, catching himself on his extended arm before hitting the floor. "Are you frightened? Does your stomach burn hoping your pathetic ten-thousand-year existence won’t end because of a bunch of insolent humans?"

"I said shoot him!"

Michael met her gaze, sucking air through his nose into ragged, abused lungs, as the guard took aim. He refused to look away. Refused to give her even the slightest victory. The pop-hum of a pulse discharge rang out, followed immediately by another and the guards fell to the floor enveloped in blue light.

"Nooooooo!" Kathleen screamed. A third shot and she flew backwards, hitting a table of implementations.

Michael slumped, his vision blackening, threatening to pull him under. He heard footsteps running to him, but his abused body finally reached the breaking point. His arm, the only thing that kept him from collapsing completely, buckled.

Something — someone — broke his fall and he rolled onto his back within the supportive hold of gentle arms. The contact of skin on skin sizzled, but it was a welcome pain. He tried to open his eyes, tried to reach out, but his senses were numb and his sense of up and down completely gone.

"Come on, Michael. Open your eyes! Look at me!"

Her voice nudged the edge of his consciousness. His eyes rolled in his head as he tried to force his lids open. "Ja-Jacqueline —"

"Shhhh," she hushed, her hand brushing his hair back from his forehead. Skin crackled, but he didn’t want her to stop. "We’re getting you out of here."

He tried to roll to his knees, her hands on his sides to help him. The room worked its way into focus again and he panted through the roiling nausea. A movement in the clouded haze of his peripheral vision snapped his attention to Kathleen’s smoking form. With a guttural cry, the woman who had birthed him and lived for his pain, lunged off the floor. Michael snapped out his mind like a whip, every cell in his body bursting. Kathleen flew back, her body slamming hard against the far wall.

A blank, lifeless stare froze her features as the sound of bones cracking echoed through the room. She slid to the floor, limp.

Michael slumped as the blackness took over.

*****

"I wish there was time."

Nick nodded. "Come find us when this is done." He pumped Connor’s hand again. "She’ll want to see you."

"Tell her I miss her."

The ship shuddered and Nick felt the rush of need again. Connor pointed down the hall in the direction Nick would have gone before he heard them. "Third left, second right. That’s where her lab is."

Nick slapped his hand on Connor’s shoulder. "Good luck."

*****

"Colonel!" Jackie screamed, rolling Michael onto his back again. She had no idea if Nick Tanner was anywhere near the lab, but she had to try. "Colonel!"

Michael’s skin was an unearthly pale, with deep, vicious wounds scissoring across his torso. Deep bruises that left his ribs tainted purple mottled around his body. His hair was crusted with dried blood and his face was so swollen she could barely see his eyes. She bit back the panic that burned bitter in the back of her throat and leaned over him, pressing her ear to his chest.

His heart beat a weak and failing rhythm, his skin was cold and clammy, and the breath in his lungs rustled ragged and wet.

"You listen to me, Michael. You are not dying on me. There’s no way in hell I’m telling your daughter you gave up. No way in hell, you hear me? Michael! Colonel!"

She heard the running footsteps in the hall and pivoted on her knee, her gun leveled on the doorway. Nick Tanner filled the space, his feet sliding on the slick floor as he gripped the wall to stop.

"Shit," he cursed, dropping to his knees as he reached them. His hands hovered over Michael’s body as he took in the array of injuries inflicted on his son.

"He was conscious when I found the lab," Jackie explained quickly. The ship shook around them and Nick looked up. They both knew they had to get out. "But he did his thing, and then collapsed." She motioned toward the twisted form of The Bitch against the wall.

Nick only allowed a quick glance in the Sorracchi’s direction, focusing again on Michael. "Let’s go." He slid his arms beneath his son and hefted him off the floor. "You take point."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sound was little more than a buzz somewhere beyond the reach of his ears, muffling noises behind the echoing beat of his heart. His body was heavy, yet floated without substance. He tried to move, to relieve the small itch in the middle of his forehead that seemed to overpower the lack of all other sensations. But his arms refused to move, his muscles protesting loudly at the attempt.

"He’s waking up," he heard someone say, but their voice was dampened by the beat of his heart. "Hey, handsome. Come on. Open those eyes."

Michael had to focus all his concentration on the simple, automatic act of blinking his eyes open. The light was harsh and he felt the shift of a body beside him, then the harsh glow blinked out. He stretched his neck, trying to swallow.

"Hey, could you get me a cup of water?"

Jacqueline...

His brain connected the voice to the slow, warm heat that spread through him. He blinked again, the world around him coming into view. Everything was white, glowing and beside him sat his beautiful Jacqueline. She smiled, her fingertips brushing along his temple.

"Good morning, sunshine."

He tried to swallow and lick his dry lips, but his tongue didn’t want to cooperate. A shadow of a figure stepped beside Jacqueline, but it was hard enough to focus on her without shifting his line of vision.

"Thanks," she said to whoever it was. She leaned toward him, and Michael blinked slowly, almost afraid to close his eyes that he might not get them open again. "Take a sip."

He felt the tip of a straw against his lips and parted them. The act of sucking the cool fluid into his mouth drained him, but as it flowed through his body, the refreshment soaking into his limbs, he felt a small surge of energy follow in its wake. Taking a deep breath into lungs that ached, but lacked the pain he so vividly remembered.

"How long..." he managed to say.

Her fingers brushed back his hair and he wished he could turn into the touch, but speaking and moving at the same time wasn’t an option.

"Take it easy. No rush."

"How..." he started again.

