

# Aquarian Awakenings

### The Collective Saga

### Book 1

## A Sci-Fi Romance

# Lisa Shea

Copyright © 2014 by Lisa Shea / Minerva Webworks LLC

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Lisa Shea

Book design by Lisa Shea

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

~ 7 ~

First Printing: August 2014

Reach for the stars

Never forget your roots

Aquarian Awakenings

# Prologue

Flirtation lasts the brief flutter of a butterfly's wing.

True love endures the weathering of a mountain to dust.

\-- Hun Proverb

In a far distant past...

Nikita's heart ached with deep, searing respect for her fallen friends as she strode up the rocky slope to the plateau overlooking the mud-churned battlefield. It had been four long days since the death-sworn raiders had first thundered down the mountains in seemingly unstoppable numbers. Four agonizing days of blood-soaked chaos; four obsidian nights punctuated by heart-rending screams and groans.

Many good warriors had been slain. Men and women she had trained with. Laughed with. Fought with, side by side.

She had almost lost hope.

It had been Nathan who had, in the darkest night, at last turned the tide. Nathan, his five lieutenants, and their soul-deep commitment to holding the line, no matter what it took. Inch by inch, minute by minute, they had pushed back the onslaught. They had rallied the troops.

They had saved the day.

She drew in a breath. Each man in that group had paid dearly for his valiant efforts. She had seen it with her own eyes - each of those soldiers now bore deep wounds which would leave lasting scars. But, somehow, they had done it. Against all odds, against the most brutal of foes, they had held the field.

She looked to her right, to where Nathan walked steadily at her side. Warmth soaked her to the bone.

_He was everything she could ever hope for_.

The corner of her mouth turned up. He hardly looked a knight in shining armor. His leather tunic was pocked with ragged holes and countless stains. Blood soaked through the bandage on his thigh, and she marveled that he was able to walk. The sword at his hip was well worn.

But it had saved her life more times than she could count.

She loved him.

She bit down against the thought with well-practiced effort. She could never afford the distraction. Not when so many innocent lives were at stake. Not when every ounce of focus was needed to stay on the conflict at hand.

But now?

She drew to a stop as they reached the crest of the rise. Behind her, Nathan's five loyal lieutenants spread out, always vigilant for danger. She almost smiled, given the desolation on the field. For so long their lives had been about war – about holding off the endless waves of bandits and raiders who sought to destroy all they had so carefully built. Those habits were hard to break.

But now, at last, the final threat had been dealt with. After years of bloody conflict, they might have at last achieved that peace so long dreamed of.

It took her breath away.

She turned to Nathan.

His gaze was on her, steady and sure.

She remembered that gaze. His gaze had been all which held her whole, that fateful moonless night. The night when her family's journey home from a neighbor's party had been ambushed by bandits. Her parents had been brutally murdered – and she had been left for dead beneath the wreckage of the carriage.

Nathan had found her. The eldest son of their nearest neighbor, he'd come upon them by chance while patrolling the borders. Nathan's gaze had been the first she'd seen when she blinked to pain-racked awareness.

Nathan had held her while she screamed.

Since that day, Nathan had never left her side. Throughout the pounding raids and sieges which followed, Nathan had driven in when other soldiers had fallen back.

And now, against all odds, there was victory.

Her heart wound with coiled razor wire. For so long she had not dared dream of this day. It had seemed like the long, hellacious storm would never end. And now the clouds were finally passing and dissolving away with the coming of dawn.

Would he leave as well?

The coils drew tighter. She could not imagine her keep without him in it. Without his warm smile as they practiced sword-work in the stone-shod courtyard. Without his insightful conversations as they walked the wind-whistled battlements.

Then there were the nights where they found warmth in being - just _being_ – side by side in her large, empty hall. They would sprawl, exhausted, on the worn-down leather couch before the crackling fire. They would drink to having somehow survived yet another blood-drenched battle which would have broken the will of most others.

A week ago, he had laid his arm across her shoulder...

She wrapped her arms around her chest. It seemed as if, at long last, peace was finally a reality. He had his own lands. His own responsibilities. Would he now leave her to return east? Would her family home become safe, secure...

Cavernously lonely?

She looked out to the field, strewn with broken chariots and dented shields. They had given every last effort to hold their ground. To bring an end to the bloodthirst of the invaders.

Her eyes rose up past the plains to the city of Aquarius. Thank all that was holy, those sturdy walls had never been breached. The innocents huddled within could finally emerge. They could furrow their soil and seed the ground. They could laugh, love, and rebuild.

And it was all due to the brave man who stood by her side.

If he were to go...

She blinked her eyes against the emotion, then turned to him. She looked up into those amber eyes...

Her voice caught in her throat.

It took all her strength to put breath behind her thoughts.

"Nathan, I wanted to say..."

The words dried up.

Thank you?

There were no trite platitudes which could express her feelings for all he had done. He had put his life on the line for her more times than she could count. He had been there in the darkest hours, when all hope seemed lost. He had held her close when despair threatened to suck away the last of her will.

She knew what she wanted to say from the very depths of her soul.

Please don't leave me.

The setting sun shimmered behind him, casting shadows across his face. She could not read his expression. His hand, as always, rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend her.

She wished she knew what he was thinking. Was he grateful that he was finally released from his obligation? Was he eager to return home to his parents? She swallowed hard, clinging to the tiniest fragment of hope.

They had been friends since childhood. Could it be that he, too, found that their relationship had grown, through the blaze and fury of battle, into a precious metal forged to last the ages?

Nathan's gaze swirled, caught up in emotions she could not name. He, too, swept his focus to rest on Aquarius for a moment. Then he turned to each of his lieutenants in turn, their eyes meeting in some sort of understanding.

Her heart thundered against her chest.

He was leaving. He was saying goodbye.

At last he brought his gaze back to her.

He lowered himself onto one knee.

Nikita swayed, the world taking on a dream-like glow. Not in a thousand years, not in her deepest unspoken dreams, could she have hoped –

He reached up to take her hand in his. She felt the sturdiness of his fingers, the rough-worn strength which had grappled against death and clawed its way back from the edge of despair. Now they held her fingers with the delicacy of a newborn chick.

The world faded away, and it was just her and Nathan.

His voice was rich and warm. It soothed into the depths of her soul; into the ragged places which thought never to find solace.

"Nikita, my other half, the one who makes me complete. When I first came to your side, I did so as a loyal friend who held the deepest respect for our families' treaties."

His voice grew rough. "But over these past four years..."

He shook his head as if he could not believe she was before him. It took him a moment to continue.

"Nikki, it has been an honor. An honor to share your table. An honor to fight by your side. An honor to witness the depths of your care for those you watch over. I have witnessed your blossoming from a stripling girl into a woman who takes my breath away."

Nikita forced herself to breathe, so lost she was in his gaze.

Nathan's eyes shone with emotion. "You deserve far better than me. You deserve the richest king and a castle carved from gold. You deserve the finest destriers and the softest silks. But I swear to you, if you would do me the honor of being my wife, that our home will be rich with laughter, security, and love."

He reached into his pocket and brought out a small wooden box. Lifting the lid, he revealed a simple but finely crafted ring.

Joy filled Nikita, radiating out, seeming to light the entire valley below with golden brilliance. Her world was complete. There was nothing that could mar her sense of wholeness. Nothing could put even the slightest shadow over the love which blossomed out from the innermost reaches of her soul.

She looked down into the eyes of the man who had won her heart. She held her hand out to him, fingers splayed. Her voice rang with the certainty that echoed in every cell of her body.

"I love you. I love you with every beat of my heart; with every breath. Yes, I will be yours, Nathan. Forever."

Nathan's eyes glowed with emotion. He took up the ring, preparing to slide -

The golden glow around them intensified, then shimmered. A deep, resonant voice surrounded them, seeming to come from their very bones.

It was as if the planet itself had come to life.

"Wait."

# Chapter 1

999 years later

Commander Jon Paxton smiled as he watched the languidly spinning, crimson–clouded sphere on the large view-screen. This treaty would undoubtedly be a milestone of the century. A combination of diligent effort and a sprinkling of luck had melded to ensure that he, despite only having ten years of service under his belt, would be present for this historic ceremony. The Collective intended to firmly demonstrate their approval of this pact. The warship he served on, the Zeta Nine, was briefly out of the trenches and marching on parade.

A deep voice spoke from behind him. "Ready to head down?"

Jon turned as Captain Smythe slowly pushed up from his command chair. The man was in his late fifties, but beneath that scattering of grey hair lay a mind as sharp as any of the instructors at the Academy. Smythe nodded to his second-in-command, and the two headed off the main bridge toward the elevator.

Anticipation coursed through Jon's veins. The final round of talks was still two days off, but he had heard fantastic stories about the grand parties preceding all of Nicole Bessam's signings. Everything about the woman seemed larger than life. The tangled conflicts she had managed to delicately unravel were legendary. She was said to be responsible for stopping more wars than anyone else in Collective history.

Jon pondered Bessam as the elevator whooshed down. The files on her seemed almost criminally empty for someone with such a stellar reputation. Apparently Nicole put a high value on her privacy and let few details about her background enter the public record. She spent most of her days commanding a scout ship on the fringes of Collective territory, gathering intelligence. According to the records, Nicole's only regular contact with other fleet members came when she arrived for these negotiations.

The elevator gently grumbled to a stop. The two men stepped out into the transporter room to find the rest of the landing party ready for teleportation; all four crew members seemed eager to get under way. Undoubtedly, like most Collective officers, they had fervently hoped that one of their tours would occasion an appearance at a signing. With this treaty, they had been lucky enough to score an extremely important one. All were anxious to see how the reality of a Bessam event held up against the many tales and reports.

Jon glanced at the reflective surface of the wall as he stepped onto his pad. He gave his thick, brown hair a quick run-through with his fingers as he turned in place to face forward.

The lanky transporter operator gave them a nod and moved his hand over his console.

Blink.

Jon and his companions shimmered into life in the midst of music, laughter, and exuberant voices echoing through a large, ornately decorated marble hall. A golden sunset streamed in through the bank of large, beveled windows, throwing rainbow streaks onto a myriad of curling streamers, floating balloons, and delicate paper lanterns. The room was almost deafeningly loud, and a cacophony of languages sounded from all sides.

Jon looked around him with interest at the plethora of races and uniforms represented. The negotiating parties were not allowed in the main hall until the morning of the talks. Apparently this rule cut down on the number of violent confrontations which might spring up. For now, the room was packed with visitors and observers, students and recorders, dignitaries and locals, and undoubtedly a few spies. Tables laden with fragrant, exotic foods lined the walls, and moss-green-suited waiters circulated unobtrusively with an assortment of liquid refreshments.

Jon turned to his captain, grinning. "Quite a turnout," he commented dryly, eyeing a round-eyed Jarusian who slunk by in a shimmering emerald dress. He nodded to her, then turned in place to take in the full effect of the hall. Many of those present wore respirators or cybernetic body suits to preserve the environment necessary for life. The variety of cultures present was staggering. Apparently the top representative from every edge of the galaxy had made an effort to attend this celebration.

"Many haven't even arrived yet," replied Captain Smythe, chuckling at the effect the room was having on his awestruck crew. "The majority of guests will be arriving tomorrow." He waved a hand in greeting to an admiral lounging by a wall, and in a moment the two men were clasping arms and laughing in delight. Jon stood with them, barely hearing their shared stories, snagging a sapphire drink from a passing waiter.

The sunset slowly faded from the room. The glimmering paper lanterns and colored lights added a mystical effect to the figures moving through the shadows.

By the time darkness had descended in earnest, Jon had eased into the rhythm of the exuberant environment, in tune with the cacophony of voices and kaleidoscope of colors. It was almost a shock when a hush permeated, wave-like, across the hall. All eyes turned to a raised dais at the far end of the cavernous room. A willowy, blond man in a forest-green formal uniform lowered his hand and tentatively tapped his microphone.

"As I was saying, the resort planet of Glandy is immensely proud to be able to serve as host to the Cybian-Patar negotiations. These talks will join two powerful planets into the family of the Collective. And so, I present to you Captain Bessam and her crew!" The speaker motioned grandly to the pad, where five forms were already taking shape.

Jon was caught up in the holding-of-breath that seemingly blanketed the hundreds of people in the hall. He watched with steady focus as the group of negotiators shimmered into being.

Nicole stood in the middle of the group of four men, her dark, chestnut-brown hair curling just past shoulder length over her flowing turquoise and gold dress. The dress followed her slim curves, then swirled into a shimmering pool at her feet. Her companions had matching colored uniforms, in the more formal Collective style. Jon and his crew were wearing black versions of that same outfit. Each of the negotiating team wore a silver diamond-shaped pin over his or her left breast.

As Jon's eyes swept over the team members, a sharp pain in his breast staggered him. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. His mind raced back to that day, over a decade ago, when he had seen the group during his orientation at the Academy. He had experienced that same visceral shock. It was a feeling of... what, jealousy? Envy?

He shook his head, letting his gaze rest for a moment on each team member, before settling it on Nicole.

Loneliness.

The rightness of the word echoed in his soul.

He wanted, with every fiber of his being, to be a member of that team. He craved it with a longing that he had never felt for anything else in the world.

And he had no idea why.

He let out a breath, taking a long drink of his sapphire concoction. Back at the Academy, as a new arrival, he had assumed his desire was simply a natural part of starting on his path. He figured that all new recruits felt that same passion when looking at established teams and that his feelings would settle down once he was assigned his first ship.

But looking at the group standing before him, he knew this was something different. No matter what team he had been grouped with, no matter what challenges he had faced, he had never felt an all-encompassing desire like this one.

Ten long years had passed. Ten years of achievements and promotions, of victories and celebrations. And yet, looking at that small group of men and women before him, he would trade it all in an instant to be able to stand by their side.

* * *

Nicole's years of successful negotiations had trained her well. She knew exactly how the first impressions of the evening should unfold, from the way she held her eyes to the subtle tilt of her smile. As her team materialized, she and her compatriots stood still, with welcoming smiles on their faces, then slowly looked around the room. Every person there should have the opportunity to warm with the thought that she had personally seen them and acknowledged their presence.

Shortly would come the exhausting part, where she would actually try to meet and talk with each person, if only for a few minutes. One never knew which person was somehow related to the negotiating team members and which moment of kindness would bring about spectacular results. It was all necessary for the success of the event.

As she stepped down from the podium she willed herself to move slowly, to focus on each encounter, to not let her thoughts wander. People could often sense if she was paying attention or if her mind drifted to other, personal musings. She included the wait-staff and the local guards in her gentle greetings. Every person there deserved to be included. For example, in that corner -

Nicole's breath caught, and time stood still.

A tall, well-built man in his early thirties was standing across the room. His hair was dark brown and neatly trimmed, and he wore the formal, black uniform of the Collective military. He stood amongst a group of similarly attired crewmates, talking with an older gentleman.

In many ways, he was identical to the countless other Collective officers who filled the hall. The black boots, the toned body, the alert stance, the carefully-pressed attire... but it was his eyes which transfixed her. He was a good distance from her, a part of the crowd, and yet she was sure she recognized those tawny eyes. Eyes which she had first seen a full thousand years ago. Eyes which had watched over her while she wailed in anguish. Eyes which had protected her through bloody battles where they were outnumbered thirty to one.

Eyes which were the window to the soul...

His head turned, and he stared right at her.

Her breath caught at the impact of his attention. Warmth flushed down her skin, tracing its way to her very toes. A yearning poured through her -

She forced her gaze to the floor, taking in a long, deep breath, castigating herself for her lack of composure. She had known he would be present tonight. All her research, all her countless years of fruitless searching, of false hopes and fresh starts, had at long last brought her here. Her entire life had prepared her for this one evening.

Was he truly Nathan?

Richard glanced over. "You all right, Nicole?"

She gave him a wry smile. It was hard to say the words. "If it _is_ him, he doesn't seem to remember us."

His gaze gentled. "We knew that. Give it time."

Time.

She drew in a breath. Time was running out. It was why they had pushed forward the negotiations. Why they had ensured that Commander Jon Paxton would be available to attend this meeting. So they could meet. So they could try to...

Richard's brow creased. "Nicole?"

She gave herself a shake. She had work to do. And Jon – as much as she craved to go directly to him, to shake him hard and somehow force him to regain his memories – must wait for now.

She ran a hand through her thick hair.

She had thought she was prepared for this first encounter.

Apparently not.

She drew in a long, deep breath. The negotiations, while in part an excuse to allow the longed-for first meeting with Jon, were still critical in their own right. The millions of inhabitants of the two planets deserved her careful attention. It was time to get back to work.

She looked around the large hall, her diplomatic personae sliding back into place. Rule number one in the initial greeting process - never reveal any preferences. No person she met should ever feel less important than any other.

She forced herself to smile. The evening would be a long one. Surely at some point during the long, interminable process she would find time to be alone with Jon. Then she could gaze into those eyes again, seek to fall within them, and try to discern if at last, at long last, he could be the one.

The reincarnation of her dearest love.

She raised her gaze to the next dignitary before her, a violet-haired, six-limbed Luxoid, his full body suit compensating for his frail skeletal structure which had developed in a far weaker gravity. She gave him her fullest smile. These pre-signing days both excited and drained her. They were part of why she and her crew remained out on the fringes of the galaxy for months on end. The isolation helped her feel fresh and new for these meetings – and the quiet was a much needed solace once she had been wrung dry by the participants.

Without speaking, her four crew members spread out in a flanking position as she slowly worked her way through the crowd. There were always minor incidents at these gatherings. Sometimes an over-enthusiastic, inebriated admirer. Sometimes a passionate individual opposed to the purpose of the truce.

