Allie's War Season One (41 page)

But Terian didn’t trust Galaith anymore.

In fact, Terian had been getting the feeling for awhile now that the boss wanted to put some distance between himself and Dehgoies...maybe even between himself and the Bridge, too. Maybe Galaith thought he’d pull a stunt like Dehgoies had, try to tie the Bridge to him by gaining access to a more intimate level of her light.

In any case, Galaith had grown secretive again, telling Terian next to nothing about his overall plan. He’d been stalling on the final approach for weeks now. It almost seemed like he
wanted
Dehgoies and the Bridge to remain free awhile longer.

Terian knew he would never know if he’d been sidelined, either.

All he could do was run his own secondary op, and ignore the edicts from above if they seemed to pull him further and further away from the center of the action.

He wasn’t just any second tier aspirant.

In fact, Terian was pretty sick of being second-tier altogether.

The Org would have grabbed Dehgoies years ago if Terian had been in charge, not left him in the Seven to rot. Terian would have done for his friend what he hoped Dehgoies would once have done for him—help him see reason. Help him realize the depth of his mistake, and that it wasn’t too late to make things right.

He thought of Dehgoies as family.

He was certainly the closest Terian ever had.

Gods knew, his own biological roots hardly qualified. In fact, Terian had most of those early memories of dear mum and dad on back-file, inaccessible unless certain key words triggered their download. The system worked well enough, in that no one had ever stumbled upon those words inadvertently. Terian himself found those memories both useless and uninspiring.

A faint pulse sounded from the implant he had grafted to his spine at the base of his neck.

A voice eclipsed the construct. “Sir? Are you there?”

Terian adjusted his focus. “Yes, Varlan...I see you.”

“Has something changed, sir? Shall we continue to hold?”

Galaith had been unambiguous; he wanted Terian to hold back on a direct assault, to wait until the force could gather in Russia. Terian read additional motives in Galaith’s desire to wait, too—likely so that Dehgoies had time to grow more attached to his new charge—but Terian hadn’t told Galaith everything he knew about
that
yet, either.

He glanced at the little girl curled up on a stuffed chair, her face slackened in sleep. He knew what that part of him would say, if he asked.

It meant insubordination.

And yet, Terian had a good feeling.

Rarely had his good feelings steered him wrong.

“No,” Terian said to the seer on the line. “No more holding. It is time. Engage silent mode from the hierarchy proper. Report only to me, and wait for an opening. I strongly suspect we will see one, soon enough...”

The seer acquiesced silently, just before his presence faded.

COLD WATER. IT was exactly what Revik needed.

Unfortunately, the pool water didn’t look at all cold.

Steam rose over shallows filled with splashing kids wearing cartoon-covered flotation devices. Revik stood at one side of the arch leading to the covered, lagoon-shaped pool with its glowing, underwater lights. So far he hadn’t done anything but walk.

He’d contemplated a drink, but couldn’t bring himself to act, not yet.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

Hearing him, a woman glanced up as she walked towards the pool, wearing only a bikini and a towel. He didn’t return her look directly, but his body responded to her stare, enough that he tensed.

Feeling his mood worsen, he made up his mind before he’d really thought about where. Somewhere in the background, he ticked through options. He automatically rejected the atrium or any of the casinos. There was a neon affair with a dance floor and padded leather bar crammed with drunk tourists, a poolside bar on the other side of the ship, a few scattered piano bars...and a smaller, faux-colonial British pub, replete with high-backed chairs, bamboo tables, potted palms and a real tiger skin on the wall over a fireplace.

Poor taste, touring the remnants of what had been some of the world’s most stunning glaciers, now a meager white only in the dead of winter, with the skin of an extinct animal nailed to the wall.

Snorting in a dark kind of humor, Revik decided it was perfect.

He walked in that direction, passing the entrance to the salon and gym. He located the pub the next floor down, and after a quick scan, found an empty barstool that placed him with his back to the wall on the far corner.

He hesitated only another breath before extracting a copper-colored clip from his pocket and hooking it to the collar of his shirt.

He hadn’t been careful. The bartender frowned.

Pretending not to notice, Revik waved for a drink, pointing at one of the taps. Reluctantly, the human took a glass off the back shelf, and filled it.

“You got a permit?” he grunted, setting down the pint in front of Revik.

Revik ignored the man’s hostility, nodding.

“The management wanted it discrete. Clips only...no wires.” He lifted the beer, and the thread of the man’s mind.

...we’ll just see about that, ice-blood. Can’t hurt for me to check with “the management,” after all...

The human’s thick fingers were already reaching for his earpiece when Revik brushed the thought from his mind.

Instantly, the large hand dropped.