"Stubborn as ever," she mumbled before answering. "A week and a half. You had me scared for a while. You had all of us scared."

Nervous panic flashed over his skin. She had to see the physical reaction and laid her hand on his chest. "Sh-sh, hey. Take it easy."

He wanted to ask half a dozen questions all at once. Where was his daughter? Where was his father? Caitlin? What happened? From the time the Sorracchi guards took him from Tennessee, he was oblivious to all else but the torture and doing what he had to do to keep himself alive, even if that meant making Kathleen furious.

"You’re not going to let this rest, are you?"

Michael licked his lips and rolled his head on the pillow as much as he could.

"Right, this is the digest version. After that bitch took you, Scotty-Umani beamed the whole Tennessee base onto the scout ships, Sorracchi and all. We wormholed to safety and cooled our heels until the Areth and Umani fleet showed up. Then we kicked some Sorracchi behind and your dad and I brought you home."

"Okay?" His own voice was disconnected from him, floating somewhere in space. He couldn’t connect his thoughts to his lips.

"Your dad is fine. He’ll be here later tonight. Had some things to take care of. Seems the people left on the planet want him to take over things. Not everyone can bring an allied fleet across an entire galaxy and finagle an unconditional surrender from the baddies. So, people want him to straighten everything out and get us back and running. He’s fighting it, but I don’t think he’ll win. He’s a hero, you know."

Michael nodded, feeling a smile edge his lips.

"Caitlin is fine. Lilly is fine. Jace. Beverly. Victor. Oh, boy, do you have some things to catch up on there." She smirked, reaching up again to touch his face. Each time her fingers skimmed his skin, he felt some of his orientation and strength return. "And Nicole..." The smile that bowed Jacqueline’s lips spread to her eyes, making them sparkle. In that moment, a sense of peace touched Michael and he let go of some of the tension that tightened his chest. "She’s very anxious to see her daddy."

"Kath —"

Jacqueline laid her finger over his lips, leaning closer to him. "She’s dead."

Michael closed his eyes, swallowing against the sudden choking emotion that wrapped like a fist around his throat. He didn’t expect the reaction, not at the death of the monster that had taken so much of his life and left him with so little.

"Michael."

The soft whisper of Jacqueline’s voice opened his eyes and he looked into her face. A sweet, hot pleasure filled him. Despite the fatigue that turned his muscles, he slid his hand across the blanket that covered him and found hers, wrapping his fingers around hers.

He drew a deep breath, swallowing one more time. "I love you."

A slow, beautiful smile spread her lips. She laid her palm against his cheek. "You sure that’s not the drugs talking? They’re pumping some pretty heavy stuff into your veins—" 

"I love you," he said again.

"I love you, too."

Michael’s eyelids were almost too heavy to blink, threatening to stay down whenever he closed them. He squeezed her hand again, surrendering to peaceful sleep.

"Good," he mumbled before letting himself go.

*****

"How do you feel about this?"

Nick slouched down in the deep seat on the flight shuttle returning him and Beverly to the Grande Excelsior. He scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands, groaning loudly. Tossing his arms away, he stared at her.

"How do I feel about this? This is insane! I have no business being in charge of Saturday Night Bingo, let alone the whole frickin’ planet!"

Beverly smiled, crossing her legs to settle back in her seat, facing him. "Nonetheless, you are a hero. You proved yourself. You are the kind of man we need."

"No. No, no, no. There’s got to be someone else."

"Do you have any suggestions?"

Nick shook his head. "Not a one."

Beverly shrugged. "It’s not for the rest of your life, Nick. Eight years."

"Yeah, and who came up with the bright idea that a Presidential term should be eight years? I remember the good old days when four was sufficient time to completely screw up." 

"Well, whether you have faith in yourself or not, the rest of us believe in you."

Nick smiled. "I’m not sure I should have learned that sign stuff. You’re too damn smart for me." He rubbed the tip of his index finger over his lips, staring at her for several minutes. She arched an eyebrow, and he knew she wondered where his mind went. "Okay, fine. I’ll do this on one condition."

"What condition?"

"You." She laid her hand on her chest, tipping her chin. "Yep, you. I’ll accept this emergency election thing if you’ll do it with me. Madame Vice President." Before she could argue, Nick shifted forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "General Castleton put his faith in you as his 2IC, and if he believed in you, who am I to argue?"

He saw the shift in her expression as she considered it, and smiled when she nodded her head. "Okay."

"Great!" he said.

"We’ll dock in three minutes, sir," came the pilot’s voice over the shuttle intercom.

Feeling slightly less scared spitless about having the Presidency thrust on him, Nick settled back for the final approach to the giant Areth starship. A hell of a lot had gone down in the last ten days. The Sorracchi surrendered when they final got a clue there was no winning. Earth still lost a lot of good men and women, but at least, the planet was free. The six Sorracchi war ships and one scientific vessel were deadlocked in orbit and the highest leaders of the Sorracchi contingent were being held under humane conditions in a facility thirty miles outside the crater that once was Washington.

A quickie commission for the rebuilding of the Earth was formed, pulling together what leaders — in any capacity — could be found from the decimated remains of the world as they knew it. Queen Bryony and Chancellor Durin offered their assistance in any capacity they could, and agreed to leave a portion of the combined fleet to provide additional manpower and supplies as needed. All parties agreed that the human race would no longer keep themselves separate from the Umani and the Areth, but the governing of the Earth would remain on Earth.

Somewhere in the process, an emergency vote was put forward to name Nick the new World President.

It was crazy. Insane. What the hell were they thinking?

