“You know what would be nice?” he asked. “A simple apology for what happened on the transport. That’s all I want.”
When she grumbled something unintelligible that definitely wasn’t an apology, Aelyx gave up and left the kitchen. Syrine surprised him by following close behind, wiping her sudsy hands on her pants.
“I’ll help sort your stupid fan mail,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “But I won’t touch their disgusting undergarments.”
He shook his head in bewilderment. Why couldn’t she just say she was sorry?
When they rejoined David in the living area, he’d settled on the opposite end of the room, reading his magazine while cool air from the open window cleared the haze. He peered at both of them from above Sports Illustrated. “Everything okay?”
In typical fashion, Syrine ignored him and dragged the postal crate into the living room, where she dumped its contents onto the area rug.
“We’re going to sort the mail,” Aelyx explained. “And we’ve nominated you as Keeper of the Thongs.”
Syrine snickered and lifted a large padded envelope from the heap.
“Uh, hold on.” David sat upright and tossed aside his magazine. “I just remembered something.”
“This one’s heavy,” Syrine said, giving it a shake. The clink of metallic pieces jingled from inside the envelope. “No satin or lace in here. I’ll take it.”
Palms forward, David shouted, “No, wait! I forgot to pre-screen this batch. I always let the bomb-sniffing dogs—” He cut off when Syrine tore open the top of the envelope.
After that, everything happened in an instant.
David bolted off the sofa and grabbed the envelope from Syrine’s hands. His combat boots squeaked against hardwood as he raced to the open window and hurled the package outside. Half a second later, a deep boom sounded from the street, and the windowpanes along the front of the penthouse rattled. David clutched the wall and panted for breath while Aelyx and Syrine shared a blank stare.
Nobody spoke, aloud or otherwise. Aelyx’s mind raced to process what he’d witnessed. He blinked a few times to make sure he hadn’t imagined it, but nothing had changed except a new acrid scent on the breeze.
Had Syrine actually opened a bomb?
Her thoughts must have matched his own. Did that really happen? she asked.
Yes, I think so.
Still in a fog, Aelyx walked to the window and leaned out, squinting at the pavement several stories below. He couldn’t recall which city they were in, but the streetlights illuminated bits of shrapnel littering the sidewalk and confirmed what he wished he could deny. If the sender of that letter had accomplished his goal, those jagged metallic fragments would be embedded in Aelyx’s skull. Syrine could have died tonight, simply for opening his mail.
Thank the Mother for David’s quick thinking—and for the National Guard’s decision to block off the street to foot traffic, or someone could have been hurt when David threw the envelope outside.
The guard detail in the hallway shouted muffled commands and then began ramming the front door. David ran to let them in while Stepha shuffled into the living room, clad in his bathrobe and rubbing his eyes with one fist.
Aelyx froze when he realized the ramifications of this attack. He recalled what Stepha had told the director-general: Any further attempts on our lives will terminate all relations between us.
Bleeding gods, no.
In the wake of Eron’s murder, this was mankind’s second chance. Once The Way discovered the truth about the bomb, they would abandon the human race to their fate. Cara’s people would die—billions of innocents, wiped out as if they’d never existed.
“What was that noise?” Stepha demanded, scanning the suddenly crowded room. “It woke me from a dead slumber.”
Aelyx’s first instinct was to lie, despite his previous conclusion that the truth was underrated. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t summon an explanation to erase the evidence scattered across the street.
David’s arms trembled as he stood at attention, addressing his commanding officer. “Sir, the girl got ahold of a fan letter before I had a chance to screen it—from the looks of it, a homemade shrapnel device.” His voice cracked, and he paused to draw a calming breath. “I assume full responsibility. I shouldn’t have brought in the mail before inspecting it.”
All eyes turned to Syrine, who remained kneeling on the rug among hundreds of multicolored envelopes. “You saved me,” she whispered to David. “You took the bomb in your own hands.” She shook her head in disbelief and repeated, “Right into your own hands.”
“Let’s go,” the commander barked, snapping his fingers. “Everybody out. I want the hotel evacuated.” He ordered one of his men to contact the bomb squad, then told David to remain with “the aliens” until they’d reached the safe house.