The bartender stood by the computerized cash register, puzzled.

By the time he’d moved a few steps away, he forgot Revik entirely.

Sighing, Revik moved his stool further into shadow and settled himself in to wait. On a ship of this kind, most wouldn’t even recognize the clip. He might have a long wait before he got approached, if he relied on that alone.

Still, it felt cleaner this way. If he got no interest after a few more drinks, he’d reassess. He let his eyes go to the monitor over the bar, which displayed the day’s news. He got through a few beers watching brightly-colored avatars argue about terrorism and China’s inadequate response to the threat of renegade seers on their own soil.

An hour later, he’d switched to bourbon.

He contemplated a walk to the neon bar to try his luck, when he felt eyes on him and turned. A slender woman in tan slacks and a form-fitting ivory sweater stood a few paces behind him, probably in her early forties.

He’d seen her walk in, but dismissed her when she pulled out a book and settled in a corner to read, an appletini parked on the round cocktail table in front of her. She had money, clearly, but looked the type who wouldn’t go near a seer bar if her life depended on it. The kind whose human husbands tended to be Ullysa and Kat’s most regular customers.

He saw her study the clip on his collar, then glance down the length of his torso and legs. Seeing his eyes on her, she hesitated only a second longer. Clutching a small black purse in one hand and the martini glass in the other, she walked briskly up to the bar, her lips pursed.

Approaching him directly, she leaned against the wood.

He didn’t move his leg when she pressed into his thigh. She glanced up at him cautiously, an odd mix of nerves and daring and curiosity in her eyes.

“Are you what I think you are?” she said, soft.

He nodded, still watching her face.

“Yes.”

She studied his eyes, looking from one to the other as if trying to see past them. It was almost a seer’s stare. He found he was already reacting to her, and kept his mind carefully away from hers. As if she’d heard him, she said,

“Are you reading me now?”

“No,” he said, smiling.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes,” he said truthfully.

When she didn’t move away, he slid down further in his seat, glancing for the bartender. The woman looked down at him, reacting to his mind’s nudge, and reddened. Giving a nervous laugh, she brought her martini glass to her lips.

“I see. How much?” She hesitated. “You charge, right?”

“Yes.” He thought fast. “Five hundred.”

“Five hundred? Are you worth that?”

He dipped lightly into her mind. She waited, as if she knew what he was doing. He pulled out a moment later, shifting slightly on the stool.

“For you, yeah,” he said.

She smiled wanly. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

He smiled politely.

“This is crazy,” she muttered, taking another swallow of her drink. “I’ve never even talked to one of you before.” She switched her purse to her other hand, looking down the bar to buy herself time.

Revik didn’t answer. He’d learned more than he wanted in his brief tour. She was lonely. Her husband was on the cruise, too, but with someone else, likely someone he’d arranged to have come on the ship so he could slip away from his wife every chance he got. This woman knew, obviously, but for some reason wasn’t ready to leave him.

Human sexual relationships depressed the hell out of him.

He was about to tell her to forget it, when she nodded decisively.

“Okay.” She downed the rest of the martini, her eyes bright. “What the hell. Do you have a place, or—”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

She pursed her lips. “Really? Then when?”

Revik hesitated. He hadn’t thought this through. Now that he had an actual person to react to, he realized he wasn’t worth anything close to the price he’d quoted. He needed an appetizer first, even if it was just his hand. He nodded towards the fireplace.

“In an hour? There’s something I have to do first.”

She looked doubtful, and he shook his head.

“Not that,” he assured her.

She nodded, but clearly didn’t believe him.

Hesitating another beat, he got up from the barstool, realized he still had an erection and paused, willing it to subside. When it wouldn’t, he felt his face warm. Instead of walking away, she lingered by him, shielding him from the rest of the room. His pain worsened briefly.

“Thanks,” he said after a moment.

She glanced down, a faint smile on her lips. “So the rumors are true, then? Is your kind always this...enthusiastic?” She waited for his answer, then added, “It’s good to know I don’t repel you, at least.”

Bitterness colored the last of her words.

Impulsively, he touched her hand that held the glass, letting his fingers linger on her skin. She shivered as it turned into a caress, and for another instant, he hesitated. He would lose her if he left now, he realized. He made up his mind as he felt her blush under his stare. He circled her wrist with his fingers.

“Forget the money,” he said. “And the hour.”

She blinked at him, and for the first time, he noticed her eyes were green. His cock hardened painfully again, even as nausea slid through his chest, making it hard to breathe.

“We’re not always like this,” he said, watching her look at him. “It won’t be as good.”

She studied his eyes. “It’ll be good enough.”

“Now,” he said, to be clear. “Are you ready?”