Girl Gone Nova (29 page)

“It’s ready.”

Vidor kept his attention on one area as the first loop played. “Keep running it until I tell you to stop,” he ordered.

“The storm has a calm center that will be over the encampment in a few minutes, Vidor,” Riven said. “All scanning should clear then.”

Vidor leaned in, peering at the screen.

Eamon leaned in and touched the screen. “I found footprints heading this direction.”

“Then she won’t be there,” Vidor murmured. Unless she thought he’d believe that. His head throbbed from trying to figure out how she might think. “Keep playing it.”

He almost missed it during the third loop. Movement. He leaned closer and saw it.

A booted foot.

“Scan there for the tag.” A pause and the scan found minute traces through the storm’s electrical discharges.

“We’ll drop in here,” he pointed at the center where the weather was calm, but as close as they could get to where he’d seen movement. “Set your weapons to stun. You see her, fire. Don’t give her time to play games with us.”

* * * * *

A softening of the deep dark on the horizon hinted the end of the long night. It would have meant more if she weren’t in the freaking eye wall. The howl of the wind was so loud, she couldn’t hear herself think. That was the only upside.

In the good news/bad news front, she’d had neither fever nor chills for some time.

If the fever and chills were gone, and if this was the Garradian influenza, it meant she was in the limbo between bad and worse. At some point in the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours, her lungs would begin to fill with fluid. The fever would be back, too, spiking high enough to cause convulsions and hallucinations. Neither was appealing to think about, so the wind was her friend. Maybe a tree would solve the problem for her. Time was her enemy. Stripped of all illusion, it held her in a trap of her own making.

She’d had time to wallow in regret during the breaks between the feeder bands, regret that she wouldn’t see her brother again. That she let the General down.

And there was Hel. She would have liked to see him again. Liked to feel desire warm her inside and out one more time. He’d never been hers, but he’d wanted her. He’d seen
Delilah
, not the Chameleon. He’d liked her. Around him, she’d found a person inside herself she hadn’t known existed. He’d made her feel real. Her personal furies couldn’t be seen, heard or felt with the storm shrieking around her. Perhaps
they
waited for the fever’s return to make their final move. Did
they
know how little time was left for them, too? For the first time in her life
they
didn’t scare her. If
they
wanted to take her, they’d have to get in line.

A break in the storm gave her a glimpse of the eye closing on her position. It wasn’t the relief it should have been. It was a window of opportunity Conan and his merry band could use to find her, if they were still looking. It was possible they’d written her off as dead or crazy and left. If she had someone to bet with, she’d have wagered Conan was still here. She should have killed him, but she’d wanted him to wake up in pain. That might have been a mistake. He was both stubborn and delusional. It was a bad combination.

All around her the storm still raged, but she caught glimpses of the eye as the clouds opened and closed. A flash that was almost but not quite lightning caught her eye. Could it be help? Brief hope flared and died before the clouds shifted again. Usually she liked being right. This time wasn’t one of them.

Conan had come with the boys.

In other circumstances, she’d have put money on her ability to hide under his nose, but the storm had done a good job of stripping her cover down to the bare branches. She had his ray gun shoved into the front of her pants. It had been a bitch to lie on all night, but at least she knew it was still there. She lifted her sopping jacket and extracted it. The latest feeder arrived and began emptying its load of water on her head. Through the blur of water running down her face, she heard something new in the storm, something that sent a chill down her back.

There wasn’t a freight train within a million miles of this forest. Lightning flashed and the chill turned to pure ice.

A tornado was incoming like said freight train and she was tied to the track.

* * * * *

Hel jerked back as the alien ship dropped cloak right in front of him. They were so close, without his phase cloak, they’d have bumped hulls. Four life signs appeared on the surface in the center of the storm closest to Delilah’s position. Had they spotted her? Their position indicated they had.

He kicked thrusters, backing off from the alien ship. It was risky to transport before she was clear of the storm, but he couldn’t lose her now. He dropped cloak and slammed his hand down on the transport control. The four figures started toward her. Stun energy signatures tracked from both positions, then her beacon disappeared.