And yet... he’d just agreed. In theory, anyway.

So, he was the crazy one.

The ultimate fate of the Sorracchi had yet to be determined. Some wanted to pile them all in one war ship and blow it to smithereens. Others wanted to attempt the separation process with every one of them, which would be the equivalent of genocide. Creda of the Areth had confirmed that the majority of the Sorracchi were so deeply entrenched in their hosts, separation was impossible without subsequent death. Victor had been a success, and ultimately Damian Ali after a brief recovery period, but they were flukes. Happy mistakes. Well, the problem was his now to figure out.

"You look troubled," Beverly signed, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Just sorting it all."

"We’re all going to be fine." With a smile, she reached across the space between them and squeezed his hand. "All of us. You’ll see."

Michael.

A sick tension squeezed Nick’s heart at the thought of his son. When he found Jackie on the Sorracchi ship, leaning over his beaten and bruised son, he wanted to kill someone. Part of him, deep down, was pissed Kathleen was already dead. He wanted to squeeze the life out of her with his own two hands. He told Caitlin that once. Wanted to watch the life drain out of her.

Ten days. He hadn’t flinched in ten days.

The first four, they had to force his lungs to take oxygen and his heart had stopped twice. Each time, they’d pulled him back from the edge. And each time, Nick felt a chunk of hope fall away. He couldn’t lose Michael. Not now. Not after so much. He wanted to know him.

"We’re docked, sir. You may disembark."

"Thanks," he shouted, not even sure if the pilot could hear him through the bulkhead that separated the sitting area from the cockpit. He offered Beverly his arm, and she slipped her hand into the bend of his elbow.

They walked together out of the shuttle, and as soon as his feet hit the bay floor, his name echoed through the wide space.

"Nicky!"

He looked in the direction of Caitlin’s voice, stepping away from Beverly just in time to catch his wife as she threw herself into his arms. Nick caught just a glimpse of her face before pulling her to him, and tears streaked her cheeks. He held her close, trying to understand the words she spoke rapidly against his shoulder, but she spoke too fast.

Finally, he pulled back, gripping her shoulders. A cold dread slammed into his chest. "What is it? What’s wrong?"

Caitlin shook her head, tears still streaming from her eyes as she smiled. "Nothing. Nothing is wrong. He’s awake!"

Nick yelled a whoop and swept her into his arms, spinning her around in the open bay. She laughed, hanging on, and as he set her on her feet he kissed her; long, hard and deep. "Let’s go see our boy."

*****

"Thanks for bringing her." Jackie said, taking Nicole from the arms of the Umani nurse who had offered to watch her. She settled the girl against her chest and smiled at Nicole’s bright-eyed smile. "You ready to see Daddy? Huh?"

Jackie slipped back into the quiet room off the ship’s sickbay given to Michael. It was close enough to the main bay that medical staff would be there immediately if he needed them, but the quiet and seclusion let him rest undisturbed. She closed the door behind her and walked to the bed, sitting on the edge beside his hip. The head of the bed was raised, helping him breathe easier, and his features were relaxed again in sleep.

The list of injuries he recovered from was longer than her arm. The doctors hadn’t fully categorized what had been done to him, only the results. The details were beyond her, but both CJ and Lilly nodded with grim expressions when Creda ran through them. That had been a week ago, after he’d slipped away twice and they restarted his heart.

She blinked and swallowed. No, it was over. He was fine. He’d be fine. No more crying.

Nicole made a raspberry, drool running down her chin, and grinned at her own accomplishment. She did it again, bringing her fist to her mouth. The way she changed, almost daily, it seemed, blew Jackie away. Nicole wasn’t the same baby Michael first introduced her to, was it really only a month ago? Less? It felt like a lifetime.

Michael’s hand moved before he drew a deep breath, letting Jackie know he was awake. His fingers skimmed her thigh, and she looked up to see his dark eyes watching her. The bruising was gone and the proportions of his face were normal again. Except for the internal healing he still needed to do, he looked good.

"Hey," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "Awake again so soon?"

Michael smiled, and he already looked more coherent than he had the first time he woke up. Every movement was an obvious struggle and his simplest questions were broken and forced. Now, there was a spark in his eyes and color in his cheeks.

"I heard someone." His voice was rough, like dried leaves.

"Do you need a drink?"

Michael shook his head. "I need her," he answered. His eyes shifted up to meet Jackie’s gaze. "And you."

She smiled and picked Nicole up from her lap, nestling her into the space between Michael’s side and his arm. The incline of the bed let him hold her close without much effort, and Jackie kept her hand on his. Just in case. Nicole tried to twist her head back to look up at her father. When she managed the odd position, a wide toothless grin spreading her spit-covered lips. Michael smiled, letting his head drop back on the pillow when he grew tired.

"Thank you."

"For what, handsome?" she asked, resting her hand on his chest just to feel the beat of his heart. The monitors attached to him registered each beat, but it wasn’t the same as feeling it against her hand.

"For taking care of her."

She shook her head. "We all took care of her. Me. Your dad. CJ."

Michael smiled, deep dimples popping in his cheeks. Jackie brushed her fingers across his forehead, fixing the long hair that threatened to fall in his eyes. She had to admit, the long hair grew on her. He blinked slowly.

"I should let you rest."

"No," he said quickly, reaching for her hand. "Stay with me."

"I won’t leave if you don’t want me to."

"Ever."

Jackie had to take a breath against the warm liquid flow of happiness that seeped through her body, filling in every cell and every space. She smiled and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Ever."