Fortunately for her, her team was not just skilled. They were finely honed over a thousand years. And each man would give his life before they would allow her to be hurt.

They were long past being separate individuals. With all they had been through, with all they had faced together, the men were now a part of her. They moved as she did; they anticipated her every intention.

They knew what this night meant to her.

Time trickled by in a slow but steady progression of textbook diplomacy. There were over-effusive greetings. Vague discussions which could signify anything at all, when seen from different points of view. Shifting gazes. The volumes which remained unsaid.

She was skilled in a thousand variants of gentle retractions as she extricated herself from one conversation so she could move along to the next.

And always her team watched... watched...

Richard stepped in, offering her a glass of water. He turned to the blue-skinned aquoid who had monopolized her attention for longer than his share. Richard shrugged in apology. "I'm afraid I need to talk with Nicole for a moment. You'll understand, I'm sure."

The aquoid had no choice but to flutter in agreement.

Nicole smiled in thanks at Richard as she took a long sip of the water. He was all she could want in a second-in-command. He was capable, insightful, and patient. His sense of the rhythm of the flow was impeccable.

Some of the gossips in the Collective saw only Richard's short, blond hair and lean build. They murmured with raised eyebrows about how _close_ Nicole's team was. But they could never know how she longed only for Nathan... longed to find him... to look into those eyes...

Another group of diplomats. Another discussion about planetary ecology and trade routes.

Another turning of the clock...

Delicately prying herself loose from a garrulous, winged, beetle-like diplomat with a passion for flirting, Nicole turned and started in surprise. She gave a genuine smile. "Captain Smythe," she warmly greeted the weathered man with pleasure. "Marcus! It's been so long. How are your truffle recipes progressing?"

Captain Smythe puffed up with the personal attention and gave Nicole a fatherly hug. "Nicole, it has been too long," he smiled in return. "I have numerous new items I am sure you will adore. I have just perfected a variety that involves a chocolate orange liqueur filling. It is both delicate and full of flavor. I had wondered if you would remember them."

Nicole's smile widened. "As if I could forget, Marcus. That week on the space station was transformed from a tedious paperwork hell into an Eden of delight solely because of your presence." Her eyes twinkled. "When I find myself in similar circumstances, I often fantasize that you will appear."

Marcus blushed under the praise and quickly introduced his crew which stood in a group behind him. Nicole smiled and politely greeted the doctor, the military advisor, the helmsman, the science officer, and then...

Nicole turned her eyes.

It was him.

She could barely breathe. She was transfixed by that tawny stare.

Could it be him?

Her heart thundered against her ribs; only years of negotiation experience helped her to mitigate her response. She heard Marcus mention his name, Jon. Commander Jon Paxton.

She willed herself to focus. She could not lose him now.

Jon. That is what he is called in this life.

She willed herself to take a deep breath.

Jon slowly reached out a hand to take hers. He gently brought his lips down to it for a formal kiss. Holding her hand in his, he murmured in the Hun language,

" _Many years I sought your gaze –_

Yet when I see you again,

It is as if we had never parted."

The room dissolved around Nicole; only Jon and she remained. She found fascination in the texture of his fingers where they tenderly wrapped around her own. She inhaled the rich musk of his cologne. It was nearly impossible to take in. She had been seeking him... desperate... almost without hope...

After all these years...

Jon's mouth quirked in a wry smile.

"I heard you were a woman of many words," he teased with a soft chuckle.

Nicole struggled to find her voice. "That verse – it is from an ancient collection of the Hun planet. Why did you choose that one to greet me?"

Jon's eyes sparkled. "I did some research on your group before we arrived," he explained. "Your official bio said that you spoke Hun, as did your crew. I had always been drawn to that culture's code of loyalty. The poem was one of my favorites. I hope I did not offend you."

She dared to voice her deepest hopes. "The poem was beautiful. But... you said _It is as if we had never parted._ Do you believe we have met?"

Jon's face eased to soft crimson. "Not that you would remember, I am sure."

Her heart hammered hard against her ribs. "Go on."

His gaze held hers. "It was when I first arrived at the Academy with my parents."

Aching loss coursed through Nicole, and it was only through her centuries of diplomatic training that she held her face steady.

He did not remember her. Not past this one ephemeral lifetime.

Still, he had said they met at the Academy. That seemed highly unlikely; she and her team had never attended. She was curious now. "Please, go on. You were newly arrived at the Academy?"

He nodded. "My family and I were walking across the main green. I looked across the quadrangle and happened to see you and your crew moving along with the Academy Chairman."

A small smile rose on Nicole's lips. Ah, yes. She remembered, now. They had been there briefly, to ensure their position in the Collective fleet.

She looked to Jon. "We stood out so clearly, even as a brief glimpse across a courtyard? Why?"

Jon looked as if he would not continue, but under her gaze he spoke in a softer tone. The world fell away, and it was as if he were revealing a close-kept secret, one held within for long years. "I stopped in my tracks. There was something about you all, something ineffable. I felt a poignant sense of... of loss, I suppose."

He looked down at her hands. "I took a step to go over and talk to you, but you were moving toward the main offices. My parents tugged me in the opposite direction, urging me to hurry to the dorm area before I missed the presentation."

His eyes seemed distant. "There was a small man at the back of the group. I remember distinctly his shock of unruly blond hair. He turned at that moment and caught me staring after you. He stopped, winked at me, and then turned to rejoin you."

His voice went hoarse. "And then you were gone."

Nicole wanted to look away, but she was transfixed by the focus in Jon's look. "That man, that... that was Christopher," she murmured, her voice tight. "He..."

Her voice faded as the memories swept in on her.

Jon gave her hand a squeeze. "Yes, I know," he offered. "He died a number of years ago, on one of your missions. I am so sorry for your loss."

Nicole was lost in his gaze... a gaze she knew so well, and hope rose... rose...

A round, squat, scale-skinned man in a garish sapphire version of the Collective uniform eagerly muscled his way between the two, breaking apart their hands. Nicole saw the sharp flash of anger in Jon's eyes – a glint that she doubted any others in the room were aware of. For immediately came the powerful clamping down of control as he imposed self-discipline on his feelings.

She remembered well his amazing mastery of his emotions; his ability to maintain calm in any situation.

If he truly were Nathan...

Longing grew within her, and with it her fury with Zaggat at destroying her first meeting with Jon. Zaggat was callously ripping apart a moment she had dreamed about – desperately hoped for - for so many long, lonely years.

Zaggat barely looked at Jon as he came to a stop before her. He glared up at her with heated frustration.

"Nicole. There you are. You must come with me immediately – I need you to talk with the Ambassador from Chillia. They have an issue they need to address." Zaggat's sharp eyes skewered hers, and he held out a pudgy hand to motion her down into the center of the maelstrom.

The noise and the press of the crowd swelled in on Nicole. She found it hard to draw in a breath.

How could Zaggat even think -

Jon's brow creased into a frown. He took a step forward as if he would interfere on her behalf.

Reason regained its hold in Nicole's mind. She gently put up her hand to indicate Jon should hold back. The last thing she needed was to embroil Jon in a confrontation before they had even begun to truly talk.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Stephen had also taken a step forward, his dark curls framing a growling countenance. By the fires in his gaze, Zaggat might be lucky to leave the hall with his thick limbs still attached to his torso. Nicole's eyes twinkled at the thought – but she flashed Stephen a subtle signal. She would handle this.

Turning to Jon, she drew a smile onto her lips. She asked, "Is it true that you play an instrument?"

Jon's eyes widened in surprise at this change of topic. "Yes, certainly, I play the saxophone," he confirmed. "I have for many years."

Nicole nodded. "Make sure you tune it up before tomorrow night," she requested with a soft smile.

She wanted to stay with him... to stay...

She gave in to protocol. Acquiescing to Zaggat's prodding arm, she reluctantly moved with him into the roiling crowd.

* * *

Jon stared after Nicole, lost in thought. What was it about her that caught his attention so strongly? He had many girlfriends, many lovers, over the years. Each one had been different and compelling. And yet, there was something about Nicole...

He made his way up to a balcony overlook, where he could watch the gathering from a distance. Nicole was like a salmon in a sea of fluttering goldfish. She moved with a purpose; even from here he could feel the draw to her.

Three short days. He would have three short days to get to know her, to soak in her presence. Three short days – and then she would be gone.

A deep voice spoke at his ear, startling him.

"Strange," commented Jamus. "It's almost as if ..."

"What?" Jon turned to the military officer in confusion, wondering if he'd missed a part of the conversation.

Jamus crossed his arms. His thick biceps rippled, sending a wave along his textured skin. His Hun heritage had served him well in the hand-to-hand fighting the ship occasionally dealt with in ground combat. He was inches taller than most humans, and his eyes glowed bright emerald.

Jamus nodded his head toward Nicole. "See the way her men are arrayed around her?" His gaze sharpened. "Richard, her blond second-in-command, stays behind her. Stephen, the guy with the black curls, watches on the left, his hand ready at his hip. Sean, with the copper, shoulder-length waves, saunters along on the right. Up front is Ian, with the light-brown brush cut, and there's this sense that he knows exactly what is going on."

Jon watched for a while and found that Jamus was indeed correct. Wherever Nicole moved, the diamond guard moved with her. The pattern was maintained regardless of who they encountered or how the crowd flowed around them.

"I agree you are right. The crew is watching over Nicole. But surely that is part of their responsibility. Especially this weekend, with the stakes as high as they are."

Jamus's brow creased. "It's not just _any_ formation," he replied with emphasis. "That's the formation used by _Nikita_."

Jon shook his head. He should have known that Nikita's name would come up. He turned to Jamus with a gentle smile. "Look, Jamus, I know your interest in your planet's heroine borders on an obsession. According to your legends, she came into being a thousand years ago. She is reborn into each new generation, where she dedicates her life to preserving the peace."

His mouth turned up. "That last Nikita iteration was stunning. Facing down thirteen Hun warships – and was it two hundred fighters? That would be quite an achievement in any era."

He glanced at the laughing group below him. "However, I highly doubt the Hun woman who was slain decades ago had any contact with the diplomat we met today. Nicole would have been an infant."

Jamus wasn't listening. "They say Nikita wasn't killed," he growled. "She went into hiding and has created a secret school for elite warriors. She and her team only open their doors to the faithful."

Jon sighed. This was one of Jamus's most fondly held dreams. To find Nikita, to receive her knowledge, and to fulfill his noble family's heritage. He would be the one, at last, to lead the Hun into their finest hour.

"Jamus, Nikita's team was slain by assassins," he pointed out. "It was a final act of treachery near the end of the Hun civil war."

Jamus snorted. "Lies. I know that she and her team are waiting in a secret location, prepared to train those who seek them out."

His frown deepened as he peered into the crowd. "Somehow, against all odds, Nicole has found Nikita. Nicole must have somehow coerced Nikita into sharing what she knew." He harrumphed. "Even though clearly Nicole is entirely unworthy of that attention."

Jon ran a hand through his hair. "Jamus, you can't honestly believe –"

Jamus cut him off. "It all fits," he insisted, his emerald eyes glowing with heat. "Nicole and her team have taken on nicknames which neatly mirror those the Hun royal families have used down the ages. They have training and skills that only Nikita could have shared with them." A growl emerged from his throat. "You can't tell me they learned that level of combat down in the slums of Vercador Sept."

"They've been scouting the universe for over ten years now," pointed out Jon. "They've had plenty of time to –"

Jamus's gaze lit. "They had plenty of time to track down exactly where Nikita's hidden base was located," he breathed. "All I need to do is prove they have the training. Then they would be forced to share the school's location with me!"

He pushed past Jon and strode down the small flight of stairs. Jon found himself running to catch up with his friend. Jamus was a fascinating person to work with and brilliant at military tactics. However, his obsession with the history of his Hun culture was only matched by his fiery insistence on always being proven right. Jon had no interest in dragging his friend out of a confrontation tonight – not when his time to spend with Nicole was already so cruelly short.

Ahead, Jamus shouldered his way through the crowd. The tall man was soon staring down at Stephen. Jon could hear Jamus introducing himself as he came within earshot.

Stephen responded in a congenial tone. "How can I help you, Jamus?" He nodded to Jon as Jon came up behind his friend. "Is there something I can assist you two with?"

Jon found he could read Stephen's stance as if the two had trained together for years. The relaxation along his shoulder blades told that he saw no threat in the taller Hun. The hand floating near his hip showed that he would be ready, just in case.

Jamus held Stephen's gaze with fixed attention. "I was admiring your defensive formation," he stated with a snap. "A liquid diamond. I'm sure we know _who_ you learned that from. I'd just like to know _where_."

Stephen's eyes narrowed; the line of his muscles along his shoulders rose. Jon could feel, viscerally, the reaction of the other three men in his team. The slight turn of Richard's head. The stilling in Ian's stride.

The tension rippling down Sean's arm.

Stephen's voice was cool. "I'm sure if you sent your request to Nicole along proper channels, that she would –"

Jamus interrupted as if he had not heard. "Your team's fighting its way out of Raisa Dwa is well documented. I've seen some of the video. That style of movement is only taught to Huns in the noble families." His voice dropped to a growl. "I know. My family is part of the high royal network." He took a step forward. "Where did Nicole – an _outsider_ \- learn it? Who taught her? She has no right!"

Stephen's jaw ripped with tension, and Jon saw that Richard's attention was fully on them now. Stephen laid a hand on Jamus's arm. "Jamus, it might be better if we –"

Before Jon realized what was happening, Jamus had ripped his arm free of Jon and launched a punch into Stephen's ribs, putting the full weight of his body behind it. Jon had seen Jamus in action before; this kind of blow typically laid his opponent out, unconscious and broken.

Stephen swept aside the blow as if it were a waving banner of silk. At the same instant, a glasblade appeared in his other hand, the transparent edge pressed with sharp precision into the cleft of Jamus's neck.

Jamus froze, his eyes wide with shock. The thinnest trickle of emerald-green blood trailed down his throat.

Stephen held the blade there for a heartbeat, then stepped back, slipping the weapon into its sheath at his hip.

Jamus drew in a staggering breath. He did not make any move as the other three members of Stephen's team closed in to surround him. A few moments later Nicole herself came over, bringing with her Captain Smythe. She pressed her badge. "Beam eight to the Zeta Nine."

In a few moments Jon was standing on the familiar platform, wondering just what had happened.

Captain Smythe took control of the situation with brisk efficiency. "Jamus, explain yourself immediately."

Jamus crossed his thick arms in front of his chest. "Nicole has been personally trained by Nikita," he stated with his habitual bluntness. "The combat style is the final, conclusive proof. I know that move; I have seen it performed by the Grand Master himself. No _outsider_ should have that level of skill."

Jon shook his head. Apparently Jamus saw no need to apologize for his actions. The man had developed a theory, and it was logical for him to test it out.

Captain Smythe's face darkened with anger. "Jamus, I want you to –"

Nicole put a hand on his arm, forestalling him. "It is all right, Captain," she assured him. "I know of Jamus and his family. They take these matters of honor seriously."

She turned to gaze at him for a moment. "Your research is correct, Jamus. While many cultures have similar systems, I have indeed modeled my team's style after that used by Nikita." A small smile traced her lips. "I have studied Nikita for many years. I do not hide my admiration of her."

Her gaze cooled. "I have not, however, ever met her, nor do I claim any other special training. Just as you knew enough of her systems to recognize what I have done, I had learned enough to put together the security I have."

Jamus scowled. "For me to recognize it, given my family connections, and for you to actually have implemented these systems are far different matters." More than a hint of disbelief colored his voice. "You developed this all on your own? Without proper training?"

Nicole nodded at the implied compliment. "You see the end result of many years of trial and error, Jamus," she explained. "This is hardly how we started. And it probably will not be how we end up. And yet, she was my inspiration. I am glad that you saw her touch in my work, but rest assured, it is all my own."

She glanced at the clock hanging on the opposite wall. "Are you done attacking my crew now?"

Captain Smythe spoke up again. "There was no excuse for Jamus's behavior. He will be confined to the ship for the remainder of the event, pending a formal hearing. I will handle his discipline personally, and I promise you that there will be no more trouble for your crew."

Nicole nodded her appreciation. "We do need to return promptly; we have a great deal left to do." At a motion from Captain Smythe, Nicole and her crewmen were transported back down to the surface.

Jon stared into the space left by her shimmering departure as if through willpower alone he could bring her back.

# Chapter 2

Jon paced across the space of his room for the hundredth time. He knew the steps exactly – ten solid footsteps and then a turn. It was his duty to wait for the captain to call for him and to return to the event at his side. Protocol dictated it. And yet a complete hour had passed. The party was in full swing, and Nicole was down there. He could feel the draw to her as a palpable force, tugging at his soul.

His communicator pin chirped into life as it synced with the ship's computer, and almost immediately he heard Captain Smythe's voice. "Jon, are you free? Come by my room as soon as you can."

Jon held in his sigh of relief. "Right away, sir," he responded in a steady tone. It was only moments before he was making his way down the hall toward the captain's suite.

Marcus ushered Jon into the living area and offered him a seat at the small, ripple-textured ebony couch. A bank of windows looked out over the swirling crimson planet below.

Marcus's eyes gleamed with intrigue. "You will find it was worth the wait," he stated without preamble. He reached forward and picked up a black, shiny plastic card about three inches by four inches from the glass coffee table. "Do you know what this is?"

Jon's eyes widened as he turned the rectangle over in his hands. "Is this really a Spider Invite?"

The captain took the card back without a word and pressed his thumb into its center. Immediately, red words appeared on the card. They gave a set of coordinates and a counting-down clock. The countdown had just under an hour remaining.

"I can only take one guest. I know you love poker, but if you would rather not go, I am sure I can find someone else to accompany me. It is after all one of the greatest floating gambling games in modern times."