“But I’m not dressed,” Stepha objected. “And I need my sphere.”
“Sorry, Ambassador. It’ll have to wait.” At the commander’s signal, a pair of soldiers surrounded Stepha and half escorted, half dragged him into the hallway.
Aelyx’s hopes lifted as he took Syrine’s hand and followed. Without a com-sphere, the ambassador wouldn’t be able to contact The Way. Between now and the time they returned to the suite, Aelyx would have to convince Stepha not to make that call.
“In your own hands,” Syrine repeated for the tenth time. She shifted on the safe-house bed, peering at David like she expected antlers to spring from his temples. “You could have lost both your arms and bled to death. Do you know that?”
David broke formation long enough to pinch the bridge of his nose. He sucked in a loud breath and exhaled slowly. “It’s my job to protect you. If I’d blown my head off, it would’ve served me right for being so stupid.” He threw a pleading glance at Aelyx before resuming his sentinel at the door.
“It’s all right,” Aelyx said, handing Syrine his pillow. “We’re safe—no harm done.” He spoke extra loud for the ambassador’s benefit. “Why not close your eyes and practice your K’imsha?” The meditative art had often helped her cope with emotional upheaval. If she’d made greater use of it on Earth, she might have avoided her breakdown last month.
In an unusual move, she glanced at David as if seeking his input.
“Definitely,” David said with a nod that nearly dislodged his camouflage hat. “Do that kismet thing.”
“K’imsha,” she corrected.
“Right. You should do that.”
“Okay. I’ll try.” But as soon as she placed a pillow beneath her knees and lay back on the bed, she sat up and announced, “I can’t. My mind is spinning.”
David hung his head while Aelyx turned to Stepha, who sat on the other side of the room brooding in his fluffy robe.
“Ambassador,” Aelyx said cautiously. “As Syrine has pointed out, Private Sharpe saved both our lives, at great risk to himself.”
“Indeed.” Stepha pulled his lapels together, covering his spotted pajamas. “And as I pointed out in the car, Private Sharpe has my gratitude.” He lowered his brows and asked, What is it you wish to say to me, brother?
Since Aelyx couldn’t lie, he figured he should get to the point. I’m concerned that The Way will misinterpret tonight’s events and prematurely call us home.
There’s nothing to misinterpret, Stepha said. This marks the third attempt on your life.
Actually, the fourth, but who was counting? We’re safe…because of a human. Would The Way leave him to die?
Perhaps, Stepha said. Or they may recruit him for the colony and let the rest of his kind face a well-deserved extinction. Regardless, they will hear of this, and soon.
Aelyx sensed the ambassador’s resolve and knew he couldn’t dissuade him. It was time to change strategies. Then I request an audience with The Way to plead my case. It’s my right as a citizen.
Absolutely. Stepha’s certainty was clear—he didn’t believe Aelyx’s petition would sway the Elders. We can summon them now if you like. We’ll speak i
n our native tongue—the human soldiers won’t understand. Do you have your sphere?
Aelyx kept his sphere in his pocket at all times, and the ambassador knew it. He produced the object and held it up, giving his answer.
Initiate contact, Stepha ordered. Enter priority code One to ensure they assemble right away.
Aelyx did as instructed, then set his sphere on the bedside table and leaned back against the headboard he shared with Syrine. Of the six people in the room—three L’eihrs and three human soldiers—she was the only one whose anxiety matched his own. Her chest rose and fell far too quickly, the restless jiggle of her feet shaking the bed. He took her wrist and pressed two fingers against the pulse racing through her veins.
“Look at me,” he whispered. When she did, he asked, Are you all right?
Instead of speaking, she bared her consciousness to him. It didn’t take long to identify the problem. The bomb scare had done more than frighten Syrine; it had dredged up memories of the day Eron died, when she’d escaped the French guard and fled to her shuttle. Aelyx visualized her actions as if he were there, feeling the pounding of fear in her heart as she ran into the woods, the sting of tears behind her eyes, the suffocating grief of losing Eron, the only boy she’d ever loved. In the weeks that had passed, she’d grown more secure on Earth. Tonight’s attack had shattered all that.