Michael licked his lips when she pulled back, then squinted. "Did I..." He stopped to swallow. "Did I tell you I loved you?"

"Not planning on taking it back, are you."

He shook his head. "No. Wanted to make sure I really did." Michael raised his hand and swirled it slowly near his temple. "Can’t be sure."

Jackie laughed. "Yeah. You said it."

His eyes drifted closed before he said anything else.

Chapter Twenty-Four

"I need to warn you that initially, hearing sound may be a shock to your system. It may not be as bad as to someone who has never heard. Your benefit comes in that you did have hearing for a brief time as a child," Creda explained as she slowly unwound the bandages from Beverly’s head. "Normally, the brain would reject the sensory input. We hope to avoid that."

Beverly nodded, reading the words on Creda’s lips. She clenched her hands in her lap, trying to hide the nervous anticipation that had them twitching. Victor stood a few feet behind Creda, one arm crossed over his chest, the hand of the other pinching his lower lip as he watched intently.

"What about pain?" he asked, his eyes shifting to the doctor briefly, then back to her. "What can she expect?"

"Headaches, most likely. It’s much like someone putting a strain on their eyes when they read too long. And there might be some mild discomfort at the site of the surgery. Nothing that can’t be controlled with mild pain alleviation methods." Creda smiled, keeping her attention on Beverly so she saw every word. "The hospital in Callabria perfected this surgery three hundred years ago. We found little to no adaptations needed to adjust for the design of the human ear. Areth and human biologies are very similar."

Beverly took a deep breath and nodded, indicating she understood everything and for Doctor Creda to continue. She finished removing the bulk of the bandage, leaving only the final strips that held the gauze in place over her ears. Doctor Creda placed her fingers on the pads and met Beverly’s stare.

"When I take these away, there will be nothing preventing you from hearing. Now, do I understand there is something you want to hear first?"

Beverly smiled and looked past the doctor to Victor. She nodded and he came forward, setting his hand on the examination table beside her. She gripped his hand and he held it, squeezing gently.

"Here we go."

Creda removed the pads and a rush hit her ears that felt like the wind on a stormy day. She tilted her head but fought the urge to cover her ears. Victor’s hold tightened on her fingers and she held up her other hand, silently asking for a moment. She worked her jaw, alleviating the deep ache that seemed to connect somewhere in the back of her throat. Even swallowing changed the tempo and pulse of the sound.

Sound...

Dear God, it was sound. True sound. Pure sound. Not synthesized or magnified. Simple sound. She blinked and turned to look at Victor, nodding that she was ready. He leaned closer to her, still holding her gaze.

"Cusbibil."

Just as Creda instructed, he only whispered the words at first. Beverly squinted, shaking her head. She heard nothing beyond the thumping pressure, and shook her head.

Creda motioned with her hand for Victor to raise his voice. He moved directly in front of her, bracketing her hips with his hands.

"Cusbibil."

The thumping fluctuated with three distinct spikes of sound. Beverly sucked in a sharp breath. She motioned herself this time for Victor to speak louder. He raised his hand and touched her eyelids, urging her without words to close her eyes. Beverly’s heart pounded in her chest like a caged bird desperate to escape, but she did as he asked. She felt his body shift closer to her, his cheek brush along hers, his breath on her skin.

"Cusbibil."

His voice was velvet, smoothing over her and bringing her nerves to life. Slightly rounded, soft and rough, it was beautiful. Beverly’s hands shot up to grip his arms and she gasped, her head tipping back.

"Cusbibil," he said again.

She laughed, then froze at the sound of her own laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. Victor pulled back, a wide smile beaming across his face. "You can hear?" he asked, his voice flooding over her.

Beverly nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Most of her understanding still came from the words on their lips rather than the sound in her ears, but Creda assured her understanding would develop as she learned to rely more on her ears than her eyes. She took Victor’s face in her hands, letting the giddy joy take her over. She felt it in him, a rush of relief and happiness for her. It enveloped her, wrapped around her, and sank in to bubble in her blood.

"Say my name," she signed, returning her hand to his cheek.

His smile pushed his cheeks against her skin and she ran her thumb over the dimple just to the right of his chin. "Beverly."

Doctor Creda stepped behind Victor into Beverly’s line of view. "Now, you try." Her voice was muddled sounds, but some of the syntax and consonants rang familiar. When she saw the sounds with the lips, they pieced together in a fragmented puzzle.

Beverly focused on Victor’s lips, mimicking his motions. She had spoken very little in the time she had the hearing implant. It took time, and she was young. Self conscious. Not wanting to make a fool of herself. Victor rolled his lips together, and she matched, forcing air through her forgotten vocal cords.

"Bev-ur-lee."

"Yes, yes!" Victor cheered, and the sound ripped through her head. She couldn’t help the instant reaction of covering her ears. Victor put his hands over hers, his expression immediately switching from joy to regret. "I’m sorry, Cusbibil."

She shook her head, raising her hand, but immediately caught Creda’s glance. Tapping into long dormant memories, she worked her jaw, trying to find the way to work a tongue that suddenly felt foreign and twice it’s normal size."

"Isss Oh-kay."

Victor smiled and covered her mouth with a kiss that stole her breath and pulled from her soul. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. When he broke away, he rubbed his cheek along hers until his lips brushed her ear. He spoke, she heard the sounds and felt the rumble through his chest, but the noises didn’t connect, didn’t make sense.

She tried to pull back to see his lips, but his arms wrapped around her, his hands splaying on her back to keep her from moving. The same sounds skimmed over her ear. She tried to imagine the letters and phonics sliding off his lips, and closed her eyes, waiting for him to say it again.