"You're not kidding," responded Jon eagerly. He had no doubt that Nicole would be there, and to attend would be the highlight of the decade. "Spider's game is the stuff of legends. Maybe Spider himself will be there to play. Is there a dress code?"

Keeping his thumb on the card, Marcus turned it over to reveal the other side. In red, block letters, the card stated,

One guest only.

Discussing this event with anyone forfeits attendance rights.

Attire – formal red and black.

"Best get ready," indicated Marcus with a smile. "We're running out of time. Meet me in the transporter room in forty-five minutes, and we'll see what this is all about." His brow creased. "Remember – not a word to anybody. I've heard that even a casual mention has caused people to get banned at the door. It's better not to tempt fate."

Jon headed back to his room at a jog. He showered quickly, acquired an elegant, formal black tuxedo from the replicator, and was back in the transporter room at the appointed time. The captain arrived only moments after he did.

Marcus had memorized the coordinates and recited them out to the transporter chief. The crewman programmed the coordinates into the computer, then looked up in surprise at the pair. "That's in the middle of the desert," he said in confusion. "There's nothing for hundreds of miles in any direction. Are you sure those coordinates are correct?"

"They are quite fine," replied the captain. "Beam us down."

The crewman shook his head and engaged the transporter system.

The dark desert shimmered into existence around them – and suddenly the black card in the captain's hand gave a bright red flash. Their surroundings slid out of focus, and then they appeared in a quite different environment. They were now in a small ten-foot by ten-foot room. The wall paneling was elegant black maple, and light came from a single overhead frosted-crystal ivory globe. The carpet beneath them was finest cashmere. A single carved-maple door on one wall, in a lighter shade of black, had a rectangular indention in it about chest-high.

Raising an eyebrow to Jon, Marcus walked forward to the door and pressed his card into the spot. The card flashed red and then vanished. The door silently slid open, and the two stood facing a large lounge. A polished ebony-wood bar ran along the right side and a row of black velvet hangings covered the back wall. Red couches and plush chairs were scattered in groupings around black marble oblong tables. Admirals and Ambassadors in outfits of red and black mingled, chatting and drinking.

A deep voice hailed Jon from the right. "Hey there, we could use a hand!" shouted Stephen from behind the bar. Indeed, a group three-deep were pressed up against the wood, calling out drink orders. Jon nodded to Marcus and headed over, easily vaulting the bar and joining the other men behind it. Almost immediately the orders rained to him, and he fell into the rhythm of serving out drinks and chatting with the patrons as he poured.

"How did you guys get pressed into bar duty?" he called to Stephen as he placed a lavender concoction into a thin, robotic arm. The arm was attached to a four-foot-tall transparent cylinder holding an iridescent liquid and, floating within it, an amoeba-like shape. The arm retracted and carefully poured the drink into an opening at the top of the tube. The diplomat within shimmered in ecstasy as the contents merged with his environment.

Stephen's eyes brightened as he watched the drinker. "Sometimes I think we humans have it all wrong," he commented to Jon. "Many other races go for a far more direct route in their enjoyment of substances." He gave himself a shake as he reached for another bottle. "In any case, as for why we're pouring drinks, we volunteer," he explained. "It helps us get a lay of the land in one enthusiastic dose. And in addition –"

A sultry Jarusian leant over the bar at Stephen, her outfit leaving very little to the imagination. "I'm here with the Admiral," she cooed while she watched him mix up a triple martini, "but I can always find a way to slide out early." Her dark eyes glowed. "I hear you have wild times up on that ship of yours."

Stephen put down the glass and drew close to her as if she held the secrets of the universe. "Wild parties, every night," he hoarsely confirmed, his gaze seemingly lost in her eyes. A long minute passed, and his hand half-reached for hers. At last he dropped his eyes. Without looking up he resolutely shook his head, his black curls framing his face. "I can't. Not during negotiations. Strict orders, for security reasons." He looked up again, his dark eyes swirling with emotion. "I'm sure you understand. If it were any other weekend..."

The Jarusian hesitated, as if calculating her chances of pushing Stephen over the edge. She gazed into his eyes... then sighed. She lifted her drink with an elegant motion and sauntered off in the direction of her date.

Jon looked over at Stephen, eyebrows raised.

Stephen's emotional angst shimmered away as if it had never been, and he grinned. "Gambling houses are betting millions on the outcome of the treaty," he explained. "It brings out some of the best grifters in the universe. If they were an annoying cloud of mosquitoes earlier, tonight they'll be like leeches in a murky pond – doggedly determined. They'll be at us all night, trying to draw even a tiny detail."

He shrugged. "We try to head them off early, but they are paid to be tenacious. So it becomes something of a game." He glanced at the other men behind the bar. "I think I enjoy it a bit more than my fellow victims do."

There was a motion in the crowd, and he looked over. His eyes danced. "Ah, I bet this one is for Ian. I'm afraid Ian isn't quite as fond of this part of our jobs as I am."

Jon turned. A slim blonde with her hair delicately braided down her face, in an elegant dress of crimson tapestry, moved up to the bar. She shyly brushed a stray curl of hair from her cheek before fluttering her lashes up to Ian. "All this noise is getting to me," she murmured. "Do you know of anywhere secluded I might go to rest for a few moments?"

Ian glanced over to Stephen, his expression one of quiet exasperation. Then turned back to the young woman. "I'm so sorry to hear that, miss. I believe the women's restroom has a noise-dampened lounge with a sofa." A waitress walked by, and he flagged her down. "This waitress will escort you there."

The blonde's face fell in disappointment, but she nodded, allowing herself to be led away.

Another flurry of drinks, and then a pink-eyed Qatarian, her spiky hair dyed to match, was fluttering extravagantly long eyelashes at Jon. Her tight black dress compressed her body into an unnatural, lumpy shape. "Maybe you could fulfill a life-long dream of mine," she murmured in a husky voice. "I have always wanted to see the scout ship for myself. Will you be returning there tonight with your new friends?"

Jon's eyes flickered over to Stephen's; he was unsuccessfully holding back a wide smile. Jon returned his gaze to the woman leaning over the bar toward him. He pitched his voice low.

"You are the most beautiful woman here," he confided to her. "How did you know that pink hair drives me wild?"

Her eyes lit up an eager anticipation, and the seams on her dress strained.

He let his mouth fall. "But I am afraid that I have sworn a vow of chastity for the year," he sighed. "There are two months left on that promise. I shall be returning to my room on the Zeta Nine, alone, immediately after this event."

Her eyes lost some of their glow, but she rallied, pressing forward, laying her hand on his. "Are you sure I could not convince you to end that early? For me?"

He shook his head regretfully. "If I spent too much time even talking with you, I would be morally bound to kill myself."

Her mouth went wide in an O of shock, and she took the glass from him, backing away into the crowd.

Stephen shook his head with a smile. "That's a new one," he teased. "We'll see how long it works."

Jon grinned. "At least, if it doesn't, they'll start sending a flood of pink-haired girls at me. Should be easy enough to pick them out of the crowd."

Stephen raised a glass in toast to him. "That it shall!"

Soon the first wave of drinks was complete. Jon rolled his shoulders, breathing in the perfumes, colognes, and citrus aroma of fresh polish which wafted from the bar. The room was full now, and a merry buzz of conversation swirled around him.

Stephen stepped over to Jon with a blood-red drink in a tall glass etched with lilies. "I believe there's a lady in red over by the far wall who would appreciate having this brought to her," he suggested with a knowing smile.

Jon glanced over. Nicole was standing by the bank of curtained windows. She was wearing a long, richly embroidered crimson dress with a plunging back. She was deep in conversation with an older man who looked familiar. Jon took the drink, his eyes never leaving her, and eased his way through the dense crowd.

Nicole looked up at his approach and smiled. "Jon, I'm pleased to see you," she greeted. "This is commander-in-chief Xerxes. You might remember him from the Academy days, when he headed up the training there. Xerxes, this is Jon Paxton, second-in-command of the Zeta Nine."

Xerxes put out his hand, and the two men shook. Xerxes's grip was still strong, belying his wrinkled face. Xerxes looked over Jon for a long moment, then gave a slight bow. "I'll leave you two alone then." He turned and headed back into the room.

Jon offered Nicole the drink, which she gratefully took. She sipped the concoction and closed her eyes, letting out a contented sigh. "Ah, perfect. Let me guess. Stephen?"

Jon nodded. "You know your men well."

"I should, by now," she agreed in a low murmur.

She looked up, giving a soft smile. Jon followed her gaze. Her team had left the bar and was coming toward them. He felt that same darting heat through his soul, a branding, but this time it came with a twining warmth. He was the one here with Nicole. The team was coming to join _him_. They all wore outfits nearly identical to his – formal black tuxedoes, crisp white shirts. When they came to a stop in a semi-circle before Jon and Nicole, a sense of completeness settled into his core.

It was right.

Stephen carried a pair of drinks in his hands, amber liquid in low, rounded glasses. He handed one over to Jon. "Aged Hun brandy," he explained. "I thought you might enjoy it."

Jon took a sip and held in a groan of pleasure. Stephen wasn't kidding. Jon had tried a number of liquors during his years of service, but nothing had ever approached the smooth, rich flavor in the glass in his hand.

Stephen's eyes gleamed in delight. "So it meets with your approval?"

Jon chuckled. "I would guess this isn't being stocked at the bar."

Richard's mouth quirked. "Our private stash. Probably not too many bottles of this left around." He raised his glass to Jon. "Glad to see you appreciate it."

Jon smiled. "I do indeed."

There was a bright bubble of laughter from the far side of the room. Richard glanced toward it before bringing his gaze back to Nicole. His voice became serious. "Has she arrived yet?"

Nicole's smile faltered at the edges, and she shook her head no. "Not yet. I imagine she will grace us with her presence at any moment now." She took a long swallow of her cocktail. "Undoubtedly she'll wait until the last possible moment to get through the teleporter redirect. Then she'll stall in the entry area to make sure she's the last person in." Her eyes flicked toward the main door. "She wants to make her grand entrance."

Jon raised an eyebrow at Nicole, curious.

Nicole's voice was terse. "Captain Theresa Molloy."

A ripple of tension ran down Jon's spine at the name.

He should have guessed that.

Captain Molloy was infamously involved in the events surrounding Christopher's death. According to official reports, her ship was simply in the area, and she was not directly entwined in the actual incident. Xerxes had refused to release the full details of the situation, and many in the Collective felt he was covering up for improper actions on Molloy's part. Nicole and her men had never, to Jon's knowledge, spoken publicly about the incident.

Jon wondered for the hundredth time just what had happened in that remote corner of the galaxy.

A hush fell across the room, and Jon instinctively turned to look toward the main entrance. Beside him, he heard Nicole gasp in outrage, and Richard growled under his breath. Jon had no doubt who the woman was who had just entered the room.

Captain Molloy was a beautiful woman – there was no denying that. Her blonde hair fell straight to her waist, and her full breasts and wide hips were complemented by a narrow waist and well-defined legs. Her choice for tonight's outfit was to paint a delicately thin line of cherry-red latex paint in spirals around her body, barely covering the tips of her breasts and swooping downwards to touch the near-transparent red G-string she wore. Her only real clothing was a pair of stiletto-heeled red shoes.

Equally shocking was the man at her side. He was a swarthy man with ebony skin, wearing only a black loincloth. A thick iron chain was attached to a collar at his neck

Molloy tugged him along with her as if he were her pet Rottweiler.

Molloy's gaze swept around the room and landed with laser focus on Nicole. The blonde yanked at the chain. The crowd parted in muttering waves in front of her as she made her way across the room toward them.

Nicole's voice was low and firm. "Easy," she warned her crewmates. "Hold to your roles. Don't let her draw you in."

Jon didn't have time to ask what that might mean, for Molloy had reached them and was preening for the group with sharp pleasure. Up close, it was even more obvious how transparent her outfit – if one could call it that – was against her pale skin.

The woman offered a hand traced in spirals of red. "Neeecohhlll," she drawled. "It is _so_ good to see you and your harem of beautiful boys tonight. And what a charming little outfit you have on. So vintage. Did you pick that up on your last trip to Vercador Sept, that stunningly aromatic mud-pit you call home? How's the family?"

Nicole took the proffered hand and shook it with a friendliness which surprised Jon. His confusion grew when Nicole spoke. Her normally rich, alto voice was suddenly light and playful

"Oh, Molly, what an absolute delight," smiled Nicole. "And just look at that jumpsuit you have on! Your fashion sense is amazing. Stellar. Look at how the red spirals interweave with the pale pink background. Isn't that just right, Steve?"

Stephen responded in a voice reeking of effeminate languor. "Oh, Nikki, darling, it is the cat's eye. It is simply most luscious. I shall have to find one for myself." He turned his gaze on the blonde. "Do tell, Molly-o, where did you acquire such a spectacular piece of fabric?"

Captain Molloy's face sagged at this interaction, but she regrouped, drawing a smile onto her face. "It is red latex paint, decorated on my skin," she insisted, turning to model the effect.

Sean stepped forward to peer closely at Molloy's stomach. "Mmmmmmm, oh my, yes," he intoned with a droll, scholarly tone. "I do see the stretch marks here. And this constellation of liver spots almost creates a parallelogram. It does in fact seem to be your own skin, cherry angiomas and all. Utterly fascinating."

Molloy flushed crimson, creating an incongruous match with the delicate red etchings on her face. She turned roundly on Jon, her eyes sharpening.

"Here's a new face in your menagerie," she hissed in a sharper tone of voice. "Let me guess - the newest boy toy for Nicole?" Her gaze fixed on his, and her voice became snide. "Let me guess. One look at her, and you could want no other. You craved being by her side." She snorted. "Let me warn you, boy, that in three days she'll be gone. She'll discard you like she's abandoned all the others in the past. You'll be the trash left behind - worn out, used, and forgotten."

The dart carved into his heart, and he held his face neutral, understanding now why the others deflected her. She could be insidiously keen with her attacks.

His eyes brightened. Two could play that game. His years of poker playing had taught him to size up an opponent, to sense where they were weak.

He put an arm out to Nicole, and she slid up against him as if she had been made to fit at his side. He smiled fondly down at her before looking up at Molloy with contented relaxation. "Haven't you heard? Nicole has been heralded as the greatest asset the Collective possesses. I heard Xerxes himself say so." He ran his eyes dismissively over Molloy's curves. "I am finding that even a day with Nicole is worth _years_ in the presence of a _lesser_ woman."

He glanced down at the collared man at Molloy's side. "I see you have a different technique for holding men to remain loyal. Fascinating."

Molloy's gaze narrowed, and she growled. She turned on her heel and strode toward the bar, her man-servant in tow. Jon found himself exhaling deeply as she left the area, and saw that the others had much of the same reaction. "So that's her, in the flesh," he said wryly to Nicole, taking a sip of his drink.

"In the flesh is right," agreed Nicole under her breath, a twinkle returning to her eyes. She looked up at Jon. "Thank you for playing along. I'm sure I don't need to explain to you the value of perceptions on one's opponents."

Jon toasted his drink to hers and smiled. "I understand completely."

A loud chiming sounded from further down the hall, and they turned to see what was going on. The blond delegate who had introduced Nicole earlier was now standing by the bank of velvet curtains, delicately striking a small metal rod against a square chime. When he saw he had the attention of the room, he put the instrument on a nearby table and expansively spread his arms.

"Welcome to the first ever event held in Glandy's core station!" he proclaimed with enthusiasm. "This state-of-the-art research station will allow scientists from all over the galaxy to examine the actual workings of a planet's core, safely within a shielded system. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Then, take a look!"

All of the curtains on the outer wall pulled aside simultaneously, and the crowd gasped in collective amazement. The room was suspended over an enormous, roiling cavern of lava, with spouts of hot liquid shooting up from the magma base. Some of the squeamish in the group moved back toward the relative safety of the rear walls, but Nicole, Jon and their friends immediately moved forward to the glass to get a better look.

Sean practically had his nose against the glass. "The magma is fascinating!" he gasped, looking over every new movement with a sparkling eye.

Jon felt Nicole press up alongside him and he automatically wrapped his hand closer along her slender waist, soaking in her heat as they both stared out at the landscape. It was an awe-inspiring combination of liquid rolling, gaseous bubbling, and outcroppings of black rock.

The delegate broke into their musings with an announcement. "The main poker tournament is about to begin," he called to the room. "The players have been chosen based on the known standings of those present, with one sponsored seat. You will find the selected names at each seat. Will the players please take their places at the central table."

The crowd swirled and eddied as hopefuls scanned the place-cards and spectators found locations to observe the play. Jon turned to talk with Nicole, but to her surprise she was gone – heading off into a corner with Xerxes. He felt the loss as a tangible sensation.

A friendly hand jostled him on the shoulder. "Do not get too distracted now," teased Stephen in a low voice. "I see you have earned yourself a spot. If your mind wanders, Richard and I will have to clean you out early."

"Just try," returned Jon, drawing a smile back on his face. Nicole had important business to attend to, no doubt. And for him, the game was on.

# Chapter 3

Ebony place-cards, elegantly lined with crimson, lay before each of the seven chairs on an oval black marble table. Jon found his name and settled into his velvet-lined seat. A waiter appeared at his side, placing a glass of Champagne at Jon's elbow.

There was movement at his right, and Richard slid into the seat, nodding to him. "May the best man win."

Stephen was two seats right of Richard, and he took a long sip of Champagne before raising his glass to the other two. "Do not get too used to those seats," he called across the table.

Molloy strolled past them with a scornful gaze before settling herself in at the far end of the table. "I hope at least Spider will be joining us," she huffed. "I would wish for some real competition tonight - not you chipmunks." She plunked herself heavily into her chair, snapping her fingers for her glass.