We’ll never be safe here, she told him. I want to go home.
Close your eyes, he said. Practice your K’imsha.
He helped her lie flat and watched as she steadied her breathing. She must have succeeded in her mental exercise, because minutes later, her pulse slowed and she fell into a sleeplike trance.
“Is she okay?” David whispered.
Aelyx shrugged. “For now.” He wasn’t sure about the next time.
Soon after, his com-sphere called to him in the signature high-pitched frequency that announced a message from The Way. Aelyx moved off the bed and whispered his passkey while walking to the other side of the room. He sat in the vacant chair beside Stepha and placed the sphere on the desk in front of them.
Ten bodies flickered to life in miniature form—Jaxen and Aisly sitting in youthful contrast against eight withered Elders. Alona held up two fingers in the standard greeting and spoke for the group. “How can we assist you, brothers?”
Stepha returned the greeting. “When last we spoke, you informed me that an additional attack on our youth would terminate alliance negotiations. It grieves me to report yet another attempted murder.”
“Attempted?” Alona asked. “Are you saying the assassins were unsuccessful?”
“Thankfully, yes.” Stepha indicated the soldiers standing guard by the door. “Aelyx and Syrine are unharmed. A young guardsman—”
Alona cut him off with a flash of her palm. “Then we shall overlook it.”
Stepha’s jaw went slack, mirroring Aelyx’s shock.
Alona hadn’t conferred with her fellow Elders—she’d made up her mind in an instant, without hearing Aelyx’s pleas for mercy. This was the response he’d hoped for, but it made no sense. In his eighteen years on L’eihr, The Way had never overlooked a crime.
“I beg your pardon?” Stepha said.
“The young ones are safe,” Alona replied. “Negotiations shall continue.” She effectively dismissed them by asking, “Do you require further assistance?”
“Uh…uh,” Stepha stammered. “No.”
“May the Sacred Mother watch over and protect you.” She lifted two fingers and ended the transmission.
Aelyx and the ambassador shared a look of utter confusion.
Much like his close call with the letter bomb, Aelyx wondered if he’d imagined the entire exchange. Not that he was complaining, but why would L’eihr continue to tolerate acts of terrorism, especially if all they wanted was fresh genetic material? Human DNA was easily acquired, as were colonists.
Aelyx couldn’t help wondering if The Way wanted more from mankind than they’d originally claimed. And if that were the case, what did his people truly stand to gain from this alliance?
Chapter Eight
Babies weren’t as stinky as Cara remembered. From the top end, they smelled halfway decent.
She buried her nose in a toddler’s honey-brown curls and pulled in a sweet breath. The little guy gripped his bedrail and bounced in place, flashing a gummy smile while reaching out to her with his eyes. His thoughts were jumbled, but Cara felt his fascination with her bright orange hair, which he desperately wanted to capture between his fingers. The tiny clone was heart-meltingly cute, not to mention bright. This nursery assignment wasn’t so bad. Maybe Cara could handle kids of her own someday…like in a couple of decades.
“Cah-ra,” Elle called from the next crib. “Stop smelling that boy and come help me. This one’s sick.” She peered down the back of the child’s pants and recoiled in disgust. “From both ends.”
Cara covered her nose as the stench wafted in her direction. Never mind about the hypothetical kids. She’d let Troy carry on the Sweeney line. She glanced at the head caretaker for guidance and received an encouraging nod from the old woman.
“Poor little guy.” Cara pressed a hand to the boy’s forehead. No fever. “Do we need to quarantine him?” The Aegis had strict policies regarding contagious bugs, which made sense, considering the number of kids who lived in close quarters here.
“If it’s viral, yes. If it’s bacterial or food-borne, no.” Elle plucked something from her pocket that looked like a long white spoon wrapped in plastic. “I won’t know until I analyze his stool.”
Oh, gross. Cara did not need that visual.
Poor Elle looked ready to hurl, despite her medical background. Her new position as Constant Alibi meant she accompanied Cara everywhere, even to the bathroom for midnight pit stops. But diaper inspection was above and beyond the call of duty.