He did, and more pieces fell into place. Her breath hitched and she curled her hands into his shirt. Once more, warm breath stirred her hair sending a chill along the back of her neck.

"Marry me."

Her eyes snapped open, and she realized Creda had slipped from the room at some point. Taking the opportunity, she slid her hands up his arms to lay her palms against his throat. One more time, he spoke.

"Marry me."

All the pieces fell into place... all the lost memories and lessons with her speech therapist. All the afternoons of frustration when she couldn’t make her voice sound like everyone else’s. Beverly gasped and pulled back, this time Victor let her.

His dark gaze shifted to take in the details of her expression, and for a moment she saw the intense, troubled Victor she had loved for so long. Beverly stroked his jaw with her thumbs until his eyes met hers. She swallowed, hoping to get it right.

"Yesh."

He smiled and pulled her against him, her legs wrapping around his hips as he slanted his mouth over hers, his tongue delving deep inside. This time, when he moaned her name, she heard every syllable.

*****

CJ sat beside Nick, listening to each even breath as he dozed with his head resting on the back of the couch. She watched across the room as Jackie kept vigil over Michael’s sleeping form. He had woken up for a few brief minutes every couple of hours or so, long enough for Nick to speak with him and see with his own eyes his son lived.

They had almost lost him more than once, and although Nick remained strong through the first scare, the second had nearly broken him. CJ’s heart broke as she watched him fight for control when she knew all he wanted to do was kill someone. Hurt something. Even if it was himself.

His breathing changed slightly, just enough for her to know he had woken up, and his hand slid out to fold around hers. CJ squeezed slightly, glancing to his face. His eyes were still closed, but his lips curled up as soon as she looked at him.

"I forgot to tell you," he said softly, still keeping his eyes closed. "We received word from Connor."

CJ’s heart jumped a beat. Thank God. He was alive. After telling Nick how to find Kathleen’s lab, Connor and his people had disappeared. Nick had asked around for days after the attack, with no confirmation one way or another about what became of Connor Montgomery. She had been stunned when Nick told her Connor had been on the ship. After the attacks on Paris, she had assumed he was dead along with everyone else in her family. The rush had been short lived as more and more time passed without hearing news of his fate.

"Where is he?"

"He’s floating around the European continent, doing what he can to help organize relief efforts. He’s working under the command of a General Isaac Goldburg." Nick’s eyelids lifted slowly and he looked at her down the angle of his nose. "Now that I know where he is and who he reports to, we can keep track of him and reach him if we have to. I had Jace relay a message back to Goldburg, too."

CJ drew a slow breath, settling into the couch with her head beside his. "I just can’t believe he’s been a member of Phoenix all this time. You realize he probably didn’t say anything for the same reason I didn’t?"

"To keep each other safe."

She smiled. "Yep."

Nick flattened his hand beneath hers so their fingers laid against each other and they were palm to palm. He reached across his body and laid his other hand over hers, sandwiching it in the warmth of his touch. CJ watched sleepily as he stroked her skin and rubbed his palm across the back of her hand, his fingertips following the peaks of her knuckles. He laced his large fingers through hers and brought her hand to his lips, kissing her.

"You decided," she said softly, not asking because she already knew.

"You okay with it?"

CJ smiled. "Of course I am. There’s no better man on this planet to spearhead the development of a relationship between us, the Umani and the Areth than a man who has already done it. The hard part is over. You got them here. We won. Now, we rebuild."

He smiled. "You sound like Beverly. You two practice your speeches together?"

She chose to neither confirm nor deny his question and settled against him with a smile, enjoying the easy comfort of holding his hand.

Just a few years ago, she doubted she would ever feel the warmth of his touch. Didn’t dare dream, because the ache the dream left behind always hurt too much. After joining Phoenix, she had to make herself harder. Had to learn to fight and kill, if needed. She had told herself there was no room for sentimentality over a life she would never have.

Then he was there, all over again. It wasn’t as simple as that, but to try and plot all the twists and turns that brought them together again seemed pointless. She didn’t need to categorize it all in some linear course of events. If CJ had learned anything, anything at all, it was that this was everything.

You fought for it.

You lived for it.

You died for it, if you had to.

As sappy and poetically mundane as it sounded, love was worth it. Love for a child. Love for a brother. Love for a parent. Love for the other half of yourself. It separated them from the Sorracchi, and gave them the strength.

Dang, she was getting sappy!

Nick’s thumb stroked across her cheek and she realized her skin was damp, and she looked at him through a watery veil.

"What?" he asked.

She sniffled and smiled. "I’m happy."

"This is happy?"

CJ shifted and kissed his cheek. "This is ecstatic."

*****

"I wish I could put a data filter on it all, somehow." Victor squinted as he tried to find the best words to explain the jumble of information and memories in his head. "When I woke up after the separation, it was all there, but it was so jumbled I couldn’t absorb it all. I remembered the information about the ships, and I think that may have been because they were more recent. In thousands of years, my time traveling here is almost like yesterday."

"You seriously have thousands of years of memories?" Nick asked, rubbing his own temple as if the thought gave him a headache.

Victor nodded. "All of it. The older memories, when Tol’tan Ro Chanek — the Sorracchi who took my body — first downloaded his consciousness, are unclear. I believe that was when his hold was the strongest, and I was buried the deepest. I remember terror most of all."

Beverly reached across the space between their chairs and took his hand. Victor kissed her knuckles and smiled. She was doing a wonderful job of keeping up with the conversation, using a combination of lip reading and her newly achieved sense of hearing.