A gruff voice sounded at Jon's left. "You might just have it," he calmly returned. Jon's eyes twinkled as Xerxes settled into the seat at his left. Jon knew the man's reputation, and _competition_ might have been an understatement.

The willowy blond delegate took the seat at Stephen's right, nodding to the group. "I am Martin," he introduced himself, elegantly reaching for his wine. "I represent the local interest in our little game."

Molloy's eyes went to the remaining seat between Richard and Stephen with hawk-sharp interest. "So where is our final competitor?"

There was a movement by a side door, and a slim figure in a swirling crimson caftan emerged. A turban encased his head and a full ebony face mask concealed his features. A crimson spider was emblazoned across the center of the face.

Excited murmurs followed him as he moved across the room and took the remaining seat. A glass of wine was presented, but he shook his head, waving it off.

Captain Smythe came up behind Jon, laying a hand on his shoulder. "It appears you are getting your wish and taking on the Spider himself," he chuckled with warmth. "Keep your wits sharp, my friend. Remember, you are defending the honor of our entire ship."

"I will not let you down," vowed Jon, looking over Spider with interest. Ever since the first Spider's event, held several years ago on the infamous plains of Sidor X, the masked player had made his presence felt at almost every game. His cool gameplay was legendary, with only the emotionless orbs shining from behind that flat mask.

A procession of seven servants flowed into the room, coming to stand behind each player. With a flourish they placed down four stacks of chips – two crimson, two ebony. A deck of cards was placed before Martin, and then the servants faded back into the eager throngs.

Molloy drained her wine and sharply set her empty glass down, drawing all eyes to her. The movement of lava in the bank of windows sent a dappling of red and gold against her pale skin. She gave a toothy smile to the collected players.

"Well then, let's get this adventure started, gentlemen," she called out. "I say we start the kitty at 5,000 credits."

Martin paled at the figure, but one by one the men nodded their agreement. In a moment Martin had passed around the cards, and the play began.

Jon found it took every ounce of his concentration to stay even with the players. Each person there was at the highest level of gameplay, and it showed in every call, in every motion of the hand. The crowd murmured in excitement with each turn of the card and slide of a chip. The minutes drew out like taffy slowly easing from a warm pot.

A pale woman in a sleek, black dress, her hair the color of faded bubble gum, came up to his shoulder holding a flute of Champagne. Her teeth sparkled as she placed it at his side. Her voice was a low purr. "I thought I might bring you something for luck," she murmured. "I just know you will be the one on top tonight."

Stephen's eyes glinted with amusement, and he riffed the top of his cards.

Jon nodded his head to the woman. He was sure that she had been blonde when she arrived. She must have done some quick work with the replicator to change her look just for him. "I appreciate it, but –"

She shook her head, laying an elegant finger on her lips. "Save your talking for later," she soothed him. "We'll make every word count." She slipped back into the crowd.

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Distractions come in all forms," he teased with a grin. "Don't say we didn't warn you."

Molloy's sharp voice echoed across the table. "What are you playboys whispering about? Get on with the game. Save your sweet nothings for each other for that bordello you call a ship. I'm sure by now you've turned Christopher's empty room into a love nest. He hardly needs it any more, does he?"

A frisson of anger skittered through Richard's gaze, then his brow smoothed again. "Shall we?"

The minutes ticked by, the cards went around, and soon the marker was sitting before the blond diplomat. Martin's finger had a slight tremble to it as he pushed in a chip, one of only a few left in his pile. Jon wondered for the sixth time if the delegate truly was in over his head or if this was an elaborate act.

Molloy's eyes sharpened. "Buck up, _Martini_ ," she snapped. "Either you play with the big boys or you drop out. Which will it be?"

Martin gulped, then with resolution he added his remaining chips to the pile. "All in," he announced, his voice cracking.

Molloy grinned widely. "About time," she triumphed. She laid down her cards. "Full flush," she announced with pleasure to the group.

Martin groaned, dropping his head in his hands. There were good-natured pats on his back from the crowd. Then he stood, heading over to the bar with slumped shoulders.

Stephen's eyes sparkled, and he glanced over to Richard and Jon. "The attrition has begun."

Molloy rubbed her hands together, looking out over the table. "All right, which of you mewling calves is next for the butcher's block?"

The cards were dealt out, the bids went around, and Jon ran his eyes over each player in turn. Xerxes could have been carved from granite, for all the emotion the man showed. Stephen seemed amused with each hand. Richard was steady, focused, his full attention on the table before him.

Jon drew his eyes, again, to the swirled woman at the end of the table. Her acerbic comments had visibly unsettled Martin, but were having less of an effect on the remaining men. He could see the frustration growing in her tight gaze as the table refused to rise to her escalating barbs.

And was that a slight tenseness in Molloy's shoulders, where the red paint rippled into a wrinkling crevasse?

Time for a test.

The marker came to him, and he held her gaze. "I raise a hundred credits."

Yes, there it was. The creases deepened into small chasms. Her hand was clearly not what she had hoped for.

Richard glanced at him for a moment, and Jon could see the glint of amusement there, one which flashed and then was hidden again in the steady focus.

Richard's voice was cool. "A hundred credits," he agreed. He smoothly slid the chips into the center.

Molloy's caustic tone could cut glass. "Is that all?" she snarled. "And to think I once thought you a real man. Your time on that floating whorehouse has gelded you."

Richard's face did not alter its steady focus. "To you, Spider."

The masked figure nodded, sliding a small stack of chips into the pile to match. Molloy's snort of annoyance could be heard across the room.

Stephen gave Richard a wink before reaching down to his own chips. "A hundred it is, my brother in arms," he agreed. "We will see if you can hold your own against these delightful cards."

Molloy's voice carved its way down the table. "Do you two have one ounce of manhood left in you?" She tossed her drink down her throat. "How _could_ you, with that painted whore ordering you around all the time. She should have been forced to spend that night with Caymus the Carver." Her eyes glinted. " _That_ would have put her in her place."

Stephen's playful smile stilled, and Richard's focus gained an edge which Jon recognized instantly. He wondered that Molloy did not ease back from the table at the palpable danger. Instead, the woman seemed delighted with the reactions. The swirls of paint on her cheek compressed as her grin grew. She leant forward, her gaze sharpening.

"I hear from a reliable source that you wouldn't have lifted a finger to protect her," she needled. "You would have just let him _have her_."

Both men were fully engaged now, their every ounce of attention on the woman. Jon could see the tension rippling down their arms with the effort it took them to remain in place. Molloy was nearly glowing with satisfaction at the effect she had caused.

She looked down at her cards again, and then placed them face-down on the table. "You know what? I am going to call your bluff. Because I know your whole group is comprised of cowards. You had to allow another man to step in and protect your Lady Fair on Vercador Sept. When there was nobody to save you on Raisa Dwa, look what happened." She spread her arms wide. "That weakling, Christopher, goes and gets himself killed by falling into a mud pit." She gave a snorting laugh. "Talk about the stupidest, most idiotic –"

It was as if Stephen and Richard crystallized into honed steel. Controlled fury etched their features; both men eased up out of their seats.

A bright flash of panic flared in Molloy's eyes. The pale blue veins in her neck pulsed in fast-paced staccato.

Spider's ebony-gloved hands came up to rest on the arm of each man at his side, gently holding them in place. The crowd had hushed to a deathly silence.

For a long, harrowing moment, the room remained in a tableau. Not a breath shook the stillness.

Then Molloy laughed, a brittle sound, and she flashed her teeth in triumph. "You see, boys, even Spider knows I am right. Christopher was a cowardly, sniveling ant. I hear he sobbed like a baby as he was sucked down into - "

With a deliberate move, Spider released his hand from Richard's arm.

Molloy gave a squeak of surprise; her voice gurgled to a whisper in her throat. Richard remained still for a moment, as if to confirm that Spider had really set him free. Then he slowly drew himself to his full height, staring down the table at Molloy.

Spider moved his hand to his mask and with careful precision undid the ties at the corners. He brought the unit down to rest on the table, then stared evenly across at Molloy.

It was Nicole.

A soft murmur ran around the crowd, quickly hushed as Nicole turned to look at Xavier. Her voice was low and even. "Do I have your permission to release our announcement early?"

His face was still recovering from the surprise of learning Spider's identity, but he nodded to her in acceptance. "I trust in your judgment."

She brought her gaze back to hold Molloy's again. The fingers of her left hand moved to rest against Richard's, twining into them. Jon noted that Sean and Ian had come to stand behind her.

Richard held Molloy's eyes in a cold stare. "Raisa Dwa," he stated. "On Raisa Dwa, Christopher demonstrated the true meaning of honor, loyalty, and heroism. We have held our tongue, all these years, and allowed your wild slanders to continue unchecked. But now, at long last, it is time to make sure the truth is known. It is time for Christopher's reputation to be restored."

Molloy's eyes were bright with panic, and she looked over to Xerxes, her tone wheedling. "Surely you cannot believe the wild ravings of these miscreants," she urged. "Nothing they say can have even a drop of truth in it."

Xerxes drew his eyes back to Richard. "Go on."

Richard nodded, his eyes never leaving Molloy's. "Raisa Dwa was embroiled in a civil war. The Collective's negotiating team was caught in the crossfire and Xerxes sent us in to rescue them. The situation on planet was even more desperate than we had heard. By the time we arrived, the safe-house the team was bunkered in was nearly destroyed. The Irridium presence in the nearby mountains meant we had to get at least ten miles away before we could beam back up to our ship. We desperately needed backup."

His gaze narrowed. "We knew that your ship was hiding in the nearby nebula, waiting to watch us fail."

Molloy huffed out in sharp disagreement. "We were there researching the cluster structure," she insisted. "We had no idea you were on planet or in trouble."

"We sent your ship a distress signal," continued Richard, ignoring her interruption. "When we did not hear back in a few hours, the majority of us voted to run for it. We knew your cowardice and antipathy. We knew you would abandon us on the planet to face a brutal death."

Molloy's face flushed crimson. "What utter balderdash," she snorted. "If I had known, of course I would have come to rescue you from your incompetence."

A ripple of muscle tightened along Richard's arm, but the steady tone of his voice did not alter. "Only Christopher argued to believe in you. He insisted that you would come; that your training and innate honor would win over any childish jealousies."

He took in a deep breath.

"And so we waited."

His voice dropped. "For three long, hellacious days and nights we waited, while shells shook the stones from their foundations and rained shrapnel on us."

He looked down at Nicole for a moment. "When, at last, we were forced to abandon the remains of our shelter, Christopher felt the full burden of placing us in added jeopardy. Our delay had given the enemy time to set up lava traps all along our route. Those were the pet horror of this particular war. A hybrid of quicksand and a bubbling cauldron, the trap looked like passable dirt road. It would even hold a man's weight for a few steps." The skin on his face tightened. "And then, that man would slowly sink, burning alive as he did."

He looked back across at Molloy. "Christopher insisted on going first, on testing all ground as we made our way toward the beam-up point. He had several close calls, where the path gave way beneath him, but he was always able to crawl back out with only minor burns and injuries."

His lips pressed together. "We were nearly at the destination when two of the female delegates panicked. They moved too quickly behind him, and their combined weight broke the top crust before he could stop them. Their feet were all caught by the suction, and they were being pulled down."

His fingers twined into Nicole's, and he looked down for a moment. "Christopher grabbed each woman by the waist, and flung her with all his might back toward safety. The action pushed him down deeper into the lava. We tried to get to him, but the pool was too big. There was no way to reach him. Then he was sucked down, screaming in pain, all the while shouting for us to run, to get to safety, to get off the planet."

Molloy fumbled with her empty glass. "I had no idea you were in trouble," she muttered. "I was in the nebula. I never heard any message."

Nicole slowly rose to stand at Richard's side. On her other side, Stephen stood as well. Sean and Ian spread out to flank either side of their team.

Nicole's voice carried clearly across the room. "The announcement Xerxes and I were going to make in two days concerns a new form of communication my team has been testing for many years now." Her eyes remained focused on Molloy. "It is a directed form of message beam. It can create a pinpoint link between any two ships, regardless of cosmic interference." She paused for a moment. "This style of transmission provides confirmation of receipt."

Xerxes swiveled his eyes to stare at Molloy. His face held shock. "You received the message, and you did not act on it?"

Fury rose in Molloy's face, her breath came in short draws, and then suddenly her anger burst from her, cascading in a shower of daggers. "How did _she_ become the Golden Child? I had worked hard for my promotions, doing what had to be done, taking any route I could to victory. I was the one who deserved the praise and attention. And then this..." She ran her eyes dismissively over Nicole. "This untried trollop comes waltzing into my world with her harem of miscreants, and suddenly I am cast aside?"

Her voice rose high. "She should be the one on trial, here, not me! Whatever that bitch does, whatever she says, it is as if God on high has come down and spoken through her mouth. Not this time!"

Xerxes's eyes became cool marbles. "Molloy, I think you will come join me on the command ship. Now."

Molloy's eyes sharpened. "I would like that. It's long past time we got some things straight."

Xerxes gave a somber nod to Nicole, and then moved to stand next to Molloy. A touch of the badge at his chest, and the two shimmered from sight.

Jon turned back to Nicole. She was drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, and Jon could see that Stephen was supporting her from one side.

Richard spoke up. "A ten minute break, everyone."

Excited murmurings broke out all around them, but Jon's world was solely the haunted pain in Nicole's eyes and the sturdy compassion of the four men who walked with her out to the balcony. The door closed behind them, and they stood in a quiet group, isolated from the throngs at the party.

Jon wished with all his heart that he was there with them.

* * *

Nicole brushed the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping away the remaining tears. She gave Richard's hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "It is finally done," she murmured to the men around her. "Christopher can finally have the peace he deserves, after these eight long years."

She glanced back into the main room, and her eyes caught on Jon. He was standing by the window, a drink in hand. His gaze was steadily on the group, with an expression which was hard to read through the shimmering glass.

With an effort she drew her eyes away from him. "Shall we return to the game?"

By way of answer, Richard took a step forward and pulled open the door for her. She walked through, and Jon fell in with the group as they made their way back to the table.

Jon's voice was low and somber. "If there is anything I can do, you have but to ask."

She nodded in appreciation. "Do your best to win," she offered, her mouth quirking up in a half-smile. "That would be a pleasant distraction for the evening."

His eyes brightened with gentle amusement, and he gave a brief bow. "I shall do my best."

She settled into her seat, a sense of completeness washing over her as Richard and Stephen took their places on either side of her, as Ian and Sean resumed their watch from behind. It was familiar and comfortable. And if only...

Her eyes automatically went to the right, to where Christopher would have sat alongside Stephen.

If only her dear, loyal companion were still alive.

Richard's hand gently patted onto her own, and his eyes followed hers. "He lives in our memories," he murmured under his breath.

She gave a soft smile. "That he does."

Then the cards were in motion, and the symbols and numbers drew her out of her musings.

The play held a different timbre now. It was steadier, deeper, more the stealthy creeping of a tiger and less the quick darting of a fox after a mouse. Captain Smythe had taken over Xerxes's cards, but in only a few hands he had folded, nodding his appreciation of the skill of the table. The sense of a private game intensified, even with the throngs surrounding them. Nicole knew these men around her, knew them intimately, knew every tweak of an eyebrow and lilt of a phrase. She was sinking through the layers, watching for even the slightest hesitation.

There, Stephen was running his index finger along the top of his cards, just the tiniest of movements, but she held in a smile. By Richard's next bid, he had seen it as well, and in another round Stephen, too, had folded, shaking his head genially at his friends. Perhaps someday she would advise him what gave him away. But then again, perhaps not.

Now only Richard remained, with Jon flanking him. She could feel Richard's warmth at her side, steady, loyal. She wondered for the hundredth time what his emotions must be as they began this weekend, this turning point which would change everything. For so many years he had been her solid rock, the one she had depended on above the others. He had been the last voice she listened to before making a decision. And now it was likely he would be relegated to a secondary position.

Richard glanced up at her, then over to Jon at his other side. He took up his glass, offering it in toast to Jon. "You are a talented player, Jon; one of the best I have ever seen. If I were to lose to you tonight, I would consider myself thankful for the experience."

Jon nodded in appreciation and returned the toast. As both man drank, Nicole could see it in Richard's eyes, the respect and admiration that echoed to his very foundation. A glow settled through her. He was not simply resigned to the change which might soon overtake them all. She forgot, sometimes, how deeply all of them felt it when their group was shattered. She thought at times that only she could keenly sense the tear in their tightly-woven fabric.

Richard turned back to her, and he nodded quietly. "It is your move," he murmured.

Another round, and Richard's cards were down. He looked at them for a long moment, then shook himself and slowly moved his eyes between the people on either side of him. He ran a hand fondly along Nicole's cheek, then stood and stepped back.

"I leave the table to you," he stated evenly, melding smoothly back into the surrounding throng.

Nicole stared across at Jon, and time stopped. His auburn eyes were rich, deep, and behind them she could sense the flickering of an immense pool, one currently hidden from sight. She longed for that depth with all her heart, but she knew patience was critical. The surface tension had become strong in his thirty years of life. To sharply rupture it could mean disaster.

The world around them fell away, and every moment crystallized into the texture of his hand as it moved a chip, the sound of a card as it ruffled against its neighbor.

She glanced down at their respective pile of chips. He was good... very good. He could play it safe and draw her along for another twelve rounds. She looked down again at her hand, carefully schooling her features to remain even. There was no way he could beat what she now had been offered by the fates. She had to draw him all in. But how?

Her eyes flickered toward the narrow door in the left wall, the one that had not been opened all night. The one which led to the private room below this one, a special viewing room which held six people at the most. And the treasure waiting on the table at its center.