He turned, staring at the place she’d arrive, willing her to make it. The air silvered, then formed into a human shape. If not for her eyes, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Water flowed off her in heavy rivulets, pooling around her military issue, very muddy boots. Her matted hair clung to her scalp. She was filthy, scratched and bruised. He stared at a tree branch tied to one leg. He’d never seen a woman look so bedraggled—or so beautiful.

He brought up the cloak and went sensor dark. He turned back, would have smiled at her, but she gripped a weapon with both hands and it was pointed at his chest. No sign of recognition flared in her eyes or softened her stance.

“Delilah?”

Her body shuddered with cold or shock, or both.

He kept still, his voice soft. “I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

She blinked once, and then again. Water ran down her face and off her jaw line.

“Hel?” Her stance softened some, one hand leaving the partially lowered weapon to rub her eyes.

He rose, taking it slow, not anxious to alarm her into shooting. He had no way of knowing what her weapon was set to.

He rubbed his scruffy chin. “I had to become Kalian to find you.”

The hand holding the weapon dropped to her side. She swayed, even as she tried to smile.

“Nice timing.”

“Your friends were getting close,” he admitted, stepping close. The smells of the storm clung to her, hiding her scent.

“The tornado was closer.” She reached out, her hand touching his chest as if she still weren’t sure he was real. It slid up, a brief loss of sensation until she found his face. “You need a shave.”

His hand slid down her arm, his fingers closing around the weapon and easing it out of her grasp. He tossed it onto the copilot’s chair and tugged her close. “I need you.”

“I’m a mess.”

“You’re perfect.”

Her laugh broke in the middle. Her arms slid up around his neck. His mouth found hers and passion flared, as out of control as the storm beneath them. He drove her mouth open. Couldn’t get close enough to her to satisfy. He pushed, with his mouth and his body until she slammed into the bulkhead. Water soaked into his clothes, and he could have sworn the air around them sizzled as if touched by fire. She whimpered, deep in her throat. He started to lift to his head, concerned he’d hurt her, but her hands at the back of his head, and her moan of protest, stopped that. One should never disappoint a lady.

He shoved his hand in her wet hair, turning her head for better access. Passion ran like a molten river between them, and then he felt her tremble and slide away. Her body going limp in his arms.

He cursed and lifted her, striding quickly to the guest quarters and laying her on the bed. Scratches and bruises marred her pale skin in the places where dirt had washed away. He threw a blanket over her, wanted to stay with her, but an alarm from the bridge sent him running.

There was nothing to be seen out his view screen, but sensors told another story. The enemy ship had dropped its cloak again for long enough to get their people on board. He’d study the data later. For now, it was enough to know that there were no life signs on the planet surface. He searched for and found brief signs of hyperdrive activation. Tracking showed the Earth ships were close. He needed to leave, but the alien ship could track and follow his hyperdrive trail, too.

A lot depended on how motivated they were to retrieve Delilah. He half-smiled. He’d left his duties, risked a civil war and an assassination to get to her. They were motivated.

He kicked on sublights. If he could put the planet mass between them before he made the jump, it might put them off his track until the Earth ships arrived to muddy his energy signatures. He looked at the course, already programmed into his system. His plan had worked as expected—until Delilah’s retrieval. He wanted her. He didn’t know he wanted her that much. He didn’t know he’d want any woman that much. And now he had her.

The memory of how she’d looked filled his thoughts. Why did he sense that where she was concerned, nothing would ever be simple?

* * * * *

When Vidor stalked onto the bridge after their return from the planet, no one laughed or smiled. She’d been so close. On one level he was shocked she’d survived the storm. On the other, nothing about her surprised him anymore. She’d seen them and fired. They’d fired back, but she’d vanished. They had an analysis of the ship she’d transported to: a small trading ship, typical of the galaxy—except for the fact that they couldn’t find it. They’d scanned as long as they dared. It had to have gone dark. It’s what he would have done.