They sat in one of the recreation suites, a comfortable room with deep cushioned chairs and soft music that reminded him of water and harps played from unseen speakers. Umani, Human and Areth all mingled together; the Areth and Humans only distinguishable by the uniforms they wore. In the weeks since the forced clash of cultures, the uncomfortable edge between the races had blurred.

"Do you remember anything from..." Jace Quinn rolled his hand in the air. "Before before."

Victor cleared his throat, rubbing the pad of his thumb across his lower lip. "I do. That is an even stranger feeling. I know who I was, but I’m disconnected from that person. It’s been so long."

He drew a breath and looked across the space to the gathering of people he had finally accepted as friends: Nick and Caitlin Tanner, Jace and Lilly Quinn and his Beverly. Before the removal of his Demon — because in his heart, Tol’tan Ro Chanek would always be a demon — he hadn’t allowed the concept of friendship other than the relationship with Michael. At the thought of Michael, his chest both twisted and eased. It was a strange combination of relief and the remaining fear for Michael’s health.

"My name was Mekel. I was the son of a farmer, and worked beside him in the fields of corn. We were what modern society eventually called the Mayans." He looked to Beverly, enjoying the warmth that filled him. "Cusbibil is my native language, and as I told you once long ago, it means beloved."

Lilly Quinn sat forward, her chin in her hand and her elbow resting on her knee. "That’s fascinating. Humans have spent hundreds of years digging into the past, and you... you’re a piece of it."

Victor smiled and chuckled. "Perhaps, someday I will read the histories about my people and see just how close they are to truth."

"What else can you tell us?" Lilly asked, the glimmer of curiosity sparking in her eyes. "This is amazing."

"It wasn’t an exciting life. I was young when I was taken, less than twenty. I worked beside my father learning to farm, learning to take care of a family." He glanced sideways quickly to Beverly, smiling. She smiled back. She had heard much of this already. "I was betrothed to a young girl named Ukatim’u. She was the daughter of my father’s closest friend. We grew up together."

"Imagine what she must have thought when you were suddenly gone." Caitlin shook her head and sighed. "Imagine what anyone thought when their family and friends just... poof."

"Ukatim’u was taken with me," Victor said, his throat tightening at the rush of memories connected with the beautiful young girl with flowing black hair and the mischievous smile. "She was one of the many ‘husks’, as they were called, to be experimented on after the culling. It was unsuccessful."

"She died..."

Victor nodded, smoothing his thumb across Beverly’s smooth knuckles in an attempt to calm the choking emotions. "That was one of the memories Tol’tan Ro Chanek taunted me with when he wanted me to believe I was the killer, not him. I saw, again and again, my own hands engaging the device that killed her."

"You didn’t kill her," Beverly said, her words rounded and slightly incomplete as she practiced mastering speech after two decades without it. "You thought you did, you told me, but you didn’t. He did."

"Logically, I know that. But I will live with the sight of my hands on the controls until I die."

"Don’t hang on to it," Nick said, speaking for the first time since Victor started his explanation. "It’ll just eat you up from the inside out."

"I’ve done enough of that." Victor looked to Beverly and smiled. Her answering smile spread warmth through his chest and into his limbs. "I’m ready to live."

"Amen," Jace said exuberantly.

"I do have one more question." Nick’s fingers tapped on the arm of his chair. 

"Of course."

"Who attacked you back in Tennessee?"

Victor took a slow breath, licking his lips before answering. "No one."

Lilly’s eyebrows arched and her mouth dropped open. "No one? Victor, your bedroom was a disaster. You were tied to your bed and nearly dead. How can you say no one?"

"I did it. To myself. To protect everyone." When no one argued, he continued. "As soon as the Areth and Umani ambassadors arrived, the Demon lashed out. He was desperate to take control and to kill them all. I knew it. I didn’t know how much restraint I had."

He purposefully avoided meeting Beverly’s eyes because he knew she would take the blame on herself and he refused to let her. He knew that if she had been with him, he might have been able to hang on. But she hadn’t been, and he had been forced to do the only thing he could.

"The state of that room was a result of me fighting with myself. There is no other way to explain it. And in a brief moment of lucidity, I tethered my hands to keep me there. All the injuries were inflicted in my fight for control."

"Holy crap," Nick mumbled. "Remind me not to piss you off."

Victor smiled, looking to Beverly again. "Don’t worry, Colonel. I’m not that creature any more."

The door to their right opened, and Victor glanced quickly to see one of the Tennessee base soldiers enter, a wide smile on his face.

"I apologize for the interruption, sir," he said, nodding toward Nick.

"What can I do for you, captain?"

"Sir, we’ve just returned from the old base, collecting what items we still could. And we found something we thought you might be happy to see."

Nick stood, Caitlin with him. The captain turned to look back at the door he had come through. Moments later, a familiar bark echoed through the hall outside.

"Dog!"

Chapter Twenty-Five

Office of the President
United Protectorate, Global Headquarters
Alexandria, Seat of Virginia, 
Northern American Continent
May 1, 2053

The Phoenix is an immortal creature, unique, the only one of its kind. Legend says that at the end of its life, the Phoenix builds a funeral pyre, dying in the flames. From the ashes of the fire, the Phoenix rises and begins its life again. Reborn.

My son told me this story after my return from Raxo and Aretu. I wonder if, fifty-odd years ago, the founders of Phoenix had any idea how appropriate the name would eventually be.