Ian caught the motion and its significance. His brow creased, and his lips pursed together. He ran a hand along the top of his brush-cut hair.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded at him.

His shoulders eased down in resignation, and he turned to disappear through the wall. In a moment he had returned, cradling a square, bowling-ball sized box in both hands. With a sigh he placed it between the two players.

Jon's eyes lit up in curiosity, but he did not say a word. He simply gazed at Nicole, waiting.

The corners of her mouth tweaked up in a smile.

My, but he was good.

She nodded, then reached forward to lift off the lid of the box. With a flourish, she took hold of the glass neck of the squat bottle within, drawing it out and placing it securely on the table.

There was a rolling gasp of surprise around them as the throng took in the item. The glass was turquoise in color, rich and glowing in the light, and the side of the bottle was embossed with a golden seal.

The local diplomat stepped forward, and his voice nearly cracked as he spoke, running a hand through his thick, blond hair. "Is that really... a bottle of hundred-year-old Hun liqueur?"

Nicole ran a fond hand along the side of the bottle. "Yes, it is," she confirmed. She looked up at Jon. "I will add this to the pot, and consider it equal to your holdings."

"It is that and more," agreed Jon with a nod. He looked down again at the cards in his hand, then placed them face-down at the table. He used both hands to push in his remaining coins. "Agreed. All in."

Adrenaline surged through Nicole. She had never faced an opponent like Jon, not in all of her years of gambling, and to be on the cusp of victory thrilled her soul. She let the smile, finally, come to her lips, let the emotion surge through her as she leant forward and placed her cards face-up on the table.

"A full house."

A warm murmur of approval echoed through the throng, and a scattering of applause. Nicole's eyes held on Jon's, ready for the sweet taste of victory, of his gracious capitulation.

But... there was that gleam in his eye, that gleam she knew so well, that she remembered from the battlefield at Kismet when they had stood two-hundred against two-thousand. She remembered it from the night, so long ago, in the Paxton Hall, when they prepared to unveil the traitors plotting against them.

No. It could not be possible.

His hand moved forward easily, steadily, and turned over his cards.

They were a royal flush.

She blinked. In all her years of playing, from back-alley hellholes to elegant gold-etched parlors, she had not seen that hand more than four times. It could not be true.

The roar went up from the crowd, the men at her side were patting him warmly on the shoulders, and her eyes moved from the cards up to his gaze. He sat waiting, watching her. His look melded with amusement, satisfaction, and something else, something warm and rich.

At last she brought herself to wave toward the pile with her hand, her eyes never leaving his. "It is all yours, then," she murmured. "Yours by right."

He leant forward. She was intoxicated by the aroma, of musk, and spice, and something intangible which set her soul aflame. His tone, when he spoke, was pitched for her ears alone.

His voice was rough. "All I have, you have but to ask, and it shall be yours."

He reached his left hand out for the bottle, snagging it by its neck, then drew himself easily to his feet. He lowered his right hand to her, waiting, his eyes steadily on hers.

Nicole could scarcely believe it was real. After the long years, after the longing and fears and heart-stopping efforts, he was there before her. She slipped her fingers into his, and his were warm, sturdy, and all-together real. He drew her to her feet beside him.

His eyes glanced over the men which stood around them, and his mouth eased into a smile. "We will all share this night together," he offered, holding up the bottle again.

Ian's eyes sparkled, and in a moment he was leading the way for the group toward the small door.

They descended the tight, spiral staircase, and when they stepped into the small room Nicole's breath was caught, as it always was, by the spectacular beauty of it. The room was barely ten feet in circumference, a round layout with glass all the way around. Only the slimmest metal frames held each pane in place. A red velvet bench with cushions circled the room, and the center pole held the spiral staircase.

All around them the open cavern yawned, with smooth rock and bubbling magma. The construction of the glass kept away the heat, and it was a show of nature's forces, constantly moving, always changing.

The men each stopped to take in the power of the display before finding their seat. Jon waited until the rest were in their places before taking the open spot at Nicole's right. She nodded at him, then reached to a button on the side of the staircase. With a quiet click it retracted back up into the ceiling, and an ebony table rose from the floor.

He looked at the bottle in his hand for a long moment, then with a sharp twist he broke the seal on the cap, laying it down on the table. He held the bottle out to the group in a toast.

"To friendships," he offered, his eye moving to each man in turn and ending on Nicole.

"And more," she expanded, flushing with a heat which did not come from the roiling liquid rock around them.

He nodded, then took a sip of the liquid. His eyes closed in exquisite pleasure, and his breath eased through his lips. It was a long moment before he blinked his eyes open again and passed the bottle to Nicole.

Her fingers brushed his as the bottle changed hands, and tingling electricity coursed through her body. She looked down, holding herself in. She had to go slowly. Everything depended on it.

She yearned for his touch... she yearned...

She blew out a breath, fighting off the desire. She brought the bottle to her lips and sipped.

Ah, if anything could hold off her longing for Jon, even for a moment, this would be it. The rich flavors of tangerine, vanilla, and hints of cinnamon swirled around her mouth, intoxicating her soul. There was nothing in the world like it. No replicator had ever managed to duplicate it. And this was one of the only remaining bottles in existence.

A gentle nudge from her left brought her back to reality, and Richard was waiting there, his eyes dancing in delight. He knew well where she had gone to, and she gladly handed the bottle over to him. In a short while all present were lost in the intoxications of the liqueur, drifting in their personal memories of all it represented.

There was no need for words. They had been together far too long for that. There was simply the deep-seated joy in being side by side, the contented trust of a long-teamed pack of wolves curling up in their den after a long, arduous journey home. The bottle had come around to her on its latest pass, and she took a sip, but it was hardly necessary. The flavors coated her mouth, the emotions coated her soul, and she was utterly content.

Out of habit she eased against Richard, and his arm automatically came up around to support her, making a resting spot out of his broad chest. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

Ian's voice drifted into her thoughts. "Nearly two am," he advised the group. "And tomorrow is the final day of preparation."

Nicole nodded, not opening her eyes. There was movement around her, a wrapping of arms, and Richard hefted her up against him as he stood. She blinked her eyes open, and Jon was there before her, his eyes warm on hers. He spoke to Richard without moving his gaze.

"Take good care of her," he stated in a hoarse voice.

"On my honor, I shall," agreed Richard. "It has been a privilege to keep her safe until now."

Something passed between the two men, an understanding that Nicole could not quite name, and then Jon stepped back. He pressed the badge at his chest. She was caught in his eyes.

They shimmered, and he was gone.

# Chapter 4

An insistent chime was sounding in Jon's head. It took a minute before it resolved itself into the ringing of his communicator. He sat up in bed, shook his head to get his eyes to focus, and glanced at the clock.

Nine a.m.

Who in the world could be disturbing him at this hour?

He wearily ran a hand through his hair before clicking the button. Stephen's face was there, fresh, alert, and a knowing grin spread across his face as he took in Jon's disheveled look.

"Officer living has made you soft," he teased. "Noon, on the Gumba plains, for some speed bike racing across the dunes? We should be done by then." His mouth tweaked. "And little chance of pink-haired vixens bothering us at those speeds."

Jon was instantly awake; he pushed off the covers. "Yes, absolutely."

"See you there," agreed Stephen, chuckling as his eyes moved to Jon's hair. And then he was gone.

It seemed as if the two hours eased by as molasses oozing down a gentle slope, and Jon swore his carpet was showing a ring from his feet's constant movement by the time noon finally wrapped its way around. He made his way to the teleporter room, gave the ID code of Stephen's phone, and the world shimmered out of view.

He blinked against the bright sunshine. He was standing in the shadow of a large bluff. A grouping of finely crafted elm chairs around a rock maple table had been arranged alongside a winding stream. A row of willows added a soft _shhhh_ as their branches waved in the breeze.

Stephen was there at his side, and he raised a finger to his lips. Jon nodded, his eyes moving over the group.

Nicole was standing by the table with six Cybians, their pale gray skin shimmering in the sun, their luxurious caftans of embroidered aquamarine and amethyst flowing delicately in the breeze. They were offering her formal embraces. Jon's eyes moved outward from the group, and he saw the other members of the team stationed in a protective ring around the perimeter of the area. Each wore an emerald outfit, a melding of the Collective's uniform and a softer, flowing material.

An elderly Cybian spoke to Nicole with warmth. "You know we appreciate all you do, Nicole," he praised. "Although how you spend time with those disgusting Patars is simply beyond our comprehension. They are worse than slugs. At least a slug knows its place."

"I understand your view completely," assured Nicole, patting his arm. "The negotiations tomorrow will bring you exactly what you wish. I promise it."

"We have faith in you," intoned the Cybian. And then they shimmered and were gone.

Nicole rolled her shoulders, then turned and smiled up at Jon. "Good morning," she called out with a smile.

She looked even more radiant than she had at the game last night. Then she had been elegant and refined. Now she was dressed in a loose-flowing dress of sapphire, and her hair danced in the breeze. She held out a hand to him, and in a few short steps he had closed the distance between them to take it.

The group headed down to a dirt path that paralleled the stream. She looked up at him as they walked. "So, is this your first visit to Glandy?"

He grinned. "No, but not that I could see it the first time."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Some sort of a covert mission? And here I thought Glandy was known as a resort getaway."

He shook his head. "No, my parents came here on their honeymoon. My mother always teased me that I was conceived under the full moon."

Her gaze stilled, and they walked a few steps in silence. The willows whooshed in the breeze, and the brook burbled as it tumbled over a cascade of smooth stones.

He looked over. "How about you. Have you been here before?"

She gave herself a shake, drawing back from the musings which had caught her. "Yes, certainly," she murmured. "A number of times." She looked out over the dunes. "It's a special place. It draws people from all over the galaxy with its landscapes."

He nodded. "Legend even has it that Nikita and one of her crew members came through here, escaping the assassins who had slain the rest of her group. But, of course, nobody knows for sure. Their trail simply vanishes."

Nicole's eyes went to the cliffs before them. Her voice was a low murmur. "They vanished."

They rounded a bend and six air bikes waited for them, their lean metal shapes shining in the afternoon sun.

Then they were in motion.

They raced as a pack, skimming the dunes, curling around a towering mound, and sling-shotting off the top of a slope. The cushion of air the bikes glided on sent trails of dust in their wake, and Jon laughed in delight as Nicole twisted in front of him, crossing his path to spiral around the edge of a dune. The afternoon shimmered and spun, and it was all he could have wanted from life.

Nicole pulled away from the others, and he followed her as they moved closer to the cliffs, tracing their way up a narrow slope where the bikes could find traction. The path was challenging, and Jon enjoyed the technical work involved, mentally mapping the next angle of attack and the proper place to cross over a fissure.

It seemed all too soon before the two had crested the bluff and come to a rest by a small stand of sagebrush.

Nicole smiled in satisfaction at him as she turned off her bike and dismounted. "You did well back there," she praised. "Many would have turned back."

"Then they would not deserve the rewards," he grinned, looking out at the spectacular view. The dunes and valley stretched out below them, twisting and undulating, a study in browns, reds, and ochres. His gaze moved from the natural beauty to her upturned face.

For a long moment they stood there, together, and all else faded from view.

At last she gave herself a small shake, turning, breaking the eye contact. She walked along the edge of the cliff, and he moved easily at her side, feeling as comfortable as if they had known each other for years.

Her voice eased out of her, soft and thoughtful. "This used to be one of my favorite spots," she murmured. "I adored it here; the sense of purity, of clean beauty. The grains of sand eternally changing and morphing. It would be where I came if I needed to nurture my soul."

Something in her tone of voice caught his attention. "And then what happened?"

She glanced down into the depths of the chasm before them. "Life happened," she replied, her tone haunted. "Life always happens."

* * *

Nicole's emotions echoed with the hollowness in her soul as she looked down into the dark depths of the shadows beneath her. He had been lost. She had searched, hoped, and waited, but he had been irrevocably taken from her.

His hand brushed hers; a frisson of electricity coursed through her system, pulling her from the depths. He had been lost – and now he was found. Somehow, incredibly, he was here, reborn, fresh at her side. He had found her, just as Christopher had promised he would.

She had missed him for so long...

She closed her eyes against the longing. She just wanted one moment. If she could just but lose herself in his embrace, just once, just for one long, all-encompassing moment...

Snap!

From the left, the sharp, unmistakable sound of a foot landing on a twig.

Adrenaline surged through Nicole's body. Her entire world focused down into one, desperate thought.

She would not let it happen!

She grabbed for her gun, drawing to shoot.

Her nightmare ticked off, frame by frame, in the sequence it did every night. Her scream echoed off the bluffs; her fingers wrapped around the grip. And there Jon's body was, as it always was, as it did every night, despite every cell in her body screaming for it to stop.

He was leaping before her, shielding her with his life's blood.

Her finger was squeezing the trigger, desperate to take the assassin down.

She was screaming... screaming...

Her eyes caught the flash of emerald.

She veered her weapon just in time. Two bolts of energy – one crimson, one the purest white - skimmed millimeters past Richard's right side. He froze in place mid-step, not a hair stirring, and for a long moment the world suspended.

And then her legs were buckling, Jon's arm was around her, and Richard was running forward to help ease her to the ground.

Richard's voice was hoarse. "My God, Nicole, I am so sorry. I should have known. Here, of all places, I should have thought..."

She shook her head, trembling, leaning against Jon, pressing her fingers against his chest.

He was alive.

"Everything is all right," she murmured, relief coursing through her in wave.

Her nightmare had changed. And if it could be changed...

She leant in against him, and his arms came around her in a tight embrace.

Jon looked up at Richard, his eyes shadowed. "I nearly killed you."

Richard was shaking his head before Jon had finished. "I am the one who should have announced myself, especially on this bluff," he countered. "I knew better than that. It is your quick reflexes – yours and Nicole's - which kept me alive."

Time passed, and Nicole soaked in the warmth of Jon's body, the soul-saving relief that he was alive.

He was alive.

At last she drew back from Jon's cocoon. She ran a shaky hand through her hair and looked over at Richard. "You are sure you are unhurt?"

Richard brushed at his arm. "Had a good inch or so to spare."

She gave a soft laugh. "That much, then?"

He nodded, a smile coming to his lips. "I've certainly had worse." He looked between the two. "I was coming up to tell you that it is nearly six," he added. "We should be getting ready for tonight's performance."

She moved to get to her feet, grateful for Jon's steady arm at her side. "You are right, of course," she agreed. Her hand was in Jon's, and she looked up at him. "You will be there?"

Her heart thudded in her chest. They had only been together for a scant day, and already the thought of parting from him for an hour filled her with a loneliness she could barely begin to fathom.

He nodded, his eyes full on hers. "It will be my honor."

# Chapter 5

Jon settled the handle to his saxophone case more securely in his grip as he eased his way through the noisy throng to Back Stage Suite A. He had been in the Collective military for many years now. He had faced civil wars, street riots, and ruthless gangs on backwater planets. But there was a new kind of tension lacing through his shoulders tonight.

Nicole and her men had clearly earned the stellar reputation they enjoyed from all corners. Somehow he fit as neatly in with them as if he had been carved by a master craftsman to nestle into their fine machinery. It was not the challenge of finding his place, or of earning their respect which pulled on him with the sharpness of a razor-edged fishing hook. It was the knowledge that it could all, within days, come to a soul-emptying end.

They would move on, and he would be left alone. He would be abandoned with the keen awareness of all he had lost.

He took in a deep breath as he reached the silvery metal door, simply emblazoned with an embossed "A" at its center. He let his breath out slowly and pressed open the door. It was a smallish room, about twelve feet by ten. Several padded chairs lay scattered around the periphery, along with a drum set, two guitars, several cases, and a collection of other miscellany.

The door eased shut behind him, and with it the din of the crowds vanished. The room was apparently well soundproofed.

Three men were already here waiting for him. Richard nodded in welcome, twirling a pair of drumsticks in one hand. "Right on time," he offered. "A trait I appreciate greatly." He glanced down at the case. "That looks fairly new."

Jon nodded, giving it a gentle heft. "My parents were able to track down a classic Symborian on one of their vacations rim-ward, and they sent it along as a special present."

Richard's eyebrows raised. "Special indeed," he agreed. "How does it play?"

Jon's mouth turned up in a grin. "Like butter," he enthused. "The man was a genius."

Sean gave a strum on his guitar, an elegant creation of maple and rosewood. "A fine instrument should absolutely be treasured," he agreed. "The music one could make can fill the soul."

Jon nodded, then turned to Ian. A bass guitar sat beside him in a stand, an understated work of art in ebony. "Yours?"

Ian nodded, his eyes holding Jon's. He stood, taking up the instrument and settling its strap around his shoulder. He began playing a slow, steady progression.

Richard smiled and moved to sit behind the drum set. The body shone with polish, the grain of the maple visible along each surface. Soon a jazzy beat was counterpointing the bass line.

Sean's strumming rhythm eased texture and movement to the music, weaving in and out with practiced ease. Jon had his instrument out in moments, relaxing into the rhythm. The men were leaving the room wide open for him, letting him guide the jam.

He put his lips to his instrument, and in moments his horn was layering into the mixture, setting a course. The others took his lead, following with him as he wove in and out of the bass line. Intrigued, Jon made an upward motion with his sax and, as the next measure rolled around, he slid the tune up a key. The others followed with him smoothly, and Jon grinned, enjoying himself immensely. It had been a while since he'd played with musicians this talented.

From behind him, a lead guitar joined in the mix, mirroring his own melody in harmony. Jon glanced back and nodded at Stephen, welcoming him. Then his eyes moved further right, and he nearly hitched his note before he steadied himself.