He’d been ready to try a low orbit to see if they could track the small ship, but they’d picked up an odd energy signature, though just a short one. They hadn’t had to wonder for very long what it was. A squadron of Earth ships dropped cloak close to the planet and moved into a low orbit. The trader ship had been in low orbit, too.

Then the Earth ships did something even more puzzling.

They didn’t raise cloak, and they did leave. And the other, un-cloaked Earth squadron they’d been tracking altered course, though it was still headed in the general direction of Feldstar. This was the first, admittedly dubious, indication that these ships knew about, and might be able to track the trader ship that had seized the prize. The squadron’s arrival would have muddied any energy signatures from the trader, but perhaps he didn’t need to find it. If he followed these ships, would they lead him to Morticia?

If he’d had any doubts about who her people were, he had none now. He considered what he knew of the Earth expedition, both from their history and from studying them during their time in this galaxy. Because he’d had to pretend to be a simple trader did not mean he was one. He could devise strategy, he could react to circumstances and adapt. He frowned.

“What are we going to do, Vidor?” Eamon asked what the others were thinking.

“What we planned. Cadir will take the women, Bana and the new girl child. If you don’t receive my signal, commence the attack as planned.”

In a very short time he would introduce himself to her people. He would take back what was his and finish what they’d come to do—all of it.

* * * * *

Halliwell expected Giddioni to shift his cloak modulations when he left Feldstar, but he didn’t. He ordered all four squadrons to intercept the ship.

“Cloaks down. I want him to see you coming,” he added. “Carey, you close enough to tell if the Doc is onboard?”

“Sorry, sir. He’s got a souped-up version of what we’re driving. He’s just out of range and staying that way.”

Halliwell spun to glare at the geeks. “Where’s he heading?”

James pushed up his glasses, clicked some keys and then looked up. “He’s headed here, sir.”

“That’s not possible. He wouldn’t.”

“He could still change course, but right now, he’s headed here.”

Halliwell rubbed his face. Now what was the bastard up to? “Don’t lose him.”

James paled enough Halliwell could see it. “No, sir.”

Doc woke to a very
déjà vu
world of hurt.
Déjà vu
sucked. So did hurting. She blinked at the gray bulkhead above her. At least it wasn’t a tent, though that didn’t mean the ship didn’t belong to Conan. She frowned. Did she remember seeing Hel—a scruffy unfamiliar Hel who’d kissed the boots off her? Could be a hallucination fueled by wish fulfillment, but it had the feel of a real memory. Just thinking sent a nice burn all through her. She’d feel guilty about kissing him back, but the Garradian influenza wouldn’t kill
him
. And she needed the memory.

She rolled to her side and let her legs drop off the side of the bunk. This helped her sit up, something she wasn’t sure she could manage without some help from artificial gravity. Right now a two-year-old could take her with one chubby arm tied behind the back. Too bad she hadn’t hallucinated being sick, though part of it could be simple hunger. She couldn’t remember her last power bar, though she wasn’t complaining about it. If she never ate one again, it would be a good thing. She held onto a bolted-to-the-wall desk when she tried out her legs. They held, but only just. She wobbled to a door and found it unlocked. It opened onto a main corridor. The cabin she occupied was a single, so not Conan’s ship. The thought of him sleeping single in his double bed made her smile. It might have been an evil smile. Without a mirror it was hard to know.

Her brain spewed out the memory of her last meeting with him, if you could call anything involving a tornado a meeting. Even by her standards it had been a bad twenty-four hours. She’d been scooped up with truly dramatic timing. So she hadn’t imagined Hel. No one did drama better.

The room was small, not pretty, and arranged for utility and comfort. A towel and a small pile of clothing lay on top of the desk. The other door led to a heavenly sight: plumbing. She’d have fallen to her knees and kissed the commode if she hadn’t urgently needed to apply another part of her anatomy to it. She didn’t bother to pull her pants up. After four days in them, she’d be happy if she never got skin to these ABUs again. She had to tug at the spots where skin and fabric felt like they’d started to grow together.