We’ve been through hell, and we’ve thrown ourselves into the flames, and now it’s time to dig ourselves out and get on with the job of rebuilding our world. There’s no point in pointing fingers and playing the Blame Game. What’s done is done, and what is — is.

The Earth is in bad shape.

That’s probably not the way my official speechwriter would want me lay things out, but there it is. Our population is twenty percent of what it was two years ago, but we’re still here. Our environment has been damaged, but not irreparably. We’re battered and bruised, but we’re not defeated. Not by a long shot. I’d rather have the crap beaten out of me and live to fight another day, than be a slave or lab rat.

This government is new, and we’re still working out the kinks, but we’ve got a plan. No one wants to see this planet return to the fractured and divided way it was before the Sorracchi came. Maybe that’s the one good thing that has come from this. We are unified. We are one. Together we stand. Together we kick ass.

My speechwriter just had another heart attack.

I know the biggest question on everyone’s mind is what are we going to do with the Sorracchi. They have been confined, and as I write this, we are working with Areth scientists to extract the Sorracchi identities from their human hosts. The success rate sucks, but even if we only free a handful of human minds, that’s better than what we had. These newly liberated humans have to adjust to a world they don’t know, and deal with thousands of years of memories that aren’t theirs.

Let’s remember that these new citizens had nothing to do with their capture, their possession, or the acts committed by their hands. They are not the bad guys.

As I said before, our government is new. We are working on a model that will give each major population a voice. Each continent will have two representatives who will sit in counsel for the people they serve. From each continent, a panel of judicial representatives will be selected to help maintain and create law to keep our new world civil.

We have formed an Executive Counsel similar to the previous government — with a President, Vice President and a pyramid of leaders who will provide guidance and a balanced power. This time around, all the representatives and counsel members, including myself, have been selected through emergency elections. This is just to get us off the ground. Next time, the choice will be yours. Every human will have a vote.

Queen Bryony the Fourteenth of Aretu, and the Counsel of Seven of Raxo have promised aid and support until we are on our feet again. Before anyone worries that we’ll have a repeat performance, just know we’re going into this with our eyes wide open. We are making it clear that while their help is appreciated, Earth belongs to Us.

No shared government. No shared powers.

A rebuilding plan has been established and initiated. We are focusing first on the areas of the world hit hardest by the attacks to gather up the refugees, the wounded and the homeless to provide care. We’ll branch out from there, and when we’re confident we’ve helped everyone we can, we will rebuild. In many ways we’re starting with a clean slate, here. I say we do it right.

Scientists, environmentalists and a whole bunch of brains I can’t name are working together to make sure we come out better than we went in. I think that's a damn good plan. Let’s show them that not only are we not beaten, but we’re better for the war.

It’s going to take time and a hell of a lot of sweat and tears to rebuild our world. But, it’s not impossible. It’s not all going to happen in the next eight years, while I sit at this desk, but I'm going to do my damnedest to do what I can.

A few decades back, a small group of humans came together to fight the Sorracchi. They may not have known their true faces, or their true names, but they knew what they had to do. It took years, but they did it. We did it. All of us.

And we’ll do it again.

Out of ashes, Humanity will rise again. Just like the Phoenix.

Nicholas S. Tanner
President, Unified Protectorate

Beverly Surimoto
Vice-President, Unified Protectorate

*****

Sunday, July 13, 2053

Parson’s Point, Seat of Maine
Northern American Continent Unified Protectorate

Michael stood at the foot of his dock, his eyes closed as the sounds of the lake surrounded him, washed over him, filled him. The air smelled of pine, mud and sunshine. Warm sunlight permeated his skin, making his hair cling to his scalp. He inhaled slowly, letting the purest air in the world fill his lungs. It had rained some time before dawn, and the distinct aroma of disturbed foliage and fresh showers mingled with all the other natural smells.

Life.

Rebirth.

Freedom.

In the distance, he heard the sorrowful song of a bird. His father told him it was a loon, and they lived all around the lake. At night, crickets and frogs Caitlin called ‘peepers’ sang from the shallows. The water rippled against the shore, slapping against the side of the rowboat tethered to the dock.

The first time he saw snow on the mountaintop in Colorado, he thought nothing could be more beautiful. He remembered telling his father it tasted like sugar on his tongue. Tennessee had equally taken his breath away with its stretching ridges and slopes full of evergreens that peeked through the low layer of fog each morning. When he was able to leave his bed on the Grande Excelsior, he had looked into the vastness of space and it stole his breath. Earth, gigantic and perfect, loomed in the darkness proclaiming for everyone to see that we were not beaten.

But this place topped it all.

Maybe because he knew it was his. This small, perfect piece of land on the shore of a lake was his. It would always be his until he gave it to Nicole. His earth. His air. His trees. His water. His life.

For now, this was his home. His with Jacqueline and Nicole. Kathleen’s vengeful torture had taken its toll on his body, more than it ever had, and he still felt the lingering aftermath. His nightmares had returned, tearing him from sleep each night and draining his strength. Until his body — and mind — was whole again, and he could rejoin his father and mother in rebuilding the world, this was his home.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or are you coming in?"

Michael smiled at the challenge in Jacqueline’s voice and opened his eyes, looking down at her. She treaded water a few feet out from the end of the dock, her black hair slicked from her forehead and drops of water glistening on her skin. She pushed up, her body breaking the surface to her waist, and water sluiced over the red bathing suite she wore.

She was beautiful. And he loved her.

Michael bent enough to set his knobby-wood cane on the dock so it wouldn’t roll away and stepped to the edge, curling his toes around the warm wood. Jacqueline dipped beneath the water and surface again, raising her arms to push back her hair.