Nicole was stunning. The liquid gold dress draped along each curve of her body, bringing her athletic form into perfect relief. Her hair curled at her shoulders, soft, inviting, and her full lips called to him with a power he could barely resist.

She smiled at him, sultry, knowing, and then she parted her lips. A siren's song intoxicated his soul. She sang with a deep, rich alto, and at first she simply let her voice float, wordless, along with the flowing melody. It was as if her body was the finest instrument, and he was struck with the staggering desire to play her, to bring her to her fullest heights.

He fought to control his passions, refocusing his efforts, altering the tune slightly to segue into a well-known classic. The group slid into the song without any hesitation, and Nicole's eyes glowed as the lyrics flowed out, rich with longing and desire. They slid into another song, then another, and the music was all there was.

A loud knock at the door brought the group to an immediate halt, and Jon shook himself at the interruption, at the sudden cessation of the divine sound. Sean went to the door, listened for a moment, then turned and nodded.

"Five minutes; we'd better get on stage," he informed the others with a grin. "Looks like we lost track of time here."

Jon took his saxophone from around his neck, nodding his thanks to the group. It had been a privilege to jam with them, and an experience he would never forget.

Nicole's mouth quirked, and she moved to stand before him. "You have well proven your ability to work with our team," she offered in a low voice, her tone rich. "We would be honored to have you on stage at our side."

She was so close, he could feel the heat radiating from her form. The urge to reach out and trace her face was almost uncontrollable.

His voice was rough. "I would like that."

She nodded. Then she was turning. The group moved from the quiet seclusion to the thunderous applause of the gathered throngs.

Jon knew in a remote corner of his mind that he should be nervous. There were hundreds of important people gathered in the hall before them, expecting a high quality performance. He had only jammed with these musicians for an hour at most, and had no idea what was on their set list. But from the first moment of Nicole's announcement to the crowd of the song's name, to Stephen's steady intro beat, Jon was immersed. The group's musicianship was superb. He was familiar with most of the songs, and the few he did not know, the others deftly guided him through the change with a nod or a whispered comment.

Each team member's role in the group shone through in their playing. Richard was the steady, reliable beat that all turned to in order to keep them together. Ian's understated, foundation bass line was always there. Sean's rhythm guitar added texture and interest. Stephen's lead guitar brought energy and fire.

Jon turned to Nicole, and her look caught at his very soul. Her voice purred and curled around his notes, caressing them, holding them with tender harmony before releasing them to glide to new heights. It was intoxicating. Looking out at the crowd, he could see that they were enthralled with the music, with the passion put into aural pleasure.

Applause filled the air, and Nicole leant over, putting her hand over the microphone for a moment. Her eyes shone. "I had not quite realized, until tonight, just what our music had been missing," she murmured.

Jon's body flared with longing, and then they were in motion again, soaring, cascading, dancing for the world to see.

Ian's steady eyes caught his attention, and the bassist flicked his gaze toward the front row of tables. Jon waited a moment, then on the next chorus he turned slightly to see what Ian was motioning at.

It was strange he had not caught it before. Where the rest of the audience was enthralled, almost lost in the music, the three swarthy Mercodians at the front table had eyes only for Nicole. It was not a gaze of transfixed appreciation or even of raw lust. Rather, the leather-geared trio was watching her with clinical evaluation, their eyes moving from the sculpted muscles of her arm to the firm stretch of her calves.

Jon looked back at Ian and gave a slight nod. Mercodians were well known bounty hunters, ruthless and persistent. He would be sure to stay close to Nicole from the moment the last encore ended.

# Chapter 6

Nicole sighed in exhausted contentment as she gave a final wave to the thunderous throngs and led the men off stage. Three encores. The crowd was insatiable!

The door to the suite closed behind them, and it took a moment for her ears to adjust from the intense wall of noise to the hushed quiet. A low ebony table at the center of the room held a pair of silver ice buckets, each presenting a bottle of Champagne. Alongside them sat a ring of pink, chilled shrimp.

She was starving.

She sat in relief in one of the chairs, reaching forward for one shrimp, then two, her stomach rumbling. At her side Richard eased open one of the bottles so it made the softest of sighs. He poured out flutes for each person present.

The men settled down in a circle, and Richard held up his glass to the group.

"A toast. To fine teamwork."

"To fine teamwork," came the echo, and each glass clinked around to all others before they were lifted to grateful lips.

Oh, that was good.

She liked to stay sharp when performing, and this was her first drink of the night. It made the first sip that much more wonderful. She glanced at the bottle and smiled in appreciation. Martin had certainly gone beyond the call of duty with this vintage. She would have to offer him special praise. It was delicious.

At her right, Jon took another sip, and she leaned her head against him in fondness. He had been amazing, as she knew he would be. He turned his head so his lips were against her forehead for a moment, and she smiled up at him. Then she was leaning forward for a few more shrimp. The men waited patiently, in no rush, sipping and eating as they came down from the energy of the performance.

Finally she sat back, and all eyes came expectantly to hers.

She took another drink of her Champagne, then began. "Tonight was an absolute pleasure. Each of you deserves praise for helping that to happen. I am sure this performance will be talked about for years to come."

The men nodded to each other, acknowledging what they had created together.

"Which brings us," added Nicole, her tone edging with sturdiness, "to the rest of this evening's plans. As we had expected, kidnappers have been put in play. To use Mercodians is not overly subtle, but then again neither of these groups are exactly the subtle type. The hiring party probably knew of the Mercodians by reputation only and decided that they should go with the best."

She chuckled. "And the Mercodians, being the cocky bastards that they are, probably didn't think twice about making their presence so obviously known. So we move forward with our plan."

Nicole took another sip of her bubbly, putting the glass down on the table. "As agreed. I'll head out alone to the bar district. This will give the kidnappers their chance to grab me. When I sense them closing in, I'll broadcast the code word. You come in, we capture them and interrogate them. Then, finally, we can find out just who is behind these growing interruptions to the negotiations."

Jon stared around the group as if they had lost their minds. He voice burst from him as if tearing through well-wrapped bindings. "You _must_ be kidding! You're going to use Nicole as human bait against three _Mercodians_?"

Nicole's temper flared with heat. "We have been over this a thousand times! If you had a better idea, you should have brought it up -"

Suddenly she realized that the other men were looking at her with looks indicating two things. One, they agreed fully with what Jon was saying. And, two –

It hit her in a flash that Jon had _not_ been at any of those meetings. He had fallen in with them so easily, had seemed such a natural part of the team, and she had completely forgotten....

She flushed crimson, looking down at her hands.

When she spoke again, her tone was tempered. "I apologize. We have been so comfortable with you, these past few days, that I completely lost track that -"

Jon's tenseness eased, and he nodded in understanding. "I'll take that as a compliment," he responded in a gruff voice. His tone became edged "However, if acting as a helpless lure is really is your master plan, then I insist on an alternative. I will stay by your side."

Stephen leapt on the idea. "Nicole, you wouldn't take any of us because our reputations as fighters are well known. But the kidnappers wouldn't fear Jon. If anything, it would make them less wary. If it was just you, alone, they would sense a trap. Why would you be out on your own, after having guards around you all day long? If you were out walking with a new lover, it would explain why the rest of us would be sent away."

Warring emotions battled within Nicole. Each minute away from Jon was sheer torture. She could feel the sliding of grains in the sand-clock as a physical sensation. The negotiations would be over in a few days. Every moment was precious.

And yet, this was no casual evening out.

"Mercodians are not known for their gentle nature," she warned. "While we have reason to believe they only mean to kidnap me until after the truce's deadline has passed, they might have little qualms about killing you, Jon." Her voice roughened. "I could not take on that responsibility."

Jon was shaking his head even before she finished. "I swore an oath to uphold the Collective's protection. That includes those planets who wish to join us," he pointed out in resolute determination. "This clearly is an important treaty to get signed. If my life needs to go on the line to help ensure its success, I will do that without hesitation."

Nicole hesitated, but the weight of her trusted friends' gazes was heavy on her. They all knew this was the best course of action. She reluctantly admitted that in her own heart she agreed with them. She just wished that fate had not created this dilemma for her.

If Jon was hurt...

She took in a deep breath. He would not be. They were all trained soldiers, and these were only three kidnappers.

She looked up into Jon's eyes. His gaze was firm and resolute.

"Thank you," she said simply. "I whole-heartedly accept your offer."

Richard glanced at the clock on the wall. "You two should head out shortly then," he suggested. "That way it seems like a natural progression from the band's conclusion to your walk." He stood up and turned to Jon, who stood as well. Richard pinned a diamond pin beneath the lapel of Jon's uniform, where it was not visible. "The code word is _orange_ ," he said as he straightened the lapel over the pin. "The pin will pick that up and send it to the rest of us. Do you have a glasblade?"

Jon reached down and tapped the side of his boot. "On an inside sheath," he responded. "I'm well trained with it. I may not have the reputation of your group, but I can hold my own in a fight."

Richard eyed him for a moment, then nodded. His voice dropped to a low murmur. "We are trusting you with the most precious object in our world."

Jon held his gaze evenly. His voice was a vow. "I will be worthy of that trust."

An easing came to Richard's shoulders. "I know you are," he agreed, then took a step back.

Nicole held a hand out to Jon, and he turned, gazing at her for a long moment. Then he took her hand in his own, bringing his head down for a courtly kiss. Her heart melted at the touch, at the warm, steady texture of his fingers against hers.

She shook away her feelings with effort. Three Mercodians were no laughing matter. She had to be on her most alert behavior tonight, if they were all to get through this in one piece.

She looked around at the other four men in the room, meeting the gaze of each man for a moment.

The closeness of the group, the steady focus in their eyes, filled her with a warmth which went into the depths of her soul. Her mind of its own volition switched to the Hun language.

"For honor."

The men responded in one voice.

"For honor."

Then she turned, leading Jon out into the quieting hall.

# Chapter 7

Nicole glanced around at the nearly empty room. The large marble hall seemed much different with most of the guests having returned to their ships or rooms for the night. The paper lanterns and colored lights sent dappled pools of shadow and stripes of color across the elegant floor. Moonlight streamed in through the tall open windows down one side of the room. Nicole led Jon towards the far wall, finding the door amongst the windows and heading out into the cool summer night.

Nicole knew they were on a dangerous mission, but she could not help to be swept up in the swirling emotions of a midnight interlude. The flowers in the garden sent up an intoxicating aroma. The moon trickled a silvery glow across the world, edging the petals and leaves with brilliance. And Jon...

She glanced up at the man at her side, and warmth flooded through her. He was all she could want in a man. His movements were sturdy and strong, and his eyes held a calm focus that nothing would deter. He matched her step, moving easily alongside her as if they had been together for years.

A chill settled over her shoulders as she was reminded of the danger the night posed. The bartender was an old friend of hers; he might provide an extra blade in the coming fight. She glanced down the deserted path as they moved from the main gates and into the town proper. She did not see the Mercodians, but that was to be expected. She had no doubt that they were keeping track of her movements and would make their move once she was somewhere vulnerable.

Somewhere like an empty bar.

Up ahead, a local guard turned a corner and began walking down the quiet street toward the couple. Nicole cursed under her breath. If the guard recognized her, he might insist on accompanying the couple to provide protection. She did not want anything to dissuade the Mercodians from acting sooner rather than later.

On impulse, she spun her back against the shop wall they were passing, pulling Jon hard against her. Jon moved with her on instinct, and his eyes followed hers toward the guard. He eased to the left, providing more cover.

Nicole glanced sideways as the guard approached. He might still recognize her...

Without thinking, she entwined her hand in Jon's hair, pulling his head down to her neck. Jon didn't need a second hint. He pressed fully against her, shielding her with his body, his arms sliding up against her back.

Nicole's world illuminated in a golden glow. It was if her soul had been hollow for her entire life, and it suddenly had been filled. She had not realized how empty she had been until this moment. If they could just stay this way, forever, without moving, without turning... just to be held in his arms...

With an effort, Jon pulled back from her, his breath coming in deep draws. His eyes were smoky with desire, and his voice was rough. "I think the guard is gone, Nicole."

Nicole wanted nothing else than to pull Jon down against her again, and damn the Mercodians. Jon's nearness was intoxicating. It took all of her willpower to nod in agreement, to slide her hand down his chest to put a little space between them.

"Right, you are right," she murmured.

She took a deep, steadying breath, forcing herself to set one foot in front of the other, to move down to the bar. She needed her focus. She was not a schoolgirl out on her first date. She knew she must put this passion out of her thoughts... for now.

The outside of the bar was nondescript – a dingy window which could not be seen through; a small, fading wooden sign with the name "AleHous". Nicole pushed open the cracked door and waited in the doorway for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim interior.

It looked as it always had. The grey bar to the left was fronted by a scattering of stools; the four booths on the right each held cracked plastic benches. The small stage up front presented faded plywood and a grand piano which had seen far better days.

Mark looked up from the bar, and was it her imagination, but did his glance seem a shade more furtive, a hint ashamed? Then it was gone, and he was waving her over with a smile.

"Welcome, welcome," called the middle-aged man, the wrinkles on his weathered face showing the toll of his hard life. "The usual, I assume?"

Jon nodded. "Two," he agreed, a slur in his voice, half leaning over the bar. Nicole held in a smile. He certainly was doing his best to seem inoffensive. By the looks of him, he would barely make it over to the booth.

Mark moved to the back of the bar for a moment, gathering the supplies, and then he was turning with a pair of tall, thin glasses sporting a dark purple concoction. "Enjoy!"

Nicole took the two glasses from him and moved deeper into the bar, to the booth furthest from the door. She paused by the seat facing the door.

"Why not sit next to me, so we can get to know each other better," she murmured.

He glanced at the door, then nodded, easing into the booth. He gave the table a nudge forward so that it settled against the far bench, giving them more room. She slid in next to him, setting the two drinks down before them.

She raised her glass. She met his gaze –

Despite all her training, the flickering shadows of the candles and the closeness of his warm breath brought her breath in deeper draws. Lingering tingles shimmered through her body from the passionate embrace they had shared.

Her voice became husky, and it was no longer simply an act.

"To our first night alone together."

His eyes grew smoky, and it was a moment before he clinked his glass against hers. He brought his glass to his lips, and she noted with satisfaction that he did not drink; only gave the appearance of doing so. She mimicked his actions. If Mark had indeed turned on her, drugging their drinks might be the first step in the evening's adventures.

She put her drink onto the table. "So, Jon, tell me about your childhood," she whispered, running a finger along his arm.

He shivered under her touch, and she knew that she should stop distracting him. She should play her part along a fine line. But it was only by staying in this tentative contact with him that she could resist the demanding urge to pull him against her, to wrap herself in the comforting embrace she knew so well.

To, after all these long, desperate, lonely years, at last lose herself in the man she loved with all her heart.

"My... childhood..." he ground out hoarsely. "It was idyllic. Serene and contented."

She blinked in surprise, momentarily shaken out of her tumultuous emotions. "What?"

His gaze narrowed in concern. "Why, what had you heard?"

She shook her head, regaining her ground. "Oh, nothing at all. Please, go on."

He eyed her for a moment, then nodded. "My parents had both done their stint in the military forces. My father had been a medic, my mother a front-line marine. I was an only child and had everything I could want in life. When it came time for me to choose the next step in my life, they were supportive of my desire to enlist."

She smiled, shaking her head in wonder. "A quiet childhood, parents who loved you, free of trauma or political games. Good for you, Jon. Good for you."

His gaze was steady on hers. "So I take it your childhood was less than ideal?"

There was a movement at the door. Three burly figures strolled in, standing in the entryway while the door swung closed behind them. Mark's eyes flitted nervously between the newcomers and the booth.

Nicole stood, giving a long, languid stretch, her eyes moving to the piano. "Mark, I think I will sing us a song for the night. You missed my performance earlier." She glanced down at Jon. "If you will accompany me?"

"Of course," he agreed, moving to his feet, walking with her the short distance to the stage. She slid her hand down his arm to catch at his fingers, pulling him with her to ease around behind the piano.

She drew her eyes up to his, and strength coursed through her at the steady, determined look in his eyes.

The corner of her mouth turned up in a wry smile. "I think our song should be _Rhapsody in Orange_. What do you think?"

His gaze did not leave hers. "I will follow wherever you lead."

There was a movement, and the three Mercodians took several steps into the center of the bar area, separating out to flank the width of the narrow room. The center one, more rugged than the other two, spoke up.

"You know why we are here, Nicole. This is a business transaction. Let us get it over with."

Nicole glanced over at Mark, who was cowering against the far wall of the bar. Her voice was calm. "Business?"

Mark winced. "I am sorry, Nicole," he rasped.

The Mercodian laughed. "Not sorry enough to turn down your fee," he coldly pointed out.

Nicole kept her voice even. "And who is it that paid your fee?" she asked lightly.

The Mercodian shrugged. "While some of our clients want their name known throughout the galaxy, these particular individuals paid extra for discreetness."

Nicole raised an eyebrow. "They wanted to be discreet, and they hired _Mercodians_?"

He grinned at that and gave a short bow. "I did not say they were smart," he agreed. He drew his weapon, and the two men at his side matched his move. "And now, Nicole, I do recommend that you come quietly. While I was instructed to bring you in alive, I was not told to bring you in unharmed." His grin grew toothy. "And Caleb was a dear friend of mine."

The man to his right snarled. "She is the one who killed Caleb?" His gun lifted, and Nicole barely had time to duck beneath the piano before a blast blew a hole in the wall behind her.

Jon was crouched by her side; his gun was in his hand. He bent under the piano and fired. A loud retort echoed through the room. The smaller Mercodian was thrown back against the bar, a chunk of his arm missing. His howls of pain filled the room.