“Sorry to get you dragged into this,” Cara said, stripping the baby’s clothes.
“Not a problem.” Elle dipped the collector tool into the baby’s diaper. “I needed a rotation in the nursery to complete my medical training.” She grimaced while sliding a cap over her sample. “I couldn’t avoid it forever.”
“Not a fan of kids, huh?”
Elle lifted the baby to the nearby basin and tapped a foot pedal to fill the sink with warm water. “I don’t dislike younglings. I simply have no experience with them.”
“None?” Cara removed the boy’s dirty sheets and dropped them in the sonic purifier bin. “You never had to babysit?”
Elle laughed, though Cara didn’t see what was funny. “Not everyone is suited to work with small children.”
Well, sure. Kids were annoying, but if L’eihrs wanted to imitate the human method of reproduction, they needed to learn to care for their young. “Aren’t they shutting down the artificial wombs?” Cara asked.
“Our geneticists disabled the wombs months ago.” Elle dodged splashes while she washed the baby with all the confidence of a pig at a bacon festival. “Haven’t you noticed the absence of newborns?”
“Here, let me.” Using her hip, Cara nudged Elle aside and finished the job. “So there won’t be any more babies soon? Won’t that create a weird generation gap?”
“Not really.” Elle opened her medic bag and inserted the spoon tool into a testing device, then sanitized her hands. “The oldest clones are nearly twenty. Next year they’ll leave the Aegis for their designated work dormitories, and when they find approved l’ihans, we’ll deactivate their fertility suppressants.”
Cara grabbed a towel from beneath the sink. “What suppressants?”
“The nano-chip beneath your wrist,” Elle explained, “also halts your ovulation. When you’re approved to breed, I’ll scan your wrist and reverse the settings.”
Approved to breed? What was she, a prize heifer? “What if I don’t want kids?”
Elle handed over a cloth diaper and wrinkled her brow. “Why wouldn’t you want to pass on your gifts? Once the child is
born, you won’t be burdened with it.”
Cara had to focus on diapering the baby before he got sick again, but as soon as she secured his hind end, she held him close and whirled to face Elle. “Are you telling me nothing will change—you’ll pop out your spawn, then hand them over to the Aegis?”
Elle drew back, lips parting in offense. “You make it sound so sinister. I enjoyed growing up in this Aegis with my peers. I never felt deprived of anything.” She patted the baby clutched in Cara’s arms. “If you wish to house your offspring, perhaps you’ll be permitted to do so on the colony. I’ve heard they hope to model a more humanistic lifestyle there.”
Cara relaxed her death grip on the infant and shuffled to the changing station to dress him. So, assuming she decided to have kids, and assuming The Way approved her request to “breed,” she might be allowed to keep her children? That was twisted, no matter how Elle tried to spin it.
A small voice whispered, Maybe Troy’s right. Maybe you don’t belong here, but she shook that thought out of her head. It didn’t matter—she probably wasn’t having kids anyway.
Elle read the results of her test sample and smiled. “Excellent news, it’s a food-borne illness.” She ruffled the infant’s hair and told Cara, “You dress him and replenish his electrolytes while I alert the nursery kitchen staff.” Then she violated the Constant Alibi rule by leaving the room.
“That’s all right,” Cara said to the nearly naked bundle in her arms. “I can go ten minutes without getting in trouble.” She stroked his soft, chubby cheek with one finger. “Can’t I, little guy?”
He responded by vomiting down the front of her tunic.
Soft laughter sounded from nearby, and the head caretaker hurried over to take the baby. The woman’s face was heavily lined but gentle, her smile a beacon of sunshine in an otherwise bleak afternoon. Unlike most of the older generation, she had life in her eyes, that spark the others had lost. She reminded Cara of her late Grammy O’Shea, so from that moment, Cara dubbed the woman Gram.
“You’re not a real caretaker until you’ve been christened in this way,” Gram said in a thick accent. With a gentle hand, she pushed Cara toward the hall. “You’ll find clean tunics in the washroom.”