"Come on, sexy. Come join me."

The sultry rasp of her voice was all the convincing he needed. Michael drew in a breath and launched himself forward, curling his body to slice into the water just feet from her. He opened his eyes beneath the surface and swam toward the seductive curve of her hips, wrapping his arms around her before surfacing.

Her laughter was the first sound he heard and her arms wrapped around his shoulders as they sank into the water again. Holding her slick body against him, Michael kicked his legs enough to keep them afloat. Jacqueline wrapped her long, strong legs around his body and curled around him, her lips tugging at his ear. Arousal spiked through him and he slid his hands to her backside, letting his fingers slip beneath the stretchy fabric of her suit.

"How long will your parents be inside," she whispered against his ear, wrapping her legs tighter around him until he felt the juncture of her body settle against him.

"Long enough."

*****

Nick smiled at the sounds of splashing and laughter outside the cabin. It had been a long time since the old building had been filled with such life. He leaned over the crib in the corner of the bedroom, familiar warmth and pride expanding in his chest.

Nicole was asleep, curled on her side with a tiny stuffed dog in her grip. Her hair curled around her neck in tight ringlets and a spattering of freckles already bridged her nose. She was going to be a heartbreaker when she grew up, he saw it already. She was a charmer and a snuggler, and every time she reached for him, he thought his heart would explode.

"Can you help me fold this, Nicky?"

Nick turned to see Caitlin pulling at the corners of the old, worn quilt on the bed. Dog slept near the foot, and showed no interest in moving, even when she tugged him across the mattress.

"Come on, Dog. Get down," Nick ordered.

Dog raised his head, blinking through the long fur covering his eyes, and finally climbed to his feet to jump down. Nick moved to the other side of the bed and pulled up the blanket just as Caitlin had.

"You didn’t want to leave this for the kids?"

"I brought them a new one." Caitlin met his gaze across the bed, a happy glimmer in her eyes. "I thought we’d take this one to the house in Alexandria."

Nick didn’t have to ask why. He remembered all the nights they had spent together making love under that same quilt. Ten years before, and just in the last few months. They escaped to the cabin from the new capital in Alexandria as often as they could, even though the task of rebuilding was daunting.

Now, Michael and Jacqueline would be living in the cabin for the time being. Until Michael was at full strength again. He had spent much of the last few months either on the Areth ship or with them in Alexandria where Caitlin could keep an eye on him — even though Nick reminded her he had Jacqueline.

He needed time to heal. It was time for him to explore the next stage of his new life. With Jacqueline and Nicole.

They lifted the quilt off the bed and folded it together, corner to corner and end to end as they stood at the foot of the old, wrought-iron bed. With the quilt bundled, Nick took it from her and set it on the mattress, wrapping his wife in his arms. He loved how she always leaned into him, opened herself to him with her lips and her embrace. As he kissed her, his blood hummed at the sweet rush of heat.

She snuggled against his chest when the kiss ended and they turned so she could see the crib. Nick felt the deep shudder shift through her as she drew a breath. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

"I’m going to miss her, too," he said softly, knowing what she felt.

They both had gotten used to little Nicole always being there. The idea of being a grandfather had been a shock at first, but a short lived one, and he loved every minute of it. Caitlin slipped from his embrace to stand beside the crib, looking down on the baby. Nick watched her, a strange tug pulling at the center of his chest when she reached over the edge to lay her hand on Nicole’s back.

"Caitlin."

She looked up, smiling at him. "Yeah?"

"Let’s have a baby."

Caitlin blinked, her hand stilling half way between Nicole and the edge of the crib. "Wha — ?" The word hung incomplete, but her lips tipped up in a small smile.

He stepped toward her, reaching out to set his hand on her hips. She turned into him, moving closer to look up at him. "I said... Let’s. Have. A. Baby. Unless, of course, you think I’m too old."

Caitlin laughed softly, laying her hand on his chest. "I’m not the one always bringing up your age."

"Just how old am I?"

She arched an eyebrow. "You don’t know?"

"Think about it. All that time I spent in cryo-sleep-whatever. I aged slower, right? So, am I as old as I would have been if I hadn’t gone?"

Caitlin shook her head, grinning. "Nicky, I’m a geneticist, not an astrophysicist. Ask Michael. He’d know."

"Yeah, he probably would..." He stepped behind her and draped his arm across her shoulders. "No changing the subject."

"I didn’t. You did."

"Okay, so I'm changing it back."

"Are you sure? There’s so much going on with—"

He silenced her with a kiss, laying his hand against her cheek to feel the low moan that shifted through her. Nick slipped his tongue past her lips to make contact with her own, letting his open mouth hover over hers to taste her and feel her heat. "All the more reason," he said against her kiss.

Nick pulled back to look into her eyes. "We’re rebuilding a world. Hope is what we need. As far as I’m concerned..." He pointed at the sleeping child. "That right there is all the hope we need. The next generation."

Caitlin smiled. "So sentimental."

"Yeah, well." Nick shrugged and grinned. "Don’t let it get out. I have a reputation." 

She stared up at him, the smile on her lips sparking in her blue eyes. "Okay." 

"Okay?"

Her smile grew and she nodded. "Okay. I want a baby with you, always have. So, let’s do it."

"Right here? Right now?" He arched his eyebrows, trying to look stunned.

Caitlin nudged him. "No, not right here and right now. But, I think we definitely need to start right away."

"How quick can we get back to Alexandria?"

Caitlin laughed, and Nick realized just how much he loved the sound.

Never the End