The remaining two Mercodians dove for cover, and Nicole's shot barely missed the lead man's chest as he tucked behind a bar stool.

A heavy blast came from the left, slamming into the piano, sending shrapnel of wire and timber flying in all directions. Jon threw himself over Nicole, shielding her with his body as the splintered rain came down on their heads.

The heavy Mercodian's voice shot out in anger. "Alive, you fool!" he reminded his fellow.

The door to the bar burst open. Richard and Stephen charged into the room, two sharp blasts stunning the Mercodians into unconsciousness. Behind them, Ian and Sean rushed in, their guns sweeping the room and coming to rest on Mark.

Sean's voice called out in Hun. "Six."

Ian took a careful step toward Mark. "Five."

Stephen strode forward to kneel behind the Mercodian sprawled face-down by the booth. "Four." He jammed his gun into the small of the mercenary's back.

Richard stood over the lead Mercodian. "Three." He reached for the restraining ties at his belt with his left hand.

Jon's voice came from close at her side. "Two." He then blinked as if in surprise.

Nicole knew she should speak, knew that it was her turn in the sequence to let them know she was all right. But her tongue was heavy, and the world was weaving in and out of focus. She looked down and saw to her surprise that a coiled, silver spring was implanted deep into her chest. Crimson blood was slowly bubbling up around the wound.

Jon's eyes swung down to meet hers. His voice called out, sharp with urgency.

"Nicole is hit!"

# Chapter 8

Jon's heart nearly stopped as Nicole's eyes closed and she fell back, unconscious, in his arms. The chest wound was serious, and he knew it was beyond his ability to care for.

Richard had finished tying the hands of the Mercodian at his feet, and he motioned to Sean with his head. "Sean, get them back to the ship. Institute a total lock-down. Nothing gets in or out. I will take care of things here."

Sean was in motion before Richard finished speaking. He strode to kneel beside Nicole, carefully placing his hand around the wound as a dam. He tapped the badge at his chest.

The three shimmered into nothingness.

Jon was barely aware of the space they teleported into; a standard enough transport room, sized for six individuals standing fairly close together. A red light flashed over Nicole's head as they came into full presence, and Sean glanced up at it. He still had his hand pressed attentively on Nicole's wound.

His voice was even but quick. "You lift her; I will lead the way."

Jon curled his arms beneath her still form, and in a moment the two were moving across a narrow hallway and into an infirmary. The turquoise walls were organized with transparent shelves fronted by closed glass doors. A single bed took up the center of the room; Jon laid Nicole down carefully on its padded surface.

Sean kept his hand against the wound while with his other he reached up and pulled down a robotic brain on a swivel mount. "All right then, let us see what we have," he murmured.

Jon slid his arms out from beneath her, laying her hand at her side before stepping back. Sean took a deep breath, then released his own hand from the wound, giving the medical robot a clear area to work with.

The unit began with a quick sweep down her entire body, moving in a smooth glide from head to toe. Then it reset itself squarely above her chest. Thin arms emerged to connect to the screw.

Its voice was soothing and clinical as it gently twisted the screw free. "One metal screw, penetrating two inches, punctured lung, no major blood vessels," it reported. Lasers carefully cauterized the wound as the screw unfurled itself from her chest. Other beams lit into action, delivering medicine and anesthesia.

Sean exhaled in relief. "Thank God," he muttered. "That could have been far worse."

The robot finished and slid to Nicole's right thigh. "Hairline fracture, right thigh," it reported evenly, sending out a beam of emerald light.

Jon shook his head in confusion. "Her thigh? But the piano was nowhere near –"

The machine's voice answered smoothly. "Thigh injury is six months old." It then slid down and left. "Double break, left calf."

Sean rolled his eyes. "Let me guess, nine months ago."

"You are correct," answered the robot without pausing in its work.

Jon looked at Sean, shaking his head again as the robot moved on to her arm. "What, does she not like medical robots?"

Sean's eyes lost some of their shadows. "She hates them like the plague," he agreed, the corner of his mouth tweaking up. "The only time we can get her fixed up is when she's drunk or knocked unconscious by something."

The robot moved a few more times, then drew up to a resting position. "All major repairs completed," it reported calmly. "I count forty-seven minor injuries still untreated. Shall I begin?"

Sean shook his head. "No, she will be irate enough that we let you get this far," he sighed. He glanced over at Jon. "Could you get her to her room and settled in? I should check in with Richard to see if they need help."

"Of course," agreed Jon without hesitation. He gathered Nicole's form up in his arms.

"Sleeping quarters are to the left," pointed Sean. Then he was in motion to the right, moving at a quick pace.

Jon took a step out into the hallway, turning left. In a moment the hall opened up into a large, circular room. The center area had a well-polished mahogany table with six chairs around it. A bank of windows overlooked the swirling clouds of the planet beneath them. The connecting rooms each had a name presented on it with black, embossed letters. Nicole's was on the far left. He moved up to it, then took her hand in his and waved it past the entry plate on its right side. The door silently slid open.

He stepped into the room – and stopped. He had been in many rooms over his thirty years of life, rooms of elegance, rooms of austerity, rooms that were glittering with jewels and oozing with atmosphere. But never had he been in a room which felt so.... _Right_.

A large bed lay to the left, with an ebony and turquoise design which mimicked the flow of grain in marble. Matching curtains were pulled closed over the two windows. An open door to the far right led to a washroom, and a large display case to his right held a collection of weapons, photos, and other items. A heavy, intricately embroidered cloak from the Sullon Empire was hung as a display tapestry on the far wall. The floor was polished ebony wood.

He moved forward to the bed, laying her down on it, and easing off her high heels. He gently rolled her on her side to unzip the back of her golden dress.

Her voice came in a mumble from against the pillow. "Don't let them use the _machine_ on me," she insisted.

His mouth quirked into a smile. "No more than necessary," he promised. "We have to get you out of this dress."

She leaned against him as he eased her to sit up, her back to him. She dutifully raised her arms over her head, and he slipped the dress free of her body. She dug beneath her pillow for a moment, pulled out a flannel top, and drew it down over her torso. Then she was sliding up the pants over her bottom half.

Jon eased down the covers, and in a moment she was beneath them, collapsing wearily back against the pillow again. He gently lay the covers back up over her shoulders.

She drew his arm over her waist, curling up against it, his hand against her chest. "Stay, Nath, until I fall asleep."

He tensed, wondering who Nath was, but then she snuggled against him again and he eased down at her side. She had nearly been killed. The reality of the danger settled down on his shoulders. He lowered his head to her neck, pressed a gentle kiss against the soft flesh there, and thanked all the Gods that she had made it through.

It was under ten minutes when soft snores were easing from her body, and he was able to gently extricate his arm from her sleeping form. He stood, looking down at her for a long moment, then turned to look again at the room. The display case caught his eyes, and he moved toward it.

The pair of long knives on the top shelf – they seemed familiar. Had he seen images of them before, on one of the websites about the team, perhaps? The one on the left was smaller, elegant in design, while the one on the right seemed sturdier. His hand moved to it of its own accord, and it slipped into his grasp as if it was made for it. He did an experimental swing, then two, sighing in delight at the delicate balance. The weapon was made by an artisan. He tossed it in the air, giving it a triple spin, and it landed solidly in his hand, ready for the next blow.

On the shelf there was a hair pin to one side, a pattern of a wolf head on it. He traced a finger along it, lost in thought. It seemed so familiar, so important.

The shelf beneath had a photo in a simple, iron frame, and he took it out. He recognized the group immediately. It was Nikita, the last crown princess of the Huns, killed thirty years ago at the end of a violent civil war. But it was a photo he had never seen before. Nikita and her band were shown standing in what appeared to be a restaurant of some sort, quiet and elegant, and their faces held a haunting focus which called to him. Everyone was there. Krissolion, who had been killed on an espionage mission on the night of the final speech. Rikindo, Stefford, Shawnald, and Eyanapolis, who had been slain by assassins as their world made its tumultuous transition to a democracy.

And there, by her right side, was Nathan, her Knight.

Jon looked between the two figures. All through the past thousand years the tradition had been maintained. The crown princess had come from the Hun family and had married outside the six main noble houses. It was through her lineage that the family line traced. And through those same thousand years, the Knight family had offered up to her a sworn protector, a man loyal only to her. He took no wife, had no children, and focused solely on her safety.

There was a movement at the door; he carefully put the photo back into its spot. Stephen stepped into the room, smiling as he found Nicole sound asleep in her bed.

"That is good. So she did not put up much of a fuss?"

"No fuss at all," agreed Jon. "I think she was more worried about the robot than the wound."

Stephen's mouth creased into a smile. "She would be," he agreed. "Come on, let me fill you in."

Jon gave one last look at Nicole, then followed Stephen as the two headed out of the room.

Stephen pulled to a stop by the table in the center of the room. "Richard has held a tight rein on any knowledge, and so far the story is that you and Nicole have been seriously injured or killed. I realize this will upset your shipmates, but I would ask that you let it ride until morning. This could be critical in our finding out what is going on here."

Jon felt a twinge of guilt at causing grief for his friends, but he nodded. "Of course, I understand."

Stephen nudged his head to the right. "That last room on the right was Christopher's room; feel free to use that for the night," he commented. "In the morning, just come out in your bathrobe if you wish. We are casual here. Once we have all had our morning glogg, we will figure out our plan of action."

Jon's brow creased. "Surely the negotiations will not go on as planned tomorrow morning?"

Stephen glanced at Nicole's closed door. "That will be up to Nicole to decide, but I imagine she will say yes," he stated. "Very little will cause her to slow once her path is set. Somehow she will find a way to make this work."

His face shadowed. "That was a wild fluke, with the piano sending shrapnel. Thank you for keeping her alive." His gaze held Jon's. "When this is all over with, whatever I can give you, it is yours."

Jon nodded. "I appreciate it, but no gift is necessary," he countered. "I could not have seen her come to harm."

Stephen looked into his eyes as if seeking something. Then he let out his breath, turned, and headed back toward the bridge.

* * *

Jon wearily stumbled out of the door, easing his arm through the bathrobe's sleeve. He had only slept perhaps seven hours, but once he had woken he found it impossible to go back to sleep. He blinked, thinking the main room empty, but a second glance showed him that a figure was sitting in a chair by the bank of windows, a cup of a steaming beverage in one hand.

Richard turned and smiled. "Good morning," he offered.

Jon shook his head, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Do you ever sleep?"

"Not much," agreed Richard. "How would you like a cup of glogg?

"Is that a Hun drink?" asked Jon, searching his memory.

Richard nodded, moving toward the replicator. A murmured command, and in a moment a mustard-yellow mug swirled into view, fragrant and steaming.

Jon picked it up with both hands, gave it a cautious sniff, then drew in a taste. His shoulders eased in pleasure.

"This is quite good," he offered with a smile.

"I thought you might enjoy it," agreed Richard, and the two went to sit before the windows again.

Jon marveled at the easy silence that connected the two of them. There was no need to fill the space with talk. He knew that eventually the rest would come, the day would begin, and all would be said. For now it was simply the two of them, preparing for whatever it was the world would throw at them.

After a while Ian came out to join them, quiet, his eyes steady on the mug in his hands. Then it was Stephen, groaning and stretching, and Sean, muttering about the incompetencies of the local police force.

Jon glanced at Nicole's closed door, then raised an eyebrow to Richard. Richard chuckled. "Another twenty minutes, I would say," he murmured.

It was closer to thirty before her door slid open, and she staggered, still in her pajamas, over to the table. Ian moved without a word to the replicator, retrieved an emerald green mug, and placed it before her. Her eyes were barely open as she brought the mug to her nose, breathed in a deep inhale, and then took in a long swallow. The sigh that resulted seemed almost soul-deep.

The men turned and moved their chairs to join her around the table. She ran a hand through her hair, blinking once or twice, before beginning.

"Ian."

"The Mercodians were definitely hired by the Cybians," he told the group. "But we lose track of the finances once it gets into their banking system. You know how infamously labyrinthine that is. It would take us years to unravel."

She nodded. "Stephen?"

"Only Mark seems to be involved, on-world," he reported. "There seems to be no infiltration of the local police or other agencies." He snorted. "They are wildly incompetent all on their own," he muttered.

Nicole gave a low laugh. "Hardly a new thing," she pointed out. "Sean?"

"You were impaled a full two inches by a sharp metal screw," he ground out. "If you had not had Jon there –"

Her hand went to the spot on her chest, and her eyes narrowed. "You set that insane mechanical laser beam loose on me, didn't you?"

Sean nodded. "Absolutely I did. And while it was in there –"

Nicole's voice tightened. " _In there??"_

Sean put his hands up in surrender. "A figure of speech, nothing more. In any case, you are fine."

Nicole pulled her robe tighter against her body. "Of course I am fine. I will be even _more_ fine if that conglomeration of needles and lasers stays far away from my body."

Richard's voice eased smoothly into the mix. "Jon did save your life," he pointed out.

She nodded, and her eyes came open fully as she turned to look at Jon. "Yes, you did," she said to him. "When this is all over, I will show my thanks more properly."

He took her hand in his, looking from the slender, strong fingers to the fierce resolution in her eyes.

_God, she was beautiful_.

Even right out of bed, after a night of fighting against ruthless bounty-hunters, she was everything he could hope for.

"I need nothing at all, but to know you are safe," he murmured.

A smile creased her lips. "And yet, maybe you would be pleased by something more."

His body flared with desire at the memory of her ivory skin beneath his arm as she lay on the bed; at the sense of completion when he had embraced her in the midnight streets.

He could see the effort it took her to turn her head, to look back to Richard. "Richard, your report?"

"We have kept all news of your status completely hidden from every person beyond those at this table," he stated. "Our ship is shielded. The common talk is that you were slain and that Jon here was seriously injured. That might work to our advantage."

She templed her fingers, pressing her brow down against them. "Good, good, but how?" She drew her eyes to the man at her right. "Jon?"

He had been giving this very question thought while staring down at the planet, sipping his glogg with Richard by his side. The question had spun around within his brain, swirled, and over time had intertwined with what he had heard of the Cybian culture. He held her gaze, wondering if she would undertake what he proposed.

"I think you should become a phoenix."

She blinked more awake at that, and looked around the table at the other men before returning her gaze to his. "What, the Cybian myth?"

He nodded. "They believe in their myths and legends quite strongly. While they say they do not run their lives by them any more, I have seen more than one tap his heel twice at bad luck or twist a ring at the mention of a death. It is too deeply embedded in their society to brush away."

Richard leant forward with interest. "The phoenix is their legend of someone murdered, seeking revenge. The phoenix will rise from the dead, with five avenging angels in silver, to offer the murderer one last chance at redemption. If he does not take it, they will wipe out his entire family, to the last distant relative."

Nicole looked again at the five men arrayed before her. "So we teleport in, dressed in silver?"

Jon nodded. "And we do not say a word. We simply look at the Cybians, and you start to slowly raise your hand. I have a feeling whoever is guilty will cave in and admit his guilt rather than sentence his entire family to death."

Stephen's eyes sparkled. "I seem to recall it was a fairly horrific death, too," he commented. "No quick turning to ash here."

Nicole tapped her lip. "It does seem elegant, and likely to bring results," she agreed. "Any comments or questions?"

Sean chuckled. "Compared to some of our recent plans, this is a downright walk in a rose garden."

Nicole downed the rest of her glogg. "Well then," she stated, rising to her feet, "let us do some research, and see just what these phoenix were supposed to wear!"

# Chapter 9

Nicole gave one last look at the video screen. The two negotiating parties were seated at the table. The Cybian were to the left in their elegant caftans of turquoise, emerald, and amethyst. To the right were the Patar, their skin rusty-brown and cracked, their sturdy forms covered by rough canvas in earth tones. The two groups studiously avoided looking at each other.

Martin stood between the two parties, nervously running a hand through his blond curls.

Nicole turned from the screen to the men arrayed before her. She had to admit, they looked stunning. They were outfitted in dark silver leggings and a lighter tunic, with embroidery highlighting the width of their shoulders and the strength in their arms. Avenging angels indeed. She would trust each of these men by her side, no matter what dark alley she might head down.

She glanced down her own dress. It was a mimic of the gold one she had worn the night of the attack, but done with silver embroidery. It traced her curves and shimmered in the light.

Her hand went to the diamond at her chest, and she checked by habit that each man before her wore his. Jon followed her eyes with his, looking down at the one they had created for him. Warmth eased through her, to see him alongside the other men. It was happening. He was fitting in; over time his memories would return. She just had to give it time.

She dropped her hand to her hip, reassuring herself that her glasblade was securely there, that the pistol was alongside. The men did the same, bringing their eyes back up to join hers.

"Remember, our aim is perfect silence," she instructed them. "Drawing to fire is only a last resort."

She put her hand into the center, and the men each added their own to the mix.

"To honor," she murmured.

The words echoed around her, and together they moved into the teleporter room. She closed her eyes to issue a silent prayer, and then she gave the command.

They materialized behind the negotiating table, looking out over the crowd. A long, drawn out gasp greeted them, and a woman cried out, staggering back against the wall. The delegates turned at the sound. Their eyes went wide.

As one, the team turned to look at the Cybian contingent. Nicole was careful not to focus on any one person, but to keep her gaze general, looking over their heads. The men were open-mouthed in terror, and she waited for a long moment, knowing how completely she was relying on the men at her side. Whoever the traitorous delegate was, he easily could have had a backup plan in place should she somehow appear at the negotiation table despite all his efforts. An assassin could be in the crowd at this very moment, his finger slowly squeezing the trigger.

Her gaze steady, she brought her hand up from her side, drawing it straight-armed toward the cowering group.

"No! Stop!"

It was a quivering, elderly man in vibrant amethyst, wisps of gray hair matted down on his slick, gray skin. He plunged to his knees before the group, tremors racking his body. "I admit it! I only meant to stall you long enough to end this farce. There is no way any solution with the Patar could possibly work! They are liars and thieves! But not my sweet grandchildren. Not the innocent darlings. Please take me instead. Take me, and leave them in peace."

Richard nodded to the police who waited by the door. They moved forward at once, pulling the man to his feet and hustling him out of sight.

Nicole offered a warm smile to the remaining Cybians. "And I assume none of you were involved in his machinations?"

An energetic set of head-shakings came back at her. "He was always the lone vote against," insisted one of the younger delegates. "We had him on the committee to assuage the older generation, but he has been nothing but trouble. Still, we had no idea he would go this far."

Another stared at her with round eyes. "So are you all right, then?"

She nodded, stepping forward to take her seat in the center of the room. "I am glad to report that I am quite fine, thanks to my guardian angels." She smiled at the men, and they spread out into the room, taking locations around the perimeter. She saw Jon move up to Captain Marcus; the older man gave him a warm hug in welcome.

She turned back to the two sides of delegates. Both groups eagerly gazed at her with relief and anticipation.

"Well, then, let find the path to this peace."

She turned first to the Cybians. "Let me first recap your position, as I see it. You need labor to work the mines on your planet. With your own citizens living in the cities in the clouds, you have no desire to do the work yourself. You are willing to pay a credit a day per worker for that effort. You wish to have little other contact with those workers."

The delegates looked at each other for a moment, nodding, and then turned back to her. "That would seem to sum it up," agreed the man.

Nicole then turned to the group on her right. "Now to the Patar. Your race has been acting as miners for hundreds of years. You seek more. You would like to build schools for your children and homes above ground. The atmosphere on Cybia is poisonous for both races, which is why of course the Cybians live in their cloud cities. You would like better wages, in order to grow your civilization. You would like a say in your working conditions and on the selling rates."

The rust-skinned group held her with a steady gaze. "Yes, that is it exactly," stated the larger member of the group.

One of the Cybians frowned. "You see why this is impossible," he ground out. "They just will not be reasonable."

Nicole held up a hand. "What have I said?"

The Cybian looked down, running a hand along his emerald caftan. "Trust in the solution," he murmured.

She nodded in agreement, then looked up and gave a wave of her hand. Two men by the doors pulled them open. In a moment six individuals in full body suits walked in a line toward the table. They were about four feet tall. The bulbous glass spheres around their heads revealed bulging, luminescent eyes and a nearly flat nose. Their skin was a rich ochre color.

"Let me introduce you to the Avigne," she presented, waving a hand forward. "The Avigne have a troubling problem, and I think we can help them."

There were soft mutters from either side of the table, and she swept her eyes over both groups before continuing.

"The Avigne are a mining race on a planet far outside our mapped universe. That planet circles a red dwarf star. Unfortunately for them, all signs show the star is in the process of going supernova. They have perhaps three months before their entire planet – and their entire civilization – is burnt to a cinder. What they need is a massive rescue effort and a new place to live."

The Cybian youth turned his lips down in frustration. "As if we did not have enough problems with miners," he pointed out.

"Another reason this destruction of the planet Avigne is distressing," continued Nicole without a pause, "is that it currently holds about four billion credits worth of plutonium."

A shocked silence filled the hall, and suddenly she had the attention of every person present.

Nicole's smile grew wider. "Here is what the Avigne propose. They will spend two billion credits on a full fleet of ships for the Patar. This with the understanding that every one of those ships has, at its first mission, to get to Avigne as quickly as possible and load up on both Avigne and plutonium loads. Once both return to Cybia, the Patar can then use the ships to relocate their workers to the neighboring planet of Cathos. Cathos is not an easy planet to live on - but it does have a breathable atmosphere, a climate where food can be grown, and ample mining opportunities as well.

She looked at the Cybians. "The workers will agree to work for you for free for a full ten years. This will give you the same, matching benefit, so that each race is compensated equally. That will also help to compensate you for the likely slowdowns associated with transitioning the cultures and settling in."

Her eyes moved back to the six standing before her. "The rest of the plutonium, they will keep to adapt the caves and environment to meet their needs. As it turns out, the hostile environment of Cybia is fairly close to what they require. They will have to set up some processing stations and air filters, but the money will cover those issues.

She swept her eyes first along the Cybian contingent, then the Patar. "We have set up side conference rooms, if you wish to discuss these new terms in private."

The Cybian group's eyes were glowing with joy. After a quick huddle they eagerly nodded their heads. "Absolutely we agree," they stated in delight. "This is perfect!"

She turned her head, and the Patar were also grinning. "We could not have dreamed such a solution existed," admitted the burly one. "We whole-heartedly agree." His eyes shadowed. "But where can we get ships so quickly?"

Nicole gave another wave.

A tall, elegantly dressed man with silver hair approached the table, carrying a mahogany box in both hands. He laid it down on the table before Nicole. Carefully opening the lid, he revealed several rows of neatly arranged keys.

His voice was deeply resonant. "On behalf of Scimitar Spaceships, let me offer my gratitude for being a part of these proceedings." He motioned to the box before him. "These keys are symbolic, of course, but eighty spaceships are at this moment coming into orbit around the planet." He turned to bow to the Avigne. "Your rescue fleet is ready, gentlemen."

The Avignes's eyes grew, if possible, even larger, and in a moment they were enthusiastically clasping each other, crying out in relief.

Nicole brought out a document which had a few paragraphs of text on it. "What this document holds is exactly what I stated. We will keep this simple and sweet. If you agree to these terms, come forth and sign your name."

A clamoring ensued with each delegate enthusiastically moving forward to add his name to the pact. Finally the six Avignes made their mark.

Nicole held the paper up to the crowd, and cheers rang out for long minutes. At last she turned to the Patars. "I know this is a time for celebration, but we are also racing against the clock."

"I understand completely," agreed the leader. He moved around the table to the group of Avignes. "Come, let us get our plans in motion." In a moment the Avignes and Patars had strode from the room side by side.

The Cybians' faces were glowing. "Free workers! Happy workers!" crowed one man to another. "Who could have thought it possible!" They all bowed to Nicole, and then they were shimmering their way back to what she imagined would be an enormous, long-drawn-out celebration.

Martin moved up to her side, shaking his head. "I do not know how you do it, Nicole," he stated, his eyes wide. "I do not know what to say."

Nicole's mouth tweaked into a grin. "How about, let the celebration begin?"

He chuckled at that, waved his hands, and thousands of balloons cascaded down from the ceiling as the lively music filled the room.

# Chapter 10

Jon barely noticed as the cascade of turquoise and brown balloons flowed around him, rebounding cheerfully off of food-laden tables, empty chairs, and cheering observers. The hollowness in his heart made him unable to hear the applause, to take in more than a general sense of movement.

It was over. She was leaving.

The thoughts circled his mind, baffling him, refusing to settle down into any logical sense. How could it have happened so quickly? One moment he was pinning the diamond on his breast, was standing shoulder to shoulder with the other men, was so close to Nicole that he could breathe in her intoxicating scent. A heartbeat later she was shaking hands with Xerxes, was accepting a congratulatory embrace from Martin, and all too soon she would be shimmering out of sight. Her ship, and the men in it, would retreat to the distant reaches of the galaxy, and she would be gone.

It was almost too much to fathom.

She made a spiraling motion with her hand, and Jon's feet were in motion before he realized it, pushing his way through the crowd to her side. As he approached he saw Richard on his right, Stephen on his left, and the other two quickly arrived as well.

Her gaze was apologetic as it came around to meet his. "I am sorry, Jon, but I need to talk with the others alone for a moment."

Jon's cheeks flushed with heat. "Of course," he bit out. He was not one of them. He was not sure why he thought her call even included him. He stood still as she turned and moved the men into a side conference room, one with the word "Cybian" still embossed in amethyst letters on the door. And then that door closed solidly shut.

He stood staring at the door, oblivious to the swirl of music and celebration around him. A green-suited waiter was at his shoulder, offering a flute of Champagne, and he absently shook the man away. Were they planning how far to sail away this time? Would it be a year before they came back toward the core?

At long last the door opened, but only Sean slipped out, moving through the throngs to stand at Marcus's side. A whispered comment in his ear and Marcus was nodding, accompanying Sean back to the conference room. The door sealed behind them.

Jon shook his head, desolation soaking into every bone, but he could not turn, not move away to sink into meaningless conversation with the laughing, joking people on every side. If all he could do is be this close to them for these final few minutes, then he would do it. He knew that in the mere beat of a heart it would all be over.

Long moments passed while his darkness swirled and thickened. Then the door pressed open and Marcus was standing in the entryway. He scanned the crowd, spotted Jon, and waved him in. Jon nodded in acceptance. They would be making their farewells now. A few words, some handshakes, perhaps a brief, formal embrace, and then only empty space would remain.

He stepped through the door into the room. An ivory marble table had been pushed to one side. Seven plush chairs in a rainbow of colors lined the opposite wall.

Nicole stood in the center of the room, the four men behind her, all still decked out in their silver phoenix outfits. The screw through Jon's heart turned even more harshly. Her honor, her strength, called to him with a power almost beyond his comprehension. The men behind her would be more than brothers; they would be comrades in arms, men he could rely on with his life.

Nicole's brow creased as he came to a stop before her. She started to say something, gave a slight shake of her head, and then asked in a low voice, "Is everything all right?"

He steadied his face to be even. "I am fine."

The look in her eyes said that she did not believe it, and she glanced at Marcus for a moment before speaking. "This might seem an odd question but... what do you think of our group?"

What did he think of them?

The pain of the imminent loss, the gaping hole, nearly threatened to pull him in. He looked down at the diamond badge on her breast. It was all he could do to grind out, "You apparently are an immensely effective negotiator."

Far too efficient.

She blinked, and a flicker of nervousness shimmered behind her eyes before she pursed her lips. "Thank you," she returned, her gaze carefully drawing over him. "I was thinking more in terms of..."

She hesitated, and his eyes automatically went up to hers. A wave of longing hit him, so powerful that it nearly buckled his knees. Her mouth opened in surprise, and a sigh escaped from her lips. He could almost feel its warmth wash over him, and it was all he could do to remain in place, to not take the short step that would close the distance between them, to take her in his arms and never let her go.

Her words came out in a rush, as if some inner barrier had been overrun. "We want to attach ourselves to your ship. We want to become liaised with your crew, for a month, and then we can see –"

The words, their meaning, and the mixture of desire and hesitancy in her eyes all hit him with the force of a deluging waterfall. His voice came out of him as a low groan.

"Oh, Nicole..."

Richard's voice came from one side, holding a lilt of amusement. "I take it that is a yes?"

"Gods, yes, yes," murmured Jon, staring down into the green eyes before him. He could become lost in those eyes, become completely submerged and he would never wish to surface.

The door pulled open, a cacophony of noise came with it, and Zaggat stormed into the room, his small eyes gleaming with frustration. Nicole stepped away from Jon, turning to face the man, her movements sharp with annoyance.

Zaggat's face twisted. "Nicole, there you are," he snapped, pulling up before her. "It took me long enough to find you. Enough of this lolly-gagging. We need to get going."

"Going where?" asked Nicole. Jon could hear the effort it took for her to keep a civil tone.

Zaggat waved a hand toward the sky. "To Sygma Eight, of course! The trade negotiation between the Xyler corporation and the Capotans is of critical importance. We must leave immediately."

She gave a shake of her head. "I know all about that negotiation. It is a minor but tedious issue that needs months to untangle. It can easily be handled by a junior team."

Zaggat took a step toward her, and Jon restrained his urge to move with him. Around him he could see the other team members come to alert, their shoulders tensing, their hands flexing.

Zaggat's finger raised to point in her face. "I swore to the Xylers that you would be there to protect their interests," he growled. "You will be there in three days if I have to hog-tie you and drag you there in chains."

Nicole's face went still, and Jon wondered that Zaggat remained so close to her, that he did not see the clear warning signs of the danger he was in. Her voice, when it came, was deceptively cool. "That may be how you treat Xyler's wife, when you seduce her in that grimy love-nest you take her to, but you will never lay one hand on me."

Zaggat's face flared crimson, and his hands balled into fists. "You will not speak of Agatha," he growled. "Her husband is a jealous man; I will not have you recklessly endanger her."

Nicole shook her head, staring at Zaggat with more attention. "Surely you realize that the woman is putting on an act, in order to get you to support her husband's cause," she stated, half in surprise. "Her husband knows all about your liaisons and if anything is frustrated that she has not gotten you to act more quickly. The only reason she has spread her legs –"

Jon's world staggered into slow motion. Zaggat's hand raised, then swung with all the force of his body's weight behind it toward her head. Nicole began her dodge with the lightning-fast reflexes he had seen in action at the bar. And yet, inconceivably, she stopped, held still, and Zaggat's half-closed fist connected solidly with the side of her skull.

She went down hard to the floor.

The world spun up into motion. Jon slammed Zaggat's right hand into the far wall in perfect time with Richard pounding the left in place. Stephen's gun was out, and the gleam in his eyes indicated he was strongly tempted to use it.

Sean dropped to Nicole's side, his hand carefully cradling her head, looking attentively into each eye.

"Are you all right?"

She carefully nodded, but it was a long moment before she put her hand up to his arm and allowed him to help her to her feet. She moved to stand before Zaggat, a hint of a smile tweaking the corner of her mouth.

"You do know you just assaulted a superior officer," she calmly informed him.

In quick succession Zaggat's face moved between pride, confusion, and nervousness. "But you are a captain, as am I," he finally stuttered out in a defensive tone.

Nicole raised her left hand to her shoulder, sweeping her hair up and away from her collar. Jon could see now that the three dots of captain were actually the four dots of an Admiral position.

Zaggat's eyes widened with fear for a moment, then he swallowed and dragged a look of satisfaction back onto his face. "So I will be punished for a short while," he stated with pride. "I would gladly do that for my Agatha. I will talk with my father, and he will force the committee to send you. Especially now that you've lured me into this damaging action."

Nicole's smile grew wider, and her hand moved down to the insignia pin. With a twist it was off in her hand. She dropped it down onto the polished surface of the ivory table.

One by one Sean, Ian, and Stephen followed suit. Richard took one last look at Jon, then released Zaggat's arm, stepping away from him to move to Nicole's side. His pin followed the others.

Zaggat's voice rose to shrill heights. "You cannot do this! How will you leave? The scout ship is Collective property!"

The door slid open, and Xerxes stepped into the room. He looked around first with interest, then with growing seriousness as he sensed the emotion of the room.

Nicole nodded at the man Jon still pinned to the wall. "I am sure Xerxes can explain everything to you, Zaggat. The ship is mine. And now, my time is my own as well. I wish you the best of luck."

She turned then to Jon. Her gaze held satisfaction, regret, and something more he could not quite pin down. Perhaps the faintest spark of a teasing wink?

Then there was a shimmering, a fading, and they were gone.

Jon was left in the empty room, his heart echoing hollow, and his sense of loss was complete.

The vision of her eyes filled him...

Determination fired within him, a small kindle at first, and then it billowed into a searing flame. His hands clenched in determination. Whatever it took, however long he had to search, he would find her again. He knew now why his heart had ached all these long years.

She had found him. She had opened his eyes to what life could offer. And now it was his turn to prove he was worthy of being by her side.

But first he had to find her.

Thank you for reading Aquarian Awakenings! The sequel to this is Betelgeuse Beguiling –

 http://www.lisashea.com/scifiromance/betelgeusebeguiling/

### You can also download all four books in the Collective Saga series as one boxed set –

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# Dedication

To Ruth, who always offers wonderful feedback and suggestions.

To Wil, whose sci-fi stories inspire me.

To Gemma, who offered wonderful feedback on an early copy.

To my sweetheart, Bob, who inspires me daily.

Most of all, to my loyal fans on Facebook Goodreads, Google+, Twitter, and my other feeds. It is thanks to your encouragement that I write my stories!

Together we make a difference in the world .

Be the change!

# Glossary

Avignes – planet near destruction due to its local star.

Collective – pact of peace involving over 800 planets, designed for mutual defense and sharing of research.

Cybian – cloud dwelling race with a focus on elegance and refinement.

Glandy – resort planet often chosen for hosting diplomatic events.

Glasblade – transparent, glass-based knife with a razor-sharp edge.

Hun – warrior culture ruled by a dynasty system tracing its roots for a thousand years.

Luxor – lighter-than-Earth-gravity planet. Native race has violet hair and six arms.

Mercodians – legendary assassins with a fierce reputation.

Nikita – legendary Hun queen who supposedly first ascended the throne a thousand years ago, and who reincarnates through successive generations.

Patar – cave dwelling race which values manual labor and hard work.

Raisa Dwa – planet torn by civil war.

Vercador Sept – slum planet of factories and smugglers.

# About the Author

Some of my earliest memories are of watching reruns of the original _Star Trek_ show. I loved dreaming about far off planets and exotic species. When I was seven, _Star Wars_ hit the big screen, and I went to see it ten times in the theater. My obsession was fully hooked.

I love stories that explore how humans in all eras of history share the same basic fears and dreams. It doesn't matter what type of technology we develop or how far we roam. We still have the same core hopes – to love, to feel cared for, and to find meaning in our existence.

We might live longer. We might travel further. We might tap into senses we barely knew existed. Still, at our core, our souls will remain the same.

All proceeds from the _Aquarian Awakenings / Collective Saga_ series benefit local battered women's shelters.

I have written over 300 books in a variety of genres, from SciFi to mystery, from romance to historical drama. You can download over 30 of them for free here:

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Be the change you wish to see in the world.

